One of the great pleasures of being a grandfather, for me, has been taking the grandkids to the theater. The latest of these excursions took place on the afternoon of Sunday, October 20 when Nadina, our middle child, and her two oldest, Adria and Max, joined Anita and me to see the University of Evansville Department of Theatre’s presentation of Megan Monaghan Rivas’s play – inspired by the novel of Alexandre Dumas – The Three Musketeers.
And the early reviews are in, starting with the youngest: “That was a great play!” said Max, who at almost-eight can be easily distracted, but was enthralled with the numerous fencing scenes – just as I had anticipated, which is why I thought this would be an ideal play for him. He is quite engaged himself in the martial arts.
Adria, for her part, at ten a more thoughtful and reflective viewer, commented to me afterwards: “It should really be named The FOUR Musketeers”; and to my comment that, well, d’Artagnan only became a musketeer in the final scene, her rather mature response: “But didn’t we all know from the beginning that she was going to be?” The girl does have a point; she isn’t a bad reader of the dramatic (con)text.
And to the alert reader of this essay I now answer: Yes, that was a she that we all knew from the beginning was going to become Musketeer #4! For, as Diane Brewer explains in her “From the Dramaturg” note in the program – in the spirit of Dumas’s comment that he had written “‘history as imagination would have it, not history as it really was’” – Rivas’s characters “live in a version of 1625 that accepts 21st-century possibility: the workplace is categorically open to all women.”
The play is infused with this 21st-century idealism. A particularly moving scene to me is when d’Artagnan first sees Constance and stops in her tracks: love at first sight, beyond any doubt, and later there is that sweet exchange of furtive kisses between two young women. How good and how natural that all felt to me! How happy I was to see it! (I have always been, for good or ill, something of a romantic.) And isn’t a woman’s or a man’s right to love whomever they will love, regardless of gender, as good and as natural as a woman’s right to equal status with a man in the workplace?
Be all that as it may, it is no small matter to find among the original three musketeers one woman, and in the fourth another. And then there is the heroic and ill-fated Captain Treville, who ably commands the lot of them, but loses her life in defense of their creed: “All for one, and one for all!” – she, too, is a woman. (The contract represented by that slogan, incidentally, does not apply solely to each other, but also to king and queen and to their realm: the all of their community.)
Which leads us to the bigger question, the larger one for which Captain Treville dies. In a late scene, when d’Artagnan has been unjustly slandered as a traitor to the crown, one of the musketeers tests her; and she answers eloquently, ingenuously, utterly convincingly, of her faith in that communitarian spirit of one for all, and all for one that is so absent in the corporatist individualism and economic tyranny that today deflect attention, from the profiteers’ theft and their warmongering, by turning the tread-upon masses against each other.
Perhaps most notable is this play’s distinct anti-war and anti-violence ethos. This is evident in the queen’s repeated admonitions to prevent France, her adopted nation, from being drawn into a disastrous and destructive war, but first of all in the early scene where one of the musketeers teaches the new applicant to control her temper, to learn to use her head and always to exhaust all possibilities in the effort to avoid bloodshed. I have not read Dumas’s novel; I suppose that something of this must originate in its pages. But in any case, the frequent bursts of sword-fighting practice among musketeers and musketeer-in-training exude a great sense of play, of competitive sports and sports(wo)manship, albeit in preparation for the negative potentialities of the bearing of arms.
Twenty-first century possibility, indeed, is colored by the increasing divisions and uncertainty of the present reality. “All for one, and one for all”? We seem to be a long way from any such communitarian ethic today, but then, so was the reality of Dumas’s and the historical King Louis XIII’s France; though at least they didn’t have to worry about the apocalyptic threats of nuclear war and climate suicide.
Brewer comments, anyway, toward the end of her note, on the specific historical moment of Rivas’s work on this play:
“Rivas was in the midst of writing her version of THE THREE MUSKETEERS during the contentious aftermath of the 2016 US Presidential election. The triumph of a leader who pledged to build a wall between ‘us’ and ‘them’ infuriated her. She saw the idealistic value of ‘all for one, and one for all’ slipping away. But, like Dumas, she foiled the pressure of despair and returned to her writing with a vision of a world that could – and should – exist.”
And so must I return to mine. Presently I am at work on some fragments of what might become a novel. We shall see. The writing itself is an act of hope, a sword-thrust against despair. Perhaps there has never been a better chance than now to reshape society into something resembling what it should be. While my contribution is small (I did also make the hour-long journey to Evansville on September 20 to attend the climate protest, though that is the least I could do), the writing has always intended to make a meaningful contribution to the artistic record of our times – to shine light on human meanness and frailty, to be sure, but also to illuminate the possibilities of a better collective future.
Never mind that we never quite realize that ideal and perfect society: if we imagine it together, why can’t we do far better than the dark path down which the moment’s prevailing powers have us careening?