I had a busy morning yesterday, a couple of teleconferences, basically a lot of 'rolling and tumbling.' By late afternoon, I kind of went into shutdown mode. I had a nice dinner, put on Sigur Ros (beautiful, majestic music from Iceland) and took a hot bath.
I read my new book, 'The Life of Monsieur de Moliere,' by Mikhail Bulgakov. It is an obscure gem, a biography, that reads like a novel. It turns out Moliere was a son of a valet, who ended up roaming France with a group of actors, living a hard-scrabble existence, a 'band of gypsies.' We will learn, later in the book, that Moliere's little ragtag troupe will become a favorite of Louis XIV, the Sun King.
I had always thought of Moliere as a snooty Frenchman who lived in luxury and decadance. Not quite the complete story. Bulgakov wrote the book in 1933, but it wasn't published until well after his death in 1962. Bulgakov and Moliere are kindred souls -- they are both satirists who risked it all for their art. Moliere ended up in debtor's prison when his first theater group -- the Illustrious Theater failed; Bulgakov, was shunned and was constantly being censored, because his work did not adhere to the Soviet line.
There's a great early scene when (horror of horrors) Moliere tells his father that he is abandoning the path of Valet to Aristocrats, to become an ACTOR. At the time, acting was only for tramps, gypsies, heretics, charlatans.
Anyway, it's clear Bulgakov thinks Moliere is the ultimate hero (great comic actor, playwright). I won't be donning a powdered wig anytime soon, but once I finish this book, I expect I'll be seeking out some of Moliere's works.