In the foyer of the Comédie-Française in Paris stands a glass box, almost 2 metres tall and rather more than 1 metre wide. In the box stands a chair, its wooden arms protruding, skeleton-like, through battered stuffing and ancient cloth – or is it leather? It’s too worn to tell. In this chair, on 17 February 1673, France’s greatest comic playwright was carried from the stage for the last time, having been taken ill while playing the title role in his final comedy, Le Malade Imaginaire. He died not many minutes later (Molière would have appreciated Spike Milligan’s self-penned epitaph: “I told you I was ill”).
In the marble and glass pomp of its surroundings, the chair appears ludicrous, yet packs a powerful emotional punch. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This crazy, comic/tragic bit of furniture is the physical expression of the invisible link across time between the playwright and this theatre – still sometimes referred to as “the House of Molière”. It also hints at the complex relationship between the institution and the plays, between the need to preserve tradition, and to keeping the plays themselves alive for contemporary audiences. We have no equivalent in the UK. For better or for worse, our direct connection with Shakespeare, our closest equivalent, was ruptured when the Puritans closed the London theatres in 1642 (they did not officially reopen until 1660, two years after Molière became established in Paris under the protection of “Monsieur”, Louis XIV).
