Through until 25 July, the company’s repertoire will be devoted entirely to the playwright, with 20 plays by or relating to him (12 among them entirely new productions), as well as associated talks, online links, broadcasts and exhibitions, including one with the Bibliothèque nationale de France. Given this history, it’s a bit of a surprise to read the words of the theatre’s general administrator, Éric Ruf (himself an award-winning performer, director and designer): “If there is a theatre where no one knows the best way to stage Molière, this is it.” It’s a bold statement at a time when the Comédie-Française is going all out to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the baptism of Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, who would later rename himself Molière. Violence, viciousness, love and consideration kaleidoscope through the action of Le Misanthrope 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). 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. 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”.

In the marble and glass pomp of its surroundings, the chair appears ludicrous, yet packs a powerful emotional punch.

He died not many minutes later (Molière would have appreciated Spike Milligan’s self-penned epitaph: “I told you I was ill”). 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. 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.

I n the foyer of the Comédie-Française in Paris stands a glass box, almost 2 metres tall and rather more than 1 metre wide.

Ivo van hove tartuffe