DISCRIMINATING DEMOCRACY:

THEATER AND REPUBLICAN CULTURAL POLICY IN FRANCE, 1878-1893

A DISSERTATION

SUBMITTED TO THE DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY

AND THE COMMITTEE ON GRADUATE STUDIES

OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY

IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS

FOR THE DEGREE OF

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Emmanuelle Sandrine Chapin June 2011

© 2011 by Emmanuelle Sandrine Chapin. All Rights Reserved. Re-distributed by Stanford University under license with the author.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial 3.0 United States License. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/us/

This dissertation is online at: http://purl.stanford.edu/kw083cw0939

ii I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

James Daughton, Primary Adviser

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Jessica Riskin

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that, in my opinion, it is fully adequate in scope and quality as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Aron Rodrigue

Approved for the Stanford University Committee on Graduate Studies. Patricia J. Gumport, Vice Provost Graduate Education

This signature page was generated electronically upon submission of this dissertation in electronic format. An original signed hard copy of the signature page is on file in University Archives.

iii

Abstract

The dissertation analyzes the projects of popular theater devised by the republican

governments and assemblies, 1878 to 1893, in order to understand the conflicted point of

view of republicans with regard to the democratization of art. In the 1880s, the four state-

subsidized theaters (the Opéra, the Opéra-Comique, the Comédie-Française, and the

Odéon) had a very select audience. Yet, republicans were divided on the issue of its

diversification. On the one hand, the purportedly inferior moral capacities of the popular

public made dramatic performances hazardous without a prior education of its will.

Under the sway of illusion, the members of lower classes could misinterpret plays. Also,

if they were endowed with the culture of the elite, they might be tempted to misrepresent

their position in society. On the other hand, the fact that lower classes attended popular

concerts and literary matinees revealed an interest in high-brow repertoire, which suggested that they were kept away from state-subsidized theaters against their wishes. In addition, it seemed fair to make these institutions accessible to people whose taxes paid for their upkeep. The successive projects of popular theater represent the various solutions imagined by republican governments to reconcile two contradictory impulses, democratization and discrimination. They show how a culture of prejudices, inherited from previous regimes, progressively came to terms with a new conception of justice,

more respectful of individuals’ autonomy and sovereignty. iv

At the end of the 1870s, the minister of public instruction and fine arts Agénor

Bardoux denied that the state had any responsibility to democratize art. He variously

argued that democratization happened spontaneously or that the artistic mission of the

state did not include the dissemination of works. Jules Ferry believed that the state owed

a theater to the lower classes, but, convinced that lower classes were inferior in their

aptitudes, he imagined a popular lyric theater that would be a pale copy of the Opéra.

Finally, Léon Bourgeois accepted the director of the Opéra’s proposition that the

institution should organize reduced-price performances. Bourgeois thought it more

conducive to social peace to promote a common culture than to cultivate separate class

identities. In his mind, the difference between the people and the elite should consist in

their respective degrees of exposure to high-brow culture. By making private initiative

(that is, the directors of the state-subsidized institutions and the associations of popular education) responsible for theatrical democratization, Bourgeois ensured that the lower classes could never attain the same cultural fluency as that possessed by the elite. By the beginning of the 1890s, French republican leaders had gone from a differentiated to a

marginal democratization.

The study of theatrical democratization in the 1880s shows that French

republicans abided by two principles of government. One, which reflected the

republicans’ universalist credo, advocated the equal treatment of individuals by virtue of

their equal rights. The other, inspired by utilitarian tenets, defended the differentiated

treatment of individuals on the grounds of their unequal aptitudes. Republicans recognized two categories of individuals, the people and the elite, which they associated with fixed qualities. The elite was defined by its economic power, social standing, and

v political influence, as well as its superior moral and intellectual capacities. The people, by contrast, were allegedly irrational and showed a tendency to immoral behavior. In the republicans’ mind, the state did not need to conduct a formal assessment of individuals’ aptitudes because its absolute rationality and morality guaranteed the fairness of its decisions. This dissertation argues that the ambiguity of the notion of merit in the republicans’ discourse (did it lie in the essence of a social group or was it the result of individuals’ actions?) informed a tension between the desire to extend liberties and democratize elite practices, on the one hand, and the perceived necessity to control activities and discriminate against the people, on the other.

vi

Acknowledgments

This dissertation is the result of many hours spent in the isolation of a study, but

also of many engaging discussions with scholars and friends. I would like to thank them

all. Christophe Charle has been a constant source of encouragement and inspiration. His

critiques and suggestions have much contributed to refine my argument. I am grateful to

Mary Lou Roberts for welcoming me to the history program at Stanford and giving me

the chance of studying in such privileged conditions. And of course I want to thank the

members of my dissertation committee for all the help they offered: my adviser, J. P.

Daughton, and my readers, Jessica Riskin and Aron Rodrigue. My dissertation has

immensely benefited from their insightful comments.

My conversations with historians have stimulated my thought in all ways and I would like to thank them for sharing their time and ideas with me. I think in particular of

Pascal Ory, Olivier Wieviorka, Philippe Gumplowicz, Chantal Meyer-Plantureux,

Pascale Goetschel, Antoinette Blum, Greg Shaya, Joe Zizek, Catherine Faivre-Zellner,

Odile Krakovitch, Michael Werner, and Patrice Veit. I owe similar thanks to Patrick

Fridenson, who was also kind enough to invite me to give a paper at the EHESS. In

Stanford, New York, Paris, and Wellington, I have received help from friends that was

vital to the completion of this dissertation and to my life beyond it. Bernard Ludwig,

Sang Ngo, Ken Reisman, and Mark Pottinger receive my heartfelt thanks for their vii support. Caroline Moine, Guthrun Love, Douglas Mews, Monique Rolland, and Malcolm

Moore have kindly provided me with friendship and shelter during my various trips.

Finally, I owe much to the diligence of my editors, Darci Gardner and Melissa Cross.

This dissertation would not have been possible without the financial support I received from the History Department at Stanford in the form of a generous five-year

graduate fellowship. In the later stages of the Ph.D., I also benefited from a Weter dissertation completion fellowship. I wish to thank the kind and efficient members of the

staff of the History Department, who have repeatedly gone out of their way to help me:

Art Palmon, Linda Huynh, and Lynn Kaiser. Sarah Sussmann, the curator of French and

Italian collections at the Stanford University libraries, has given me much bibliographical

advice and made numerous books available for my research. Finally, Christine Campbell

and Charlotte Labbé were the competent and enthusiastic librarians in charge of

interlibrary loans at Fordham University in New York, where I spent one year during my

work on this dissertation.

I owe a special debt to my parents, Hélène Loubat and Jean-Marie Loubat, and to

my in-laws, Mimi and Terry Chapin, They have shown their benevolence in many ways:

through interest, advice, and encouragement; through assistance in childcare on many

occasions; and, not least, through financial assistance that made it possible for me to

continue my studies. My father, in particular, offered help in finding sources in Parisian

libraries and archives while I was on the other side of the planet from them. My sister,

Valérie Loubat, has also been essential to the success of the enterprise. Finally, it would

be difficult to enumerate everything that my companion throughout these years, Keith

Chapin, has done for me. He took care of children and household tasks so that I could

viii have enough time to work. He discussed my topic with his usual sharpness. He edited my text and taught me English in the process. He has been my confidant in times of doubt.

But, most important, his love has illuminated my life. Thank you. Lastly, I thank our two children, Adèle and Émile, for creating a theater that might not have been to the taste of republicans but that is immeasurably stimulating and pleasurable, a theater of joyful chaos.

ix

Table of Contents

Abstract iv

Acknowledgments vii

Table of Contents x

Introduction. Democratization and Discrimination 1

Part I. Official Views on Theater

1. Theater and the Law 34

2. Theater and Popular Education 60

Part II. Chronicle of Popular Theater Projects

3. The Théâtre-Lyrique (1847-1878) 132

4. The Théâtre Lyrique Populaire (1878) 145

5. The Théâtre d’Application (1879) 160

6. The Opéra Populaire and the Théâtre Dramatique Populaire (1879-1880) 173

x

7. The City of Paris’s Projects (1880-1884) 223

8. The Organization of Popular Performances in the State-Subsidized Theaters (1878-1893) 245

Conclusion. The Metamorphosis of Universalism 315

Sources Consulted 322

xi

Introduction

Democratization and Discrimination

“Democratization does not belong to the vocabulary of the founders of the

republican school,” Antoine Prost once noted.1 Jules Ferry, Paul Bert, and Ferdinand

Buisson, he argued, did not intend to remedy social inequalities.2 In fact, they did not

even conceptualize social inequality. As they justified differences of treatment through

appeals to differences of aptitude, they thought that it was fair to have one school for the

people (primary school) and one school for the elite (secondary school).3 In the 1880s, however, “democratization” (“démocratisation”) was a common word in parliamentary speeches on theater. Republican representatives—more often radicals than opportunists— used it when they wanted to express their dissatisfaction with the exclusive character of the Opéra’s public and assert individuals’ equal right to access state-subsidized institutions.4 Although they did not propose to give everyone the same culture, a decision

1 “Démocratisation n’appartient pas au vocabulaire des fondateurs de l’école républicaine.” Antoine Prost, “La démocratisation de l’enseignement: Histoire d’une notion,” Annales littéraires de l’Université de Besançon, no. 550 (1995): 119. 2 However, Antoine Prost observes that Ferdinand Buisson started using the word after 1900. Ibid. 3 Secondary education started with preparatory classes (leading to high school), the petites classes des lycées. 4 To give a few examples of parliamentary speeches: in 1879, Gambettist representative Antonin Proust declared: “La commission consultative des théâtres ne demandait d’ailleurs qu’une expérience de la régie, c’est-à-dire une intervention momentanée mais directe de l’État, qui mettrait l’Opéra en mesure de 1 that would have opened up possibilities of social promotion, they did indicate a desire to reduce inequalities. As a matter of fact, their appeal to individuals’ equal rights directly challenged the legitimacy of discriminatory policies, policies based on the presupposition that social groups were not equal in their aptitudes. Thus, to ensure that everyone could access public institutions was not just a case of individual justice, as Prost has contended.

It was a first step toward outlawing differences of treatment based on the identification of individuals with a social group.

The use of the word “democratization” reflected less the awareness of social inequalities and the willingness to act upon them than the situation of individual rights in each area of state intervention. For example, because French schools had already accomplished their first democratic revolution, republican educators did not talk about the democratization of school. Since the Ferry laws of 1881, which had made attendance free and compulsory, all French children received an education up to the age of twelve.

By contrast, fine arts officials felt compelled to democratize theater because state- subsidized institutions catered to a very restricted audience. Hefty ticket prices barred

répondre aux aspirations dont notre société démocratique donne chaque jour des preuves, en recherchant les belles exécutions musicales inaugurées par nos concerts populaires.” Report to the House of Deputies on the 1880 fine arts budget, Annales du Sénat et de la Chambre des députés (Paris: Imprimerie et Librairie du Journal Officiel, A. Wittersheim & Cie, 1880), 6: 303; Louis Hémon, an opportunist, added: “Oui, le goût de l’art se généralise en France, je dirais volontiers qu’il se démocratise. Et vous n’avez pu manquer de vous dire en même temps que plus l’art prend une place large et profonde dans la société actuelle, plus l’Etat doit sentir croître les obligations qu’il a vis-à-vis de lui.” Discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies on 29 July 1879, Journal officiel de la République française (Paris), 7750; in 1882, radical representative Alfred Talandier exclaimed: “Mais l’Opéra travaille-t-il à la démocratisation de l’art? Je soutiens qu’il fait le contraire et qu’il travaille à la corruption, à la décadence de l’art.” Discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies on 8 December 1882, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés (Paris: Imprimerie du Journal officiel, 1883), 1941; in 1889, Casimir Michou (radical) joined the chorus: “Il y a quatre théâtres subventionnés. L’un deux reçoit 800,000 francs par an pour huit mois de représentations à raison de trois représentations par semaine. Il est vrai qu’il s’y ajoute les bals de l’hiver, mais je vous le demande, qu’y a-t-il de démocratique dans ces bals? Qu’est-ce qu’on y va faire?” Discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies on 19 June 1889, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1466. 2

people of modest means (the large majority of the French population) from attending

performances.5

There is something intriguing, nonetheless, in the unsystematic way in which the

republican leaders of the 1880s applied the principle of equal rights. In politics, for instance, the rights of individuals were the same, no matter the class.6 There was nothing

in theory that differentiated the ballot cast by a poor voter from the ballot cast by a

wealthy voter. In school, republicans acknowledged the right of individuals to receive an

education. However, the education given to each individual varied from class to class.

Finally, in the domain of theater, fine arts officials made several attempts to organize

equal access to state-subsidized institutions but never managed to bring a project of

popular theater to completion.7 Ultimately, the variability in discrimination showed that the equality of individuals’ rights was not a hard and fast principle. Its application depended on considerations of opportunity as well.

At the end of the nineteenth century, republicans were in agreement that the elite and the people had distinct aptitudes.8 For instance, one of the most important republican

thinkers, Alfred Fouillée, contended that, given the intellectual and moral incapacities of

the masses, democracy could only survive through the good graces of the intellectual and

moral aristocracy.9 As a general rule, while republicans were confident in the wisdom of

upper classes, they mistrusted the lower classes. They argued that lower classes did not

5 It was especially true of the Opéra, less of the Opéra-Comique, Théâtre-Français, and Odéon, the three other theaters subsidized by the state. 6 Of course, there was a gender inequality, but that is another question. 7 The position of fine arts officials varied with each art. But they were especially weary of the bad influence of theater on lower classes and, as a result, more protective of the monopoly of higher classes. 8 The more progressive the politician, however, the less the distinction was made. For instance, the radical members of the Paris Municipal Council emphasized the interest of the Parisian population in high-brow culture, whereas the opportunist members of the government wanted to educate its corrupt taste. 9 Alfred Fouillée, La démocratie politique et sociale en France, 2nd ed. (Paris: F. Alcan, 1910), 5. The first edition of the book was published in 1900. 3

think rationally, and, instead of obeying universal principles of morality, followed their

personal interests. There was a high risk that, should they gain power, they would subvert

social order and instigate a political revolution.10 Therefore, it was important to keep

lower classes (the people) away from positions of influence. This involved restricting the

possibilities of social promotion, and one way of achieving this goal was to limit lower classes’ contacts with the culture of the elite.

Although they agreed that the people and the elite had discrete aptitudes, the republicans of the 1880s debated the type of actions that the government could legitimately take as a result of this discrepancy. On the one hand, the principle of equal rights demanded that individuals be treated equally, irrespective of their aptitudes. On the other hand, a pragmatic take on politics suggested the wisdom of tailoring policies to individuals’ unequal aptitudes. While superior aptitudes deserved to be rewarded, inferior aptitudes needed to be carefully watched. Kantian ethics, in particular its assertion of the categorical imperative, inspired the former approach. Utilitarian tenets underpinned the latter. Republicans were therefore torn between enforcing universal principles independently of social conditions and devising policies effectively adapted to the state of society.

With respect to political liberty, for example, republicans did not proclaim the right to vote without hesitation. Convinced of the insufficient capacities of the people,

Émile Littré opposed it at first. As for Jean Macé, the founder of the Ligue de l’enseignement, he deemed that thirty years of mandatory instruction would have been

10 As Susanna Barrows has shown, conservatives refused to admit that socialists owed their electoral victories to the accuracy of their theories. In their opinion, socialist claims were powerful because socialists knew how to manipulate crowds. See Susanna Barrows, Distorting Mirrors: Visions of The Crowd in Late Nineteenth-Century France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981). 4

necessary before universal (male) suffrage could be safely introduced in France.11 To

defend universal suffrage, Léon Gambetta adopted a double strategy. First, he

emphasized that voting was the right of each individual. As he put it, it was not a

privilege of those who could use their reason. He also noted that basing the right to vote

on an intellectual capacity was deceptive as there was no way to assess this capacity.12

Second, he pointed out that the benefits of political liberty outweighed its disadvantages.

Were his colleagues afraid of the peasants’ conservative vote? He maintained that

universal suffrage was the best guarantee against coups and revolutions.13 Moreover,

republicans believed that education would progressively acculturate the population to

republican values. In the end, universal suffrage was adopted both because it was a

valuable right and because it seemed capable of preserving social peace.

The decisions concerning school and theater were more problematic because the

principle of equality seemed to promise disastrous consequences. Republicans recognized

that schools were essential in providing individuals with the education necessary to good

citizens. But they also realized that if everyone received the same education, there was a danger that lower classes would climb up the social ladder. As a consequence, they arranged for all individuals to go to school and they created a separation between primary and secondary schools. Only the imperative of justice could justify the democratization of theaters, finally, for there seemed to be little advantage in encouraging equal access. Like schools, theaters displayed the culture of the elite and could thus potentially facilitate social promotion. In addition, republicans doubted that plays could improve the morals of

11 Pierre Rosanvallon, Le sacre du citoyen: Histoire du suffrage universel en France (Paris: Gallimard, 1992), 344, 369. 12 Ibid., 369. 13 Ibid., 338. 5

the population. The dramatic power of illusion obstructed the delivery of the moral

message. Yet, official theaters (the Opéra, the Opéra-Comique, the Théâtre-Français, and

the Odéon) furthered the national interest: they contributed to the artistic excellence of

the country, and, on this count, they deserved the support of the state. Thus, official

theaters were in the uncomfortable position of receiving subsidies from the state, because

of their artistic achievements, and being denied the status of being a public service,

because of their dubious moral influence on the audience. While it seemed fair to make

these institutions accessible to people whose taxes paid for their upkeep and showed an

interest in attending their performances, all the projects of popular theater devised in the

1880s failed because they ran into considerations of police. In an ideal world of

enlightened citizens, republicans would have applied the principles of equality and liberty

without any restrictions. But, in the real world of somewhat irrational and immoral

citizens, they preferred to subordinate these principles to calculations of utility.

As the comparison with the rights granted to women shows, these calculations of

utility depended on the position of the group in society. Lower classes, who were at the

bottom of the social ladder, were refused the rights that increased chances of social

promotion. They did not normally attend high school and did not usually go to state- subsidized theaters.14 However, they were granted rights, such as political rights, that did

not yield social benefits (at least in the short term). The issue with women was less about

controlling their social ascension, since they were already represented at all the levels of

society, than about curbing their political influence. Thus, republicans allowed girls to

attend high school (through the Camille Sée law of 21 December 1880). But they

14 Christophe Charle talks about the three hundred and forty people of modest backgrounds who miraculously reached the École normale de Saint-Cloud (“ces trois cent quarante miraculés sociaux”). Christophe Charle, Histoire sociale de la France au XIXe siècle (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1991), 338. 6

prevented them from graduating with a baccalauréat and continuing their studies in an

institution of higher education. Republicans were in favor of exposing girls to the secular

values and ideals at the heart of republican political culture because they thought that

women’s Catholic culture (the culture of a majority of women in France) was responsible

for tensions within families. However, republicans did not want women to pretend to

positions of responsibility. The same rationale stood behind republicans’ moves to

deprive women of political rights. Women could write pamphlets in the press and

organize public meetings, but they were not allowed to cast ballots.

My dissertation analyzes the projects of popular theater devised by the republican

governments and assemblies, 1878 to 1893, in order to understand the conflicted point of

view of republicans with regard to the democratization of art. The starting date, 1878,

corresponds to the end of the Moral Order, a period of conservative government at the

beginning of the Third Republic, and to the accession to power of republicans. 1878 was

also the year when Agénor Bardoux, the recently appointed minister of public instruction

and fine arts, presented the first republican project of popular lyric theater. The ending

date, 1893, is the time when Léon Bourgeois left the direction of the fine arts

administration, and the charter of the Opéra, which had allowed for the organization of

numerous popular performances, was renegotiated.15

My dissertation examines projects of popular theater (none of them came to fruition until the foundation of the Théâtre National Populaire in 1920) as well as the popular performances organized in the state-subsidized theaters. It examines both lyric

15 To be exact, Léon Bourgeois left the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts in December 1892 and the new charter was signed in March 1893. 7

and dramatic theater, for republican leaders went back and forth between the two. (Lyric

theater was the most needed, as the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique had monopolies over their respective repertoires. Spoken, dramatic theater was the most feasible, as it cost far less.) Finally, my dissertation is centered on Paris. In the 1880s, republicans did not imagine establishing a popular theater outside the boundaries of the capital. One reason was that the monopolies of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique did not extend to the provinces, making the need for a democratic theater less pressing there. The other reason was that republicans conceived of the popular theater as a mirror to the state-subsidized theaters, and therefore always planned to establish it in Paris.

My research addresses two traditions of scholarship: a French one, which argues that the opportunist governments of the early Third Republic did not attempt to democratize the arts, and an American one, which emphasizes the discriminatory practices of these governments. I show that the failed but real attempts at cultural democratization cannot be understood without taking into account the political leaders’ hierarchical vision of society. Also I contend that, in their analysis of republican discriminations, American scholars have underestimated the strength of the previous regimes’ authoritarian legacy and the republicans’ commitment to individual rights. I argue that democratization and discrimination were two equally attractive paradigms for republicans in the 1880s.16 One promised a world of equality and liberty, while the other

guaranteed a safe and stable world. Since republicans pursued democratization and

discrimination at once, it does not make sense to keep them apart and state their

antagonism. Thus, I study the interactions between the two trends.

16 The republicans did not talk about discrimination but, rather, proposed to treat individuals according to their aptitudes. 8

It is a common opinion among French scholars that France did not have a cultural

policy until the ministry of Cultural Affairs was created in 1959 with André Malraux at

its head.17 French historians have usually argued that the governments of the Third

Republic abided by liberal tenets, which were incompatible with state intervention in the arts. In his L’État et la culture en France au XXe siècle, a book published in 2000 that is a

synthesis of French views on cultural history, Philippe Poirrier, for instance, declared:

“[after 1880,] the liberal logic imposed itself durably and it was not until the Popular

Front (1936-1938) that the state significantly changed its way of envisaging the

modalities of its intervention.”18 Vincent Dubois has argued that the opportunists did not

want the state to intervene in the arts because they did not feel competent in this matter.

They were afraid that, by making choices that were not neutral, they would give birth to

an official art.19 I agree with Dubois that the opportunists wished to carry out a neutral policy, one that was not unduly biased in favor of one artistic school. However, I contend that this aspiration did not discourage them from intervening in the arts. Indeed, they thought that they could achieve this neutrality by respecting universal principles and

rewarding “truly artistic” efforts.

Also, in the budget of the nation, the funds dedicated to the fine arts were

substantial and indicated political choices. Thus, the claim that the governments of the

Third Republic did not have a cultural policy seems unjustified. To understand this claim,

one must realize that what French scholars imply by the lack of a cultural policy is

17 The thesis is most strongly defended by Philippe Urfalino in L’invention de la politique culturelle (Paris: La Documentation française, 1996). 18 “La logique libérale s’impose durablement et il faut attendre le Front populaire pour que l’État infléchisse sensiblement la manière de concevoir les modalités de son intervention.” Philippe Poirrier, L’État et la culture en France au XXe siècle (Paris: Librairie générale française, 2000), 10. 19 Vincent Dubois, La politique culturelle: Genèse d’une catégorie d’intervention publique (Paris: Belin, 1999). 9

actually the absence of a democratizing ambition on the part of the government. In the

domain of theater, for example, Vincent Dubois, Emmanuelle Loyer, and Chantal Meyer-

Plantureux have made independent figures such as Romain Rolland, Maurice Pottecher,

or Firmin Gémier, largely responsible for instigating projects of popular theater around

1900.20 Overlooking the attempts made at the state level, these scholars have identified the democratizing drive with the initiative of left-wing intellectuals.

Jean-Claude Yon is one historian who has eschewed this reductive perspective. In

a 2010 article, he has acknowledged the role of the state, alongside intellectuals and

theater professionals, in promoting projects of popular theater in the nineteenth century.

On the one hand, he argued that the divorce between theater and the popular public

triggered reflection on popular theater among intellectuals and theater professionals. As

theater ceased to be the favorite entertainment of the people during the Second Empire

(1852-1870), intellectuals and theater professionals started to want to bring theater back

to them.21 On the other hand, Yon hinted that the governments of the Second Empire and

the Third Republic obeyed democratic motives. Despite the fact that the authorities of the

Second Empire had ordered the destruction of the private popular theaters situated on the

Boulevard du Crime in 1861, he maintained that the imperial regime “had considered the

question of access of the greatest number of people to theater.”22 In my analysis, there

20 Emmanuelle Loyer has argued that “Ce ne sont ni les hommes politiques, ni les leaders du mouvement ouvrier mais bien des intellectuels en quête de légitimité mais déjà auréolés d’une certaine autonomie sociale qui s’emparent de ce nouveau cheval de bataille.” Emmanuelle Loyer, Le théâtre citoyen de Jean Vilar: Une utopie d’après-guerre (Paris: PUF, 1997), 6. As for Chantal Meyer-Plantureux, she sees the politicians invested in projects of popular theater as the auxiliaries of intellectuals. Chantal Meyer- Plantureux, ed., Théâtre populaire, enjeux politiques: De Jaurès à Malraux (Bruxelles: Éditions Complexe, 2006), 11. 21 Jean-Claude Yon, “Les prémices du théâtre populaire en France au XIXe siècle,” in Théâtre populaire et représentations du peuple, ed. Marion Denizot (Rennes: PUR, 2010), 30. 22 “[un régime qui reposait sur le suffrage universel (fût-il entravé par la candidature officielle) et qui, on le voit,] a réfléchi à la question de l’accès du plus grand nombre au théâtre.” Ibid., 36. 10

were few democratic motives behind the aborted experiments with popular theater.

Bonapartist authorities simply observed that the Parisian population was interested in

Pasdeloup’s popular concerts and Ballande’s literary matinees and they were willing to

bet that the generalization of these events would make the population happier and quieter.

It was this same hope of pacification that had presided over the foundation of theaters in

the suburbs of Paris. Yon also argued that the promoters of popular theater shared a belief

in the educational virtues of theater.23 My contention is that neither Second Empire nor

Third Republic officials trusted the educational power of theater. State projects of

popular theater were spurred by the prospect of social peace during the Second Empire

and the imperative of justice during the Third Republic.

American historians have generally shown much less interest in the cultural

policy of the Third Republic. As a matter of fact, art historians and musicologists have

reflected most on this subject.24 An art historian, Patricia Mainardi, has studied the

attempt to impose “moral order” on the fine arts through the reorganization of the state

exhibition system in the 1870s and the 1880s.25 Jann Pasler, a musicologist, has defended

the idea of music as public utility in Third Republic France.26 In her interpretation, “no

longer opposing duty with pleasure and willing to appropriate qualities associated with

the Ancien Régime, [republicans] wished to democratize pleasures previously associated

23 Ibid., 41. 24 Daniel Sherman has investigated the politics of museums in Worthy Monuments: Arts Museums and the Politics of Culture in Nineteenth-Century France (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989); Albert Boime has analyzed the politics of sculpture in Hollow Icons: The Politics of Sculpture in Nineteenth- Century France (Kent, Ohio: Kent State University Press, 1987); Jane Fulcher has examined the politics of music in French Cultural Politics and Music: From the Dreyfus Affair to the First World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). 25 Patricia Mainardi, The End of the Salon: Art and the State in the Early Third Republic (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 26 Jann Pasler, Composing the Citizen: Music as Public Utility in Third Republic France (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009). 11

with the court and the salons, bring aristocratic ideals to the masses, and make aesthetic

pleasures a goal of public policy.”27 As my dissertation makes clear, I have reservations

vis-à-vis this thesis. Republicans were extremely wary of disseminating the culture of the

elite, and even more of instilling an ethos of pleasure in the masses. In addition,

calculations of utility did not always lead to the democratization of music. Thus, while

republican assemblies regularly voted subsidies to the popular concerts organized by

Pasdeloup, Colonne, and Lamoureux, they could neither secure the organization of

popular performances at the Opéra nor decide upon the creation of a popular Opera.

Theaters in general and lyric theaters in particular were not considered as a public

service, i.e. as fulfilling a mission of public utility, until 1923.

Outside music and art history, American scholars have been mostly interested in

showing the contradictions of the republican regime. Rather than seeing the moving

boundary of the elite’s privileges as a sign of the negotiations taking place between two

competing principles of legitimacy—the equality of treatment by virtue of universal rights, on the one hand, and the inequality of treatment by virtue of different aptitudes, on the other—they have noted the discriminatory practices of the opportunist governments and judged them incompatible with ideals of liberty and equality. Joan Scott, for instance, has described the attitude of the republican leaders at the end of the nineteenth century as hypocritical.28 In her opinion, the republican leaders were aware of the discrepancy

between their generous ideals and their cautious practices, but they did not try to address

it. Although the segregation of women was in contradiction with their ideal of equality,

they were satisfied with the resulting organization of society and did not put it into

27 Ibid., 358-359. 28 Joan Wallach Scott, Only Paradoxes to Offer: French Feminists and the Rights of Man (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996), 106. 12

question. In the colonies, Fred Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler have explained the gap

between fraternal ideals and the mistreatments of the indigenous population as the result

of divergent opinions among the people in charge of devising and implementing

policies.29 Instead of pitting theory against practice, or emphasizing the diversity of

opinions, my dissertation stresses a common culture of prejudices and a changing

conception of justice.

In the debate on the democratization of theater, there was a difference between

progressive and conservative discourses and, to some extent, a difference between the

optimistic declarations of deputies in Parliament and the lack of enthusiasm of the

government in its negotiations with the Paris Municipal Council and theater directors.

However, most striking was the widespread ambivalence of political leaders towards the

democratization of theater. While many of them feared the effects of theater on the

popular public, they tried to overcome their apprehension to ensure the triumph of

equality. In my mind, the fact that it was only isolated individuals, rather than political

groups, which advocated the democratization of theater is a sign that partisan demarcations were less important in this matter than the tension between old and new standards of justice.

The radicals and socialists who trusted the intellectual and moral capacities of the people and could therefore have supported the democratization of theater without fear of bad consequences usually declared that there were more useful things to do than giving money for the entertainment of the population. For the rest of the political class, which

29 Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper, “Between Metropole and Colony: Rethinking a Research Agenda,” in Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World, ed. Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 1-56. 13

distrusted the capacities of the people, theater was not just useless, it was dangerous.

Thus, there was little space for politicians who trusted the capacities of the people and

defended the benefits of dramatic performances. They were scattered among

revolutionary syndicalists (Fernand Pelloutier), socialists (Jean Jaurès, Jules Joffrin), and

radicals (Eugène Viollet-le-Duc). These people considered theater as an instrument of

political propaganda.30 For instance, while Jules Joffrin argued that theater could raise

workers’ political consciousness, Viollet-le-Duc thought it would counteract the pernicious influence of the clergy. Other politicians emphasized individual liberties and the right to culture. A fervent supporter of Léon Gambetta, Antonin Proust, for instance, resented the limits on individual liberties created by the Opéra’s monopoly and prohibitive ticket prices.31 Louis Hémon, an opportunist, suggested that the interest of the

population in the arts justified the intervention of the state to make art broadly available.

His argument was pushed further by Aristide Rey (a socialist) and Jehan de Bouteiller (a

radical) at the Paris Municipal Council.32 The two councilors contended that the

intellectual needs of the people were legitimate and should be fulfilled by local or

national authorities. Their claim had implications that could not be satisfied by the

construction of an edifice to serve as a complement to the elitist theaters. It required the

dissemination of high-brow culture to the entire population. Finally, some right-wing

politicians also supported projects of popular theater. In the 1890s, Raymond Poincaré

endorsed programs of popular education that included dramatic performances. Moreover,

a few Catholics, who remembered the heyday of Jesuit education, when theater was used

30 Fernand Pelloutier, L’art et la révolte: Conférence prononcée le 30 mai 1896 (Paris: Place d’Armes, 2002); .Jean Jaurès, “Le théâtre social,” Revue d’art dramatique 10 (December 1900): 1065-1077. For a more detailed presentation of Joffrin’s and Viollet-le-Duc’s positions, see chapter 7. 31 Proust also submitted several bills in Parliament in support of abolishing the censorship of plays. 32 See chapter 7. 14

to teach good manners and bearing, trusted that they could use theater’s power of illusion

to their advantage.33

For a long time in the nineteenth century, the only thing governments wanted to

know about the popular public of theaters was whether the plays it watched were moral

and whether its demands for entertainment were met. To the first concern, governments

responded by censoring plays and monitoring performances. To the second one,

governments responded by adjusting the number of theaters allowed to operate.34

Authorities did not question the fact that the Opéra catered to the elite because they

believed that the best audience deserved the best theater and, consequently, the popular

public should be content with mediocre theaters. In the 1860s, two decisions durably

transformed the cultural habits of the Parisian public.35 In 1861, Georges Haussmann

demolished the private popular theaters situated along the Boulevard du Crime to build

the Boulevard du Prince-Eugène. In 1864, Napoléon III decreed the freedom of the

theatrical industry.36 By doing so, he removed the cap on the number of theaters and

allowed directors to set their repertoire and prices. As few of the demolished theaters

found a new home and ticket prices rose across the city, the number of popular venues in

33 Abbot Demange encouraged the performance of plays in patronages (Catholic after-school programs) on the condition that the programs be strictly supervised. See François-Jules Demange, De l’abus des plaisirs dans l’éducation contemporaine (Nancy: Fringnel et Guyot, 1883). Canon Deroubaix was more ambivalent and argued that dramatic performances should be banned in patronages. See Deroubaix, Congrès Catholique de Lille, 1885: Rapport présenté à la section des œuvres sociales et charitables sur les représentations dramatiques dans les patronages et les œuvres ouvrières et lu en Assemblée générale le mercredi 18 novembre 1885 . . . (Douai: Albert Duramou, 1885). 34 The Napoleonic decrees of 1806 and 1807 set the number of theaters in Paris and the provinces and fixed their respective genres. 35 In provincial theaters, all the classes of the population were represented except perhaps the most impecunious ones. As a result, the decree of 1864 did not have as much influence on the composition of the public as in Paris. 36 There was no question of artistic freedom, however. Censorship was maintained. 15

Paris plummeted. As a result, theater became a bourgeois leisure and the people started

going to cheaper entertainments, notably the cafés-concerts.

The defection of the popular public to entertainments with looser customs worried the Bonapartist authorities. (The public of the cafés-concerts could walk freely, drink

alcohol and smoke cigarettes, and hear risqué songs.) However, they were much too

skeptical about the educational potential of drama and music to think that an official

popular theater could rectify the ostensibly corrupt taste of the popular public. In their

mind, the only argument in favor of creating a theater for the people was the fact that the

Parisian population expressed an increasing interest in the high-brow repertoire, which it

could not entirely satisfy because of the various obstacles barring the entry to the state-

subsidized theaters. During the Second Empire, the project of organizing a popular

theater responded to a new demand of the public. Settled in power, republican authorities

took this desire seriously too, both because they wanted to take preventive actions to

ensure social peace and because they felt compelled to fulfill their voters’ wishes. Also

they sensed that the exclusion of the popular public from the state-subsidized institutions

was not fair. The principle of individuals’ equal rights was indeed in direct contradiction

with the segregation of publics.

In my analysis, the indifference of the people vis-à-vis theater was not the reason

why political leaders examined popular theater projects so carefully in the nineteenth

century. First, even though some people never set foot again in theaters after the

modification of the Parisian theatrical map in the 1860s, I do not think that they lost

interest in drama and music.37 In fact, a large portion of the population wished to

37 For a comprehensive study of the changes that occurred in this period, see Catherine Naugrette- Christophe, Paris sous le Second Empire, le théâtre et la ville: Essai de topographie théâtrale (Paris: 16

familiarize themselves with the culture of the elite, but could not get close to it because of

financial and geographical constraints, and because there was a pervasive idea that

prestigious institutions were reserved for the upper classes. Before 1914, the vast

majority of workers did not go to state-subsidized theaters; those who did go experienced it as a special event. Indeed, to go to an official theater usually involved much prior saving or a connection with a person who did not mind giving away his or her ticket

(concierges and servants were two favored categories in this regard).

After the fire of the Opéra-Comique in 1887, for instance, a worker confided to a reporter from Le Cri du peuple that his wife and daughter had long wanted to attend a performance of Mignon. He had saved ten francs and seized the opportunity of his daughter’s saint’s name-day to offer them two seats.38 Also, of the hundred or so people

born in the 1890s interviewed by Anne-Marie Thiesse for her survey of popular reading

practices at the Belle Époque, only one woman said that she went to the state-subsidized theaters with her parents on a regular basis. She had a relatively privileged background.

Although her parents worked in a factory (the father in a weapon factory, the mother in a textile mill), they both had their certificat d’études (an examination that was taken by the best students of primary schools). Born in 1895 in the fifteenth district of Paris, she herself had attended school until the age of fifteen and passed her brevet.39

Librairie théâtrale, 1998). Haussmann’s renovation also triggered a redistribution of the population within Paris. The wealthy population tended to live in the western neighborhoods, whereas the poor congregated in the eastern part of the city. 38 Le Cri du peuple, 29 May 1887. This testimony is consistent with what Jeanne Bouvier later said about her cultural practices. Although she earned five francs a day and was single, she needed to work extra in order to pay for a ticket at the Opéra-Comique. See Jeanne Bouvier, Mes mémoires: Une syndicaliste féministe, 1876-1935 (Paris: La Découverte/Maspéro, 1983), 92. 39 Anne-Marie Thiesse, Le roman du quotidien: Lecteurs et lectures populaires à la Belle Époque (Paris: Seuil, 2000), 72. 17

This same woman (Thiesse does not name her, she worked in the dyeing industry)

recounted that, when she went to confession just before her wedding, she received a

penance because she had been to the movies and read some frivolous literature.40 Her

testimony is a reminder that workers had few sources of entertainment because such

“distractions” represented a great expense in the budget of their families, and also because they incurred moral reprobation from the Church and moralists, as well as from the members of the elite in general, if in a milder fashion. Frédéric Le Play’s model worker is a worker who does not go to the theater. Thus, one of his fellow inquirers,

Joseph Paviez, once remarked approvingly: “The family [of this police officer] does not split to take its recreation, and, though it makes a few useless expenses, it makes them as a family and by common agreement.”41

Another reason why popular classes did not go to the theater was the remoteness of the venues in certain places. Theater was essentially an urban practice in the nineteenth century. In the countryside, people waited for itinerant troupes to visit their village. In the suburbs of Paris, workers went to the local theater when there was one.42 Otherwise, as

Christophe Charle has noted, they rarely went to Parisian theaters. And for a good reason.

In order to attend the performance of Victorien Sardou’s Famille Benoîton (a major

success of the 1860s), the inhabitants of Belleville had to organize their own

40 Ibid. 41 “En résumé, la famille ne se désunit pas pour prendre ses récréations, et, si quelques dépenses sont inutiles, elle les fait ensemble et d’un commun accord.” Interview of a police officer (brigadier de la Garde républicaine) by Joseph Paviez, carried out in 1881, in Frédéric Le Play, ed., Ouvriers des deux mondes (Thomery: A l’enseigne de l’Arbre Verdoyant, 1983), 317. 42 Jean-Paul Brunet has observed a dramatic change in cultural practices after the Saint-Denis municipal theater was open in 1902. See Jean-Paul Brunet, Saint-Denis, la ville rouge: Socialisme et communisme en banlieue ouvrière, 1890-1939 (Paris: Hachette, 1980), 100-101. The information is corroborated by Lenard Berlanstein in The Working People of Paris, 1871-1914 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984). 18

transportation.43 At a time when individual cars did not exist, this was no small task, and,

therefore, this kind of arrangement was reserved for the most popular plays. Even so, the

additional cost of transport discouraged workers and, often, only the petty bourgeoisie

went to Parisian theaters. In their autobiographies, workers often voiced frustration at this

state of affairs. They talked about their desire to go to the theater and their pleasure at

attending performances.44 However, they also said that this desire was often thwarted by

the lack of financial means. Thus, when some lawmakers declared that workers had lost

interest in theater and preferred the lower genre of the café-concert, it dismissed both

empirical clues and workers’ statements to the contrary. In fact, it had reasons for such

dismissals. To assert that workers had a bad taste was to explain why the audience of the

Opéra was select and to minimize the responsibility of the state to enlarge it.

However, even if other members of the elite pointed out that portions of the

population were frustrated in their desire to access institutions of high culture, the interest

of the population was not sufficient to convince governments to democratize the Opéra.

The proof is that Second Empire officials did notice the popular attendance at

Pasdeloup’s concerts and, yet, did not take steps to make the Opéra more accessible. My dissertation argues that, in order for a policy to be put in place, politicians had to develop the idea that everyone should be able to enter the public building. In other words, there had to be the notion that individuals had an equal right to attend performances in a state- subsidized institution. And this right was introduced by republicans. It is remarkable that in the discussions surrounding the creation of a popular theater, arguments made in the

43 Christophe Charle, Théâtres en capitales: Naissance de la société du spectacle à Paris, Berlin, Londres et Vienne, 1860-1914 (Paris: Albin Michel, 2008), 211. 44 In his memoirs, Norbert Truquin declared that he went to the theater whenever he had enough money. See Norbert Truquin, Mémoires et aventures d’un prolétaire à travers la Révolution: L’Algérie, la République argentine et le Paraguay (Paris: Maspéro, 1977). 19 name of reason took precedence over the will of the population. However, the raison d’État was divided between an unconditional respect for universal principles and a selective application based on individual circumstances. One course of action furthered justice but threatened the peace. The other maintained the peace but, since its legitimacy was not anchored in a universal principle, it stood on weak foundations. In fact, its legitimacy totally depended on the authority of the state. If governments could convince the population that the state possessed a superior rationality and morality, the population would trust that the state made good decisions and it would tacitly give its assent.

However, if the state did not inspire confidence in the population, then people were inclined to doubt that the state could fairly assess individuals’ aptitudes and that inequalities of treatment were well grounded. It is my contention that, in order to proceed fully, the democratization of theater required not only the recognition of individuals’ equal rights, but also the relativization of the state’s authority.

The republican governments of the 1880s conceived of their interventions in theater and in the other arts in similar terms.45 The public of museums, for instance, was divided between the refined public of connoisseurs and the coarse public of ordinary people.46 This division corresponded to different abilities to make moral and aesthetic judgments. For instance, republicans anticipated that the public of connoisseurs would see the work of art behind the nude, whereas the ordinary public would relish the obscene

45 There is a detailed comparison of theater with the other arts in chapter 2. 46 Dominique Poulot, “L’invention de la bonne volonté culturelle: L’image des musées au XIXe siècle,” Le Mouvement social, no. 131 (April-June 1985): 55. 20

picture.47 Yet, the republicans deemed that museums could have a certain utility.48 As a

result, they had less qualms about letting the people into the national museums. The

admission prices in particular were notably lower than at the Opéra. Thus, in 1877, it was

possible for Émile Zola to imagine that Copeau and Gervaise, along with their party,

might go to the Louvre after their wedding ceremony.49 As early as 1872, Jules Simon supported the project of a popular museum, the museum of copies. However, the difficulty of executing satisfactory copies and, above all, the resistance of the public meant that the project had to be abandoned.50 As Chantal Georgel has pointed out,

representatives of the provinces in Parliament also protested the unequal distribution of

artworks.51 Remarkably, when commentators agreed upon the educational value of the medium, their discussions revolved around the fairness of differentiated treatment rather

than around the organization of individuals’ equal access to official institutions.

Nick Prior and Tony Bennett have described a similar situation in Britain, where

utility was a central concept of cultural policy. Nick Prior, for instance, argues that late

nineteenth-century museums were conceived on instrumental lines, “not only to broaden

public education and raise the profile of British design and manufacturing, but also to

specify norms of individual conduct.”52 Tony Bennett analyzes the debate over the utility

of the National Gallery in London around the middle of the nineteenth century. He notes

that some reformers thought of dividing the museum in order to adapt it to the different

47 This view was generally shared by the members of the elite, whatever their political opinions. A liberal Catholic, George Fonsegrive later defended it in a book entitled Art et pornographie (Paris: Bloud, 1911). 48 Museums were granted the status of “public establishment” (“établissement public”) in 1895. 49 Émile Zola, L’assommoir (Paris: Charpentier, 1877). 50 Philippe de Chennevières’ report to the minister of public instruction, worship, and fine arts, Mr. de Fourtou, in the Journal officiel de la République française of 6 January 1874. 51 Chantal Georgel, “L’État et ‘ses’ musées de province ou comment ‘concilier la liberté d’initiative des villes et les devoirs de l’État’,” Le Mouvement social, no. 160 (July-September 1992): 65-77. 52 Nick Prior, “Museums: Leisure between State and Distinction,” in Histories of Leisure ed. Rudy Koshar (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 2002), 37. 21

capacities of its public. To show popular classes second-rate artworks however raised an

uncomfortable possibility. Popular classes would indeed disseminate this second-rate

culture throughout the country.53

Britain’s cultural policy was dictated by considerations of utility. Thus, museums

received more public funding than theaters because they were supposed to educate more.

And British governments gave more money to museums in the 1850s and 1860s, when

people believed in the positive influence of art on the morality of the population, than

towards the end of the nineteenth century, when decadents and aesthetes discredited this

belief.54 In France, there was a clear division of tasks. On the one hand, republicans

assumed that individuals followed their personal interest and could only pursue

commercial activities. On the other hand, the state, which had the general interest in

sight, was entrusted with an artistic mission. In Britain, by contrast, there was a strong

bias against the intervention of the state in the arts. As the example of Tate’s gift shows

(Tate almost withdrew his gift as a result of the government’s indifference), the state

withheld its assistance as long as private initiative could cope. Given the small financial

contribution to the arts, British governments did not have to worry about ensuring equal

access to publicly funded institutions. Thus, the issue of rights was largely absent from

the debates on cultural policy. British people were more preoccupied with the foundation

of a national theater, whether funded by the state or not, than with the creation of a

popular theater.

53 Tony Bennett, “The Multiplication of Culture’s Utility,” Critical Inquiry 21, no. 4 (Summer 1995): 861- 889. 54 Janet Minihan, The Nationalization of Culture: The Development of State Subsidies to the Arts in Great Britain (New York: New York University Press, 1977), 166. 22

French officials were taken by the idea of less state intervention. In 1890, for

instance, the French minister of public instruction and fine arts commissioned a report on

art and state in Britain, whose conclusions favored the development of private initiative

in France.55 However, it was difficult for French governments to give up their control

over artistic institutions and the appeal was ultimately ignored. The Austrian and German models were another source of inspiration. In both empires, theater was still a popular entertainment. There was no official popular theater but a myriad of private theaters whose relatively cheap tickets made them accessible to the popular public. Moreover, the audience of elite theaters was much more diverse than in Paris and workers had their own theater. In a 1896 report on the organization of the main theaters in Germany and Austria,

Albert Carré explained that the high level of subsidies allowed the directors of the court theaters to reduce ticket prices significantly. For instance, the Berlin Opera received double the subsidy of the French Opéra. And while an orchestra seat cost on average 15 francs at the Opéra (14 francs at the box office, 16 francs when booked in advance), a similar seat cost 8.4 francs (4 florins) in Vienna, 7.5 francs (6 marks) in Berlin, and 6.25 francs (5 marks) in Munich.56 Carré suggested that it was necessary to raise the level of

subsidies in order to democratize theater in France. His conclusion was thus the opposite

of that of Fidière. This difference of opinion was more than the mere disagreement

between two individuals. It expressed the deep ambivalence of republican governments,

55 See Octave Fidière’s report in the Journal officiel de la République française of 28 April 1891. 56 Albert Carré, “Les théâtres en Allemagne et en Autriche,” Revue de Paris, 1 March 1898, 151. 23

which hesitated between intervening less to give free rein to private initiative and

intervening more to promote art and carry out justice.57

Focusing on court theaters, Carré did not talk about the stages maintained by

workers. Yet, in Germany, the Freie Volksbühne and, for a time, its competitor, the Neue

Freie Volksbühne, had an immense following. In 1911-1912, just before the two theaters

reunited, the Neue Freie Volksbühne had 50,000 members just by itself.58 Why then did

French socialists not have their own, visible, theater?59 One reason was that socialist

parties and trade unions gathered less members in France, and so did not have the same

liberty of undertaking projects that required a certain critical mass, such as managing a

theater. Another reason was that orthodox Marxists, who occupied a prominent position

in the French socialist movement, advised against organizing performances for the sake of political propaganda. They did not oppose the idea of mounting a play to foster conviviality among party members or raise money for good causes (usually to help fellow

strikers).60 But, as Jules Guesde and Paul Lafargue argued, the plays written by intellectuals reflected the interests of the bourgeoisie and could do nothing to raise workers’ class consciousness.

In Germany, orthodox Marxists dominated the Social Democratic Party and they

also emphasized the precedence of political activities over educational pursuits. Karl

Liebknecht, for instance, declared that workers should primarily direct their efforts

57 Antonin Proust was a good example of this ambivalence. On the one hand, he wanted to protect individual liberties and encourage private initiative. On the other hand, he proposed that the state take over the management of the Opéra. 58 Andrew Bonnell, The People’s Stage in Imperial Germany: Social Democracy and Culture, 1890-1914 (London: Tauris Academic Studies, 2005). 59 As Marjorie Gaudemer has shown, most of the actors performing on socialist stages were amateurs. See Marjorie Gaudemer, “Le théâtre socialiste dans le nord de la France avant 1914,” L’Annuaire théâtral: Revue québécoise d’études théâtrales, no. 39 (Spring 2006): 143-151. 60 One can find descriptions of such performances in the police archives. See, for instance, the BA 1544 box on the Maison du Peuple de Paris, in the archives of the Paris Préfecture de Police. 24

towards the transformation of social and political conditions.61 However, as the SPD was

outlawed (from 1878 to 1890) and possibilities of political activism became more limited,

cultural endeavors took on more and more importance. At first, cultural associations

served to cover up political activities, but, progressively, culture became an end in itself.

Since there existed few properly socialist plays, the Freie Volksbühne relied on a

selection of bourgeois literature, mostly naturalist dramas and classics. After the

association was reconstituted in 1897, the revisionist view, which proposed to raise the

cultural level of workers so that they could fully appreciate the products of bourgeois

culture, definitely won out over the orthodox view, which advocated a critical

appropriation of bourgeois artifacts. In the end, the existence of a flourishing socialist

theater in Germany was due to a combination of factors: a relative ideological flexibility

and political circumstances that favored the pursuit of cultural goals.

There are two words that come up regularly in the dissertation and require some

explanation. These two words are “republican” and “the people.” By “republican,” I

mean a person who accepted the institutions of the Third Republic and abided by the

principles contained in the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. In the

1880s, the republicans were on the left of the political spectrum. Right-wing politicians,

monarchists and Bonapartists alike, opposed the parliamentary regime. Not all left-wing

politicians were republican however. The revolutionaries, including the socialists and the

anarchists, wanted to overthrow the capitalist regime. The republican family consisted of

the opportunists, the radicals, and the reformist socialists. Unlike moderates who liked to

61 For a detailed analysis of the SPD’s position on culture, see Andrew Bonnell’s The People’s Stage in Imperial Germany. 25

identify themselves with the left, republicans were proud of calling themselves

republicans. The opportunists, for instance, were massively represented in the group of

the Gauche républicaine (which notably comprised Jules Simon, Jules Ferry, and Jules

Grévy) and that of the Union républicaine (which was led by Léon Gambetta). Whenever

conservatives threatened to win the legislative elections, the republicans also asked their

followers to submit to the “republican” discipline. In the 1880s, they were continuously

in power. As Odile Rudelle has shown, the groups composing the republican family were

the only ones to possess political legitimacy and, therefore, no other parliamentary

majority was possible.62

The second word that requires explication is “the people” (“le peuple”). At the

end of the nineteenth century, the republicans frequently used the word “the people,” but

they were in no way the only ones. The word, in fact, had a long history and was claimed

by different political traditions. Hence its multiple meanings. The word, for instance,

oscillated between the expression of the part and the expression of the whole. Thus,

French revolutionaries had at times identified the people with the nation, and at times

with the Third Estate. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, “the people” were often

pitted against another group of individuals, which changed with the political opinion of

the person who spoke. In his famous 1895 essay, Gustave Le Bon, a conservative,

associated “the people” with suggestible crowds and opposed them with the aristocracy.63

By “the people,” socialists understood the working class, which they distinguished from

the bourgeoisie.

62 Odile Rudelle, La République absolue: Aux origines de l’instabilité constitutionnelle de la France républicaine, 1870-1889 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1986). 63 Gustave Le Bon, Psychologie des foules (Paris: PUF, 2002). 26

Because they sought the collaboration of individuals and not the domination of one group over another, republicans were less tempted to analyze society in oppositional terms. While they used the term “the people,” and opposed it to the elite, they still abided by the principle of popular sovereignty. They based their hierarchy on an inequality of aptitudes. In a democratic society, such an argument can be valid only if the aptitudes assessed are relevant to the proposed policy and the assessment itself is conducted fairly.

However, the aptitudes republicans took into account ranged widely over a variety of domains and were not assessed according to fair standards. Republicans deduced the moral and intellectual capacities of individuals from their economic power, social standing, and political influence. Thus, students of high school preparatory classes did not go there because of their superior intellectual capacities, but rather because they were born into a bourgeois family. Or, more exactly, their being born into a bourgeois family implied that they had superior intellectual capacities. In theaters, it was the moral weakness of the people that was the obstacle to the democratization of the public. Again, governments did not conduct any assessment to distinguish between the moral capacities of the public. They assumed that those who could afford to buy a ticket at the Opéra were moral. Since the elite was automatically credited with higher capacities, the concept of merit referred to the essence of a group rather than to the actions of individuals. In my dissertation, I show that, in the 1880s, the principle of individuals’ equal rights challenged this division of the population into classes as well as the unequal treatment that was predicated on it.

As should be clear, I do not associate a fixed essence with “the people.” I agree with Stuart Hall that “the people and popular culture can be best described through a

27

dialectical relation with what is not popular.”64 Thus, in France, “the people” were

defined in contrast to the elite. Whether willingly or not, they did not go to the Opéra.

The recognition of the category of “the people” made it both necessary and impossible to

democratize theater. On the one hand, “the people” were by definition absent from the

Opéra, a situation that was unfair according to the standard of individuals’ equal rights.

On the other hand, the people had to be kept away from the Opéra because, by definition,

they had inferior moral abilities and threatened to upset social order. It seemed that, as

long as the people would be defined in negative terms, that is to say, as long as the

category of “the people” would exist, the popular theater could only be a pale image of

the Opéra. This is perhaps the reason why the government of the Popular Front did so

little to “popularize” theater.65

My dissertation argues that, although the principle of equal rights stated in the

constitution of the Third Republic did not immediately hold sway, it did undermine the

legitimacy of the unequal treatment of individuals. It challenged both the discretionary

powers of the state (based on the assumption that the state was above individuals because

it could make decisions from a universal point of view) and its discriminatory practices

(based on the assumption that the people as a class had inferior aptitudes). The republican

governments’ hierarchical vision of society in fact justified the politics of

democratization and hindered it at the same time. On the one hand, the state was

entrusted with an artistic mission because it could rise above particular interests.

64 Stuart Hall, “On Deconstructing the Popular,” in People’s History and Socialist Theory ed. Raphael Samuel (London: Routledge, 1981), 227-40. 65 Pascal Ory has pointed to the paradox of the Popular Front’s policy, which did much more to renew the inspiration of artists and playwrights than to popularize theater. Pascal Ory, La belle illusion: Culture et politique sous le signe du Front populaire, 1935-1938 (Paris: Plon, 1994), 382. 28

Therefore, because it was beholden to the principle of equality, the state was also

responsible for making subsidized theaters accessible to the people. On the other hand,

the republican governments of the 1880s believed that the people had inferior moral

abilities and could potentially interpret plays in a dangerous manner. Therefore, by virtue

of the principle of utility, the people had to be kept away from official institutions. My

dissertation regards the successive incarnations of popular theater as the various solutions

imagined by republican governments to deal with this antagonism.

My dissertation is divided into two parts. The first part presents the context in

which popular theater projects were discussed. The first chapter thereof analyzes the

debates on theatrical legislation. The second chapter investigates the relationship between

theater and popular education. Both chapters show the tension between a logic of rights

and a logic of police. In Parliament, a majority of republican representatives voted to

maintain censorship (based on the presupposition of an inferior moral capacity amongst women and lower classes) and high subsidies to the Opéra (which allowed the Opéra to mount luxurious productions and retain its superiority over the other theaters).

Republican educators were divided between the benefits of a disinterested culture (as an antidote to materialism) and the dangerous effects of illusion on popular minds (the misinterpretation of plays leading to the misrepresentation of the self in society). They deemed theater so harmful to one part of the population that they refused to grant theater the status of a public service and denied the population the right to a theatrical education.

The second part is a chronicle of popular theater projects between 1878 and 1893.

It looks at the projects devised by the Parliament, the government, the City of Paris, and the directors of subsidized theaters, separately or in collaboration. It shows how, at the

29 end of the nineteenth century, reflection on theatrical democratization evolved through a combination of negotiations and trials (and many dead ends). Between 1878 and 1893, three projects of popular theater stand out in the history of democratization. The first one was supported by Agénor Bardoux, the minister of public instruction and fine arts from

1877 to 1879. Bardoux claimed that democratization happened spontaneously: artworks, produced at the top of society, naturally found their way to its bottom. He also thought that the dissemination of artworks was not a state mission. Rather, it was the responsibility of local authorities. Thus, for a long time, Bardoux resisted the idea of a popular theater. When, eventually, the deputies in the House forced him to draft a project, he proposed the creation of a lyric theater with a double mission, artistic and democratic.

The artistic mission, supported by the state, consisted in training young artists, librettists and composers. The democratic mission, supported by the City of Paris, aimed at the entertainment of the Parisian population. The project failed as the fine arts administration and the Paris Municipal Council could not agree on the repertoire of the Théâtre-Lyrique populaire. While Bardoux advocated the performance of new works by young composers, the radical Paris Council, behind which stood Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, requested the repertoire of the Opéra.

With the next project, the fine arts administration understood that the collaboration with the City of Paris required concessions to democracy. To this effect,

Jules Ferry added a clause to the charter of the Opéra that stipulated that the new lyric theater would be allowed to perform ten works from the Opéra’s domain that did not belong to the current repertoire. Ferry also gave up on the artistic function of the popular theater. In his mind, the Opéra populaire was not primarily a training theater for artists.

30

The Opéra populaire and its dramatic counterpart, the Théâtre dramatique populaire, were

the mirror images of the Opéra and the Comédie-Française. For instance, while the Opéra was defined by the luxury of its productions, the Opéra populaire was explicitly refused such luxury. Thus, the elite enjoyed the most recent masterworks in the most beautiful stage sets and the people watched mediocre productions of outmoded operas. Despite reservations with the repertoire of the Opéra populaire, the Paris Municipal Council accepted collaboration on this basis.66 However, the Ferry administration suddenly withdrew the project and suggested that the available funds be used to purchase the stage sets of the Odéon. Ferry’s decision can be interpreted in several ways. On the one hand, he may have thought that theater did not have the capacity to educate individuals and it was better for the state to keep to its artistic mission. On the other hand, he may have had doubts about the utility of a differentiated theater. If the point of democratizing theater was to enlarge the Opéra’s audience, the Opéra populaire did not solve the issue.

The third important project of popular theater was an attempt at organizing popular performances at the Opéra in 1892. The project was submitted by Eugène

Bertrand, the director of the Opéra, and supported by Léon Bourgeois, the minister of

public instruction and fine arts. The reduced-price performances proposed by Bertrand

did take place, but they had to be stopped after a year. Purportedly, only people who were

already familiar with the Opéra went to these performances. Thus, not only did the

reduced-price performances do nothing to democratize the prestigious institution, but

they depleted the audience of the regular performances. Despite its brevity, the

experiment was significant. It announced the shift to a new understanding of

66 The Paris Municipal Council did not contest the ban on luxurious productions because it did not acknowledge luxury as the criterion of artistic quality. It contended that the Parisian population was only interested in art and did not need the trappings of luxury to enjoy lyric productions. 31

democratization. Whereas earlier projects intended to show second-rate works to the people, Bourgeois wanted to put the people in contact with masterworks. His idea was that a common culture would further the unity of the nation. However, since he feared that the people might use the culture of the elite to gain positions of power, he wanted to restrict their access to it and leave them culturally deprived. He was an advocate of a

“marginal democratization.”

32

Part I

Official Views on Theater

33

Chapter 1

Theater and the Law

“No cultural policy, but a system of institutions which corresponds to a political

culture, that of liberalism.”67 This is how Marie-Claude Genet-Delacroix characterized the fine arts policy of the Third Republic in a path-breaking book published almost twenty years ago. She has not been the only scholar to think dismissively of the republican attempts at organizing culture at the end of the nineteenth century. On the grounds that previous policies lacked coherence and foundation, Philippe Urfalino has claimed that there was no cultural policy per se until 1959, when André Malraux took the reins of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs.68 No matter whether the politicians of the Third

Republic did not wish to intervene in the arts out of liberal economic principles, as

Genet-Delacroix argued, or they did not give the subject enough reflection, as Urfalino

suggested, both authors agreed that republicans did not settle on a consistent program of

action.

67 “Point de politique culturelle, mais un système d’institutions, qui correspond à une culture politique, celle du libéralisme.” Marie-Claude Genet-Delacroix, Art et État sous la IIIe République: Le système des beaux- arts, 1870-1940 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1992), 3. 68 Philippe Urfalino, L’Invention de la politique culturelle (Paris: La Documentation française, 1996), 9, 18. 34

If one judges by the laws passed in the 1880s, it is true that there is little to vouch

for a specifically republican cultural policy. The legislation on theater was remarkably similar to that of the previous—authoritarian—regime. While censorship still prevailed over artistic freedom, subsidies remained at the same level as before and their uneven distribution continued to support a hierarchy of theaters grounded in the luxury of performances. Yet it is also in the course of this decade that the focus of republican critiques shifted from condemning the official artistic standard and business-like management of national theaters to deploring the absence of a “popular” public in the institutions patronized by the state.69 Democratizing the audience of subsidized theaters became a new imperative.

The fact that some republicans, mostly opportunists, did not relinquish their belief in hierarchical principles when they embraced the principle of democratization may have contributed to the depreciative judgments of scholars. Indeed these politicians, who had a decisive influence on the shaping of government policy, tried to reconcile principles that were hardly compatible. For instance, they set out to democratize theater through centralization. By concentrating resources in a few institutions, they hoped to maintain the artistic prestige of the country and to provide a model of taste that could be disseminated to the whole population. They also thought that they could organize popular performances, at reduced prices, in the same institutions whose directors they compelled to spend lavishly on productions.

69 I use the term “popular” in the sense defined by Stuart Hall. Hall argues that the people and popular culture are not fixed entities. They can be best described through a dialectical relation with what is not popular. See Stuart Hall, “On Deconstructing the Popular,” in People’s History and Socialist Theory (London: Routledge, 1981), 227-40. 35

Not surprisingly, they had difficulties achieving their goal of democratization.

Their republican critics, often members of the radical Left, pointed to the exclusive

audience of subsidized theaters during regular performances, as well as to the reluctance

of directors to hold popular performances.70 Radical critics also did not believe that good

taste spontaneously trickled down from Parisian institutions to the most remote villages

of France. In their mind, to make theater democratic, the government needed to adopt a

different approach to the problem. They suggested undertaking democratization through

decentralization or abandoning the costly requirement of luxury.71 Still a majority of their

republican colleagues in Parliament would not heed their advice, leaving the

democratization of theater largely out of state oversight.

In this chapter, I will try to understand the motivations for this overall resistance to the democratization of theater. Analyzing parliamentary debates on the issue of state intervention in the arts, I will show the tensions at play between a rhetoric of rights, advocating universal access to theater and artistic freedom, and a rhetoric of police, making the state responsible for maintaining artistic standards and protecting the public

from the dangers of a theatrical performance. In my analysis of republican discourses on

culture, I will go as far back as the end of the Second Empire, when republican

representatives were not in charge of government policy and sharply criticized

encroachments on individuals’ liberties, and go up to the 1891-1892 debates on

censorship, when republican representatives in power defended a systematic control of

dramatic plays, which revealed apprehensive representations of theater and the people.

70 The radicals were divided between the moderate Gauche radicale and the radical-socialists. See Gérard Baal, Histoire du radicalisme (Paris: La Découverte, 1994). 71 A clause in the 1891 charter of the Opéra for instance obliged the director to run the institution “with the dignity and brilliance that fitted the premier national lyric theater.” Title I, Article 1, Opéra charter signed by Léon Bourgeois and Eugène Bertrand on 18 April 1891, AN F 21 4655. 36

Second Empire: The Defense of Individual Liberties

Under the Second Empire, republican representatives at the Corps législatif had different opinions on what the cultural policy of the state should be, but they shared a profound distrust of authoritarian practices. Even if the democratization of theatrical audiences was not on their minds, they were unanimous in defending artistic freedom and denouncing a theatrical hierarchy artificially created by the state, thereby shaping a rhetoric of rights.

A republican deputy at the Corps législatif, Jules Simon asserted that censorship was a purely political tool, which could do nothing to ensure the morality of plays. In his mind, the decadence of art resulted from the corruption of mores and the only remedy for it was liberty. Liberty indeed, he asserted, was the only way of expressing truth.72 His

colleague and fellow deputy Eugène Pelletan agreed that freedom was the only way to

fight immorality in the population. He was however more critical of censorship, accusing

it of encouraging insignificant and licentious writings and, as a result, distracting people

from intellectual pleasures.73

Pelletan criticized government action in the domain of subsidies too. Not only did

subsidized theaters not fulfill the clauses of their charter but subsidies, on principle,

disrupted the market economy. Subsidies were not just unfair, they were harmful. Instead

of performing new plays and thus helping young playwrights, subsidized theaters used

72 Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of the Emperor’s House and Fine Arts at the Legislative Body, 25 June 1866, Annales du Sénat et du Corps Législatif, 194. 73 Pelletan declared for instance: “De tout temps et en tout pays, lorsqu’on n’a pas toutes les facilités désirables pour se livrer aux nobles et aux pures jouissances de l’esprit, on se réfugie et on se précipite dans les jouissances physiques du plaisir.” Discussion of the draft address at the Legislative Body, 21 March 1866, Annales du Sénat et du Corps Législatif, 237. 37

public money to pay extravagant salaries to established artists. Pelletan complained that

subsidies were not given in recognition for deserving work.74 In addition, subsidies

threatened to disturb the theatrical market. As they could neither stimulate the production

of quality plays nor attract the public to a more demanding repertoire, subsidies in the end

only succeeded in making audacious programming more difficult for those theaters that

did not receive financial support.75

Less insistent on liberal economic principles, Jules Favre and Jules Simon were

more accepting of subsidies. Simon was persuaded that high art was intrinsically moral

and could exert a moral influence on the public. He therefore supported the idea of giving

subsidies to a few theaters so that they would perform masterworks. He especially

encouraged Napoleon III’s administration to stage seventeenth-century plays by

Corneille, Racine, and Molière. His approach was thus more that of suggestion than of

criticism. Jules Favre, on the other hand, called for a reform of the subsidy system.

Noting a discrepancy between the proclaimed goals of the Bonapartist theatrical policy

and the actual budget lines, he argued that subsidies should be distributed more equally

among official theaters. In theory, subsidies were supposed to help authors and

composers in the initial stages of their career and to support theaters that dared show less

popular works. However, Favre pointed out that the bulk of subsidies went to the Opéra,

a theater whose mission was to perform consecrated authors and composers and that used

subsidies to finance attractive productions. Being a profitable business, the Opéra did not

need subsidies in larger amounts than the other lyric and drama theaters. As Favre

74 Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of the Emperor’s House and Fine Arts at the Legislative Body, 19 July 1867, Annales du Sénat et du Corps Législatif, 213-214. 75 Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of the Emperor’s House and Fine Arts at the Legislative Body, 20 April 1869, Journal officiel de l’Empire français, 570. 38

contended, the brilliance of its performances might suffer from a reduced allowance, but

artistic progress would not.76

Under the Second Empire, the republicans’ rhetoric insisted on the defense of

individual rights and interests. The opposition to censorship reflected a concern for

individual liberties, while the criticism of subsidies was rooted in the wise use of tax- payer’s money. After 1870, the political context changed radically. Not only did a republican regime replace the Empire but the bloody events of the Commune cast a doubt on the possibility of cooperation between the government and workers. Though republicans were not in control of the political machinery, it was not sure whether they would continue to contest state prerogatives and give the priority to individual rights and interests.

Moral Order: A Certain Idea of the Nation

The advent of the Third Republic did not trigger dramatic changes in theatrical policy. The state remained as little engaged in the management of “public” theaters as it was before the fall of the Second Empire. Censorship, after being briefly suppressed in

1870-1874, was reinstated.77 And subsidies, though handed on a smaller scale since 1870,

kept on being distributed as unevenly as before. Yet, republican representatives did not

76 Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of the Emperor’s House and Fine Arts at the Legislative Body, 20 July 1868, Annales du Sénat et du Corps Législatif, 155-156. 77 Censorship was abolished by a decree of the Government of National Defense of 30 September 1870, practiced by the military government during the siege, and finally reinstated by decree on 1 February 1874. 39

voice any criticism. For the whole period of Moral Order, the republicans who had not sided with the Communards were both more cautious vis-à-vis individuals, who had

proved once more that they could revolt, and more confident vis-à-vis the state, which

was now bound by republican institutions. To be exact, they recognized separate spheres

of competence. While individuals were still deemed to be the best entrepreneurs, the state

was the sole authority in the domain of art and morality. But private and public interests

did not coincide and whenever they clashed, individuals’ rights retreated before the

raison d’État.

In the 1870s, the suppression of subsidies, or at least their reorganization, was not

on the republican agenda. Faced with what they considered to be a decline in public taste,

republican representatives now believed that subsidies were the only means to reverse the downward trend and maintain artistic standards. In 1872, for instance, Count d’Osmoy, a center-left deputy, equated the suppression of subsidies with the end of art.78 Pushing the

argument further, Jules Simon, then the minister of public instruction, worship, and fine

arts, explained that there was an incompatibility between business and art due to the

corrupted taste of the vast majority of the public. Simon was convinced that, except for

an elite of fine connoisseurs, people were not usually interested in the products of high

literature. They preferred to lose themselves in visual effects. Thus, if directors followed

the economic logic and satisfied the public’s demands, they made profit but tended to

neglect the artistic dimension. In Simon’s words, the directors of non-subsidized theaters

were “merchants who sought success in the crowd’s passions” (“des marchands

78 Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of Public Instruction, Worship, and Fine Arts at the Assemblée nationale, 20 March 1872, Moniteur universel, 2000. 40

cherchant leurs succès dans les passions de la foule”).79 If, on the contrary, directors tried

to uphold artistic standards, they soon ran out of business. Only subsidies, Simon

thought, could help directors escape the pressures of the market. Indeed, by receiving a

financial compensation for the sparse attendance, directors did not have to bow to the

public’s taste. Quite the opposite, they could stage plays that would improve it.80

Although Simon strongly believed in the power of subsidies, he did not envisage state intervention beyond this temporary aid. In his mind, the state was the embodiment of morality and could not become involved in a business without losing its impartiality.

Acting as an individual, the state was likely to lose sight of the general interest. In addition, the state was less qualified than individuals to undertake a business. Using vivid imagery, Simon opposed the lethargy of the civil servant to the energy of the businessman.81 With respect to the theatrical market, these objections were heightened by

the fact that the public was not always receptive to the efforts of the direction. As a

general rule, the higher artistic expectations were, the less the public came, and the bigger

the deficit of the theater was. Therefore, the state could only choose between two

unsatisfying alternatives: either the theater ran a deficit, which would inevitably provoke

accusations of bad management from the constituents, or it had to make concessions to

the public’s taste, which would be interpreted as a surrender to lower artistic standards. In

those conditions, one understands why Simon recommended that the state stay away from

theatrical management.

79 Ibid., 2002. 80 Ibid. 81 Jules Simon, La liberté (Paris: Hachette, 1859), 2:169-171. 41

During the first decade of the Third Republic, Simon’s distrust of state

intervention was shared by a majority of republican representatives. Antonin Proust’s

proposal of turning the Opéra into a state-owned company in 1878 was an isolated

initiative. Without hesitation, the Parliament rejected the bill of the future Arts minister82

and the opera house remained in private hands. An analysis of parliamentary debates

shows that republican representatives worried about the decline of taste and the faltering

of artistic standards. They were particularly concerned with the rise of operettas and

songs.83 Not willing to give up the liberty of the industry that Napoleon III had granted in

1864, they could not simply ban those genres. However, they imagined that performing a

high-brow repertoire on a few select theaters would offset the decline. As Edmond de

Tillancourt, a center-left deputy, said in 1878, “more than ever, it is the responsibility of

the state to react against these aberrations of the national taste by putting next to these

light and futile works the models of high literature and music in their highest

expression.”84 Later in the discussion, Agénor Bardoux, the minister of public

instruction, worship, and fine arts, added: “let us fight against this tendency, and there is

only one way to fight: by fostering the development of high art, by favoring it as much as

we can.”85

There was little reflection, though, on how high-quality performances given in a

handful of Parisian theaters might improve national taste. If the public liked to go to

82 In the Gambetta cabinet of 1881-1882. 83 See for instance Edmond de Tillancourt’s and Agénor Bardoux’s speeches at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1577, 1580. 84 “il appartient plus que jamais à l’Etat de réagir contre ces aberrations du goût national, en plaçant à côté de ces œuvres légères et futiles les types de la haute littérature et de la musique dans son expression la plus élevée.” Edmond de Tillancourt’s speech at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1577. 85 “Eh bien, luttons contre cette tendance, et il n’y a qu’une manière de lutter: c’est d’aider au développement du grand art, de le favoriser dans la mesure de nos efforts.” Agénor Bardoux’s speech at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1580. 42

cafés-concerts, why would they change their habits and go to subsidized theaters?

Likewise, if directors made money with operettas, why would they switch their program

to operas? It did not seem that the payment of subsidies would correct the “deficiencies”

of the market. This absence of reflection about the general public hints at a certain

meaning of the word “national.” National taste was not so much determined by the kind

of drama people were interested in seeing across the country but rather by the kind of

drama the country could produce at its best. No matter how many people attended them,

the mere existence of high-brow performances guaranteed the country’s artistic excellence, which was an essential source of pride after the defeat of 1870.86 With the

republicans settling into power, this vision changed. A theater only visited by the elite

would no longer have a national status. Moreover, a theater that received public money

and did not open its doors to a larger public would be a scandal. In the 1880s, there was a

new impetus for democratization.

The Opportunist Republic: New Impetus for Democratization

While the republican politicians of the 1870s insisted on the need for subsidies to

help theaters resist the demands of a mistaken audience and promote the artistic prestige

of the nation—a justification that had already been put forward by the Bonapartist

86 To the question “should the state continue to subsidize first-rank theaters in Paris and in which proportion?” an employee at the General Direction of Theaters answered: “When France suffers in its honor and material interests, should it yield to discouragement and renounce a superiority that is easy to maintain? We have a national theater that is always performing new plays, that is translated everywhere, and that supplies all the foreign stages, at all cost let us save this peaceful glory, which is a perpetual revenge on our momentary setbacks.” Note on subsidies, General Direction of Theaters, n.d., Archives nationales (hereafter abbreviated AN), F 21 957. 43

administration—the republican politicians of the 1880s built their argument from a

critique that had first been made during the Second Empire by the opponents of the

regime.

Echoing the concerns voiced in the 1860s, the republican representatives of the

1880s wondered why theaters should receive subsidies when these theaters invested

public money in luxurious settings and exorbitant salaries, expenses that had nothing to

do with art and were only intended to attract a public sensitive to magnificence and fame.

They questioned the ability of the charter—the contract negotiated between the direction

of subsidized theaters and the administration—to restrain directors’ desires and to impose

the defense of the general interest. The Comédie-Française and the Opéra were special

targets of critiques. Radical deputies in the House regularly pointed out that both institutions produced brilliant performances and made a profit out of it. Not only did these deputies dissociate luxury from artistic value, but they also identified luxury with the cultivation of private interest. As Alfred Talandier remarked in 1882, when the director of the Opéra organized masked balls, he did not have the artistic reputation of the country in view, only his own personal benefit.87 At the same time that these changes

were happening in subsidized theaters, several private theaters that had literary ambitions

but no pretension to luxury came to prominence. Founded by André Antoine in 1887, the

Théâtre-Libre was the most famous of them. The experiment was significant insofar as it

proved that the cause of art could be furthered with plain decor and amateur actors. As

artistic worth was no longer tied to the largesse of expenses, directors of literary theaters

87 See Alfred Talandier’s participation in the discussion of the fine arts budget of 8 December 1882, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1941. 44

could afford to run their business without subsidies.88 Generally speaking, the

dissociation of art from luxury in theater had important consequences on the exercise of

state influence. First, it meant that artistic endeavors did not require financial support

from the state (and conversely public subsidies did not necessarily serve artistic goals).

Second, artistic endeavors did not need to be supervised by the state to stand for the

general interest (and conversely chartered directors could elude state control). The two

facts argued in favor of a state retreat from the arts. Yet, the representatives who

criticized the use of subsidies did not request their suppression. They thought of new

ways of spending them.

Critics of subsidies grounded their propositions on an observation: subsidized theaters were not accessible to the whole population. The observation was not a

discovery. People had known for a long time that the Opéra’s attendance was exclusive.

So far however nobody had complained about it. In the 1880s, things changed. The

exclusiveness of subsidized theaters became intolerable to a number of politicians,

including the republicans. And, for the first time, many of them thought it was the state’s

responsibility to put an end to it. Under the Second Empire, culture officials had warded

off the democratizing mission, arguing that the state had nothing to do with the

entertainment of the population. They assumed that Opéra performances had no appeal to

the regular public of private popular theaters and did not want to set up performances that

did not meet a certain artistic standard. Under the Third Republic, cultural

democratization was no longer about providing entertainment for the population. A new

array of justifications made it a legitimate domain of state intervention.

88 This is not to say that literary theaters did not have financial difficulties. Until its closure in 1896, the Théâtre-Libre always battled to avoid bankruptcy. 45

Changes in the representation of the people opened up new perspectives on

popular theater. Extending to theater its confidence in the transformative virtues of

education, the republican administration that was in power after 1879 believed that

everyone could enjoy artistic performances. Therefore, the fact that subsidized theaters

were barred to a majority of the population seemed unfair. In particular, radical

representatives in the House underlined that subsidized theaters were all located in Paris,

which made them inaccessible to provincials. Likewise, they pointed out that members of

the lower classes could not afford to attend the expensive performances given by

subsidized theaters. Yet, both provincials and members of the lower classes paid taxes to

keep national theaters’ finances afloat.89 One motivation for cultural democratization was thus the establishment of financial parity among constituents.

The second motivation originated from the new legitimacy given to public opinion. Whereas Napoleon III’s administration had pictured itself guiding public opinion through a government of reason, the opportunists, especially those inspired by positivist theories, were willing to heed public opinion even though they thought it could be mistaken. Therefore, if the general public expressed an interest in the arts, they contended that it was the state’s duty to facilitate their endeavor. As Louis Hémon, a deputy from the republican Left, close to Jules Ferry, declared to his colleagues in the

House, “the taste for art is spreading in France, I would readily say that it is becoming more democratic. And you cannot have failed to note to yourself that the more art takes a large and deep place in the current society, the more the state must feel its obligations

89 See for instance Félix Bontoux’s speech during the discussion of the fine arts budget on 17 December 1884, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2826. 46

towards it increase.”90 Whereas the old administration had defined legitimate and illegitimate domains of state intervention based on their intrinsic properties, the new administration tailored its policies to the demands of the population. Cultural democratization was thus made possible by a more flexible understanding of the state’s

missions and was justified by a newly perceived interest in the arts amidst the larger

population.

In his 1880 report on the fine arts budget, Édouard Lockroy added yet another

argument in favor of providing universal access to theater. After recalling how

unwelcoming subsidized theaters were to people of modest means, the radical-turned-

Gambettist representative pointed to the relative and even to the absolute worth of theater, if properly directed. Lockroy noted that since industrial liberty was decreed in

1864, dubious theatrical businesses had flourished. Encouraging attendance at subsidized theaters would thus divert the public from less literary and honest pursuits. Lockroy also claimed that theater was an elevated pastime, “one could even say a useful one” (“on pourrait même dire utiles”).91 There was only a short step from there to the belief that

theater could have an educational value, a position held by Jules Roche, another radical

representative who embraced the Gambettist cause. Roche compared national theaters to

“superior schools of musical and dramatic art, museums” (“pour l’art musical et

dramatique des écoles supérieures, des musées”).92 This equation of theaters with

90 “le goût de l’art se généralise en France, je dirais volontiers qu’il se démocratise. Et vous n’avez pu manquer de vous dire en même temps que plus l’art prend une place large et profonde dans la société actuelle, plus l’État doit sentir croître les obligations qu’il a vis-à-vis de lui.” Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of Public Instruction, Worship, and Fine Arts, House of Deputies, 29 July 1879, Journal officiel de la République française, 7750. 91 Report on behalf of the committee in charge of examining the 1881 fine arts budget, House of Deputies, 21 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 8466. 92 Discussion of the fine arts budget, 8 December 1882, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1944. 47

teaching institutions or museums was still debated in the 1880s though. During the 1889

fine arts budget discussion for instance, Henry Maret warned that France would go back

to a barbarian state if the government stopped supporting the arts, while Casimir Michou

retorted that theaters, these places of leisure, had nothing in common with universities

and national museums. In theaters, Michou contended, spectators took “lessons in

dissipation” (“des leçons de dissipation”).93 It is important to note though that, beyond their divisions on the issue of the morality of theater, left-wing politicians generally

agreed on the state’s role in furthering art education. In Léon Bourgeois’ opinion, the

educative mission was even the main goal of the arts administration:

It is perfectly certain that we have, vis-à-vis the whole population, vis-à- vis the nation, this duty to put beautiful things under their eyes as frequently as possible and as completely as possible, and to educate them artistically, because it is a very efficient way to elevate their intellectual and moral level and because every time we undertake work of artistic education we produce not only an artistic work, but a soundly and profoundly democratic work.94

Thus, for the representatives who believed in the formative influence of theater, there was

no doubt that the state should disseminate its intellectual and moral message to the broad

public. But even the representatives who did not recognize an educational value to theater

had reasons to advocate the democratization of theater, namely the principle of fairness to

tax-payers and public demand. In conclusion, the democratization of theater was an

objective shared by an overwhelming majority of republicans.

93 Discussion of the fine arts budget, 19 June 1889, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1467. 94 “Il est parfaitement certain que nous avons, vis-à-vis de la population tout entière, vis-à-vis de la nation, ce devoir de lui mettre le plus fréquemment, le plus complètement possible, de belles choses sous les yeux, et de faire son éducation du beau, parce que c’est un moyen très efficace d’élever son niveau intellectuel et moral, parce que chaque fois que nous entreprenons une œuvre d’enseignement artistique, nous faisons non seulement une œuvre artistique, mais une œuvre sainement et profondément démocratique.” Discussion of the fine arts budget, extraordinary session of 1890, 24 November 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2231. 48

Opportunists and radicals envisioned different plans of action to achieve this

objective. While radicals called on the state to acquaint the population with artistic plays, most opportunists believed that democratization happened through a spontaneous process of dissemination, which required little state intervention. In the opportunists’ mind, the state was responsible for fostering artistic excellence in a few central institutions. These institutions provided a model of good taste, which then naturally spread to the periphery.

Invoking the trickle-down of knowledge, Jules Roche thus justified public support for schools of art of the first rank, i.e. national theaters: “Just as you need teachers at teachers training schools to instruct primary school teachers, and you need the source of all science and teaching—the École Normale Supérieure, the Collège de France, universities—to instruct these teacher trainers, because education moves from the top down, . . . you need an artistic tertiary education of superior quality to democratize art. . .

. we need quality schools for the musical and dramatic art, museums; and, these schools and these museums are our national theaters.95

Opportunists did not make clear the kind of state action they envisaged to make

the performance of artistic plays in front of secluded publics possible. To give an

example, Lockroy warmly approved of popular concerts organized in the provinces.

However, he urged his colleagues at the assembly not to vote subsidies for such

enterprises. Not only did he fear that state expenses would increase too much, but he

thought that it was the municipalities’ duty to support local initiatives. By contrast,

95 “De même que vous avez besoin pour vos maîtres d’écoles de professeurs d’école normale, et que pour former ces professeurs vous avez besoin de ce qui est la source de toute science et de tout enseignement, de l’école normale, du collège de France, des facultés, parce que l’enseignement descend de haut, de même vous avez besoin pour démocratiser l’art, . . . vous avez besoin d’un haut enseignement supérieur artistique. . . . il nous faut pour l’art musical et dramatique des écoles supérieures, des musées; eh bien, ces écoles et ces musées, ce sont nos théâtres nationaux.” Discussion of the fine arts budget, 8 December 1882, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1944. 49

Parisian concerts and theaters could legitimately receive subsidies from the state because

they “[were] not exclusively Parisian.” Indeed, “they radiate, so to speak, throughout the

country. The works they perform, and which only they can perform, feed all provincial

stages, and thereby justify the subsidies they receive from the state.”96

Speaking of museums, Georges Leygues stated that there had to be a hierarchy between Parisian and provincial institutions. In order to preserve the homogeneity of collections, the state had to gather artworks of equivalent quality in the same place. A masterwork suffered from the proximity of less admirable works. Thus, whereas first-rate paintings belonged to the Louvre, second-rate paintings suited the more modest settings of departmental museums. Leygues contended that the state could not maintain a

“perfect” collection at the Louvre without sacrificing provincial collections. Following up on the argument, his opportunist colleague at the House, Count de Douville-Maillefeu, added that the same was true of theaters.97

However, was there not a contradiction between the geographical allocation of works according to their artistic value and the dissemination of good taste? That is the question that Camille Cousset, a radical representative, asked Leygues. Leygues answered that second-rate paintings could not be as beautiful as the most reputable masterworks, but they certainly had an artistic value. Still Camille Cousset blamed him for sustaining bad taste in the provinces. Obviously, Cousset did not see how provincials and lower classes could benefit from the influence of first-rate works when all they had

96 “C’est en vain qu’on essayerait d’assimiler les subventions demandées à celles que reçoivent les théâtres ou même les concerts de Paris. Ceux-ci ne sont pas exclusivement Parisiens. Ils rayonnent, pour ainsi dire, sur tout le pays. Ce sont les œuvres qu’ils représentent, et que seuls ils peuvent représenter, qui alimentent toutes les scènes de province, et par là ils justifient la subvention qu’ils reçoivent de l’Etat.” Report on behalf of the committee in charge of examining the 1881 fine arts budget, House of Deputies, 21 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 8470-8471. 97 Discussion of the fine arts budget, 22 November 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2213. 50

available in their local museum were second-rate works. Radicals in general were skeptical of the opportunists’ approach to cultural democratization. Far from accepting

their theory of the centrifugal dissemination of taste, they emphasized the damaging

effects of centralization. Michou for instance doubted the ability of (Parisian) national

theaters to popularize art given the fact that no provincials ever went to them. He also

pointed out that subsidized theaters snatched the best actors from the provinces in order to constitute their troupes.98 For him, the concentration of artistic value in Paris had no

other consequence than to deprive the provinces from the little symbolic capital they

were able to amass.

As a general rule, radicals did not content themselves with the promise that the

taste for art would trickle down the social ladder and eventually enlighten the whole

nation. They wanted facts, evidence that the popular or provincial public actually

attended high-quality performances. Since they found no empirical evidence of such

attendance, they advocated a more proactive role of the state. To put the popular public in

contact with masterworks, the state needed to organize popular performances, run a

popular theater, or both. Thus, at the beginning of the 1880s, requests for the organization

of popular performances in subsidized theaters multiplied in Parliament. Were they

successful? More generally, did the republican critiques of the theatrical policy lead to

any reform of the legislation?

The answer is that remarkably little changed over the course of ten years. The

justifications for allotting subsidies did not change and, consequently, their distribution

98 Discussion of the fine arts budget, extraordinary session of 1890, 24 November 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2234. 51

remained as uneven as before. The Opera for instance kept on receiving the bulk of

subsidies on the condition that it would give “splendid” performances.99 In the terms of

the 1879 charter signed by Jules Ferry and Auguste Vaucorbeil, splendor amounted to the

recognized value of the repertoire, the excellence of artists, and the superior quality of

stage sets and costumes.100 “The director [had] to make all the sacrifices imposed on him

by the respect of art” (“Le directeur devra faire tous les sacrifices qui lui seront imposés

par le respect de l’art.”).101 The 1879 charter established a direct correlation between artistic worth and financial cost. Still in 1891, the director of the Opéra was required to run the institution with the dignity and brilliance that fitted the premier national lyric theater.102 In addition to giving material proof of artistic value, luxury was thus meant to

position a theater within a hierarchy. For policy makers, there was something comforting

in thinking that the artistic outcome corresponded to the financial input and that

continuous funding ensured a stable theatrical hierarchy. It ignored the question of

reception by the public, which was much more unfathomable. At least in the charters of

national theaters, the equivalence between art and luxury was not yet questioned.

This had notable repercussions for the character of official institutions. Because

productions involved a substantial amount of money, it was in the best interest of

directors to take as little risk as possible with them and so they made rather conservative

artistic choices. Also, despite a clause in the charter setting the number of premieres to be

staged every year, directors tried to revive their repertoire of successful works as much as

99 For the whole decade, the subsidies given to national theaters remained stable. The Opéra received 800,000 francs, while the Opéra-Comique received 300,000 francs, the Théâtre-Français 240,000 and the Odéon 100,000. 100 For examples of luxurious staging, see Frédérique Patureau, Le Palais Garnier dans la société parisienne: 1875-1914 (Liège: Mardaga, 1991), 163-165. 101 Title I, Article 1, Opéra charter signed on 14 May 1879, AN F 21 4655. 102 Title I, Article 1, Opéra charter signed by Léon Bourgeois and Eugène Bertrand on 18 April 1891, AN F 21 4655. 52

possible. Eugène Ritt for instance was reprimanded for neglecting to commission two

new works each year, as the charter of the Opéra mandated.103 Although the Opéra was supposed to be both the Louvre and the Luxembourg of music, it tended to lose its creative function more and more. Finally, the cost of productions forced directors to maintain high ticket prices, effectively limiting the audience to a wealthy elite. For the same reason that they wanted to maximize their receipts, directors were reluctant to organize popular performances at reduced prices. The imperative of luxury was therefore a major obstacle to the democratization of national theaters. At the same time, it made it an even more pressing need.

In the provinces, where there was no need to maintain a theater at the top of a hierarchy through onerous investments and a segregation of repertoires, audiences were relatively mixed and subsidies could help further democratization. In Lyon, for instance, the Grand-Théâtre, which featured the repertoire of current and past Parisian subsidized music theaters, used the subsidies it received from the municipal council partly to pay for artistic expenses and partly to keep ticket prices down.

In effect, wealthy people are not the only ones who go to the Grand-Théâtre: the whole population can, thanks to the subsidy, take part in artistic pleasures, which, without it, would be reserved solely to the well-off class. And if, at the Grand- Théâtre, boxes, orchestra stalls, and first-gallery seats are booked at prices affordable only to a few people, the pit, the second, third, and fourth galleries are occupied by laboring and working classes, and they represent a thousand and four hundred seats out of a total of two thousand!104

103 Note on Mr. Ritt’s management, n.d., AN F 21 4655. Ritt was director of the Opéra between 1884 and 1891. 104 “Ce ne sont pas, en effet, les seuls favorisés de la fortune qui fréquentent le Grand-Théâtre: c’est la population entière qui peut, grâce à la subvention, prendre sa part des plaisirs artistiques qui, sans elle, seraient réservés aux seules classes aisées. Et si, au Grand-Théâtre, les loges, les stalles d’orchestre et les fauteuils de première galerie sont loués à des prix abordables pour quelques-uns seulement, le parterre, les deuxième, troisième et quatrième galeries sont fréquentés par les classes laborieuses et ouvrières, et 53

The municipal council also demanded that the Grand-Théâtre stage a monthly popular performance, with tickets at half the normal price.105 As for the municipal drama theater,

the municipal council did not have any requirement of popular performance, but, as the

programming was primarily targeted at the laboring class in any case, it hardly needed it.

In a letter to the municipal council in which he sought his reappointment as the director

of the Célestins theater, Roger Dalbert declared that throughout his tenure he had always

tried to satisfy the wishes of the local population, especially the laboring class, which was

“the most numerous and important one” (“la plus nombreuse et la plus importante”).106

He recognized that he had devoted a lesser number of performances to comedy, but

mainly because the Lyon amateurs of this genre often went to Paris on business and saw

the plays there. By offering tickets at a wide range of prices and by programming a varied

repertoire, the theaters supported by the Lyon municipal council succeeded in attracting a

public of heterogeneous interests and means. No major problem arose from the

organization of popular performances: they blended well with the rest of the

performances.

The same could not be said of the Parisian subsidized theaters. As lavish displays

continued to be both the norm of artistic value and the expected result of state funding,

the democratization of national theaters had little chance to proceed. The cost of

productions prevented directors from lowering ticket prices. Also directors had a vested

interest in abiding by the accepted norms of artistic value and, to preserve the

homogeneity of the audience, in maintaining a high level of prices. To usher in the

cependant elles contiennent quatorze cents places sur un total de deux mille !” Report on the management of municipal theaters by Mayor Gailleton, 1882, Archives municipales de Lyon, 88 WP 4. 105 Article 32 of the 1886 Grand-Théâtre de Lyon charter, Archives municipales de Lyon, 89 WP 12. 106 Letter of Roger Dalbert to municipal councilors requesting his reappointment as the director of the Théâtre des Célestins, 2 March 1889, Archives municipales de Lyon, 86 WP 2. 54

popular public would be to risk upsetting the delicate chemistry with the rich

subscribers.107 Therefore, both to reduce production costs and to keep audiences separate,

directors were likely to organize popular performances aside from regular performances,

using lower “artistic standards” (the luxury of performances). It was even more likely that

popular performances would be organized in a separate building with an altogether

different artistic standard. From the start, popular theater was conceived as an addition to

the existing structure of national theaters rather than as something to be integrated into it.

Censorship was another area of legislation that did not change despite repeated

attempts to end it. In this section, I will study the representations of theater, public, and

professionals that underpinned this status quo and examine the consequences it had on

the democratization of theater.

In the 1880s, censorship was a divisive issue among republicans. As regularly as representatives recommended its abolition in their reports on the fine arts budget, the plenary assembly rejected it. In January 1891, however, two interdictions of plays back to back provoked a wave of questions to the government and spurred bills proposing new legislation on theater. One banned La fille Élisa by Jean Ajalbert, a play adapted from

Edmond de Goncourt’s novel. La fille Élisa had been showed to a private audience at the

Théâtre des Menus-Plaisirs and was scheduled to be performed publicly at the Théâtre de

la Porte-Saint-Martin. The other suspended Thermidor by Victorien Sardou after a series

of three performances at the Théâtre-Français. Enraged by what they considered to be a

remnant of despotic regimes, Camille Le Senne and Antonin Proust submitted two

107 In a 20 April 1890 article published in Le XIXe siècle, Francisque Sarcey described the Opéra as a salon, whose guests could not be dispersed. 55

projects in which they defended the liberty of theaters. A committee gathered to review

their proposals and made its own recommendations in a report dated October 1891. A

general discussion ensued in January 1892 and ended with the rejection of the proposals.

It was followed by the submission of a new bill by Gustave Isambert and Henri Dujardin-

Beaumetz in March 1892, which in turn was not successful.

The parliamentary debates on censorship reveal a gap between the representatives

who believed in the universal application of a principle (artistic freedom) and those who

advocated a differentiated action based on individual cases. The promoters of censorship

usually adopted a pragmatic approach, arguing that there were degrees of resistance to

moral and political wrongs in the public and among theater professionals. In their mind,

the criteria of censorship could not be defined in the abstract. They should rather vary

with the composition of the public. Thus, for each theater, censors should determine a

level of moral and political acceptability.

Two categories of public were seen as particularly at risk in a theater: the innocent

and the ignorant. As embodiments of moral purity, children and women had to be

protected from the audacities of the bawdy repertoire. Censors were therefore stricter

with plays that this vulnerable public might see, such as extravaganzas and comic operas,

than with vaudevilles and dramas, meant for a more “virile” audience. In the debates

following the interdiction of Thermidor, Léon Bourgeois explained that “where there

could be an offense to the sense of modesty of the women and young ladies who might

attend the performance, scandal had to be prevented,”108 and prior censorship was

108 “Là où il pouvait y avoir une offense aux sentiments de pudeur des femmes, des jeunes filles qui assisteraient au spectacle, il fallait prévenir le scandale.” Question addressed by Joseph Reinach to the Government, 29 January 1891, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 149. 56

justified. Likewise, the poorly educated public was more likely to misunderstand a vulgar

and mediocre play than would a clever audience a daring but elegant piece of poetry. As

a censor who was still active in the 1870s, Victor Hallays-Dabot, put it, censorship “will

not fear to weigh differently the work of the poet, which talks to an elite of intelligence,

and the vulgar drama, which speaks to still unenlightened minds.”109 Either to protect the

weak or control the dangerous, the intervention of the state was necessary. The theatrical

business could not be left to its own resources.

This intervention of the state was made even more necessary by the nature of the

theatrical medium. For the advocates of censorship, theater was in no way comparable to

newspapers or public meetings. Marcellin Berthelot for instance contended that theater

drew special power from performance. The minister of public instruction and fine arts in

1887 thought that dramatic performances could offend public morality in a way no other

form of expression could.110 His colleague Léon Bourgeois pointed to the vividness of

depictions on stage. In the case of La Fille Élisa, the evocation of the prostitute’s milieu

was so realistic that he assumed it would provoke the disgust of the public. This was the

reason why he forbade the play in 1891, he argued, not because it raised a social

question.111 As a general rule, opponents of artistic freedom worried about the power of

109 “Elle ne craindra pas d’avoir un poids différent pour l’œuvre du poète, qui parle aux intelligences d’élite, et pour le drame vulgaire, qui s’adresse aux esprits encore mal éclairés.” Quoted by Gaston Guillemet in his report on censorship, appendix no. 1669, special session, 20 October 1891 session, Journal officiel de la République française. Documents parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2535. 110 “L’art dramatique a une puissance d’offense à la morale publique qui ne se trouve dans aucune autre forme d’expression de la pensée: cette puissance existe à la fois dans les représentations dramatiques et dans les chansons des concerts publics.” Discussion of the fine arts budget, 28 January 1887, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 203. 111 Question addressed by Alexandre Millerand to the minister of public instruction and fine arts on 24 January 1891, 25 January 1891, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 89. 57

the theater to create strong impressions. Dramatic performances appealed to all senses at

once and inflamed the imagination so that what was shocking in a book or a newspaper

could become intolerable in a theater.112

In addition, a large audience attended a theatrical performance and many

politicians believed in the existence of a “mysterious communication” (“communication

mystérieuse”) between spectators.113 Earlier commentators talked about an electrical

current circulating among the public (Victor Hallays-Dabot and Baron Taylor answering the questions of the 1849 Committee on Theaters). In 1891, a member of the fine arts administration spoke of the multiplication of sentiments happening during the performance. “The effect of a newspaper or a book, read individually, cannot be compared to that of a play, performed in front of a numerous audience, whose sentiments compound each other.”114 The fear was that these sentiments might turn towards violent

behavior. Louis Hémon, for instance, underlined the necessary disparities in the audience

and the resulting diversity of impressions produced by the play on the individuals

attending it. According to him, gatherings of men bred tensions between them, and

tensions naturally led to quarrels and brawls.115 Léon Bourgeois, by contrast, worried

about the house banding together and committing acts of violence.116 In sum, the

republicans did not trust the judgments of the popular public. The popular public was

112 See in particular Louis Hémon’s speech in the discussion of the bills regarding the liberty of theaters on 18 January 1892, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 37. 113 The phrase was used by Gaston Guillemet quoting Léon Bourgeois in the discussion of the bills regarding the liberty of theaters on 5 March 1892, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 174. 114 “l’effet du journal ou du livre, lus individuellement, ne peut être comparé à celui de la pièce, représentée devant un auditoire nombreux, dont les sentiments se multiplient les uns par les autres.” Note on Antonin Proust’s bill by a member of the fine arts administration dated 1 June 1891, Archives nationales, F 21 1330. 115 Discussion of the bills regarding the liberty of theaters on 5 March 1892, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 173. 116 Ibid., 174. 58 naïve and could not distinguish between moral and immoral statements. It was also impressionable and could easily give into violence if prompted by unscrupulous leaders.

Finally, the theater itself was a green house that transformed mild sensations into extreme feelings.

In discussions of theatrical legislation, the perception of inequalities between social groups greatly influenced the scope of liberties and rights. For the same reason that the republicans could not resolve themselves to grant artistic freedom to the population, they resisted the idea of making theater available to everyone. Yet, the imperative of justice compelled governments to ensure equal access to official theaters at the very least.

The question was whether the state could create a theater adapted to the needs of the people as it had created a primary school distinct from the secondary school. In other words, could theater only harm the popular public or could it have a positive moral influence in certain, controlled, circumstances? The next chapter answers the question by examining the debates among educators on the role of theater in popular education.

59

Chapter 2

Theater and Popular Education

Until the republicans came into power at the end of the 1870s, the exclusiveness of the Opéra’s public was not a political issue. While the Bonapartist administration acknowledged the interest of the population in serious music and drama as well as the material impossibility for a large part of it to attend expensive performances, it had not taken any step to broaden the audience. The Bonapartist administration argued that the subsidies given to the Opéra supported its artistic mission and were not meant to provide cheap entertainment for the elite. It did not have to worry about the social effects of its artistic policies because it was only concerned with the interest of the nation. In addition,

Second Empire officials foresaw that the democratization of the Opéra’s public would threaten social order. As they posited a direct correspondence between ticket price and artistic quality as well as between booking expenses and social status, they feared that to lower ticket prices at the Opéra might upset the symbolic hierarchy of theaters and confuse the status associated with each social group. In short, the Bonapartist administration refused to democratize theater because it did not want to introduce more fluidity into French society.

60

Under the republicans’ administration, this indifference to the composition of the

public was no longer possible. The fact that the state paid a subsidy to some theaters

showed that theater served the public welfare, so it was fair that everyone could enjoy it.

By this logic, making theater accessible to the largest audience was a matter of justice.

Nevertheless, although republican authorities recognized the legitimacy of the venture,

they were reluctant to democratize theater. There were two reasons for this attitude. First,

the dissemination of art represented a departure from the state’s original mission, which

was grounded in the conservation and expansion of the nation’s artistic patrimony.

Indeed, to disseminate art was to entertain individuals, a task that was considered to be the duty of local officials. Second, some republicans worried that “the people” might be

too weak to resist the power of illusion and, as a result, might misinterpret the plays and

form incorrect ideas about themselves. In their minds, the democratization of theater

posed a real threat to social order.

Caught between the imperative of justice and the risk of subversion, fine art

officials had to put safeguards on the dramatic experience. Since an innocuous play was

one that delivered a moral message, they sought to turn performances into didactic

events. If properly guided, they hoped, spectators would interpret plays correctly and

would not conceal their true selves from others. From the beginning, then, the republican

administration linked the two themes of education and democratization. More

specifically, it made the democratizing mission contingent upon the educational potential of theater. Teaching was to compensate for the disparity among interpretations created by individuals’ unequal moral capacities and to make theater beneficial to society.

61

The democratization of theater was a sensitive topic for politicians at the beginning of the Third Republic. On the one hand, they recognized individuals’ equal right to enjoy the performances given by state-subsidized theaters. On the other hand, they thought that, for the sake of efficiency, policies should be adapted to individuals’ unequal capacities. In the case of theater, individuals’ varied moral capacities justified offering them different performances. Thus, while the point of democratizing was to allow the largest possible audience to attend Opéra performances, considerations of police recommended keeping a certain segment of the population away from them and organizing appropriate replacements. This incompatibility between two opposite principles of action made politicians uneasy, causing them to avoid discussing the specifics of popular theater in Parliament.

Since speeches on popular theater rarely addressed the relationship between theater and education, this chapter will examine opinions on theater’s educational potential in the context of primary school. From the viewpoint of the social background, the student population was similar to the public that fine arts officials dreaded to bring to the Opéra. Primary schools, indeed, catered to the children of “the people.” Furthermore, because school curricula were designed to accord with the intellectual capacities of students, the imperative of equal treatment was not as stringent as it was in theaters.

Therefore, republican educators could easily exclude theater from the schools if they deemed it inappropriate. And they did. They banned dramatic performances in primary schools, and discouraged them in secondary schools. But, despite this unequivocal expression of distrust, the education administration never formally explained its decision.

Official instructions merely stated the interdiction and no one responsible for issuing the

62

instructions bothered to detail their reasons for it. Moreover, the topic never attracted the

attention of the Ligue de l’enseignement, a predominantly opportunist group of

politicians who reflected on the missions of school in the newly minted republican

society.117 Thus, understanding how theater motivated such distrust requires recovering

the fragmented public discourse surrounding its reception.

To meet this requirement, this chapter adopts a broad focus and deals with a large

selection of sources. It analyzes depictions of the aesthetic experience in the general context of the arts as well as in that of each artistic medium. It examines the opinion of educators, but also that of philosophers and critics. The chapter bases its investigation on

monographs and journal articles; individual testimonies and official directives. However,

the main source of information is the Dictionnaire de pédagogie et d’instruction primaire

(Dictionary of Pedagogy and Primary Instruction) edited by Ferdinand Buisson. With its

many contributors and many listed topics, the Dictionnaire makes it possible to

reconstruct official views on theater by extrapolation. The Dictionnaire was published in

installments between 1878 and 1887 and eventually bound in four volumes in 1888.118

Originally conceived as a manual for teachers, the Dictionnaire was composed of two

parts, the first one dealing with theoretical aspects of pedagogy and the second one

presenting their practical application to primary school teaching.

117 Until 1909, art education was never on the agenda of the annual congress of the Ligue française de l’enseignement. In 1909, Gaston Quénioux and Léon Riotor chaired a committee on “art in school.” Art in school primarily referred to the interior decoration of classrooms and secondarily to the organization of festivals to educate the taste of children. See Ligue française de l’enseignement, Correspondance Hebdomadaire. For general information on the Ligue, see Jean-Paul Martin, “La Ligue de l’enseignement et la République des origines à 1914” (Ph.D. diss., IEP de Paris, 1992). 118 For a detailed presentation of the Dictionnaire, see Patrick Dubois’ Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson: Aux fondations de l’école républicaine (1878-1911) (Bern: Peter Lang, 2002). The Dictionnaire de pédagogie et d’instruction primaire was published by installments between 1878 and 1887, and was made available in four bound volumes in 1888. In the coming text, I will use the following abbreviations: “DP1” corresponds to the first part of the Dictionnaire, first published between 1878 and 1887; “DP2” corresponds to the second part of the Dictionnaire, first published between 1878 and 1882. 63

The Dictionnaire gathered the contributions of some 358 authors. Over the ten

years of its publication, the professional profile of its collaborators gradually included

more civil servants from the central administration of public instruction, as well as more

philosophers and publicists, often members of prestigious institutions such as the

Académie française, the Académie des Sciences Morales et Politiques or the Collège de

France. While primary school teachers were few and far between from the beginning, the

number of subaltern inspectors decreased sharply.119 Thus the Dictionnaire was not a

compilation of testimonies from field workers, but rather a reflection on programs by

pedagogues who had no first-hand experience of primary school teaching. As for the

philosophical orientation of the Dictionnaire, scholars have emphasized the increasing

homogeneity of the views expressed in it as years passed by. Initially, some articles still

defended the principles of a religious education, but the Dictionnaire subsequently

evolved to identify with the secularist cause and became the “unofficial mouthpiece of the new education policy” (“le porte parole officieux de la nouvelle politique

scolaire”).120

Ferdinand Buisson was the main architect of this “cathedral of primary school,”

as Pierre Nora referred to the Dictionnaire in his repertory of notables places in French

memory, Les lieux de mémoire (Realms of Memory).121 Coming from a liberal Protestant

background, Buisson left religion behind him to devote himself to pedagogy. Following

his tenure as director of primary instruction (1879-1896), he was appointed professor in

education science at the Sorbonne (1896-1902). In 1902, he was elected to the Chamber

119 Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 27, 38. 120 Ibid., 5. 121 Pierre Nora, “Le Dictionnaire de pédagogie de Ferdinand Buisson: Cathédrale de l’école primaire,” in Lieux de mémoire, ed. Pierre Nora (Paris: Gallimard, 1997), 1: 327-347. 64

of Deputies, starting a parliamentary career that was to span over two periods, 1902-1914

and 1919-1924. As Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn have written, “a director of primary

instruction, a liberal Protestant, a spiritualist philosopher, a free thinker, an indefatigable

promoter of popular education, or else the democratic representative moving . . . ‘from

secular school to unique school’ . . . ,” Buisson was a central figure of the Third-Republic school.122

As Patrick Dubois points out, the number of articles contributed by each author

varied greatly. For instance, some thirty authors wrote the articles on psychology,

theoretical pedagogy, and educational policy in the Dictionnaire. However, six of them

were responsible for two-thirds of the articles: Félix and his son Élie Pécaut, Gabriel

Compayré, Georges Dumesnil, Henri Marion, and Ferdinand Buisson.123 These authors were representative of two increasingly influential trends in the Dictionnaire. The first group, composed of spiritualist philosophers, gravitated around Buisson, Compayré,

Dumesnil, and Marion. The second group was composed of liberal Protestants such as

Buisson and the two Pécauts.124 With articles written on “criticism,” “intuition,” and

“morality” (by Buisson), on “analysis,” “senses,” “sensitivity,” and “will” (by

Compayré), on “taste,” and “imagination” (by Dumesnil), on “reason” (by Marion), on

“fiction,” and “play” (by Élie Pécaut), and on “music,” and “poetry,” (by Félix Pécaut),

these six contributors are among the most relevant ones for my analysis.

122 “le directeur de l’enseignement primaire, le protestant libéral, le philosophe spiritualiste, le libre penseur, l’infatigable animateur de l’éducation populaire ou encore le parlementaire démocrate passant . . . ‘de l’école laïque à l’école unique’. . . .” Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn, introduction to L’école de la Troisième République: Débats et controverses dans le “Dictionnaire de pédagogie” de Ferdinand Buisson, ed. Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn (Bern: P. Lang, 2006), 2. 123 Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 100. 124 Ibid., 103. 65

As the dictionary entries listed above make clear, the study will not be limited to

the articles directly related to theater. Given the silence of education authorities on the

ban of dramatic performances, it is necessary to extend the investigation to art (which

includes fine arts and literature) and to issues of aesthetic education in general. It will

also be important to compare the status of theater with that of other artistic media. In the

first part, I will focus on art education as an end in itself, while revisiting the theme of individual rights and state police in the context of the pedagogical debates. Since the legitimacy of art education was grounded in the advantages it brought to the community, public instruction officials fashioned it so that it would yield the most profit. Thus they did not hesitate to limit its scope wherever they saw fit. In the second part, I will examine how Jules Ferry’s administration managed to preserve the neutrality of the state while using art for moral and political purposes. I will show that these politics had limited results, for both will and reason were involved in the understanding of universals, and not just reason, as Ferry and his collaborators would have liked. Finally, in the third part, I will contrast performances and writings, and then proceed to a comparison between theater, music, and drawing to explain theater’s unique lack of favor among the arts.

66

Artistic Education as an End in Itself

“Singing, what is its use?,” Ferdinand Buisson asked an audience of night students at the Association polytechnique in 1883. “Nothing, and this is precisely why it

must be taught in primary school.”125 Expounding on his provocative statement, the

director of primary education added: “And why would he [Jacques Bonhomme’s son] not learn it? Is art by chance a privilege of lords? Do you believe that children have no right to it? Or that they are unable to appreciate beautiful things? Will not their career be hard enough that they will need, they too, all that consoles and all that charms, all that restores and all that helps live?”126

Delivered at a time when republicans first attempted introducing mandatory art

classes in primary school, Buisson’s speech is a good reminder of the prejudices that

beset art education. Uselessness was no doubt a serious argument against a teaching that

was destined for students with limited intellectual ambitions and capacities, and above all

little time to learn. But Buisson did not seem to be phased by it. Not only did he contend

that primary school students had the ability to appreciate beauty, thus disputing the claim

that such a teaching was impossible, but he also denied that primary school had a strictly

utilitarian purpose. Buisson thought that a teaching had its place in primary school even if

125 “le chant, à quoi cela sert-il? – A rien, et c’est précisément pour cela qu’il faut l’enseigner dans l’école primaire.” Ferdinand Buisson, “Discours prononcé à l’occasion de la distribution des prix aux élèves de l’Association polytechnique le 24 juin 1883 au cirque d’hiver,” in Éducation et République, ed. Pierre Hayat (Paris: Editions Kimé, 2003), 84. 126 “Et pourquoi ne l’apprendrait-il pas? Est-ce que par hasard les arts sont un privilège de grand seigneur? Est-ce que tu crois que les enfants n’y ont pas droit? ou qu’ils ne sont pas capables de goûter les belles choses? Est-ce que leur carrière ne sera pas assez dure pour qu’ils aient besoin, eux aussi, de tout ce qui console et de tout ce qui charme, de tout ce qui relève et de tout ce qui aide à vivre?” Ferdinand Buisson, “Discours prononcé à l’Association polytechnique (au cirque d’hiver, 24 juin 1883),” in La foi laïque: Extraits de discours et d’écrits, ed. Mireille Gueissaz (Paris: Le Bord de l’Eau, 2007), 60. This is the version of the speech that was published in the Revue pédagogique of 15 July 1883. 67

it did not have any professional application. Indeed, while practical aptitudes made

workers, he claimed, intellectual aptitudes made men. Like Jules Ferry, the minister of

Public Instruction, he advocated a primary education that would be both utilitarian and liberal.127 Unsurprisingly, the school programs that they designed together in 1882

reflected this vision. The programs mandated that students should both acquire practical knowledge and cultivate the faculties of their mind. Intellectual education in primary school “only gives a limited amount of knowledge,” the program stated. “However this knowledge is chosen so that it not only provides the child with all the practical knowledge he will need in his life, but also so that it acts upon his faculties, shapes his mind, cultivates it, extends it, and constitutes a real education.”128

In Buisson’s argument and more generally in the debate on the legitimacy of art

education in primary school, the language of individual rights and the language of state interest tended to become conflated. On the one hand, Buisson pointed to every person’s

right to art and the necessity of establishing equality between more and less fortunate

countrymen. He evoked the power of art to enlighten and comfort the mind. On the other

hand, he pointed out that the relief provided by art could sustain patriotic enthusiasm,

motivating soldiers to defend the fatherland were a war ever to come. “You do not know if some day it will not be one of these childhood tunes, learned in school, which will support your son in the face of danger, which will remind him of his duty and preserve

127 Except for two short periods, Ferry was minister of public instruction continuously between February 1879 and November 1883. 128 “Elle ne donne qu’un nombre limité de connaissances. Mais ces connaissances sont choisies de telle sorte, que non seulement elles assurent à l’enfant tout le savoir pratique dont il aura besoin dans la vie, mais encore elles agissent sur ses facultés, forment son esprit, le cultivent, l’étendent et constituent vraiment une éducation.” Ministère de l’instruction publique, Organisation, plan d’études et programmes des écoles primaires publiques et des écoles maternelles: Arrêtés du Ministère de l’instruction publique (en date du 27 juillet 1882) (Paris: Librairie Poussielgue Frères, 1882), 26. 68

him from failing.”129 In the same speech at the Association polytechnique, he added:

“And actually, do not you understand that if one strives to make him speak a little bit this

divine tongue of music, it is not just for his own satisfaction, it is because he is French, it

is because he must be able to hold his place in the concert and in the chorus of the nation:

what makes the soul of a nation are these collective sentiments that develop and keep up

only if they are expressed in common, and they cannot be better expressed than through

music.”130 While Buisson insisted on the faculty of music to consolidate the unity of the

nation, his colleague Élie Pécaut argued that providing a similar education to primary and

secondary students furthered class rapprochement. A regular collaborator on the

Dictionnaire de pédagogie edited by Buisson, Élie Pécaut believed that popular classes would feel at ease talking with their social betters if, like them, they received an education in the arts. “Instead of looking at each other, one with despise, the other with amazement,” the ordinary person and the scholar, the artist or the doctor would

“understand one another as individuals of the same race, members of the same family.”131

In Pécaut’s opinion, a common education was a means of bridging class gaps. It would

eventually lead to the greater harmony of society.

Finally, by acquainting lower classes with aesthetic ideals, republican pedagogues

hoped to distract them from demanding improvements on their material condition. At a

time when workers multiplied strikes and started forming unions to defend their interests,

129 “Va, tu ne sais pas si quelque jour ce ne sera pas un de ces refrains d’enfance, appris à l’école, qui soutiendra ton fils à l’heure du danger, qui lui rappellera son devoir et lui préservera de défaillance.” Buisson, “Discours prononcé à l’Association polytechnique (au cirque d’hiver, 24 juin 1883),” 60-61. 130 “Et d’ailleurs, n’as-tu pas compris que si l’on s’applique à lui faire parler un peu de cette langue divine de la musique, ce n’est pas seulement pour sa propre satisfaction, c’est qu’il est Français, c’est qu’il faut qu’il puisse tenir sa place dans le concert et dans le chœur de la nation: ce qui fait l’âme d’une nation, ce sont des sentiments collectifs qui ne se développent et ne s’entretiennent que s’ils s’expriment en commun, et ils ne s’expriment jamais mieux que par la musique.” Ibid., 61. 131 Elie Pécaut and Charles Baude, L’art: Simples entretiens à l’usage de la jeunesse, 9th ed. (Paris: Larousse, 1904), 229. The first edition came out in 1887. 69

it became urgent to channel the expression of what had rapidly appeared to be

unreasonable claims.132 And art was deemed able to achieve this goal. Félix Pécaut for instance asserted that poetry could “take the child of the people away from, rob him of its coarse, grim, positive and calculating egoism.”133 The principal of the École normale

supérieure in Fontenay-aux-Roses from 1879 to 1896 and old-time friend of Buisson’s

was not alone to think so. Alfred Fouillée, inspirer of Léon Bourgeois and his theory of

solidarism, also insisted on the need to teach disinterestedness. For him, in the current

state of French society, it was the only way one could avoid making materialists. “When,

in a democracy,” he said, “the religious idea is shaken, when the moral idea itself gives

more and more way to the utilitarian idea, the love of the beautiful is what is left to

arouse disinterested feelings. What indeed is the moral good itself, once all mystical

obligation is suppressed, if not moral beauty? For this reason, instruction cannot be only

professional and technical, nor only scientific: it must be literary and aesthetic.”134

Finally, Charles Renouvier, another influential philosopher in the beginnings of the Third

Republic albeit critical of Ferry’s school policy, insisted on children’s need for the

132 The crime of coalition was abolished in 1864 while the bill allowing trade unions was passed in 1884. In Les ouvriers en grève, Michelle Perrot describes a turning point around 1884. From 1879 to 1884, opportunist governments viewed strikes favorably. They considered that workers’ claims were reasonable. In the years 1884-1886, Perrot talks about “the end of a reciprocal illusion.” Workers lost confidence in the willingness of governments to reform, while governments realized the fragility of the alliance with workers. See Michelle Perrot, Les ouvriers en grève: France, 1871-1890 (Paris: Mouton, 1974), 1: 191- 194. 133 “Elle l’enlève, elle le ravit à son égoïsme grossier, âpre, positif, calculateur.” Félix Pécaut, “Poésie,” in DP1, 2388. 134 “Quand, dans une démocratie, l’idée religieuse est ébranlée, quand l’idée morale elle-même fait place de plus en plus à l’idée utilitaire, il ne reste plus pour susciter des sentiments désintéressés, que l’amour du beau. Qu’est-ce d’ailleurs que le bien moral lui-même, une fois supprimée toute obligation mystique, sinon le beau moral? C’est pour cette raison que l’instruction ne doit pas être seulement professionnelle et technique, ni même seulement scientifique: elle doit être littéraire et esthétique.” Alfred Fouillée, La propriété sociale et la démocratie (Paris: Hachette, 1884), 200. 70

marvelous and the ideal. If this need was left unfulfilled, Renouvier warned, children might fall into “the mindlessness of positivity.”135

In pedagogical debates at the end of the nineteenth century, positivism and

materialism had pejorative meanings. They referred to the behavior of individuals who

made requests at the expense of the public good. This was not at all the kind of behavior that republicans wanted to promote. Republicans of all political nuances adamantly rejected morality based on the calculation of interest, morality directly dependent on individuals’ expectation of pleasure and pain. In the Kantian vein, they posited a rational and disinterested obligation towards others. To teach only practical knowledge to the children of popular classes, republicans feared, would be to promote a utilitarian morality. By putting arts on primary schools’ agendas, however, they hoped to foster a morality of duty.136

Even if art was recognized as a legitimate component of primary instruction,

education officials in charge of defining the programs exercised much caution with

regard to it. The same persons who believed in the principle of equal education and

declared that art should not be a privilege of rich classes also feared that they would

increase social tensions if they gave common people the instruments of their

emancipation and thus made possible their social promotion. They were particularly

afraid of creating déclassés, individuals whose level of education did not match the

position they held in society and who, as a result, became bitter towards people higher up

135 Marie-Claude Blais talks about “l’abrutissement de la positivité.” Marie-Claude Blais, Au principe de la République: Le cas Renouvier (Paris: Gallimard, 2000), 338. 136 Pierre Kahn, “Philosophie et pédagogie dans le Dictionnaire: La question du sensualisme,” in L’école républicaine et la question des savoirs: Enquête au cœur du “Dictionnaire de pédagogie” de Ferdinand Buisson, ed. Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn (Paris: CNRS Éditions, 2003), 96-97. 71

in the social hierarchy. In the republicans’ mind, education in the arts was not meant to provide popular classes with the distinctive signs of upper classes. Therefore, republican pedagogues envisioned a specifically “popular” education in the arts. They defined a good and a bad way of teaching art to popular classes, as well as a good and a bad way for popular classes to make use of their artistic knowledge.

As regards female students learning the rules of taste, the authors of the

Dictionnaire de pédagogie were worried that women could lose their modesty and

simplicity. Generally republicans agreed that good taste had nothing to do with wealth.

Though not a monopoly of upper classes, good taste was accessible to lower classes only

on a condition: that they remained simple. Thus a woman from the lower classes could be

elegant by wearing simple fabrics. However, if this same person tried to imitate the

complicated patterns worn by more privileged women, not only was her taste subject to

question, but she also brought moral condemnation upon herself. She was both ridiculous

and pretentious.137 For women, taste was a matter of respecting class boundaries.

Did this restriction apply to men too? Yes, to a large extent, with the difference

that republicans ignored the appearance of men and focused on their discourse. Men of

the lower classes were accused of pedantry as soon as they spoke the language usually

heard among the elite. To avoid these misappropriations, republicans tried to regulate the

kind of knowledge accessible to lower classes. On the one hand, they refused to teach the

children of workers and peasants skills and knowledge that could promote them to higher

social positions. Thus, all that could be seen as an imitation of the secondary schools

attended by the children of the bourgeoisie had to be banned from primary school:

literary analysis, literary history, and the study of ancient languages and literatures were

137 Pécaut and Baude, L’art, 232. 72 left out of the primary school curriculum.138 Taught to elementary school students, these disciplines amounted to a “borrowed science.”139 On the other hand, the lack of knowledge in these disciplines barred access to legitimate criticism. The anonymous author of the “criticism” entry in the Dictionnaire de pédagogie, most likely Ferdinand

Buisson, had only harsh terms to characterize the attitude of a hypothetical elementary school teacher who, because he may have once been initiated to subtleties, “boasted his knowledge to criticize beyond all common measure, to pose as a censor, as a judge, as an expert, and to be, in short, in all and for all, just a pedant.”140 More generally, republicans doubted members of the popular classes could use their critical spirit fairly and resisted giving them the tools to master it.

To make sure that popular classes would not claim knowledge and make inappropriate judgments, the authors of the Dictionnaire de pédagogie proposed that young boys and girls “read by themselves and think by themselves,” talk about what they know and what they feel, and finally cultivate “spontaneity,” “sincerity,” and

“righteousness.” They thought that this would keep things simple, in accordance with popular classes’ intellectual capacities.141 Expounding on the argument, Buisson

138 In 1892, the Committee on Primary Teaching, responsible for examining a draft decree on the organization of superior primary schools, proposed banning literary history from superior primary school curricula on the grounds that “it dreaded a useless chattering from the part of teachers and an entirely formal and purposeless knowledge from the part of students.” (Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Décrets et arrêtés délibérés par le Conseil supérieur de l’instruction publique: Enseignement primaire: Dixième fascicule (année 1892) (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1893), 40) In the “Analyse” entry of the DP2, Charles Defodon declared that “any pursuit of curiosity or erudition was to be banned from elementary school.” (“Analyse,” in DP2, 120) Literary analysis was only conceivable in teacher training schools. In primary school, Buisson argued that linguistic analysis should be the only form of critical training allowed. (Buisson, “Critique,” in DP1, 623). He discouraged all the other forms of analysis (grammatical, philological, literary, historical, artistic and philosophical). Finally, Van Hollebeke urged teacher trainers to refrain from teaching ancient languages and literatures even if their students were ignorant in this domain. (Van Hollebeke, “Analyse littéraire,” in DP2, 129). 139 Van Hollebeke, “Analyse littéraire,” in DP2, 129. 140 Buisson, “Critique,” in DP1, 623. 141 Van Hollebeke, “Analyse littéraire,” in DP2, 129 and Buisson, “Analyse littéraire,” in DP1, 78. 73

explicitly warned against the mediation of knowledge and advocated a direct

confrontation between popular readers and literary works:

Let us be careful to accustom them to reading by themselves and to judging by themselves. Let us treat them as Molière did with his old servant, the first judge of his masterworks. Let us put them in immediate contact with the beautiful without going through a rhetoric of convention, without having them make parallels with classical antiquity, without putting them off with an excess of details in the pursuit of finer points, of nuances, of literary subtleties, which are not meant for them; on these conditions, literary analysis will be an excellent exercise . . . .142

While the contributors to the Dictionnaire de pédagogie wanted to avoid the

confusion of social conditions that could potentially ensue from the dissemination of artistic knowledge, they also worried about the danger that education in the arts spurred artistic vocations. Eugène Guillaume for instance talked about “the fear often expressed that one might spur artistic aspirations among workers.”143 In his own area (drawing), he

thought that the study of art as an “exact profession” (i.e. through the geometrical

method) was the best means of regulating the mind. In other words, Guillaume believed

that adopting a scientific approach to teaching art would tame wild desires.

Interestingly, the same fear of encouraging artistic and literary careers prevailed

in high school. In high school too, education officials expressed their concern with

inauthenticity. Léon Bourgeois’ instructions on how to teach French in the 1890

programs gives a good example of this rhetoric. Phrases such as “false vocations,”

“artificial spirits,” and “futile and vain artisans of sentences” permeate his text:

Indeed it is not at all our mission to train professional writers; the risk would be too high of increasing the number of rhetoricians, of futile and vain artisans of sentences. To let believe, even the best students, as soon as they show some vivacity, that they are already literary men, is to make them lose the real notion of things, is to produce artificial spirits and give rise to false vocations. Let

142 Buisson, “Analyse littéraire,” in DP1, 78. Buisson is talking about the education of elementary school teachers. 143 Guillaume, “Dessin,” in DP1, 685. 74

us beware too of precocious maturities: does a seventeen-year-old student sound like he can reason and express himself like a man of forty? Let us fear that at the age of fifty he will talk and write like the seventeen-year-old rhetorician did. Let us get our students used to being themselves and being their age, to speak in their name, to sincerely express what they think and what they feel.144

As in elementary school, the challenge was to awaken students to beauty without allowing them to develop a new persona. A new persona would indeed conceal the original identity and hinder recognition on the social scene. It made the transgression of hierarchies along class and generation lines possible. Republican educators did not think that artistic expression was necessarily a reflection of the self. On the contrary, they feared its power of deception.

In the 1880s and the beginning of the 1890s, the Dictionnaire de pédagogie, the various works by education officials and the programs of primary school unanimously called for a careful appraisal of teaching contents and methods. Teaching the theory and practice of art was not a banal affair. Unsupervised, it threatened to undermine social cohesion. Indeed artistic expression or the display of artistic knowledge gave students the opportunity of embodying different characters, which could potentially mislead observers about their real identity. To ensure the transparence of students, republican pedagogues designed programs that reduced theory to a minimum and deliberately dimmed the appeal of artistic practice. These goals certainly made for an unusual pedagogical point of departure. We will now examine how they were translated into a teaching method.

144 “Il ne s’agit nullement en effet pour nous de former des écrivains de profession; nous risquerions trop en ce cas d’augmenter le nombre des rhéteurs, de futiles et vaniteux artisans de phrases. Laisser croire même aux meilleurs élèves, dès qu’ils montrent quelque vivacité, qu’ils sont déjà des littérateurs, c’est leur faire perdre la réelle notion des choses, c’est produire des esprits artificiels et susciter de fausses vocations. Défions-nous aussi des maturités trop précoces: un élève de dix-sept ans paraît-il raisonner et s’exprimer déjà comme un homme de quarante? Craignons qu’à cinquante ans il ne parle et n’écrive encore comme le rhétoricien de dix-sept. Habituons plutôt nos élèves à être bien eux-mêmes et bien de leur âge, à parler en leur nom, à exprimer sincèrement ce qu’ils pensent et ce qu’ils sentent.” Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Enseignement secondaire, 32-33. 75

Just as republican pedagogues were ambivalent about the benefits of art education, and felt the need to set certain limits, they were conflicted about which teaching method to use. On the one hand, reason was the only faculty of the mind that could convince individuals to adopt a selfless attitude and be consistent about it. On the other hand, empowering reason was an incentive to demonstrate knowledge and make judgments, and possibly formulate criticism. With respect to the teaching of art, republican pedagogues were thus faced with a series of dilemmas. Firstly, since imagination had precedence over reason in children and artworks could appeal to the imaginative faculty, they had to decide whether they should use art to attract the attention of children and instruct them. Secondly, because republican pedagogues were cautious about handing knowledge, they had to determine the extent to which knowledge was necessary to understanding art and which kind of understanding they wanted to aim at.

Ferdinand Buisson defended the “intuitive method” as a good compromise, adapted both to the intellectual abilities of children and to the goals of republican pedagogy. The intuitive method indeed posited a simple access to truth, through the evidence of intuition. It was also flexible enough to allow for the use of senses, sentiments, and reason. And as these faculties could be tapped indifferently to reach truth, the method had the potential to adapt to children’s evolving faculties, i.e. start with the cultivation of senses to eventually gain independence from them and rely solely on reason.

All educators agreed that children had highly developed imaginations, while their faculty of reasoning lagged behind. In the “art” entry of the Dictionnaire de pédagogie,

Félix Ravaisson-Mollien asserted:

In the natural development of the faculties of the mind, reason is late and imagination precocious. Vico, the founder of the philosophy of history, showed

76

very well that this law was true in the history of peoples; it is true with the child compared to the adult, with the common man compared to the man of more cultivated classes.145

A spiritualist philosopher, inspector general of higher education until 1880, and,

later, a member of the Institut de France, Ravaisson-Mollien suggested that rational

faculties developed with education. As children and workingmen were less

knowledgeable than, respectively, adults and educated people, their imagination was

consequently more developed than their reason. Furthermore, there was a difference of

faculties among children. Children of the lower classes were less advanced than their

counterparts in the upper classes. Ravaisson-Mollien did not give an explanation for this

discrepancy. Was it because children from different backgrounds received different

educations, both at school and at home? Or was the discrepancy due to another factor? In

other words, would a child of the lower classes with a strong education still be less

developed than a child of the upper classes? Even if Ravaisson-Mollien did not explicitly

answer the question, we can say that education and class were so intertwined in his mind

that they almost became equivalent. A certain background corresponded to a certain level

of education, which in turn corresponded to a certain degree of intelligence. None of this

social hierarchy of intelligence existed in Élie Pécaut’s approach. However, he agreed that imagination was “a master faculty of the child.”146 Renouvier was an exception in

treating the child as a person endowed with both reason and sentiment. At the end of the

nineteenth century, a majority of pedagogues considered reason as a latent faculty in the

child.

145 “Dans le développement naturel des facultés de l’esprit, la raison est tardive et l’imagination est précoce. Vico, le fondateur de la philosophie de l’histoire, a très bien montré que cette loi se vérifiait dans l’histoire des peuples; elle se vérifie chez l’enfant comparé à l’adulte, chez l’homme du peuple comparé à l’homme des classes plus avancées en culture.” Ravaisson-Mollien, “Art,” in DP1, 122. 146 Élie Pécaut, “Fiction,” in DP1, 1008. 77

Faced with this latency, what pedagogical strategy did education officials adopt?

Did they try to cater to an embryonic reason, possibly hoping to develop it more quickly,

or did they work with the faculty at hand, imagination? Despite their preference for the

enhancement of rational faculties, pedagogues did not dismiss imagination. Ravaisson-

Mollien for instance had a pragmatic approach. Since the imagination had an

extraordinary importance in children’s mind, he argued that the culture of imagination

should come first. “And if it is true that nothing is more attractive for the imagination

than that which is beautiful, and thus that this sense of the beautiful that we call taste is

what is most proper both to arouse and cultivate it [the imagination], should not we agree

to give the first place to poetry and art in the whole instruction system and especially in

primary instruction?”147 Besides, far from keeping children in a state of subordination to

their fantasies, an education that would first proceed with “realities and images” would

elevate the mind to the most sublime part of the intellectual faculty.148 Élie Pécaut shared

Ravaisson-Mollien’s conviction that the culture of imagination contributed to the

development of mental faculties. At a time when young spirits were still impervious to

reason, he said, “imagination [was] the golden key that [opened] the gates of

intelligence.”149

Both Pécaut and Ravaisson-Mollien insisted that it was necessary to arouse

students’ curiosity through an appeal to the imagination during the first years of

instruction. However, while Pécaut judged that fictional narratives were a good way of

147 “Puis s’il est vrai que rien n’a plus d’attrait pour l’imagination que ce qui est beau, de sorte que ce sens du beau qu’on appelle le goût est ce qui est le plus propre et à la susciter et à la cultiver, ne faut-il pas accorder que la première place devrait appartenir, et dans tout le système d’instruction et dans l’instruction primaire surtout, à la poésie et à l’art?” Ravaisson-Mollien, “Art,” in DP1, 123. 148 Ibid., 122. 149 “or à cet âge l’imagination est la clef d’or qui ouvre les portes de l’intelligence.” Pécaut, “Fiction,” in DP1, 1008. 78

enticing children into learning, Ravaisson-Mollien placed more confidence in the power

of ideals. Ideals, whether of truth, good or beauty, inevitably aroused the interest of

children, according to Ravaisson-Mollien. Thus, upon seeing a beautiful object, children

could not fail to want to learn about it. In this respect, Ravaisson-Mollien diverged

fundamentally from the theses exposed by Herbert Spencer. Instead of trusting the

spontaneity of children—that is, their moral disposition— Ravaisson-Mollien was

convinced that the ideal alone could reveal to children their humanity and remind them of

their duties.150 By contrast with Ravaisson-Mollien’s ideals, which demanded admiration

from children, Pécaut’s fiction left them more liberty. There was no predetermined goal

for them to achieve, only their pleasure to pursue.

We have noted the prominent role of imagination in the first years of primary

school. Later, when children’s rational faculties became more operational, Pécaut

believed, children no longer needed fiction to excite their curiosity. Once they had

arrived at this stage of development, children sought knowledge for knowledge’s sake

and valued the intrinsic value of truth. Therefore, there was no longer any reason for

fiction to be part of their formal instruction, even indirectly. Fiction had lost its raison

d’être. Yet Pécaut argued that fiction still had an important role to play in the education

of children. He praised fiction for its unrivalled suggestive power. Fiction, as he said,

“acts upon the child’s soul as it acts upon ours, through means that are proper to it and

that nothing could replace. It transports the child into a world which, though not true, is

150 Jocelyne Boguery, “Le dessin: Vers un problématique enseignement artistique,” in L’école républicaine et la question des savoir, ed. Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn, 239-240. 79

nonetheless real and alive, and, with the power of drama, it catches his attention and

governs his heart like reality will only do rarely.”151

Pécaut immediately added that the instrument was so powerful that it should be

handled with infinite caution. He was uneasy about a tool which, though formidable in its

potential to do good, could shake the empire of reason. Unless they were used with

people of a certain moral strength, Pécaut thought that fictional narratives would confuse

individuals’ sense of reality. In particular, Pécaut advised teachers to pay attention to the

differences of temperament existing between sexes. Women were more impressionable

than men and, as a result, fiction could easily set off their imagination.152

To sum up, Pécaut distinguished between two phases, one in which imagination

was allowed to trick reason into learning, and the other in which reason was autonomous

and imagination posed a threat to its ascendency. He heartily advocated the culture of

imagination in young children, when reason could not be put to work by other means. But

once children had passed that age, Pécaut’s support for the cause of imagination became

more nuanced, mainly out of gender considerations. Thus, under certain conditions,

Pécaut and Ravaisson-Mollien legitimated a pedagogy based on the training of non-

rational faculties.

While republicans believed that an unrestrained imagination threatened the

development of reason in all children, they believed lack of knowledge to be a problem

that confronted primary school students specifically. Many authors in the Dictionnaire de pédagogie wondered about how it might influence the process of learning. Buisson for

151 Pécaut, “Fiction,” in DP1, 1009-1010. 152 Ibid., 1010. 80

instance thought that a critical mass of knowledge was necessary to understand certain

problems. Given the little prior knowledge available to primary school students and the

limited possibilities to increase it, he was pessimistic about the capacities of lower-class

children to engage in complex thought processes. For instance, in the “criticism” article,

he asked: “Can one hope to succeed, with the minimum of culture that elementary school

entails, in initiating simple minds into this essentially delicate and complex exercise,

which consists in grasping what is most abstract in the world, qualities and relationships

between ideas, in noticing and distinguishing not materially distinct objects, but fine

nuances and barely pronounced characters?”153 In the “literary analysis” article, Buisson

wondered more specifically about the consequences of an inexistent classical culture on

the interpretation of French literature:

We do not hesitate to give literary analysis its due place; but, on the other hand, we do not conceal from ourselves the difficulties that it faces in primary school. Most of our student-teachers, almost the totality of them, lack aesthetic culture, an initiation into literature sufficient to fully appreciate the beauties of the works that they are asked to analyze. It is an unavoidable reef; more than any other in Europe, our national literature is imbued, penetrated, inspired with classical memories. It loses much of its charm and its meaning for those who were not able to go through the Greek and Roman school. Our teachers do not know and will never know either Greek or Latin. Therefore we cannot flatter ourselves that we can make them able to grasp and taste the classical flavor of our literature.154

153 “Peut-on espérer qu’on parviendra, avec le minimum de culture que comporte l’école élémentaire, à initier des esprits simples à cet exercice essentiellement délicat et complexe qui consiste à saisir ce qu’il y a de plus abstrait au monde, des qualités et des rapports d’idées, à noter et à distinguer non des objets matériellement distincts, mais des nuances fines et des caractères à peine marqués?” Buisson, “Critique,” in DP1, 623. 154 “Nous n’hésitons pas à donner à l’analyse littéraire la place qui lui convient; mais, d’autre part, nous ne nous dissimulons pas les difficultés qu’elle rencontre dans l’enseignement primaire. Il manque à la plupart, à la presque totalité de nos élèves-maîtres une culture esthétique, une initiation littéraire suffisante pour apprécier pleinement les beautés des œuvres qu’on leur demande d’analyser. C’est là 1’écueil inévitable; plus qu’aucune autre en Europe, notre littérature nationale est imprégnée pénétrée, inspirée des souvenirs classiques. Elle perd beaucoup de son charme et de son sens pour qui n’a pu passer par l’école de la Grèce et de Rome. Or nos instituteurs ne savent et ne sauront jamais ni latin ni grec. Il ne faut donc pas se flatter de pouvoir les mettre en état de saisir et de goûter le parfum classique de notre littérature.” in Buisson, “Analyse littéraire,” in DP1, 78. 81

In this excerpt, Buisson clearly pointed to the limited culture and thus the limited

understanding of the popular reader. But, in the rest of the article, he was careful not to

shut out all possibility of understanding. Missing references to classical antiquity did not

prevent readers from grasping the universal message present in all masterworks. “It is the

glory of our great writers to have been close enough to nature that they are eternally

understood and loved by everyone,” he declared.155 The only requirement for this

supreme comprehension was “the rectitude of mind and heart.” Thus there was no need

for prior knowledge to understand great literature and feel emotions.

Was knowledge also dispensable in the case of aesthetic judgments? In other

words, was it possible to make a judgment of taste without having the experience of

contemplating masterworks? To judge from Georges Dumesnil’s contribution to the

Dictionnaire de pédagogie, the answer was twofold. On the one hand, the judgment of

taste was “independent of any reflection.”156 Physical tastes were a matter of sensibility.

Therefore appreciation was strictly personal and could not be debated with other people.

What distinguished a man of taste then was a natural aptitude to perceive harmony where

the vulgar person saw confusion, and, conversely, to feel disgust (and rightly so) for what

the vulgar person considered pleasant and admirable. Dumesnil called this natural

aptitude the “exactitude of senses.”157 On the other hand, Dumesnil argued that reason

played a prominent role in aesthetic criticism. “As regards criticism, by contrast, it is the

spirit that is involved; and every time the spirit makes a judgment, it mixes with it more

155 “C’est au contraire la gloire de nos grands écrivains de s’être assez rapprochés de la nature pour être éternellement compris et aimés de tous.” Ibid., 78. 156 Dumesnil, “Goût,” in DP1, 1193. 157 Ibid. 82

or less rational elements, that is, notions that all reasonable men share.”158 Using reason

here amounted to being acquainted with the reigning standard of taste and respecting it.

This second form of aesthetic judgment was thus conditioned on possessing a certain

knowledge.

Dumesnil thought that taste could be educated, and educated through knowledge.

He maintained that “if the germs of taste are a natural and almost organic gift, it perfects

only through a kind of education, through the culture that example and the society of men

alone can give.”159 For instance, upon listening to a commendable piece of music,

auditors should analyze their sensations under the control of the intellect, i.e. in the light

of aesthetic principles. In return, their sensations would become more distinct and

delicate, they would soon become aware of new nuances. Thus the most refined taste was

the product of a combination of natural abilities and training. Since the ordinary public

seldom had the opportunity of seeing masterworks and the government did not intend to

teach literary and art history in primary school, Dumesnil’s statements implied that good

taste, that is, of the sort recognized by high society, was reserved for an elite. The

ordinary public only had access to a shallow taste, unaware of the web of references in

which artworks were caught.

Just as Buisson contended that, despite their limited knowledge of ancient

civilizations, children of the lower classes could grasp the universal message contained in

each literary masterwork, Dumesnil argued that, despite the crudity of their sensations,

158 “En matière de critique, au contraire, c’est l’esprit qui est en jeu; et toutes les fois que l’esprit porte un jugement, il y mêle plus ou moins d’éléments rationnels, c’est-à-dire des notions communes à tous les hommes raisonnables.” Ibid. 159 “si les germes du goût sont un don naturel et pour ainsi dire organique, son perfectionnement ne s’accomplit que par une sorte d’éducation, par la culture que l’exemple et la société des hommes peut seule lui donner.” Ibid. 83

children of the lower classes could appreciate the beauty of universally acclaimed

artworks. Both believed that the particular intelligence of workers and peasants did not

impede their comprehension of the general, even if they understood it only in rough

terms. Thus, one could argue that in the 1870s and 1880s, republican pedagogues sought

to familiarize lower classes with what they presented as universal values while trying to

preserve the particularity of these individuals. And they found that the most appropriate

pedagogy for preserving what in their own language they called “simplicity” was the

“intuitive method.”

For a rationalist government to call for a pedagogy based on intuition may seem

surprising and, in fact, the promoters of the intuitive method always had a difficult time

reconciling the principles of an education of the senses with their inclination for the

development of reasoning faculties. Even its chief promoter, Ferdinand Buisson, grew

skeptical about its original conception and felt the need to modify it. Thus, despite its

official status, the intuitive method enjoyed an uncertain popularity.

When Buisson came back from the Vienna World Fair in 1873, he was very

enthusiastic about the new pedagogical approaches he had gotten to know there. In the

report he wrote subsequently, he wished that “intuition become at home like elsewhere

the great principle of reform in education, a universally felt need.”160 Later, when

presenting the project of the pedagogy dictionary to his publisher Hachette, he indicated

his desire to disseminate the “intuitive method.”161 The new method had much appeal for a pedagogue who rejected the traditional teaching style based on mechanical learning. It

160 “l’intuition [devenait] chez nous comme ailleurs le grand principe de réforme dans l’enseignement, le besoin universellement ressenti.” cited in Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 93. 161 Stated in the “Sommaire analytique” of Buisson’s contract with the publisher. Ibid., 17. 84

was sensitive to children’s abilities and tastes. For instance, instead of having students memorize abstract facts, as had been the case in the traditional method, the new method,

recognizing that the senses mature before rational faculties, advocated the training of the

senses first. Buisson was confident that children would eventually reach a certain level of

abstraction through intuition.

That was the original view, which many educators shared. However, Buisson and

his colleagues became progressively wary of it. They feared that abstraction, having been

relegated to second importance, would fall off the map altogether. They worried that

instruction might become materialistic. Thus the initial enthusiasm for the pedagogical

theories elaborated by Herbert Spencer and Alexander Bain, who argued for the late

development of reason and the need to appeal to the interest and pleasure of the child, evolved into a critique of their utilitarianism.162 In addition, the first installments of the

Dictionnaire de pédagogie, published in 1878, warned against an excessive reliance on intuition. For instance, Buisson’s article on “abstraction” pointed out the risk that if children are trained for too long to use their senses, this might prevent development of their ability to think.163 Ideally, children should learn to use their senses in such a way

that they would eventually be able to do without them.

A few months later, in August 1878, Buisson denounced the “attractive and utilitarian pedagogy” in even sharper terms.164 In a lecture he gave at the Sorbonne, he

declared that it was illusory to think that “school instruction could be given and received

through playing.” And if that chimera were to persist, it would destroy any idea of effort,

162 Ibid., 132, 164. 163 Cited by Dubois in Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 136. 164 See Buisson’s paper at the pedagogical talks organized at the Sorbonne in August 1878 for the teachers sent to the 1878 World Fair. 85 trouble and work.165 At the same time, Buisson proposed extending the realm of the intuitive method beyond sensory intuition. In 1882, finally, the intuitive method found itself in a situation of contradiction between policy and theory. On the one hand, for the first time, it received official recognition. It was the method advocated in the new primary school programs. On the other hand, after Buisson’s article on “intuition” came out toward the end of 1882, contributors to the Dictionnaire only marginally referred to the intuitive method. The method was abandoned on a theoretical level.

A close analysis of the 1882 primary school programs as well as of the

Dictionnaire de pédagogie article on “intuition” sheds some light on the reasons for this ambivalent relationship with the intuitive method. As a path toward knowledge, the training of intuition seemed to be the most appropriate for primary school. In Victor

Cousin’s wake, Buisson defined intuition as “an act of human intelligence, the most natural, the most spontaneous of all, that through which the mind grasps reality, notices a phenomenon, sees at first glance something that exists inside him or outside him, so to speak.”166 Intuition was particularly fit for primary instruction because it was a natural, universal faculty. Everyone had the intuition of truth, provided it remained simple.

Moreover, intuition was spontaneous, that is to say it required neither prior knowledge nor rational demonstrations to operate. By using intuition, primary instruction could thus escape the intricate demands of science. “This confidence in the natural forces of the mind, which are more than willing to develop by themselves, and this absence of claim to

165 Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 136-137. 166 “un acte de l’intelligence humaine, le plus naturel, le plus spontané de tous, celui par lequel l’esprit saisit une réalité, constate un phénomène, voit en quelque sorte d’un coup d’œil une chose qui existe en lui ou hors de lui.” Buisson, “Intuition et méthode intuitive,” in DP1, 1374. 86

science per se suit any rudimentary teaching. But they are particularly essential in public

primary school, which must act, not upon a few children taken aside, but on the mass of

the children’s population,”167 stated the official programs. Limiting the domain of

primary instruction to truths only available to intuition had another advantage. It meant

that primary instruction was immune to controversy.168 Teachers could therefore easily

set aside topics that were a matter of debate.

Unlike the eighteenth-century German philosophers who identified intuition

(Anschauung) with sensory perception, Buisson claimed the relative independence of

intuition from senses. There were truths he thought that were intuitively accessible to the

mind without the help of senses. Intuition originated not only in the testimony of senses,

but also of conscience and reason. As sensory intuition was the only form of intuition

available early in life, a child had no choice but to use it. However, as soon as rational

faculties developed, Buisson recommended encouraging children to form their own

judgment. As children easily became bored, it was essential to keep their interest alive so

that they continue to use their intuition. Thus, Buisson argued that teachers should

privilege concrete demonstrations to theoretical ones, and that, rather than transmitting

rules directly, they should encourage students to discover rules on their own. He was

willing to accept a less regimented classroom in order to encourage spontaneous

learning.169

167 “Cette confiance dans les forces naturelles de l’esprit qui ne demandent qu’à se développer et cette absence de toute prétention à la science proprement dite, conviennent à tout enseignement rudimentaire, mais s’imposent surtout à l’école primaire publique qui doit agir, non sur quelques enfants pris à part, mais sur la masse de la population enfantine.” Ministère de l’instruction publique, Organisation, plan d’études et programmes, 28. 168 Buisson, La foi laïque, 50. 169 Buisson, “Intuition et méthode intuitive,” in DP1, 1377. 87

The same pedagogical principles held true in the domain of moral education.

Simple moral truths were as evident as mathematical truths. They composed what Jules

Ferry indifferently called “the good old morality of our fathers” or else “the morality

without epithets.” And while narratives had a function equivalent to that of experiments

in intellectual education, sentiments replaced senses as the primary target and medium of

instruction. The 1882 official programs thus stated:

The strength of moral education depends much less on the precision and logic of the truths that are taught than on the intensity of sentiment, the vivacity of impressions, and the communicative warmth of conviction. This education does not aim to teach knowledge but to bring to will; it moves more than it demonstrates; having to act upon sensitive beings, it appeals to the heart more than to reason; it does not try to analyze all the reasons for moral action, it seeks above all to generate it, to repeat it, to make it an habit that governs life. In primary school especially, it is not a science. It is an art, the art of bending free will towards the good.170

One obvious feature of the intuitive method was its immediacy. Truth was evident

through intuition. There was no need for prior knowledge to reach it. Truth could be

accessed through different means: reason, senses and sentiments. However, as long as

younger children were not able to reason, Buisson discouraged teachers from making

logical deductions. Finally, the goal of primary instruction was not to organize truths into

a systematic body of knowledge, i.e. to familiarize students with theory. The goal of

primary instruction was to shape the will of students by making their moral decisions

become unconscious. Thus, as much as it was defined by its immediacy, Buisson’s

intuitive method was structured around a series of rejections: no knowledge, no theory,

170 “La force de l’éducation morale dépend bien moins de la précision et de la liaison logique des vérités enseignées que de l’intensité du sentiment, de la vivacité des impressions et de la chaleur communicative de la conviction. Cette éducation n’a pas pour but de faire savoir, mais de faire vouloir; elle émeut plus qu’elle ne démontre; devant agir sur l’être sensible, elle procède plus du cœur que du raisonnement; elle n’entreprend pas d’analyser toutes les raisons de l’acte moral, elle cherche avant tout à le produire, à le répéter, à en faire une habitude qui gouverne la vie. À l’école primaire surtout, ce n’est pas une science, c’est un art, l’art d’incliner la volonté libre vers le bien.” Ministère de l’instruction publique, Organisation, plan d’études et programmes, 39. 88 no deduction, and no science. It was not clear though how the terms were linked to one another. Was his rejection of theory and deduction conditioned by the lack of a rational faculty in primary students, or was the distance of primary instruction from science independent from the development of reason? The question was all the more difficult to answer because pedagogues did not agree on the age when children began to reason.

Hence, pedagogues responded in various ways to the intuitive method.

Charles Renouvier, who considered that children were sentient and reasonable beings from their first day, criticized the official approach to moral education. He denounced the teaching of simplistic moral principles in primary school. Against Jules

Ferry, he argued the value of teaching the rational foundations of morality to children.

Furthermore, he did not see any obstacle to the use of the deductive method with children. Finally, he viewed the mission of primary instruction as to impart knowledge, not to educate the will.171 Renouvier however was an exception.

On the whole, Buisson’s collaborators, either as colleagues at the Ministry of

Public Instruction or as contributors to the Dictionnaire de pédagogie, supported the idea that spiritual life started with senses and so instruction should aim at senses first. Gabriel

Compayré was one spiritualist pedagogue who shared this opinion.172 Where he departed from Buisson was on the degree of confidence he had in the spontaneous expression of children. More than Buisson he thought that children were different from adults. They were not capable of attention and thus could not apply their mind to reasoning. They

171 Blais, Au principe de la République, 339. 172 Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 126. 89

lacked a moral sense.173 In Compayré’s mind, the disparity of faculties between children

and adults justified the repression of natural impulses as much as their stimulation.174

Another spiritualist pedagogue, Henri Marion, pointed to the dangers of founding

a teaching method on attraction and game. Like Buisson, he thought that “knowledge, as such, the quantity of knowledge at the very least, [was], even as regards teaching, an accessory and subordinated thing.”175 Consequently, he considered that awakening the

mind was more important than to give it food. Yet, because the mind could only grow out

of its own effort, it did not need any external incentive.176 The mind found its reward in

studying and the spur of curiosity could only make it the slave of interest. Finally, Marion

was intent on distinguishing his method, the “active method,” from the Socratic method,

closer to Buisson’s convictions. Marion did not believe that children could reach all the

truths by themselves: there were some truths that were not innate. Therefore the active

method “[did] not only consist in analyzing or manipulating the ideas one [had]; it [was]

also, and above all, the motion of the mind in search of new ideas.”177

In spite of their differences, the new pedagogical theories of the end of the

nineteenth century had one thing in common: they worried about the reception of the

teacher’s message. Even if Compayré advocated the submission of children to the

authority of the teacher, he was aware that instruction, in order to be efficient, had to aim

173 Gabriel Compayré, “La psychologie de l’enfant d’après des travaux récents,” Revue philosophique, no. 6 (1878): 472. 174 Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 147. 175 “le savoir, comme tel, la quantité du savoir tout au moins, sera, même en fait d’enseignement, chose accessoire et subordonnée.” Henri Marion, “Règles fondamentales de l’enseignement libéral: La méthode active,” Revue pédagogique 12 (15 January 1888): 2. 176 Ibid., 6. 177 “L’action dont il s’agit quand on parle de méthode active, ce n’est donc pas seulement celle qui consiste à analyser ou à manipuler les idées qu’on a; c’est aussi, et avant tout, le mouvement de l’esprit en quête d’idées nouvelles.” Ibid., 14-15. 90

at the development of faculties.178 Marion, despite warning against the temptation of

play, urged teachers to set aside their magisterial demeanors and to pay attention to

children’s needs.179 Finally, Ferry and Buisson discouraged teachers from presenting theories that were unlikely to hold children’s attention. As for Renouvier, his advocacy of

theories and rational demonstrations was not a sign of indifference to issues of reception.

He too thought that teaching should be tailored to students’ modest abilities.180 Rita

Hofstetter and Bernard Schneuwly have described this evolution as a paradigmatic change, whose effect was to move the emphasis of pedagogical doctrines from a self- contained determination of messages to a reflection on their assimilation by the child.181

Each group involved in the education of primary school children—scholars,

members of the high administration, inspectors, teacher trainers, and teachers—reacted to

the intuitive method with its own set of concerns, making it difficult to measure the

influence of the intuitive method. The discussions of education officials, for instance,

revolved around the respective exercise of rational and sensory faculties (at a stage when

reason was still developing), around the kind of knowledge that should be imparted to

children (so that they would learn something without being encouraged to falsify their

identities), and around the extent to which children’s interests should be nurtured (to

motivate students without overindulging them). With art in particular, the challenge was

to protect vulnerable minds from the suggestive power of fiction and to explain

masterworks without providing a historical background. There was also a fine line

178 Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 121. 179 Marion, “Règles fondamentales de l’enseignement libéral,” 11-12. 180 Blais, Au principe de la République, 350. 181 Rita Hofstetter and Bernard Schneuwly, eds., Passion, Fusion, Tension: New Education and Educational Sciences, End 19th-Middle 20th Century (Bern: Peter Lang, 2006). 91

between using art works to capture the attention of children and relinquishing all

educational purposes by entertaining them.

According to Daniel Hameline, inspectors and teacher trainers were less than enthusiastic about the intuitive method, but for different reasons than the education officials mentioned above. Many of them rejected a method based on intuition because they feared a return to religious metaphysics.182 Hameline also noted the frequent reserve

and occasional hostility of textbook authors with regard to the use of intuition in the

classroom. In the domain of art education, textbook authors had different opinions on the

question of incentive. For one anonymous author of a drawing method, since children

could instinctively perceive lines and simple geometrical figures correctly, the only

reason that they would poorly execute these figures was laziness or negligence. Far from inviting the encouragements of the teacher, he called for his or her severity.183

Conversely, Louis Bourgault-Ducoudray, a teacher at the Paris Conservatoire and author

of a report on the pedagogy of singing, insisted on the importance of enjoyment in

learning music. His argument was that children who knew the charm of music from an

early age would be more willing to make an effort to study it as their rational faculties

developed. Yet, even in the subsequent stages of learning, Bourgault-Ducoudray did not

exclude pleasure. At the superior level, he saved pupils from theoretical training and

fastidious exercises and permitted them instead to devote all of their time to art.184

182 Daniel Hameline, “Les malentendus de la méthode intuitive,” in L’école de la Troisième République, ed. Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn, 86. 183 Notices et conseils pour l’application des quatre premiers paragraphes du programme officiel avec l’indication des modèles à l’usage des écoles primaires et des classes élémentaires des lycées et collèges (Paris: Librairie Nony et Cie, 1893), 29. 184 Bourgault-Ducoudray’s report of 6 November 1880 in Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux- arts, Enseignement du chant: Travaux de la Commission: Rapports et programmes (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1884), 18-22. 92

As for teachers, they were not invited to participate in the elaboration of school

programs.185 The high administration expected them to simply apply official directions.

But even if teachers did not actively promote the intuitive method, one can assume that

they were familiar with it. In addition to pedagogical lectures and periodical inspections,

primary school teachers had access to local pedagogical libraries, which contained a good

number of writings presenting the intuitive method. Since primary school teachers

typically chose the books that they wanted in their libraries (with primary school

inspectors merely approving their selections), catalogues were an indication of their

interests as much as of their knowledge of teaching methods. In this regard, the analysis

of the four catalogues kept at the National Library suggests two things.186 One is that the

Dictionnaire de pédagogie and the Revue pédagogique were undisputed landmarks of the

Third Republic primary school. The first editions of parts one and two of the

Dictionnaire were published in runs of 9,000 and 11,700 copies, respectively. Given that

100,000 primary school teachers were active at the time, the numbers suggest a large dissemination.187 The second trend that seems remarkable in the catalogues is the relative

autonomy of library committees with respect to the preferences of high-ranking officials’

preferences. Compayré, Marion, and Pécaut were present in Auxi-le-Château’s catalogue of 1882. However, Buisson’s most enthusiastic works vis-à-vis foreign practices, as well

185 Jacqueline Gautherin, Une discipline pour la République: La science de l’éducation en France (1882- 1914) (Bern: Peter Lang, 2002), 68-69. 186 These four catalogues are the only ones published in the 1880s and 1890s that show in the National Library catalogue. Bibliothèque pédagogique: Règlement et catalogue des livres composant la bibliothèque pédagogique du canton d’Auxi-le-Château (Arras: Imprimerie Sueur-Charruey, 1882); Canton de Maignelay (Oise), Bibliothèque pédagogique cantonale: Catalogue des livres, 1883; Catalogue de la bibliothèque pédagogique du canton d’Illiers (Chartres: Imprimerie Durand, 1891); Catalogue de la bibliothèque pédagogique des deux cantons réunis de Chartres Nord et Sud (Chartres: Imprimerie Durand, 1891). Auxi-le-Château is located in the Pas-de-Calais, Chartres and Illiers in the Eure-et-Loir. 187 Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn, introduction to L’école républicaine et la question des savoirs, ed. Daniel Denis and Pierre Kahn, 12. 93

as Spencer’s De l’éducation intellectuelle, morale et physique only appear in the

catalogues of 1891, a time when the dangers of a “materialization” of primary instruction had yet to be voiced for quite a while.188 From this rapid survey, it is difficult to arrive at

a certain conclusion. Primary school teachers did not seem to have strong feelings either

in favor of or against the intuitive method. They seem to have been less concerned with

engineering the supremacy of reason than with maintaining their authority in the

classroom. The intuitive method promised a better learning outcome, but it also implied

concessions to students’ wishes. Teachers had to decide whether the possible gain in

teaching efficiency was worth the loss of control over course content. In any case, their

lack of resistance to official instructions and the different nature of their concerns made

them unlikely to influence the high administration’s position on the intuitive method.

After studying the republicans’ justifications for the democratization of theater in

the first chapter, the first part of this second chapter investigated the status of art

education and the results that educators anticipated from teaching art to lower classes.

While the first chapter concluded that republican politicians were ambivalent in

balancing a rhetoric of rights and a rhetoric of police, this first part of the second chapter

shows that republican pedagogues deemed that they could use art to further the interests

of individuals and of the state at the same time. While there was no such thing as a right

to art education, republican pedagogues advocated an education in the arts because of the

multiple benefits it had for the society. Aside from complementing a humanistic ideal, the

republicans praised art education for its contribution to solving the social question.

188 Given the limited number of catalogues in the sample and the absence of information on the date of purchase, the idea of the relative autonomy of library committees however can only be an hypothesis. 94

In the first chapter, we also saw that, republicans refused to grant artistic freedom to the population because they did not trust it to make the right aesthetic choices. In the first part of the second chapter, we examined whether republican pedagogues believed that education could improve public taste. The answer was that poorly educated people could understand the universal message of the classics or appreciate the beauty of universally acclaimed works, but their ability to make a balanced judgment remained suspect. In order to make a sound critique, they needed to be acquainted with a broad body of references, that is to say, to acquire a culture. However, the republicans did not plan to provide them with such tools. Pedagogues feared that instructing primary school students in literary and art history would spoil the modesty of the people. Also, they feared that the use of theories and demonstrations, i.e. of the scientific apparatus, would lead teachers to leave the domain of consensus and to tread on more controversial ground. Thus, artistic education generated anxiety at two levels. At a first level, republicans had to deal with people who had minimal capacity to reason and hence were not able to resist the charms of fiction. At a second level, they had to be cautious about training the people to reason because emboldening them to make their own judgments could threaten social and political stability.

This conclusion conflicted with the general admission that art appeased individuals. In the next part of this chapter, we will analyze educators’ views on the use of art as an instrument of moralization and political indoctrination, and examine how they could be reconciled with the idea that artistic education was a dangerous endeavor.

95

Artistic Education as a Means to Other Ends

The prospect of using art to advance a moral and political cause was tempting: who could not want to create a harmonious society composed of virtuous citizens, citizens who would, furthermore, live by republican ideals? Nevertheless, Jules Ferry and his collaborators cherished the neutrality of instruction and did not want to give a political bias to art education. So the opportunist administration had to find a way in which the state could intervene in the arts without compromising its neutrality. First, however, it had to determine whether and under which circumstances art could improve the morality of the population and raise its political awareness. Not having any direct testimony from the opportunist administration on this issue, we will study the opinion of three philosophers, namely, Victor Cousin, Charles Renouvier, and Jean-Marie Guyau, who profoundly influenced the republican pedagogical discourse of the 1880s.

Victor Cousin, Charles Renouvier, and Jean-Marie Guyau each represented different philosophical currents. Active in the first half of the nineteenth century, Cousin

(1792-1867) had been a professor of philosophy at the École normale supérieure and a member of both the Académie française and the Académie des Sciences Morales et

Politiques. He was the founder of the spiritualist school, which perpetuated his ideas through to the end of the nineteenth century. In the 1880s, Félix Ravaisson-Mollien,

Gabriel Compayré, and Henri Marion, for instance, were still inspired by the principles of the spiritualist school. While Charles Renouvier (1815-1903) did not hold any official position, he gained an audience through his writings. This Neo-Kantian philosopher was particularly known for his widely disseminated Manuel républicain de l’homme et du

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citoyen (1848), his political treatise La science de la morale (1869), and his weekly

journal, La critique philosophique (1872-1889). Jean-Marie Guyau (1854-1888), Alfred

Fouillée’s stepson, did not found or belong to any school of thought but was remarkable for his effort to integrate sociological concerns into his thought. He wrote two books on the role of art in society, Les problèmes de l’esthétique contemporaine in 1884 and L’art au point de vue sociologique in 1889.

The three philosophers agreed that art could be moral under certain conditions.

One of these conditions was art’s autonomy. Artworks conceived with a moral purpose in mind indeed were not necessarily beautiful. As a matter of fact, they often were not in good taste. In his 1836 lectures, Du vrai, du beau et du bien, Victor Cousin claimed “the independence, the own dignity, and the particular purpose of art” (“l’indépendance, la dignité propre et la fin particulière de l’art”).189 Subordinated to a moral goal, he wrote, art risked losing its charm and influence. Like Cousin, Renouvier believed that art had its own superior purpose. He also contended that art lost its disinterested and playful character whenever the artist was too intent on pursuing a moral goal.190 As for Jean-

Marie Guyau, he believed that the moral intention of the artist was self-defeating. For him, a moral intention could only produce boring artworks.191 Not one of the three philosophers, therefore, recommended the intervention of the state to commission moral artworks. To respect the autonomy of art, the state was expected to remain neutral.

Although a moral intention did not usually result in a beautiful artwork, the three philosophers agreed that beauty was always moral and immorality always ugly. For

189 Victor Cousin, Du vrai, du beau et du bien, 7th ed. (Paris: Didier, 1858), 186. 190 Charles Renouvier, La science de la morale, 2nd ed. (Paris: F. Alcan, 1908), 1: 185. 191 Jean-Marie Guyau, L’art au point de vue sociologique (Paris: Fayard, 2001), 501-502. 97

Cousin, physical beauty was the sensible manifestation of moral beauty. “Physical beauty

is the sign of an interior beauty, which is spiritual and moral beauty, and that is where the

bottom, the principle, the unity of the beautiful stands.”192 Renouvier did not see art as a

mere reflection of the essence of truth or the good. Rather, in his mind, art was

responsible for creating a representation of the good. While passions were marred with

evil in the real world, they became purified over the course of their transformation into

artistic representations.193 Beauty, according to Renouvier, resided where passion had

been successfully purged. Finally, Guyau asserted that “true art, without pursuing a moral

and social goal externally, has in itself its deep morality and its deep sociability, which

alone makes for its health and vitality.”194 The more the artwork created a social and

collective conscience within the individual, the more beautiful the artwork was.195

Whether beauty reflected the good, represented it or produced it, Cousin, Renouvier and

Guyau agreed that there was a necessary relationship between art and morality. This was

a reassuring conclusion for an administration that contemplated taking action in the

domain of the arts. Indeed, it meant that there existed a pool of moral artworks from

which the state could choose.

However, the morality of artworks did not guarantee that they would have a moral

effect on recipients. To talk about the moral influence of art, philosophers and

pedagogues had to consider the conditions of the aesthetic experience. Cousin, for

192 “La beauté physique est donc le signe d’une beauté intérieure qui est la beauté spirituelle et morale, et c’est là qu’est le fond, le principe, l’unité du beau.” Cousin, Du vrai, du beau et du bien, 168. 193 Renouvier, La science de la morale, 1: 183. 194 “L’art véritable, au contraire, sans poursuivre extérieurement un but moral et social, a en lui-même sa moralité profonde et sa profonde sociabilité, qui seule fait sa santé et sa vitalité.” Guyau, L’art au point de vue sociologique, 13. 195 Ibid., 25. 98

instance, argued that the moral effects of art were the indirect results of the aesthetic

experience:

If all beauty covers a moral beauty, if the ideal mounts unceasingly towards the infinite, art, which expresses ideal beauty, purifies the soul in elevating it towards the infinite, that is to say, towards God. Art, then, produces the perfection of the soul, but it produces it indirectly.196

However, he thought that art could produce its moral effects only if recipients were able

to appreciate beauty, and to do this they needed to use their faculties properly. The

sensual man, who did not apply his reason to the object of art, could only see the

attractive or the frightening aspects of it. Being impervious to beauty, he could not reap

the moral benefits of art. In the aesthetic experience, imagination and sentiment were

essential, but reason was the only means for understanding the highest beauty,

harmonious beauty.

Félix Ravaisson-Mollien and Charles Lévêque, both disciples of Cousin, endorsed

Cousin’s analysis in the Dictionnaire de pédagogie. Lévêque insisted that aesthetic

pleasure was not a sensual pleasure, but rather an intellectual one. Aesthetic pleasure was

a sentiment derived from the experience of an artwork’s beauty. It provided a serene

enjoyment to the amateur of art, and triggered his or her sympathy for the object of art.

Finally, the sentiment of the beautiful elevated, purified souls, and made them

harmonious. For all of these reasons, Lévêque recommended that education should

“include the methodical development, and the pedagogical culture of the aesthetic

sentiment, which is latent in each of us” (“L’éducation des âmes doit donc comprendre le

196 Victor Cousin, Lectures on the True, the Beautiful, and the Good, trans. O. W. Wright (New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1861), 162. 99

développement méthodique, la culture pédagogique du sentiment esthétique qui est en

germe dans chacun de nous.”).197

Despite identifying with a different tradition of thought, the liberal Protestant

tradition, Félix Pécaut expressed the same misgivings towards sensation. Just as he

thought the poet should compose spiritual poems and avoid sensual ones, i.e. avoid

poems that would draw their main effect from the music of verses, he warned the readers

of novels about the pure pleasure of sensation.198 In neither case, he claimed, would the aesthetic experience lead to the elevation of the mind. Worse, by providing amusement, sensual pleasure invited laziness. As for the moral effects of the genuine aesthetic experience, Félix Pécaut emphasized the power of poetry to reveal to children their humanity. By stirring up sentiments unknown to them, poetry turned somnolent beings into conscious souls. This “special,” “supernatural,” “magic,” “idealized language” enlarged the notion of self so that it eventually included “family, fatherland, humanity, nature and God even” (“la famille, la patrie, l’humanité, la nature et Dieu même”).199

According to Pécaut, poetry “robbed the child of his or her coarse, fierce, positive,

calculating egoism” (“ravit [l’enfant du peuple] à son égoïsme grossier, âpre, positif,

calculateur”).200 Through poetry, children merged their individuality into the community.

The same was true of music. Choral singing, for instance, fostered “the idea of a

communion of sentiments and action, the agreement of all in the same effort, the

197 Lévêque, “Esthétique,” in DP1, 910. 198 Félix Pécaut, “Poésie,” in DP1, 2389 and Félix Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation: Pensées pour une République laïque, ed. Patrick Cabanel (Paris: Éditions Le Bord de l’Eau, 2008), 174. 199 Félix Pécaut, “Poésie,” in DP1, 2389. 200 Ibid. 100

individual and isolated life disappearing to find itself invigorated back in collective

life.”201

Building on his theory of artistic representation, Charles Renouvier did not

express concern for the possibility of a sensual aesthetic experience. Art improved the

morality of the audience simply because it placed recipients in the position of making

universal judgments. Shedding their particular elements, the passions displayed in the

artwork were raised to a level of generality, which encouraged the spectators themselves

to abandon self-centered behavior. In other words, the representation of passion led to a

purging of real passion. Renouvier thus revived the Aristotelian theory of catharsis.

Following Cousin, who emphasized the role of the ideal, and Renouvier, who

emphasized the role of the universal in explaining the moral influence of art, Jean-Marie

Guyau shifted the paradigm to the social. Art was worth its power to further sociability.

By representing an individual’s life, the artist was able to convey an emotion to

recipients. This is what Guyau describes as making the individual’s emotion sociable.202

Once individuals developed sympathy for the object of representation, they became much

more sensitive to their peers’ joys and sorrows. In turn, individuals’ heightened

sensitivities created a moral environment, which favored the communication of ideas and

sentiments.203 Eventually, art influenced social progress as the representation of society,

positive or negative, established the sympathy of its members for the common good.204

201 “l’idée de la communion de sentiment et d’action, l’accord de tous dans un même effort, la vie individuelle et isolée se perdant pour se retrouver dans la vie collective” Félix Pécaut, “Musique,” in DP1, 1994. 202 Guyau, L’art au point de vue sociologique, 38. 203 Ibid., 39. 204 Ibid., 501. 101

Philosophers and pedagogues alike agreed on the capacity of art to make individuals think beyond their own limited spheres. But, they differed in their ways of envisaging the social relations that resulted from art. Cousin exhorted people to reverence. “Admire: worship great men and great works,”205 he enjoined in the

introduction to his lectures on the true, the beautiful, and the good. He also linked the

capacity for admiration with a respectful obedience to the law and with a demand for

“moderate liberty” (“liberté modérée”). The admiration for great works, the result of a

successful aesthetic experience, was indicative of the individual’s civic consciousness.

Despite this reference to the behavior of individuals in society, though, Cousin’s main

interest lay in exploring the relationship between the individual, on the one hand, and the

artwork or the artist, on the other.

Pécaut, Renouvier and Guyau, by contrast, analyzed the effects of the aesthetic

experience on the relationships between individuals. They not only evoked the sympathy

felt by individuals for the artwork, as Cousin and his followers did, but they also believed

in the sympathy generated among individuals by artworks. Pécaut, for instance, thought

that artworks introduced individuals to other paths of life.206 Renouvier declared: “Vis-à-

vis others, the same character of disinterestedness leads to the substitution of sympathy

and indulgence, or else indignation and a just antipathy to the violent and unreasonable

affections of love, to wrath and hatred that would flare in presence of real objects.”207

Finally, sympathy, along with human solidarity and the communication of consciences,

205 “Sachez admirer: ayez le culte des grands hommes et des grandes choses.” Cousin, Du vrai, du beau et du bien, IX. 206 Félix Pécaut, “Poésie,” in DP1, 2388. 207 “Vis-à-vis d’autrui, le même caractère de désintéressement amène la substitution de la sympathie et de l’indulgence, ou encore de l’indignation et d’une juste antipathie aux affections violentes et déraisonnables de l’amour, de la colère et de la haine qui se déploieraient en présence d’objets réels.” Renouvier, La science de la morale, 1: 183. 102 was at the foundation of Guyau’s conception of art. Sympathy, solidarity and the communication of consciences all contributed to the merging of individual and collective life.208 For Guyau, as well as for Pécaut, the feeling of sympathy brought with it the practice of abnegation. Individuals who cared for each other would condemn disparities of rights and acknowledge natural inequalities. Thus, in addition to creating a community of emotions, art allegedly fostered social reconciliation.

By this view, not only could art be moral, it could have a tangible moral impact on individuals. So, art education should have appealed to the administration. However, the question that remained for the state was whether it could maintain its neutrality in the process of selecting appropriate artworks. In a report to the Superior Council on Public

Instruction on the teaching of morality in primary teacher training schools, Paul Janet hinted at the administration’s answer:

As we said, while there are several philosophies, there is only one morality. One may object that there are several moral systems, and that the state must choose between these systems, that it must decide between Bentham and Kant, between the morality of duty and that of charity. However we will answer that the state must keep from these various systems only the principles contained in the very idea of education, and without which the idea of education would be something contradictory.

May I give an example. The state has taught arts from time immemorial; and, no doubt, the state should not impose a narrow orthodoxy in literature either on its teachers or on itself: for instance, to forbid a teacher to admire Shakespeare and only to allow him to admire Virgil and Racine would be totally absurd; but, however comprehensive state eclecticism can be, there is an implicit principle, without which there would be no literary education, and this principle is that there are beautiful works and there are others that are not; there are elevated and sublime works and there are base, flat, and crude works; and, if the state had to be absolutely indifferent with regard to literary matters, why would it go to such trouble, spend so much money, impose such a heavy administration? It would be more advantageous to let everyone educate themselves as they wish, and at whichever school they would fancy. Thus, the very idea of a literary education, unless it contradicts itself, relies on the distinction between the beautiful and the

208 Guyau, L’art au point de vue sociologique, 11. 103

ugly, that is to say, between what is elevated, noble, pure, and sublime, and what is base, crude, vulgar, and insignificant; and, this distinction is fundamental to morality as much as to literature. At the same time that the state uplifts spirits, it must uplift the souls that nature debases. Such is the fundamental mindset the state must uphold, or it has no further recourse but to abdicate. 209

Janet suggested that, while education officials did have to make ethical and artistic choices, they did not have to give the preference to one moral system or to one school of literature. It sufficed to eliminate ugly works and to condemn immoral acts; education officials did not need to choose among beautiful works or moral acts. By limiting the selection to the good and the beautiful, Janet argued, public schools could avoid partisan rivalries. Conveying universals, in other words, was Janet’s solution to preserve the neutrality of the state while exerting a moral influence on students.

Although they refused to use ethical criteria as the basis for commissioning artworks, republicans realized the risks of leaving the aesthetic experience unsupervised.

A sensual aesthetic experience could have disastrous consequences on the morals of the

209 “Comme on l’a dit, s’il y a plusieurs philosophies, il n’y a qu’une morale. On objectera qu’il y a plusieurs systèmes de morale, et qu’il faut que l’État fasse un choix entre ces systèmes, qu’il décide entre Bentham et Kant, entre la morale du devoir et celle de la charité. Mais nous répondrons que l’État ne doit retenir de ces différents systèmes que les principes qui sont contenus dans l’idée même d’une éducation, et sans lesquels l’idée d’une éducation serait quelque chose de contradictoire. Que l’on nous permette un exemple. L’État enseigne les lettres depuis un temps immémorial; et, sans doute, l’État ne doit pas imposer à ses professeurs, ni s’imposer à lui-même une orthodoxie étroite en matière littéraire: défendre à un professeur, par exemple, d’admirer Shakespeare et ne lui permettre que l’admiration de Virgile et de Racine serait complètement absurde; mais quelque large que puisse être l’éclectisme de l’État, il y a cependant un principe sous-entendu, et sans lequel il n’y aurait plus d’éducation littéraire, c’est qu’il y a des œuvres belles et d’autres qui ne le sont pas, des œuvres élevées et sublimes et des œuvres basses, plates et grossière; et si l’État devait être absolument indifférent en matière littéraire, quelle raison aurait-il de se donner tant de mal, de dépenser tant d’argent, de s’imposer une administration aussi accablante? Il aurait tout intérêt à laisser chacun s’instruire comme il le voudrait, et à telle école qu’il lui plairait. Ainsi, l’idée même d’une éducation littéraire, à moins de se contredire elle- même, repose sur la distinction du beau et du laid, c’est-à-dire de ce qui est élevé, noble, pur, sublime, et de ce qui est bas, grossier, vulgaire, insignifiant; or, cette distinction est le fond de la morale aussi bien que de la littérature. En même temps que l’État élève les esprits, il doit élever les âmes que la nature entraîne vers le bas. Telle est la pensée fondamentale que l’État doit maintenir, ou il n’a plus qu’à abdiquer.” Paul Janet, Report on the teaching of morality in primary teacher training schools, presented to the Superior Council on Primary Instruction in January 1880 (Eugène Bersier, De l’enseignement de la morale dans l’école primaire (Paris: Librairie Sandoz et Fischbacher, 1881), 81-82). 104 population, while an intellectual aesthetic experience could yield enormous moral profits.

Likewise, republicans refused to use art as an instrument of political indoctrination, but they remained aware of its potential as a tool of critique and of the necessity of controlling it. A realistic depiction could indict the government, while an idealistic representation could present an attractive alternative to the existing regime. In the most extreme cases, republicans resorted to censorship to banish sensitive artistic and literary productions. In the less controversial cases, they still cautioned against the perils of each genre.

The problems with realistic representations revolved around the rendering of truth and its political interpretation. Cousin asserted that realistic representations, because they did not distinguish between vices and virtues, broke the spell of art. Deprived of charm, he contended, artworks incited people to revolt. Besides, as the editor of the Manuel général de l’instruction primaire, Charles Defodon, noted, even in works that ridiculed them, vices could still seduce and deceive an audience. To complicate the matter, comic playwrights often ridiculed characters and objects that did not merit reproach.210 This lack of a litmus test for truth in realistic representations left spectators utterly autonomous in terms of discerning the moral thrust of a performance. Republican educators could not use realistic representations to correct the population’s faulty tendencies because showing these works required that the audience had acquired a moral sense beforehand.

Finally, even provided that the difference between vices and virtues was discernible, republicans did not think that virtues necessarily won over vices.

Historically, as Léon Bourgeois pointed out, the just were not always rewarded and the wicked were not always punished. “Unfortunately, lies and violence sometimes bring

210 Blair, Leçons de rhétorique et de belles-lettres cited by Charles Defodon, “Théâtre,” in DP2, 2170. 105

successes, whose practical value is not diminished by the immorality of the means.”211

Bourgeois concluded that history could not serve as a school of morality. Instead, he

recommended that educators strive to be sincere. In the end, one understands easily why

republicans were so cautious vis-à-vis realism in the arts. First, realistic representations

did not always give a clear picture of good and evil, and when they did, they did not

always depict virtue favorably. In these conditions, realistic representations could hardly

constitute a model of moral conduct and might even be suspected of encouraging bad

behaviors.

Idealistic representations were not without their own problems, either. Republican

educators may have accepted their necessity: only the representation of an ideal world,

they thought, could compete with the socialist utopia and respond to the fantasies of

religion. But they also saw their flaws.212 Élie Pécaut was not the only one to think that

purely fictional narratives could only be a temporary expedient in primary school:

Insofar as it seems possible to borrow the anecdotic lesson from the domain of facts (be it from everyday life or from history), every time that drama escapes abstraction to claim a foothold in reality or in the familiar world of the child, one must not hesitate to abandon fiction.213

Idealistic representations were dangerous for several reasons. First, seeing the

disparity between the ideal vision of the artwork and their own situation in reality, might

be tempted to rebel against the difficulty of their living conditions.214 This risk explained

why pedagogues preferred to train the sense of observation by using precise images

211 “Malheureusement, le mensonge et la violence procurent quelquefois des succès dont la valeur pratique n’est pas diminuée par l’immoralité des moyens.” Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Enseignement secondaire: Instructions, programmes et règlements (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1890), 47. 212 Élie Pécaut, “Fiction,” in DP1, 1010 and Félix Pécaut, “Poésie,” in DP1, 2388. 213 “Pour peu qu’il soit possible d’emprunter la leçon anecdotique au domaine des faits, soit à la vie de chaque jour, soit à l’histoire, chaque fois, en un mot, que le drame pourra sortir de l’abstraction pour prendre pied dans le réel, dans le monde familier de l’enfant, il ne faut pas hésiter à abandonner la fiction.” Élie Pécaut, “Fiction,” in DP1, 1009. 214 Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation, 148. 106

rather than to appeal to the imagination with fictional narratives. Second, the aesthetic

experience was a fundamentally passive one. Both Félix Pécaut and Jean-Marie Guyau

believed that the process of contemplating artworks might erode the agency of the spectator.215 Guyau, in particular, noted the “enervating effect” of art on peoples. Third,

idealistic representations could affect the reasoning faculty itself. “Let us be careful that

the strong common sense and the vigorous sap of the people not wither away as a

consequence of daydreams and exalted or factitious sentiments,”216 Félix Pécaut urged in

his Dictionnaire de pédagogie article on “poetry.”

These sentiments testified to a deep-seated anxiety over the reception of artworks.

In the republicans’ minds, even a moral artwork could be interpreted in such a way as to

become dangerous for the society. It was important, then, that education officials both

select beautiful artworks and teach children how to interpret them. The need to supply an

interpretive framework, however, conflicted with the idea of a spontaneous understanding

of universals posited by Buisson. It posed the question of why people did not adopt the

correct interpretation in the first place. If it was because they rejected the universal message, art education would have to do more than just confront students with reputable artworks. It would have to educate their will. Alternatively, if the artwork itself was responsible for leading the audience astray by impeding its judgment, the correct interpretation of the artwork would depend on the nature of the artistic medium. The more the medium distorted perceptions, the more it triggered inaccurate interpretations.

In the next section, we will investigate the various forms of artistic representation and

215 Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation, 148 and Guyau, L’art au point de vue sociologique, 497. 216 “Prenons garde que le robuste bon sens et la vigoureuse sève du peuple ne s’altèrent dans l’habitude de la rêverie et des sentiments exaltés ou factices.” Félix Pécaut, “Poésie,” in DP1, 2389. 107

their disparate potential, in the republicans’ minds, to mislead the audience. We will then

be able to explain why arts enjoyed different treatments in the classroom.

Theater and Other Artistic Media: The Unique Stigma of Dramatic Performances

The republicans’ ban on all dramatic performances in schools is an indication of

the concern with which they regarded theater. A mandate from 1881 prohibited

kindergarten teachers from “overburdening children’s memories with dialogues or

dramatic scenes in view of public solemnities.”217 At the elementary level, the school

rules that the Ministry of Public Instruction circulated the following year stipulated that

“any theatrical performance [be] prohibited in public schools.”218 Finally, the author of

the “dramatic performances” article in the Dictionnaire de pédagogie noted that the custom of school theater in secondary schools had all but vanished. It was not an accident. In 1888, the ministerial sub-committee on discipline had virtually excluded dramatic performances from high school schedules:

Play-acting, for instance, is a pleasant and intelligent exercise. In the past, Jesuits’ and Oratorians’ students used to take an extreme pleasure in it. But they had more time than our students have. Curricula are different today, and life has other demands. One can still imagine an act by Molière or Corneille performed with verve in front of the class on a rainy day by students who learned it in class. Undoubtedly everyone would see it as a waste of time, or at least as perilous to

217 “Il est interdit de surcharger la mémoire des enfants de dialogues ou de scènes dramatiques en vue de solennités publiques.” Article 10 of nursery school rules of 2 August 1881, “Représentations dramatiques,” in DP1, 2578-2579. 218 “Toute représentation théâtrale est interdite dans les écoles publiques.” Article 15 of the school rules template of 18 July 1882, to be used for the writing of departmental rules with regard to public primary schools, Ministère de l’instruction publique, Organisation, plan d’études et programmes des écoles primaires publiques et des écoles maternelles, n.p. 108

the work of serious learning, to rehearse and to stage a play of a less literary character, especially one written by students.219

Education officials discouraged the organization of dramatic performances in schools at

all stages of education. In part, this exclusion was due to the view that drama was a leisure activity. Despite the timid claim that entertainment might help maintain discipline, education officials did not acknowledge the right of students to some free time.220 In part, it was due to theater’s own characteristics. Like many of their predecessors, the educators of the end of the nineteenth century feared the potential damage of the mimetic art par excellence. The political elite of the Third Republic upheld the long tradition of

“antitheatrical prejudice” that had prevailed from Plato to Rousseau and beyond.221

Nevertheless, theater had not always been distrusted as a means of education.

School theater had flourished in France prior to the Revolution, and republican educators

did not ignore this fact. The contributors to the Dictionnaire de pédagogie often spoke

highly of the performances that Jesuits once organized. In the “educational theater”

article, for instance, Hippolyte Durand praised their glamour with apparent nostalgia for

the tradition.222 Similarly, the general inspector of Primary Education noted with praise

that the Saint-Cyr school theater that Mme de Maintenon founded had prompted Racine

to write two of his masterworks, Esther and Athalie. Thus, there were some republican

219 “Jouer des pièces de théâtre, par exemple, est un exercice agréable et intelligent. Les élèves des jésuites et des oratoriens y prenaient jadis un plaisir extrême. Mais ils avaient plus de temps que nos élèves. Les programmes d’études sont autres aujourd’hui et la vie a d’autres exigences. On conçoit bien encore un acte de Molière ou de Corneille joué de verve devant leurs camarades, un jour de pluie, par les élèves qui l’ont appris en classe; tout le monde verrait sans doute une perte de temps, au moins hasardeuse, dans le travail d’apprendre, de répéter, de monter sérieusement une pièce d’un caractère moins littéraire, surtout due à la plume même des élèves.” Report of the committee created on 28 March 1888 to study the improvements that should be introduced into the curriculum of secondary teaching institutions, Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Enseignement secondaire: Instructions, programmes et règlements, 211. 220 Ibid., 209. 221 This is the title of Jonas Barish’s book. 222 Durand, “Théâtre d’éducation,” in DP1, 2881. 109

educators who did not completely reject the idea of performing plays in schools.

However, most of the comments on the Jesuit accomplishments were dismissive. As there

was no consensus within the Jesuit order on the merit of school theater either, we will

compare arguments in both camps to understand what concerns were properly republican.

The Jesuits conceived of school theater as an activity that would be valuable in

terms of recreation and personal development. On the one hand, they assumed that play-

acting was pleasurable and, therefore, gave pupils some rest from their studies. On the

other hand, they expected that play-acting would ennoble the character, refine the taste

and improve the manners of their protégés. Soon enough, though, some voices within the

Jesuit order contested the efficiency of this method. First, these critics argued, staging

plays was a time-consuming activity. Not only did it require additional work on the part

of the teacher, who wrote plays and directed students, but it also kept students away from

serious study. Second, the benefits of the experience remained uncertain. Critics of

school theater contended that students would forget the verses that they had memorized

for the performance. They also pointed out that the declamatory techniques that students

learned for the stage would not necessarily serve them in public speaking. Finally,

practicing theater at school was an incitement to visit regular theaters outside the school.

Over time, criticism became so intense that the tradition of performance in Jesuit

institutions dwindled. Especially after the publication of Rollin’s Traité des études in

1726, the recitation of Greek and Latin speeches supplanted the classroom performance of tragedies and comedies, and the explication of texts replaced their declamation. Thus, even before Parliament prohibited dramatic performances in the colleges that Jesuits had formerly controlled (1762), the tradition of school theatrical productions was already in

110

serious jeopardy. In the years leading to the Revolution, the custom almost completely

disappeared.223

In contrast to the complaints of religious critics, what republican pedagogues

questioned with the Jesuits was not so much the capacity of theater to reach a set of

pedagogical goals as the worth of those goals themselves. More than the rehearsal of the

Latin language, the training of memory, or the exercise in public speaking, republican

educators rejected what they perceived as the futility of cultivating appearances. In his

Histoire critique des doctrines de l’éducation en France depuis le seizième siècle,

Gabriel Compayré summarizes the reasons the French university had dismissed dramatic

performances from schools: “the waste of time, the excessive incitement to pleasure, and

the premature encouragement of the desire to please” (“perte de temps, excitation

excessive au plaisir, encouragement prématuré donné au désir de plaire”).224 Compayré

then observed that the Jesuits had reintroduced theater to school in spite of these “patent

drawbacks” (“inconvénients manifestes”) in an effort to hone good manners. “The

bearing,” noted Compayré, quoting a Jesuit father, “is often the best of

recommendations.”225 With a hint of mockery, Compayré further reported: “The student

will learn to hold the head, the feet, the hands. He will know for instance that there is no

dignity, when one speaks, ‘in moving the forefinger forward while closing the other

fingers: that it is very becoming, on the contrary, to touch the ring finger to the middle

223 L.-V. Gofflot, Le théâtre au collège du Moyen Âge à nos jours avec bibliographie et appendices (New York: Burt Franklin, 1907). 224 Gabriel Compayré, Histoire critique des doctrines de l’éducation en France depuis le seizième siècle, 7th ed. (Paris: Hachette, 1904), 1: 176. 225 “La tournure est souvent la meilleure recommandation.” Ibid. 111

finger while spreading the others a bit.’”226 Compayré concluded that, while the study of

poise could be profitable, it should neither lapse into the “trifles of affectation” nor,

above all, imperil more serious studies. From this perspective, the production of plays at

school could be an extracurricular activity, at best.

In their approaches to school theater, educators distinguished between two types

of practice. One involved students attending plays and being in the position of spectators.

The other involved students acting in plays and being in the position of actors. In the next

section, I will examine the republican analysis of these two issues, first, by comparing the

reception of performance and reading, and then, by examining how the practice of theater

differed from that of the other arts, such as drawing and music.

At the beginning of the Third Republic, opportunist governments treated plays

quite differently from the way they treated printed materials. While plays were subject to

censorship prior to their performance, books and periodicals, which did not require

governmental authorization for publication, enjoyed a regime of relative freedom.227 As

this differential treatment attests, the liberal governments harbored a deep distrust for

theater, while remaining confident in the virtues of editors. In this section, we will

investigate the grounds for such divergent assessments.

For a long time, theater had been a most favored medium for illiterate people. By

the time of the republican school reforms in 1881-1882 though, it became less and less

so. As the illiteracy rate of the French population rapidly diminished, the potential

226 “L’élève apprendra à tenir la tête, les pieds, les mains. Il saura, par exemple, qu’il n’y a pas de dignité quand on parle ‘à avancer l’index en fermant les autres doigts: qu’il est très convenable au contraire de joindre ensemble l’annulaire et le médius en écartant un peu les autres’,” Ibid., 177. 227 While the liberty of press was proclaimed in 1881, the censorship of theatrical plays only ended in 1906. 112

readership expanded correspondingly. With newspapers and books simultaneously

becoming more affordable, the number of popular readers rose sharply. Thus, in the space

of a few decades, not only did the public of theaters become more generally literate but

also theaters ceased to be the common pastime of popular classes in urban areas.

Moralists, nonetheless, continued to express concerns over the weakness of the popular

public. In their opinion, the new population of inexperienced readers needed protection

from unscrupulous businessmen as much as the usual crowd of gullible and

impressionable theatergoers did. Public moralists deemed the popular public unable to

recognize vicious literature and prone to interpreting innocent depictions in pornographic

terms.228 The emergence of a mass market for written material meant that the

composition of the audience was not the only reason for the strict regime of surveillance

that the government imposed on theater. Although sensational newspapers and romance

novels attracted the same type of public as local theaters, republican politicians did not

monitor them with the same intensity, which indicated that there was another explanation

for the exceptional status of theater.

One explanation may be that the members of the audience did not interact with

the artwork in the same way when they attended theatrical shows and when they read

books. Whereas attending a play was a collective experience, reading a book was at this

point in time usually a solitary practice. The educators of the end of the nineteenth

century agreed that the presence of other viewers in the audience significantly altered the

reception of literary works. Defodon, for instance, affirmed that “the effect of our

personal emotions multiplies and increases somehow by the contagion of a similar effect

228 Annie Stora-Lamarre, L’enfer de la IIIe République: Censeurs et pornographes, 1881-1914 (Paris: Imago, 1989), chap. 2. 113

that we see at work in a crowd more or less numerous.”229 It is important to note that

educators did not necessarily see this amplification of emotions as a bad thing. Defodon

recognized that theater could be dangerous, and recommended that certain treacherous

passions not be represented. At the same time, however, he was convinced that

individuals felt disgust at the sight of evil. Confident in the spontaneous dissemination of

emotions in a group, Defodon believed that a crowd would be better able to fight vicious

plays than an isolated individual would. He even claimed that “evil revolts in public that

which it would seduce individually.”230

Félix Pécaut was equally optimistic about the benefit of collective emotions for

the public. During a performance, he observed, “people feel and think together and for

this reason they think all the more vividly and also all the more ideally; together, people

escape the narrowness, the limits, and the paralyses of individuals in their emotions and

their judgments. People are a crowd; people are humanity; and this says everything.”231

However, Pécaut also noted that theater fermented passions. Therefore, he neither

forbade nor encouraged his female student teachers of Fontenay-aux-Roses to attend dramatic performances. In a spirit of openness, he let them decide what was best for them.232 Both Pécaut and Defodon had ambivalent feelings about theater. Its capacity to

amplify emotions could either multiply the positive effects of plays on the audience or

aggravate their corrupting influence. It made it necessary to supervise the content of

229 “l’effet de nos émotions personnelles se multiplie et s’augmente en quelque sorte par la contagion d’un effet semblable que nous voyons se produire dans une foule plus ou moins nombreuse” Defodon, “Théâtre,” in DP2, 2169. 230 “Le mal révolte en public celui même qu’il séduirait individuellement.” Defodon, “Théâtre,” in DP2, 2170. 231 “on sent et pense ensemble, et par là d’autant plus vivement, et aussi d’autant plus idéalement; ensemble on échappe, dans ses émotions et dans ses jugements, aux étroitesses, aux limites, aux paralysies individuelles; on est foule, on est humanité, et cela dit tout.” Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation, 188. 232 Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation, 188. 114

plays. By comparison, books had more limited effects on their isolated readers, so

regulating their content was a less critical matter.

While the number of people in the audience was one source of concern that

explained the republicans’ censorious attitude toward theater, there was another factor

that provoked their anxiety: the difficulty for spectators to distance themselves from the

work performed. To republican thinkers, the idea of individuals abdicating reason and

free will was a particularly frightening prospect, which theater threatened to make a

reality.

Bernard Perez did not preclude the possibility of thwarting illusion, but he

insisted on the effort needed to “escape a multitude of sensations foreign to the action

presented on stage, in order to follow the idea in its diverse phases and to identify with

the character.”233 As a philosophy professor and the author of numerous articles and

books on psychology, he warned of the ease with which children in particular succumbed

to theatrical illusion. Younger spectators needed to be “well trained and adequately

sensitive to enter the moral situation, of which we only see certain aspects, and which

must be interpreted in a certain way.”234

The play’s power of illusion was also a source of alarm for Defodon, the author of

the “theater” article in the Dictionnaire de pédagogie. However, while Perez still trusted

the willingness of spectators to resist it, Defodon denounced the complicity of the

233 “Au théâtre, il faut pouvoir s’abstraire d’une foule de sensations étrangères à l’action représentée, pour en suivre l’idée dans ses diverses phases, pour s’identifier avec le personnage dont la souffrance et le danger nous doivent devenir nôtres en quelque façon.” Bernard Perez, La psychologie de l’enfant: L’art et la poésie chez l’enfant (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1888), 210. 234 “il faut être bien exercé, bien sensible, pour entrer dans la situation morale dont on ne voit que certains aspects, qui sont à interpréter d’une certaine manière.” Perez, La psychologie de l’enfant, 210. 115 audience. In Defodon’s opinion, spectators did not look for truth on the stage, but, rather, they were content with verisimilitude. In fact, they gave the playwright full liberty to design his narrative on the condition that he pleased them.235 Finally, Defodon argued that drama essentially differed from other literary genres in that it did not need the intermediary of a book. Essentially, he argued, plays were written for the stage. Whereas novels and poems appealed to the ear alone, plays were audiovisual experiences.

Playwrights, thus, could create situations that closely resembled real life.236 In sum, performances posed a greater danger than reading did because of their potential for deception. Plays posed as embodiments of reality and spectators were willing to believe it. With their lesser ability to create illusion, books were less problematic.

In sum, the republicans had mixed feelings about using theater for the education of the people. Without rejecting the medium altogether, they encouraged its promoters to proceed with caution. The popular public, indeed, was allegedly particularly susceptible to temptation. So, not only did plays have to be morally irreproachable, but the public also needed training in order to interpret works morally. In addition, theater’s power of illusion posed a direct threat to individual autonomy. Even if Defodon and Perez claimed that individuals could refuse to submit to illusion, there was no sign to show that popular classes were committed to this effort. Hence the necessity of educating both reason and the will. At this stage in intellectual development of the lower classes, republicans felt that theater was an inadequate means of education. Indeed, to yield its most positive effects, theater needed the popular public to have received a proper education beforehand.

Comparatively, books may have had less educational potential (to the extent that they

235 Defodon, “Théâtre,” in DP2, 2169. 236 Ibid., 2168. 116

lacked the multiplied moral effect that live performances exerted on collective

audiences), but they were also less threatening to public morals and thus less delicate to

manage. This initial analysis suggests why plays faced censorship in theatrical venues

and were banned from schools, while educators esteemed books and disseminated them

freely throughout the country. Turning from the question of spectators to that of actors,

the next section tackles the issue of theater in schools from the point of view of

performance practice.

Jules Ferry made the teaching of drawing and music mandatory at the same time

that he prohibited dramatic performances in elementary school (1882).237 Therefore his

decision to exclude theater cannot be interpreted as part of a sweeping movement to

eliminate arts from school. Quite the opposite, the minister of public instruction and fine

arts actively promoted the teaching of arts in school. the prohibition was thus specifically

directed against theater. In this section, I will show why music and drawing experienced

such different fortunes than theater in French public education.

In his speech at the Association polytechnique of 24 June 1883, Ferdinand

Buisson explained why music and drawing were part of the new primary school curriculum. He started his presentation with a reminder that his ambition was not “to get rid of labor, pain, and effort” (“supprimer le travail, la peine, l’effort”) at school.238

Feeling the need to reassure the audience on his intentions, Buisson added that the

classroom should not be “a meeting place for laziness, rest, play, entertainment” (“un

237 See Marcel Le Chartier, L’intervention de l’Etat dans les arts plastiques (Paris: F. Pichon et Durand- Auzias, 1913) and Michèle Alten, La musique dans l’école: De Jules Ferry à nos jours (Issy-les- Moulineaux: Éd. EAP, 1995). 238 Buisson, “Discours prononcé à l’occasion de la distribution des prix aux élèves de l’Association polytechnique le 24 juin 1883 au cirque d’hiver,” 83. 117 rendez-vous de paresse, de repos, de jeu, de divertissement”). However, the director of primary instruction declared that the classroom should be a place where work is “varied, cheerful, lively, free, and as much as possible spontaneous” (“un lieu de travail varié, gai, animé, libre et autant que possible spontané”).239 In his mind, children would learn “the habit, the idea, the love of work” (“l’habitude, l’idée, l’amour du travail”) better if teachers tried to communicate with them rather than if they imposed an abstract discipline.240 To avoid having children fall asleep during class, i.e. to ensure that children were interested in the subject matter and felt supported in their endeavor to learn, was the new credo of the administration. Even if Buisson was careful to present it not as a concession to indulgence, the new credo was certainly more welcoming of the arts than a strict pedagogy based on the exclusive teaching of reading, writing and arithmetic.

In the second part of his speech, Buisson refuted the idea that music and drawing were mere “accomplishments” (“arts d’agrément”). Neither a “luxury art” (“art de luxe”) nor a “means of entertainment” (“amusement”), drawing was “one of the first necessities of our industry” (“une des premières nécessités de notre industrie”).241 The teaching of drawing at school was the only way artistic businesses could maintain their position in the world market. As we know from a previous analysis, music could not pride itself on such a useful purpose. Buisson thought singing had no professional outcome. Yet, against recalcitrant fathers who withdrew their children from school on the grounds that music instruction had too much importance, he insisted that singing be taught side by side with reading. By contrast with drawing, music had a properly spiritual goal.

239 Ibid. 240 Ibid., 84. 241 Ibid. 118

In the Dictionnaire de pédagogie, it was given to Félix Pécaut to defend the cause

of music in primary school. Like Buisson, Pécaut rejected the identification of music with

“accomplishments.” Not “a charming luxury” (“un luxe charmant”), not “a delicate and

distinguished pleasure” (“un plaisir d’un ordre délicat et distingué”), music was “a subtle

and powerful instrument of moral culture” (“un instrument subtil et puissant de culture

morale”).242 Within music, choral singing was even more adapted to the specificities of

popular instruction because of its simplicity and capacity to feed “instincts of solidarity,

communion and collective harmony” (“instincts de solidarité, de communion, d’harmonie

collective”).243 Singing together in fact amounted to a religious experience. Transported

towards the beautiful, the good and the true, participants lived through “divine moments”

(“moments divins”). Citing Parker’s description of religious faith, Pécaut added that

during these rare times when God visited men, men felt united with Him and forgot about

their condition. From this experience of communion, men drew a force that allowed them

to overcome everyday dreariness and egoism. Thus, reaching the depth of souls, music did not excite one single virtue but more globally boosted men’s vital energy. In Pécaut’s conception, music could achieve this result because of the combined action of harmony and rhythm. While the harmony of sounds aroused the sentiment of moral harmony, rhythm incited to activity.244 Moreover, through choral singing, individuals experienced

the agreement of all, bent in the same effort. To Pécaut, this free agreement of individual

wills promised social concord, every singer feeling “in a disposition such as to found the

city of God on Earth” (“dans [une disposition] qui contribuerait le plus à fonder la cité de

242 Félix Pécaut, “Musique,” in DP1, 1994. The installment of the Dictionnaire containing the article came out in 1884 (the date of publication is given in Dubois, Le “Dictionnaire” de Ferdinand Buisson, 100). 243 Ibid. 244 Ibid. 119

Dieu sur la terre”).245 To say the least, Pécaut expected much from the teaching of choral

singing in primary school.

Pécaut also advocated music education because it provided a welcome

complement to the arid teaching of logical categories. His pedagogical project

emphasized the training of sentiments as much as intelligence and appealed to both the

effort and spontaneity of the child. Short of this, he thought, formal education was

artificial. “Deprived of poetry,” Pécaut declared, “school is just a nice instructing

workshop, where correct spirits are produced, with all the right and practical notions, but

not lively, vibrant, happy souls, as rich in sentiment as in thought, open not only to ideas,

but to all big and generous emotions.”246 Along these lines, Pécaut warned against

training virtuosos. Acquiring a taste for musical poetry was more important than

executing difficult passages, because taste alone could further the cultivation of moral

sense.247 Brilliance was foreign to popular music, Pécaut added.248 Simplicity of

expression and the general character of sentiments was instead what befitted a popular

repertory of choral songs.249

Unfortunately, no such songs existed in the tradition of popular music. Teachers

therefore had to borrow from the repertory of religious music. This could have posed a

problem if religious music had been unpalatable to ordinary people but Pécaut remarked

that sacred music was the source of all choral singing and, besides, musical emotions

245 Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation, 178. 246 “L’école ainsi sevrée de poésie n’est plus qu’un bel atelier d’instruction, où se fabriquent des esprits corrects, munis de notions justes et pratiques, mais non pas des âmes vivantes, vibrantes, heureuses, aussi riches de sentiment que de pensée, ouvertes non point aux idées seulement, mais à toutes les émotions grandes et généreuses.” Félix Pécaut, “Musique,” in DP1, 1995. 247 Félix Pécaut, “Musique,” in DP1, 1996. 248 Pécaut, Quinze ans d’éducation, 137. 249 Throughout his writings, Pécaut remains at a level of generality and does not give concrete examples of what a popular repertory of choral songs could be. 120

were derived from religious sentiment. However, Pécaut pointed out that the tradition of

choral singing in France had faded a long time ago due to the prevalence of Catholic

practices, which looked down upon it. As a result, even the religious patrimony of choral

songs was poor in France. There was thus little amount of music to teach in primary

school. Folk songs from the provinces and abroad were the last resort, as Pécaut advised

against using songs especially composed for the purpose of teaching, which, being the

work of science, could not be but factice and insincere.

From the depiction Pécaut gave, choral singing seemed much more reliable as an

agent of education than theater was. Rather than challenging reason and will as the

theater did, choral singing brought a nice balance between emotional and cognitive states

of consciousness. Moreover, its moral effects were always beneficial as they did not

depend on the content of the work but on the intrinsic qualities of music. If Pécaut

discussed questions of repertory, it was with the idea of determining which musical

pieces had a popular character. He aimed at authenticity. Being secure about the morality

of choral singing, Pécaut could venture to compare the aesthetic experience to a religious

experience. One could even say that he thought the aesthetic experience was a religious experience. After all, his model of popular repertory was the choral song of the German reformed church and he claimed that the members of the choir partook in a communion.

Though Pécaut never had in mind to convert his students, his advocacy of choral singing was rooted in a Protestant faith. Caught between the desire to arrange for divine moments and leave his students free to choose their creed, Pécaut walked the uncertain boundary of secularism.

121

By contrast, Louis Bourgault-Ducoudray, Pécaut’s music teacher at Fontenay- aux-Roses, praised the German tradition of choral singing without showing any sign of allegiance to the Protestant faith. His advocacy of choral singing came from a tendency among French composers in the 1870s and 1880s to take their distance from the tradition of ostentatious operas and turn towards more serious music. Like Camille Saint-Saëns and Gabriel Fauré, Bourgault-Ducoudray was a member of the Société nationale de musique, which took a new interest in old church music (for its austerity) and in German music (for its philosophical approach to composition). Bourgault-Ducoudray was also committed to the revival of ancient and popular music. He was notably famous for publishing collections of folksongs from Greece and Brittany.250 In addition to assisting

Félix Pécaut at the École normale supérieure, Bourgault-Ducoudray taught music history at the Paris Conservatoire from 1878. In 1880, along with a few select professors, he was asked to write a report on the teaching of singing in primary school. In 1882, he was appointed to the committee that was subsequently set up to design a primary school curriculum in singing. While Ferdinand Buisson chaired the committee, the other members included Camille Saint-Saëns, Jules Massenet but also Félix Ravaisson-

Mollien, Octave Gréard and Félix Pécaut.

In the early 1880s, the Ministry of Public Instruction was eager to design a music curriculum in primary school. Without the weight of an heritage from previous regimes to carry, it is interesting to note that, from the start, the ministry chose to restrict the teaching of music to singing. It is also worth noting that, in his 1880 report, on his own initiative, Bourgault-Ducoudray further limited it to choral singing. By doing so, he

250 See Elaine Brody and Richard Langham Smith’s biography of Bourgault-Ducoudray in the Grove Music Online. 122

adopted the same approach as Pécaut would develop in his Dictionnaire de pédagogie

article four years later. His arguments to justify the teaching of choral singing, albeit

similar to Pécaut’s, differed in that they were all of a secular nature. For instance, rather

than putting forward the religious feeling of communion impelled by choral singing, he

preferred to talk about “this warmth of soul and this spirit of cohesion, which are both the

vigor and moral well-being of a country.”251 He added that only the practice of choral

singing could give sense to the term “fraternity” in the republican motto.

Like Pécaut, Bourgault-Ducoudray also contrasted Protestant and Catholic

worships. On the one hand, he applauded to an artistic tradition that allowed the “direct”

expression of a “real” sentiment by “all” those who felt it.252 Bourgault-Ducoudray

emphasized the spontaneity, sincerity, and mutuality of the Protestant tradition. On the

other hand, he deplored the passive role of the assembly during the Catholic mass. Like

in a “theater,” the congregation was compelled to listen to the “actors.”253 Bourgault-

Ducoudray concluded that music had no educative power in the Catholic Church. There

was another difference between French and German practices that the Committee on the

Teaching of Singing underlined in its report. In Germany, “music appeared as the

‘necessary instrument’ to express the emotions of patriotism.”254 More specifically, it

was not with songs but with chorals that the German unity had started seventy years from

that time. In the committee’s mind, the German model should be an incitement not just to

make the teaching of singing mandatory in primary school but also to give students the

251 “cette chaleur d’âme et cet esprit de cohésion qui font à la fois la vigueur et le bien-être moral d’un pays” in Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Enseignement du chant, 23. 252 “l’idée protestante créait un art nouveau, celui qui est fondé sur le sentiment réel exprimé directement par tous ceux qui le sentent” Ibid., 32. 253 “le catholicisme conservait dans ses temples le régime et le principe du théâtre, où l’assemblée est condamnée à un rôle passif, se contente d’écouter ‘l’acteur’” Ibid. 254 “la musique apparaît comme ‘l’instrument nécessaire’ pour exprimer les émotions du patriotisme” Ibid., 146. 123

taste of music and associate music with the events of national and local significance.255

As we can see, the committee in general and Bourgault-Ducoudray in particular had a

much more political perspective on music education than Pécaut, though they all had the

unity of the country in mind.

Finally, both Bourgault-Ducoudray and Pécaut agreed that a musical training in primary school should not aim at dilettantism or virtuosity. While Pécaut viewed the cultivation of virtuosity as an obstacle to moral improvement, Bourgault-Ducoudray

considered that “the sterile joys of dilettantism and conceited joys of virtuosity” (“les joies stériles du dilettantisme ou les joies vaniteuses de la virtuosité”) were incompatible with the artistic standards of choral music.256 Albert Dupaigne’s report to the committee

on the means and devices likely to spread the taste of music also asserted the impropriety

of dilettantism and virtuosity in primary school. Unlike high school students, the report

said, primary school students did not have time. They did not have instruments, private

lessons, the leisure of rehearsals, the patience of perfecting their skill. They had to

improvise or at best work on a piece that did not require too much preparation so that the

execution would always be a pleasure. To Albert Dupaigne, the essence of primary

instruction lay in simplicity.257 Beyond the pedagogical consideration of feasibility, simplicity represented the guarantee of enjoyment. In this and a few other respects, the report bore the stamp of the intuitive method.258 By contrast, Pécaut advocated simplicity

because he feared the inauthenticity of complex pieces and the pedantry of virtuosic

performers. There was a moral concern behind his defense. As a general rule, Pécaut and

255 Ibid., 147. 256 Ibid., 30. 257 Ibid., 185-186. 258 Bourgault-Ducoudray’s report was also very much indebted to the intuitive method. 124

the Committee on the Teaching of Singing in Primary School embodied two approaches

to music education in the early 1880s. Whereas Pécaut insisted on the religious and moral

aspects of music education, Bourgault-Ducoudray and his fellows at the committee

presented more political and artistic arguments. However, in spite of their different

personal sensitivities, they agreed on the principal. They both valued the Protestant

tradition of choral singing in Germany and they both looked at theater as a counter-model

for education. Theater was unanimously rejected by the supporters of music. One could interpret this rejection in various ways: as the product of a rivalry between disciplines or the sign of a general condemnation. In the next section, I will examine whether there were any defenders of dramatic practice among the pedagogues of the early Third

Republic.

To the outside observer, it is obvious that play-acting generated much less hope and much more scruple than the practice of singing. Notwithstanding the incitement to pleasure and seduction that Compayré mentioned when evoking the French University’s critiques of theater, pedagogues found many things to blame in the process of rehearsing a play and performing it in front of an audience. Casting the parts of the play was already a cause of tension among students, noted Bernard Perez in his Psychologie de l’enfant.

Roles being by nature of unequal importance, some students felt inevitably more fortunate than others. While the better allotted derived pride from it, the minor roles conceived jealousy.259 Thus, from the very first step, drama practice generated the wrong

affects. Then, if teachers badly directed students, there was a risk that stage exercises

259 Perez, La psychologie de l’enfant, 228. 125

would give rise to odd behaviors, which in the long run might become fixed traits of their

personality.260

More worrisome, almost all students lost their simplicity and spontaneity during

the time they rehearsed a play. For several months sometime, they could adopt the tragic

tone or the arrogant attitude of their character. Interpreting a role might even alter the

natural tendencies of their temperament. Perez cited the case of a child who showed an

exaggerated gaiety and buffoonery. In his understanding, the child had abandoned his

usual good humor for a artificial joviality. Thus Perez identified acting with lying.261 His

greatest fear was that students continued to embody their character after the rehearsal and

enter in a false relationship with their classmates. Perez was particularly concerned with

girls as they were even more sensitive than boys. “I saw some who, for having played

only once, were already coquettes, affected young ladies, fit to be mocked by modern

Molières,” he testified.262

Finally, the pedagogues of the end of the nineteenth century considered applauses

with apprehension. As a reward for individual prowess, applauses might unduly swell

actors’ self-esteem. The risk that students became presumptuous was very real. Even a

genius like Corneille had not been immune to it. Applauses had spoiled him.263 If one

adds that pedagogues were skeptical about the ability of dramatic performances to

improve the pronunciation of actors,264 the picture of theatrical practice in primary school

260 Ibid. 261 Ibid., 229. 262 “J’en ai vu qui, pour avoir joué une seule fois, étaient déjà des coquettes, des précieuses ridicules, bonnes à croquer par de nouveaux Molières.” Ibid. 263 Charles Defodon, “Théâtre classique,” in DP2, 2172. 264 Paul Albert, “Racine,” in DP2, 1780. 126

looks very dark. Yet, a few pedagogues thought of ways to redeem it. Perez was one of

them.

In Perez’ mind, the solution to all the moral problems posed by dramatic

performance consisted in disarticulating the play so as to make it impossible for actors to

identify with their character. First, instead of interpreting whole plays, Perez

recommended that teachers select either a scene or “scraps of dialogue” (“des lambeaux

de dialogue”).265 Second, he advised dissociating voice and gesture in the act of

performing. Students should in turn declaim and mime. Transformed into mere exercises

of delivery, Perez believed the plays would be free of sentiment. As he pointed out, “one

does not easily personify a role that others have performed or will perform in front of

you.”266 For students attending the performance, this was also a radical move insofar as

Perez considered the voice to be “the essential factor of dramatic emotion.” He explained:

“What prepares, what supports, what overexcites emotion, by concentrating it, is the

speech and especially the voice of actors.”267 The support of emotion, voice, was

responsible for both the illusion of the spectator and the identification of the actor. Thus,

eradicating sentiment, i.e. creating a distance between the actor or spectator and the play,

implied the neutralization of speech. In the end, the best protection against the deleterious

influence of theater was the monotonous and/or repeated recitation of text, or best, the

pantomime. Something Bertolt Brecht might have agreed with… except that he had a

different idea of the purpose of theater. Indeed, if both Brecht and Perez wanted to

prevent identification, their goals were totally opposite. One tried to sharpen social

265 Perez, La psychologie de l’enfant, 230. 266 “On n’incarne pas aisément un rôle que d’autres ont rendu ou vont rendre devant vous.” Ibid. 267 “Ce qui prépare, ce qui soutient, ce qui surexcite, en la concentrant, l’émotion, ce sont les paroles, et surtout la voix des acteurs.” Ibid., 210. 127

criticism, while the other strove to suppress it. Also, contrary to Brecht, the Third-

Republic pedagogue did not envision the new settings as a form of theater. He made

theater safe by annihilating it.

Pantomimes had definite advantages. They did not kindle coquettish behaviors,

nor jealousy, nor vain glory. At the same time, they did not stifle children’s spontaneity.

Indeed they freed the springs of moral energy that the imposed identification to a

character prevented.268 In addition to the moral benefits, the teacher could expect some

teaching outcomes. As they looked for subjects of pantomime in the most varied books,

students learned about all sorts of historical facts and fictional stories. It even gave some

students who used to dislike books a taste for reading.269 Last but not least, through

pantomime, Perez hoped that students would become acquainted with a code of

demeanor. He thought it was important to learn to express the things that one talked about

as well as the emotions that one felt. “This knowledge would foster the ease and grace of

manners, this precision, this sobriety, this good taste in gestures, which so many

educated, good and even polite people lack.”270 What is interesting in this reflection is

that Perez did not see politeness as a result of taming one’s impulses but on the contrary

as the true rendering of one’s inner feelings. He posited the non-coincidence between

inner states of mind and their unstudied expression. In other words, he thought that

people needed to learn codes of behavior in order to be transparent to others. Quite a

different conclusion from Rousseau’s.

268 Perez, La psychologie de l’enfant, 230. 269 Ibid., 234. 270 “Cette connaissance entraînerait l’aisance et la grâce des manières, cette précision, cette sobriété, ce bon goût dans les gestes, qui manquent à tant de personnes instruites, bonnes et mêmes polies.” Ibid., 239. 128

With its power to deceive about reality and encourage identity swaps, theater was not the most appropriate artistic medium to foster the values and attitudes promoted by republicans. However, to make theater more suitable to their goals, the opportunist government was willing to proceed to a selection of plays characterized by their literary—and therefore moral—quality and present them to the public. Because selecting plays that were universally recognized for their value did not amount to a partisan choice

(by doing so, the government was not creating an official taste), the state was not overstepping its responsibilities. Yet, within these limits, the intervention of the state could not be very efficient. Although individuals (with or without an aesthetic culture) were in theory perfectly able to understand the universal message contained in masterworks, or so republican pedagogues believed, they kept on interpreting plays wrongly. In addition, against the pedagogues’ wishes, spectators and actors frequently adopted the traits of the characters performed on stage. While the deception of senses and reason caused the misinterpretation of contents, the identification with characters triggered misrepresentations of the self. In both cases, theatrical illusion was responsible for the confusion. And the consequences were dire. Not only did illusion prevent plays from delivering their moral and political lesson, but it also encouraged the transgression of social conventions.

There was little the state could do to remedy the problem. Indeed, notwithstanding the weakness of their rational faculties, most members of the lower classes were happy to be swayed by illusion. To make theater serve republican goals thus implied both the education of reason and the will. Republicans did not mind undertaking it—and, as a matter of fact, that was one of the proclaimed missions of primary school—but they were

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also aware that, in a theatrical setting, they were running against spectators’ natural desire to take pleasure in a performance. So they had reasons to be skeptical about the benefits of theatrical democratization. However they were also under pressure from representatives in Parliament to organize popular performances. In the next part, I examine how republicans responded to these conflicting demands by analyzing the projects of popular theater that were discussed in the 1880s.

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Part II

Chronicle of Popular Theater Projects

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Chapter 3

The Théâtre-Lyrique (1847-1878)

At the time of its creation in 1847, the Théâtre-Lyrique was conceived both as an

outlet for young playwrights and composers and as an instrument for the education of

workers and artisans. A few years, a revolution and a coup later, the authorities of the

Second Empire praised it above all for its contribution to the arts.271 From 1863 onwards,

Napoleon III’s administration granted it a 100,000-franc annual subsidy with the

expectation that it would stage the works of those young composers for “whose artistic education in Italy or in Germany we pay dearly.”272 The subsidy to the Théâtre-Lyrique

was part of a plan to organize a path of excellence through a series of prestigious

institutions. On this path, the most promising composers first received their education at

the Paris Conservatoire, then competed in the Prix de Rome, and, later, made their debut

at the Théâtre-Lyrique. Well into their careers, the most talented composers finally

obtained recognition at the Opéra. In the minds of cultural officials, initiation progressed

271 See the note relating to the Théâtre-Lyrique Impérial by the General Direction of Theaters, 8 June 1868, AN F 21 955. 272 “Le Théâtre-Lyrique a été fondé et subventionné dans un autre but, celui de faciliter l’accès de la scène aux jeunes compositeurs, à ceux dont nous faisons à grands frais l’éducation artistique en Italie et en Allemagne.” Cornudet was speaking during the discussion of the budget of the Ministry of the Emperor’s Household and Fine Arts at the Legislative Body, 20 July 1868, Annales du Sénat et du Corps législatif, 152. 132 through stages. And as the quality of the pieces produced was directly determined by the skills that went into them, the honing of skills went hand in hand with an improvement in artistic quality. Consequently, pieces performed at the Opéra were expected to be of greater distinction than those performed at the Théâtre-Lyrique.

This belief in the constant improvement of abilities in the course of a career had important consequences for the way subsidies were apportioned, as the Bonapartist administration allotted money to theaters on the basis of their artistic achievements. By those criteria, the Opéra, which was recognized for the superiority of its productions, received the maximum funding. The Théâtre-Lyrique, on the other hand, only received a tiny share. As a training institution, even though it was an essential link in the perfecting of talents, it was not deemed capable of offering better than imperfect works. Thus, the

Théâtre-Lyrique did have some support, but not on the same scale as the Opéra and the

Opéra-Comique. Compared to the 800,000 and 240,000 francs respectively given to the

Opéra and the Opéra-Comique, the Théâtre-Lyrique was endowed with a paltry 100,000- franc subsidy. It did not matter that the Théâtre-Lyrique faced a daunting economic challenge and had to balance the certainty of expenses against the odds of success. The

Bonapartist administration did not reward risk.

If funding was meted out based on the excellence of productions, could the administration legitimately give money towards the aesthetic education of the public? In other words, was it appropriate to organize luxurious performances of great works for a public that might not fully appreciate them? Bonapartist authorities were generally skeptical about the educational potential of theater. “A theater will never be a school of

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morality for anyone; neither poor people nor rich people would seek good advice and

good examples in a virtuous theater,” declared the general superintendant of theaters,

Comte Bacciochi, in a note to the Emperor.273 “Workers are very partial to theaters that

offer melodramas; but whatever we do, Mister Minister, whatever influence we try to

exert on directors and playwrights to keep plays in an honest vein, we barely succeed,

and the people almost always find bad teachings and bad examples in melodramas,”

added a member of the theater administration.274 Not only, then, was theater unable to exert a positive influence on the audience, but censors had a difficult time averting its scandalous allusions. Understandably, Bonapartist authorities did not consider using theater to further educational goals for the masses.

Yet, at the same time, Napoleon III and his followers thought it was the role of the state to ensure a certain quality of performance in private popular theaters. In their minds, it was a sure means of keeping the rowdy population quiet. In 1853 for example, the minister of the Interior, duc de Persigny, asked the director of the Passy theater, located in the western suburb of Paris, to account for “actors who did not know their lines, the lack of sets and the late hour at which the performance ended” (“des acteurs ne sachant pas leurs rôles, le manque de décors et l’heure tardive à laquelle le spectacle a fini”).275 In private popular theaters, at least until the liberty of industry was decreed and licenses were revoked, censors and police officers combined their effort to control the content of

273 “Jamais théâtre ne sera pour personne une école de morale; ni les pauvres, ni les riches n’iraient chercher de bons conseils et de bons exemples dans un théâtre vertueux.” Note to the Emperor, 24 June 1865, AN F 21 4687. 274 “Les théâtres de mélodrame sont très goûtés par les ouvriers; mais quoi qu’on fasse, Monsieur le Ministre, quelque influence qu’on s’efforce d’exercer sur les directeurs et sur les auteurs pour maintenir les pièces dans une veine à peu près honnête, on n’y parvient guère et le peuple trouve presque toujours dans les mélodrames de mauvais enseignements et de mauvais exemples.” Note to the minister on the situation of the Boulevard du Temple theaters, 14 March 1859, AN F 21 1039. 275 Letter of Alboize de Pujol to the Ministry of Interior, 27 May 1853, AN F 21 1166. 134

plays and the quality of performances. The intent, however, was not to give the

population its share of beauty, but to contain its excesses. The action of the government

clearly belonged in the domain of policing.

Yet, with the change in majority at the Corps législatif and the formation of a

somewhat liberal cabinet in the following months, events took a different turn. In January

1870, Émile Ollivier created a Ministry of Fine Arts and chose his friend and fellow

deputy Maurice Richard to head it.276 Although the new minister had limited

responsibilities (the House of the Emperor, for instance, kept control over the museums),

theater came within his remit and he had a chance to think about such issues as the

construction of the Opéra, the reform of the Conservatoire, and the appointment of a new

director for the Théâtre-Lyrique. The democratization of theater was another endeavor

that was dear to him.

As soon as he took up his functions, Richard commissioned a report on the

opportunity of a popular Opera. The report concluded that the lower classes could indulge

their love of music only with difficulty. “The success of Jules Pasdeloup’s popular

concerts and Hilarion Ballande’s literary matinees has proved that inferior classes went to

cafés-concerts rather than to the Opéra or to the Conservatoire, not because they did not

have any taste for high art, but because they did not have the financial means, and also

because they did not have a place to go that accorded with their manners, their habits, and

276 See Francis Choisel’s biographical note on Maurice Richard, published in the 1999 issue of the Bulletin du Cercle d’études et de recherches sur le bonapartisme. The note is based on a master’s thesis by Frédérique Hérault, entitled Maurice Richard, ministre des Beaux-Arts sous le Second Empire (1832-1888) and submitted at the Institut Catholique de Paris in 1998. 135

their clothes.”277 As a result of the report, Richard seriously considered setting up a

popular theater and organizing popular performances.

Although none of these projects were eventually carried out, three popular theater

projects were discussed at the Ministry of Fine Arts in 1870. The first involved the

participation of the four subsidized lyric theaters. They would be asked once a week to

perform the masterworks of their repertoire with their best artists on the stage of the popular opera. The second project consisted in extending the activities of the Paris

Conservatoire. It was proposed that Conservatoire students interpret the masterworks of the subsidized lyric theaters on the stage of the popular opera. The third project was a combination of the previous two. While the four subsidized lyric theaters would each give one performance per week on the stage of the popular opera, Conservatoire students would be responsible for the show on the three other days of the week.278 In all three

configurations, the stage of the popular opera (which was yet to be designated) was

associated with a repertoire of masterworks. The only parameter that differed between

them was the experience of the artists. As for the audience, there was no suggestion that it

could gain insight by attending the performances of the popular opera. It had an interest

in music and drama and, it seemed, the intellectual tools to understand things of an

aesthetic nature. Thus there was no need to educate the taste of the public, just to make

masterworks available to it. The perspective of self-betterment was absent from the

Bonapartist projects for popular opera.

277 “Le succès des concerts de M. Pasdeloup et des matinées de M. Ballande a prouvé suffisamment que si les classes inférieures fréquentaient les cafés-concerts plutôt que l’Opéra et le Conservatoire, ce n’était pas faute de goût pour l’art élevé, mais faute de moyens, et aussi faute d’un milieu en rapport avec leurs manières, leurs habitudes et leurs mises.” Report to the minister of fine arts on the creation of a popular Opera, 26 February 1870, AN F 21 4687. The name of the author of the report is illegible. 278 See the report to the minister of fine arts on the creation of a popular opera, 26 February 1870, AN F 21 4687. 136

In assessing the three projects of popular opera, Prosper Bagier, the director of the

Théâtre-Italien, focused on economic considerations.279 He insisted that the low takings

(due to the low price of tickets) combined with the extent of the expenses (justified by the

necessity of maintaining a high artistic standard) could not fail to create a financial

shortfall. In his mind, the popular opera had a choice between two evils. First, its

directors could set out to uphold a certain artistic standard. However, this goal required to

raise ticket prices, which ran against the purpose of a popular theater. Or, second, they

could decide to save money by neglecting the artistic quality of performances. But this

would most likely estrange the popular public and lead to the bankruptcy of the theater.

Bagier did not think that the state had any responsibility to help the popular opera solve

its financial problems. As a matter of fact, he strongly urged against giving it a subsidy.

Not only would the subsidy be a costly initiative for the state, he asserted, but it would

disrupt a finely calibrated economic balance. Each theater did in fact receive a constant

number of spectators and it seemed unfair to change patterns of attendance by means of

lower prices made possible by the subsidy. Bagier argued, “The enormous subsidy

granted to the Imperial Academy of Music should serve only to practice art and not to

create a ruinous competition for theaters, small or large, subsidized or not.”280 Bagier, then, was convinced that the popular opera could not succeed without creating great inconveniences for other theaters. But we can also sense that he had trouble admitting that popular spectators would not contribute the entire amount of their ticket and that the state would have to step in to fulfill their obligation. Spectators deserved the performance

279 The Théâtre-Italien was one of the four subsidized lyric theaters at the end of the Second Empire. 280 “l’énorme subvention accordée à l’Académie Impériale de Musique ne doit servir qu’à faire de l’art et non à créer une concurrence ruineuse pour les théâtres petits ou grands, subventionnés ou non.” Note to the minister of fine arts, 16 March 1870, AN F 21 4687. 137

they paid for and if they could only afford cheap seats, those were what they should be content with. By artificially lowering ticket prices, the government only incited the population to live beyond their means. That, at least, is the moral implication we can read into Bagier’s economic analysis. Bagier thus opposed the very motivation for democratization. Was his opinion widespread? Not having found any other reaction to the three projects discussed within the Ministry of Fine Arts, it is difficult to say, just as it is difficult to pin down the exact reasons why the projects were rejected. The only fact we can advance with certainty is that the projects did not create much debate and were rapidly abandoned. Whether because of low educational expectations or because of the reluctance to bridge the gap between low family budgets and costly performances, the case in favor of theatrical democratization was not strong.

Contemporary with these projects and responding to the same impulse—the

acknowledgement that there were undue obstacles to the people’s frequenting national

theaters—there was also talk about introducing popular performances to subsidized

theaters. Again, however, these discussions were short lived. The four directors of

subsidized theaters polled by the fine arts minister unanimously emphasized the

drawbacks of organizing popular performances on their premises, and their disinclination

was enough to discourage even a trial. Like Bagier, the directors of both the Opéra and

the Opéra-Comique cited the cost of additional performances given at reduced price.

They also pointed out the shortfalls that would result from them. On the one hand, free or

inexpensive performances would create unfair competition to private theaters. On the

other hand, they would compromise the takings from their own regular evening

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performances. The director of the Opéra, Émile Perrin, added that organizing extra

performances would negatively affect the artistic quality of all productions. Indeed it would be a hindrance to regular rehearsals and would put added pressure on the staff.281

In short, the democratization of national theaters threatened the artistic excellence of the

country.

In their answers to the inquiry launched by the Ministry of Fine Arts, the directors

of the national dramatic theaters raised some of the issues discussed by the lyric theaters,

but tended to show more concern about attendance than cost. Both the director of the

Odéon, Charles de Chilly, and the manager of the Théâtre-Français, Édouard Thierry,

imagined the impact that holding free and reduced-price performances would have on the

composition of their public. Charles de Chilly favored performances of the classical

repertoire at reduced prices because he thought this was the only way for his theater to

compete with the Théâtre-Français. In his view, the lower ticket prices were meant to

compensate for the eccentricity of the location (the Odéon was situated in the Quartier

Latin, on the Left Bank, away from the fashionable theaters situated along the

Boulevards), the more limited repertoire, and the inferior interpretation.282 As much as he

welcomed performances at reduced price, however, de Chilly resisted the idea of

organizing free performances. He reasoned that free performances would be detrimental

to the takings from his highly profitable Sunday matinees, and further, he feared that the public would get used to free performances and would eventually refuse to pay for its

281 Note by the direction of the Opéra, dated 2 April 1870 and note by the direction of the Opéra-Comique, dated 20 April 1870, AN F 21 4687. 282 “. . . le public se porte de préférence au Théâtre-Français qui a pour lui l’immense avantage de la situation centrale, de la tradition et du titre; qui, possédant en outre de plus grands moyens d’action, peut se donner une troupe plus complète, plus aguerrie et par suite un répertoire plus varié.” Letter of the director of the Odéon, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 139

entertainment entirely. Lastly, de Chilly wondered how he could allocate the seats

without creating turmoil. No tickets and free seating might generate confusion and

disorder in the audience, but distributing free tickets could create undesirable trafficking.

Thus, for the director of the Odéon, free performances presented more drawbacks than

advantages.

By contrast, Édouard Thierry, the manager of the Théâtre-Français, deemed that free performances represented a good compromise. Provided the direction of the theater could convene the audience by invitation, free performances were indeed a means of completely separating the public attending matinees from the public attending evening performances, thus avoiding a harmful competition between the two shows. In contrast to the free performance given each year on 15 August (Napoleon I’s birthday, a national celebration under the Second Empire), which welcomed anyone who had queued for a certain number of hours, the committee of the Théâtre-Français envisaged sending out tickets to high schools and city halls. By doing so, the committee did not intend to make their theater more accessible to people of modest financial means, but rather to encourage privileged students to gain familiarity with the classical repertoire. For his part, Thierry favored the system of invitations because it allowed him to eschew the problem of how cheap tickets might be symbolically interpreted. In Thierry’s mind, an invitation was a gift that could not be assigned a monetary value, thus it gave no indication of the artistic worth of the performance. However, a reduced ticket price suggested a performance of lesser artistic quality, which, in the minds of the public, might become associated with the depreciation of the classical repertoire itself. Thierry feared that the public would not understand that the lower rate of matinees corresponded to their lack of ceremony. He did

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not mention that the price difference between afternoon and evening performances might

be justified by a desire to help people in financial distress.283

As the planned invitation of high school students to the Théâtre-Français suggests,

the heads of the two national dramatic theaters did not totally dismiss considerations of

education. However, neither of them intended to take on a didactic mission. Masterworks

were not performed to give spectators grounding in classical culture. Rather, they were a

chance for learned people to enrich their understanding of canonical texts through visual

and aural representation, and to take pleasure from it. At the Odéon, for instance, de

Chilly was against the idea of an explicative talk preceding a performance. Pre-

performance talks, he declared, “inevitably tend to destroy illusion, which is the very life

of theater.”284 He believed, instead of enlightening minds, such lectures made the public

“even more mocking and skeptical” (“encore plus railleur et sceptique”).285 In de Chilly’s

opinion, what attracted the public to pre-performance talks was not the perspective of

enriching their knowledge, but political allusions. And, “in a theater like the Odéon, with

such an unruly and impressionable audience, this [attraction] could easily degenerate into

a scandal, which would rapidly give the performance the appearance of a public

meeting.”286

Thierry did not so much brandish the threat of unrest as underline the uselessness

and inappropriateness of pre-performance talks on the stage of the Comédie-Française.

He did not mind loaning artists to Ballande’s literary matinees because he thought it was

283 See Édouard Thierry’s letter to the minister of fine arts, 7 March 1870, AN F 21 4687. 284 “. . . elle [la conférence] tend forcément à détruire l’illusion qui est la vie même du théâtre.” Letter from the director of the Odéon, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 285 Letter from the director of the Odéon, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 286 “. . . et dans un théâtre comme l’Odéon, avec un public si turbulent et aussi impressionnable, cela pourrait dégénérer facilement en scandale et le théâtre prendrait bien vite une allure de réunion publique.” Ibid. 141

the duty of his institution “to contribute to the instruction of youth through the repertoire

of masters, and not to let this repertoire fall into discredit because of the

interpretation.”287 But he did not think pre-performance talks had any raison d’être in his

theater. Firstly, the public of the Comédie-Française had received a classical education and did not need to have the repertoire explained to them.288 Secondly, like his

counterpart at the Odéon, Thierry saw a conflict of intentions between performing a play

and introducing it with some historical information. Theaters could not have both an

artistic and an educational vocation. And since the Théâtre-Français was an art theater, it

could organize performances of masterworks, but it was not meant to provide the key to

their understanding. The education of the public had to take place on stages of lesser

repute. As Thierry put it, “instruction intended for the less literate classes truly had its

place and public in theaters of a certain order.”289 In other words, the manager of the

Théâtre-Français defined the identity of a theater by its unique purpose and audience, and

excluded the possibility of overlap. To a certain extent, the repertoire was more

transferable—classical plays could be performed on secondary stages as well—but it had

to be interpreted by the artists of the institution to which they belonged—the Comédiens-

Français.

In conclusion, fine arts officials had grand plans for popular theater under the

Second Empire. On the one hand, they assumed that the popular public, for whom it was

intended, expected performances of a respectable quality. On the other hand, they could

287 “. . . regardant comme son devoir de contribuer partout à l’enseignement de la jeunesse par le répertoire des maîtres, et de ne pas laisser ce répertoire tomber en discrédit par l’effet de l’interprétation.” Letter of Édouard Thierry to the minister of fine arts, 7 March 1870, AN F 21 4687. 288 “Nous n’avons pas besoin d’expliquer notre répertoire à un public préparé par des études classiques.” Ibid. 289 “Un enseignement destiné aux classes moins lettrées avait véritablement sa place et son public dans les théâtres d’un certain ordre.” Ibid. 142

not imagine that the state be associated with spectacles of low artistic standards. So, was the state to decide to support a project of popular theater, there would be no theoretical obstacle to the performance of masterworks by the best actors in the most beautiful settings.

Yet, in practice, the public’s interest and the state’s good will conflicted with the set of equivalences and exclusions that ruled the theatrical world around 1870. According to conventional wisdom, low ticket prices were incompatible with high artistic quality in performances, while the educational apparatus was thought to defeat the artistic purpose.

Thus, the popular public, who could only afford cheap tickets and needed an explanation of the texts due to its lack of classical culture, was systematically refused the intellectual pleasures of art.

Even though they used different arguments, all the directors of subsidized theaters reached this conclusion. Perrin showed that popular performances, that is to say, additional performances at reduced price, were detrimental to the good management of the Opéra. De Chilly contended that the organization of popular performances, i.e. performances that were free of charge and shattered illusions, posed a threat to good order at the Odéon. Finally, Thierry posited a correspondence between theaters and their publics, which paired the unlearned audience with secondary dramatic stages. On these grounds, he strongly advised against setting up popular performances at the Comédie-

Française.

As the reactions presented above prove, the opposition to popular performances went well beyond protests of financial strain. That is why the directors of subsidized theaters did not see an increase in state funding as a solution. On the contrary, they saw it

143 as adding to the general confusion. First, as the subsidy did not aim at supporting art but at lowering prices, it created unfair competition with existing performances, whether in the theater that organized them or in the other theaters. Second, artificially low prices drew a public that did not match the position of the stage in the theatrical hierarchy. As a consequence, the public could be misled about its real social status. Third, since under normal conditions the price of the ticket was an indication of the artistic quality of the performance, a modification of it by state decision confused its meaning. Thus, the subsidy threatened to disrupt both economic equilibrium and social order. It was therefore a prudent decision on the part of the administration to leave the organization of popular performances in private hands.

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Chapter 4

The Théâtre Lyrique Populaire (1878)

In 1878, after Albert Vizentini resigned from the direction of the Théâtre-Lyrique,

the parliamentary committee on the budget of fine arts decided that the enterprise should

no longer be supported by the state.290 Multiple failures had taught the committee that the

Théâtre-Lyrique, on the foundations it was built, was not a viable experiment. As the repeated bankruptcies showed, businessmen could not make profit by premiering works by unknown composers. And to revive old masterworks, as directors did in the hope of balancing their accounts, was of no avail to young composers. Thus, in the analysis of the committee, either directors ran into debt or they did not meet the purpose of the subsidy, which was designed to encourage the production of new works. Yet, showing its commitment to the project, the committee decided to maintain the subsidy for another year. With the express reserve that the sum should not be used to reconstitute a stage on the same model as the Théâtre-Lyrique, the remaining 200,000 francs were placed at the

290 Vizentini was director of the Théâtre-Lyrique between 1875 and 1877. He had no immediate predecessor as the previous house, located on the Châtelet square, burned down during the Commune and was not rebuilt until 1874, at which point the Châtelet house no longer performed the opera repertoire. Vizentini transported the Théâtre-Lyrique to the Gaîté theater situated on the Arts-et-Métiers square. 145

disposal of the Ministry of Fine Arts. Having all liberty to allocate the sum as it wished,

the republican cabinet was in a position to imprint its own policy.291

Under the Second Empire, fine arts officials had acknowledged the interest of

“inferior classes” for musical and dramatic performances of high artistic level and

admitted that these people might not be able to go to subsidized theaters because of their

limited financial means. However, as we have seen, the democratization of theater could

not be undertaken without destabilizing a certain balance of forces. The intervention of

the state for other reasons than the promotion of art indeed threatened to upset the

mechanisms of a tightly regulated competition, disturb the symbolic hierarchy of theaters,

and blur the consideration attached with each social group. In other words, the

democratization of theater was a step towards making society more fluid, which the

Bonapartist administration refused to take.

At the beginning of the Third Republic, politicians also remarked on the general

population’s interest in the arts. They took note of the high attendance at popular concerts

as well as the massive participation in musical societies. “Today there is not a town, not

even a village, that does not have an orphéon or a brass band,” observed Edmond de

Tillancourt, a center-left representative, in 1878.292 For the first time in 1878, the House

of Deputies voted a 25,000-franc subsidy in favor of Pasdeloup’s popular concerts. Yet,

theater was still a cause of alarm and justified some cautious moves. For instance, in

order to thwart the bad influence of theater on the public, republicans maintained the

291 Discussion of the budget of the Ministry of Public Instruction, Worship, and Fine Arts at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1579-81. 292 “Il n’est pas aujourd’hui de bourg ou même de village qui ne possède un orphéon ou une fanfare.” Speech at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1577. An orphéon is a society of popular musical education, usually a male choir or a woodwind band run by a company or a municipality. 146

preventative censorship on plays. Skeptical about their educational potential, they also

banned dramatic performances from school. Finally, the vote for subsidies in favor of

popular concerts was above all motivated by the desire to halt the success of operettas

and light songs.

As the concomitant rejection of support to local bands and choirs shows, deputies

sought to fight the spread of bad taste less by promoting initiatives of popular education

than by encouraging demonstrations of artistic excellence.293 In the 1878 debate of the

fine arts budget, representatives appeared more preoccupied with opposing a

manifestation of good taste (e.g. an Opéra performance) to a manifestation of bad taste

(e.g. a café-concert song) than they were about converting an audience to the enjoyment

of high art. Some emphasized that the aesthetic education of the people was not the

business of the state. Like anything that dealt with the local and the particular, and by

extension with the amateur and the popular, they argued that the education of the public

was a domain of municipal intervention. Others, like Agénor Bardoux, the minister of

public instruction, worship, and fine arts, in 1878, using a rhetoric reminiscent of the

Second Empire, expressed fears that the educational endeavor might endanger the artistic

purpose.

When, in the course of the yearly debate on the fine arts budget, deputy

Tillancourt suggested organizing matinees at the Théâtre-Français for the instruction of

high school and college students, Bardoux replied that he did not have the authority of

293 During the discussion of the budget section on the subsidies to be given to popular concerts, the Bonapartist deputy Brierre tried to argue that village bands should be encouraged too, so that they could disseminate the repertoire of popular concerts in the provinces. He was snubbed by the Gambettist representative Madier de Montjau, who pointed out that village bands were composed of amateurs and thus did not cost anything. See the discussion of the budget of fine arts at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1581. 147

imposing the matinees on the artists of the prestigious institution. The Comédie-Française did not have a charter that subordinated its management to the wishes of the government.

Moreover, the government “could not compel eminent artists to take on a responsibility, which, I am convinced of it, they are the first ones to accept when the interest of art is at stake.” The government “could not be demanding vis-à-vis men who everyday gave their talent, brought about applauses on masterworks, and prided themselves on maintaining the great traditions of Molière’s house.”294 In other words, Bardoux did not expect the

actors of the Comédie-Française to deliver beyond their service to art and he clearly

presented the matinees as distracting them from this effort. Thus the minister of fine arts

agreed that the government should “fight against the weakening of good taste and the

invasion of the most vulgar habits in music” (“lutter contre l’affaiblissement du bon goût

et l’envahissement des plus vulgaires habitudes en musique”). But he did not think that

the education of the public was a necessary step towards achieving this goal. At least at

the Comédie-Française, the artistic mission, conceived in opposition to it, took

precedence.

At the Odéon, the other national dramatic theater, the government encouraged and

even imposed the organization of matinees for the benefit of students. There were two

reasons for this difference. First, the charter negotiated between the direction and the

Ministry of Fine Arts gave more leverage to the administration. Second, matinees at the

Odéon did not seem to conflict with the artistic mission of the theater as much as they did

at the Comédie-Française. During the aforementioned 1878 debate on the fine arts

294 “Nous ne pouvons exiger d’artistes éminents une charge que, j’en suis convaincu, ils sont les premiers à prendre quand il s’agit de l’intérêt de l’art. Nous ne pouvons pas nous montrer exigeants vis-à-vis d’hommes qui, tous les jours, prodiguent leur talent, font applaudir des chefs-d’œuvre, et tiennent à honneur de maintenir les grandes traditions de la maison de Molière.” Speech at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1579. 148

budget, Tillancourt remarked that performances did not have the same character of

solemnity at the Odéon.295 One wonders whether this was the reason that republican

authorities felt more legitimate convening the unaccomplished public to this venue rather

than to the Comédie-Française. There were precedents to suspect that this was the case.

Under the Second Empire, artistic pursuits, the luxury of performances, and a learned

public on the one hand, and educational purpose, the modesty of performances, and a

learning public on the other, formed two separate and antithetical entities. To refuse

students the magnificence of the performances at the Comédie-Française on the grounds

that the theater did not fit their level of accomplishment meant that the republican

administration continued the legacy of the authoritarian regime. Once again then, the

democratization of theater was considered with ambivalence. At the same time that it

carried the promise of good taste, it threatened to upset the hierarchy of theaters and publics.

Fine art officials under the Second Empire funded a special theater to provide for the education of artists, composers, and authors. The amount of the subsidy however was not sufficient to cover the expenses of the Théâtre-Lyrique, on which this role was

traditionally bestowed. It could not rescue it from a precarious situation. As republican

representatives at the House of Deputies analyzed after Vizentini’s failure in 1878, the

Theater ran into structural difficulties and could not survive without further help from the

state. In the past, Second Empire officials had refused this additional aid on the grounds

that the level of funding had to match the quality of productions. Nonetheless they had

295 Speech at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1578. 149

continued to give the venture a minimum of support. Republican representatives, by

contrast, decided to stop the experiment. Although they did not discard the mission of

educating artists, composers, and authors, they asked the government to seriously

reconsider the means of achieving this goal.

Given freedom of action, the minister of fine arts, Bardoux, contacted the Seine

prefect, Ferdinand Duval, and asked him to consult the Municipal Council of Paris on the

question of a possible contribution to the establishment of a lyric theater. In the event the

Parliament would vote a subsidy in favor of a third national lyric theater, Bardoux wanted

to know whether the City of Paris would be willing to relinquish the payment of the

Châtelet house’s rent, evaluated at 72,000 francs per year.296 In his letter dated October 1,

1878, he added that if the City of Paris wished to give a popular character to the opera

house, i.e. if it wanted the new lyric theater to stage the masterworks usually performed at

the Opéra, he would try to find an arrangement agreeable to the municipal council.

Bardoux’s project of collaboration with the City of Paris represented a significant

departure from Second Empire’s principles of state intervention. Indeed, for the first

time, the government asked a municipal council for a complement of funding. Although

Bardoux maintained the idea of subsidizing a lyric theater to encourage young

composers, he foresaw that the collaboration with the City of Paris would necessitate

compromises. One of them was the possible “popular turn” of the lyric theater.

Interestingly, in the minister of fine arts’ conception, the “popular turn” did not involve

making concessions to light genres, such as operettas and café-concert songs. To give a

296 With its 3,500 seats, the Châtelet house was the largest one in Paris. Except for one unique row of boxes, the seating was divided into seats and stalls, like in a circus. See the letter of the director of the Châtelet theater, Castellano, to the under-secretary of state in the Fine Arts Department, Turquet, dated 16 July 1879, AN F 21 4687. 150

more popular character to the lyric theater amounted to performing more masterworks

from the repertoire of the Opéra. Bardoux thus acknowledged that the Parisian population

was interested in watching this repertoire and that, for one reason or another, it was

prevented from doing so at the Opéra itself. “Unfortunately not everyone can hear

[masterworks] at the Opéra,” he declared in his letter to Duval.297

Even if giving a more popular tone to the lyric theater did not involve making

concessions to (what was seen as) bad taste, arranging the loan of the Opéra masterworks

was both a meaningful decision and a major undertaking. In effect, many masterworks of

the Opéra repertoire did not belong in the public domain. They were the monopoly of the

famous institution. Consequently, whoever wanted to perform them had to obtain

permission from its director, and, as the performance of masterworks on other stages only

created unwanted competition for the Opéra, one can understand why the director might

be reluctant to grant this permission. From an economic standpoint, the minister of fine

arts could therefore expect that the loan of repertoire would be hard to negotiate. But the

loan of the Opéra repertoire also potentially had important symbolic repercussions for the

theatrical world. It was indeed likely that, on the stage of the popular opera house,

masterworks might not be performed with all the “dignity” (a Third-Republic phrase)

usually associated with them. Thus the republican administration had to determine to

which extent a prestigious venue, the quality of interpretation, and the luxury of sets and

costumes were essential to the performance of masterworks and more generally

297 “. . . qu’il n’est malheureusement pas donné à tous d’entendre à l’Opéra.” Eugène Viollet-le-Duc summarized Bardoux’s letter in his report of 23 November 1878 to the Municipal Council of Paris. “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc, au nom de la 5e commission, sur une communication de M. le ministre de l’instruction publique concernant le Théâtre-Lyrique (annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 23 novembre 1878),” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1879), 3. 151

participated in the definition of artistic excellence. The republican administration also had

to decide on the artistic standard they were going to enforce in the performances

organized for the common people. The outcome of this reflection would either question

or confirm the validity of the value matches and hierarchies established during the

Second Empire. It would seal the fate of theatrical democratization in the new republic.

In 1878, the position of the republican administration had yet to be defined. It was only

through confrontations with practical issues, negotiations with partners (Parliament, City

of Paris, theater managers), and by a process of trial and error, that the administration

progressively set clearer expectations.

Duval’s meeting with Bardoux shortly after the minister sent the letter mentioned above was one such defining event for the fine arts administration. In response to the offer of collaboration, the Seine prefect emphasized that the municipality and the state had different stakes in the project of lyric theater. Whereas the state looked after the interests of composers, Duval argued, the municipality upheld the interests of the Parisian population.298 And so, while the city did not feel responsible for supplying the Opéra and

the Opéra-Comique with accomplished artists, it wanted assurances that the new lyric

theater would be democratic. Indeed the Parisian population had a real taste for music

and it was only fit that it should be satisfied. Duval agreed with Bardoux that a public of

modest means could not afford to go to the Opéra. Like him, he deplored that this public

could not hear the repertoire of grand operas. However, Duval thought it was in the

power of the fine arts administration to change this state of affairs. Where Bardoux made

a vague promise of good will, he set strict conditions to the involvement of the city:

298 See the account of Duval’s meeting with Minister Bardoux in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1879), 879. 152

On the other hand, the director of the Opéra has the exceptional privilege of being able to hire either the winners of the Conservatoire competitions or the most remarkable artists of the other lyric stages, and yet he does not employ them all. Therefore it would seem possible to oblige the director of the Opéra to loan this available artistic staff to the new Théâtre-Lyrique and thus form a second opera troupe without any additional expense for the state. Mister Prefect would agree to freely place one of the municipal theaters at the disposal of the Fine Arts Department only in the event that a combination of this nature could be accepted by Mister Minister. It should be understood that the repertoire of the Opéra will be performed three times a week on the stage of the new Théâtre-Lyrique.299

Duval was of the opinion that the Opéra could contribute to the operation of a popular

theater without troubling its direction or the fine arts administration. He was therefore

uncompromising about the results of the minister’s intervention.

In his report to the municipal council on the project of a new Théâtre-Lyrique,

Eugène Viollet-le-Duc showed as much intransigence as Duval had in his meeting with

Bardoux. In addition, the renowned architect and president of the Paris municipal

committee on architecture and fine arts openly criticized Bardoux’s management of

subsidized theaters. For instance, he made the fine arts administration directly responsible

for the exclusion of the popular public from the Opéra. “It would seem,” he said, “that an

Opéra whose ticket sales represent an annual sum of more than 2 million, and to which

the Parliament grants a 800,000-franc subsidy, should both develop musical art at the

highest degree and give the public the means of satisfying its taste for this art by allowing

it to hear the works of ancient and modern masters. You know that it is not the case.

Notwithstanding the direction, which does not make big efforts to put new works in the

299 “D’autre part, le directeur de l’Opéra jouit du privilège exceptionnel de pouvoir engager, soit les lauréats des concours du conservatoire, soit les sujets les plus remarquables des autres théâtres lyriques, et cependant il ne les utilise pas tous. Il semble donc qu’il serait possible d’obliger le directeur de l’Opéra à prêter au nouveau Théâtre-Lyrique ce personnel artistique disponible et de constituer ainsi une seconde troupe d’opéra sans supplément de dépense pour l’Etat. C’est seulement dans le cas où une combinaison de cette nature pourrait être admise par M. le Ministre, que M. le Préfet serait d’avis de mettre gratuitement à la disposition de la Direction des beaux-arts, un des théâtres municipaux. Il devrait être entendu que, trois fois par semaine, le répertoire du grand Opéra serait exécuté sur le nouveau Théâtre-Lyrique.” Ibid., 880- 881. 153 spotlight or to keep up the character of old works, the Opéra house is only open to an extremely limited public, because of the rise of ticket prices and of the scandalous speculation that has taken hold of the booking trade.”300 Viollet-le-Duc denied that the

Parisian public went to operetta performances out of taste. The high attendance at popular concerts was a proof that the Parisian public liked sophisticated music. Rather, Viollet-le-

Duc believed that the public endured bad art because it did not have anywhere else to go:

The council does not ignore that the Parisian population, reduced to listen to operettas or the insanities of cafés-concerts, has not abandoned its preferences for high musical art. Pasdeloup’s and Colonne’s concerts, followed with an eagerness that has never waned, are the proof of it, and yet these concerts are more especially dedicated to the execution of symphonies, which requires a public already familiar with the highest and, as a consequence, the least accessible musical conceptions.301

Having a sound musical taste, the Parisian population did not need to be educated in art. In Viollet-le-Duc’s opinion, it was enough to give it the opportunity of attending high-quality performances. Contrary to Bardoux who wanted to spread good taste through the new lyric theater, the head of the municipal committee on architecture and fine arts thought that the institution should strive to satisfy the desires of the public.302

Likewise, Viollet-le-Duc did not conceive of lyric performances as an instrument for the

300 “Il semblerait qu’un Opéra dont la location représente une somme annuelle de plus de 2 millions et auquel le Parlement accorde 800,000 francs de subvention, devrait être fait pour développer au plus haut degré l’art musical et offrir libéralement au public les moyens de satisfaire son goût pour cet art en lui permettant d’entendre les chefs-d’œuvre des maîtres anciens et modernes. Vous savez qu’il n’en est pas ainsi. Sans parler de la direction qui ne fait pas de grands efforts pour mettre en lumière des œuvres nouvelles ou pour conserver aux anciennes leur caractère, la salle de l’Opéra n’est ouverte qu’à un public extrêmement restreint, à cause de l’élévation du prix des places et de la spéculation scandaleuse qui s’est emparée de la location.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 6. 301 “Le Conseil n’ignore pas que la population parisienne, réduite à entendre des opérettes ou les insanités des cafés-concerts, n’a pas abandonné ses préférences pour l’art musical élevé. Les concerts de Pasdeloup et de Colonne, suivis avec un empressement qui jamais n’a faibli, en sont la preuve, et cependant ces concerts sont plus spécialement affectés à l’exécution symphonique, qui demande un public déjà familiarisé avec les conceptions musicales les plus hautes et, par conséquent, les moins accessibles.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 7. 302 In Viollet-le-Duc’s account, Bardoux assigned the new theater the mission of “[spreading] the taste for dramatic music in all classes.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 1. 154

moralization of masses. First, the population did not need to be moralized. Viollet-le-Duc

forcefully rejected the accusations of depravation that were hurled at it “in a certain

world” (“dans un certain monde”).303 Second, music had nothing to do with morality. It could not possibly improve the moral habits of the population. Having put aside artistic

and moral purposes, Viollet-le-Duc declared that the City of Paris would consent to

support the creation of a lyric theater only if the new institution was to provide for the

entertainment of the population.

In a combative tone, Viollet-le-Duc recalled the disastrous record of the state with regard to its democratizing mission. On the one hand, he stressed the persistent elitism of the Opéra, which, despite a substantial subsidy, was not able to lower the price of its tickets. On the other hand, he pointed out the repeated failures of the Théâtre-Lyrique,

which he attributed to what he viewed as the outrageous privileges of the Opéra. From

this analysis, he concluded that the City of Paris should not give its support to the project

of lyric theater were the conditions of exploitation to remain unchanged: “If the Théâtre-

Lyrique must be, as the minister said in his letter, a pool from which the Opéra can take

at its convenience either works or artists distinguished by the public, it is not worth

subsidizing a stage doomed, despite the sacrifices that one would make to support it, to a

more or less slow death, but a certain one.”304

In Viollet-le-Duc’s mind, the enterprise could not succeed unless the fine arts administration accepted the four conditions that he exposed in his report. First, the

303 “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 8. 304 “Si le Théâtre-Lyrique doit être, comme le dit M. le Ministre dans sa lettre, un réservoir où l’Opéra pourra puiser à sa convenance, soit des ouvrages, soit des artistes distingués par le public, il est inutile de subventionner une scène vouée, malgré les sacrifices que l’on ferait pour la soutenir, à une mort plus ou moins lente, mais certaine.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 6-7. 155

Théâtre-Lyrique populaire should have the right to perform the repertoire of the Opéra.

Second, the Opéra should participate in the performance of the works drawn from its

repertoire. While the Théâtre-Lyrique would be responsible for supplying the orchestra,

the choir, and the corps de ballet, the Opéra would provide the singers. The Théâtre-

Lyrique would perform the repertoire of the Opéra three times a week and its own

repertoire three times a week as well. On Sundays, the two repertoires would be

performed alternatively. Third, the price of tickets should be decided in a common

agreement between the state and the municipality. Fourth, the Théâtre-Lyrique populaire

should give a free performance at least twice a year, always on a Sunday and during the

day. The program of these free performances should only be composed of pieces from the

Opéra repertoire.305 In the event state and city could reach an understanding based on these conditions, Viollet-le-Duc recommended that the municipal council grant a subsidy to the Théâtre-Lyrique populaire. To this effect, he ended his report with the proposal that the municipal council authorize the Seine prefect to negotiate an agreement between the state and the City of Paris.

On December 7, 1878, the municipal council convened to discuss the conclusions of Viollet-le-Duc’s report. One of the councilors, Ernest Deligny, noted that Viollet-le-

Duc’s conditions did not include the vote of a subsidy by the Parliament, which he

considered a decisive factor of success. He thus submitted an amendment stipulating that

the City of Paris would relinquish the rent of the Théâtre-Lyrique house only on the

condition that the state would pay a subsidy of 400,000 francs per year.306 In his response

305 See Viollet-le-Duc’s report in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 9. 306 See the summary of the debates in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris, 1022. 156

to Deligny, Duval did not oppose the principle of requesting the payment of a subsidy but

he pointed out that the municipal council did not have the power of setting a figure and

imposing it on the government and Parliament. He also thought that the subsidy, or the

absence thereof, was not the main obstacle to the success of an enterprise such as the

Théâtre-Lyrique populaire. For him, the real issue was the uneven quality of

performances. The most talented artists of the Théâtre-Lyrique populaire could not

perform every day and consequently attendance would be irregular. Duval was confident

that the projected arrangement with the minister of fine arts, by allowing the director of

the Théâtre-Lyrique to use the troupe of the Opéra on certain days, would guarantee the

consistent quality of performances throughout the week and thus solve this thorny issue.

The argument did not entirely convince the municipal councilors, which did vote to

authorize the Seine prefect to negotiate an agreement with the minister, but at the

condition that the state would give a subsidy to the lyric theater.

The relationship between the City of Paris and the fine arts administration was not

one of mutual trust. On the one hand, the municipal councilors faulted the administration

for not making the Opéra accessible to the larger population. They posed strict conditions

on the participation of the city in the project of a new lyric theater. On the other hand, the

minister of fine arts preferred to insist on the moral obligations of the city rather than to make a gesture of conciliation towards it. In his letter to Duval, he cited examples of the other large cities in France, which all funded lyric theaters, to persuade the Paris municipality to give money to the Théâtre-Lyrique. He added that far from making

157

sacrifices to further the cause of art, the Paris municipality drew profit from its theaters

through the poor tax.307 Bardoux hinted that this was not acceptable.

The two sides had a vested interest in collaborating because of the great costs

associated with any theatrical venture. However it was difficult for them to find a

compromise because they had a different understanding of what democratization entailed.

Whereas the fine arts administration viewed democratization as an issue of local scope,

which consisted in the satisfaction of private interests (the constituents’ wishes), the city

council considered it was the duty of the state to arrange for an equal access to theater

across social classes. Their visions conflicted specifically on the question of the

monopoly of the Opéra on its repertoire. To ensure the artistic superiority of the Opéra,

the fine arts administration was in favor of maintaining that monopoly. In this way, the

Opéra would be preserved from the competition of other theaters and could focus on

improving the quality of its productions. For the city council, the monopoly was an intolerable privilege, which prevented a majority of the population from experiencing masterworks. In its opinion, there was no need to fight bad taste through displays of artistic excellence. Parisians liked good music and they only needed to be given the opportunity to attend valuable performances. In the end, the fine arts administration was caught between its desire to increase the resources of a theater that was seen as a stepping stone towards the Opéra and its reluctance to accept the conditions set by the City of

Paris, its desire to better prepare artists for the stage of the Opéra and its reluctance to share the repertoire of the prestigious institution. Unlike the municipal council, the fine arts administration did not consider democratization to be a state mission. Disseminating

307 See Viollet-le-Duc’s report in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris, 3. 158 masterworks did not add to the artistic prestige of the country. Worse, it hindered the progress of art. So there was no reason to encourage it.

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Chapter 5

The Théâtre d’Application (1879)

The decision of the municipal council to impose the participation of the Opéra on

the project of the Théâtre-Lyrique populaire must have displeased Bardoux for he

immediately took action to stifle it. First, he delayed his meeting with Duval. In a letter

sent to the Seine prefect on December 17, 1878, he announced that he could not enter

negotiations with him immediately because the current discussion about the status of the

Opéra—the question was whether the Opéra should become a state-owned company—

prevented him from disclosing any information.308 Second, Bardoux appointed a

committee to examine the question of the Théâtre-Lyrique. In doing this, he presumably

sought the concurring opinion of an independent body, which would add legitimacy to his

views and ease the rejection of the City of Paris’s conditions.

The minister of fine arts chose the members of the committee very carefully. He nominated several staff members from the fine arts administration (Eugène Guillaume, its director, among others), some representatives from the Senate (Ernest Denormandie,

Ferdinand Hérold, Louis Foucher de Careil, Charles Lambert de Sainte-Croix) and the

308 “Communication d’une lettre de M. le Ministre de l’instruction publique, A. Bardoux, au sujet de la création d’un théâtre lyrique populaire, 17 décembre 1878” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris, 1111. 160

House of Deputies (Antonin Proust), as well as a few authors, composers, and actors

from the Institut (Ambroise Thomas, Charles Gounod), the Académie française (Camille

Doucet, Ernest Legouvé), and the Conservatoire (François-Joseph Régnier). The committee, made up of politicians identifying with either center-left or center-right ideals and professionals belonging to the most prominent institutions, blended a mixture of moderate opinions and consecrated talents. As such, it was likely to adopt a conservative approach to the problem of the popular lyric theater, i.e. one that would tend to protect old institutions against the intrusions of new ones. And indeed, adopting the conclusions of its rapporteur, Ferdinand Hérold, the committee recommended, first, the rejection of the City of Paris’s conditions concerning the creation of a Théâtre-Lyrique populaire and, second, that subsidies not be requested from Parliament for the revival of the Théâtre-

Lyrique.309

Ferdinand Hérold, the son of lyric composer Louis-Joseph-Ferdinand Hérold, had

been a staunch opponent to the Bonapartist regime. A lawyer at the Conseil d’État and

later at the Cour de Cassation, he was a Paris municipal councilor and senator at the time

the committee was appointed. In his report on behalf of the committee dated January 18,

1879, Hérold condemned the projects of both the popular opera and the lyric theater on

the grounds that they were too expensive for the state and created unwelcome

competition for the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. His report explained that although the

Théâtre-Lyrique had done much to spread musical taste in France, “like any serious musical institution” (“comme toute institution musicale sérieuse”), the relatively high

309 According to a letter addressed to Bardoux by the director of the Nantes theaters, E. Coulon, the committee approved Hérold’s proposals in its meeting of January 6, 1879. Letter dated 14 January 1879, AN F 21 4687. 161

price of tickets made it inaccessible to a public of modest means.310 Thus, the Théâtre-

Lyrique had not realized the ambitions of a popular theater. Moreover, due to the great expense of stage sets, the Théâtre-Lyrique was always on the verge of bankruptcy. To succeed, the theater needed “an enormous subsidy” (“une subvention énorme”).311 Hérold

objected to its payment on the grounds of principle and feasibility. On the one hand, he

asserted that the two other national lyric theaters would suffer from the additional

competition. On the other hand, he contended that the houses would not agree to vote the

subsidy. He concluded against the re-establishment of the Théâtre-Lyrique.

Hérold’s reasoning was similar concerning the project for a popular Opera. A popular Opera would have the same expenses as the Théâtre-Lyrique, but because the seats were cheaper, the takings would be lower. Hence a popular Opera would face larger losses and would need an even bigger subsidy. With the intent of covering this extra cost, the Paris Municipal Council had offered to relinquish the rent of the Châtelet house in its negotiations with the Ministry of Fine Arts. However, Hérold deemed that the gift was

“too little a sacrifice” (“un trop petit sacrifice”) and would not suffice to fill the financial gap. He therefore recommended turning down the City of Paris’s proposals.312

As an alternative, Hérold made two suggestions. One was the organization of

popular performances on national stages and the other was the creation of a training

theater (Théâtre d’application) for artists and composers. The senator specifically

advocated the organization of popular performances on the stage of the Opéra. In doing

310 “Rapport fait le 18 janvier 1879 au nom de la sous-commission chargée d’examiner la question dite du Théâtre Lyrique, par Hérold, sénateur,” Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département de l’Opéra, PA 18 janvier 1879 (rapport sur la question du Théâtre-Lyrique), 8. 311 Ibid. 312 Ibid. 162 so Hérold distanced himself from Bardoux’s position of restricting popular performances to the stage of the Odéon and to a public of students. He pointed out that popular performances were all the more needed at the Opéra because its ticket prices were very high and the luxury of its performances was unequalled.313 Interestingly, what had been a reason for avoiding the organization of popular performances before (the misfit between the poorly educated and poorly endowed public on the one hand and the high-quality and high-priced performances on the other) now became the very reason for organizing them.

Far from envisioning a conflict between educational and artistic purposes, Hérold drew on the distance existing between the popular public and the prestigious institution to justify their rapprochement.

Also the price of tickets did not lose all symbolic value, but its meaning profoundly changed. For Bonapartist authorities, there was a direct correlation between ticket price, richness of display, and the social status of the people who occupied the seats. Hérold, by contrast, interpreted the price paid by a member of the public for a ticket as an indication of his or her intellectual interest in the performance. In his opinion, a free performance attracted indifferent people.314 Expounding on his argument, we could say that sheer enjoyment had no monetary, and thus, no symbolic value. By ruling out entertainment as a legitimate motive of attendance, Hérold introduced the dimension of usefulness to the arsenal of justifications in favor of popular performances.

Finally, Hérold dismissed fears of internal competition between regular and reduced-price performances at the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. Since the increased competition with national theaters had been a main argument for the rejection of both

313 Ibid., 20-21. 314 Ibid., 21. 163

popular Opera and Théâtre-Lyrique projects, it was only logical that Hérold’s report

would address this issue. However, unlike the opponents to popular performances, he believed in the price inelasticity of demand. He was convinced that spectators of regular performances would not be attracted to popular performances despite their significantly

lower ticket prices. In Hérold’s mind, a public of regular performances and a public of

reduced-price performances were altogether different. Indeed “the questions of fashion

and habits [had] a rather big influence with regard to theatergoing.”315 A spectator

accustomed to a certain decorum would not give it up even if there was a financial

incentive to switch to the cheaper performance. The reason was that the public of regular

performances was concerned with presenting an advantageous image of itself to others

and this image would be ruined by attending a popular performance. In other words,

considerations of social standing overrode the extra intellectual stimulation that

spectators could expect from attending more performances at a lower price. The

subordination of intellectual motives in favor of mundane concerns did not seem to

bother Hérold. He was too aware of the importance of appearances as a means of social

identification to condemn the behavior.

Lower classes, by contrast, had nothing to lose by attending popular performances. They did not risk being degraded from their social group. Quite the contrary, they could gain much social esteem by attending performances at the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique. Yet, Hérold did not emphasize this aspect of theatergoing. Perhaps because he did not want to provoke social upheaval, he preferred to insist on the purity of the public’s motivations, that is, the satisfaction of intellectual curiosity. So, while he was

315 “les questions de mode et d’habitudes ayant une assez grande influence en matière de fréquentation des théâtres.” Ibid., 20. 164

willing to accept fears of social demotion as a valid argument for not attending popular performances, he did not want to nurture hopes for social mobility through the organization of popular performances. More than the expression of a double standard,

Hérold’s stance showed his desire to maintain a certain social order.

Despite its conservative take on the purpose of popular performances, Hérold’s report marked a major evolution in the assessment of both the cultural needs of the population and the cultural obligations of the state. The senator was indeed among the first to advocate for the organization of popular performances within the national lyric theaters and also among the first to admit that a popular public might go to the most prestigious theaters without fraudulently enhancing its social status or irremediably damaging the reputation of the institution. Still there were limits to his understanding of theatrical democratization. While lower classes could legitimately access national theaters, they did not mix with the public of regular performances. To a certain extent, they formed a theater within the theater.

The last part of Hérold’s report was devoted to the creation of a training theater designed to replace the defective Théâtre-Lyrique. Hérold envisioned the training theater as a stage where young artists could acquire experience, young composers could premiere their works, and the public could receive a musical education.316 He saw fit that the theater should occupy a small- or medium-size house and constrain itself to modest sets, costumes and staging. In his plan, the state had a prominent role in the management of this theater. As a matter of fact, he depicted the theater as a state institution: the state would own it, direct it, and give it an annual subsidy of 200,000 francs. As Hérold put it,

“in the final analysis, the institution that we propose is a viable Théâtre-Lyrique, reduced

316 Ibid., 23. 165

to its true proportions, rescued from ruin, and enjoying an additional usefulness due to its

new function as a higher education institution.”317 The sentence nicely encapsulated

Hérold’s ideal of Théâtre-Lyrique. On the one hand, the modesty of productions ensured that the theater would not rival with the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique in luxury and would not burden state finances. It had a definite economic advantage. On the other hand, the phrase “reduced to its true proportions” suggested that modesty was the essence of the training theater. Hérold found that the previous incarnations of the Théâtre-Lyrique had been too grand. To fulfill its vocation, he thought that the theater should undergo a downgrade. For the first time then, Hérold dissociated state intervention from artistic pursuits and the quest for prestige. Instead, he combined it with an educative mission and a useful outcome. By doing so, he broke with the Bonapartist scheme of an ascending path to glory, along which luxury and skills advanced together. Hérold identified the educational task as an altogether separate endeavor, whose achievements were no longer assessed on the added magnificence they brought to the performance.

Shortly following the publication of the committee’s report, two key actors in the negotiations between the state and the City of Paris changed. First, on January 25, 1879,

Ferdinand Hérold was appointed prefect of the Seine in the place of Ferdinand Duval.

Then, on February 4, Jules Ferry succeeded Agénor Bardoux at the Ministry of Public

Instruction and Fine Arts. The effect of these nominations on the advancement of

Hérold’s project was immediate. A month after taking office, Ferry, by the agency of

Finance Minister Léon Say, submitted a bill to the House of Deputies. Ferry requested a

317 “En définitive, l’institution que nous proposons c’est le Théâtre lyrique possible réduit à ses vraies proportions, arraché à la ruine, et ayant une utilité de plus en sa qualité nouvelle d’établissement d’enseignement supérieur.” Ibid., 36-37. 166

200,000-franc subsidy to fund “a kind of training theater, controlled by the state,

intermediary between the Conservatoire and the subsidized theaters” (“une sorte de

théâtre d’application, régi par l’État, intermédiaire entre le Conservatoire et les théâtres

subventionnés”) in the event that such a theater was created.318 His proposal was directly

inspired by the work of the committee in charge of examining the question of the

Théâtre-Lyrique, for which Hérold had written his report. Indeed, the committee had

explicitly advocated the creation of a training theater, owned and managed by the state,

which would serve as an intermediary between the Conservatoire and the Opéra.319

Yet, very soon, Ferry abandoned the project. Going back on his proposal, he told

the Budget Committee at the House of Deputies that he wished to use the 200,000 francs

allotted to the training theater for the purchase of the Odéon’s material.320 The Budget

Committee pointed out that his request did not follow the standard procedure and that the minister of fine arts should rather ask for the purchase of material through a supplementary credit. As the committee excluded allocating the 200,000 francs to an entirely different purpose and Ferry did not make any new proposal regarding the project of lyric theater, the committee eventually had to decide what to do with the subsidy. At first, it thought about using the subsidy to help young composers and playwrights by rewarding superior musical and literary productions. However, in a later session, it

318 Bill modifying the 1880 budget submitted on 18 March 1879, Journal officiel de la République française, 4422. 319 “Rapport fait le 18 janvier 1879,” Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département de l’Opéra, PA 18 janvier 1879 (rapport sur la question du Théâtre-Lyrique), 26. 320 “Rapport fait au nom de la commission du budget (présidée par M. Brisson) chargée d'examiner le projet de loi portant fixation du budget des dépenses de l'exercice 1880, ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts (service des beaux-arts), par M. Antonin Proust, député, séance du 10 juin 1879,” in Annales du Sénat et de la Chambre des députés (Paris: Imprimerie et Librairie du Journal officiel A. Wittersheim & Cie, 1880), 6: 304. 167

decided to simply suppress the 200,000-franc credit.321 The training theater project was buried.

Deserted by the administration and abandoned by Parliament, Hérold’s proposals did not fare well with the City of Paris either. In his report of July 10, 1879 to the municipal council, Viollet-le-Duc criticized them sharply. First, he denied that the City of

Paris had any stake in the creation of a training theater. In his mind, the state was solely responsible for the teaching of fine arts. Second, the City of Paris could only be indifferent to a project that was geared to a minority of the Parisian population. The house that the fine arts administration planned on using was too small and the projected program of new works by young composers would not satisfy the taste of most Parisians.

Finally, he did not see the point of giving subsidies for the organization of popular performances in the national lyric theaters. Indeed, “either this subsidy would be negligible in comparison with the ones that the state gives the two lyric stages, and then it would constitute an onerous obligation for these two theaters, which already have a hard

time supporting themselves in the current conditions, or this subsidy would be

substantial, and the council would certainly not be able to impose it on the city’s

finances, given the pressing demands that weigh on the budget.”322

Just as Hérold had emphasized the cost of the Théâtre-Lyrique and the popular

Opera in order to discard the projects, Viollet-le-Duc opposed an economic argument to

321 Ibid. 322 “. . . ou cette subvention serait minime, relativement à celles que donne l’Etat à ces deux scènes lyriques, et alors elle ne constituerait qu’une charge onéreuse pour ces deux théâtres qui déjà ont grand peine à se soutenir dans les conditions qui leur sont actuellement faites, ou cette subvention serait très importante, et certainement le Conseil ne pourrait l’imposer aux finances de la ville, en présence des besoins impérieux qui chargent son budget.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc, au nom de la 5e commission, sur une proposition tendant à obtenir le concours de la Ville de Paris à la création d’un opéra populaire et d’un théâtre populaire de drame (annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 10 juillet 1879),” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 7. 168

the organization of popular performances at the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. While

Hérold had not even tackled the issue in his report to the committee, Viollet-le-Duc

considered the cost of popular performances to be an insurmountable obstacle. There was

no way that the amount of money given by the City of Paris could match the needs of the

national theaters. This reluctance to allocate public money to theatrical projects should

not be confused with a liberal argument against state intervention in the arts though. The

two authors agreed that both local and national authorities should take an active role in

supporting cultural endeavors. However they had different priorities and used economic

arguments to dismiss the projects that did not suit them. “Nothing is easier than to uphold

the absolute theory of non-intervention,” asserted Hérold.

As regards art, the state can disregard everything. Then, no public museums, no École des Beaux-Arts, no Conservatoire de musique, no subsidized theaters: the state is neither meant to undertake a show business, nor to spread or keep artistic and literary doctrines. On this path, one must go down to the end, and abandon the intellectual production to itself, whatever its nature. . . . Let us take a course of action: either the subsidized theaters will disappear, or we must create the practice School, the theater for teaching and producing musical works whose organization the under-committee has attempted to sketch.323

Hérold not only argued that the most outstanding theatrical institutions relied on the work

accomplished in the training theater to thrive, but he also showed the interdependence of

all artistic projects. If the state overlooked a project that was as valuable as the others,

then all the other projects lost their justification. In other words, the state could not focus

its investments on certain domains of interest. It had to be present on all artistic fronts.

323 “Rien de plus facile que de soutenir la théorie absolue de la non-intervention. En matière d’art, l’État peut se désintéresser de tout. Alors, ni musées publics, ni École des Beaux-Arts, ni Conservatoire de musique, ni théâtres subventionnés: l’État n’est fait ni pour être entrepreneur de spectacles, ni pour répandre ou maintenir des doctrines artistiques ou littéraires. Dans cette voie, il faut aller jusqu’au bout, et abandonner la production intellectuelle à elle-même, de quelque nature qu’elle soit. . . . Sachons prendre un parti: ou les théâtres subventionnés disparaîtront, ou il faut créer l’École pratique, le théâtre d’enseignement et de production musicale dont la sous-commission a essayé d’esquisser l’organisation.” “Rapport fait le 18 janvier 1879,” Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département de l’Opéra, PA 18 janvier 1879 (rapport sur la question du Théâtre-Lyrique), 37. 169

Hérold’s theory of systematic intervention was diametrically opposed to the “absolute

theory of non-intervention.”

As for Viollet-le-Duc, his reasoning was similar in the sense that he presented two

radically opposed attitudes towards state intervention in the arts. He also used the

argument of inconsistency to denounce what he viewed as a partial—both incomplete and

biased—involvement in cultural affairs. “There are two opposite principles in the state

with respect to questions of art,” he said. “Either pay absolutely no attention to them, or

consider oneself as endowed with a kind of sacred mission, with the responsibility of

leading and supporting one of the artistic forms in the interest of society. . . . However, if one follows the rules of logic and equity, one cannot admit that the state pretends to be uncommitted in certain cases, while at the same time reserving a highly efficient and very extended protection to a few institutions, unless one admits that there is a state art. If art preoccupies the state, if the state believes it must devote part of its budget to what it considers as the interest of art, it is fit that this portion of the national contribution is distributed according to public interest, and not just so as to maintain a privilege for the benefit of a class of citizens.”324 Like Hérold, Viollet-le-Duc wanted to justify the extension of state intervention to a new area. Unlike Hérold however, he did not seek the creation of a training theater. His goal was to convince the state to support institutions that catered to the taste of the larger population. He refuted the state’s claim to artistic

324 “Il y a en présence, deux principes opposés dans l’Etat, touchant les questions d’art: ou se désintéresser complètement, ou se considérer comme investi d’une sorte de sacerdoce, ayant charge de diriger et de soutenir une des formes de l’art dans un intérêt social. . . . Mais on ne saurait admettre en bonne logique et en équité, que l’Etat prétendît se désintéresser en certains cas, tout en réservant pour quelques institutions une protection très efficace et très étendue, à moins d’admettre qu’il y ait un art de l’Etat. Si l’art préoccupe l’Etat, si l’Etat croit devoir consacrer une partie de son budget à ce qu’il considère comme l’intérêt de l’art, il convient que cette portion de la contribution nationale soit répartie en raison de l’intérêt public, et non, seulement, pour maintenir un privilège au profit d’une classe de citoyens.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 16-17. 170

and political neutrality. For him, the art on display at the Opéra and Opéra-Comique was

just one particular form of art and the fact that it was seen by a privileged audience

showed that the state acted in the interest of one social class. Viollet-le-Duc’s indictment was far reaching as it meant that the state could no longer pretend to defend the cause of art without caring about its public. Art had a definite social anchorage.

In the end, Hérold’s proposals were unanimously rejected. While the City of Paris criticized their lack of democratic dispositions, the administration, which never gave an official explanation for the withdrawal of the project in Parliament, judged that there were more urgent matters to attend to other than funding a training theater. Both institutions rejected the didactic program of Hérold’s performances. The City of Paris claimed that a theater that staged the work of novice composers and playwrights could not attract the popular public. In its opinion, the education of artists was incompatible with the education of the public. Furthermore, municipal councilors argued that the

Parisian population did not need to receive a musical education. They thought that a popular theater should be dedicated to the enjoyment of the masses and should therefore perform the most popular operas. As for the administration, it realized the impossibility of making a popular repertoire out of early works by obscure composers and playwrights.

In the subsequent projects the training of artists was always dissociated from a popular attendance, and the idea of funding a theater for the purpose of training artists receded into the background altogether. Thus, politicians gave up the project of a lyric theater conceived as the antechamber of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique to embrace that of a theater entirely dedicated to the popular public. Insofar as Hérold’s proposals triggered this decision, they represent a turning point in the history of popular theater.

171

A popular theater, however, was more difficult to justify on its own than coupled

with a training theater. By shedding its initiating function for composers and playwrights,

the lyric theater lost its artistic justification. Also, Hérold had definitely shown that the

state could not afford a third lyric theater. If properly endowed, such a theater would not

only put a strain on public finances but threaten the prosperity of the two existing lyric

theaters. Finally, republican educators had enough doubts concerning the educational

value of theater that the state could not legitimately intervene on these grounds. Nor could the state legitimately support theater as an entertainment. In 1879, fine arts officials considered that the satisfaction of the popular public’s desires was a matter of local interest and was thus the responsibility of municipal councils. Therefore, the only possible justification for a popular theater was a democratic principle, i.e. the obligation to provide universal access to a national institution. But this again was a problematic basis for state intervention as theater was not yet regarded as a public service. Hence popular theater struggled to find its vocation and its champions had a hard time convincing people of its necessity.

172

Chapter 6

The Opéra Populaire and the Théâtre Dramatique Populaire

(1879-1880)

On 23 June 1879, Edmond Turquet wrote a letter to the president of the Paris

Municipal Council. In this letter, the under-secretary of fine arts reminded the president that the City of Paris and the government had started negotiations the year before to create a popular lyric theater. Turquet declared that he now wished to extend this project.

Instead of one lyric theater, he envisioned two theaters, one lyric and one dramatic. Both

theaters would perform the high-brow repertoire at cheap prices, making literature and music accessible to a Parisian population “so eager of intellectual pleasures” (“si avide de plaisirs intellectuels”).325 The new lyric theater would be allowed to perform “ten works

of the Opéra’s domain not belonging to the current repertoire” (“dix ouvrages du

domaine de l’Opéra n’appartenant pas au répertoire courant”).326 A clause had indeed

been added to the Opéra charter in May 1879 stipulating that the director should yield ten

325 “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc, au nom de la 5e commission, sur une proposition tendant à obtenir le concours de la Ville de Paris à la création d’un opéra populaire et d’un théâtre populaire de drame (annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 10 juillet 1879),” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 2. 326 Article 56 of the Opéra charter signed by Jules Ferry and Auguste Emmanuel Vaucorbeil on May 14, 1879. 173

works of the Opéra repertoire to the popular lyric theater in the event the theater would be

created.327 The ten works certainly had an outmoded flavor, but the permission to

perform them represented a first breach in the monopoly of the Opéra. It also represented

a gesture of willingness by the administration to seek a compromise by taking into

account the City of Paris’s wishes. As for cheap tickets, Turquet thought that only a

collaboration between state and city could make them a reality. Therefore he enjoined the

City of Paris to accept financial responsibility for some of the running costs of the two

theaters.

Turquet’s propositions were the result of protracted discussions within the fine

arts administration. Indeed many questions surfaced as the administration was defining

the mission of the popular theater. Among them was the amount of freedom the

administration should have in designing the project. For instance, it was unclear whether

the administration could legitimately go against popular wishes, when these wishes

seemed to be entirely reasonable. It was one thing indeed to dismiss popular taste on the

grounds of its vulgarity; it was another to prevent the people from enjoying the latest

masterworks performed at the Opéra, which supposedly met the highest artistic standards.

With respect to café-concert songs, the administration could contest the soundness of

popular inclinations. With respect to operas, however, it could not. It could only contest

their appropriateness. But in doing so, the administration implied that rational artistic choices were not universally valid, that their validity depended on the social context.

More exactly, it hinted that there was a superior rationality, possessed by the state, that consisted in assessing what was good for each social group. In this analysis, Opéra performances, while good in principle (they met high artistic standards), were not good

327 Ibid. 174

for the people. Likewise, popular performances, while not so good in principle (they did

not meet high artistic standards), were good for the people.

At stake in Turquet’s project of popular theater was the authority of the state not

only to impose its interpretation of social norms at the expense of the popular will, but

also to devise class-based policies in breach of the principle of equality. It posed the

question of how much credibility the administration inspired when it explained

differences of treatment between social classes by the mere fact of its superior insight

and, consequently, of how much liberty the administration had to relegate the republican

belief in individual autonomy. Also, since attendance was not mandatory in theaters, the

lack of popularity of the “popular” theaters could become immediately visible. The next

question then was whether the administration could remain indifferent to blatant criticism of its policy. Was it possible to support a theater without a public? In the context of rising expectations of accountability, Turquet’s project was clearly putting the police state to a test.

As the previous paragraph shows, Turquet’s project could expect challenges on two levels, namely its fairness and its viability. Notwithstanding the gravity of the accusation, what made these challenges a serious concern for the administration was the fact that they could not be easily dispelled. Indeed, although the opportunists valued republican institutions, they did not want to deprive the state of its discretionary powers.

Too democratic to rule out the principle of equity, they were at the same time too penetrated of the state’s moral superiority not to believe in the rightness of its actions. So, while they felt legitimate in programming an unpopular repertoire for the popular theater,

175

they did not go as far as to force attendance.328 Similarly, while the administration

adopted lower artistic standards for the popular theater, it was uneasy in justifying them

with a sociological, deterministic, explanation. Unable to prove its good intentions and

faced with the likelihood of a conspicuous failure, the administration was in an

uncomfortable position. One could even say that the position was untenable. What

government, indeed, could disregard popular opinion, i.e. deliberately generate

dissatisfaction, while at the same time allow the expression of this dissatisfaction, making

it evident that the policy was unpopular? What government, further, could both enforce

discrimination and accept criticism regarding its right to do so? There was a contradiction

at the heart of the republican discourse that needed to be addressed in order to make

democratization possible.

The popular dramatic and lyric theaters imagined by Turquet and his collaborators

were the first national theaters to be defined by their public rather than by their artistic

vocation. Earlier, the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique had been founded with the

expectation that they would fare the opera and comic opera repertoire respectively. The

line between the Comédie-Française and the Odéon was fuzzier, but there was still the

idea that the Comédie-Française was a theater of classics, while the Odéon gave chances

to young playwrights. By contrast, the dramatic and lyric theaters did not have an identity

of their own. They were both modeled on the Opéra. Not that they were expected to

emulate their prestigious elder. Quite the contrary, their tasks were defined in such a way as to prevent any kind of competition with the Opéra. As the excerpts from the respective

328 It is important to remember that the opportunists did not assign an educational goal to the popular theater. Thus, compulsory attendance was not on their agenda. 176

charters presented below make clear (the charters of the two popular theaters were only

draft charters), the entire relationship between the Opéra and the popular theaters was

built on opposition and subordination. Here, first, are the obligations of the Opéra

director:

The director of the Opéra shall give to the performances of the Académie nationale de musique the splendor that is due to the first among French lyrical stages. The Opéra is not a theater of trials: it must be considered as the museum of music; it shall therefore distinguish itself from the other theaters by the choice of old and new works of all schools that will be performed and by the superiority of the vocal, dancing, and orchestral artists. The stage sets shall be executed in the most renowned workshops; the costumes and accessories shall be designed by the most skilled artists. In a word, the director shall make all the sacrifices imposed on him by respect for art.329

Second, the obligations of the Opéra populaire director:

In regards to both the choice and the musical execution of the performed works, the director shall manage the Opéra populaire with the dignity that is due to a municipal theater subsidized by the state. The Opéra populaire is not a theater of luxury but of artistic popularization. It shall distinguish itself from the other subsidized lyrical stages by a great relative simplicity in the sets and costumes. The director shall, however, recruit and maintain an excellent ensemble troupe of artists and choirs, as well as a well- balanced orchestra. He shall refrain from the costly participation of the artists of the first class designated as “stars” and shall thus take up the system by which names are prominently displayed on the poster.330

329 “Le directeur de l’Opéra sera tenu de donner aux représentations de l’Académie nationale de musique la splendeur qu’il convient à la première scène lyrique française. L’Opéra n’est pas un théâtre d’essai: il doit être considéré comme le musée de la musique; il devra donc se distinguer des autres théâtres par le choix des œuvres anciennes et modernes de toutes les écoles qu’on y représentera et par la supériorité des artistes du chant, de la danse et de l’orchestre. Les décors devront être exécutés dans les ateliers les plus en renom; les costumes et les accessoires seront dessinés par les artistes les plus habiles. En un mot, le directeur devra faire tous les sacrifices qui lui seront imposés par le respect de l’art.” Opéra charter, 14 May 1879, AN F 21 4687. 330 “Le directeur sera tenu d’exploiter l’opéra populaire au double point de vue du choix et de l’exécution musicales des ouvrages représentés, avec la dignité qui convient à un théâtre municipal subventionné par l’Etat. L’Opéra populaire n’est pas un théâtre de luxe mais de vulgarisation artistique. Il devra se distinguer des autres scènes lyriques subventionnées par une grande simplicité relative de décorations et de costumes. Tous les apports du directeur devront, en revanche, tendre à recruter et à maintenir une excellente troupe d’ensemble, artistes et chœurs, ainsi qu’un orchestre bien équilibré. Il se privera du concours onéreux des sujets de premier ordre désignés sous le nom d’étoiles et reprendra par suite le système des noms mis en vedette sur l’affiche.” Draft charter of the Opéra populaire, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 177

Finally, the obligations of the Théâtre dramatique populaire director:

In regards to both the choice and the artistic interpretation of the performed works, the director shall manage the Théâtre dramatique populaire with the dignity that is due to a municipal theater subsidized by the state. The Théâtre dramatique populaire shall abstain from rivaling the free theaters in luxury and brilliance. Its productions, while remaining satisfying, shall be of a great relative simplicity. However, all the efforts of the director shall be directed toward recruiting and maintaining an excellent ensemble troupe: the posters shall not bear any name of a star. The director shall be suffused with the idea that he should seek success exclusively in the production of elevated works, whose truly moral and philosophical meaning should both stimulate and instruct public morality. Aside from the works borrowed from foreign literature, he shall above all devote himself to building a national repertoire.331

As the first—and most telling—clause of each of the three charters shows, the language used to describe the Opéra’s features was superlative, while that which characterized the popular theaters was relative. The Opéra was “the first among French lyrical stages.” The “most renowned” workshops were to design its stage sets and the

“most skilled” craftsmen were to make its costumes and accessories. The artists who

performed at the Opéra were to be “superior.” By contrast, the artists at the Opéra

populaire and Théâtre dramatique populaire could not be of “the first class,” could not be

“stars.” The stage sets and costumes could not be “luxurious.” They had to be of great

“relative” simplicity.

Although the charters presented the nature of each theater as a fact (“The Opéra is

not a theater of trials: it must be considered as the museum of music”; “The Opéra

331 “Le directeur du Théâtre dramatique populaire sera tenu de donner à son exploitation, au double point de vue du choix et de l’interprétation artistique des ouvrages représentés, une impulsion digne d’une grande scène municipale subventionnée par l’Etat. Le Théâtre dramatique populaire s’abstiendra de lutter de luxe et d’éclat avec les théâtres libres. Ses mises en scène, tout en restant convenables, seront d’une grande simplicité relative. Par contre, tous les efforts du directeur tendront à recruter et maintenir une excellente troupe d’ensemble: les affiches ne devront porter aucun nom de vedette. Le directeur se pénètrera de cette idée qu’il doit rechercher le succès exclusivement dans la production d’œuvres élevées dont le sens vraiment moral et philosophique soit, pour les mœurs publiques, un stimulant à la fois et un enseignement. En dehors des ouvrages empruntés aux littératures étrangères, il devra surtout s’attacher à constituer un répertoire national.” Draft charter of the Théâtre dramatique populaire, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 178

populaire is not a theater of luxury but of artistic popularization”332), the various

interdictions and encouragements made it clear that the state needed to enforce the

hierarchy of theaters for it to exist. On the one hand, the director of the Opéra could never

spend too little money on the productions. Oblivious of his financial interest, he should

“make all the sacrifices imposed on him by respect for art.” On the other hand, the

director of the Opéra populaire had to “refrain from the costly participation of the artists

of the first class,” while the director of the Théâtre dramatique populaire should “abstain

from rivaling the free [private] theaters in luxury and brilliance.”

The Opéra was free to do what it wanted—in the name of art—whereas the

popular theaters were limited in their endeavors by considerations of rank. Thus the

Opéra had the liberty to compose its repertoire with the “old and new works of all

schools.” The Opéra populaire, however, was constrained to put on works that had once

been performed on the stage of the Opéra but that were no longer in use. It did not have a

repertoire of its own: it “borrowed” the Opéra’s leavings.333 As for the Théâtre

dramatique populaire, its director could exclusively produce “elevated works, whose truly

moral and philosophical meaning should both stimulate and instruct public morality.

Aside from the works borrowed from foreign literature, he [should] above all devote

himself to building a national repertoire.”334 The contrast was striking between the Opéra,

332 In this quotation as well as in the subsequent ones, the emphasis is mine. 333 “Le directeur sera tenu de constituer un répertoire d’ouvrages ayant été représentés au Grand Opéra mais n’appartenant plus au répertoire courant de ce théâtre. . . . Quand la liste des ouvrages qu’on peut emprunter au Grand Opéra sera épuisée, un nouveau choix devra être fait, dans les mêmes conditions, parmi les opéras appartenant à l’ancien répertoire des autres scènes lyriques.” Title II, Draft charter of the Opéra populaire, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 334 “Le directeur se pénètrera de cette idée qu’il doit rechercher le succès exclusivement dans la production d’œuvres élevées dont le sens vraiment moral et philosophique soit, pour les mœurs publiques, un stimulant à la fois et un enseignement. En dehors des ouvrages empruntés aux littératures étrangères, il devra surtout s’attacher à constituer un répertoire national.” Title I, Draft charter of the Théâtre dramatique populaire, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 179

which cultivated originality, eclecticism, and idealism, and the popular theaters, whose

repertoire was unoriginal and debased, or else purposeful. In further contrast, the Opéra

was responsible for conserving and increasing the cultural patrimony of the nation,

whereas the popular theaters were dedicated to its dissemination, by far a less prestigious

task.335 Finally, the Opéra courted individual talents, while the popular theaters nurtured

the ensembles of their troupes.

The problem with enforcing different rules and values at the Opéra and at the

popular theaters was that they might invalidate one another. Was there not a contradiction

indeed in promoting luxury at the Opéra and forbidding it at the popular theaters? Either

luxury was not necessary to art and the Opéra could do without luxury (if art was the

ultimate goal, as stated in the charter), or luxury was necessary to art, which meant that

the administration forced the popular theaters into mediocrity. Put differently, if luxury

was not necessary to artistic accomplishments, the prodigality of the Opéra could not be

justified. It was merely extravagant and foolish. However, if luxury was necessary to

artistic accomplishments, then the prodigality of the Opéra could be seen as a legitimate

expense, but the mandatory frugality of the popular theaters in turn became problematic.

In Parliament, there were always a few deputies who contested the necessity of luxury to

achieve an artistic purpose and criticized the Opéra’s high level of expenses. But a

majority of deputies, those who went on to vote for the fine arts budget, associated

luxurious performances with artistic endeavors. This was the opinion of the Ferry

335 This association of the popular with reproduced works, in other words, the idea that the people can be satisfied with a “reflection” of beauty, was already present in the project of a “museum of copies” (which later became the National Museum of French Monuments) promoted by Jules Simon during the period of Moral Order. See the discussion of the fine arts budget at the Assemblée nationale on 10 December 1872, 11 December 1872, Moniteur Universel, 7687. 180

administration too.336 Therefore it is safe to say that the popular theaters were refused an artistic ambition.

Was this fair? After establishing the difference of treatment between the two

institutions, this is the question that comes next to the mind. Obviously, the goal is not to

assess the republican policy with the tools provided by recent theories of justice. Rather,

it is to present the republicans’ own justification of unequal treatment. For that purpose, I

will follow a two-step analysis. First, I will determine whether the mediocrity of popular

productions was intended as such or whether it was a byproduct of the opportunists’

theatrical policy. Second, I will compare the republicans’ justification for unequal

treatment with the democratic ideal of meritocracy.

One hypothesis to account for the lower artistic standards in effect at the popular theaters is that the republican administration gave priority to the people’s demands over the quality of productions. Thus, by imposing the old repertoire of the Opéra on the

Opéra populaire, the republicans may have wished to fulfill the preferences of the

population. This is unlikely however. First, the opportunist administration never formally

inquired about the population’s tastes. And second, if the administration had paid

attention to what its local interlocutors said, it would have known that the population

liked the most recent repertoire of the Opéra as well as the songs and operettas performed

at cafés-concerts. Third, it is hard to imagine that the population would spontaneously

prefer a bland performance to a lavish one. Illustrated newspapers, such as l’Illustration,

336 Ferry was minister of public instruction and fine arts at the time Turquet contacted the City of Paris to submit the project of two popular theaters. 181

regularly printed lithographs of the Opéra’s productions.337 Their numerous readers were

thus aware of the ongoing standards at the prestigious institution. Assuming that some of

the readers would have been among the spectators of the popular theater, they would

have realized the banality of its stage sets and would have probably deplored it. Thus it is

doubtful that the mediocrity of the popular theaters may have been instated by popular

demand.

A second hypothesis that could explain the unequal handling of national theaters

is that the administration might have given priority to the popular theaters’ accessibility

over their artistic quality. In this interpretation, the mediocrity of the popular theaters

would have been the consequence of a severely restricted artistic budget, made necessary

by lower ticket prices. But this hypothesis does not hold better than the previous one as

the existing national theaters and the popular theaters were not even equally endowed by

the state. Instead of receiving a higher subsidy to compensate for the lower price of the

tickets, the projected popular theaters would have received dramatically lower subsidies

than that of the national theaters: a quarter of the Opéra subsidy in the case of the popular

lyric theater (200,000 francs) and less than half the Théâtre-Français subsidy in the case

of the popular dramatic theater (100,000 francs).338 So it is impossible to confuse the

interdiction of luxury from the part of the administration with a wise managerial decision

made in anticipation of budgetary problems. More likely, the subsidy given to the popular

theaters was on par with the artistic level that the administration envisioned for them: the

modesty of their budget matched the modesty of their aspirations.

337 For one example among many, see L’Illustration of 5 December 1885, which covers the premiere of Jules Massenet’s Cid at the Opéra. 338 These two amounts (200,000 francs for the lyric theater and 100,000 francs for the dramatic theater) were the ones that Turquet requested in the draft bill of 24 January 1880. 182

In conclusion, it is reasonable to surmise that the mediocrity of the popular

theaters was not a byproduct but the intended goal of Jules Ferry’s policy. In other words,

Ferry deliberately treated the public of the Opéra and the public of the popular theaters

(which he thought would not overlap) on a different footing. In a democratic regime,

these differences of treatment can be legitimate if they correspond to relevant differences

in aptitudes. This is the basis for the meritocratic argument. Therefore, to justify staging

luxurious performances only for an elite spectatorship, the Ferry administration had to

prove that luxurious performances fitted the elite’s unique capacities. This meant the administration needed to spell out what these capacities were.

As we have seen in the second chapter, the pedagogues of the 1880s agreed that the reasoning faculty was essential to a complete aesthetic experience. They also agreed that adults shared basic reasoning faculties. Thus, in their analysis, everyone was theoretically capable of appreciating artworks. To appreciate artworks was just a matter of wanting to use one’s reasoning faculties: it required a certain moral ability. To support its discriminating policy, Ferry’s administration could therefore argue that it selected this elite public on the basis of its aptitudes. The problem was whether moral aptitudes were a relevant criterion of selection. Theaters were not schools after all, and nobody checked what people learned from attending a play. While pedagogues pointed to the possible moral benefits of dramatic performances, politicians were too conscious of the haphazardness of these benefits to use theater as a way of improving the morals of the population. So, why was it important that people understood plays? What did politicians mean by “understanding?”

183

Essentially, Ferry and his colleagues thought that, if people used their reason, they

could fight illusion. If they did not, they were likely to interpret plays in an incorrect

manner. Thus, by treating spectators according to their moral abilities, the opportunists

did not seek to achieve a positive outcome, the education of the public. Rather, they

wanted to avoid a negative outcome, its delusion. Delusion could take several forms.

First, spectators might believe that effort was not the necessary prelude to enjoyment.

Indeed, sensual pleasure did not ensue from the labors of reason and spectators could

experience it immediately. With their plethora of visual effects, luxurious performances

were particularly dangerous. They naturally enticed spectators into sensual apprehension

and could potentially give them pleasure without the prerequisite of work. Thus, they

could convince people to seek easy gratifications and even persuade them that work was

a superfluous activity.339 With further regard to luxurious performances, the public could

mistake the “sacrifices made in the name of art” (as the expenses toward productions

were called at the time) for a wasteful expenditure. Some deputies in Parliament had

already mentioned that subsidies to national theaters seemed pointless to them and it was

only a matter of time before people might come to think that it was acceptable to spend

money on unnecessary items.340 Finally, if the public admired the wonders of luxurious stage sets, it might be tempted to give more credit to the power of appearances and start cultivating them. In summary, whether an inducement to laziness, a justification for indulgence, or an encouragement to counterfeit, the spectacle of luxury could endlessly deceive the suggestible public and elicit reprehensive behaviors. By contrast, mediocre

339 See for instance Félix Pécaut’s warnings against sensual pleasure in the “Poésie” article of the Dictionary of Pedagogy, DP1, 2389. 340 See Alfred Talandier’s participation in the discussion of the fine arts budget of 8 December 1882, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1941. 184 performances seemed harmless. With no visual effects to offer, they could not generate sensual pleasure. Neither could they encourage the cultivation of appearances. Finally, the economy of the stage sets did not invite prodigality. Thus, while luxurious performances represented a potential threat to social order, mediocre performances were always safe.

To maintain social peace, the opportunists believed that they had to match the nature of performances with the abilities of the public. The idea was to reserve luxurious performances for those who could resist temptation by applying their reason, and to assign mediocre performances to individuals who accepted to be governed by their senses and swayed by illusion. The idea was plain, but the way the administration was to execute it less so. Whereas luxurious productions could easily be identified by the large sums invested into them, few people would admit to their want of morality. Also, assessing moral capacities was not a definitive matter. It forced the state to make value judgments.

In practice, the administration never formally assessed the moral capacities of the national theaters’ publics. It simply assumed that the public of the Opéra was “moral,” while the public of the popular theaters could not be trusted. There were several remarkable things about this assumption. First, it seemed that, in the opportunists’ view, the moral content of plays was no indication of the putative morality of the public. On the one hand, the moral plays performed at the popular theaters did not prejudge the morality of the popular public. Rather, the popular public was shown moral plays because it was suspected of immorality. On the other hand, the audacities allowed by censors on the stage of the Opéra did not infer the immorality of the Opéra public. Rather, censors were

185

more permissive with the Opéra public because they were confident in its morality. In

sum, it was the presumed morality of the public that determined the freedom of tone on

stage, not the moral content of plays that reflected the morality of the public. The

opportunist government assumed that any play, even the most innocent, could be given

an immoral interpretation. A “moral” public would always interpret a play morally,

whereas an “immoral” public could give an immoral meaning to any production it

attended. The second thing worth noting is that, by this reasoning, the government

eliminated the possibility of spectators going to both theaters. As the moral interpretation

of plays only depended on the moral capacities of individuals and not on the moral

content of plays, it was difficult to say that individuals could behave morally in one

setting and immorally in a different one. There had to be a consistency in their moral

demeanor. Thus, people could not be moral at the Opéra and immoral at the popular

theaters. They simply went either to the Opéra or to the popular theaters.

Were it not for the price of tickets, there is no doubt that everyone would have chosen to go to the Opéra rather than to the popular theaters at the end of the nineteenth century. The popular theaters’ modest artistic ambitions contrasted with the Opéra’s high- quality performances. But tickets at the Opéra were expensive and out of the reach of many spectators. According to Frédérique Patureau, the price of the cheapest tickets at the Opéra corresponded to a day’s pay of a Parisian worker’s salary.341 The scholar of the

Paris Opéra also noted a discrepancy between the face price at the box office and the

price that spectators actually paid to secure their seat. Indeed, scalpers routinely bought

hundreds of tickets to sell them at a higher price. This practice was particularly

341 Frédérique Patureau, Le Palais Garnier dans la société parisienne: 1875-1914 (Liège: Mardaga, 1991), 299. 186

detrimental to the public of modest means as the best seats were usually had by yearly

subscription and were not subject to trafficking. Therefore, there was a definite financial

obstacle that prevented the less well-off from attending a performance at the Opéra.

Besides, it seemed unlikely that those who could afford to go to both institutions would debate between spending a large amount of money on a high-quality service (at the

Opéra), and a little money for a low-quality service (at the popular theaters). Popular theaters were such markers of social inferiority that the well-off would avoid going to them altogether. While one can conceive of an occasional spectator from the lower tier of society attending the Opéra, one who was particularly motivated to save for the event, it made no sense for a wealthy spectator to go to the popular theater for the sake of economy. Ultimately, the public of the Opéra was a public of rich people, whose concern for social image kept them away from the popular theaters. Therefore, by presupposing that the public of the Opéra was a “moral” public, the Ferry administration rewarded economic capacity more than a purity of intentions.

This equation of wealth and morality had important implications. It showed that opportunists presupposed that individuals made moral decisions based on their interest rather than their idea of duty. Since rich people were systematically moral, wealth ensured morality in some way. One can surmise that Ferry assumed that rich people were satisfied with the existing social order, whereas poor people were skeptical of reigning norms. In one case, material conditions inspired conformism, in the other, a spirit of contest. In Ferry’s view, individuals could not be poor and moral at the same time or rich and immoral. His analysis was deterministic and denied individuals’ moral autonomy.

187

This deterministic analysis stood in total contrast with the moral autonomy that

republicans promoted in their discourse. With regard to rich people, Ferry could argue

that their defense of republican institutions and policies was grounded in reason. Thus,

rich people made autonomous moral choices. However, Ferry anticipated that members

of the lower classes would not readily use their reason. How did he think then that they

could ever act in agreement with the universal laws of morals? His solution was detailed

in the instructions he sent out to primary school teachers in 1882. Since primary school

students were not accessible to logical truths, he planned to rely on emotions in order to educate their will:

He [the primary school teacher] is asked, not to ornate the child’s memory, but to touch his or her heart, to make him or her feel, by direct experience, the majesty of the moral law; this is enough to say that the means to be used cannot be the same as those of a science or grammar lesson. They must be not only more flexible and varied, but also more intimate, more moving, more practical, of a less didactic and serious character. . . . He [the primary school teacher] must leave aside the considerations that it would be appropriate to tackle at a higher level of teaching; his task is limited to accumulate, in the mind and heart of the child whom he undertakes to mold to moral life, enough great [beautiful?] examples, enough good impressions, enough healthy ideas, salutary habits and noble aspirations, so that this child takes from school, with his or her little patrimony of elementary knowledge, an even more precious treasure, a righteous conscience.342

Ferry imagined liberating children of the lower class (to whom primary school programs were chiefly directed) from the dictates of material interest by giving them examples of moral behavior. He thought that, eventually, undependable instincts would become

342 “On demande à l’instituteur, non pas d’orner la mémoire de l’enfant, mais de toucher son cœur, de lui faire ressentir, par une expérience directe, la majesté de la loi morale; c’est assez dire que les moyens à employer ne peuvent être semblables à ceux d’un cours de science ou de grammaire. Ils doivent être non seulement plus souples et plus variés, mais plus intimes, plus émouvants, plus pratiques, d’un caractère tout ensemble moins didactique et plus grave. . . . Il [l’instituteur] doit laisser de côté les développements qui trouveraient leur place dans un enseignement plus élevé; pour lui la tâche se borne à accumuler, dans l’esprit et dans le cœur de l’enfant qu’il entreprend de façonner à la vie morale, assez de beaux exemples, assez de bonnes impressions, assez de saines idées, d’habitudes salutaires et de nobles aspirations pour que cet enfant emporte de l’école, avec son petit patrimoine de connaissances élémentaires, un trésor plus précieux encore, une conscience droite.” Ministère de l’instruction publique, Organisation, plan d’études et programmes des écoles primaires publiques et des écoles maternelles. Arrêtés du Ministère de l’instruction publique (en date du 27 juillet 1882) (Paris: Librairie Poussielgue Frères, 1882), 41-42. 188

virtuous habits. But, in the meantime, Ferry, and education officials in general, had to

navigate between the reality of determinism—as they saw it—and the ideal of autonomy.

While the anticipation of trouble justified creating a theater with lower artistic standards,

the cultivation of autonomy required that the government let individuals exercise their

free will and expose them to the spectacle of luxury. In other words, different analyses of

popular morality supported distinct cultural policies. One might even say that the decision to withdraw subjects of temptation from the view of the people cancelled out efforts to develop individuals’ autonomy. Therefore, the choice of discrimination could not be a transitional measure, effective when people needed to learn to act according to principles of duty. There was only one way for the government to foster the autonomy of individuals: trust that they would make good use of their liberty and give them the opportunity to exercise it.

In the realm of politics, the republicans had already made this leap of faith.

Confident that the benefits of political liberty outweighed the risks associated with it, they granted the right to vote to the entire male population. However, in the realm of theater, the republicans did not cross the line. Theater indeed was not the place of rational debate, where specious arguments could be logically dismissed. Theater was a place where illusion controlled weak consciences and incapacitated the will, a place that put reason and moral habits under strain.343 In sum, theater represented the ultimate test of

confidence for the opportunist government vis-à-vis the people.

343 Here I am emphasizing the contrast between theater and politics. However, it is important to keep in mind that republicans recognized the power of eloquence in politics. They saw it as a potential source of illusion and the reason why many voters cast their ballot in favor of socialists. But Léon Gambetta for instance argued that universal manhood suffrage was a way of channeling the workers’ anger and eventually avoiding any further revolutions. As for theater, republicans thought it was perfectly appropriate for conveying moral messages provided the audience was able to fight illusion. On the effect of speech on individuals, see Charles Bigot’s manual of civic instruction, written in application of the 27 July 1882 189

In his report on Turquet’s propositions, which he submitted to the Municipal

Council of Paris on 10 July 1879, Viollet-le-Duc adopted a very different stance. Not only did his enthusiastic depiction of the Parisian public contrast with the administration’s apprehensions, but his critique of the state’s theatrical policy undermined the administration’s claim to impartiality. In his mind, the people had already demonstrated their trustworthiness. However, Viollet-le-Duc asked for more accountability on the part of the state.

In this report, Viollet-le-Duc did not discuss the charters of the popular theaters that had been drafted by the fine arts administration. It is possible that he never knew about their existence and ignored the plans of the Ferry administration. However, he addressed issues that were essential to the justification of Ferry’s theatrical policy. For instance, he disputed the presumed interests of the Parisian public. Like Ferry, Viollet-le-

Duc believed that the respective publics of the Opéra and the popular theaters would not

overlap. “The Opéra populaire will not attract the public who goes to the Grand-Opéra or

the Opéra-Comique.”344 But the qualities he assigned to each public were totally different

from the ones Ferry presupposed in the draft charters. Unlike Ferry, Viollet-le-Duc was confident in the intellectual and moral abilities of the popular theaters’ audiences. The

Parisian public, he said (he never used the term “popular” to characterize the public of the

programs: “Ceux-ci parlent: nous les écoutons et ils nous emportent comme maîtres de notre volonté: ce sont les orateurs. Ceux-là fixent leur parole sur le papier et l’imprimerie la reproduit à d’innombrables exemplaires: ce sont les écrivains, les prosateurs et les poètes. Nous les lisons et soudain leurs pensées et leurs sentiments passent en nous: nous oublions la réalité qui nous environne, nous vivons de leur vie; nous voyons apparaître devant nous les tableaux qu’ils nous peignent; nous assistons aux événements qu’ils racontent; nous devenons les personnages mêmes qu’ils mettent en action; notre âme s’éveille avec eux et par eux.” Charles Bigot, Le Petit Français (Paris: Eugène Weill et Georges Maurice, 1883), 52. 344 “L’Opéra populaire ne s’adressera pas au public qui fréquente le Grand-Opéra ni même l’Opéra- Comique.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc, au nom de la 5e commission, sur une proposition tendant à obtenir le concours de la Ville de Paris à la création d’un opéra populaire et d’un théâtre populaire de drame (annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 10 juillet 1879),” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 11. 190 popular theaters), wanted to hear beautiful music.345 “One must acknowledge that, since the closing down of the first Théâtre-Lyrique, that is to say, since 1870, the practices of the Parisian population have noticeably changed in this regard and that this population has taken the habit of hearing elevated musical works, and that, from habit to need, the distance is small.”346 Viollet-le-Duc remarked that Parisians flocked to popular concerts, those concerts that burgeoned in the 1870s and 1880s and were poised to “attract a mass public for serious orchestral music.”347 He also suggested that Parisians continued to go to cafés-concerts and operetta theaters because they did not have alternatives. He denied that it was because they had bad taste.

Finally, Viollet-le-Duc anticipated that the Parisian public would not mind the simplicity of the stage sets at the Opéra populaire. Not, he argued, because he thought the simplicity of the sets would appropriately fit the public’s abilities but because the

Parisian public was interested in art above all and considered the trappings of luxury as unnecessary. “We think that [the public] will go [to the Opéra populaire] mostly to listen to well interpreted musical works and will attend extravaganza when it wishes to

345 Significantly, in his letter to the Paris Municipal Council dated 23 June, Turquet avoided referring to the public of the popular theaters as a “popular public.” He talked instead about the “Parisian population:” “Ces deux théâtres, dont le prix d’entrée serait très modique, mettraient pour la première fois le grand art à la portée de toutes les bourses, et offriraient à la population parisienne, si avide de plaisirs intellectuels, la musique et la littérature à bon marché.” 346 “Il faut reconnaître que depuis la fermeture du premier Théâtre-Lyrique, c’est-à-dire depuis 1870, les mœurs de la population parisienne se sont sensiblement modifiées sous ce rapport et que cette population a pris l’habitude d’entendre des œuvres musicales élevées et que de l’habitude au besoin, la distance est insensible.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 11. 347 Jann Pasler, “Building a public for orchestral music. Les Concerts Colonne,” in Le concert et son public: Mutations de la vie musicale en Europe de 1780 à 1914, France, Allemagne, Angleterre, ed. Hans Erich Bödeker, Patrice Veit and Michael Werner (Paris: Éd. de la Maison des sciences de l’homme, 2002), 209. For discussion of popular concerts, see also Sophie-Anne Leterrier, “Musique populaire et musique savante au XIXe siècle: Du peuple au public,” Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle, no. 19 (1999): 89-103. 191

experience the pleasure of the eyes.”348 Viollet-le-Duc contrasted the attitude of the

Opéra populaire public with that of the Opéra: “This great public to whom we are dedicating [the Opéra populaire] can perfectly distinguish between the various arts present on the stage, and a beautiful opera performed in decent material conditions will attract it as much as if it was performed in a luxury setting such as that of the Grand

Opéra, where nine tenths of spectators go there for satisfactions other than that given by music.”349 Viollet-le-Duc contended that the Opéra public had little interest in music and

was particularly sensitive to visual effects. He hinted that the elite had a sensual approach

to aesthetic experience.

Viollet-le-Duc’s analysis was a complete reversal from Ferry’s. Instead of identifying the public of the popular Opéra with sensual pursuits, he defended their interest in art. The public of the Opéra, by contrast, eagerly sought sensual pleasures.

Also Viollet-le-Duc dissociated art and luxury. He believed that luxurious stage sets had nothing to do with the artistic quality of a performance. As a consequence, he contested the claim that subsidies helped the Opéra foster the artistic excellence of the country. In his opinion, subsidies allowed for luxurious sets and paid for the pleasure of the elite.

Thus, they failed their democratic mission on two accounts: they did not serve art and they did not serve the entire population.

However, if these dilettanti, these well-off people cannot pay for the pleasures they take entirely, and we must support the stages that are reserved for them

348 “Nous pensons qu’il ira surtout là pour entendre des œuvres musicales bien interprétées, se réservant d’assister aux féeries lorsqu’il voudra se donner le plaisir des yeux.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le- Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 15. 349 “Ce grand public auquel nous nous adressons sait parfaitement faire le partage entre les arts qui se produisent sur la scène, et un bel opéra exécuté dans des conditions matérielles convenables l’attirera tout autant que si on y ajoutait la mise en scène luxueuse que l’on prodigue au Grand-Opéra, où les neuf dixièmes des spectateurs se rendent pour d’autres satisfactions que celles procurées par la musique.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 15. 192

through a state subsidy, there would seem to have even more reason to grant a subsidy to theaters that would produce masterworks for a public of modest means.350

For Viollet-le-Duc, the reason why the administration refused to grant subsidies to the

popular Opéra was its lack of confidence in the population’s artistic sensibility:

We have not yet reached the point where we admit that the enjoyment of art is not meant for an elite public only; we do not want to believe that what we call the crowd is, in France, as much sensitive to art works, if not more, as the elite, which has carved for itself an exclusive domain in the arts.351

Significantly, in its communications with the Paris Municipal Council, the fine arts

administration carefully avoided referring to the public of popular theaters as a “popular

public.” In his letter to the president of the municipal council dated 23 June 1879, for

instance, Turquet talked about the “Parisian population.” He also acknowledged its

interest in music and literature. “These two theaters, whose admission fee would be very

low, would make great art accessible to all budgets for the first time, and would give the

Parisian population, so eager of intellectual pleasures, the opportunity to enjoy music and

literature cheaply,” he wrote.352 This fluctuating rhetoric suggested a tension within the

fine arts administration between the need to win the support of the City of Paris by

conforming to the municipality’s views and its own convictions.

350 “Si cependant ces dilettanti, ces favorisés de la fortune ne peuvent entièrement payer les plaisirs qu’ils prennent, et qu’il faille soutenir les scènes à eux seuls réservées au moyen d’une subvention de l’Etat, à plus forte raison, semblerait-il, cette subvention devrait-elle être accordée aux théâtres qui produiraient les œuvres magistrales d’art devant un public moins fortuné.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 16. 351 “Mais, c’est que nous n’en sommes pas encore arrivés à admettre que les jouissances données par l’art ne s’adressent pas seulement à un public d’élite; c’est qu’on ne veut pas croire que ce qu’on appelle la foule est tout aussi sensible aux œuvres d’art, en France, sinon plus, que ne l’est une élite qui s’est taillée dans les choses de l’art, un domaine à elle exclusivement réservé.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 16. The emphasis is mine. 352 “Ces deux théâtres, dont le prix d’entrée serait très modique, mettraient pour la première fois le grand art à la portée de toutes les bourses, et offriraient à la population parisienne, si avide de plaisirs intellectuels, la musique et la littérature à bon marché.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 2. 193

The fine arts administration adapted its discourse to the deputies’ expectations too. In the draft bill on the popular theaters that he submitted to Ferry, Turquet insisted on the importance of theater, “which is not only a most delicate pleasure, if one talks about music, but also a powerful teaching, if one talks about drama.”353 He also emphasized the

democratic inspiration of the popular theater projects. “By submitting this bill, which we

urge you [deputies] to pass, we want to encourage and support a truly democratic and

highly valuable endeavor.”354 Turquet made no mention of the risks associated with

theatrical democratization. He seemed confident in the educational potential of theater. In

all, the interactions of the administration with the Paris Municipal Council and the

Parliament highlighted their different sets of concerns. While the deputies focused their

attention on the education of the nation, the municipal councilors tried to satisfy the

demands of the population. As for the administration, it strove to reconcile these

generous goals with the threats posed by an improper understanding of plays.

The division of functions between drama and music seemed to be commonly

accepted by political actors. We have seen that, in his presentation of the popular theaters

project to the deputies, Turquet identified music with pleasure and drama with education.

His division was not just rhetorical. The draft charters that his administration designed

also worked by them. They imposed distinct repertoires on the popular theaters, which

matched their different purposes. While the popular Opéra had to perform grand operas

with recitatives, the Théâtre dramatique populaire specialized in historical and social

353 “Nous n’avons pas besoin en effet, Messieurs, d’insister sur l’importance du théâtre, qui est non seulement un plaisir des plus délicats, si nous parlons de la musique, mais qui peut être aussi un enseignement des plus puissants, si nous parlons du drame.” Note to the Ministry of Fine Arts by the staff of the under-secretary of state, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 354 “c’est pour encourager et soutenir une œuvre vraiment démocratique et d’un si haut intérêt que nous avons l’honneur de vous soumettre le projet de loi suivant, que nous vous demandons d’adopter.” Note to the Ministry of Fine Arts by the under-secretary of state, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 194

drama. On the one hand, the fine arts administration expected the popular Opéra to

popularize art. By disregarding the educational value of libretti, it limited the musical

performance to an aesthetic experience. On the other hand, the Théâtre dramatique

populaire was dedicated to the production of “elevated works, whose truly moral and

philosophical meaning should both stimulate and instruct public morality.”355 Here, the

fine arts administration overlooked the aesthetic dimension of spoken theater and treated

drama as a pure text. With respect to the popular public, moral and artistic purposes were

mutually exclusive.

Paris municipal councilor Jules Castagnary, a man versed in the arts, also

separated dramatic and music theaters.356 In his letter to Turquet announcing the decision

of the city to contribute to the funding of the popular theaters, he outlined the mission of

each theater as follows: “one, the popular Opéra, [aims] at making serious music

accessible to the Parisian population, the other, the dramatic theater, [aims] at developing

their beautiful sentiments and, in particular, their love of the fatherland.”357 However,

Castagnary was confident in the moral and intellectual abilities of the Parisian public.

And so was the municipal council as a whole. Viollet-le-Duc’s report for instance

emphasized its awareness of moral issues and keenness to engage in intellectual

endeavors:

355 “Le directeur se pénètrera de cette idée qu’il doit rechercher le succès exclusivement dans la production d’œuvres élevées dont le sens vraiment moral et philosophique soit, pour les mœurs publiques, un stimulant à la fois et un enseignement.” Title I, Draft charter of the Théâtre dramatique populaire, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 356 Castagnary was an art critic and staunch supporter of Gustave Courbet’s painting. He became state councilor in 1879 and was director of fine arts in Édouard Lockroy’s Public Instruction and Fine Arts Ministry when he died in 1888. See Nobuhito Nagaï, Les conseillers municipaux de Paris sous la IIIe République (1871-1914) (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2002). 357 “l’un d’opéra populaire, ayant pour objet de mettre la musique sérieuse à la portée de la population parisienne, l’autre de drame, ayant pour objet de développer leurs beaux sentiments et en particulier l’amour de la patrie.” Letter from Castagnary to the under-secretary of state, 27 July 1879, AN F 21 4687. 195

This Parisian public has not lost the sense of what constitutes moral grandeur and consequently the strength of nations, and it is enough that talented men—geniuses if we may say so—men of good will, understand the place that drama can take today, to give this public the intellectual satisfactions that it seeks and seizes eagerly whenever it has the opportunity.358

Therefore, the point of supporting popular theater was not to “resist the unhealthy currents” that freely developed in a market economy, as Turquet put it in the draft bill.359

Rather, popular theater was one battlefield in the war against clericalism:

The dramatic stage, considered from an elevated point of view, is one of the best means of fighting the fateful tendencies that clerical teaching has spread in all classes of our society and on which light has been finally shed lately, after so many complaints were made by liberal spirits and by the municipal council in particular. But it does not suffice to report the evil and acknowledge it, we ought to take action and, with all the means that are available to us, fight the detestable clerical doctrines. We believe that the stages that are more particularly under the patronage of the Municipal Council of the City of Paris are meant to help enhance the moral sense of the population, which was deliberately given an unhealthy and unnerving intellectual food for too long.360

Although Turquet and Viollet-le-Duc both used the word “unhealthy,” they had in mind different targets. Whereas Turquet wanted to counteract the action of unscrupulous directors who catered to the base desires of the population, Viollet-le-Duc was angered

358 “ce public parisien n’a pas perdu le sentiment de ce qui constitue la grandeur morale et par conséquent la force des nations, et il suffit que des hommes de talent—nous n’osons dire de génie—de bonne volonté, comprennent la place que peut prendre aujourd’hui le drame, pour donner à ce public les satisfactions intellectuelles qu’il cherche et qu’il saisit avidement dès qu’il les rencontre.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 22. 359 “L’État, qui a accordé la liberté des théâtres, n’a qu’un moyen de résister aux courants malsains, c’est d’encourager les entreprises généreuses.” Note to the Ministry of Fine Arts by the under-secretary of state, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 360 “La scène dramatique, considérée d’un point de vue élevé, est un des meilleurs moyens de combattre les tendances funestes que l’enseignement clérical a su répandre dans toutes les classes de notre société et sur lesquelles la lumière a été enfin apportée en ces derniers temps après tant de réclamations soulevées par les esprits libéraux et par le Conseil municipal en particulier. Mais il ne suffit pas de signaler le mal et de le reconnaître, il convient d’agir et, par tous les moyens qui sont mis à notre disposition, de combattre les détestables doctrines cléricales. Or, nous croyons que des scènes placées plus particulièrement sous le patronage du Conseil municipal de la Ville de Paris sont faites pour [24] aider à ce relèvement du sens moral au sein de la population, à laquelle pendant trop longtemps on n’a sciemment offert qu’une nourriture intellectuelle malsaine et énervante.” “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 23-24. 196

by the members of the clergy and the political authorities that allowed clergymen to

spread their influence. Turquet blamed an economic logic, Viollet-le-Duc accused

political and religious rulers. In the end, Turquet and Viollet-le-Duc radically diverged on the origins of the “unhealthy.” While Turquet made uncontrolled freedom responsible,

Viollet-le-Duc faulted the dictatorship of consciences. Hence their different takes on the role of theater. On the one hand, Turquet aimed at educating the will of the population so that its free expression would not constitute a danger to the country. On the other hand,

Viollet-le-Duc wanted to restore the morality that had been repressed by malicious authorities.

Despite obvious disagreements with the administration, Viollet-le-Duc concluded his report with the recommendation that the Paris Municipal Council accept the Under-

Secretary of State’s propositions. If the Parliament voted a minimum 200,000-franc subsidy to the popular Opéra, the city would forfeit the payment of the rent and lighting expenses of the building. If the Parliament voted a 100,000-franc subsidy to the Théâtre dramatique populaire, the city would do the same favor for this theater, provided it would occupy one of the three houses that belonged to the municipality.361

Following the discussion of the report on 10 July 1879, the municipal council

voted in principle the creation of two popular theaters and a committee was formed to

assist the prefect in his negotiations with the administration. The prefect, Hérold,

approved of the decision. He praised the wisdom of the council in subordinating the

payment of the indirect subsidy (the relinquishment of the rent and lighting fees) to the

vote in Parliament of an equivalent subsidy. However, he voiced reservations regarding

361 “Rapport présenté par M. Viollet-le-Duc,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1880), 26. 197

the way the decision had been reached. He deplored that the under-secretary of state had

directly contacted the president of the municipal council, in effect bypassing him. He also

warned the council that, to his knowledge, the fine arts administration had no immediate

plan of carrying out the popular theaters project.362 Surely, Hérold did not appreciate the

fact that Turquet had left him out of the negotiations at first, and his pessimism about the

future of the project may have been a way of showing his dissatisfaction with this. But

the sheer difficulty of finding a compromise should not be underestimated. All the parties

involved agreed that a popular theater was needed. However, none of them had the same

idea of what form it should take. Hérold promoted his own brand of popular/training

theater. Viollet-le-Duc and Turquet supported the double project of dramatic and lyric

theater but they obeyed widely different motivations. As for the directors of the Opéra

and Opéra-Comique, they wanted to preserve their monopoly on the repertoire and were

not ready to make any concessions that could help the popular Opera see the light.

In practice, the administration never defended a coherent project of popular

theater in Parliament. On 10 June 1879, Antonin Proust submitted a report to the House

in which he recommended suppressing in the next fine arts budget the 200,000-franc

subsidy that had once been allotted to the Théâtre-Lyrique and was earmarked for a third music theater. Proust argued that the propositions of the administration concerning the use of this subsidy were too vague.363 The administration had once imagined allocating

the subsidy to the purchase of the Théâtre de l’Odéon’s material. However, unsatisfied

362 “Participation de la Ville de Paris à la création de deux théâtres populaires de musique et de drame, 26 juillet 1879,” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1880), 165. 363 “Rapport fait au nom de la commission du budget (présidée par M. Brisson) chargée d'examiner le projet de loi portant fixation du budget des dépenses de l'exercice 1880, ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts (service des beaux-arts), par M. Antonin Proust, député, séance du 10 juin 1879,” in Annales du Sénat et de la Chambre des députés (Paris: Imprimerie et Librairie du Journal officiel A. Wittersheim & Cie, 1880), 6: 303. 198

with the proposition, the deputies asked the administration to revise its plan. In the end,

Turquet did not submit a new proposal and when, on 29 July 1879, the House voted on

the fine arts budget for 1880, it followed Proust’s recommendation and cut the funds

devoted to the third music theater. Thus, just days after the municipal council approved

the creation of the two popular theaters, the deputies buried the project. The senators

confirmed the suppression of the chapter on 11 December.

Jules Ferry’s refusal to submit a full-fledged project of popular theater to

Parliament showed his reluctance to leave the plane of generous ideas and have the state

embark on an intricate and potentially controversial journey. For his next move, Ferry

chose to take a step back. On 2 December 1879, he submitted a bill to the House of

Deputies that planned to endow two Parisian theaters, the Opéra populaire and the

Théâtre des Nations, with a 24,000-franc subsidy.364 By subsidizing two already existing

ventures, Ferry allowed the state to keep some distance from the project of popular

theater. In effect, if the state did not participate in the creation of the popular theater, it

would not appear to be closely associated with it. Besides, the state would be able to

withdraw its support as soon as the theater encountered difficulties. In other words, the

state would not be bound to the fate of the popular theater. The consequences of this

decision were important. For the popular theater not to be a national theater meant that

the state did not have to worry about compromising its artistic mission.

In an article published in Le Constitutionnel dated 26 January 1880, Georges

Ohnet stated that four theaters competed for the privilege of incarnating the popular

364 The amount of 24,000 francs corresponded to the portion of the subsidy allocated to the Théâtre-Lyrique in the 1878 budget that remained unused after its bankruptcy. Thus, the subsidy to the Opéra populaire and Théâtre des Nations did not entail any new expense for the government. 199

drama theater: Bertrand’s Théâtre des Nations, Clèves’ Théâtre de la Porte-Saint-Martin,

Bassac’s Théâtre du Château-d’Eau, and Castellano’s Théâtre du Châtelet. It is not exactly clear which criteria Ferry used to select the Opéra populaire and the Théâtre des

Nations among the other ventures that requested subsidies. Certainly, one condition was that the house was a property of the Paris municipality. Also the house had to be suitable for a popular public. In defense of his application, Castellano, for instance, underlined the size of the Théâtre du Châtelet.365 With its 3500 seats, it was the largest house in Paris.

Moreover, Castellano pointed out the egalitarian seating arrangements. The house had only one row of boxes and no forestage. The rest was divided into seats and stalls, “like at the circus” (“comme au cirque”). The repertoire of the theater, by contrast, had little importance. Still, Castellano pledged to give up the genre of extravaganzas and switch to drama as soon as his venture would receive the subsidy.

In keeping with the requirements of the Paris Municipal Council, both the Opéra populaire and the Théâtre des Nations were properties of the city. One, the Opéra

populaire, was located on the Square des Arts-et-Métiers in the former Théâtre de la

Gaîté. The other, the Théâtre des Nations, succeeded the Théâtre-Historique on the Place

du Châtelet.366 Both theaters were easily accessible by public transportation but neither of

them was in the historic theatergoing area situated along the Boulevards. Both theaters

had also recently changed hands and, despite Ferry’s allegations, had had little time to

demonstrate their worth and viability. While Gustave Bertrand became director of the

365 Letter from Castellano, director of the Théâtre du Châtelet, to the under-secretary of state at the Ministry of Fine Arts, 16 July 1879, AN F 21 4687. 366 This house is currently occupied by the Théâtre de la Ville. 200

Théâtre des Nations on 1 April 1879, the trio of managers Husson, Martinet, and Rival de

Rouville opened the Opéra populaire on 27 October 1879.367

Bertrand was a dramatic critic with a political agenda. The organizer of

“international matinees” with Marie Dumas, he wrote a column in the Gambettist

newspaper La République française. Well connected with the political milieu, he wished

to resuscitate the genre of historical drama and to use this as an instrument of republican

propaganda. Édouard Noël, the respected author of the Annales du théâtre et de la

musique, described his ambition with a certain reserve: “The first of April, indeed,

marked the accession of M. Bertrand to the direction of this stage, which he dreamed

nothing less than to transform into less a school of historical teaching than a hotbed of

republican propaganda, through the theatrical evocation of the great legends of the first

Revolution. This task could seem difficult to carry out. Yet, it did not deter the new

director, who counted on the active collaboration of M. Claretie to bring to the stage of

the new Théâtre des Nations a few pages from the history of the last years of the

eighteenth century.”368 However, the soon-to-be director of the Théâtre-Français (1885)

did little to help the nascent enterprise. As Claretie refused to collaborate on the opening

play, the theater was left with a work by an inexperienced playwright. As Noël recounts,

the theater began business “in the midst of hesitations.”

367 Edmond Stoullig and Édouard Noël, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1879 (Paris: G. Charpentier, 1880), 396; Annegret Fauser and Mark Everist, eds., Music, Theater, and Cultural Transfer, Paris, 1830-1914 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009), 391. 368 “Le 1er avril, en effet, marquait pour le public l’avènement de M. Bertrand à la direction de cette scène qu’il ne rêvait rien moins que de transformer en en faisant, par l’évocation théâtrale des grandes légendes de la première Révolution, moins une école d’enseignement historique qu’un foyer de propagande républicaine. Cette tâche pouvait sembler de réalisation difficile. Elle n’effraya pas cependant le nouveau directeur qui comptait sur la collaboration active de M. Claretie pour transporter sur la scène du nouveau Théâtre des Nations quelques pages de l’histoire des dernières années du dix-huitième siècle.” Édouard Noël and Edmond Stoullig, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1879 (Paris: G. Charpentier, 1880), 396. 201

Between April 1879 and February 1880, the Théâtre des Nations successively put

on Camille Desmoulins by Émile Moreau, a drama in five acts, Notre-Dame de Paris, a

drama in 5 acts adapted from Victor Hugo by Paul Foucher and Paul Meurice (first performed in 1850), Les Mirabeau, a drama by Jules Claretie (a new play), and La

Closerie des genêts, a drama in 5 acts by Frédéric Soulié (first performed in 1846). The program was a combination of old and new plays, all narrating French history from a republican standpoint: Victor Hugo was a celebrated author among republicans, Camille

Desmoulins a cherished figure, and Jules Claretie one of their faithful supporters.

Unfortunately, except for Notre-Dame de Paris, none of the plays were successful.369

First, the public stayed away from Camille Desmoulins. Neither the realistic

staging nor the historical accuracy of the play compensated for the lack of action and

emotion. In Noël’s analysis, the author Moreau had followed the historical sequence of

events without paying much attention to the dramatic logic.370 The result was a

succession of scenes, which did not capture the interest of the public. As Bertrand

realized the shortcomings of this first play, he decided to mount a drama that would be

more respectful of dramatic rules and thus more appealing to the audience. He revived

the adaptation of Notre-Dame de Paris. Tastefully staged and interpreted by talented

artists, the new play was a success. However, the summer closure of the theater ended the

successful run prematurely. At the start of the new theatrical season, rather than

continuing to exploit this vein, Bertrand offered another revolutionary biography to the

public, a portrayal of Mirabeau by Claretie. But the play had the same defects as Camille

Desmoulins (it privileged historical veracity over the dramatic unfolding of the plot) and

369 Édouard Noël and Edmond Stoullig, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1880 (Paris: G. Charpentier, 1881), 484-485. 370 Noël, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1879, 398-399. 202

eventually shared the same fate. Claretie’s experience as a playwright did not make a

difference. With a run of just 32 performances, the play did not generate any profit. Faced

with substantial expenses and little gains, Bertrand eventually filed for bankruptcy in

February 1880.

The Opéra populaire did no better. The limitations on its repertoire certainly put a

strain on it. Not able to put on the most appealing works, the directors were faced with

the prospect of playing to empty seats. The choice of program was therefore a daunting

task. For the inauguration of the theater, Edmond Stoullig reports that Husson, Martinet,

and Rival de Rouville announced no less than four operas before settling on a work by

French composer Fromental Halévy, Guido et Ginevra.371 The four operas were two

other works by Halévy, Le Juif errant and Charles VI, Carl Maria von Weber’s Silvana,

and Guiseppe Verdi’s Rigoletto. Stoullig, Noël’s associate, explained that Victor Hugo

declined to give his permission for the performance of Rigoletto because the Comédie-

Française was soon to revive the play on which the opera was based, Le Roi s’amuse.

Guido et Ginevra was an opera in five acts with a libretto by Eugène Scribe. It

had been premiered in 1838 at the Opéra, and the reception there had been far from

enthusiastic. According to Stoullig, the only reason why the opera did not collapse

immediately was that Gilbert Duprez, a famous tenor at the time, was making his debut at

the Opéra.372 The revival at the Théâtre-Italien in 1870 was no more successful. Thus,

Husson, Martinet, and Rival de Rouville did not choose the easiest piece. But they

carefully staged it and, against the odds, aroused the interest of the public. Thanks to

capable artists and compelling sets, the opera had a run of twenty-eight performances.

371 Noël, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1879, 256-257. 372 Ibid., 257. 203

While Stoullig noted the efforts of the direction concerning Guido et Ginevra,

which in his opinion justified granting the state subsidy, he was notably more critical of

the next productions. In Guido et Ginevra, the tenor “obtained a great success, by singing

with much taste and charm the romance of the first act: “During the party, a stranger. . .”

and that of the third act: “When the pale dawn is born again,” and by saying the beautiful

piece of the grave in such a way as to move the coldest hearted.”373 By contrast, in Lucia

di Lammermoor, the soprano was “a little weak” (“un peu faible”) and the tenor, though

remarkable in his interpretation of the fourth act, was disappointing in the first three.374

The next piece on the program was another work by Gaetano Donizetti, Rita ou

Le mari battu, which had been first performed at the Opéra-Comique in 1860. Stoullig deemed that the music was by “a third-class Donizetti” (“du Donizetti troisième catégorie”). Also his depiction of the singers made them hardly inspiring. While Angèle

Legault, “for a beginner, did not seem too awkward to [him]” (“pour une débutante ne nous paraît pas trop maladroite”), the tenor, Raoult, was “nice” (“gentil”).375 Rita was

followed on the bill by a ballet, Scintilla la Bohémienne, “whose plot and music were

exceptionally dull” (“dont l’intrigue et la musique étaient d’une rare platitude”). Stoullig

concluded his review by saying that the directors should not expect to attract the public

and deserve the subsidy with works of this sort.

Stoullig’s associate Édouard Noël judged the venture more harshly. In the 1880

issue of the Annales, he showed no sympathy for the directors of the Opéra populaire.

While Stoullig at least had given them the benefit of the doubt and consistently

373 “il a su se tailler un succès du meilleur aloi, en chantant avec beaucoup de charme et de goût la romance du premier acte: ‘Pendant la fête une inconnue. . .’ et celle du troisième: ‘Quand renaîtra la pâle aurore,’ et en disant de façon à émouvoir les plus insensibles le beau morceau du tombeau.” Ibid., 258. 374 Ibid., 259. 375 Ibid., 262. 204

encouraged them, Noël crushed the triumvirate’s endeavor. The following excerpt gives

an idea of the sharpness of his attacks:

Still in the hands of the Husson, Martinet, and Rival de Rouville managing trinity, the performances of the Opéra populaire continue with more persistence than success. To no avail do the directors announce everywhere the study of a new big lyric work; meanwhile, they cope with the jeopardized situation of the theater only by making the most serious sacrifices, with the same works whose insufficient interpretation failed to keep the attention of the public in the last days of the past year. Paul et Virginie is a worn out score, whose prestige has sunk in M. Vizentini’s rout. Lucie de Lammermoor is neither sung nor staged (especially staged) well enough to stimulate the zeal of spectators. Rita and Le farfadet, which precede this last work in the program of the evening, do not have (the divertissement Scintilla la Bohémienne either for that matter) either enough virtue, or enough influence to increase the listless interest of these badly balanced spectacles. Given during the day, these same works show one more time their inability to conquer a rebellious and discouraged public, which nothing can stir anymore.376

Noël did not take into account the adverse circumstances in which the Opéra populaire

operated, i.e. the absence of subsidy and the restrictions imposed on its repertoire.

Oblivious of the challenges posed by a monopolistic market, he made the directors

personally accountable for the bad results of their management. Although they were

already “making the most serious sacrifices” to keep the theater afloat, Noël faulted them

for not mounting a new, and inevitably expensive, work. Also he could not admit that

they did not improve the quality of interpretation. His contempt for the enterprise was

376“Toujours aux mains de la trinité administrative de MM. Husson, Martinet et Rival de Rouville, les représentations de l’Opéra-populaire s’y poursuivent avec plus de persistance que de bonheur. C’est en vain qu’urbi et orbi est annoncée la mise à l’étude d’un grand ouvrage lyrique inédit; les directeurs n’arrivent, en attendant, qu’au prix des plus sérieux sacrifices à faire face à la situation compromise du théâtre, avec les mêmes ouvrages qu’une interprétation insuffisante n’avait pas réussi, dans les derniers jours de l’année écoulée, à imposer à l’attention suivie du public. Paul et Virginie n’est plus qu’une partition épuisée et dont le prestige a sombré dans la déconfiture de M. Vizentini. Lucie de Lammermoor n’est ni assez bien chantée, ni surtout assez bien montée pour stimuler le zèle des spectateurs. Rita et le Farfadet, qui servent de lever de rideau à ce dernier ouvrage, n’ont, pas plus que le divertissement Scintilla la Bohémienne, ni assez de vertu, ni assez d’influence pour augmenter l’intérêt languissant de ces spectacles mal équilibrés. Donnés en matinée, ces mêmes ouvrages ne font qu’attester de nouveau leur impuissance en présence d’un public rebelle et rebuté sur lequel rien ne saurait plus avoir prise.” Noël, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1880, 280-281. 205

palpable and suggested the repulsion that the government had to overcome in order to

subsidize the theater.

Only one attempt was made to mount a new musical work at the Opéra populaire

and it was disastrous. Pétrarque, an opera in 5 acts by Hippolyte Duprat et Félix

Dharmenon, first performed on 13 January 1880, disappeared after 12 performances. The

reasons for the failure were clear: the work was too long (six hours!), uninspired, and

often incoherent. Neither the sumptuous stage sets nor the rich costumes were able to

save it.377 The failure of Pétrarque was a fatal blow to the direction of the theater. Shortly

after, Husson, and then Martinet, stepped down. Having become solely responsible for

the company, Rival de Rouville set his sights on the dramatic genre. He first revived the

popular Courrier de Lyon and, after a month, gambled on a new play by George Richard

and Émile Launet, La Sainte Ligue. The play, “a so-called historical drama” (“un drame

prétendu historique”), stood out for its political positions.378 “Written too hurriedly, with

the too visible intention of making anticlerical allusions by connecting events and men of

the time of Henri III with the religious quarrels of the present, this drama, poorly played

and insufficiently staged in regard to the sets and costumes, was too deficient for the

critics not to judge it severely.”379 Withdrawn after a few performances, the play struck a

fatal blow to the finances of the theater, putting a definitive end to Rival’s directorship. In

May 1880, the entire staff of the Opéra populaire was dismissed.380

377 Ibid., 282-289. 378 Ibid., 294-295. 379 “Écrit trop à la hâte, dans la trop visible intention d’établir sous les yeux des spectateurs des allusions anti-cléricales entre les événements et les hommes contemporains de Henri III et les querelles religieuses du temps présent, ce drame, médiocrement joué, insuffisamment monté sous le rapport de la mise en scène et des costumes, donnait trop de prise à la critique pour que celle-ci ne le jugeât pas avec une sévérité exemplaire.” Ibid., 295. 380 Ibid., 280-298. 206

In all, the two theaters that best fulfilled the expectations of the government had

little popular appeal. Both theaters showed a certain political loyalty vis-à-vis

republicans. They performed the repertoire that the government envisioned for the

popular theaters: dramas at the Théâtre des Nations, operas and comic operas at the

Opéra populaire. But neither the inadequate staging nor the financial difficulties worried

the administration. Even though the lack of popular appeal eventually forced both

theaters to close down, Ferry did not seem concerned about it. In his justification of the

subsidy to the deputies, he overlooked this ongoing issue. Rather, he emphasized that the

directors had founded the theaters with the hope of receiving the subsidy promised by the

City of Paris to the dramatic and lyric popular theaters. He added that the two theaters, two running businesses, had “proved themselves” (fait leurs preuves”).381 In this regard, they met the requirements imposed by the House Budget Committee, which was no longer prepared to fund mere projects. Finally, Ferry declared that the 24,000 francs were extraordinary funds, intended to give immediate relief to the incipient enterprises. His ministry was committed to make it a regular subsidy for the next fiscal year.382

The deputies attended closely to Ferry’s arguments, but requested further advice

before making a decision. They sent the bill to the Budget Committee and Antonin Proust

was chosen to write a report on it. On Proust’s recommendation, the House accepted the

administration’s proposals and passed the bill on 13 December. The Senate did the same

on 16 December, and the bill was promulgated on 25 December. However, the Opéra

381 Ferry did not expound on what “proving themselves” entailed. 382 “Projet de loi portant ouverture au ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts sur l’exercice 1879, d’un crédit extraordinaire de 24.000 fr., à titre d’encouragement aux théâtres de l’Opéra populaire et des Nations, présenté au nom de M. Jules Grévy, Président de la République française, par M. Jules Ferry, Ministre de l’Instruction Publique et des Beaux-Arts, et par M. Léon Say, Ministre des Finances, séance du 2 décembre 1879,” House of Deputies, 9 December 1879, Journal officiel de la République Française, 10829. 207

populaire and the Théâtre des Nations never received the subsidy. They both closed down

before the government paid the money. As we have seen, the collapse of the Opéra

populaire and the Théâtre des Nations was predictable. Both theaters had proved to be

dysfunctional well before the bill was passed. So the question is why did Ferry persist in

advocating for the subsidy in Parliament?

There are several hypotheses that come to mind. One would be to say that Ferry

did not care about the results of the law. What mattered to him was to pass the law so that

the administration could show that it fostered theatrical democratization. In this analysis,

the subsidy to the Opéra populaire and the Théâtre des Nations would have been a token

subsidy. Not paying attention to the viability of the companies could also be interpreted

as a form of contempt for the demand side of the theatrical market. Ferry was determined

to control the supply side, and, in the tradition of the authoritarian regimes that preceded

the Third Republic, he enforced generic divisions to avoid competition between theaters.

In other words, Ferry did not want a popular theater that could attract the people but a

popular theater that would not upset the existing balance between theaters, i.e. the

domination of the four national theaters, Opéra, Opéra-Comique, Comédie-Française, and

Odéon. In practice, the two hypotheses were not incompatible. Ferry may have been

trying to cajole the administration’s partners (the Paris Municipal Council and the

Parliament in particular), which were pressing for democratic initiatives, while at the

same time attempting to keep a hand on the theatrical market. But, obviously, safety

concerns and police practices prevailed.

The fine arts administration was not discouraged by the failure of the scheme.

Although it abandoned the idea of investing in existing but precarious enterprises, it did

208

not drop the project of popular theater altogether. Rather, it went back to the idea of

creating popular dramatic and lyric stages under its own initiative. In January 1880, when

it became clear that the Opéra populaire and the Théâtre des Nations would not benefit

from the subsidy, Turquet drafted a bill that requested the financial support of the

legislative assemblies.383 In this bill, he explained why two popular theaters were needed instead of just one and why the deputies should continue to support the enterprise despite its repeated setbacks. On the one hand, he reminded the deputies that, in the past, they had always asked for a drama theater as a counterpart to the Théâtre-Lyrique. On the other hand, he argued that the project was valuable and it sufficed to increase the amount of the subsidy to make it viable. Remarkably, Turquet showed some concern for the survival of the popular theaters. But he conceived of the financial support provided by the state only as a means of acquiring independence from the public. Indeed, at no point did

Turquet refer to the wishes of the population.

Turquet pointed out the interest of the deputies. He acknowledged their “rather legitimate claims” (“réclamations assez légitimes”) in favor of a literary theater. He insisted on the interest of the state: “The persistence of the state in supporting a third lyric theater proves the interest that the state has in the existence of this stage . . .”384 He also

noted how the lyric theater was “so eagerly awaited by French composers of all times”

(“si ardemment désirée de tous les temps des compositeurs français”). However, he did

not mention the expectations of the audience. As a matter of fact, he was totally oblivious

383 “Opéra populaire et Théâtre dramatique populaire: exposé des motifs, 24 janvier 1880,” included in the note to the Ministry of Fine Arts by the staff of the under-secretary of state, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 384 “La persistance mise par l’Etat à soutenir l’entreprise d’un troisième théâtre lyrique prouve surabondamment l’intérêt qui s’attache à l’existence de cette scène.” “Opéra populaire et Théâtre dramatique populaire: exposé des motifs, 24 janvier 1880,” included in the note to the Ministry of Fine Arts by the staff of the under-secretary of state, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 209

of the fact that the repertoire of the lyric theater, a combination of outmoded and obscure

works might be an issue. Thus, in his presentation of the bill to the deputies, Turquet

clearly gave the priority to the artistic mission of the state and showed once more his

distrust of the popular taste.

The draft bill was shortly followed by a meeting between Turquet, the Seine

prefect, Hérold, and the committee that had been nominated by the Paris Municipal

Council to assist the prefect in his negotiations with the fine arts administration.385

Composed of Maurice Engelhard, Barthélémy Forest, Jean-Marie de Lanessan, Léonce

Levraud, and Henry Maret, the committee had a strong radical leaning.386 De Lanessan,

Levraud, and Maret defended the Commune. During the Siege, Levraud contributed to

Auguste Blanqui’s La patrie en danger, while Maret wrote in Henri Rochefort’s Mot

d’ordre.387 Both newspapers rejected the armistice with Germany and criticized the

Versailles assembly. In 1879, de Lanessan demanded the erection of a monument to the

Communards.388 At the Paris Municipal Council, Engelhard sided with the radicals and

Levraud was a member of the radical socialist committees.389 Forest, de Lanessan, and

Maret were later elected to the House of Deputies on a radical ticket (de Lanessan and

Maret in 1881, Forest in 1883) and seated with the extreme Left, that is, those seated to

the left of Clemenceau.390

385 The only reference to this meeting is in de Lanessan’s report of 17 April 1880, which states that the meeting took place in January 1880. 386 Eugène Viollet-le-Duc was not part of the committee. He died in September 1879. 387 Dictionnaire des parlementaires français: Notices biographiques sur les ministres, sénateurs et députés français de 1889 à 1940, s.vv. “Levraud, Léonce Adam,” “Maret, Henry.” 388 Encyclopædia Britannica, 11th ed., s.v. “Lanessan, Jean Marie Antoine de.” 389 Christophe Charle and Daniel Roche, eds., Capitales culturelles, capitales symboliques: Paris et les expériences européennes, XVIIIe-XXe siècles (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2002), 126. 390 Arlette Schweitz, Dictionnaire biographique, vol. 2 of Les parlementaires de la Seine sous la Troisième République (Paris: Les Publications de la Sorbonne, 2001), s.v. “Forest, Barthélémy.” 210

Turquet and Hérold were both republicans but had more moderate opinions than

the committee. Turquet, for instance, supported Gambetta’s opportunist policy, which

Maret criticized sharply. Hérold was a free-thinker and advocated the secularization of schools. However, he often disagreed with the members of the municipal council.391 As a result, the meeting between Turquet, Hérold, and the delegates from the municipal council did not just pit the City of Paris against the administration, or the promoter of the training theater against the promoters of the dramatic and lyric theaters. It was a tripartite discussion between independent minds.

In his report of 17 April 1880, de Lanessan related that the three interlocutors had decided to renounce founding an Opéra populaire in the event the directors of the Opéra

and Opéra-Comique would not share their repertoire. However, they decided to carry on

the project of a dramatic theater. Turquet promised to request a subsidy of 100,000 francs

in favor of “a municipal dramatic popular theater” (“un théâtre populaire municipal de

drame”) in Parliament. While the City of Paris would design the charter and monitor the

direction, the state would ensure the respect of the clauses inscribed in the charter

through annual inspections.392 Thus, for the Paris Municipal Council, the meeting produced mixed results. On the one hand, it successfully vetoed a project that was contrary to its wishes. There would be no Opéra populaire without a repertoire of operatic masterworks. On the other hand, it failed to convince Turquet to adopt its views. Indeed,

Turquet did not make any allusion to a further attempt at bending the will of the Opéra

391 Adolphe Robert, Edgar Bourloton, and Gaston Cougny, eds., Dictionnaire des parlementaires français, comprenant tous les membres des assemblées françaises et tous les ministres français, depuis le 1er mai 1789 jusqu’au 1er mai 1889, avec leurs noms, état civil, états de services, actes politiques, votes parlementaires, etc. (Paris: Bourloton, 1891), s.vv. “Turquet, Edmond,” “Hérold, Ferdinand.” 392 “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan, au nom des membres du Conseil chargés d’assister M. le Préfet de la Seine pour la création d’un théâtre lyrique et d’un théâtre de drame populaires (annexe au procès- verbal de la séance du 17 avril 1880,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 4. 211

and Opéra-Comique directors and he gladly accepted the fact that the popular dramatic

theater would be a municipal theater, free of state supervision. In the end, more than

coming to an agreement, the City of Paris and the fine arts administration were gently

parting ways.

In the committee report, de Lanessan further explained why the “current repertoire” (“répertoire courant”) of the Opéra was indispensable to the Opéra populaire:

The “current repertoire” of the Opéra consisting of the most remarkable works, of the works that the public particularly wants to listen to, it ensues from the article that we have just cited that Les Huguenots, Faust, Robert le Diable, Guillaume Tell, La Juive, Le Prophète, L’Africaine, etc. could never appear on the bills of the Opéra populaire, although they would everyday excite the desires of the public who is meant to go to this theater.393

Like Viollet-le-Duc, de Lanessan thought that the Parisian population had a real interest

in art and was craving to see the masterworks of the Opéra. He added that the difficulties

were even greater with respect to the Opéra-Comique as the Opéra-Comique’s director

had absolute control over the repertoire. Therefore, de Lanessan pointed out, if no change

was made to the charters of the national lyric theaters, the Opéra populaire would have to

perform either new works, which were both risky and expensive to mount, or old works,

“of which a few [had] much value but [were] too little known to attract the general

public.”394 The situation was different with regard to the dramatic theater. Indeed, the

works of “Molière, Racine, Corneille, Shakespeare, Schiller, Calderon, etc. [belonged] to

393 “Le “répertoire courant” de l’Opéra se composant des œuvres les plus remarquables, de celles que le public a particulièrement le désir d'entendre, il résulte de l’article que nous venons de citer que Les Huguenots, Faust, Robert le Diable, Guillaume Tell, La Juive, Le Prophète, L’Africaine, etc. ne pourraient jamais figurer sur les affiches de l’Opéra populaire tandis que tous les jours ils exciteraient les désirs du public qui est destiné à fréquenter ce théâtre.” “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 5. The article to which de Lanessan refers is the clause that had been added to the Opéra charter in May 1879, which stipulated that the director should yield ten works of the Opéra repertoire to the popular lyric theater. 394 “des œuvres anciennes, dont quelques-unes ne manquent pas d’une grande valeur mais qui sont trop peu connues pour exercer de l’attraction sur le grand public,” “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 5. 212

humankind.” As they were part of the public domain, directors did not need an

authorization to perform them. Overall then, the accessibility of masterworks was the

determining factor in the theatrical policy of the municipal council. While the monopoly

of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique over their repertoire justified abandoning the project of

a popular lyric theater, the unrestricted access to “our classical works” (“nos œuvres

classiques”) was a reason for pressing on the project of popular dramatic theater.

The rationale was a far cry from the arguments exposed by Turquet. De Lanessan claimed that the population was interested in the highest artistic works, whereas Turquet posited its bad taste (except in front of the Paris municipal councilors). Also, while de

Lanessan made no difference between a theater of drama and a theater of music, except from the point of view of the accessibility of their repertoire, Turquet distinguished between a theater of drama with an educational purpose and a theater of music, which lent itself to pleasure. Further, in Turquet’s understanding, the Opéra populaire was not as useful as the Théâtre dramatique populaire. It was even potentially dangerous. Hence his reluctance to promote the project. As for de Lanessan, he could not admit that the Opéra populaire would not show the operatic masterworks. He opposed the project of Opéra populaire insofar as it disregarded the wishes of the population. For opposite reasons,

Turquet and de Lanessan both supported the project of Théâtre dramatique populaire:

Turquet because he thought it could potentially educate the population and de Lanessan because it would perform masterworks (Turquet’s support should not be overestimated however, as he had qualms about the educational potential of theater altogether). But this superficial agreement was not enough to ensure the collaboration of the administration and the municipality on the project.

213

De Lanessan’s report already showed some frustration vis-à-vis Turquet’s demeanor. It stated that, since the council’s vote approving the creation of two popular theaters on 26 July 1879, the administration had done little to advance the project. “The municipal council could have expected that, following the vote that it had just cast, Mr.

Under-Secretary of State at the Ministry of Fine Arts, would hurry to request in

Parliament the subsidy that he had promised for the popular theaters. Yet, the budget was passed without any request of this kind having been presented to the chambers.”395 It is

true that Turquet did not submit a concrete proposition of popular theater to the

chambers, either in July, when the fine arts budget was decided in the House of Deputies,

or in December, when it was voted in the Senate, and this despite the fact that both

chambers were favorable to the project. However, whether because he did not know

about it, or because he looked down on it, de Lanessan did not acknowledge Turquet’s

attempt at endowing the Opéra populaire and Théâtre des Nations.396 In general, his tone

expressed a certain irritation with the behavior of the administration. “In January 1880, in

a meeting that took place at the Secretariat of Fine Arts, between your committee and the

Seine prefect on the one hand, and Mr. Turquet on the other, it was decided that we

would momentarily renounce creating a popular opera, if we could not obtain the

repertoires of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique for this theater; but Mr. Turquet pledged to

present to the Chambers, in short order, a request for a 100,000-franc subsidy in favor of

the municipal popular dramatic theater. . . . Since then, your committee has not officially

395 “Le Conseil municipal avait tout droit de penser qu’à la suite du vote qu’il venait d’émettre, M. le Sous- Secrétaire d’État au Ministère des Beaux-Arts, s’empresserait de demander aux Chambres la subvention promise par lui pour les théâtres populaires. Cependant le budget fut voté sans qu’aucune demande de cet ordre eût été adressée aux Chambres.” “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 4. 396 Lanessan could not be totally ignorant of the attempt however, as he mentioned that the managers of the Opéra populaire, Martinet and Husson, requested a subsidy at the beginning of his report (p. 2). Most likely, he suspected that the exceptional funding would not be converted into a regular subsidy. 214 heard further on this matter. It has understood only in an indirect way that the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique refused to let their repertoires be performed and that, especially with respect to the repertoire of the Opéra, the Théâtre Lyrique populaire should settle for the resources that are offered to it in the following clause of the Opéra charter. . . .”397 De

Lanessan used the vocabulary of honor to characterize Turquet’s actions. Turquet had failed to keep his promise. He had contemptibly neglected to keep the committee informed. In all, Turquet had deceived the confidence that the Paris Municipal Council had placed in him.

Three months later, de Lanessan’s irritation had become exasperation. His complaints against Turquet were now overt accusations. At the meeting of the municipal council on 31 July 1880, for example, de Lanessan declared: “Mr. Turquet, since this vote that he triggered off, has done everything to prevent the creation of these theaters.”398 De Lanessan made Turquet responsible both for initiating and squelching the project. Clearly, he felt manipulated. De Lanessan also deplored Turquet’s hypocrisy.

“Last May, while he was asking the special committee to write a memo about these creations [the creation of two popular theaters], Mr. Under-Secretary of State had someone say, or let someone say, at the House of Deputies that the project had to be

397 “Au mois de janvier 1880, dans une entrevue qui eut lieu au Secrétariat des Beaux-Arts, entre votre Commission et M. le Préfet de la Seine d’une part, et M. Turquet d’autre part, il fut convenu que l’on renoncerait, pour le moment, à créer un opéra populaire, si l’on ne pouvait pas obtenir pour ce théâtre les répertoires du grand Opéra et de l’Opéra-Comique; mais M. Turquet s’engagea à présenter aux Chambres, dans un bref délai, une demande de subvention de cent mille francs, en faveur d’un théâtre populaire municipal de drame. . . . Depuis cette époque, votre Commission n’a plus entendu parler officiellement de cette affaire. Elle a appris seulement d’une façon indirecte que l’Opéra et l’Opéra-Comique refusaient de laisser jouer leurs répertoires et que, notamment en ce qui concerne le répertoire de l’Opéra, le Théâtre Lyrique populaire devrait se contenter des ressources qui lui sont offertes par l’article suivant du cahier des charges de l’Opéra.” “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 4-5. 398 “Mais M. Turquet, depuis ce vote provoqué par lui, a tout fait pour que ces théâtres ne soient pas créés.” “Rejet d’un projet de mise en adjudication de la location du théâtre de la Gaîté, organisation du théâtre de la Gaîté en théâtre municipal qui porterait le nom de Théâtre de Paris, séance du 31 juillet 1880” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1881), 202-203. 215

abandoned because of a dissension with the municipal council.”399 Not only was de

Lanessan disappointed that Turquet did not let the council know about his divergences,

but he was outraged that Turquet could put the blame on the council for the failure of the

project. The relationship between the municipal council and the administration was

visibly tense.

Taking note of the administration’s failure to request a permanent subsidy in

Parliament, the municipal committee that assisted the Seine prefect in its negotiations

with Turquet rapidly envisaged the possibility of subsidizing a popular theater

independently of the administration’s support. In his report dated 17 April 1880, de

Lanessan suggested funding the George Richard company, whether the company would

receive a state subsidy or not. Richard had presented his first project on 6 December

1879. In this project, he expected the financial participation of both the state and the city.

After the vote of the fine arts budget in the Senate however, the municipal committee

asked Richard to reconsider his proposition in view of the possible withdrawal of the

state. He submitted a second project on 17 February 1880, which did away with the

state’s contribution.

In his first project of 6 December 1879, Richard described how he would open a

popular dramatic theater in the house of the Théâtre de la Gaîté and stage a combination

of classical works and historical dramas.400 In a gesture to the administration, he offered

to “instruct the Parisian population by making great art accessible to it” (“instruire la

399 “C’est ainsi qu’en mai dernier, tandis qu’il demandait à la commission spéciale une note au sujet de ces créations, M. le sous-secrétaire d’Etat faisait ou laissait dire à la Chambre des députés que le projet devait être abandonné par suite de mésentente avec le Conseil municipal.” Ibid., 203. The text of the note, sent to Turquet on 21 May 1880, is in the VR 291 carton, at the Paris Archives. The note reasserted the position of the municipal council. It expressed its unwillingness to compromise on the repertoire of the popular Opera. 400 Richard did not specify what the classical repertoire consisted of. “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 7-11. 216

population parisienne en mettant le grand art à sa portée”). “History,” he said, “provides a wealth of topics, whose dramatic exposition is a powerful teaching for the public. It seems to us that, by digging into this vast domain, it will be easy for us to help you with the task that you have assigned yourself, that is, to develop in the public the idea of the great duties that must inspire modern society.”401 For the City of Paris, the real appeal of

the proposition lay in the organization of free matinees for the pupils of public primary

schools. Richard explained that the program of each performance would be determined in

agreement with the director of primary instruction. Moreover, all the performances would

be preceded by a talk. Finally, to pay for the running expenses, Richard said he would

need both the municipal and the state subsidy. He noted that, in the case that these

resources were insufficient, he would secure an additional capital of 100,000 francs by

taking on silent partners.

As the municipal council warned Richard that “the state subsidy promised by Mr.

Turquet had not yet been requested” (“la subvention de l’État promise par M. Turquet

n’avait pas encore été demandée”), Richard revised his demand and submitted a new

proposal on 17 February 1880.402 While giving up on the state subsidy, the new proposal

gave a more definite role to the silent partners. Mentioned earlier as a possible resource,

they were now responsible for providing a capital of 100,000 francs. The committee

seemed satisfied with this new scheme and recommended that the society of artists led by

Richard be entrusted with the management of the municipal popular dramatic theater.

“Besides, [the committee liked] to hope that the state, after having seen the success of the

401 “L’histoire est féconde en sujets, dont l’exposé dramatique est un puissant enseignement pour le public. Il nous semble qu’en puisant dans ce vaste domaine, il nous sera facile de vous aider dans la tâche que vous vous êtes imposée et de développer dans le public l’idée des grands devoirs qui doivent inspirer la société moderne.” Ibid., 8. 402 The emphasis is mine. 217

municipal dramatic Theater, [would] grant the subsidy that Mr. Turquet promised in his

letter.”403 Throughout the negotiations, the municipal council acted cautiously,

anticipating the defection of the state and imagining an alternative plan. However, aware

that the success of the popular dramatic theater depended on the state subsidy, it put

pressure on Turquet to keep his “promise.” And it repeatedly hinted at his shameful

behavior.

Turquet, however, was insensitive to this criticism. He remained deaf to the

municipal council’s entreaties. The reason, presumably, was that he did not consider the

project of a popular dramatic Theater as an end in itself. Rather, he considered it as a

means of coaxing the municipality to fund the popular lyric Theater in case the Theater

did not receive permission to perform the repertoire of the Opéra. But, as the municipality

did not compromise over the repertoire of the lyric theater and preferred to renounce the

project altogether, Turquet had no interest in furthering the project of dramatic theater.

Therefore, he dropped it.

In this interpretation, Turquet was solely preoccupied with the artistic outcome of

the popular theaters and did not pay attention to their democratic benefits. On the one

hand, he neglected the project of a free-standing dramatic popular theater, because it had

no artistic ambition. The Théâtre dramatique populaire was a bargaining chip to him.404

On the other hand, Turquet supported the project of popular lyric theater, because the

403 The emphasis is mine. “Nous aimons d’ailleurs à espérer que l’État, après avoir constaté le succès du Théâtre de drame municipal lui accordera la subvention promise dans la lettre de M. Turquet.” “Rapport présenté par M. de Lanessan,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1881), 18. 404 This was also the interpretation Georges Marye gave the municipal council in July 1880. “Nous savons que l’administration des beaux-arts ne trouvera pas ce genre [le drame] assez brillant, car il est certain qu’elle n’a fait de propositions à la Ville que pour obtenir de cette dernière qu’elle abandonnât la Gaîté à une entreprise lyrique.” Marye was requesting the directorship of the Théâtre dramatique populaire at the Gaîté. See his “Observations présentées au sujet du Théâtre de la Gaîté par M. Marye, Directeur des Représentations du Répertoire classique,” in Archives de Paris, VR 290. 218 popular lyric theater was the only place where young composers could hope to have their work staged. The Théâtre lyrique populaire was a new incarnation of the Théâtre-

Lyrique, a theater that had traditionally supported composers in their early career and, as a result, contributed to the excellence of French artists.

This unequal interest in the popular lyric and dramatic theaters resulted from the different conditions made by the state to the national theaters. The Comédie-Française and the Odéon, both theaters of spoken drama, did not have any obligation to perform recognized authors. They could give chances to young playwrights. Also, the plays composing their repertoire were governed by the standard laws on intellectual property.

That is, provided the author gave his or her permission and the theater where the play had been premiered was no longer showing it continuously, the play could be performed on a different stage. Moreover, fifty years after the death of their author, plays automatically entered the public domain and any theater could stage them. Finally, plays were relatively inexpensive to mount and there were many theaters of straight drama in Paris. Young writers had therefore plenty of opportunities for exposure.

This was not true of composers. First, the production of operas was costly. And as theater directors tried to make the investment as financially safe as possible, they had no incentive to mount the work of beginners. Second, the monopolies that the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique held on their respective repertoires prevented any competing theaters from using their masterworks to ensure a minimum of takings. Thus, directors could do little to balance the risks taken by putting on new works. In these conditions, it is no surprise that operatic ventures often went bankrupt in nineteenth-century Paris and attracted few entrepreneurs. As a matter of fact, aside from the Opéra and Opéra-

219

Comique, there were no lyric theaters in Paris that performed operas and comic operas on

a regular basis in 1880. Yet, the particular status of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique made

the creation of a training theater necessary. Indeed, as both theaters exclusively

performed the works of recognized composers, untried composers had nowhere to go

unless a stage was especially dedicated to them. In other words, the popular lyric Theater

was as appealing to the government as it was repulsive to businessmen.

It is important to understand that the state was responsible for creating this

imbalance on the theatrical market. By restricting the Opéra and Opéra-Comique to a

repertoire of already famous composers, it put young composers in a difficult situation. It

required them to gain some experience prior to submitting a work at the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique but at the same time it deprived them of an outlet to perform their first

tries. Following in the steps of Napoleon III, the opportunists assigned each theater a

specific purpose. In this scheme, the Opéra was the theater of excellence and the popular

lyric Theater was the theater of apprenticeship. However, as the opportunists could not

reach an agreement in establishing a theater of apprenticeship, they impeded the

development of artistic careers. In other words, they thwarted market mechanisms but did

not substitute them with a properly functioning organization.

The problem could have been easily solved if the opportunist government had

accepted to fund the training theater at a level that would have allowed it to thrive, i.e. that would have reflected the risks taken by its direction.405 But the government did not

bow to the dictates of the market. In Parliament, the fine arts administration never asked

for more than 200,000 francs in subsidy. It is likely that any higher amount would have

405 Édouard Lockroy estimated that the third lyric theater would need at least a 500,000-franc subsidy. See his report on behalf of the committee in charge of examining the 1881 fine arts budget, House of Deputies, 21 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 8467. 220

met resistance from the deputies. However, this restraint also reflected the opportunists’

misgivings. From a liberal point of view, the subsidy to the popular lyric Theater

represented an additional expense, which should be avoided. From a democratic point of

view, the subsidy aided another elitist institution, which was unfair. Finally, from a

conservative standpoint, the subsidy would have given the training institution more

money than the quality of its performances justified, which was inappropriate. For all

these reasons, the administration did not want to bestow on the popular lyric Theater the

funds that would make it viable. Therefore, it had to find a partner that would provide the

financial complement.

The City of Paris was the obvious choice for a partner as cultural authorities

planned to open the new lyric theater in Paris. But it was not a neutral choice in the sense

that the municipality had its own expectations, which gave a different content to the

project. Whereas fine arts officials promoted the education of artists, the City of Paris

wanted to make art available to the Parisian population. And so while the officials

advocated a repertoire of new works, the City of Paris pushed for a repertoire of reputable

works. Ironically, the administration was forced to consider establishing a popular theater

in order to maintain the superiority of the Opera. It contemplated a democratic

compromise for the sake of the police state.

In the end, the administration had the choice between giving the lyric theater enough money, so that the venture would be sustainable, and allowing the popular lyric

Theater to use the repertoire of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. As neither solution was

agreeable to them, the opportunists decided to uphold the existing compromise. Thus,

they were keen on maintaining the monopolies of the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique but

221

they did not want to deal with the disrupted economic and artistic equilibrium that was a

consequence of it. They resorted to police measures to preserve the prestige of the Opéra

and Opéra-Comique but neglected to keep up the path to artistic perfection. Because this

threatened the future of French music, one could read Turquet’s decision as short-sighted.

But the decision might also be seen as pointing to a change in sensibility. Indeed, by

forfeiting the responsibility of training composers, the state renounced the identifying of

theaters with corresponding skill levels. It was one step towards dismantling the theatrical

hierarchy.406 This decision might also be a sign that opportunists no longer believed that

artistic creativity was essential to France’s standing in the world. In their mind, the

luxurious display of masterworks, whatever their national origin, was sufficient to merit

the reputation of excellence. Further, this approach shows that the opportunists were

distancing themselves from the practices of the Bonapartist regime, which entrusted

French artists with the representation of their country.

406 At the same time, it was not uncommon for the winners of the Prix de Rome to wait for several years for their work to be staged. See Édouard Lockroy’s report on behalf of the committee in charge of examining the 1881 fine arts budget, House of Deputies, 21 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 8467. 222

Chapter 7

The City of Paris’s Projects (1880-1884)

The project to create a popular dramatic theater was short-lived. Not only did the administration decide against requesting subsidies for it in Parliament, but the Paris

Municipal Council never followed up on de Lanessan’s recommendation to support the

George Richard company. On 31 July 1880, the municipal council approved “in principle” the creation of a municipal theater at the Gaîté theater, square des Arts-et-

Métiers. However, the decision was overturned a few months later. Unable to decide

whether a dramatic or a lyric theater was more suitable, the councilors repelled the entire

project of municipal theater. Following Hérold’s advice, they rented the Gaîté theater by

tender (9 November 1880).407

The same fate befell the Châtelet theater. Like the Gaîté theater, the Châtelet was

a property of the city, the lease on which was about to expire. Seeing an opportunity,

Aristide Rey, a socialist councilor, proposed that the city regain control of the building to

organize a municipal popular theater. But, despite a favorable report on the proposition

407 “Rapport présenté par M. de Bouteiller au nom de la 5e commission, sur la proposition de M. Aristide Rey et de plusieurs de ses collègues, relative à la création d’un Théâtre municipal populaire à prix réduits, annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 7 mai 1881,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1882), 2. 223

by Jehan de Bouteiller (a radical councilor), the members of the municipal council voted

against the creation of a municipal Theater.408 In the same meeting of 19 May 1881, they

decided to auction the lease of the Châtelet theater. Although the vote against Rey’s

proposal put an end to plans for a municipal popular theater, it did not mean that

councilors stopped supporting popular theater projects altogether. It just meant that they

did not want the city to manage the theater. They were too afraid that a municipal theater

would lead the city to spend large amounts of money without the guarantee of success.

As a result, the councilors preferred to subsidize a private company.

What is remarkable with this last vote of 19 May 1881 is that the Parisian

councilors decided to fund an entrepreneur who would run a popular Opera. They had

given up the idea of creating a dramatic theater. This evolution was a mixed blessing for

the promoters of popular theater. True, it boosted the project that was the most necessary

from a democratic point of view. But it also focused the attention and the means of the

municipality on the least feasible project. The Comédie-Française and the Odéon did not

have monopolies over their repertoires as the Opéra and Opéra-Comique did. Therefore, a

stage that would perform past and present successes of spoken drama was less necessary

than a stage that would perform lyric masterworks. However, the dramatic theater was

the less onerous of the two and the one that yielded the most educational benefits, from

general understanding. Thus, given the reluctance of the council to endow projects of

popular theater, there was a risk that this turn towards a more ambitious goal would end

in a fiasco.

408 See the minutes of the debate of 19 May 1881 in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1882). 224

At the Paris Municipal Council, nobody opposed the generous democratic idea that inspired projects of popular theater. All the councilors agreed that (artistic) theater should be made accessible to the poorest segment of the population, and they also agreed that the means to achieve this objective was to offer cheap tickets. In practice, however, popular theater projects raised many questions. In a world of budgetary constraints, the funds allocated to the popular theater could not be unlimited. Yet, the amount of money invested in the productions determined for a great part the quality of spectacles. Thus, a cap on expenses could seriously diminish the appeal of the popular theater. Some councilors even argued that below a certain level of subsidy, the theater would not attract the Parisian public and would therefore be unviable.

On this issue of funding, the members of the municipal council were divided in two. One group insisted on the democratic necessity of the popular theater and argued that the level of municipal funding should be adjusted according to the desired quality of productions (higher or lower depending on the strength of the political opposition). The other group judged that a popular theater could not be cost effective. In their mind, productions of a satisfactory quality were expensive and it was better to renounce projects of popular theater altogether. Henry Marsoulan was representative of this latter approach. In his speech of 31 July 1880 at the municipal council, he pointed out that artistic plays needed to be performed by highly talented artists. To put together such a troupe, he added, required time and money. Thus, the city could legitimately have doubts about the opportunity of funding a popular theater. On the one hand, if the city accepted the necessity for “sacrifices,” it could hope to attract numerous crowds and educate them.

In this case, the educational benefits of theater came at a great cost. On the other hand, if

225

the city refused to make this financial investment, Marsoulan anticipated that the director of the popular theater would have to bow to the demands of the public and mount works of little artistic ambition. Then, the popular theater would not be able to educate its public. As Marsoulan remarked, the choice was between two equally unsatisfying courses of action:

The City of Paris ought not be a theater entrepreneur, for the balance of our budget can be compromised by the losses of the business. True, the idea of making a low-price dramatic theater available to the Parisian population is appealing, but, in order to ensure the success of such an enterprise, we need to reckon with the public and perform works that attract it. Will we compose a repertoire of old dramas that once had their hour of fame?; the attempts in this domain have always failed. Therefore, we will not aim to refine, to elevate the taste of the public, but we will perform unpublished plays inspired by current literary ideas and sentiments, that is to say, borrowing topics from stories told in newspapers and the Gazette des tribunaux. If, on the contrary, the city agrees in advance to make a sacrifice, wants to do great art and perform dramas in verse, the expenditures that it will have to make to carry out the enterprise will be considerable, because, in order to please the public, we will have to form a troupe of artists as valuable as that of the Comédie-Française, and it cannot be done in one day.409

In summary, because the education of the public was conditioned upon the enjoyment of

the play, the popular theater would be either useless or expensive. Useless, and the

popular theater had no reason to be; expensive, and the City of Paris could not afford to

run it. The popular theater was thus an alluring project but an impossible one to carry out.

409 “La Ville de Paris ne doit pas se faire entrepreneur de théâtre, car l’équilibre de notre budget peut être compromis par les pertes de l’exploitation. Certes, l’idée de mettre à la disposition de la population parisienne un théâtre de drame à bon marché est séduisante, mais il faut, pour assurer le succès d’une pareille entreprise, compter avec le public et représenter des œuvres qui l’attirent. Composera-t-on un répertoire d’anciens drames ayant eu leur heure de succès; mais les tentatives faites dans ce sens ont toujours échoué. Il faudra donc, non plus chercher à épurer, à élever le goût du public, mais faire jouer des pièces inédites conçues suivant les idées littéraires et les sentiments de notre époque, c’est-à-dire emprunter, comme on l’a dit, les sujets aux faits divers des journaux et à la Gazette des tribunaux. Si au contraire la ville, consentant d’avance à faire un sacrifice, veut exploiter le grand art et représenter des drames en vers, les charges qu’elle devra s’imposer pour réaliser cette entreprise seront considérables, car on devra pour plaire au public réunir une troupe d’artistes de la valeur de ceux de la Comédie-Française, et ce n’est pas l’œuvre d’un jour.” Ibid., 204. 226

Faced with this radical critique, the promoters of the popular theater set out to

demonstrate the utility of their venture. In particular, they emphasized the low cost and

high benefits of the dramatic theater. In the meeting of 9 November 1880, de Lanessan,

Forest, and Maret (all three of them had been members of the committee that had assisted the Seine prefect in his negotiations with the fine arts administration and which had

refused to concede a lyric theater without all the functionalities of the Opéra and Opéra-

Comique) reminded their colleagues of the educational mission of the municipality and of

the teaching potential of plays. De Lanessan, for example, declared:

In questions of art, you have always been preoccupied above all with teaching and not with doing art for the sake of art. You do not buy a plaster cast, like the state does, to consign it to lofts. You do it in order to decorate your monuments, your schools, your public squares, that is to say, you buy art works to develop the taste for beautiful forms. . . . You have therefore well defined the terms on which you wish to consider art; these terms are those of teaching.410

Forest added: “The goal of the council is not to encourage composers or playwrights but to provide the people with a high-level teaching.”411 The three councilors also contrasted

the moral and intellectual effects of opera and drama:

It is certain that music cannot provide any moral or intellectual teaching. You will be able to distract the population; you will not be able to instruct it by opening a lyric theater. Furthermore, a large number of opera libretti would only propagate ideas that are wrong and that you repudiate. With drama or comedy, you will have the basics of a teaching that music cannot give, and students who finish high school today, ignoring French and foreign literature, will get a broader instruction from your dramatic theater. Thanks to a

410 “Dans les questions d’art, vous vous êtes toujours préoccupés surtout de l’enseignement et non de faire de l’art pour l’art. Vous n’achetez pas le plâtre d’une statue, comme le fait l’Etat, pour le reléguer dans un grenier. C’est pour décorer vos monuments, vos écoles, vos places publiques, c’est-à-dire pour développer le goût des belles formes que vous achetez des œuvres d’art. . . . Vous avez donc bien nettement défini le terrain sur lequel vous entendiez vous placer dans les questions d’art; ce terrain, c’est celui de l’enseignement.” “Mise en adjudication du théâtre de la Gaîté, séance du 9 novembre 1880,” in Procès- verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1881), 647. 411 “Le but du Conseil n’est pas d’encourager les compositeurs ou les auteurs dramatiques mais de créer un haut enseignement destiné au peuple.” “Mise en adjudication du théâtre de la Gaîté, séance du 9 novembre 1880,” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1881), 652. 227

theater of this sort, you will also be able to give a philosophical and revolutionary teaching, which music is unable to provide.412

In this excerpt, de Lanessan was adamant that music could not educate. He seemed to

think that texts lost their intelligibility in the act of singing. In other words, operas were

absolute music and belonged to the realm of aesthetics. By contrast, dramatic

masterworks could deliver a political message. Maret even claimed that they could be

used for the sake of republican propaganda:

Is it better to create a lyric theater or a dramatic theater, given our unique objective: the dissemination of beautiful things, the elevation of taste, the teaching of the masses? To ask the question is to solve it. For my part, I am in favor of the two theaters, and I am not unaware of the influence of beautiful music. Yet I believe it is less immediate. If we consider for example that children, and the people are sometimes children, it is obvious that Horace, that the Cid, that Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar will inspire them a more violent love of liberty, fatherland, honor, than what the most splendid symphony could do.413

The prospect of showing politically engaged plays was a main attraction of the

popular dramatic theater. Many councilors returned to it. One remembers Viollet-le-

Duc’s combative tone in noting “the fateful tendencies that clerical teaching [had] spread

in all the classes of our society” and his call for the regeneration of the Parisian

412 “Il est bien certain que la musique ne peut donner aucun enseignement moral ou intellectuel. Vous pourrez distraire la population, vous ne l’instruirez pas en ouvrant un théâtre lyrique. Je dirai plus, c’est qu’un grand nombre de livrets d’opéra ne propageraient que des idées fausses et que vous répudiez. Avec le drame ou la comédie, vous aurez les éléments d’un enseignement que ne peut pas vous donner la musique, et les élèves qui sortent aujourd’hui des lycées, ignorant la littérature française et étrangère, puiseront dans votre théâtre de drame une instruction plus étendue. Grâce à un théâtre de ce genre, vous pourrez encore donner un enseignement philosophique et révolutionnaire que la musique est incapable de fournir.” Ibid., 647-648. 413 “Vaut-il mieux créer un théâtre lyrique ou un théâtre de drame, étant donné notre unique objectif: la vulgarisation des belles choses, l’élévation du goût, l’enseignement des masses ? Poser la question c’est la résoudre. Je suis, pour ma part, partisan des deux théâtres, et je ne méconnais pas l’influence de la belle musique. Je la crois pourtant moins immédiate. Si nous ne considérons par exemple que les enfants, et le peuple est parfois un enfant, il est évident qu’Horace, que le Cid, que le Jules César de Shakespeare leur inspireront un plus violent amour de la liberté, de la patrie, de l’honneur, que ne le pourrait faire la plus splendide des symphonies.” Ibid., 660. 228

population through theater.414 Rey, the socialist councilor, also assigned a political

mission to the popular theater. In his discussion of de Lanessan’s project for a municipal

theater, he argued that the city should impose a program of liberal plays. Not only were liberal plays what the public needed but they were also what it wanted.415 Thus to

perform political plays was both the key to educating the public and a condition of

success. Unlike Marsoulan, who associated education with outstanding actors, Rey based

the successful education of the public on their exposure to the political content of plays.

A socialist like Rey, Jules Joffrin was even more categorical. He denied that the

working class needed distractions altogether. In his mind, the sole legitimate goal of the

popular theater was to raise the political consciousness of workers, which only the

dramatic theater could do as music was considered to be a diversion. “Can the people

waste their time with singing?” he said provocatively. “People say that the working class

needs distraction, like the other classes of society. This is a matter of appreciation. For my part, I consider that one could better use the city’s money.”416 While Joffrin rejected

the project of a lyric theater, he strongly supported that of a dramatic theater. He believed

that the dramatic theater “[would] teach the people its rights, its duties, its public, private,

historic, and domestic life, its origins and its destinies, and [would] portray its highest

characters, its heroes, its martyrs of work, family, the fatherland and the Revolution.”417

414 See note 360. 415 “Rejet d’un projet de mise en adjudication de la location du théâtre de la Gaîté, séance du 31 juillet 1880” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1881), 205. 416 “En outre, le peuple a-t-il du temps à perdre en faveur du chant ? On a dit que la classe ouvrière avait besoin de distraction, comme les autres classes de la société. Ceci est une affaire d’appréciation. Pour moi, j’estime qu’on pourrait mieux employer l’argent de la Ville.” “Renvoi à la commission d’un projet relatif à l’Opéra populaire, séance du 28 décembre 1882,” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1883), 1161. 417 “La somme de 300,000 francs sera attribuée à un théâtre de drame populaire, qui enseignera au peuple ses droits, ses devoirs, sa vie publique, privée, historique, domestique, ses origines et ses destinées, qui lui 229

In other words, Joffrin saw dramas as a formidable instrument of social and political

empowerment. By narrating the past, present, and future, dramas made the working class

aware of itself and of the role it played in history. Thus, whether directed against the

ruling class or the clergy, many councilors thought that theater could be turned into a

political weapon. Seen in this light, dramatic theater was a “useful” endeavor.

Another advantage of the dramatic theater vis-à-vis the lyric theater was its

comparatively low cost. First, it was much less expensive to mount a play than an opera.

The dramatic theater, for instance, did not need to hire a complete orchestra. Second, the dramatic theater could expect certain takings by showing masterworks, which the lyric theater could not because of the restricted access to the repertoires of the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique. As Maret put it, the lyric theater was condemned to first-runs: “Besides, the magnificent operas, can we have them? No. They do not want to give them to us. The

Opéra keeps its Huguenots and Guillaume Tell, and the rest. The Opéra-Comique likewise keeps all its repertoire. What is left to us? Attempts.”418 And dim prospects of

success. Thus, from all accounts, the dramatic theater looked a more feasible project than

the lyric theater.

Yet, because each of the councilors had a different take on how theater could be

useful to the population, the usefulness of dramatic theater was never definitely

ascertained. If one remembers, Rey claimed that both music and drama could educate.

Joffrin and de Lanessan, by contrast, distinguished between music and drama. Music

représentera ses plus hauts types, ses héros, ses martyrs du travail, de la famille, de la patrie et de la Révolution.” Ibid. 418 “D’ailleurs, les magnifiques opéras, les aurions-nous ? Non. On ne veut pas nous les donner. L’Opéra garde ses Huguenots et Guillaume Tell, et le reste. L’Opéra-Comique garde également tout son répertoire. Que nous reste-t-il ? Des essais à faire.” “Mise en adjudication du théâtre de la Gaîté, séance du 9 novembre 1880,” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1881), 660. 230

could only provide a distraction, they said, whereas drama was able to give a political

education. None of them however took the trouble to demonstrate their point, so that, in

the end, they were unable to ward off objections of uselessness.

Henri Michelin and Severiano de Heredia were among those councilors who

refused to acknowledge the beneficial influence of theater, whether in the form of music

or drama. They deemed that schools and hospitals were more useful than theaters and

therefore worthier of receiving public funds. Speaking on behalf of his constituents,

Michelin, for instance, declared that “certainly music was a good thing, but there was no

lack of more urgent needs to satisfy and the 300,000 francs [i.e. the subsidy allocated to

the Opéra populaire] could be better employed for hospitals, schools, etc.”419 Whereas

Michelin, the radical-socialist councilor and later boulangist deputy, talked about “more

urgent needs,” implying that theater fulfilled some kind of need, if minimal, de Heredia

was not willing to concede that theater was more than an entertainment, which he did not

perceive as a need. “Is it fair,” de Heredia reflected, “to deduct this sum from our budget

to dedicate it to a work, no doubt useful, but which all in all pertains to the pleasure of the

population? Definitely not. The needs of the population must come before its pleasures,

and these needs, you know it as well as I do, are immense.”420 In this debate over the

utility of theater, education was pitted against entertainment. The more theater was

419 “certainement la musique était une bonne chose, mais qu’il ne manquait pas de besoins plus urgents à satisfaire et que les 300,000 francs pourraient être mieux employés aux hôpitaux, aux écoles, etc.” Bulletin municipal officiel de la Ville de Paris, 1 December 1883, 1854. 420 “Est-il juste de prélever cette somme sur notre budget pour la consacrer à une œuvre, utile sans doute, mais qui en somme n’intéresse que l’agrément de la population ? assurément non. Les besoins de la population doivent passer avant ses plaisirs et ces besoins, vous le savez comme moi, sont immenses.” “Rejet d’une proposition de M. Aristide Rey relative à la création d’un théâtre populaire de musique et de drame.— Adoption d’une proposition tendant à allouer une subvention en vue de la création de ce théâtre par l’initiative privée.— Mise en adjudication du bail du théâtre du Châtelet, séance du 19 mai 1881,” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1882), 571. 231

supposed to educate, the more useful it appeared. By contrast, entertainment, unless it led

to education like Marsoulan argued, was considered useless.

In the space of a few years, between 1880 and 1884, the promoters of popular

theater significantly inflected their rhetoric. Initially, they developed arguments that

showed the utility of theater. In particular, they pointed out that a dramatic theater was

less costly and more formative than the lyric theater. But their strategy failed. They did

not win their colleagues’ ear. Their opponents, however, persuaded the majority of the

municipal council that theatrical businesses were fundamentally uncertain. They stressed the fact that lavish productions were necessary in order to attract the public to demanding plays, but in no way ensured a successful run. Thus, the city’s investment would most

likely have a low return. That was a sufficient reason to reject de Lanessan’s proposition

to create a municipal theater in November 1880 and tender the lease of the Théâtre de la

Gaîté instead.

With the next project, that of municipal theater at the Théâtre du Châtelet, the promoters of the popular theater no longer presented theater as a means towards other ends. Rather than discussing the effects of drama or music on the public, they treated these as ends in themselves. In support of the lyric theater, for instance, Rey still mentioned the possibility of political education through music (“until now, mysticism and superstition have exclusively benefited from the educational capacity of art”), but this was not his main point.421 Above all, he insisted that music was an essential component

421 “le mysticisme et la superstition ont jusqu’à présent seuls profité de la puissance éducatrice de l’art” “Ajournement à huitaine d’un rapport sur la mise en adjudication du bail du théâtre du Châtelet et de ses dépendances, renvoi à la 5e commission d’une proposition de M. Aristide Rey pour la création d’un théâtre 232

of an individual’s education: “musical art has produced considerable works whose study

must from now on be part of public teaching.”422 In addition, he asserted that individuals

had a legitimate need for artistic emotions: “to democratize art with profit for the people

would be to give a rational satisfaction to the legitimate needs for artistic emotions.”423

These two quotes suggest that Rey was not so much interested in the improvement of the

population as in the well-being of individuals. In other words, he took the pleasure of the

public seriously. Also, he did not make utilitarian calculations to prove the worth of his project. Instead, he pointed to the City of Paris’s obligations. Since music was good for people, he thought that it was the duty of the municipality to make it accessible to everyone. In summary, Rey judged music for what it meant to individuals, not for what it yielded to the community. To create a lyric theater was a matter of principle, not of opportunity.

In his report on Rey’s proposition, dated 7 May 1881, Bouteiller further spoke of

the intellectual needs of the Parisian population. Like Rey, he defended the legitimacy of

intellectual needs and believed in the City of Paris’s duty to fulfill them. “[The question

of the popular theater],” he said, “responds to a just sentiment and a real need.”424 In

addition, he denounced the fact that impecunious Parisians were prevented from

satisfying their intellectual needs. On the one hand, the theaters that played frivolous

music had “a recreational value that was insufficient to satisfy the relatively elevated

de musique populaire, séance du 27 avril 1881” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Imprimerie municipale, 1882), 461. 422 “l’art musical a produit des œuvres considérables dont l’étude doit faire partie désormais de l’enseignement public” Ibid. 423 “démocratiser l’art au profit du peuple serait donner enfin une satisfaction rationnelle aux besoins légitimes d’émotions artistiques” Ibid. 424 “[la question du théâtre populaire] répond à un sentiment juste et à un besoin réel.” “Rapport présenté par M. de Bouteiller au nom de la 5e commission, annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 7 mai 1881,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1882), 2. 233

taste of the classical concerts’ and choral societies’ public.”425 On the other hand, “the

people of Paris” did not have access to the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. Bouteiller concluded that the situation was “abnormal, unfair” (“anormale, injuste”). Thus, it was

not only legitimate to satisfy the intellectual needs of the Parisian population but it was

unfair not to satisfy the needs of the entire Parisian population.

At the meeting of the municipal council where Rey’s proposition came under discussion (19 May 1881), the arguments revolved around the justice of the project.

Severiano de Heredia asked whether it was fair to subsidize an enterprise that was useless. As for Colonel Martin, he contended that the accessibility of masterworks to the

Parisian population was a question “of equity and of justice” (“d’équité et de justice”).426

He added that “with our republican institutions, the Opéra is currently a real monument

of inequality.”427 Yet, despite the new focus of the debate, Rey’s project was met with the

same misgivings as de Lanessan’s and eventually rejected. On 19 May 1881, the

councilors renounced the creation of a municipal theater at the Châtelet theater and

decided to allocate the subsidy to a private entrepreneur.

With the decision to subsidize a private entrepreneur, the councilors reached a

compromise. The City of Paris would not directly manage a theater but it would give

300,000 francs to support an existing Opéra populaire. As the amount of the subsidy was

fixed, the failure of the business would incur only limited losses for the municipality.

Therefore, councilors did not have to fear uncontrolled spending. Yet, the principle of the

425 “[les théâtres de musique frivole] n’ont qu’une valeur récréative insuffisante pour satisfaire le goût relativement élevé du public des concerts classiques et des sociétés chorales” “Rapport présenté par M. de Bouteiller au nom de la 5e commission, annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 7 mai 1881,” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1882), 4. 426 “Rejet d’une proposition de M. Aristide Rey, séance du 19 mai 1881,” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1882), 571. 427 “L’Opéra est actuellement, avec nos institutions républicaines, un véritable monument d’inégalité.” Ibid. 234

subsidy continued to be discussed even after it was voted. In December 1882 for instance,

Joffrin declared that the lyric theater was a superfluous venture, which offered a useless

distraction to the population. This is to say that projects of popular theater met a

tenacious opposition at the municipal council, which put them in a position of extreme

vulnerability.

After this new surge of criticism, and fearful that the decision to subsidize a private entrepreneur might be rescinded, the promoters of the Opéra populaire bet on further financial concessions. In the draft charter of the Theater, circulated on 31 January

1883, they stipulated that the director should keep expenses down by avoiding luxurious productions. “[The director was] invited to not give the staging too much development, to simply seek to respect conventions, historical exactitude, in a word, not to aim at

anything other than highlighting the musical work.”428 This ultimate concession,

however, did not silence critics, who worried that the modesty of staging would imperil

the artistic character of the work. Michelin, for instance, foresaw that “[the Opéra

populaire] would only be a parody of art.”429 In the end, the compromise hardly satisfied

anyone. The result of many heated discussions was a subsidy that was too small to allow

for artistic ambitions.

The subsequent events also showed that the funding was insufficient to ensure the

proper functioning of the Opéra populaire. On 30 November 1883, the municipal council

428 “il sera invité à ne pas donner à la mise en scène un trop grand développement, à chercher simplement la convenance, l’exactitude historique, en un mot, à ne se proposer d’autre but que de faire valoir l’œuvre musicale” “Acceptation d’une demande de M. Ritt relative à la création d’un opéra populaire, séance du 31 janvier 1883” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1884). 429 “votre Opéra ne sera qu’une parodie de l’art” Bulletin municipal officiel de la Ville de Paris, 1 December 1883, 1855. 235

voted a subsidy of 300,000 francs in favor of Georges de Lagrené, director of the

Théâtre-Lyrique populaire at the Château-d’Eau theater. However, the municipal council

specified that de Lagrené would not receive the subsidy until a specially appointed

committee had auditioned his troupe to ascertain its value. Even then, de Lagrené would

only receive the subsidy until July 1884, when the municipal council would assess his

artistic management and check that he had met all the material requirements.430 It is

evident that the council acted cautiously to ensure the artistic quality of the Opéra

populaire. The goal indeed was to reach “a level, which, while being necessarily inferior

to that of the two big lyric stages of the state, must however be higher than average.”431

As Levraud put it, it was important to “avoid falling into ridicule by subsidizing an

enterprise that was beyond mediocrity.”432

On 31 December 1883, the committee that auditioned the artists of the Opéra

populaire made its opinion known. Although it was satisfied with the quality of the

singers and with the execution of the works in general, it had some reservations about the

composition of the troupe. The committee noted that the opera troupe lacked a contralto,

while the comic opera troupe was inexistent. As a result, it placed conditions on the

payment of the subsidy. Notably, it said that de Lagrené would receive the subsidy only if

the monthly evaluation of his performance was satisfying.433 In February 1884, the

Committee of the Opéra populaire assessed de Lagrené’s management for the first time.

430 See the “Rapport présenté par M. de Bouteiller, au nom de la 5e commission, sur une demande de M. de Lagrené sollicitant la subvention votée pour la création d’un opéra populaire, annexe au procès-verbal de la séance du 19 novembre 1883” in Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1884). 431 “un niveau qui, tout en restant forcément inférieur à celui des deux grandes scènes lyriques de l’Etat, doit pourtant dépasser une certaine moyenne.” Ibid., 5. 432 “il faut éviter de tomber dans le ridicule en subventionnant une entreprise au dessous du médiocre” Commission de l’Opéra populaire, minutes of the 17 October 1883 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 290. 433 Commission d’audition des artistes du théâtre de l’Opéra populaire, minutes of the 31 December 1883 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 290. 236

The assessment was rather critical. First, it complained that de Lagrené presented too few

new works. Second, it blamed him for performing too many Italian operas and not

enough French ones. Finally, the committee was still unhappy with the composition of

the troupe. Consequently, it proposed to subordinate the payment of the subsidy to further

hiring.434

The next month, the Committee of the Opéra populaire observed that the

performances organized by de Lagrené did not meet the minimum artistic standard set by

the municipality. Henri Halanzier, a former director of the Opéra, declared that he “could

not admit that a theater subsidized by the City of Paris should continue to mount pieces in

such conditions of inferiority, from the point of view of both the interpretation and the

staging.”435 Other members of the committee were more understanding. They agreed that

de Lagrené’s first attempt was a setback, but they recommended maintaining the subsidy.

Rey, for instance, although deploring that the director had “neglected the goal of popular

education” (“ne pas s’être préoccupé du but d’éducation populaire”), was grateful to him

for showing workers the path of the Opéra populaire.436 He believed that, if the councilors withdrew the subsidy, workers would never have a chance to get acquainted with the “classical and modern masterworks of the French school” (“les chefs-d’œuvre classiques et modernes de l’école française”). Ultimately, workers would never receive a musical education.

434 Commission de l’Opéra populaire, minutes of the 4 February 1884 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 291. 435 “[M. Halanzier] n'admet pas qu'un théâtre subventionné par la Ville de Paris puisse continuer à monter des pièces dans des conditions d'infériorité telles, tant au point de vue de l'interprétation que de la mise en scène.” in the Commission de l’Opéra populaire’s minutes of the 10 March 1884 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 290. Halanzier’s complete name is Hyacinthe-Olivier-Henri Halanzier-Dufresnoy. 436 Ibid. 237

The president of the committee, Seine Prefect Eugène Poubelle, also recognized

that de Lagrené’s latest attempt had “failed” (“a échoué”). But, as an extenuating

circumstance, he pointed out how risky any attempt at the Opéra populaire was, due to

the special public. Unlike Halanzier who incriminated the quality of spectacles or Rey

who regretted the absence of masterworks, Poubelle seemed to miss the popular success

of the theater. At the same time, he realized that it was almost impossible to create the

conditions for it. Thus, he did not blame de Lagrené. In his analysis, the public of the

Opéra populaire was “poorly educated, but highly impressionable” (“peu lettré, mais très

impressionable”).437 This explained why the public longed for visual effects, but also

why the municipality was reluctant to grant its request. Unable to resist the empire of

illusion, the public could not be receptive to the intended message of musical works. The

result, thus, was a theater that did not display visual effects but that did not have a

popular appeal either.

The committee finally resolved to pay the subsidy because de Lagrené had complied with the clauses of the charter. But it warned him that “the status quo was impossible and that he should definitely strive, in the shortest order, to obtain results that would satisfy the expectations of the public and the artists.”438 The various judgments on

de Lagrené’s management showed that the committee tended to overlook the difficult

conditions in which the director was operating. Halanzier, for instance, did not put the

low quality of performances down to the lack of financial means. Instead, he considered

the results of the venture and declared that it did not deserve the subsidy. Rey faulted de

Lagrené for not showing masterworks. However, he disregarded the fact that the Opéra

437 Ibid. 438 “que le statu quo n’est pas possible et qu’il doit absolument se mettre en mesure, dans le plus bref délai, d’obtenir des résultats donnant satisfaction aux exigences du public et des artistes” Ibid. 238

populaire could not use the repertoires of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. Finally,

Poubelle wished for a popular success although he resisted the idea of satisfying the

audience’s demands.

That the committee was more politically conservative than the radical majority of

the municipal council may explain why it turned a blind eye to de Lagrené’s material

difficulties. Composed of municipal councilors, artists, and staff members from the fine

arts administration, the committee was presided over by the Seine prefect, Poubelle.

Poubelle had been nominated in 1883 by Pierre Waldeck-Rousseau, a moderate who had

later joined the Union républicaine (Gambettist). As for Halanzier, he had been appointed

to the direction of the Opéra in 1871 by Jules Simon. Halanzier and Poubelle’s

considerations of rank and characterizations of the public were not foreign to the

unrealistic expectations they had concerning the management of the Opéra populaire.

In their mind, the Opéra populaire was a middling theater, “inferior” to the state-

subsidized theaters and “superior” to commercial theaters. But it enjoyed none of their

benefits. On the one hand, despite its official status, it received a minimal subsidy and

was not allowed to share in the repertoire of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. On the other hand, the Opéra populaire did not have the liberty other commercial theaters had to show attractive plays in an attractive setting. Its program had to be didactic and its productions sober. Thus, the committee had high expectations of artistic quality, but no concern for its viability. These expectations reflected the place of the theater within the local hierarchy, not what was possible to achieve within a given economic context. This contempt for the theater’s operating conditions had important implications. It meant that the committee

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was not willing to adjust the funding of the municipality to the needs of the theater. It

preferred to dub the results of the Opéra populaire a failure and let it sink.

In practice, this is exactly what happened. A month after sending the first

warnings, the committee convened to discuss de Lagrené’s standing. It was unanimous again in its decision to condemn the limitation of the repertoire and the mediocrity of the troupe, and urged de Lagrené to remedy these shortcomings. The director of the Opéra populaire, however, reacted strongly to their criticism, which he found unfair. He immediately wrote a letter to the members of the committee, in which he exposed his grievances. Among other points, he explained how detrimental to his management the threats of withdrawing the subsidy were. After each committee meeting, he noted, the

press redoubled its attacks and the creditors came to claim their dues. The general

confidence in the venture was shaken. Also de Lagrené complained that the regulation

concerning the repertoire of the Opéra populaire was too constraining. He was willing to

drop the performance of Italian operas, as requested by the committee, but he pointed to

the absence of a satisfactory alternative. He could not use the repertoires of the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique, although they had been promised to him in the charter, and he was

embarrassed to choose among “the more or less old-fashioned works” (“les ouvrages plus

ou moins démodés”) that the state-subsidized theaters put at his disposal.439 It is not certain whether the committee answered de Lagrené’s letter. In any case, de Lagrené

judged that the support he received from the City of Paris was insufficient and, by the end

of the month, stopped operating the Opéra populaire.

439 Letter of de Lagrené to the members of the committee in response to the remarks formulated during the meeting of 5 April 1884, Archives de Paris, VR 290. 240

From this whole discussion about the city’s role in subsidizing a popular theater and the circumstances of its inglorious ending, one can draw a few conclusions. Three brands of discourse vied for ascendency at the municipal council and in its satellite bodies: the discourse of social conventions, the discourse of utilitarian calculations, and the discourse of theatrical democratization. Each of them corresponded to a different idea of the common weal. The first, the discourse of social conventions put the emphasis on respecting a hierarchy, with the idea that it would uphold social order. In this view, as the artistic quality of performances signaled the rank of the theater, it was crucial that theatrical directors should fulfill the artistic expectations of their funders. Economic considerations, however, were totally disregarded. First, markets were not to be trusted because they did not tend to further the artistic cause. On the contrary, they satisfied the

(corrupt) taste of the general public. Second, cultural officials were only preoccupied with the artistic performance of the theaters they supported, not with their financial success. Thus, funding was commensurate with the artistic quality of the theater, not with the economic obstacles that the director faced. In short, the defenders of this position—

Hérold, Poubelle, and Halanzier—did not oppose the project of popular theater per se, but they imposed such conditions on it as to make it unrealizable.

By contrast, the proponents of the second discourse—Michelin, de Heredia,

Marsoulan—placed economic considerations at the top of their list. They calculated the cost of the popular theater and judged that it was too high compared to the benefits it yielded to the Parisian population. In their opinion, there was no such thing as an intellectual need. Thus, the project of entertaining individuals was useless. Also, they thought that theater could educate only if it appealed to the public. Therefore, the higher

241 benefits were compensated by additional expenses, keeping the global utility of theater at a low level. The “utilitarian” councilors trusted the judgment of the population and were confident in the market to generate order. The problem was that the popular theater never seemed to be useful enough to deserve funding.

Finally, the supporters of theatrical democratization—Rey, Bouteiller, Martin— considered it as a priority to organize equal access to operatic masterworks. In their discourse, theater was an end in itself. It could give a political or moral education, but more importantly it gave artistic emotions to individuals. As a result, funding did not depend on the expected dividends of popular attendance. It was entirely determined by the necessities of the democratic mission. Yet, despite the absence of financial hindrance, the project had little chance of succeeding. Indeed, with the Opéra and Opéra-Comique having no intention to share their repertoires, the goal of making masterworks available to the general public was simply out of reach.

From each perspective, the project had irredeemable flaws. With the discourse of social conventions, the level of funding, which reflected the expected quality of performances, was not sufficient to match the economic constraints. With the discourse of utilitarian calculations, costs always weighed more heavily than benefits. Thus, the popular theater had no reason to be. With the third discourse, unlike the two previous ones, funding was not an issue. It was the unrestricted access to the repertoires of the

Opéra and Opéra-Comique that was at stake. However, even generous funding could not overcome the legal hurdles. Therefore, it is no surprise that the city did not produce a popular theater of its own.

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What this experience shows is the dependence of the city on the good will of the

administration. The city needed the intervention of the administration to end the monopolies of the state-subsidized lyric theaters over the operatic repertoires.

Reciprocally, the administration courted the city because, in its mind, the city was

responsible for popularizing art. However, this common desire for collaboration was

fraught with misunderstanding. For instance, the city and the administration had different

opinions on the capacities of the popular public. Municipal councilors generally trusted

the good taste of the Parisian population and, if anything, wanted to undo the workings of

previous political regimes. By contrast, the members of the fine arts administration strove

to correct the immoral dispositions that plagued the lower classes of society and to rescue

them from “the insanities of operettas and the depravation of cafés-concerts” (“arracher

la population aux insanités de l’opérette et à la dépravation des cafés-concerts”).440

As a consequence of their divergent premises, the city and the administration conceived of their roles differently. The administration was bent on promoting the arts and left educational activities to the municipality. These were two discrete tasks in the mind of fine arts officials. Indeed, as the popular public supposedly had a corrupt taste, they assumed that it did not need to be acquainted with the most recent operas, which were the property of the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. Old-fashioned works would do. As a result of this interpretation though, the administration had no reason to be involved in projects of artistic dissemination. And the facts prove that it was always reluctant to participate in them.

440 Letter from Eugène Ritt to the members of the Paris Municipal Council, n.d. [1884], Archives de Paris, VR 290. 243

For its part, the city agreed that the promotion of the arts, in the sense the

administration gave to it, i.e. the protection of the patrimony and the support of French

artists, was none of its business. The members of the municipal council did not want to fund the performance of esoteric works or encourage luxurious productions. However, they deemed that the Parisian public deserved to see the lyrical works that were exclusively showed at the Opéra and Opéra-Comique. This explains why, whenever access to the repertoire of these theaters was at stake, the city and the administration

wrestled.

The grounds for acrimonious exchanges disappeared when the fine arts

administration suggested organizing popular performances in the state-subsidized

theaters. In effect, it was understood that the repertoire of the popular performances

would be the same as that of the ordinary performances. Another advantage of organizing

popular performances in the national theaters was the greater motivation of the

administration, which felt that it was supporting a worthy (artistic) project. Yet, by

transporting popular performances to the stage of national theaters, the government raised

new issues without entirely solving the old ones. Unless duly compensated, the directors

of these institutions had no interest in organizing such performances. In addition, scalded

after the failure of de Lanessan’s Opéra populaire, the municipal councilors hesitated to

allocate more funds to a project of popular theater. They lent a careful ear to speeches

denouncing the uselessness of theater. So there was no evidence that popular

performances in a state-subsidized theater would be any easier to set up than a popular

theater.

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Chapter 8

The Organization of Popular Performances

in the State-Subsidized Theaters (1878-1893)

The idea of organizing popular performances in state-subsidized theaters was an old one. At the very end of his reign, Napoleon III had toyed with it, but, in the face of the general outcry, had rapidly retreated. All the directors had opposed the project. All except the new director of the Théâtre-Lyrique, who, in July 1870, had signed a charter, in which he agreed to give at least ten reduced-price matinees during each winter season.441 Jules Martinet’s direction did not last long (he did not start his tenure until

after the Commune and resigned in June 1872) and the clause did not appear in the

subsequent charters. Therefore, the experiment was short-lived. But it was significant

insofar as it reacquainted the Théâtre-Lyrique with its initial mission. For a year, in addition to being a training theater for artists, the Théâtre-Lyrique was intermittently a school where the popular public could learn the rules of good taste.

During the period of the Moral Order, there was no talk of organizing performances at a reduced price in the state-subsidized theaters or transforming the

441 Article 9, Charter of the Théâtre-Lyrique, 1 July 1870, AN F 21 1122. 245

Théâtre-Lyrique into a popular theater. The repeated bankruptcies of the Théâtre-Lyrique

did not deter the deputies. They continued to pay it a modest subsidy to perform the

works of not-yet-recognized composers and librettists. In 1878, however, the new

political majority refused to maintain a theater that regularly collapsed. Unwilling to raise

the subsidy, it asked the government to submit an alternative project. As a result, the

public instruction and fine arts minister approached the Paris Municipal Council and suggested turning the Théâtre-Lyrique into a popular theater. Bardoux hoped that, by extending the mission of the Théâtre-Lyrique, he would not only secure the financial participation of the city but also respond to critics who complained that official theaters were reserved for an elite. But his inability to obtain the repertoire of the Opéra and

Opéra-Comique for the popular lyric theater seriously hindered the negotiations. On 21

May 1880, the municipal councilors eventually announced that they refused to

collaborate on those terms.

Subsequently, the attention shifted back to the organization of popular

performances in state-sponsored theaters. In Parliament, Lockroy was one of the first

deputies to give up on the collaborative project of popular theater and explore the

possibility of isolated performances. In his report on the fine arts budget, dated June

1880, he presented a comprehensive survey of the question. His study of contractual

documents as well as his discussions with the relevant directors suggested that the

organization of popular performances depended for a large part on the status of the

theater. The two theaters that welcomed popular performances were the second-ranked

Odéon and Opéra-Comique. The two theaters that resisted the idea were the first-ranked

246

Comédie-Française and Opéra. With the complicity of the fine arts administration,

theaters could easily evade the obligations stated in their charters.

Questioned by the parliamentary committee, the director of the Opéra-Comique,

Léon Carvalho, declared that he would abide by the text of the charter and give twelve

reduced-price performances each year. It was understood that “these performances, made

up of the most remarkable works of the old and new repertoire, [would] always be staged

with the most care and assemble the leading artists of the theater.”442 Lockroy insisted

that the performances be given in the evening so that they would be accessible to working

people. He did not aim to entertain high school and college students, which matinees

usually attracted.

At the Odéon, the new director promised to give “very-reduced-price matinees, as often as possible” (“des matinées à prix très-réduits, le plus souvent possible”). Lockroy added that the committee was keen on the organization of “morning and evening performances, either free or at reduced price” because it thought this was “the best way to give the public a taste for beautiful works and, consequently, to make it gradually turn away from the dramatic institutions to which some people still succeeded in attracting it with bad music and unhealthy literature.”443 Lockroy’s plan was therefore to arrange

cheap performances at high artistic standards for people of limited financial means. He

assumed that these people had both a deficient taste and the desire to improve it.

Interestingly, he made a direct connection between the financial standing of spectators

442 “Ces représentations, composées des œuvres les plus remarquables du répertoire ancien ou nouveau, seront toujours organisées avec le plus grand soin et réuniront les principaux artistes du théâtre.” Report on behalf of the committee in charge of examining the 1881 fine arts budget by Édouard Lockroy, House of Deputies, 21 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 8468. 443 “le moyen le meilleur de donner au public le goût des belles œuvres et, par cela même, de lui faire abandonner peu à peu les établissements dramatiques où on réussit encore à l’attirer avec de la mauvaise musique et de la littérature malsaine” Ibid., 8469. 247

and their aesthetic understanding. He did not imagine that people of modest means

attended cafés-concerts simply because there was no other place to go.

The case of the Comédie-Française was special insofar as the theater did not have a charter. As a result, the administration had little leverage to impose popular performances on the institution. Had it had this leverage, though, it is uncertain whether it would have used it. In 1878, asked why the Théâtre-Français did not give matinees like the Odéon, Bardoux answered that it was not only legally impossible for the administration to demean such “eminent artists” but also morally dubious.444 The artists

of the Comédie-Française had in mind the interests of art and it was ill-judging them to

think that civil servants knew better. In other words, Bardoux did not believe that giving

popular performances was the primary mission of the Théâtre-Français. Because of a

seeming conflict with the artistic vocation of the theater, neither the administration nor

the artists supported the project.

With regard to the Opera, the position of the administration was the same except

for one difference. The administration had the means of exerting pressure on the director

and therefore could not use a similar excuse to explain the absence of popular

performances. At the Opera, indeed, the director was not only appointed by the

administration but legally obliged according to a charter to execute its wishes. But, as

experience showed, there was a gap between the text of the clause and its application.

Thus, although the 1879 charter provided for twelve reduced-price performances, none of them were actually conducted. This gap had several explanations. First, different people had different interpretations of the clauses. For instance, article 56 of the charter

444 Bardoux’s speech at the House of Deputies on 14 February 1878, Journal officiel de la République française, 1579. 248

stipulated that the director would have the liberty to raise the subscription price by

twenty-five per cent. In exchange for this power (“la faculté d’élever le prix de l’abonnement”), the director committed himself to twelve reduced-price performances each year and to let the popular lyric theater, if it were created, use ten works of the

Opéra’s old repertoire. In Lockroy’s interpretation, the director had to give the popular performances whether he increased the price of subscription or not:

In return for the power of raising the subscription price by 25 percent, a power that is granted by the Administration to the director of the Opéra, the director must give twelve reduced-price performances each year. Whether he makes use of this possibility or not does not matter; he owes the twelve performances. The Administration’s intentions in the charter are clearly stated. It did not want to let the director decide according to his own wishes whether or not to organize reduced-price performances; on the contrary, it wanted the reduced- price performances to happen no matter what, and, in order to compensate for the risks taken by the director, it allowed him to raise the subscription price.445

Vaucorbeil, the director of the Opéra, admitted that Lockroy’s interpretation was right.

The organization of reduced-price performances was not subordinated to the increase in

the subscription price. But he pointed out that, as he had already used the additional

income to undertake urgent reforms, the raise in the subscription price would not

compensate him for the risks he would be taking by organizing popular performances.

Consequently, he asked to be released from the obligation of giving popular

performances, at least for the first year of his tenure. Lockroy agreed that maintenance

costs were higher in the new building (designed by Charles Garnier and inaugurated in

445 “C’est en échange de la faculté d’élever de 25% le prix de l’abonnement, faculté accordée par l’Administration au directeur de l’Opéra, que celui-ci doit donner, par an, douze représentations à prix réduits. Qu’il use de la faculté à lui laissée, ou qu’il n’en use pas, peu importe; il doit les douze représentations. Les intentions de l’Administration, en rédigeant le cahier des charges, sont parfaitement indiquées. Elle n’a pas voulu concéder au directeur de l’Opéra le pouvoir d’ordonner ou de ne pas ordonner, selon son plaisir, des représentations à prix réduits; elle a entendu, au contraire, que les représentations à prix réduits auraient lieu, et que, pour dédommager le directeur des risques qu’il allait courir, on lui permettait de surélever le prix de l’abonnement.” Report by Édouard Lockroy, House of Deputies, 21 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 8467. 249

1875) than in the previous one, but, for him, that did not justify suspending the

organization of popular performances. He observed that Vaucorbeil had long been a civil

servant in the fine arts administration and knew very well what kind of expenses he could

expect at the Opéra.446 Therefore, he urged the government to ensure that the series of

low-cost performances would start in the course of the season. There were no extenuating

circumstances for Lockroy: the democratic purpose of the popular performances was as

important to fulfill as the artistic mission of the Opéra. Yet, in 1882, Vaucorbeil was

relieved of the obligation of giving reduced-price performances in exchange for taking care of the free performance of 14 July.447

The fact that Vaucorbeil did not give a single popular performance during the

time he managed the Opéra shows that deputies were relatively powerless when it came

to enforcing the clauses contained in the charters.448 By contrast, the influence of the fine

arts administration was decisive. At the Opéra, where the administration considered that

the organization of popular performances was a low priority, the directors were free not

to honor their commitments. Why was the situation different at the Odéon and Opéra-

Comique? Both directors dutifully complied with the requirements of their charter and

the administration was supportive of their efforts. From 1880 onwards, the Odéon gave

on average one reduced-price performance each week.449 As for the Opéra-Comique, it gave one reduced-price performance every month, which, over the course of the year, represented a total of ten performances.450

446 Vaucorbeil had been a “commissaire du Gouvernement pour les théâtres subventionnés.” 447 See the note on reduced-price performances by a member of the fine arts administration, 9 May 1890, AN F 21 3984. 448 Patureau, Le Palais Garnier, 407. 449 See the registers of daily performances in AN 55 AJ* 13-17. 450 See Talandier’s speech at the House of Deputies, 8 December 1882, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1941; Proust’s speech at the House of Deputies, 250

From the point of view of the administration, while the Odéon and Opéra-

Comique both had an artistic mission, they did not contribute to the glory of the nation to the same degree as the Comédie-Française and the Opéra. Thus, they could undertake activities that did not aim strictly at the conservation and production of great works.

Notably, they could participate in the dissemination of these works. The directors’ motivations for organizing popular performances were different. They had less to do with the artistic mission of the theater than with its finances. First, the directors of the Odéon and Opéra-Comique received financial compensation for the potential loss of revenue involved in giving popular performances. It was never explicitly stated in parliamentary debates, but the coincidence between the raise in the subsidy and the beginning of reduced-price performances is striking. Whereas the subsidy of the Opéra and Comédie-

Française remained stable, the funds allocated to the Opéra-Comique and Odéon

increased significantly between 1880 and 1881.

In 1880, with the emphyteutic lease of the Opéra-Comique expiring and the

building returning to state control, Carvalho no longer had to pay rent. Once the new

expenses were deducted (taxes, insurance, etc. , all of which used to be paid by the

emphyteutic company), this modification in the status of the building saved the director

about 75,000 francs per year. Subsequently, the deputies lowered the subsidy but not in

the same proportion. The amount allocated to the Opéra-Comique dropped by 60,000

francs from 360,000 to 300,000 francs. Thus, the net gain for the director was 15,000

francs. The difference was not dramatic, but considering that the Opéra-Comique was a profitable enterprise, it was significant. Senator Varroy argued that the raise supported

17 December 1884, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2828; and the note by the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts on free and reduced-price performances, 1889, AN F 21 3984. 251

the recovery of a quintessentially French genre, opéra comique, and paid for the higher maintenance costs of the renovated building.451 Nonetheless, it happened at an

appropriate time to help launch low-cost performances at the Opéra-Comique. At the

Odéon, where the director had financial troubles, the increase in the subsidy was even more welcome. In 1880, the theater received a 60,000-franc subsidy. The next year, public funding jumped to 100,000 francs. The raise, which represented two thirds of the initial subsidy, was substantial.452

These financial incentives certainly contributed to the enthusiasm of the Odéon’s

and Opéra-Comique’s directors in organizing popular performances. However, the

expected effects of these performances on the composition of the public were also

important to understand their position. At the Odéon and Opéra-Comique, the directors

had reasons to be more optimistic than at the Comédie-Française and Opéra. In effect,

they expected that the cheap performances would attract people who were not part of the

regular public, creating an input of new customers. By contrast, the directors of the Opéra

and Comédie-Française feared that the less wealthy spectators of regular performances

would defect to the popular performances. In their mind, the popular performances

seemed only good at depleting the performances given at full rate. By and large, the

acceptance of popular performances depended on the kind of obstacles that barred the

entry to the state-sponsored theaters. If the obstacle was above all financial, a diminution

in the price of the tickets would bring spectators from the outside. If the entry into the

451 “Mais cet avantage se justifie par la nécessité de faire des sacrifices pour le relèvement du genre propre à ce théâtre. La salle nouvellement restaurée exigera d’ailleurs des frais supplémentaires de chauffage et d’éclairage.” See Varroy’s report on the 1880 fine arts budget at the Senate, 9 December 1879, Journal officiel de la République française. 452 See the discussion of the public instruction and fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, 4 July 1880, Journal officiel de la République française, 7553-7554. 252

institution entailed complying with a constraining dress code or dealing with an

impractical time and location, the popular performances would most likely reshuffle an

existing public but not attract any new public. While the directors of the Opéra-Comique

and Odéon felt they were in the first situation, the directors of the Opéra and Comédie-

Française identified with the second. The fact that cheap seats were often empty at the

Opéra during regular performances confirmed that (relatively) modest spectators

hesitated to go to prestigious theaters even when they had enough to pay for the ticket.453

The prospect of losses resulting from the organization of popular performances was

therefore credible and explained why directors reacted so differently to the proposition.

Once de Lagrené resigned from the direction of the Opéra populaire and the

project of municipal popular Opera was definitely put aside, the members of Parliament

went back to the administration to request popular performances at the Opéra. In August

1884, after a few years of silence on the subject, Proust pleaded again for the

organization of “these reduced-price performances, which have helped the fortunes of the

other subsidized theaters and which make auditions accessible to a greater number of

people, auditions for which the state makes a considerable sacrifice.”454 The request was

heard and, in November of that year, Armand Fallières, the public instruction and fine

arts minister, signed a charter with the new director, Eugène Ritt, which stipulated the

organization of twelve reduced-price performances each year at the Opéra.455

453 See Antonin Proust’s report on the fine arts budget, submitted to the House of Deputies on 14 August 1884, January 1885, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1589. 454 “ces représentations à prix réduits qui ont aidé à la fortune des autres théâtres subventionnés et qui rendent accessibles à un plus grand nombre de personnes des auditions pour lesquelles l’Etat fait un sacrifice considérable.” Ibid. 455 The directors agreed to cut the ticket prices by half. The copy of the 27 November 1884 charter in the F 21 4655 carton at the AN does not mention the obligation of giving popular performances. Therefore, it must be an early draft of the charter. 253

The clause was not accompanied by an increase in the state subsidy. However,

Ritt immediately contacted the Paris Municipal Council to seek its financial support. He

asked that the subsidy that had been given to the Opéra populaire and was currently

unused, a sum of 300,000 francs, be paid to the Opéra to fund thirty-six annual popular

performances. To him, the demand was not extravagant. The municipal council would

obtain “a magnificent and authentic Opéra populaire, with all the splendor and great

means of artistic execution that no other theater than the Opéra can have.”456 Together,

the Opéra and the municipal council would “make masterworks—that are the sole

privilege of wealthy classes today—accessible to everyone,” (“mettre à la portée de tous

les chefs-d’œuvre musicaux qui aujourd’hui sont le privilège des seules classes riches”).

They would “democratize great art” (“démocratiser le grand art”) and ultimately distract

the population from “the insanities of operettas and the depravation of cafés-concerts”

(“arracher la population aux insanités de l’opérette et à la dépravation des cafés-

concerts”).457 In a second letter, dated 3 December 1884, Ritt added that he wanted to

“introduce the population to the taste of beautiful things” (“introduire le goût du beau dans la population”).458

Ritt did not realize that his discourse was not in tune with the analyses of

councilmen, who generally trusted the aesthetic capacities of the Parisian population. He

also underestimated their reluctance to fund popular Opera projects after the failure of de

Lagrené’s enterprise. Had he been aware of this discrepancy, the director of the Opéra

456 “un magnifique et véritable Opéra populaire avec toutes les splendeurs et les grands moyens d’exécution artistique qu’aucun autre théâtre quel qu’il soit ne pourrait réaliser” Letter from Eugène Ritt to the members of the Municipal Council of the City of Paris, n.d. [December 1884], Archives de Paris, VR 290. 457 Ibid. 458 Letter from Eugène Ritt to the members of the Municipal Council of the City of Paris, 3 December 1884, Archives de Paris, VR 290. 254

might have made more effort to adjust his requests to the wishes of the city government.

But, as it was, he was confident in his success and did not think of lowering his

expectations. During the meeting of 6 December 1884, the Opéra populaire Committee noted for instance that Ritt had already committed to give twelve popular performances before approaching the municipal council. Therefore, the city felt that it would subsidize

only twenty-four of the thirty-six annual popular performances. Assuming a deficit of

10,000 francs per performance, the total deficit would amount to 240,000 francs.459

Asked about the difference between the requested subsidy and the expected deficit, Ritt

protested that popular performances were detrimental to regular performances and the

actual loss exceeded the cost of the performance. A few days later, Levraud came back to

the topic. He considered that the figure of 16,756 francs given by Ritt as representing the

average cost of performances at the Opéra was inflated.460 He pointed out that the sum

corresponded to the average cost of performances under the management of Vaucorbeil,

who was notorious for having mounted lavish productions. The new director, on the other

hand, had been exempted from mounting new pieces for one year. As a general rule, the

members of the Opéra populaire Committee judged that the amount of the subsidy

requested by Ritt was too high. Thus, they rejected Ritt’s demand for a 300,000-franc

subsidy. Instead, they proposed to divide the amount reserved for the Opéra populaire

between the Opéra and the Théâtre-Italien, which left each theater with a 150,000-franc

subsidy.

459 Commission de l’Opéra populaire, minutes of the 6 December 1884 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 291. 460 Commission de l’Opéra populaire, minutes of the 9 December 1884 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 291. 255

Faced with this rebuttal, Ritt reformulated his proposal. In de Bouteiller’s report

to the municipal council, submitted on 27 December 1884, one can read that he limited

his ambition to a 200,000-franc subsidy and free lighting. He added that, for each

performance, he would place one hundred seats at one franc at the disposal of Parisian

municipal schools. De Bouteiller supported the project. Foreseeing that the council

members would oppose granting a subsidy to a fledging business, he dropped the subsidy

to the Théâtre-Italien and suggested accepting Ritt’s request.461 De Bouteiller was well

aware that the municipal subsidy might help the director of the Opéra to turn his business

around, but he also realized that, without the municipal subsidy, Ritt would never

organize popular performances. And, since he most wanted to fight the inequality of

access to the Opéra, he was willing to pay this price. “The main goal of your committee,”

he declared, “has been to open the Opéra to the people; but it does not deny that it has

added to this concern the desire to help our Academy of music to go through a period of

crisis.”462 Finally, de Bouteiller reminded the Parisian council members that the Opéra

offered more guaranties of continuity than a private business.

De Bouteiller’s arguments however did not convince council members, who

rejected the subsidy in March 1885. Whereas de Bouteiller contended that to restore the

financial health of the institution was a necessary step towards organizing popular

performances, many city officials believed that the directors would pocket the subsidy

and stop short of organizing popular performances. They did not even trust that Ritt and

461 Report presented by de Bouteiller to the municipal council on the organization of reduced-priced popular performances (meeting of 27 December 1884), Rapports et documents: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Conseil municipal, 1885). 462 “Votre commission a eu pour premier but d’ouvrir l’Opéra au peuple; mais elle ne se défend pas d’avoir associé à cette préoccupation, le désir d’aider notre Académie de musique à traverser une période de crise.” Ibid. 256

Pedro Gailhard, his partner, had artistic intentions.463 Omer Despatys, for instance,

suspected that the money would be used to cover general operating expenses rather than

to finance low-cost performances. As the conservative councilman remarked, “it is

natural to think that the new direction, succeeding to a direction that was very bad, if not

disastrous, from a financial point of view, considers that the state subsidy is insufficient

and tries to increase it by approaching the city at the beginning of its term.”464 A member

of the Opéra populaire Committee and Paris municipal councilor, Joncières doubted that

the new managers of the Opéra would do better than their predecessor, Vaucorbeil, to

help French artists. He remarked, indignantly: “The clause that allows the Opéra not to present a new piece for one year is disastrous for composers, who have yet consented to reduce the rate of their royalties significantly.”465 In practice, it is true that Ritt and

Gailhard gave more masked balls or performances of Italian operas (under the management of a foreign company) than popular performances.466 But they argued that these remunerative events supported more ambitious productions. Ultimately, they were working in the interest of art.

The negotiations between the state, the city, and the managers of the Opéra bring to light the intricacy of their motivations. The managers promoted artistic projects insofar as these projects did not compromise their finances. Also, they were willing to organize

463 Although he was only the artistic director officially, Pedro Gailhard presented himself as a co-director. 464 “Il est, du reste, assez naturel de penser que la nouvelle direction, succédant à une direction qui a été très mauvaise au point de vue pécuniaire, sinon désastreuse, considère la subvention de l’Etat comme insuffisante et cherche à l’augmenter en s’adressant à la Ville au commencement de son exploitation.” “Rejet d’un projet d’organisation de représentations populaires au Grand Opéra, séance du 2 mars 1885” in Procès-verbaux: Conseil municipal de Paris (Paris: Impr. municipale, 1886), 202. 465 “la clause qui pendant une année exonère l’Opéra d’une pièce nouvelle est désastreuse pour les compositeurs qui ont cependant consenti à réduire considérablement le taux de leurs droits” Commission de l’Opéra populaire, minutes of the 9 December 1884 meeting, Archives de Paris, VR 291. 466 According to the Annales du théâtre et de la musique, four masked balls were given in 1885. For the performance of Italian operas, see the discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies on 4 July 1885, 5 July 1885, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1307. 257

popular performances provided the city or the state duly defrayed them, that is to say, if

the city or the state paid for the direct and indirect losses caused by the popular

performances. Clearly, they gave priority to a balanced budget. The administration’s

perspective was different. The amount of the subsidy given to the Opéra was stable.

Thus, there was little at stake financially speaking. At the same time, the members of the

administration realized that the sumptuousness of performances depended on the funds

available. As a result, they judged the various kinds of performances according to the

support they could potentially bring to great art. Commercial performances in this regard

were more attractive than popular performances. Finally, the municipal council gave

precedence to the democratic goal. Council members were willing to grant a subsidy to

the Opéra only if it would promote the dissemination of art. They were not interested in

paying for the production of new, esoteric, works. Rather, they wanted to make

masterworks accessible to the Parisian population. After the first round of negotiations

with the government failed (1880) and de Lagrené resigned (1884), council members

became even more cautious. They were afraid of serving other interests and uncertain

about the benefits of theatrical democratization. Thus, the funding of popular

performances, albeit still a desirable objective, receded into the background.

A count of the popular performances actually given at the Opéra over the years

reflects these different priorities. During the first year of his tenure, Ritt organized only

one of the twelve popular performances scheduled in the theater’s charter.467 The director

cited the bad financial situation bequeathed to Gailhard and to himself by Vaucorbeil as grounds for skipping the costly performances. Sympathetic to his plea, Fallières granted him permission. Thereafter, although the reasons put forward by the director changed, the

467 Ibid. 258

fine arts administration considered them with the same indulgence. If the director could

prove that their interests had been hurt, the absence of popular performances could

always be excused. As a result, between 1 December 1884 and 31 December 1889, Ritt

only gave twenty-seven of the sixty reduced-price performances provided for by the charter.468

To explain this low figure, Gailhard claimed that Ritt had signed the charter in

1884 with the certitude that the municipal council would vote the subsidy. At the time of the signature, he asserted, the negotiations with the City of Paris had already started and were progressing. Seine Prefect Poubelle had been contacted and had approved the

project. “In return for a 200,000-franc subsidy, we committed to give thirty-six popular

reduced-price performances, it being understood with the minister that the twelve

reduced-price performances imposed by the charter would be comprised in the thirty-six

performances subsidized by the city.”469 Soon, the municipal fine arts committee

convened and Frédéric Hattat, the president of the committee and future vice-president of

the Alliance républicaine démocratique, was sent to the minister of fine arts to discuss the

specifics of the performances. As de Bouteiller’s report of 27 December 1884 proved,

city officials had adopted the amount proposed by the Opéra managers. Thus, Gailhard

observed, “things were looking very good” (“l’affaire allait donc très bien”).470

Was Gailhard forgetful or did he make up a narrative that was more favorable to

his interests? In any case, the Opéra populaire Committee received Ritt’s proposal only

468 Letter from Gustave Larroumet, fine arts director at the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts, cited in Pedro Gailhard’s observations to the High Committee on Theaters, n.d. [1890], AN AJ 13 1194. 469 “Moyennant une subvention de 200,000 francs nous nous engagions à donner 36 représentations populaires à prix réduits, étant entendu, d’ailleurs avec le Ministre que les 12 représentations à prix réduits imposées par le cahier des charges, se confondraient avec les 36 représentations subventionnées par la Ville.” Observations by Pedro Gailhard to the High Committee on Theaters, n.d. [1890], AN AJ 13 1194. 470 Ibid. 259

after he had been appointed. While Ritt signed the charter on 27 November, the first

discussion of his proposal took place on 3 December. And at this point, there was nothing

that could let the Opéra director think that the municipal council would accept his

proposal. Moreover, the amount that Ritt initially requested from the city was 300,000 francs, not 200,000. It was only after the first proposal was rejected that the director revised his demand. To the High Committee on Theaters, for which he intended his observations, Gailhard did not admit that he and Ritt had been overconfident. He tried to

diminish the managers’ responsibility.

In his observations, Gailhard also tended to overstate the indifference of the

administration vis-à-vis popular performances. He denied that the minister may have

wanted to impose “onerous performances” (“représentations onéreuses”) on the new

managers. Firstly, Vaucorbeil had never given any popular performance although he had

promised to give twelve of them every year. Secondly, Fallières had asked Ritt and

Gailhard to take responsibility for the November losses, even though, after Vaucorbeil’s

death, the theater was under the control of the state. In Gailhard’s mind, the twelve

performances stipulated in the charter could not be dissociated from the thirty-six that the city was supposed to fund. Therefore, if the city refused to vote the subsidy, the director of the Opéra should not be held accountable for any popular performances.

When the municipal council finally rejected the subsidy, Gailhard did not see any sign of distrust in the decision. He explained that the councilors had dismissed his request because they favored more mundane endeavors. “One of the council members stressed that the city had better help the malnourished” (“un des membres souligna qu’il vaudrait mieux aider les mal-nourris”), was his comment. After this setback, however, the

260

managers of the Opéra turned to the fine arts minister and asked him how they should

interpret the clause of their charter that regulated popular performances. According to

Gailhard, Fallières answered as follows: “Since the municipal council does not want to give you a subsidy and I would like to respect the wish expressed by the Budget

Committee, I invite you to give as many reduced-price performances as you can.

However, the minister added, it is understood that you may request an indemnity equal to the cost of a regular performance for the free performance of 14 July [1885]. . . .”471

Unfortunately for Ritt and Gailhard, Paris city officials refused to pay the

indemnity too. They did not understand that the Opéra was the only state-subsidized

theater that requested it.472 Did not the other official theaters take the performance of 14

July at their charge? It is exact that the Théâtre-Français and Opéra-Comique gave the 14

July performance for free, but they had obtained various advantages in exchange for this

service. For instance, the Théâtre-Français did not have to organize reduced-price

performances because it gave four free performances, including the free performance on

14 July. The Opéra-Comique was allowed to close for two months during the summer as

a result of giving one free and ten reduced-price performances over the course of the

year.

Thus, what seemed to be an undue privilege with the Opéra was not, especially

since the indemnity for the 14 July performance had come to be conceived as a

compensation for not receiving the 200,000-franc subsidy. In subsequent years, the

National Festival Committee at the municipal council accepted to pay part of the

471 “Puisque le Conseil municipal ne veut pas vous subventionner, et que, d’autre part, je désire tenir compte du vœu exprimé par la commission du budget, je vous prie de donner de ces représentations à prix réduits ce que vous pourrez. Mais, ajouta le Ministre, il est entendu que pour la représentation gratuite du 14 juillet [1885], vous pourrez demander une indemnité égale aux frais d’une représentation. . . .” Ibid. 472 See the note of the fine arts administration on reduced-price performances, 9 May 1890, AN F 21 3984. 261

indemnity, but it never reached the level at which the director of the Opéra would have

been fully reimbursed of his expenses. Thanks to the intercession of the fine arts

administration, Ritt received 8,000 francs in 1886, 11,000 francs in 1887, 8,000 francs

again in 1888, and, finally, 9,500 francs in 1889.473 Although there remained some

misgivings on each side, the relationship between the director of the Opéra and the

council members improved significantly.

In July 1885, René Goblet, the new public instruction and fine arts minister,

authorized Ritt to drop the organization of reduced-price performances provided he

would give the 14 July performance at their charge.474 This was the arrangement that

Vaucorbeil had negotiated a few years beforehand. In the following years, as the municipal council softened and paid a portion of the indemnity, the managers of the

Opéra gave reduced-price performances on an irregular basis. Gailhard asserted that, because of the incomplete compensation, he never felt obligated to give the number of popular performances that was stipulated in the charter.

In his observations to the High Committee on Theaters, written in 1890 to justify

the infrequency of the popular performances given at the Opéra, Gailhard portrayed an

administration that had little desire to democratize the public of the prestigious

institution.475 Gailhard contended that Fallières had first imposed and then maintained

popular performances only to please the House of Deputies’ Budget Committee. “M.

473 Ibid. 474 See Gailhard’s observations to the High Committee on Theaters. 475 The High Committee on Theaters was a consultative committee within the Public Instruction and Fine Arts Ministry. It gave legal advice on the drafting and application of decrees, charters and administrative acts relative to theaters. The members of the committee were appointed by the minister, who chose them among the members of Parliament, the Conseil d’État and the Institut, the staff of the fine arts administration, and the members of theatrical associations. See the decree of 23 August 1888 on the reconstitution of the Consultative Committee on Theaters, signed by Sadi Carnot and Édouard Lockroy, AN F 21 3984. 262

Fallières inserted in the charter the obligation for the direction of the Opéra to give

twelve reduced-price performances each year so as to satisfy the desire of the Budget

Committee.”476 Also, upon deciding the future of popular performances at the Opéra after

the withdrawal of the city, Fallières declared that he wanted to take into account “the wish expressed by the Budget Committee” (“le vœu exprimé par la commission du budget”).

In addition, Gailhard claimed that the fine arts administration did not want to participate in the funding of popular performances. According to him, Fallières expected that the twelve reduced-price performances stipulated in the charter would be paid for by

the municipal subsidy. When the city failed to pay the subsidy, the government did not

offer to step in. Fallières simply advised Ritt and Gailhard to give as many reduced-price

performances as they could. Further, when the city failed to pay the indemnity for the

free performance of 14 July 1885, Fallières used the exemption from giving popular

performances as a form of compensation. Thus, popular performances were not just

cancelled when they did not receive dedicated funding (from external sponsors) but also

when funding was lacking for other kinds of performances. Free performances, in

particular the performances of 14 July, carried more symbolic weight than popular

performances and were judged less detrimental to the interests of the Opéra. Indeed, as

theater professionals assumed that the public of regular performances differed from the public of free performances, free performances did not seem as likely to lower the takings of their more established counterpart. As for artistic performances, i.e. the regular evening performances, they were an absolute priority and directors could easily convince

476 “M. Fallières, en vue de satisfaire au désir de la Commission du budget, insérait dans le cahier des charges l’obligation pour la direction de l’Opéra de donner chaque année 12 représentations à prix réduits” Observations by Gailhard, AN AJ 13 1194. 263

the administration that the organization of popular performances distracted essential

means from them. As long as the artistic quality of productions was appreciated in terms

of their luxury, the democratization project was seen as hampering the mission of the

Opéra.

Like the Opéra, the Comédie-Française was a mole of resistance to popular performances. More independent however, it usually dismissed parliamentary requests without further negotiations. For instance, when Émile Perrin, the general manager, instituted Sunday matinees in 1880, he did not make them any cheaper than regular performances, contrary to the deputies’ wishes.477 In 1884, Proust related that the Budget

Committee in Parliament had been asking the government to facilitate the access of state-

sponsored theaters to the general audience for the last six years.478 In particular, Proust

said that the committee had repeatedly requested the organization of reduced-price

performances at the Comédie-Française. But the price of matinee tickets had nonetheless remained the same. Eventually, as Proust deemed that the government had enough influence to impose democratic measures on the Comédie-Française, he proposed linking

the vote of the subsidy to the organization of popular performances. Thus, the members

of Parliament made the administration directly responsible for the lack of democratic

initiatives.

Rather than disputing the claim, the administration contacted the Comédie-

Française’s manager and asked him to give a series of four free performances. In the

meeting of 5 March 1885, Perrin informed the administrative committee that the public

477 The institution of Sunday matinees is mentioned by Jules Claretie in his end-of-the-year report of 27 December 1888, which can be found in the register of the administrative committee meetings (1883-1888) held at the Bibliothèque-Musée de la Comédie-Française. 478 Discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies on 17 December 1884, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2828. 264

instruction and fine arts minister, Fallières, “in front of the insistence of the Budget

Committee in the House of Deputies, had asked that the date of four free performances be set as soon as possible, it being understood that the performances would be given in addition to the 14 July one, at the beginning and at the end of the season.”479 After a short

deliberation, the committee, which was composed of artists, announced that it accepted

Fallières’ request. By all appearances, it had not required much convincing. Thus there

were reasons to believe that the administration did not do its best to impose democratic

measures on the Comédie-Française. In addition, Perrin’s communication portrayed the

minister as having no personal wish to organize free performances. Fallières had only

acted upon the insistence of the deputies. Finally, the administration had once more

transformed the obligation of giving reduced-price performances into an obligation to

give free performances. It is difficult to know whether the administration modified its

request in anticipation of the theater’s opposition or whether it rejected reduced-price

performances out of principle. In any case, it never showed enthusiasm about popular

performances and did not try to impose them on the Comédie-Française. Instead, it

proposed a familiar tradeoff that kept the ruinous events at bay.

As the matinees were profitable, Jules Claretie increased their number in 1888. To

the Sunday matinees, he added Thursday matinees devoted to the performance of the

classical repertoire. The price of tickets for these new matinees was no different from that

of the regular performances. However, Claretie distributed on average eighty free tickets

479 “M. l’Administrateur Général informe ensuite le Comité que le Ministre de l’Instruction publique et des Beaux-Arts, devant l’insistance des commissions du Budget à la Chambre des députés demande que l’on fixe au plus tôt la date de quatre matinées gratuites qui devront être données en dehors de celle du 14 juillet, au commencement et à la fin de la saison.” Minutes of the 5 March 1885 meeting, register of the administrative committee meetings (1883-1888), Bibliothèque-Musée de la Comédie-Française. 265

per performance to the most deserving middle and high school students.480 By doing so,

he continued to fuel the deputies’ wrath but he won the favors of education officials.

“The most flattering letters from the deputy superintendent of the Paris Academy and

high school principals” (“les lettres les plus flatteuses du vice-recteur de l’Académie et

des proviseurs de lycées”) poured to Claretie’s office. By contrast, Maret criticized the

Comédie-Française for not making the matinees more accessible to “the youth and the

literate public” (“la jeunesse et le public lettré”). As it was, the Comédie-Française did

not fulfill its role as a national institution within a democracy.481 Following in Édouard

Thierry’s steps, Claretie preferred to invite a certain category of public, gifted students, rather than opening the theater to people of modest means.

In 1888-1889, Claretie gave seven tragedies by Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire,

Sophocles’ Oedipus the King, twelve comedies by Molière, Regnard, Marivaux, and

Beaumarchais, as well as two dramas by Victor Hugo.482 Seventeenth and eighteenth- century playwrights formed the core of the classical repertoire. The program was very successful. The total takings for the first series of performances amounted to 54,271 francs, corresponding to an average of 4,522 francs per performance.483 The program was

in fact so successful that Claretie decided to increase the number of matinees again in

1891. From forty-four, they climbed to sixty-one. Claretie reported that, in 1891,

matinees cost 70,000 francs and brought the theater in 290,000 francs.484 Matinees were

480 At the end of the nineteenth century, Thursday was the students’ day off. 481 See Maret’s report on the fine arts budget submitted to the House of Deputies on 15 October 1888, 7 February 1889, Journal officiel de la République française. Documents parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 178. 482 See the minutes of the 9 May 1889 meeting, register of the administrative committee meetings (1889- 1900), Bibliothèque-Musée de la Comédie-Française. 483 Ibid. 484 See the minutes of the 28 December 1891 meeting, register of the administrative committee meetings (1889-1900), Bibliothèque-Musée de la Comédie-Française. 266

thus an important source of income for the theater. But their advantages extended beyond

the financial return. As Claretie put it, classical matinees gave the Comédie-Française

both “profit and honor” (“du profit et de l’honneur”).485 Indeed, they silenced critics who

said that the Comédie-Française neglected to perform the classical repertoire. They also

allowed the manager to decide more freely on the repertoire of the evening performances

and, as a result, to offer plays that were more suitable to their audience. Ultimately, the

system of matinees led to a greater specialization of performances and publics. While the

matinees proposed classical plays to students and learned people, the evening

performances presented the modern repertoire to an elite curious of the latest works.

The fine arts administration seemed satisfied with this state of affairs. Asked to

give an account of the free and reduced-price performances given in the state-subsidized

theaters, one member of the staff wrote that “the access of national theaters is made

largely possible to the public of limited budget by the low prices of many seats on the

days of full-price performances, by the institution of reduced-price performances at the

Opéra, Opéra-Comique and Odéon, and by the free performances given by the Comédie-

Française.”486 Between September 1888 and July 1889, the Opéra had given five

reduced-price performances and two free performances (on 5 May and 14 July, both in

exchange for a compensation). During the same period, the Comédie-Française gave six

free performances (four in exchange for not giving reduced-price performances, one on 5

485 Ibid. 486 “En résumé, l’accès des théâtres nationaux est largement assuré au public à petites bourses par la modicité du prix de nombreuses places les jours de représentations à tarif plein, par l’institution des représentations à prix réduits organisées à l’Opéra, l’Opéra-Comique et l’Odéon, et les représentations gratuites données par la Comédie-Française.” Note by the staff of the Public Instruction and Fine Arts Ministry, n.d. [1889], AN F 21 3984. 267

May and one on 14 July) and invited some students to its classical matinees.487 The

Opéra-Comique and Odéon were as usual the most cooperative. In 1888-1889, the Opéra-

Comique gave ten reduced-price performances (once every month during the season) and

a free performance on 14 July, while the Odéon offered two reduced-price classical

performances and one classical matinee each week. According to Proust, a regular

reporter of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, popular performances were

profitable at the Odéon and Opéra-Comique.488 It is likely that they would have been so

at the Opéra and Comédie-Française too.489 Therefore, there was less a financial obstacle

than a cultural obstacle to their organization. The Comédie-Française and the Opéra were

the last strongholds of the elite and the government conspired to maintain them as such.

The behavior of the administration changed radically after Fallières left the

Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts in March 1890. The traditional complaisance

gave way to a strong discontent with the practices of the Opéra’s director, Ritt. The new

administration, under the supervision of Léon Bourgeois, complained that Ritt did not

respect the clauses of the charter. He did not produce enough new works, failed to

organize the required number of popular performances, and did not attend properly to the

upkeep of stage sets. Bourgeois first commissioned a study of Ritt’s management.490 Its

conclusions were critical. Although the charter gave Ritt the right to demote some works

487 The free performances given on 5 May 1889 celebrated the hundredth anniversary of the opening of the Estates General. 488 “C’est ainsi que nous avons obtenu que l’on donnât des représentations populaires à l’Opéra-Comique et à l’Odéon, et, je le dis en passant, ces représentations populaires ont grandement aidé à la fortune de ces deux théâtres en même temps qu’elles ont été d’un réel secours pour l’éducation d’un public nombreux.” Proust’s speech at the House of Deputies, 17 December 1884, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2828. 489 Official studies on the feasibility of popular performances do not give estimates of the takings. 490 The note is not dated, but it is likely to be from March or April 1890. It would be illogical if the note had been written after Ritt had officially received the list of questions challenging his management. 268

and use the discarded stage sets as he wished, the author of study condemned Ritt for

having gotten rid of seven works that belonged to the Opéra repertoire: Polyeucte, Le

tribut de Zamora, and Sapho, three operas by Charles Gounod; La source, a ballet by Léo

Delibes; Namouna, a ballet by Édouard Lalo; Yedda, a ballet by Olivier Métra; and La dame de Monsoreau, an opera by Gaston Salvayre.491 As the member of the fine arts

administration put it, although Ritt had only exercised his rights as literally interpreted,

from a moral point of view, he had not respected the intentions of the charter. Indeed, the

Opéra had to be both the Louvre and the Luxembourg of music:

Just as one could not approve of a museum director who would alienate paintings from the Louvre to increase the collections of the Luxembourg, it is difficult to admit that the director of the Opéra judiciously discharges his obligations when he removes from the repertoire a work that honored it and replaces it by another, mounted with the scraps of what has just been destroyed. It is possible that one ends up with the same result, the same count of objects, but, undoubtedly, there is no enrichment and, since the progressive enlargement of riches is the first law of progress to which artistic institutions must obey, one needs to conclude that the Opéra declines as soon as it stops increasing its resources.492

The administration reproached Ritt for acting like a speculator, instead of protecting

France’s artistic patrimony. Yet, it was well aware that the director of the Opéra was in a

delicate situation. On the one hand, Ritt was the head of a business and people expected

that he would seek to make profit. On the other hand, he was the head of an official

institution and people asked him to subordinate his personal interests to those of the

country. The director’s decisions were therefore necessarily conflicted. Subsequently, the

491 See the note on Ritt’s management by a member of the fine arts administration, n.d. [1890], AN F 21 4655. 492 “Or de même que l’on n’approuverait pas le directeur des musées d’aliéner des tableaux du Louvre pour en appliquer le produit à l’accroissement des collections du Luxembourg, de même il est difficile d’admettre que le directeur de l’Opéra s’acquitte judicieusement de ses obligations quand il supprime du répertoire un ouvrage qui y faisait bonne figure pour le remplacer par un autre, monté avec les débris de celui qui vient d’être détruit. Il se peut, en somme, qu’il y ait équivalence dans le bilan, dans le récolement des objets, mais il n’y a pas, à coup sûr, enrichissement et l’augmentation progressive de leurs richesses étant la première loi de progrès à laquelle doivent obéir les institutions artistiques, on est amené à conclure que l’Opéra décline, dès qu’il cesse d’accroître ses ressources.” Ibid. 269

Bourgeois administration launched a debate on the possibility of revoking the concession

system and placing the state at the helm of national theaters.493

The director of fine arts, Gustave Larroumet, also sent a letter to Ritt, dated 22

April 1890, urging him to organize the number of popular performances stipulated in his

charter. Ritt was required to give twelve reduced-price performances each year and had

given only twenty-seven over the course of five years.494 We know how Ritt answered on

28 April. First, the subsidy he expected from the City of Paris never came. The minister of public instruction and fine arts, Fallières, consequently allowed him to give as many popular performances as “he could.” Second, Ritt did not receive the indemnity that should have compensated him for organizing a free performance on 14 July and Fallières agreed that he could pass on popular performances provided he would take the 14 July performance at his charge.495

Then the chronology of events becomes blurry. On 9 May 1890, we know that a

member of the fine arts administration wrote a note on the reduced-price performances

given in the state-sponsored theaters. In this note, the civil servant recorded the free

performances that the various directors were supposed to give, specified whether they

were at their charge or not, and explained how they influenced the organization of

reduced-price performances. He remarked that the Opéra was the only theater that did not

have the free performance of 14 July at its charge and therefore was the only one that

begged an indemnity from the City of Paris. He noted however that, “thanks to the

intervention of the fine arts direction” (“grâce à l’intervention de la direction des beaux-

493 There is a sample of press articles published on this topic in the AN F 21 4655 carton. The articles all date from April 1890, that is to say, about a month after Bourgeois took up his post. 494 Letter by Gustave Larroumet to the director of the Opéra concerning the insufficient number of reduced- price performances, 22 April 1890, AN AJ 13 1194. 495 Response of the directors to Larroumet’s letter, 28 April 1890, AN AJ 13 1194. 270

arts”), Ritt had received a substantial indemnity from 1886 onwards. The implicit

conclusion was that Ritt had to give the twelve reduced-price performances stipulated in

his charter.496

What is less certain is when Larroumet sent his list of questions regarding Ritt’s

management to the High Committee on Theaters. It is possible that Larroumet read the

Opéra directors’ answer to his 22 April letter and asked one of his underlings to check the

veracity of their assertions. In this case, he would have sent the list of questions to the

committee after 9 May. But it is also possible that Larroumet sent his questions soon after

he received the Opéra directors’ answer and commissioned the 9 May note afterwards.

The formulation of the questions in any event was not very different from the one used in

his 22 April letter.497 Whatever the date of the communication with the High Committee

on Theaters, Larroumet reiterated in it his dissatisfaction with the low number of popular performances organized at the Opéra. He also deplored the insufficient number of new works put to the stage and the little attention paid to the sets’ upkeep.

Gailhard’s answers to Larroumet’s questions, which we have partly analyzed

earlier, were interesting in the sense that he denied that the administration had ever

voiced these criticisms before. He claimed that he had not been notified by the

administration that he had not given enough popular performances until Larroumet’s letter of 22 April. Likewise, he asserted, Larroumet’s letter to the High Committee on

Theaters was the first time that observations had been made to him on the deficient management of stage sets. Gailhard even contended that he had personally alerted the

496 See the note on reduced-price performances, 9 May 1890, AN F 21 3984. 497 I have not found Larroumet’s correspondence with the High Committee on Theaters. However, the summary of Gailhard’s answers, held in the collections of the BN Opéra, contains Larroumet’s questions. See the summary of Gailhard’s observations in response to the four questions submitted by the fine arts director to the High Committee on Theaters, BN Opéra, Archives Opéra 19/322. 271

administration to the appalling condition of seven stage sets handed down by

Vaucorbeil.498 Gailhard’s observations showed that Bourgeois could not expect to obtain

the full application of the charter. The fine arts administration and the director of the

Opéra had previously reached agreements that he was not free to undo. Nonetheless

Bourgeois’ conscientious attitude contrasted markedly with the lenient approaches of his

predecessors.

Did Bourgeois’ plans for the Opéra go beyond the strict application of the

charter? With Ritt’s privilege coming to an end in 1891, Bourgeois had the opportunity to

negotiate a new charter with new clauses. However, the first draft of the new charter was

remarkably similar to the old one. The number of reduced-price performances for instance stayed at twelve per year.499 Bourgeois may have settled on this low figure

pragmatically, knowing that Opéra directors usually resisted giving popular

performances. The following events, in any case, show that he was more than happy to increase their number with the cooperation of the director.

The day before signing the charter, on April 17 1891, Eugène Bertrand, the

incoming director of the Opéra, submitted a new proposal to Bourgeois, in which he

offered to dramatically increase the number of reduced-price performances stipulated in

the charter. Instead of the twelve reduced-price performances imposed by article 20, he

was willing to give one “family performance” on Saturdays, from October through May,

for a total of thirty-two performances per year, as well as one “popular performance” on

498 Ibid. 499 Article 20 of the 1891 Opéra charter, AN F 21 4655. The 1891 Opéra charter contained in AN F 21 4655 is a draft as the number and frequency of performances to which the director is obliged is not specified (article 14). 272

Sundays for forty weeks, totaling a number of forty performances every year.500 The rate

of the “family performance” (“représentation, dite de famille”) was the same as that of

the reduced-price performance, except for the orchestra where all the seats cost 5 francs.

Prices ranged from 1.50 francs to 10 francs.501 As a comparison, prices for regular

performances at the Opéra ranged from 2 to 19 francs.502 For the popular performances,

the orchestra and the pit formed only one seating category with a price of 2.50 francs.

Bertrand promised that “the price of the other seats would be established following

similar principles.”503

According to official rates, the price of the popular performances was roughly

half the price of the family performances, which was itself roughly half the price of the

regular performances at the Opéra. These prices should not be taken at face value,

however, as scalpers operated. As Frédérique Patureau has noted, trafficking affected tickets from the lower seating categories in priority, making them less affordable than they seemed.504 Keeping in mind that comparisons can only be approximate, we can put

family performances on a par with the performances organized in the most expensive

secondary (i.e. entirely private) theaters. Ticket prices at the Variétés for instance

spanned between one and ten francs in 1882.505 As for the prices of the popular

performances, they were closer to the prices charged in cafés-concerts. In 1895, a Cigale

500 Letter from Bertrand to Bourgeois, dated 17 April 1891, cited by Proust in his 1891 report on the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, 11 October 1891, Journal officiel de la République française. Documents parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2063. 501 Article 20 of the 1891 Opéra charter, AN F 21 4655. 502 Patureau, Le Palais Garnier, 298-299. The lower limit corresponds to the price of the seats located on the side of the fourth amphitheater. The upper limit is only an estimate as the most expensive seats were not priced in the 1891 charter. It corresponds to the upper limit imposed on both Ritt in 1884 and Gailhard in 1900. 503 “Le prix de toutes les autres places sera établi dans des conditions analogues.” Quoted in Proust’s report on the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, 11 October 1891, Journal officiel de la République française. Documents parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2063. 504 Patureau, Le Palais Garnier, 299. 505 See the 1876 cadastral survey relative to the Boulevard Montmartre in Archives de Paris, D1P4 753. 273

customer paid 40 centimes for a coffee and 50 centimes for a beer, the purchase of which

gave her the right to attend the show for an hour.506 If one considers that the customer may have stayed in the premises for four hours, which was about the time dramatic performances lasted, the cost of the outing amounts to two francs, a little under the 2.50

francs a banquette cost at the popular performances.507

Finally, Bertrand proposed to organize fourteen matinee concerts (matinées- concerts) during the year. These matinee concerts were modeled on the popular concerts given in Paris by Jules Pasdeloup, Charles Lamoureux, and Édouard Colonne. Bertrand actually hired Colonne to conduct the concerts at the Opéra. “Faithful to my program of popular performances,” he noted, “I will let Mr. Colonne continue his concerts at the

Châtelet; but I will ask him to organize one concert at the Opéra each Thursday from 5 to

7.”508 In the first part of the matinee concerts, Bertrand planned to play works by young

composers. Thus, Bertrand intended to disseminate both instrumental and operatic

masterpieces. His proposal represented a dramatic increase in the number of events

dedicated to the popular public. While the fourteen matinee concerts were a complete

novelty, the combination of family and popular performances added sixty reduced-price

performances to the original twelve.

To explain this atypical proposition, it would be tempting to say that Bertrand obeyed a democratic motivation. The biographical dictionaries do not mention any affinity with a political group, but he himself proclaimed his desire to broaden the

506 See Concetta Condemi, Les cafés-concerts: Histoire d’un divertissement (1849-1914) (Paris: Quai Voltaire, 1992). 507 Bertrand obtained to transform the individual seats of the orchestra and the pit into banquettes for the duration of the popular performances. 508 “Fidèle à mon programme de représentations populaires, je laisse à M. Colonne le droit de continuer des concerts au Châtelet; mais je lui demande d’en organiser un chaque jeudi à l’Opéra, de 5 à 7 heures.” Bertrand’s draft program for the Opéra, AN AB XIX 4129. 274

audience of the Opéra. In his inaugural address to the artists, Bertrand declared: “We will

strive to maintain [the Opéra] on the path of great art and, if possible, to increase its

stature still by popularizing it.”509 Also Bertrand never expressed regret for having

organized popular performances, even after their failure forced him to accept a

collaboration with Gailhard. The diatribes against popular performances that were sent to

the fine arts administration in 1893 and 1894 were all signed by Gailhard. As Louis

Péricaud underlined, Bertrand “was born rich, independent, he could have thought only of himself.” Yet, it is possible that he was not satisfied with being a pleasant person like so many others, “he wanted to be useful.”510 Bertrand wished to democratize the public of the Opéra and found that he had enough money to try the experiment.

Bertrand’s beginnings were placed under the sign of a bourgeois life. Born in

1834 in the plush eighth district of Paris, Bertrand completed his baccalauréat and started a medical degree. After two years of study however, he gave up and decided to pursue a dramatic career. Bertrand entered the Conservatoire in 1854 and, after a few years, became a resident actor at the Odéon. In 1859, he embarked on a trip to the United States, where he joined the troupe of a small theater. It was there that he had his first opportunity to lead a theatrical company. Although the experience was unsuccessful, Bertrand was not discouraged.511 After a short stay at the Théâtre du Parc in Bruxelles (1865), which

also marked his last appearance as an actor, he worked at building a theatrical network in

509 “Nous nous efforcerons de le maintenir dans la voie du grand art et, s’il se peut, de le faire grandir encore en le popularisant.” “Bertrand, Eugène,” in Revue biographique des notabilités françaises contemporaines (Paris, 1896), 2: 219-220. 510 “il était né riche, indépendant, il eût pu ne penser qu’à lui, se contenter d’être l’aimable vivant que sont tant d’autres, il voulait être utile.” Bertrand’s funeral oration delivered by Louis Péricaud at the general assembly of the Société des artistes dramatiques on 9 June 1900, cited in Henry Lyonnet, Dictionnaire des comédiens français: Biographie, bibliographie, iconographie (Paris: E. Jorel, 1904), s.v. “Bertrand, Eugène.” 511 “Eugène Bertrand,” Le Temps, 1 January 1900, 3. 275

Lille. In less than four years, he acquired the Petit and Grand Théâtre Lyrique as well as

the Théâtre des Variétés. By all accounts, Bertrand was an adventurous and enterprising

man.

In 1869, at the age of thirty-five, Bertrand moved to Paris to take the reins of the

Théâtre des Variétés. The Théâtre des Variétés was one of the most important secondary theaters in Paris. Confined to the performance of vaudevilles until 1864, it successfully

adopted the genre of operettas after Napoleon III granted the industrial liberty to theaters.

Bertrand himself was responsible for premiering some of Jacques Offenbach’s major

works: Les brigands (first version, 1869), La vie parisienne (second version, 1873), and

Le docteur Ox (1877). After a few years of learning the ropes, Bertrand resumed his conquering activities. With the help of partners and family (his brother Ernest headed the

Théâtre du Vaudeville for a while, his brother-in-law Delcroix managed the Palais-Royal

and the Renaissance), he was able to spin a new web in Paris. By 1883, this web was

already widely stretched. Albert Carré, for instance, could not imagine taking over the

direction of the Renaissance without benefiting from Bertrand’s support:

I will need your great supervision and advice to cope, whatever the activity and intelligence that you kindly acknowledge in me. I do not entirely share your ideas about the change of genre at the Renaissance but this transformation must be done skillfully, little by little, like you did at the Variétés; I will also need the resources that only my entry into the big Bertrand association (which will turn the Renaissance into a sister of the Variétés, Vaudeville and Palais-Royal) can provide to me in order to play the new genre.512

512 “J’aurai besoin de votre haute direction et de vos conseils pour m’en tirer quelles que soient l’activité et l’intelligence que vous voulez bien me reconnaître. Je partage d’ailleurs entièrement vos idées au sujet du changement de genre de la Renaissance mais il faut que cette transformation se fasse habilement, petit à petit, comme vous avez fait aux Variétés; il me faudra aussi les ressources que peut seule m’offrir mon entrée dans la grande association Bertrand, qui fera de la Renaissance une sœur des Variétés, du Vaudeville et du Palais-Royal, pour pouvoir jouer mon nouveau genre.” Letter by Albert Carré to Eugène Bertrand, 24 January 1883, AN AB XIX 4129. 276

While Bertrand was director of the Variétés, he was also a partner at the Menus-Plaisirs, the Eden, the Palais-Royal, the Renaissance, and the Vaudeville. His interests reached out

so widely that they were sometimes difficult to reconcile. Thus, Carré, who had

eventually opted for the direction of the Vaudeville, once implored Bertrand to modify

his program at the Variétés so that he could carry on the rehearsals at the Vaudeville,

with the desired cast.513 He argued: “you are a shareholder at the Vaudeville and you

have got more stakes there than at the Variétés. Therefore, you will not blame me for

defending your interests.”514 What Carré’s plea reveals is the extent to which Bertrand

had become an indispensable figure of the Parisian theatrical scene. An astute

entrepreneur, he sought further shares in theatrical businesses and progressively built an empire. A skilled director, he matched the changing tastes of the public. Flexible and ambitious, Bertrand had turned a diverse professional experience (abroad, in the provinces, and in Paris) into a continuous streak of successes.

Bertrand was a credible candidate for director of the Opéra in 1891. While his past achievements attested to his competence, his program could only lure someone like

Bourgeois, who deplored the lack of premieres and lamented the insufficient number of low-cost performances. Indeed, Bertrand intended to “rest for as long as possible the repertoire that had been played for the last two years” (“laisser reposer le plus longtemps possible le répertoire joué depuis deux années”).515 In his mind, the previous directors

had overused the existing repertoire and neglected to extend it. He wanted to bring fresh

513 Carré was director of the Vaudeville between 1885 and 1898, either alone or in association. Nicole Wild, “Esquisse de typologie des directeurs du Théâtre de l’Opéra-Comique au XIXe siècle,” in Directeurs de théâtre XIXe-XXe siècles: Histoire d’une profession, eds. Pascale Goetschel and Jean-Claude Yon (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2008), 70. 514 “Vous êtes actionnaire du Vaudeville et vous y avez plus d’intérêts qu’aux Variétés. Vous ne trouverez donc pas mauvais que je défende ses intérêts.” Letter by Albert Carré to Eugène Bertrand, n.d., AN AB XIX 4129. 515 Bertrand’s draft program for the Opéra, AN AB XIX 4129. 277

blood and promised to premiere numerous works. With hindsight, it is possible to say that

it was a vain promise. Bertrand was responsible for staging such varied works as Reyer’s

Salammbô, Saint-Saëns’ Samson et Dalila, Wagner’s Walkyrie and Tannhäuser,

Chabrier’s Gwendoline, and Bruneau’s Messidor.516 He did not commit to giving more

reduced-price performances lightly either. The new charter stipulated that he should give

seventy-two of them.

These two important propositions might have been influenced by the desire to

please Bourgeois’ artistic and democratic convictions in order to get the position. But,

more likely, Bertrand simply transported the methods that he had tested in the secondary

theaters to the first lyrical stage. Bertrand’s great merit as director of the Variétés had

been to adapt the theater to the new regime of competition. First, to attract the wealthier

public, he had mounted more luxurious productions.517 Even though the budget of these

productions was higher, they enjoyed longer runs. The returns were thus favorable.

Second, Bertrand had modified the seating and increased the prices. Between 1852 and

1882, the average ticket price at the Variétés rose by 79.2 percent, from 2.69 to 4.82

francs.518 The rise was substantial and affected some seating categories more than others.

For instance, the value of the seats located in the orchestra (first floor) doubled, whereas

those situated at the second gallery (fourth floor) remained stable. The ticket prices of the

second amphitheater (sixth and highest floor) increased by a third. At the same time that

the price chart was modified, the seats were redesigned. On the first floor, banquettes

516 Michel Prevost and Jean-Charles Roman d’Amat, eds., Dictionnaire de biographie française (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1954), 6: 266-267. 517 Victorien Sardou’s Merveilleuses are a typical example of this new policy. 518 All the data concerning the prices and nature of seats at the Variétés in 1852 and 1882 are drawn from the 1852 and 1876 cadastral surveys, which can be found in Archives de Paris, D1P4 753. There was a general increase in prices in 1882, which is noted in the 1876 survey. 278

gave way to fauteuils. In the amphitheaters, the banquettes remained banquettes but the number of seated people decreased. Finally, at the second gallery, just as the price had remained stable, there was minimal change brought to the organization of seats. This evolution mitigates the idea that Bertrand was guided by democratic principles. Indeed

Bertrand transformed a theater that was relatively popular into a theater that was predominantly visited by the well-to-do. Bertrand invited the rich, evicted the humble, and secured the loyalty of the middling public.

Since the innovations introduced by Bertrand to the Opéra consisted of lowering ticket prices and increasing the number of new productions, it could seem paradoxical to liken his directorial strategy on the private and official stage. I argue however that in both cases Bertrand tried to maximize the returns of the theater by adjusting to the taste and financial capacities of the public. At the Variétés, Bertrand sensed that he could arrive at higher takings by catering to a wealthy public. Thus, he took care over the productions and increased ticket prices. At the Opéra, he observed that the social basis of the public was narrow and judged that he could extend it by lowering prices and revitalizing the repertoire. Bertrand’s contemporaries immediately understood that he wanted to appeal to the public of the secondary theaters, in particular to the public of the “genre theaters”

(“théâtres de genre”).519 The author of Bertrand’s biographical entry in the Dictionnaire

national des contemporains makes a direct reference to it. Speaking of the Saturday

family performances, he remarks that they allowed people to access the Opéra “at a price

equal to that of the genre theaters” (“à un prix égal à celui des théâtres de genre”).520

519 The genre theaters (the Gymnase-Dramatique, the Palais-Royal, the Variétés and the Vaudeville) owed their name to the fact that, before 1864, they shared the same repertoire of vaudevilles. 520 C.-E. Curinier, ed., Dictionnaire national des contemporains (Paris: Office général d’édition, de librairie et d’imprimerie, 1899-1919), 2: 165. 279

Bertrand also actively courted the public of lower classes. Gailhard recounted for

example that Bertrand distributed free tickets for the Opéra’s popular performances to the

workers who toiled in his industrial buildings.521 Although Bertrand might have acted in

his best personal interest, he was not one to think that the Opéra belonged to the elite.

Bertrand’s approach represented a departure from his predecessors’ principles of

action. Whereas Ritt and Gailhard had tried to segregate the public and minimize the

expenses related to the new productions, Bertrand bet on an enlarged audience and a

rejuvenated repertoire. The difference was that Bertrand conceived of the Opéra within a

market economy, while Ritt and Gailhard took for granted that the Opéra had a

monopoly. As a result, Bertrand wanted to adapt the theater to the demands of

competition, an urge which Ritt and Gailhard did not recognize. The associates

envisioned a social hierarchy that justified the rigidity of their directorial practices. This

does not mean that Bertrand did not play a game of concessions with the fine arts

administration. Bertrand was a shrewd manager and knew the importance of negotiating.

So, when he imagined that he could offer seventy-two reduced-price performances

instead of the twelve stipulated in the initial charter, he also imagined a reward for it. His

predecessors had obtained the right to drop reduced-price performances in exchange for

taking the free performance of 14 July at their charge. He would give additional reduced-

price performances in exchange for the liberty to choose the works composing his

repertoire. In his draft program for the Opéra, he noted: “these very carefully staged

performances [the family and popular performances] must guarantee the continuation of

the subsidy and facilitate the performances of the Vaisseau fantôme, Maîtres chanteurs

521 Letter from the director of the Opéra, Gailhard, to the public instruction and fine arts minister, Raymond Poincaré, July 1893, AN AJ 13 1194. 280

and other works by Wagner.”522 Popular performances were the price to pay for showing

the works of a German composer in an institution that embodied French glory.

From the standpoint of Bertrand, the democratization of the Opéra was justified in

many ways. In addition to the personal satisfaction of furthering the “popularization” of

the exclusive institution, Bertrand expected that the larger audience would allow him to

expand the repertoire and improve the profitability of the company. From the standpoint

of the authorities who appointed him, the democratization of the Opéra mainly had a

political appeal. It is important to remember that this appeal was relatively new. The 1879

and 1884 charters had obliged the directors to give twelve reduced-price performances

per year. However, the clause had been fulfilled erratically. As the artistic mission of the

Opéra took precedence over the democratization of the audience and, at the same time,

the artistic value of productions lay in their luxury, the organization of reduced-price

performances had ultimately depended on the financial health of the institution. With the

support of Parliament, Minister of Public Instruction and Fine Arts Bourgeois

transformed the conditional status of popular performances into an imperative.

This major inflection of the government’s policy took place in the most ordinary

circumstances. It was not triggered by a change of majority in Parliament, nor by the

exceptional personality of the new minister. Indeed, the 1889 elections had maintained

the republican coalition (composed of opportunists and radicals) in power and, except in

one essential regard, Bourgeois’ views on theater were remarkably similar to his

predecessors’. As in 1885, opportunists and radicals banded together against those who

522 “Ces représentations très soignées doivent garantir le maintien de la subvention et me faciliter les représentations du Vaisseau fantôme, des Maîtres chanteurs et autres œuvres de Wagner.” Bertrand’s draft program for the Opéra, AN AB XIX 4129. 281

threatened the regime. After defeating the conservatives in 1885, they pushed Boulangists

out in 1889. The result was a lower house dominated by moderate republicans.523

Reelected against a monarchist candidate, Proust continued to be actively

involved in the discussion of artistic matters. Just as he had done in 1878, 1879, and

again from 1883 to 1886, he wrote the report on the fine arts budget in 1890 and 1891.

The annual report was a chance for Proust to voice his opinions. Proust was a liberal in

the sense that he defended individual initiative against the control of the state.524 He supported artistic liberty against censorship. He advocated minimal interference with the concessionary directors’ management (He favored the state management of the Opéra because it gave the most maneuverability to the director, but he also thought that, if the concession had to be maintained, the charter should be repealed.) Finally, he opposed the rigid hierarchy that pitted arts against craft. Proust conceived of the state’s mission as complementing the action of individuals. As he said, “the state has to protect, encourage,

and teach, provided it does not take over” (“l’État a le devoir de conserver, d’encourager,

d’enseigner, à la condition de ne pas absorber”).525 A staunch promoter of popular

performances, Proust was Bourgeois’ ally at the House of Deputies. Yet, because he had

been on the political scene for so long, he cannot be credited with the policy’s shift.

Further, the political orientation of Bourgeois’ colleagues in the government was

not very different from the orientation of the previous cabinets. Bourgeois’ ministry

spanned over two cabinets, both of which were led by opportunists. From March 1890 to

523 Odile Rudelle, La République absolue: Aux origines de l’instabilité constitutionnelle de la France républicaine, 1870-1889 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1986), 257. 524 Proust’s views are expounded in Antonin Proust, L’art sous la République (Paris: Bibliothèque Charpentier, 1892). 525 Proust’s 1890 report on the fine arts budget, 5 July 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Documents parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 1484. 282

February 1892, Charles de Freycinet presided over a cabinet that aimed at representing

“all the fractions of the republican party” (“toutes les fractions du parti républicain”).526

In keeping with the principle that had brought the republicans’ victory in 1889, Freycinet

appointed such different political figures as Fallières (a Ferryist) to the Worship and

Justice Ministry, Rouvier (a Gambettist) to the Finances Ministry, Ribot (a conservative republican) to the Foreign Affairs, and Guyot (a radical) to the Public Works. As Jean-

Marie Mayeur has explained, the longevity of the cabinet was due to the solidarity of its members against the dangers of Boulangism and socialism.527 Guided by the same

principles, Émile Loubet kept most of these ministers in the next cabinet. Ribot, Rouvier,

and Freycinet for instance, remained at the Foreign Affairs, Finances, and War

respectively. The presence of Bourgeois at the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine

Arts and Godefroy Cavaignac at the Ministry of Marine and Colonies pledged for a

political opening towards the more progressive radicals. The Loubet cabinet, however,

collapsed in December 1892, in the midst of the Panama scandal.

Bourgeois’ predecessors at the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts were,

as a general rule, moderate politicians within moderate governments. Fallières had first

been minister during the second Ferry cabinet, between November 1883 and April 1885.

He held his second mandate (February 1889-March 1890) in the cabinet led by Pierre

Tirard, who, like Proust, was affiliated with the Union républicaine. According to the

Dictionnaire des parlementaires français de 1789 à 1889, Fallières had strong ties with

“the most moderate fraction of the opportunist party” (“des attaches étroites avec la

fraction la plus modérée du parti opportuniste”). Succeeding Fallières, René Goblet was

526 Cited in Jean-Marie Mayeur, La vie politique sous la Troisième République, 1870-1940 (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1984), 153. 527 Ibid. 283

in charge of the fine arts administration in the Brisson cabinet between April and

December 1885 and in the Freycinet cabinet for the following year. While Brisson and

Freycinet belonged to Gambetta’s former group, the Union républicaine, Goblet

distanced himself from opportunism and eventually sat with the radicals in Parliament.

Goblet became prime minister in December 1886 and appointed Marcellin Berthelot, an opportunist, to replace him at the Public Instruction and Fine Arts Ministry. Eugène

Spuller, another member of the Gambettist Union républicaine, was called on by Maurice

Rouvier to join a moderate cabinet. An opportunist, Léopold Faye succeeded him in

December 1887 and stayed in his post until April 1888. Finally, Édouard Lockroy served

as minister of public instruction and fine arts from April 1888 through February 1889, in

what was arguably the most radical cabinet of the decade. A faithful supporter of

Gambetta, Lockroy was president of the radical left group at the House of Deputies from

1887 on. As for the prime minister, Charles Floquet, he sat with the Gauche radicale.

Thus, from the point of view of political affiliations, the fine arts ministers of the 1880s

formed a strikingly homogenous body. As Odile Rudelle has pointed out, the

identification of republican legitimacy with the governing parties on the left of the

political spectrum prevented an alliance between moderates and conservatives. Moderates

and radicals were forced to collaborate in the spirit of “republican discipline” (“discipline

républicaine”).

Whether opportunists or radicals, the public instruction and fine arts ministers of

the 1880s showed little enthusiasm for liberalizing and democratizing theater. While

Goblet banned the performance of Émile Zola’s Germinal, Lockroy contended that

censorship gave theaters more liberty than the regime of freedom itself. With one

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exception, that being Proust, the ministers of the 1880s were fearful of the popular public

and above all interested in fostering the artistic mission of the national theaters.528 Yet, it

would be a mistake to believe that their position was determined by their political

affiliation. There was indeed much individual variation within parliamentary groups.529

Two of the most dedicated opponents to censorship, Antonin Proust and Gustave

Isambert, for instance, belonged to the Union républicaine. Their companion in arms

Charles Le Senne, by contrast, was a Boulangist. In Parliament, radicals (Casimir Michou

and Camille Cusset among others) often condemned the excesses of the Opéra directors

and denounced the superfluity of subsidies. But they rarely championed popular

performances, which a moderate republican like Hippolyte Maze did. As a radical, Léon

Bourgeois did not stand out when he defended dramatic censorship. However, defending

dramatic censorship and advocating popular performances at the same time was

uncommon. Usually, politicians who dreaded the reactions of the popular public did not

wish to multiply the occasions of illusion. In sum, Bourgeois’ position did not reflect his

political affiliation with the radicals. His original stance was the product of a new

analysis of society.

In March 1890, Léon Bourgeois was thirty-eight and a relative newcomer in

politics. He had been a civil servant most of his life and it was not until February 1888

that he embarked on a parliamentary career.530 Almost immediately, however, he was

entrusted with ministerial duties. In May 1888, Floquet appointed him under-secretary of

state at the Interior Ministry and in March 1890, a few weeks before being nominated to

528 Proust was “Minister of Arts” in Gambetta’s cabinet of November 1881-January 1882. 529 This analysis echoes Chantal Meyer-Plantureux’s remark that popular theater projects have been supported by individuals of varied political opinions. See Chantal Meyer-Plantureux, ed., Théâtre populaire, enjeux politiques: De Jaurès à Malraux (Bruxelles: Éditions Complexe, 2006), 12. 530 Bourgeois’ last appointment in the civil service was as Paris police prefect in November 1887. 285

the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts, he became minister of interior in

Tirard’s second cabinet. At the same time that Bourgeois entered the world of politics, he

joined the Ligue de l’enseignement, where he also quickly became a respected figure. A

simple member in 1889, he reached the presidency in 1894.

At the Ligue de l’enseignement in the early 1890s, discussions revolved around

the appropriate way of responding to workers’ manifold manifestations of discontent.531

In the space of a few years, the government faced major strikes, a series of anarchist

bombings and the first socialist electoral victories. In a context of (supposedly) rising

criminality, high rates of illiteracy, and rampant alcoholism, these events were

particularly alarming.532 To the members of the Ligue de l’enseignement, they proved the

shortcomings of the Ferry laws, that is, their inability to inculcate strong moral principles

in the population. Moderates and radicals agreed that education should be extended to the

period during which male teenagers were unsupervised, that is to say, between the

moment they left school (at age 12) and the moment they did their military service (at age

18).

Bourgeois endorsed this analysis. He himself underlined the gap between the laws

of the state and the mores of the people, and the necessity to organize the moral education

of citizens. “How far we are still, in this regard, from the mores of a free people, and how

necessary it is to make everyone better understand that it is not enough to have a law on

the freedom of the press, it needs to become a fact, and it will only gradually do so, as

writers—like the public who reads them, supports them or discourages them—will free

531 Martin, La Ligue de l’enseignement, 2: 413. 532 For one example among many, see Bourgeois’ speech of 26 September 1895 at the annual conference of the Ligue de l’enseignement in L’éducation populaire: Documents officiels (Paris: Librairie de la France scolaire, 1895). On the effects of alcoholism and the solutions imagined to thwart them, see the special issue of Recherches on “L’haleine des faubourgs,” no. 29 (1977). 286 themselves from their prejudices and passions!”533 Bourgeois claimed that the social question was a moral and subsequently an intellectual question.534

In Bourgeois’ opinion, the goal of moral education was to teach people to reach moral decisions by themselves. If moral education succeeded, he stated, “at the time of big motions, of decisive struggles, he [would] not need to look for the motive of his decision and the basis of his will outside, in an external prescription.”535 The true citizen would go to war resolutely, without being coerced by the state or distracted by pacifists.

As a rule, individuals made moral decisions when they put the general interest, i.e. the interest of the nation, above their personal interest. As long as general and personal interest coincided, the decision was not hard to make. However, if they diverged, it required people to make a sacrifice. That is why morality was so difficult to ingrain in individuals’ minds.

Since children did not spontaneously make decisions against their personal interest, Bourgeois’ program of moral education also posed the question of the teaching method. Notably, how could teachers educate the will without encroaching on their students’ autonomy? Bourgeois outlined a three-tier solution. Firstly, teachers should define morality, by characterizing good actions. Secondly, they should cultivate moral

533 “Comme nous sommes loin encore, à ce point de vue, des mœurs d’un peuple libre, et comme il nous est nécessaire de faire mieux comprendre à tous qu’il ne suffit pas d’avoir inscrit dans les lois la liberté de la presse, qu’il faut qu’elle passe dans les faits, et qu’elle n’y passera que peu à peu, à mesure que les écrivains—comme le public qui les lit, les soutient ou les décourage—se rendront eux-mêmes de jour en jour plus libres de leurs préjugés et de leurs passions!,” Léon Bourgeois, speech at the fourteenth conference of the Ligue de l’enseignement (2-5 August 1894),” in L’éducation populaire, 21. 534 “La question sociale—on l’a déjà dit et c’est toujours vrai, et c’est vrai chaque jour davantage—est une question morale et, par conséquent, elle est d’abord une question intellectuelle.” In “Vocational training and its social consequences,” speech delivered at the Association philotechnique on 3 December 1893, in Léon Bourgeois, La réforme des méthodes de l'enseignement primaire . . .Discours prononcés par M. Léon Bourgeois, député de la Marne (Chalons-sur-Marne: Imprimerie de l’Union républicaine, 1894), 44. 535 “À l’heure des grands entraînements, des luttes décisives, il n’aura pas besoin de chercher hors de lui, dans une prescription extérieure, le motif de sa décision et le point d’appui de sa volonté.” Léon Bourgeois, speech of 26 September 1895 at the annual conference of the Ligue de l’enseignement, in L’éducation populaire, 200. 287

feelings and emotions in children, by encouraging them to admire good actions. Thirdly,

they should seek to transform the moral sentiment into a moral character, by urging

children to make good actions. Bourgeois insisted on this last point. The moral sentiment

had to become natural “through the frequent repetition, through the proper habit of good

actions” (“par la répétition fréquente, par l’habitude propre des bonnes actions”).536

Children became moral by reproducing the actions that teachers pointed out to them as good. Just as they were not invited to define the good, they were not asked to weigh the motives that justified their actions. Rather than letting children reach their decision freely,

Bourgeois suppressed the alternatives to the moral choice.

In a sense, Bourgeois’ program was nothing new. Ferry also wanted to give children a moral education, to condition the will through the cultivation of emotions. But he did not envision the mechanical apprenticeship of morality. The notion of “habit” was absent from his writings. Also, although Ferry and Buisson promoted the intuitive method, which gave a lot of importance to the education of senses and feelings, they did not believe that theater could improve the morality of the children. Bourgeois, by contrast, was confident that theater could be turned into an educational tool and that is the reason why he could both distrust the moral capacities of the popular public and want to organize dramatic performances for it. In his mind, the state even had the duty to give an aesthetic education to the population:

It is perfectly certain that we have, vis-à-vis the entire population, vis-à-vis the nation, this duty to put beautiful things under its eyes as frequently and completely as possible, and to accomplish its aesthetic education, because this is a very efficient means to elevate its intellectual and moral level, because every time

536 Ibid., 196. 288

we undertake to teach art, not only do we serve the artistic cause, but we also serve a sound and profoundly democratic cause.537

In this passage, Bourgeois did not make any reference to the right of the population to

attend the performances given by the state-subsidized theaters. It was not the principle of equity that justified the democratization of theater. Rather, Bourgeois wanted to bring theater to the people because he thought theater could improve their moral character. And since moral character was a defining feature of citizenship, to democratize theater was also a political mission. Bourgeois contrasted the “good citizens” (“bons citoyens”) with

the “criminals and berserks” (“criminels et fous furieux”), embodied by the anarchists.538

The good, enlightened citizens were responsible for showing “individuals” their role,

their social function, and their duty “through unceasing teaching, I was going to say

through a daily preaching” (“par un enseignement incessant, j’allais dire par une

prédication de tous les jours”).539 Bourgeois hinted that anarchists were not receptive to

rational truths. Like children in primary school, they did not learn because they were

sensible but because habits were forced into their brains by constant repetition.

Interestingly, Bourgeois compared this teaching method to a religious exercise. It

sounded as if, where reason was unable to convince, it was legitimate to teach democratic

truths like a catechism.

537 “Il est parfaitement certain que nous avons, vis-à-vis de la population tout entière, vis-à-vis de la nation, ce devoir de lui mettre le plus fréquemment, le plus complètement possible, de belles choses sous les yeux, et de faire son éducation du beau, parce que c’est un moyen très efficace d’élever son niveau intellectuel et moral, parce que chaque fois que nous entreprenons une œuvre d’enseignement artistique, nous faisons non seulement une œuvre artistique, mais une œuvre sainement et profondément démocratique.” Discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, 25 November 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2231. The reading of the entire speech makes it clear that Bourgeois includes drama and music in his aesthetic education. 538 See Bourgeois’ speech at the fourteenth conference of the Ligue de l’enseignement (2-5 August 1894), in L’éducation populaire. 539 Ibid., 23. 289

For the sake of efficiency, one remembers that Ferry had advised against the teaching of moral doctrines in primary school and advocated a more empirical approach, the cultivation of moral emotions. Around the same time, Félix Pécaut had described the musical experience as a moment of communion and consequently recommended the practice of choral singing. Thus, republicans were willing to resort to marginally rational experiences, such as art and religion, in order to convey their message. Like Auguste

Comte, they anticipated the reign of reason, but they were aware of the limitations of the majority of people and understood the necessity to cater to their needs.

Ferry and Bourgeois, however, differed in their analysis of theater. Ferry did not think that theater, and especially lyrical theater, could make better citizens. His project of

Opéra populaire responded to critiques of inequity. Indeed, the members of Parliament had denounced the exclusiveness of the Opéra’s public and he wanted to create a venue where the popular public would be welcome. Ferry’s Opéra populaire mirrored the elite’s

Opéra. It was not identical to it however. The repertoire for instance was essentially different. The popular public did not get to see the masterworks that the elite enjoyed at the Opéra. The repertoire of masterworks was considered to be an attribute of the elite, and moderates like Ferry thought it could confuse the popular public as to its real place in society.

Bourgeois’ reasoning was different. He believed that the repertoire of masterworks should be shared by the entire population. In fact, to foster national unity, he thought it was essential that people of all backgrounds acquire the same basic culture:

To so many reasons to cultivate the study of classics with more faith and ardor than ever, one might add a new one today. The great French writers are now in all the school programs. . . . From high school to the most modest village

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school, cannot there be a kind of understanding between all the children of the same fatherland? There will be names that everyone will know, a few beautiful pages that everyone will have read, admired, learned by heart: is not it one more treasure added to the common patrimony? Is not it a precious help to maintain the unity of national spirit, in its most intimate and durable dimension?540

Besides, masterworks were the only works that guaranteed the artistic neutrality of the state. Since they obeyed “the eternal rules of common sense and good taste” (“les règles

éternelles du bon sens et du bon goût”), the state could not be said to privilege one aesthetic school over another.541 Contrary to what several historians have argued, this

desire to be neutral did not betray a lack of confidence in the state’s legitimacy to

intervene in the arts.542 Republican governments wanted the state to act according to

universal principles, that is to say, to rise above particular concerns, in all the domains of

its intervention. As Bourgeois said, “for me, just as there is no more a state religion than a

state reason, there is not and there should not be a state art, a state taste.”543 Bourgeois’

recognition of theater’s usefulness in fact vastly extended the possibilities of intervention

for the state. Instead of the meager theater that Ferry felt obliged to design out of respect

for the principle of equity, Bourgeois’ project was to organize as many popular

performances as people needed. Yet, Bourgeois did not want the state to bear the

540 “À tant de raisons de cultiver avec plus de foi et d’ardeur que jamais l’étude des classiques peut-être s’en ajoute-t-il aujourd’hui une nouvelle. Les grands écrivains français figurent à présent sur tous les programmes. . . . Du lycée à la plus modeste école de village ne peut-il ainsi s’établir une sorte de concert entre tous les enfants de la même patrie? Il est quelques grands noms que tous connaîtront, quelques belles pages que tous auront lues, admirées, apprises par cœur: n’est-ce pas une richesse de plus ajoutée au patrimoine commun? N’est-ce pas un précieux secours pour maintenir, par ce qu’il a de plus intime et de plus durable, l’unité de l’esprit national?” Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Enseignement secondaire: Instructions, programmes et règlements (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1890), 32. 541 Ibid., 31. 542 This is what Vincent Dubois claims in La politique culturelle: Genèse d’une catégorie d’intervention publique (Paris: Belin, 1999). See also “L’art et l’Etat au début de la IIIe République, ou les conditions d’impossibilité de la mise en forme d’une politique,” in Genèses 23 (1996): 6-29. 543 “Pour moi, de même qu’il n’y a pas plus de religion d’Etat ni de raison d’Etat, il n’y a pas et il ne doit pas y avoir d’art d’Etat, de goût d’Etat.” Discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, 25 November 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2230. 291

responsibility for organizing popular performances. Not that he had liberal convictions,

although he praised private initiative, but he was not ready to accept a right to culture.

Just as politicians in the 1890s recognized the need for additional education but did not

extend mandatory schooling and relied instead on private associations of popular

education, Bourgeois extolled the educational virtues of theater but waited for Bertrand to

organize extra popular performances at the Opéra.544 In other words, just as it was impossible to admit that the children of the lower classes would attend high school en masse, it was unthinkable that peasants and workers could attend operatic performances other than haphazardly. Society would collapse under the weight of déclassés.

Gustave Larroumet, Bourgeois’ director of fine arts, shared many of Bourgeois’ views. Born a year after Bourgeois (1852), he had taken up his first political position the same year as the minister had. The commonalities between Bourgeois’ and Larroumet’s professional careers ended there however. While Bourgeois had served as a prefect (Tarn prefect in 1882, Haute-Garonne prefect in 1884), Larroumet was a French literature professor and dramatic critic. Moreover, Larroumet never held another political position after he left the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts in 1891. Gustave Lanson characterized Larroumet’s career as a career dedicated to the “general public” (“carrière grand public”).545 Larroumet for instance gave pre-performance talks at the Odéon

matinees. After Francisque Sarcey died in 1899, he wrote the dramatic column in Le

Temps. In 1900, he was also appointed professor of eloquence at the Sorbonne. To

544 Buisson proposed to extend the age of mandatory schooling to 14 in 1910 and 1914. Both times deputies voted to send the bill to the Education and Fine Arts Committee and there it was buried. 545 Antoine Compagnon, La Troisième République des Lettres, de Flaubert à Proust (Paris: Seuil, 1983), 38. 292

Lanson, who advocated erudition, this definitely put him in the camp of the rhetoricians

(“rhéteurs”).546

Sarcey was the person who convinced Édouard Lockroy, the radical politician and

son of the actor and playwright, to hire Larroumet. Larroumet was first appointed chief of

staff and when Jules Castagnary, the holder of the post, died, he became director of fine

arts (1888). Within a short period of time, he thus approved (maybe even authored) the

note on the reduced-price and free performances given in the state-subsidized theaters

that concluded to the easy access of the official theaters to the popular public (1890) and

participated in the negotiations with Bertrand to increase the number of popular

performances (1891). What this shows is that Larroumet’s margin of action as fine arts

director was limited. In the context of the collaboration with Bourgeois, Larroumet may

have seconded him, but it is less likely that he took the initiative of the democratizing

policy.

Like Bourgeois, Larroumet could not stand the idea of an official art. And that is

why he condemned the organization of the Salon by the state. “Public opinion,” he said,

“is often more liberal than a group or a man, and in particular less stubborn and more

open to novelties. In fact, since the state jury disappeared, artistic production has been

more fecund, and originality expresses itself more freely, even if it is certainly debatable,

confused and feverish, if lively.”547 In the context of the annual painting exhibit,

Larroumet trusted that the artists were the best judges of their works. Yet, the reason for transferring the authority to the artists could not be that the diversity of individual

546 Even though Lanson succeeded Larroumet in this post. Ibid., 44-45. 547 “L’opinion commune est souvent plus libérale qu’un corps ou un homme, moins obstinée surtout et plus ouverte aux nouveautés. En fait, depuis que le jury d’État n’existe plus, la production artistique est plus féconde et l’originalité, discutable, certes, et confuse et fiévreuse, mais vivante, se manifeste plus librement.” Gustave Larroumet, L’art et l’État en France (Paris: Hachette, 1895), 8. 293

opinions ensured the best representation of artistic trends. The jury of fine arts officials

was indeed replaced by a jury of artists.548 By forfeiting the selection of works to be

displayed at the Salon, the state avoided a most controversial activity, which put into

question its neutrality. The withdrawal of the state was a concession to the artists’

impassioned pleas.

However, Larroumet was entirely convinced that the state was much more apt

than individuals to rise above particular interests. “Through impartiality,” he contended,

“the representative of the state rises above school quarrels, selfish rivalries, and

individual preconceptions. He is only sensitive to talent; he strives to distinguish it and to

reward it wherever he finds it.”549 And, like Bourgeois, Larroumet believed that the neutrality of the state was a ground for intervention. The neutrality of the state indeed guaranteed the validity of artistic choices and, as a result, the educational benefit for the population:

Since the origins of France, social forces have always tried to educate national taste. First, it was the Church, then feudality, then royalty. Above mediocre instincts, natural to the crowds, they created superior needs, and by satisfying them relentlessly, they made a general need of it. Contemporary democracy cannot give up this role. That is why it has raised art to a public service. This service, the state carries out through constructions of edifices, acquisitions of art works, encouragements given to the superior forms of art—which, like monumental painting or sculpture, would disappear quickly without it—the means

548 In 1881, French artists formed a Société des Artistes français, which was responsible for organizing the annual exhibition. This responsibility included the nomination of a jury of artists. The fine arts administration oversaw the financial operations. See Marcel Le Chartier, L’intervention de l’Etat dans les arts plastiques (Paris: F. Pichon et Durand-Auzias, 1913). However, in the wake of the state’s withdrawal from the Salon, several associations of artists were created and organized competing exhibitions. For instance, the Salon des Indépendants opened in 1884. 549 “Par l’impartialité, le représentant de l’État s’élève au-dessus des querelles d’écoles, des rivalités égoïstes, des partis pris individuels. Il n’est sensible qu’au talent; il s’efforce de le distinguer et de le consacrer partout où il le rencontre.” Larroumet, L’art et l’État en France, 329-330. 294

it gives free exhibits, but above all through its teaching and through its museums, which are a form of teaching.550

The democratic state could not give up its artistic responsibilities. Larroumet warned that

“if this [direct action of the state] subsided or went astray, if public authorities withdrew their support or decreased it, there would immediately be a moral decline and a material impoverishment.”551 In other words, the state’s artistic policy prevented the decadence of

the nation. This could hardly be construed as a lack of confidence in the state’s

legitimacy to intervene in the arts.

Larroumet organized the educational mission of the state around museums. The

word “museum” was used in a broad sense to encompass theatrical institutions. “At first

glance,” Larroumet explained, “theaters can look like luxurious institutions; however,

upon closer examination, they too are museums of dramatic and musical art.”552 The

change in the official theaters’ status was a smart rhetorical move. Thanks to their

teaching purpose, they could no longer be suspected of vain pursuits. Also, to the

members of Parliament who criticized the elitist character of the Opéra and Opéra-

Comique, Larroumet could present them as institutions of higher education, whose action complemented that of their less prestigious peers. “To show that, through teaching, they serve the interest and the honor of the country and that, from the top to the bottom, from

550 “Depuis les origines de la France, les forces sociales se sont toujours employées à faire l’éducation du goût national. Ç’a été d’abord l’Eglise, plus la féodalité, puis la Royauté. Au-dessus des instincts médiocres, naturels aux foules, ils ont élevé des besoins supérieurs et, en les satisfaisant sans cesse, ils en ont fait un besoin général. La démocratie contemporaine ne peut abandonner ce rôle. C’est pour cela qu’elle a fait de l’art un service public. Ce service, l’État l’exerce par ses constructions d’édifices, ses acquisitions d’œuvres d’art, les encouragements qu’il donne aux formes supérieures de l’art — qui sans lui disparaîtraient vite, comme la peinture et la sculpture monumentales, — les facilités qu’il procure aux expositions libres, mais surtout par son enseignement et par ses musées, qui sont une forme de l’enseignement.” Larroumet, L’art et l’État en France, 196. 551 “Si cette action venait à s’affaiblir ou à s’égarer, si les pouvoirs publics lui retiraient leur appui ou le diminuaient, il y aurait aussitôt déchéance morale et appauvrissement matériel.” Ibid., 190. 552 “Les théâtres peuvent sembler de premier abord des institutions de luxe; à y regarder de près, eux aussi sont des musées de l’art dramatique et musical.” Ibid., 220. 295

the Louvre to the most modest drawing school, as from the Sorbonne to the most modest

primary school, all the parts of the service show solidarity, to show all of that, is the best

way to disarm the hostility that fine arts are sometimes the target of and is even a way to

bring parliamentary favor on them.”553 In sum, the shift to an educational discourse had two advantages. On the one hand, it made the luxurious institutions appear more useful.

If the conditions of brilliance and luxury were “indispensable to the most elevated and

costly musical genre” as Larroumet argued, at least they benefited the entire people.554

Exit the glory of the nation, the entertainment of the elite, and the profitable business. On

the other hand, to identify the Opéra and Opéra-Comique with institutions of higher

education suggested that their public was selected according to intellectual criteria. The

wealth of the elite gave way to the merit of the learned, which seemed much fairer. In the

end, Larroumet believed that the hierarchy of publics and theaters should be maintained.

But he was eager to find a democratic justification that would make it acceptable to the

population.

A sign that Larroumet took the promise of solidarity seriously, he later supported

the efforts of the Œuvre des trente ans de théâtre. This association, which began its

activities in 1902, organized dramatic performances whose takings were distributed to

needy retired actors. These performances also happened to fulfill the fine arts officials’

ideal of popular theater. Larroumet depicted them as “the great repertoire fetching the

553 “Montrer que, par l’enseignement, ils servent l’intérêt et l’honneur du pays et que, du plus haut au plus bas, du Louvre à la moindre école de dessin, comme de la Sorbonne à la moindre école primaire, toutes les parties du service sont solidaires, c’est le meilleur moyen de désarmer l’hostilité dont les Beaux-Arts sont parfois l’objet et même de leur ramener la faveur parlementaire.” Ibid., 318-319. 554 “La subvention accordée à l’Opéra se justifie par la nécessité, pour un grand pays comme la France, de donner au genre musical le plus élevé et le plus coûteux, les moyens de se produire dans les conditions d’éclat et de luxe qui lui sont indispensables,” Larroumet’s speech during the 1890 discussion of the report on the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies, 25 November 1890, Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés, 2235. 296

people where they live, in the outskirts [of Paris], from time to time” (“le grand répertoire

allant chercher le peuple chez lui, dans les faubourgs, de temps à autre”).555 He was

especially pleased with the unsystematic character of the initiative. The Œuvre des trente

ans de théâtre gave some people the chance to watch masterworks interpreted by the best

artists (usually artists from the state-sponsored theaters), but its offer was irregular. Thus, private associations of popular education displayed the good will of authorities while not threatening to upset the social order.

Proust, Bourgeois, and Larroumet, the three major actors of France’s artistic policy in 1890-1892, shared a belief in the educational mission of the state and in the role of private initiative. But their understanding of the educational mission of the state and of the role of private initiative differed widely. On the one hand, Proust was confident in the moral judgment of the popular public. He viewed the organization of reduced-price

performances as an opportunity for people of modest means to receive an aesthetic

education. He conceived of theater as an end in itself. Proust also wanted to give the most

freedom to the public, artists and directors. He advocated the abolition of censorship and

the state management of the Opéra. On the other hand, Bourgeois and Larroumet were

more hesitant vis-à-vis the moral capacities of the popular public. They promoted the

organization of popular performances because they believed that theater could moralize

the public and thus further the unity of the country. But they did not want these popular

performances to become a right and therefore waited for private associations to organize

them. Finally, they were in favor of maintaining censorship and selecting the repertoire of

555 Cited by Adrien Bernheim, the president of the Œuvre des trente ans de théâtre and commissaire du gouvernement près les théâtres subventionnés, in Adrien Bernheim, Trente ans de théâtre, vol. 2, Les théâtres populaires—Souvenirs (Paris: Bibliothèque-Charpentier, 1904), 96. 297

works that was showed to the popular public. Proust supported the democratization of

theater because it would put an end to the exclusiveness of the Opéra’s public. Bourgeois and Larroumet supported the democratization of theater too, but only a marginal one.

That is to say they believed that popular performances were useful insofar as only a minority of individuals would attend them. Although he did not pronounce the word,

Proust defended the rights of the population. Bourgeois and Larroumet, by contrast, obeyed a utilitarian logic.

Bourgeois and Larroumet set the principles of a new theatrical policy. This new

policy was not promoted by a political group in particular and would not be in the future.

Raymond Poincaré, for instance, recognized the essential role of associations of popular

education in providing the people with a moral education, praised the impartiality of the

state in artistic matters, and supported the Œuvre des trente ans de théâtre. And he was a

center-right republican.556 Thus, the new, utilitarian, policy emerged independently of political groups. It was the offspring of the younger generation. Bourgeois and Larroumet were born in 1851 and 1852 respectively, Poincaré in 1860. At the same time, the older generation receded to the background. Ferry died in 1893, and in the same year Proust, who was compromised in the Panama scandal, withdrew from politics.

The Bourgeois generation of politicians, which little experienced the Second

Empire’s vexations and faced the threat of anarchists’ bombings and socialists’ seizure of power, had less qualms resorting to “extreme” means of pacification than their

predecessors. Ferry had wanted to disseminate the republican culture in order to further

national unity. It was with this aim in view that he arranged for the secondary education

of women. The goal of the 21 December 1880 law indeed was less to emancipate women

556 See the speeches collected in Raymond Poincaré, Idées Contemporaines (Paris: Fasquelle, 1906). 298

(they still could not receive a higher education, were barred from practicing liberal professions, and did not have political rights) than to bridge the cultural gap between spouses. As Camille Sée, the author of the bill, explained, there needed to be a community of ideas between spouses so that there could be a community of feelings, so that harmony could reign in the household. The secondary education of women in public schools would bring about the intellectual and moral “fusion” of the two Frances, the

France of men and the France of women.557 However, Ferry had always refused to adopt

a teaching method that (allegedly) subdued reason. That is why he had made theater

persona non grata in school.

Bourgeois maintained the ban on dramatic performances in primary school and

discouraged their organization in high school. Yet, he welcomed performances outside

school premises, when there was no alternative teaching. As long as one was careful, he

thought, dramatic performances were better than nothing. The precautions, however,

were so far-reaching that they greatly limited the scope of the project. One could even say

that the main purpose of these precautions was to ensure that popular performances

would have a limited impact. Bourgeois and his colleagues advocated a sprinkling of

performances so that the popular public would only have irregular access to theater.

These popular performances were defined by their incompleteness.

At the Association philotechnique, the performances were curtailed in another

regard. To prevent the workings of illusion, plays were not acted but read out loud. There

were no sets, no costumes, and no staging. Maurice Bouchor, the main organizer of these

popular readings, cut the passages that were difficult, morally questionable, or irrelevant

557 Camille Sée, Proposition de loi de M. Camille Sée, sur l’enseignement secondaire des jeunes filles (Paris: Librairie des publications législatives, 1880). 299

to modern (popular) audiences. He called this ridding the text (usually classical works by

Corneille, Racine, and Molière) of its “dead parts” (“parties mortes”).558 In addition,

Bouchor conceived of the popular readings as “a fragment of viaticum that would be

sufficient for them to realize their humanness” (“un fragment de viatique suffisant pour qu’ils prennent conscience de leur humanité”).559 He was willing to disseminate the classics of seventeenth-century French culture inasmuch as they had moral benefits on their audience. Any step further was inappropriate:

It is not likely, and I believe not very desirable, that all French citizens acquire enough interest in letters to read, I am not saying the complete works of Corneille for instance, but simply the “classic theater” of this great poet, as it is done in the rhetoric grade [the year preceding the first baccalauréat]. I repeat that I am talking about the mass of citizens, and not about this given individual, curious of letters, and who could, as a matter of fact, practice any profession. For the whole of French people, I wish, as regards Corneille, that they know, the general structure and the essential scenes of Le Cid, Horace, maybe two or three other plays by the same playwright, and I do not wish anything more.560

In other words, the mass of French people should not receive the same literary teaching

as the children of the bourgeoisie. Popular readings should not make up for a high school

education. Exceptionally, someone of modest origins could achieve complete knowledge

of Corneille’s works. But that was an individual initiative, which the association did not

support. This lack of support was a test of sorts: if a person showed enough determination

and perseverance to learn the classics on his or her own, then this person deserved to

558 Maurice Bouchor, Shakespeare. . . Scènes choisies, traduites et présentées par Maurice Bouchor (Paris: Au siège de l’Association philotechnique, Hachette, 1901-1902), VII. 559 Ibid., VI. 560 “Il est bien peu vraisemblable, et je ne crois pas très souhaitable, que tous les citoyens français acquièrent jamais assez le goût des lettres pour lire je ne dis pas les œuvres complètes de Corneille, par exemple, mais simplement le “théâtre classique” de ce grand poète, tel qu’il est en usage dans nos classes de rhétorique. Je répète que je parle de la masse des citoyens, et non pas de tel individu particulièrement curieux des lettres, et qui pourrait, d’ailleurs, appartenir à n’importe quelle profession. Pour l’ensemble des Français, je souhaite, en ce qui concerne Corneille, qu’ils connaissent, par leur structure générale et par leurs scènes essentielles, le Cid, Horace, peut-être deux ou trois autres pièces du même auteur, et je ne souhaite rien de plus.” Ibid., VI-VII. 300 enjoy the culture and occupation of the higher class. The modest ambitions of popular educators with respect to the people reflected a pedagogic realism (the awareness of different intellectual interests) as well as a desire to maintain cultural barriers between social groups. In their mind, the right amount of democratization was the one that educated the people without infatuating them. Theater, in any case, was a temporary fix.

It would have no use once good citizens were molded and the unity of the nation was completed.

In Bourgeois’ theory of “solidarism” (“solidarisme”), exposed systematically for the first time in 1896, the state intervened only to correct the inequalities created by private interactions.561 Thus, the fact that Bourgeois relied on private initiative to take care of theatrical democratization shows that he acknowledged the unequal access to official theaters, but did not consider it as an injustice. Justice did not consist in ensuring that everyone could go to the Opéra. Rather it was about giving a chance to people to go to the theater that matched their intellectual and moral capacities. Since the vast majority of people who could not afford to go to the Opéra did not have the intellectual and moral capacities to attend its performances and the small minority that did have these capacities still did not need to receive a comprehensive aesthetic education, private associations, with their random efficacy, sufficed to restore justice. Bourgeois’ idea of justice was anchored in the discriminating approach of utility, not in the systematic implementation of rights.

Since the state’s actions were guided by the goal of efficiency rather than by the principle of equality, they did not have obvious limits. On the one hand, Bourgeois

561 Bourgeois exposed his theory of “solidarism” in Solidarité (Paris: Armand Colin, 1896) and Léon Bourgeois and Alfred Croiset, eds., Essai d’une philosophie de la solidarité: Conférences et discussions présidées par Léon Bourgeois et Alfred Croiset (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1902). 301

contended that the state was a humble institution that bowed to individuals’ wishes. “The

state is a human creation,” he said. Therefore, “the state has no superior right to that of men.”562 On the other hand, he also asserted that the state needed to “impose the rule of

justice, using force if need be.”563 Only authority, indeed, could vanquish human egoism.

Stated in these terms, Bourgeois’ theory seemed inconsistent. It only made sense if one

assumed that Bourgeois distinguished between two groups of people, endowed with

different moral capacities. With altruist people, the state willingly submitted to

individuals’ wishes and limited its role to correcting inequalities. With selfish people, by contrast, the state might override individuals’ wishes and take action to prevent immoral

behaviors. The identification of altruist and selfish people was somewhat problematic. If

one believed in the determinism of moral behaviors, altruist people were those who lived

in satisfying material conditions and supported the regime. Their personal interest

coincided with the general interest, embodied by the republican policy. As selfish people

did not benefit from the republican policy to the same degree, they were naturally

inclined to criticize it. Yet, if one believed in the free will of individuals, moral decisions

were totally independent from material conditions. Poor people could be altruist, just as

wealthy individuals could be selfish. Bourgeois was divided between the two approaches

and that is why his cultural policy flirted with democratization without implementing it

systematically.

562 “L’État est une création des hommes: le droit supérieur de l’État sur les hommes n’existe pas.” Bourgeois, Solidarité, 87-88. 563 “L’égoïsme humain ne pouvant être vaincu que par l’autorité, il imposera, au besoin par la force, la règle de justice et assurera ainsi à chacun sa part légitime dans le travail et dans les produits.” Ibid., 22-23. 302

The results of Bertrand’s experiments at the Opéra were mixed. On the one hand,

the reduced-price performances regularly sold out. The authors of the Annales du théâtre

et de la musique, Édouard Noël and Edmond Stoullig, reported that by the time Bertrand

inaugurated his direction in January 1892, all the boxes and seats of the Saturday family

performances had been booked for the entire year.564 On the other hand, the reduced- price performances did not succeed in attracting the popular public. Noël and Stoullig contended that they attracted the Parisian middle class instead. “Against all expectation, it is the bourgeoisie which dominates this performance [a Sunday matinee] that should have been taken over by the popular. From the ground level to the roof trussing, the house displays redingotes and very pleasing female attires. It is the Parisian middle class which brings Mr. Bertrand new clients, very distinct from the audience of the three subscription days, and for a low price, these clients can afford, from now on, on Sundays, a show that up to now the fabulously wealthy Parisians had a monopoly on.”565 The two critics were

surprised that the popular public had not turned up, but pleased that the low prices of the

Sunday matinees benefited a public new to the Opéra.

One year later, the assessment of the popular performances was less enthusiastic.

In particular, the moral reprobation of the Saturday public was palpable. “Taking

advantage of the huge discount—for example, one can get a seat in the orchestra for five

francs instead of sixteen—clients that are very capable of paying more take over the

564 Édouard Noël and Edmond Stoullig, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1892 (Paris: G. Charpentier et E. Fasquelle, 1893), 3. 565 “Contre toute attente, c’est la bourgeoisie qui domine à cette représentation qui semblait devoir être accaparée par le populaire. Du rez-de-chaussée jusqu’aux combles, l’aspect de la salle présente un ensemble de redingotes et de toilettes féminines fort agréables. C’est en somme la classe moyenne de la société parisienne qui apporte ainsi à M. Bertrand une clientèle nouvelle très distincte de celle des trois jours de l’abonnement et, moyennant un prix modique, cette clientèle peut à partir d’aujourd’hui s’offrir, le dimanche un spectacle dont les richissimes Parisiens avaient seuls jusqu’ici le monopole.” Ibid., 2-3. 303

Saturday, which has become a real subscription day.”566 The crime of the public was

twofold. Not only did it follow its personal interest and went for the cheaper tickets, but it

also erased the distinction between family and regular performances. By doing so, the

public of the Saturday performances (it is unclear whether Noël and Stoullig still

identified it with a middle-class public, distinct from the public of regular performances)

transgressed an unwritten law. It disrupted the correspondence between ticket price,

social status, and the prestige of the performance. Indeed, instead of a performance

characterized by low prices, a popular public, and modest aspirations, the Saturday

presentation featured low prices, a wealthy public and an honorable reputation.

For Bertrand, the problem was less that the experiment confused the hierarchy of

performances than that the price of tickets did not match the purchase power of the

audience. He did not condemn the public of Saturday performances for preferring

cheaper seats. He just wished he had charged them more. Thus, rather than requesting the

cancellation of popular performances on the grounds that they missed their target, he

asked the new minister of public instruction and fine arts, Charles Dupuy, if he could

raise the price of Saturday performance tickets.567 Bertrand’s initial plan had been to

expand the activities of the Opéra by reaching out to a new public with a diverse

repertoire and low prices. But he soon realized that the public only marginally responded

to changes in ticket prices. While workers continued to ignore Opéra performances even

when allured with free tickets, the public that was interested in going to the Opéra did not

mind paying high prices. In the context of a market economy, it was thus logical to

566 “Profitant de l’énorme réduction qu’elles présentent—on y a pour cinq francs, par exemple, au lieu de seize, un fauteuil d’orchestre—une clientèle très capable de payer davantage accapare le samedi, dont elle a fait un véritable jour d’abonnement.” Édouard Noël and Edmond Stoullig, Les annales du théâtre et de la musique 1893 (Paris: G. Charpentier et E. Fasquelle, 1894), 2. 567 Ibid. 304

organize additional performances at a price that would near the level of regular

performances.

Bertrand did not immediately perceive how segmented the demand for Opéra

tickets was. He thought that a low ticket price would attract people of modest means and

overlooked the fact that the regulars rejected whoever did not belong to their circle.

Workers, for their part, knew very well that to buy one’s ticket did not suffice to be

admitted among the members of the Opéra’s audience. Even though the following

incident took place much earlier, sometime in the 1860s, it gives an idea of the vexations

undergone by those who were not titular subscribers. In this instance, the director of the

Opéra scolded a countess for letting her box to “people who could not have gotten it from

[her]” (“des personnes qui ne pouvaient la tenir de vous”).568 She had sold her tickets to a

scalper, who had in turn sold them to the undesirable occupants of the box. The director

conjured her to stop her illegal practices as, he said, “the good manning of the boxes of

the Opéra is of interest to all the subscribers, and, if you had had such neighbors as the

people who were seated in yours, you would have been founded in laying the blame on

the administration, a blame that the administration neither may nor should incur.”569

Workers therefore had good reasons not to feel welcome at the Opéra. And as their

apprehension of mistreatment prevailed over the appeal of cheap seats, they avoided the

institution altogether. This did not mean that they had no interest in music. Whenever

performances of opera or comic opera took place outside upper-class institutions, workers

readily attended them. In 1898, for instance, they flocked to the performances of the

568 Cited in Agnès Terrier, Le billet d’Opéra: Petit guide (Paris: Opéra national de Paris, Flammarion, 2000), 36. 569 “La bonne composition des loges de l’Opéra intéresse tous les abonnés, et si vous aviez eu pour voisines de loges les personnes qui étaient assises dans la vôtre, vous auriez été en droit d’adresser à l’administration des reproches qu’elle ne peut ni ne doit encourir.” Ibid. 305

Opéra-Comique troupe at the Château-d’Eau theater.570 The popular public was much

more sensitive to the social environment of the performances than it was to ticket prices.

The same was true of the Opéra public. It was willing to pay a high price in order to attend a performance at the Opéra. However, because of the limited number of performances and the restricted access to the best seats, the demand was rarely met. In

1888, subscribers occupied 815 of the 2208 seats of the house (36.9 percent).571 These

815 seats were not just of imposing quantity, they also had a symbolic significance: they

were the most coveted and difficult to get. Subscriptions indeed were bequeathed from

generation to generation and it was not uncommon for candidates to wait for decades

before they could have the privilege to own one. Thus, those performances at which the

entire seating was available for purchase had a tremendous appeal. In conclusion, if

Bertrand made a mistake, it was to believe that the Opéra could be managed according to

the rules of a competitive market. He overestimated the price elasticity of the public and

then did not have the flexibility to adjust prices to their most appropriate level. In order to

increase the prices of family performances, Bertrand had to renegotiate the entire charter

with the administration, something which happened only after Bourgeois left the Ministry of Public Instruction and Fine Arts and which triggered changes far beyond the solicited

reform.

570 After the fire of the Salle Favart in 1887, the troupe of the Opéra-Comique moved to the Théâtre des Nations. In October 1898, however, the City of Paris regained control of the Theater and the troupe was left wandering. While waiting for the completion of the new Salle Favart, the director of the Opéra-Comique decided to give performances at the Château-d’Eau. As Pierre Lalo put it, “cet exil dans un quartier sans élégances, ces places à prix réduits, tout cela semblait pour un théâtre subventionné une humiliation et une disgrâce. On estima que l’Opéra-Comique allait tout à la fois déchoir et faire une mauvaise affaire.” Yet, the takings exceeded the takings obtained at the Théâtre des Nations. See Pierre Lalo, La musique, 1898- 1899 (Paris: Rouart, Lerolle & Cie, 1900), 48. 571 Patureau, Le Palais Garnier, 299. 306

Close to the opportunist party, the new minister, Dupuy, was more moderate than

Bourgeois. A former student at the École normale supérieure and holder of an agrégation, he had spent the early years of his career teaching philosophy in high school.

Dupuy was sympathetic to Bertrand. He granted his request to raise the price of family performances. But, in the process, he also adjoined an associate to him. This associate was Gailhard, the same director whose management Bourgeois had sharply criticized and who had been very reluctant to organize popular performances. It is not clear whether this partnership was imposed on Bertrand or not, but one thing is certain, the appointment marked a turn in the government’s theatrical policy. In particular, it halted the democratizing experiment at the Opéra. Signed on 30 March 1893, the new charter revised the organization of reduced-price performances entirely. The number of Saturday

family performances and Sunday popular performances was cut by twelve and sixteen

respectively. In addition, while the Sunday popular performances remained at the same

price as before, the Saturday family performances adopted the price chart of the regular

performances.572 There is no record that the members of Parliament protested against this

decision. They seemed to agree that Bertrand had made a loyal attempt, which ultimately

proved to be ineffective and onerous.573

Even after the charter was signed, Gailhard kept on battling for the suppression of

popular performances. In a letter to Poincaré (Dupuy’s successor at the Ministry of Public

Instruction and Fine Arts), dated 1 June 1893, he pointed out their disastrous effects. Not

only did the Opéra “lose” about 7000 francs per popular performance, but the stage sets

572 See Pierre Merlou’s report on the fine arts budget dated 26 June 1893 in the Journal officiel de la République française. Documents parlementaires. Chambre des députés of 27 September 1893, 961. 573 Ibid. and see the discussion of the fine arts budget at the House of Deputies in the 4 July 1893 issue of the Journal officiel de la République française. Débats parlementaires. Chambre des députés. 307

suffered “considerable damage” (“une détérioration considérable”).574 Gailhard seemed

to make popular performances especially responsible for the wear and tear of the sets, as

if regular performances did not contribute to it too. Likewise, instead of talking about a

cost or an investment, he used the word “loss” to describe the money put into making

tickets more affordable.

In July, Gailhard sent a second letter to Poincaré. This time, he emphasized the

futility of the project. First, popular performances did not attract workers, their intended

audience. “A specific fact shows that popular classes did not seize the opportunity that

was given to them. Mr. Bertrand, the owner of industrial buildings, had put free tickets at

the disposal of the workers laboring in his buildings, tickets for the popular

[performances]. They did not take advantage of them; the experiment was made several

times, but the workers did not come.”575 Thus, popular performances did not contribute to

the democratization of the Opéra’s public.

Second, popular performances had dire consequences on the finances of the

Opéra. In fifteen months and despite the success of Salammbô and Samson et Dalila,

Gailhard noted, Bertrand had lost 550,000 francs.576 The popular performances had

dragged the public away from regular performances, creating a shortfall of receipts for

the Opéra. “The goal was to allow a new and impecunious public to access our grand

National Theater, and to initiate it to the beauties of the works performed at the Opéra. In

574 Letter by Gailhard, 1 June 1893, AN AJ 13 1194. 575 “Du reste un fait précis démontre que les classes populaires n’ont pas profité des facilités qui leur étaient offertes. M. Bertrand, propriétaire d’immeubles affectés à l’industrie avait mis, gratuitement, à la disposition des ouvriers travaillant dans ses immeubles, des places pour les populaires, ils n’en ont pas profité; l’expérience a été plusieurs fois renouvelée; les ouvriers ne sont pas venus.” Letter from Gailhard to Poincaré, dated July 1893, cited in the note relative to the creation of a popular theater, n.d., AN F 21 4687. 576 Ibid. The note extensively quotes Gailhard’s letter of July 1893, mistaking it for a 1885 report by Gailhard on the creation of a popular theater. The draft of Gailhard’s letter, which one can find in AN AJ 13 1194, does not make reference to Bertrand’s deficit. 308

reality, those who came to the popular performances were not those who had been

invited. From the first Sunday on, the house has been filled, but with the public who

already knew the Opéra, and occupied our third, fourth and fifth boxes and the two upper

amphitheaters; the proof was that on the days of subscription performances, during the

periods when popular performances were given, the corresponding seats were

deserted.”577 Gailhard contended that the public of the lower seating categories at regular

performances had switched to popular performances. This argument, however, was not

easily reconcilable with the decision to maintain Saturday performances. If there was

enough public only for one series of performances, as Gailhard asserted, it did not make

sense to create a second series. Also the explanation for the 550,000-franc deficit must be

treated with caution. Although it was tempting for someone who wanted to get rid of

popular performances to attribute the loss to them, it is more likely that there were

multiple causes.

Third, Gailhard argued that popular performances had few benefits even for their

unintended public, the public of regular performances. It appeared that scalpers bought

tickets en masse as soon as popular performances were announced and resold them

between 150 and 200 percent of their initial price. Gailhard’s defense of the middle-class

public, “small shopkeepers and petty bourgeoisie,” could not help seeming hypocritical

however, since his own goal was to charge them more.578 Moreover, scalpers did not

577 “Il s’agissait d’offrir à un public nouveau et peu fortuné l’accès de notre grand Théâtre National et de l’initier aux beautés des œuvres représentées à l’Opéra. Hé bien, ce n’est pas ceux que l’on invitait qui sont venus aux représentations populaires. En effet, dès le premier dimanche la salle a été remplie, mais par le public connaissant déjà l’Opéra, qui occupait les 3e, 4e, 5e loges et les deux amphithéâtres du haut; la preuve en est faite par le délaissement de cette partie du théâtre, les jours d’abonnement aux époques de représentations populaires.” Draft letter from Gailhard to Poincaré, July 1893, AN AJ 13 1194. 578 “[Les représentations du dimanche] n’ont pas donné aux petits commerçants et à la petite bourgeoisie l’économie voulue par l’abaissement des tarifs.” Draft letter from Gailhard to Poincaré, July 1893, AN AJ 13 1194. 309

limit their operations to popular performances. Unfortunately for the public, they were

active at all times. So it was not fair to single out Sunday performances as a hub of

interloping commerce. Overall, Gailhard had an overly negative perception of popular performances. In his analysis, they enriched scalpers (“elles ont enrichi les marchands de billets”), robbed the public (“le public est rançonné”), and ruined the Opéra (“l’Opéra se ruine”).579 The picture was certainly a stretch but it showed how much Gailhard resented

them. In their disingenuous way, popular performances upset the whole balance of the

Opéra and threatened to bring it down.

The effect—the deficit of the Opéra in the short term, its collapse in the long

term—seemed out of proportion to the cause—the purchase of less costly tickets by the

public of regular performances. Yet, Gailhard had reasons to suspect that this greater

flexibility of the public could open a new era at the Opéra. Except during the Bertrand

experiment, the Opéra had always been managed with the idea that competition was bad

and should be avoided. Just as the monopoly over the repertoire prevented competition

with other theaters, the differentiation of publics excluded competition between

performances. In this context, to give the public the liberty to choose between the regular

and the reduced-price performances meant that the Opéra renounced a hierarchical

organization and embraced the rules of a liberal economy. It was a significant evolution

and one that Gailhard dreaded for all the uncertainties it promised.

Since the label of “popular performances” was not enough to deter the non-

popular public from attending them, Gailhard decided to differentiate the performances

officially dedicated to the people in a more obvious way. In his letter to Poincaré, he

suggested organizing didactic performances, performance-presentations (“auditions-

579 Ibid. 310

conférences”), in essence lecture-recitals at a grand scale.580 To justify this innovation,

Gailhard pointed out how difficult it was for the majority of the public to understand

operas. “Music, with its charm and beauties, [obscured] the instructive part of the work”

(“la musique couvre du charme et des beautés qui lui sont propres la partie instructive de

l’œuvre”). As a result, the public missed “the lesson and morality of the work”

(“l’enseignement et la moralité de l’œuvre”). Gailhard argued that the performance-

presentations would provide this education to the public. As a matter of fact, he had

already given a few of these special performances and they had been a total success. “The

performance-presentations were particularly attended and appreciated” (“nos auditions- conférences ont été particulièrement suivies et appréciées”). In these conditions, it made sense to extend the experiment.

Rather than creating an additional series of performances however, Gailhard proposed to cancel the Sunday popular performances and replace them by the performance-presentations. On the one hand, he wanted to get rid of performances that were meant to attract the popular public but competed with the regular performances for failing to do so. On the other hand, he wanted to institute performances that were distinct enough from the regular performances that the public would not have to choose between the two. Ideally, the public would go to the didactic performances because of the educational prospect, not because they offered cheaper seats.581 And they would go to the

regular performances in search of entertainment. As it appears, Gailhard was not

580 Ibid. 581 In the letter to Poincaré, Gailhard did not specify the cost of tickets at the auditions-talks. A high price was another incentive not to desert regular performances. A low price was the sign of a democratic intention, which could more easily persuade the fine arts administration to cancel popular performances. 311

interested in enlarging the audience of the Opéra. He designed the didactic performances

in such a way as to maintain high ticket prices at the regular performances.

The minister of public instruction and fine arts did not grant his request, but

Gailhard did not stop trying to eliminate popular performances. In January 1894, after the fire of the sets warehouse, he imagined a new substitute. In exchange for the cancellation of popular performances, Gailhard proposed to repair the stage sets damaged by the fire and organize four free performances at his charge. The Committee on Theaters, which examined Gailhard’s proposal, was strongly in favor of it. Like Gailhard, it thought that the popular performances were useless. The committee recognized that the project of

popular performances was inspired by a valuable idea, that of making the Opéra more

easily accessible to workers. Unfortunately, reduced prices did not suffice to attract them.

“The traditional and purely bourgeois regulars of the 5- and 12-franc seats” came

instead.582 Thus, not only did the popular performances fail to promote democratization,

but they deprived the Opéra of its ordinary resources. On the top of that, the direction of

the Opéra was struggling to repair the damaged stage sets. The committee argued that it was important to complete the repair of the sets both for artistic and economic reasons.

The reputation of the Opéra as well as thousands of jobs were at stake in this undertaking.

However, since the state was not willing to help financially, the Opéra had to find the money in its own budget. As the twenty-four popular performance served little purpose and cost much, it seemed appropriate to cancel them. Nonetheless, the committee did not

turn its back on the democratizing mission. Indeed, it recommended increasing the

number of free performances, “the truly popular performances,” “the only ones to which

582 “[les prix réduits] ont fait merveille auprès des habitués traditionnels et purement ‘bourgeois’ des places de 12 et 5 francs” Report by the Committee on Theaters, February 1894, AN AJ 13 1194. 312

the great laboring crowd of Paris goes with much eagerness and pleasure.”583

Exceptionally, however, because of the particularly difficult situation, the members of the

committee advised that the number of free performances should not exceed two in the

first year. In the end, everyone was satisfied. While Gailhard removed a dangerous source

of competition, the administration got the Opéra to repair the sets without disbursing

public funds. In one case, democratization was sacrificed to the perpetuation of

monopoly. In the other, it was sacrificed to (by definition, worthier) artistic endeavors.

Democratization was never a priority. At best, it was an unimportant goal, at worst, a

cause of troubles. In this regard, Bertrand’s attempt had not modified the perceptions of

either the fine arts administration or the direction of the Opéra.584 It was an isolated event made possible by the encounter between Bertrand’s ambition of expanding the Opéra’s market shares and Bourgeois’ theory of marginal democratization.

Even though Bertrand’s experiment did not last, it was important in the sense that it ruled out one more form of popular theater. The fine arts administration already knew that popular operatic performances could not happen without the supervision of the Opéra because the directors of the Opéra refused to share their repertoire. Upon Bertrand’s failure, it learned that a policy of low prices did not suffice to attract the popular public to the Opéra. If they were to deserve their name, popular performances could not take place at the prestigious institution. Put positively, it seemed that, if popular performances were given by the troupe of the Opéra in theaters familiar to lower classes, they could have a

583 “les seules auxquelles se rendent, avec un empressement et un plaisir qu’il est très intéressant de constater, la grande foule laborieuse de Paris” Ibid. It is not clear who attended the free performances given at the Opéra. But it is possible that the gratuitousness dissuaded the regulars and encouraged the popular public to come. 584 Although Bertrand was still nominally one of the two directors of the Opéra, he did not seem to have much control over it anymore. 313 chance to thrive and contribute to the greater social diversity of the Opéra public. In the

1890s, at a time when social promotion was the reward of the most strenuous personal efforts, the fine arts administration thought that private associations would do well to organize these performances. As politicians and administrators began to feel obliged to treat the population in a consistent manner, the organization of popular performances became a state responsibility and democratization became less haphazard. In 1920, the

Parliament voted the creation of the Théâtre National Populaire.

314

Conclusion

The Metamorphosis of Universalism

Scholars have often pointed to the discrepancy between republicans’ ideals and

their discriminatory practices at the end of the nineteenth century. In her study of

Hubertine Auclert’s feminist career, Joan Scott, for instance, noted that women did not have the right to vote despite their proclaimed equality with men. Republicans appealed to both the social role of women (domesticity, by virtue of the functional division of labor) and their threatening behavior (either violent or submissive, women were subjected to “influences that were outside the bounds of rational control”) to exclude them from the political sphere.585 In response, Auclert denounced what Scott described as the

“hypocrisy” of the male power.586 She contested the fact that social roles determined

individuals’ political rights. As she pointed out, to be a baker had never prevented anyone

from exerting his right to vote. In addition, it was hard to imagine individuals who would

be more devoted to the religious cause than priests. And yet, they voted. While Auclert

showed that male authorities discriminated against women as defined by their gender,

Scott argued that Émile Durkheim’s model of functional interdependence founded on

585 Joan Wallach Scott, Only Paradoxes to Offer: French Feminists and the Rights of Man (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996), 96, 103. 586 Ibid., 106. 315 individuals’ differences had superseded the principle of abstract equality contained in the declaration of the rights of man and citizen.587

My contention is that there was no hypocrisy on the part of republican politicians.

Republicans abided by two equally legitimate principles of government. One posited the equal treatment of individuals by virtue of their equal rights, while the other defended the differentiated treatment of individuals because of their unequal aptitudes. Both principles were grounded in universalism: the universal application of rights in the first case, the universal standpoint of the state in the second. Republicans did not dismiss one principle

(the principle of equal rights) in favor of a more convenient one (the principle of unequal aptitudes). They supported the principle of equal rights insofar as it remained useful for the community, i.e. insofar as it did not upset social order. Thus, the two principles were equally legitimate, but the principle of equal rights was subordinated to the principle of unequal aptitudes.

During the 1880s, the perception of theater’s utility evolved. Initially, Ferry imagined maintaining social peace by upholding the dominant position of the elite. While he wanted to erase particular identities in order to promote national unity (a process which Eugen Weber has described as turning peasants into Frenchmen, but which also consisted of making women into republican enthusiasts), Ferry also saw the need to cultivate separate group identities to preserve a hierarchy of influence. Peasants and workers were meant to stay at the bottom of the social ladder, while women remained deprived of political rights. At the beginning of the 1890s, the new generation of republican leaders (Léon Bourgeois and Raymond Poincaré among them) was less scared by the prospect of a common culture, shared by all social groups. They realized that

587 Ibid., 95. 316

cultivating separate identities fueled class antagonism. They also believed that the French

nation would survive only if members of the community collaborated with each other.

So, rather than enforcing a strict hierarchy, they promoted solidarity, and, rather than

keeping high culture for the elite, they made it available in small quantities to all classes

of society. Also, because the generation of Bourgeois and Poincaré had not lived through the vexations of the Bonapartist regime and was under the threat of anarchist attacks, it was more willing to use theater as an instrument to produce a more moral public.

Further changes happened after the period studied in this dissertation. They had

less to do with the utility of theater than with the authority of the state to categorize social

groups in moral terms and to discriminate between them on this basis. Indeed, in the

decades following the republicans’ seizure of power, the way “moral aptitudes” were

evaluated came under increasing scrutiny. First, it appeared that the identification of social groups with a fixed moral quality disregarded the diversity of individual actions

and denied the possibility of a free moral choice, which was yet another fundamental

republican tenet. Second, political leaders recognized that customs and traditions, rather

than universal principles, had produced the moral standards of French society. As a

result, they admitted that the impartial judgment of the morality of individuals was an

impossibility. Third, as part of the relativization of norms that took place in France in the

decades surrounding 1900, people lost the habit of viewing the state as a repository of

superior rationality and morality. As the state lost this source of authority, it had to

submit to the wishes of its constituents.

These three evolutions marked a profound change in the way of conceiving

political legitimacy. The “metamorphosis of universalism,” as I call it, consisted in a shift

317

from an enabling universalism (which posited the superior rationality and morality of the

state and gave it large powers to enforce its views) to a binding universalism (which

valued the variety of individual opinions and forced the state to respect the principles of

equity and reciprocity). Of course, discretionary powers did not suddenly disappear, but the new basis for political legitimacy made it more difficult for the state to enforce discriminatory measures without the consent of voters.

The metamorphosis of universalism was a phenomenon of longue durée. Made of a constellation of events, it spread over several decades, roughly from the 1880s to the

1920s. The change was first noticeable in academic circles. Rejecting essentialist approaches, scholars argued for the relativity of norms. For instance, Émile Durkheim and Lucien Lévy-Bruhl showed that moral standards varied from one society to another and did not obey universal principles.588 After Léon Walras, economists ceased to

distinguish between the necessary and superfluous expenses of the household and

focused on the utility of the consumer.589 Legal scholars such as Gaston Jèze and Léon

Duguit argued that the law was perfectible and that the state should subordinate its actions to the wishes of its constituents and users of public services.590

These ideas permeated the political world too. Bourgeois, who acknowledged

Durkheim’s influence on his solidarist theory, directly contributed to the breakdown of

hierarchies by advocating the rapprochement of public and private law. Charles Gide, the

economist who popularized Walras’ insights in France, actively supported the solidarist

588 Émile Durkheim, L’éducation morale (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1963); Lucien Lévy- Bruhl, La morale et la science des mœurs (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1903). 589 Léon Walras, Éléments d’économie politique pure, ou Théorie de la richesse sociale (Lausanne: Imprimerie L. Corbaz et Cie, 1874). 590 Léon Duguit, Les transformations du droit public (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1913); Gaston Jèze, Les principes généraux du droit administratif, 2nd ed. (Paris: M. Giard & E. Brière, 1914). 318

cause.591 In addition, as workers ceased to be considered as improvident and careless

people, the welfare state could develop. Members of Parliament passed the law on work-

related accidents (1898) because they no longer assumed that the workers were at fault.

Instead, they saw accidents as statistical events that could be productively compensated

by the state.592

However, it would be a mistake to locate the metamorphosis of universalism

within the radical movement or the disciplines of sociology alone. First, many of these

politicians and scholars who promoted the relativization of norms themselves had a

conflicted relationship with authority. Durkheim believed in the benefits of discipline at

school;593 Bourgeois wanted to ingrain moral habits in the popular classes;594 Alfred

Fouillée talked about the dangers of suppressing the natural hierarchy of minds.595 As for

Gide, he led the Fédération des sociétés contre l’immoralité publique and wrote for the

Relèvement moral, the organ of the Ligue française pour le redressement de la morale publique.596 Second, as Annie Stora-Lamarre has pointed out, liberal Catholics were

instrumental in passing laws that took into account the character of offenders as well as

the influence of their milieu instead of punishing abstract and interchangeable

591 See his contribution to the volume of articles edited by Léon Bourgeois and Alfred Croiset, Essai d’une philosophie de la solidarité: Conférences et discussions présidées par Léon Bourgeois et Alfred Croiset (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1902). 592 François Ewald, L’État providence (Paris: Grasset, 1986). 593 See Émile Durkheim, L’éducation morale (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1963) and Éducation et sociologie (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1922). 594 See Bourgeois’ official recommendations in Ministère de l’instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Enseignement secondaire: Instructions, programmes et règlements (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1890). 595 Alfred Fouillée’s writings were another major source of inspiration for Bourgeois’ theory of solidarism. See in particular his Les études classiques et la démocratie (Paris: Armand Colin, 1898) and La démocratie politique et sociale en France (Paris: F. Alcan, 1900). 596 Annie Stora-Lamarre, L’enfer de la IIIe République: Censeurs et pornographes, 1881-1914 (Paris: Imago, 1989). 319

individuals.597 The result was a combination of more lenient sentences for individuals

who were deemed redeemable (the bill on suspended sentences; 1891) and harsher

sentences for incorrigible criminals (the bill on the second offense; 1885).598

In fact, I argue that the metamorphosis of universalism was tied up with a change

in public opinion at large. Although republican schools taught popular classes humility,

Frenchmen realized through a series of events that the state was not infallible and the

people were quite capable of acting morally. The two major events that triggered this

reconsideration were the Dreyfus affair and World War I. The Dreyfus affair was

important because it showed that the state, the republican state at that, could make a

political use of its discretionary powers. Instead of protecting the rights of the Jewish

officer, the government had preferred to save the reputation of the army. It had not only

wrongly accused an innocent man but had also placed particular interests above universal

principles. The Dreyfus affair discredited the moderate governments’ allegations of

neutrality. And it is no accident that radicals, who promised to care for modest people

and small businesses, won the 1902 elections with the support of the Bloc des gauches

and were able to form their first cabinet (Combes) shortly after. The second major event

that spurred a change in French public opinion was World War I. In this case, it was not

so much the soldiers’ distrust of civilians and highly ranked army officers as the moral

debt to the soldiers felt by the government that mattered. Even if the government was

victorious and its legitimacy was relatively preserved, it could not but acknowledge the

righteousness of the population as a whole.

597 Raymond Saleilles for instance recommended that judges consider criminals rather than crimes. Raymond Saleilles, L’individualisation de la peine: Etude de criminalité sociale (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1898). 598 These two laws are nicknamed the Bérenger laws. See Annie Stora-Lamarre, La République des faibles: Les origines intellectuelles du droit républicain, 1870-1914 (Paris: A. Colin, 2005). 320

This changing perception of competences resulted in a greater accountability of

the state and a reduction of inequalities between individuals. First, people were more

cautious with the way the raison d’État was used. They looked closely at the

justifications given to unequal treatment and protested when these justifications seemed

too flimsy. For instance, censorship of plays, which distinguished between an

impressionable public and a thoughtful one, was suppressed in 1906 after years of

parliamentary battles. Around the same time, women were progressively admitted to all

areas of the theater.599 Second, the boundary between public and private domains became

blurrier. After World War I, activities of public interest were no longer systematically

entrusted to public authorities. They started to be managed by private companies. As a

result, they ceased to be only regulated by public law. Similarly, as the state took on

activities that were managed as if they were private enterprises, public law ceased to

apply to all of its actions. Eventually, the state lost the exclusivity of intervention in

certain areas and the entitlement to the application of public law. Third, the privileges of

the elite shrank. As the superiority of the elite’s moral aptitude was contested,

governments felt less legitimate in differentiating the institutions according to social

class. The metamorphosis of universalism had wide-ranging consequences. As exclusions

and exceptions receded, French society advanced towards pluralism.

599 For an evolution of the seating charts in Parisian theaters, see the successive editions of the Album du monde élégant: Indicateur officiel des théâtres. 321

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