A Book of Marionettes

by Helen Haiman Joseph

Again: “In the meantime I have seen the marionettes of the Rue Vivienne twice and I have enjoyed them very much. I am infinitely thankful to them for having replaced living actors.

“They are divine, these dolls of M. Signoret and worthy of giving form to the dreams of the poet whose mind Plato says, was ‘the sanctuary of the Graces.’

“Thanks to them we have Aristophanes in miniature. When the curtain has risen on an aerial landscape and we have watched the two semicircles of birds taking their places on either side of the sacrifice, we have formed some idea of the theatre of Bacchus. What a delightful representation! One of the two leaders of the birds turning to the spectators utters these words: ‘Feeble men, like unto the leaf, vain creatures fashioned out of clay and wanting wings, unhappy mortals condemned to an ephemeral and fugitive life, shadows, baseless dream....’ It is the first time, I think that marionettes have spoken with this melancholy gravity.”

All this is very interesting and very serious, no doubt, but what of the piping, impertinent voice of Polichinelle? And of this merry Guignol who makes the children laugh? It may seem odd to insert these slapstick buffoons into the midst of aristocratic literary puppets, but after all Guignol was growing and thriving contemporaneously with them and the hardy little fellow has outlived the most of them. Less elaborate and socially less select than those others installed in their artistic theatres, these al fresco performances in the Champs Élysées, in the gardens of the Tuileries and Luxembourg follow the traditional custom of their kind. The castellet of Guignol is little different from Punch’s booth, the dolls are most often simple creatures worked on the fingers, squeaking extemporary dialogue such as one might hear from the pupazzi of Italy or the figures of the Chinese peripatetic showman swathed in his linen bag.

Polichinelle has been through difficult times. The French Revolution found him obscure but a patriot, rejoicing at the new order of things. Later he was discovered amusing Emperor Napoleon the Third at the Tuileries Palace. In 1854 the French Zouaves and Grenadiers in the Crimea took Polichennello along with them and he loyally followed up to the very battlefield. But oftenest he was to be seen, through the long lapse of years, humiliated, humbled,—dancing on a board at the twitch of a horizontal string tied to the knee of some little Savoyard boy who beat a tambourine or blew upon a pipe and sang a pathetic song as he journeyed on to Paris. And there, too, on sidewalks and, when the wind blew cold, in the shelter of arches puppets danced on the board and the little boy gathered his pennies to send back home to his mother.

Thus Polichinelle has pursued his incredible career until we find him to-day with a devoted wife La Mère Gigogne and many well known if less popular fellows, such as Pierrot, and Harlequin, to say nothing of his many delightful and successful offspring. There is Lafleur the Polichinelle of Picardy, favorite of Amiens, a handsome peasant fellow always pleasant spoken even when beating up the policeman. Jacques is a little buffoon who entertains the public of Lille in his modest basement theatre. There in Joseph sold by his Brothers, or Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves he performs the principal parts (“la comédie pour un sou”). Most prominent of the progeny of Polichinelle is Guignol. Indeed he somewhat over-shadows his sire.

Although he has established himself so thoroughly in Paris, Guignol first came from Lyons. His creator was the modest but expert marionettist, Laurent Mourguet. It is he who is reported to have said to the friends weeping at his deathbed, “I shall never make you cry as much as I have made you laugh.” Guignol originated in a picturesque but humble cellar show. Although he has now moved into new and finer quarters, he remains a modest workman simply dressed, perpetually harried by his landlord and always with insufficient funds to pay his rent. He has a wife, long suffering Madelon, and a wild and wicked son Guillaume and along with them one finds Gnaffron, Gringellet, Bobine, Bambochnette, le Gendarme, le Médecin, le Propriétaire, le Juge, all these and many others.

In the Gardens of the Luxembourg, on the Champs Élysées or elsewhere in Paris, one may come upon these little actors merrily performing on small stages erected for them, and with an audience of spellbound children and nursemaids sitting before the castellet.

Most celebrated of these Parisian theatres is that of the Vrai Guignol in the Champs Élysées. M. Anatole, the founder of it, was the first who undertook to expand the repertoire of Guignol and to introduce pieces of adventure whose very names delight one: The Brigands of the Black Forest, The Enchanted Village, Mother Michel and her Cat, The Temptation of St. Anthony, and many more. Unfortunately for M. Anatole there was no copyright law for puppet plays and when a rival showman wanted to give a new play he merely went to see Anatole’s performance and then reproduced it. But Anatole himself deserves his reputation. He was an artist with prodigious ingenuity: he wrote his own pieces, he could give twenty distinct voices in one show as well as manipulate the dolls. He himself carved the puppets’ heads while his wife made the costumes.

Inspired by his success a young literateur, Charles Duranty, attempted in 1862 to uplift Guignol. He had an elegant little castellet erected and he spent months preparing the plays, giving them style and some sort of philosophical turn. His figures were created by artists. The prologue, it is said, was composed by a poet. The result was—a failure. His show appealed to too limited an audience; it was too artistic for the nursemaids and soldiers. The Tuileries were not for philosophy. The scenes soon were left to Guignol and the Commissaire who are so dear and delightful to their Parisian public. And again recently, a version of Rostand’s Chantecler was given by the puppets. There were to be seen chickens, peacocks, dogs, even a magnificent rooster, but Guignol and Guillaume were wanting. Surprised at first, before long the children began to clamor for their heroes,—and they had to be satisfied.