there) - French novelist , playwright And poet.
Biography
The seventh child in the family of an official Accounts Chamber, Paul Scarron chose a career as a Catholic clergyman. IN 1632 got a seat in the parish in Le Mans. He was close to Bishop Charles de Beaumanoir and very popular in the provincial salons. IN 1638 he suddenly fell ill rheumatism, and the 28-year-old cheerful, fun-loving abbot turned into a broken paralysis crippled, forced to spend a significant part of the time in the room, often enduring terrible pain in the joints. This misfortune did not prevent him from working hard literary work and to show in his writings a rare, unbroken sickness wit. Having almost no means of subsistence, he had to resort to patronage patrons, dedicating her works to them, seeking cash benefits, pensions, etc. Favorite Anna of Austria, after being published in 1649 pamphlet verses addressed to the cardinal Mazarin, he lost his royal pension and is forced to earn a living by writing dedications.
Literary creativity
Debuted with "A Collection of Several Burlesque Poems" ( fr. Recueil de quelques vers burlesques ) V 1643. As a literary figure, Scarron opposed everything unnatural, upbeat or cloying. One of his most popular compositions was "Virgil Inside Out" ( Virgile Travesty, 1648-1653) - sometimes very witty, sometimes rude parody of " Aeneid", which went around all of Europe and caused imitation (for example, in Austria - a comic poem A. Bloomauer, among the Slavs - turned over " Aeneid » N. P. Osipova in Russian, I. P. Kotlyarevsky in Ukrainian and V. P. Ravinsky in Belarusian).
A little earlier, Scarron published the poem "Typhon, or Gigantomachy" ( Typhon ou la Gigantomachie), which parodies high-flown heroic poems. Oh yeah Hero et Leandre is a parody of the crackling and meaningless works of various "ode writers".
IN the best essay Scarron - "Comic novel" ( Roman comique, 1649-1657) - definitely affects his negative attitude towards the artificial genre that was cultivated Honore d'Urfe , Gauthier Calprened , Madeleine de Scudery and others. languid breathers, celadon and noble, sensitive knights, who then delighted the reading public and were considered the best heroes, are contrasted here with rude, ill-mannered, sometimes cynical, but snatched from surrounding reality people talking plain language who love everything clear, definite, real, closely connected with the environment and the region where they were born and live. The wanderings of the troupe of actors in France give Scarron the opportunity to show his powers of observation, to bring out a whole series of typical, vividly depicted personalities, to recreate provincial life. There is no real life in The Comic Novel. plots, which would give unity to the whole work; numerous episodes at every step interrupt the main thread of the story. There is no doubt that we often find in Scarron not a simple, completely objective image real life, and somewhat one-sided, sometimes even caricature, partly approaching the type of "picaresque novel." Most of all, however, Scarron's work is a shining example burlesque.
Scarron has a fairly prominent place in history French literature 17th century: his novel was a counterbalance to the one-sided dominance of those works whose authors considered the depiction of unvarnished reality to be something base and unworthy good writer. The extremes and passions that Scarron fell into were a natural reaction against the extremes of the old school; at the heart of his work was the germ of a reasonable, healthy realism.
Scarron also wrote comedies - "Jodelet, or Servant-Master" ( Jodelet, ou le maître valet, 1645), L'heritier ridicule(1649), "Don Japheth of Armenia" ( Don Japhet d'Armenie, 1653), Le guardien de soi-meme(1655) and others, - sonnets, messages, madrigals collected under the general title Poesies diverses. complete collection Scarron's writings published in 1737 V Amsterdam, in the XIX century reprinted "Virgil inside out" (1858) and " comic novel» (1857).
Fame in Russia
Since the 19th century, some Russian writers have been quite familiar with the work of Scarron; So, V. Maykov in his heroic-comic poem Elisha, or the irritated Bacchus, undoubtedly imitated his manner; in the first song of this poem comes across an appeal to "darling, beloved Scarron." About Virgil Inside Out Virgile Travesty) had a concept Nikolai Osipov when writing his Aeneid turned inside out". IN 1763 a Russian translation of the "Merry Tale" appeared ( Roman comique) made by V. Teplov.
Image in art
In fiction
Chapter XXIII of the novel is dedicated to Abbe Scarron and his salon. Alexandra Dumas « twenty years later". In an adventure novel Theophile Gauthier(1863) " Captain Fracasse» a troupe of itinerant actors, to which he joined main character Baron de Signonac, often staged Scarron's play The Boast of Captain Matamore on the stage.
In cinema
- « King's way"(France, director Nina Kompaneets), in the role of Scarron - Michel Duchossois.
Major works
- comedy "Jaudle, or Servant-Master", 1645
- comedy "The Boast of Captain Matamore", 1646
- poem "Typhon, or Gigantomachy", 1647
- poem " Virgil inside out", 1648-1652
- poetic pamphlet "Mazarinade", 1649
- comedy "The absurd heir, or the mercenary maiden", 1649
- « comic novel", 1651-1657
- comedy Don Japhet the Armenian, 1653
- comedy "The Salamanca Schoolboy, or Magnanimous Enemies", 1654
- comedy "Prince Corsair", 1658
- "Tragicomic novels" ("Vain precaution", "Hypocrites", "Innocent adultery", "More deeds than words", "Punished avarice"), published in 1661
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Literature
- // Encyclopedic Dictionary of Brockhaus and Efron: in 86 tons (82 tons and 4 additional). - St. Petersburg. , 1890-1907.
- "Russian Poetry" (ed., edited by S. A. Vengerov, vol. II, V).
- Talleman de Reo. Little Scarron // Entertaining stories/ per. from fr. A. A. Engelke. - L.: Science. Leningrad branch, 1974. - S. 228-232. -( Literary monuments). - 50,000 copies.
- "Scarron et le genre burlesque", Paul Morillot, Paris, H. Lecene et H. Oudin, 1888.
- Paul Morillot, S. et le genre burlesque” (Par. 188 8);
- H. Chardon, "La troupe du Roman Comique dévoilee" (Par., 1876);
- Guizot, "Corneille et son temps" (a separate chapter is devoted to Scarron),
An excerpt characterizing Scarron, Paul
“Maybe I didn’t!” Maybe it's all over with Bolkonsky. Why do you think so badly of me?“I don’t think anything, I just don’t understand it ...
- Wait, Sonya, you will understand everything. See what kind of person he is. Don't think bad things about me or him.
“I don’t think bad things about anyone: I love everyone and feel sorry for everyone. But what am I to do?
Sonya did not give up on the gentle tone with which Natasha addressed her. The softer and more searching Natasha's expression was, the more serious and stern was Sonya's face.
“Natasha,” she said, “you asked me not to talk to you, I didn’t, now you yourself started. Natasha, I don't believe him. Why this secret?
- Again, again! Natasha interrupted.
- Natasha, I'm afraid for you.
- What to be afraid of?
“I’m afraid that you will ruin yourself,” Sonya said decisively, herself frightened by what she said.
Natasha's face again expressed anger.
“And I will destroy, I will destroy, I will destroy myself as soon as possible. None of your business. Not to you, but to me it will be bad. Leave, leave me. I hate you.
- Natasha! Sonya called out in fear.
- I hate it, I hate it! And you are my enemy forever!
Natasha ran out of the room.
Natasha did not speak to Sonya anymore and avoided her. With the same expression of agitated surprise and criminality, she paced the rooms, taking up first this and then another occupation and immediately abandoning them.
No matter how hard it was for Sonya, she kept her eyes on her friend.
On the eve of the day on which the count was supposed to return, Sonya noticed that Natasha had been sitting all morning at the living room window, as if waiting for something and that she had made some kind of sign to the passing military man, whom Sonya mistook for Anatole.
Sonya began to observe her friend even more attentively and noticed that Natasha was in a strange and unnatural state all the time of dinner and evening (she answered inappropriately to questions put to her, began and did not finish phrases, laughed at everything).
After tea, Sonya saw a timid maid waiting for her at Natasha's door. She let it through, and, eavesdropping at the door, learned that the letter had again been handed over. And suddenly it became clear to Sonya that Natasha had some kind of terrible plan for this evening. Sonya knocked on her door. Natasha didn't let her in.
“She will run away with him! Sonya thought. She is capable of anything. To-day there was something particularly pathetic and resolute in her face. She burst into tears, saying goodbye to her uncle, Sonya recalled. Yes, that's right, she runs with him - but what should I do? thought Sonya, now recalling those signs that clearly proved why Natasha had some kind of terrible intention. "There is no count. What should I do, write to Kuragin, demanding an explanation from him? But who tells him to answer? Write to Pierre, as Prince Andrei asked in case of an accident? ... But maybe, in fact, she had already refused Bolkonsky (she sent a letter to Princess Marya yesterday). There are no uncles!” It seemed terrible to Sonya to tell Marya Dmitrievna, who believed so much in Natasha. But one way or another, Sonya thought, standing in a dark corridor: now or never the time has come to prove that I remember the good deeds of their family and love Nicolas. No, I won’t sleep for at least three nights, but I won’t leave this corridor and won’t let her in by force, and won’t let shame fall on their family, ”she thought.
Anatole Lately moved to Dolokhov. The plan for the abduction of Rostova had already been thought out and prepared by Dolokhov for several days, and on the day when Sonya, having overheard Natasha at the door, decided to protect her, this plan was to be carried out. Natasha promised to go out to Kuragin on the back porch at ten o'clock in the evening. Kuragin was supposed to put her in a prepared troika and take her 60 miles from Moscow to the village of Kamenka, where a trimmed priest was prepared, who was supposed to marry them. In Kamenka, a set-up was ready, which was supposed to take them to the Varshavskaya road, and there they were supposed to ride abroad on postage.
Anatole had a passport, and a traveler's, and ten thousand money taken from his sister, and ten thousand borrowed through Dolokhov.
Two witnesses - Khvostikov, a former clerk, whom Dolokhov and Makarin used for playing, a retired hussar, good-natured and weak person, who had boundless love for Kuragin - sat in the first room for tea.
In Dolokhov's large office, decorated from wall to ceiling with Persian carpets, bearskins and weapons, Dolokhov sat in a traveling beshmet and boots in front of an open bureau, on which lay bills and wads of money. Anatole, in an unbuttoned uniform, walked from the room where the witnesses were sitting, through the study to the back room, where his French footman and others were putting last things. Dolokhov counted money and wrote it down.
“Well,” he said, “Khvostikov should be given two thousand.
- Well, let me, - said Anatole.
- Makarka (that's what they called Makarina), this one disinterestedly for you through fire and into water. Well, the scores are over, - said Dolokhov, showing him a note. - So?
“Yes, of course, that’s how it is,” said Anatole, apparently not listening to Dolokhov and with a smile that did not leave his face, looking ahead of him.
Dolokhov slammed the bureau shut and turned to Anatole with a mocking smile.
- And you know what - drop it all: there is still time! - he said.
- Fool! Anatole said. - Stop talking nonsense. If you only knew... The devil knows what it is!
“Damn right,” said Dolokhov. - I'm talking to you. Is this a joke you're up to?
- Well, again, teasing again? Went to hell! Huh?... – Anatole said with a frown. “The right is not up to your stupid jokes. And he left the room.
Dolokhov smiled contemptuously and condescendingly when Anatole left.
“Wait a minute,” he said after Anatole, “I’m not joking, I’m talking business, come, come here.
Anatole again entered the room and, trying to concentrate his attention, looked at Dolokhov, obviously involuntarily submitting to him.
- You listen to me, I'll tell you last time I say. What should I joke with you? Did I cross you? Who arranged everything for you, who found the priest, who took the passport, who got the money? All I.
- Well, thank you. Do you think I'm not grateful to you? Anatole sighed and hugged Dolokhov.
- I helped you, but still I have to tell you the truth: the matter is dangerous and, if you take it apart, stupid. Well, you'll take her away, okay. Will they leave it like that? It turns out that you are married. After all, you will be brought to criminal court ...
– Ah! stupidity, stupidity! - Anatole spoke again, grimacing. “Because I told you. A? - And Anatole, with that special predilection (which stupid people have) for the conclusion that they reach with their own mind, repeated the reasoning that he repeated a hundred times to Dolokhov. “After all, I explained to you, I decided: if this marriage is invalid,” he said, bending his finger, “then I do not answer; Well, if it's real, it doesn't matter: no one abroad will know this, right? And don't talk, don't talk, don't talk!
- Right, come on! You only bind yourself...
“Go to hell,” said Anatole, and, holding his hair, went out into another room and immediately returned and sat down with his feet on an armchair close to Dolokhov. “The devil knows what it is!” A? Look how it beats! - He took Dolokhov's hand and put it to his heart. - Ah! quel pied, mon cher, quel regard! Une deesse!! [ABOUT! What a leg, my friend, what a look! Goddess!!] Huh?
Dolokhov, smiling coldly and shining with his beautiful, insolent eyes, looked at him, apparently wanting to still have some fun with him.
- Well, the money will come out, then what?
- What then? A? - Anatole repeated with sincere bewilderment at the thought of the future. - What then? There I don’t know what… Well, what nonsense to say! He looked at his watch. - It's time!
Anatole went into the back room.
– Well, will you soon? Dig in here! he shouted at the servants.
Dolokhov took away the money and, shouting to a man to order food and drink for the road, entered the room where Khvostikov and Makarin were sitting.
Anatole was lying in the study, leaning on his arm, on the sofa, smiling thoughtfully and softly whispering something to himself with his beautiful mouth.
