Theatrical Activity in Paris (8) — Dialogues of the Carmelites

Dialogues des Carmélites
G. Bernanos
Marcelle Tassencourt
Hébertot

Dialogues of the Carmelites
By the French writer Georges Bernanos
Directed by Marcelle Tassencourt
At the Théâtre Hébertot

In 1947 Father Raymond Bruckberger and the director Philippe Agostini asked the well-known writer Bernanos to write the dialogue for a film they were making from a German story by the writer Gertrude von Lefort (Gertrude von Lefort), entitled "The Last on the Scaffold." The German writer had drawn the material of her tale from a historical incident well known in the chain of the Terror of the French Revolution: the execution of sixteen Carmelite nuns on the guillotine on July 17, 1794...

When people of the theater came upon this cinematic dialogue, they found in it the simplicity of the classical style, the violent conflict of true tragedy, and deep inner upheaval — in a word, all the essential elements that make of it a true theatrical piece. The German, Italian, and French stages adopted it; it was translated into many languages and performed in differing styles, and in every setting it won the admiration of the public and their feeling that they stood before a lofty classical theater. Bernanos, the well-known novelist, revealed himself a rare playwright, and he has left to the theatrical heritage a solid piece that rises to the summit of immortal tragedy.

The subject of the play is "fear" — the primal, natural fear whose seeds are planted in the depths of the human soul; the fear that human beings try to overcome, so that some reach the heights of heroism and courage, most arrive at a moderate position around which their personalities settle, while some it seizes with its instinctive force until the soul becomes its prey, and it takes on a morbid psychological form under which the moral powers collapse, casting its victim into cowardice, humiliation, and contempt.

Blanche de la Force, daughter of the Marquis de la Force, is an aristocratic girl with an ample share of beauty and culture, raised in one of the old French families, possessing every worldly blessing she could desire; but her nerves are weak, and terror seizes her and robs her of the pleasure of life. She fears the dark, and noise, and the gathering of crowds, and she suffers torments of the soul because of this fear, for she tries to fight it and despises herself on its account — indeed she counts her very existence a disgrace to the name of her honorable family, which in times past gave the homeland heroes of war and defenders of the land...

Here she is at the door of the Carmel, asking the Mother Superior to accept her among the daughters of the convent. The Mother hesitates greatly, and after a long discussion in which she shows her the difficulties that await her in a life of austerity and seclusion, she asks her:

— And have you ever thought of the name you wish to bear if we accept you into our convent?...

— Yes... I have thought of it... I want to be called Sister "Blanche of the Agony of Christ"!

Signs of astonishment and wonder appear on the old Mother's features, and she motions to her with her hand, saying: "Enter in peace, my daughter." For the Superior had thought of that very name on the day she herself entered the convent, and she found between herself and the girl a deep spiritual accord — indeed a heavenly sign that she should be received into the number of her daughters...

But this fear that drove Blanche to the Carmel accompanies her like her shadow inside the walls of the sheltering convent. She cannot sleep unless the door of her room stands open so that a glimmer of light from outside may reach her; she starts at the slightest movement, trembles and stammers, draws the attention of the sisters, and becomes the object of their quiet mockery and their wondering glances... Her anxiety over herself grows, her condition worsens, and her case occupies the thoughts of the Mother Superior as she lies on her deathbed. The Mother summons Mother Marie, known for her soundness of mind, her balanced character, and her firmness of morals, and asks her to take charge of Blanche's formation herself — indeed she holds her answerable for her before God. Mother Marie accepts this responsibility, knowing its gravity and its deep spiritual importance...

The Superior's illness grows graver and the hours of her final agony arrive; she complains and grumbles, asks for soothing medicine, weeps and sobs, and signs of weakness and fear appear upon her. Mother Marie is astonished at this in the courageous Mother who all her life had been known for firmness of character, strength of faith, and steadfastness of will... The Mother calls Sister Blanche to her; Blanche kneels at her bedside, weeping and frightened, and before the last breath the Superior utters a few words from which one understands: Forgive me... I am afraid... I am afraid of death...

The sisters look at one another in astonishment, asking what can be the meaning of this death, so unbefitting their Superior and believing Mother. Sister Constance, the youngest among them, says: "Who knows? Perhaps she died a death that did not befit her so as to offer her death for another, one more in need of courage than she — like one who puts on a tight, threadbare garment in order to give his warm, ample garment to someone else"...

Mother Lidoine (Lidoine) becomes the new Superior; it is said that she was preferred over Mother Marie because she comes of simple, humble stock while Mother Marie is of old aristocratic descent — which suited the present circumstances better, with the French Revolution at its very height... But the acts of terror increase day by day, striking nobles and men of religion alike. And now a band of police comes to search the convent and violate its sanctity. One of them enters Blanche's room; panic seizes her and she hides her face in her hands like a frightened child. He showers her with questions and she does not answer, and the man of the Revolution imagines that this girl is being kept in the convent against her will and is afraid to say so; he threatens Mother Marie with denunciation and public disgrace and with exposing the convent to the rod of law and liberty. Blanche throws herself into Mother Marie's arms, sobbing bitterly... Blanche's problem grows acute, and her presence becomes a danger to the convent and its very existence. Mother Lidoine summons her, and after a prayer said together she tells her:

— My daughter... we no longer have any hope of overcoming your nature and this deadly panic that seizes you... Do you think we wrong you if we return you to the world?

Blanche is stunned; confusion shows upon her, and after a long silence she says: — Yes... you speak truly... I have no hope of overcoming my nature... no hope... I shall drag the burden of my weakness upon my shoulders as the criminal prisoner carries the mark of his crime upon his body... That is why this convent is the only place where I hoped to make of my abasement an offering to His glory. Perhaps God willed me a coward as He willed others clever or dull — who knows?...

The Mother calms her fright and promises to consider her case anew...

The persecution intensifies, and the Revolution pours the volcano of its wrath upon the people of religion; the convent is stripped of all its possessions, and the nuns are forbidden their religious habit. Terror seizes every heart, and the community of the convent feel themselves threatened with death at every minute. Mother Marie then proposes that they offer together the vow of martyrdom. One of them asks her:

— And what does that mean?

— It does not mean that we throw ourselves into the fire or go looking for death; it means only that we do not flee from it if God wills to honor us with it in these present hard times — indeed, that we accept it with joy as a grace from Him on high, bestowed upon the Carmelites in hours of trial, that with their innocent blood they may wash away the sins of the homeland and of humanity...

Mother Marie proposes that the motion be put to a secret vote: if it meets with unanimity it becomes a sacred vow; otherwise it shall not be acted upon, even if the opposition be a single voice. All eyes turned toward Sister Blanche; Blanche quailed and grew confused, and Sister Constance sensed what had happened, deep concern and preoccupation coming over her face... The nuns stood in a line, and each in turn went round the altar where the priest stood, to cast her vote. When the round was complete, the priest came to Mother Marie, and she announced in a calm, steady voice that there was one opposing vote... Everyone turned to Sister Blanche — when suddenly Sister Constance said in a loud voice: "The opposition is mine — mine... but I ask pardon... I beg you to accept me now... I wish to join my voice to yours... I beg you, Father, accept my vote..." And her vote was accepted... It is understood, implicitly, that Constance had opposed in order to cover the weakness of her friend Blanche; and when she found that Blanche had not opposed, she went back and gave her vote... So the Carmelites offered the vow of martyrdom, that with their blood they might wash away the sin of the rulers and of humanity. And scarcely had they finished pronouncing the vow when Blanche, confused and struck dumb, turned her back and fled the convent...

Mother Marie follows her to Paris and finds her in the palace of her father the Marquis, who had been executed the night before. The palace is threatened with pillage and its people with execution, and Blanche sits before the fire, trembling, her teeth chattering, the sallow pallor of crushing terror upon her face.

Mother Marie asks her to return with her to the convent, and Blanche cries out:

— No... I do not want to die... leave me in my father's house.

— But you are exposed to death here at every minute... I have come for your salvation, Blanche...

— My salvation!... And are we safe from death in the convent?...

— There is something more dangerous to the soul than death, Blanche...! I have come to save you from that danger...

— No... no... I will not return...

— Yes, you will return tomorrow... I am certain of it, Sister "Blanche of the Agony of Christ"!

XXXX

The final scene: the square of the Revolution — the guillotine... The Carmelite nuns come down from the execution cart, dressed in white garments, their hair shorn so that the executioner's blade shall not touch it. They stand in a line singing the Veni Creator — I come to Thee, my God; and the melodies issue from their lips pure and steady. One after another mounts the steps of the guillotine and vanishes from sight, followed by the second and the third, down to the last — the youngest of them, Sister Constance, Blanche's intimate friend. She was climbing the ladder, her voice rising alone like a faint echo of the voices that had gone before her into eternity... She casts one glance behind her... A calm, faint voice rises, singing, from among the crowd...

Sister Blanche walks with steady steps toward the guillotine, takes up the hymn where it left off, and mounts the scaffold with courage and calm. A hush falls upon the crowd, and all watch her with reverence and wonder. Her eyes meet Constance's, and on the face of each an angelic smile appears, accompanying them until they vanish from sight and hearing...

Martyrdom — sainthood — a subject that long occupied Bernanos. He wove works around it and left behind heroes of many kinds and circumstances, who ascended to the halo of sainthood after a long struggle between the forces of good and evil, after their souls were melted in the crucible of purifying suffering, and after they had known humility, poverty, abasement, and deprivation. Yet all these twisting paths, and this longing to slip free of the yoke of original sin, avail nothing unless they are completed by the blessing of grace which God bestows upon His creatures when He wills.

The heroes of his novels are marked by being deprived of the world's blessings; indeed they are for the most part afflicted with hereditary infirmities and with a weakness that robs them of the respect of the society in which they live, and sometimes drives them to the great temptation and to surrender to deadly despair. Among them are the consumptive, the cancer-stricken, the hungry pauper, the fearful, the ill-tempered, and the dullard who provokes the laughter and mockery of his companions. Yet these bodily and psychological infirmities, on account of which their bearers suffer racking pains — if a man accepts them and bears them with the strength of faith, as a share in the divine sufferings on the cross on the night of Holy Friday — work in him the ever-renewed miracle of salvation, and lift him from the mire of sin and its death-rattle to the halo of sainthood and its grace... Perhaps the best key to lead us into the depths of this difficult literature is the Sermon on the Mount, where the covenant and the hope are for the pure of heart, for the poor, for the humble, for the despised, for the sorrowful, for those who hunger after righteousness... These are the faces that Bernanos crystallized in his literature; and the face of Blanche on the guillotine came to complete and crown the chain of saintly heroes whom this profound writer created in his modern literature. "Dialogues of the Carmelites" was the last piece the author unearthed from the depths of the spirit and from the Christian heritage in which he was raised and by whose grace he grew all his life...

This play was performed in France for the first time at the Théâtre Hébertot in 1951, and it was revived for a second run in 1957; it is counted among the foremost pieces the Parisian stage has known since the last war. The well-known actress and director Marcelle Tassencourt knew how to exploit the power of expression that distinguishes Bernanos's writing: the stage decoration was kept very simple, so as to leave the weight to the inner dialogue and to the simple, violent style that expressed the deepest and subtlest emotions in the fewest and simplest of words.