Subverting Sex: An Analysis of Gender in Jean Giraudoux’s Sodome et Gomorrhe

Dylan Goodman

Dylan Goodman (class of 2016) calls Raleigh, North Carolina his home. Though he is currently undecided about his major, he is passionate about theatre, social change, international affairs, literature, history, and sex—academically speaking, of course. This past summer he interned at Playmakers Repertory Company, assisting with a youth production of Sweeney Todd. He would like to dedicate this publication to his family and to the historical agency of storytelling. Dylan’s essay was written for Dr. Tilburg’s History 228: The Making of the Modern Body; Gender, Sex, and Politics in France.

On November 18, 1940, Marshal Pètain, Chef de l’État Français, spoke to his people following the country’s devastating defeat against Nazi Germany saying, “It is through work, respect for tradition, order, and family that we will rise again.”1 The swift Nazi victory left France with such regrets as had not been experienced since the Franco-Prussian defeat of 1870.2 History appeared to be repeating itself, and Pètain capitalized on this rhetoric to establish a common cause: the obstruction of the heterosexual couple. He purposely ended his speech with family” to denote its importance to l’État Français, the new fascist state.3 Much like the discourse surrounding the final days of the Second Empire, Pétain blamed the Third Republic for its own fall because it had the blurring of gender roles, the loss of family values, and most importantly, a diminishing of the population of France. As Pollard describes in her analysis of gender in Vichy, “If 1940 was interpreted as a dramatic repeat of 1870. . .then population, reproduction, sex,and sexuality became vital national-political issues.”4 If population numbers were the cause of French weakness, Pétain’s power rested in his ability to reclaim the heterosexual couple. In order to elevate such an ideal, Pétain’s government asserted sexual difference in the face of a certain gender ambiguity in 1920s and 1930s France. It was then vital to clearly delineate masculinity from femininity if Pétain were to have any hope in watching l’État Français succeed.5 Yet, was the promotion of sexual difference the answer to restoring socio-political unity?

Three years after Pétain uttered his founding words, an audience of Parisians and Nazis sat before a dark stage at the Théâtre Héberot.6 As lights lit up a rose-colored pane of cathedral glass, a character by the name of the Archangel, sent to warn of the coming apocalypse, walked across the stage and proclaimed, “The evil and infamy rest in the fact that each sex sins apart and on its own account.”7 The Archangel calls the cause of the destruction “le mal des empires,” the product of men and women no longer living in harmony.8 Now all of humanity’s fate rests on the ability of one couple, Lia and Jean, to prove their relationship as true. Throughout the course of the play, however, Giraudoux emphasizes that it is sexual difference which makes a happy marriage impossible. Lia and John cannot reconcile their unique desires and eventually doom the rest of the population. This condemnation of sexual difference ran counter to Pétain’s dictates. I shall argue that Giraudoux articulated the faults of masculinity and femininity in Sodome and Gomorrhe in order to subvert Pétain’s paragon image of sexuality duality, and by doing so, labeled l’État Français as an institution of oppression.

Giraudoux was no stranger to infusing politics into art. Born in 1882, in the wake of the Franco-Prussian defeat, he grew up enthralled by literary and political passions. In 1910 he joined the commercial division of the Quai d’Orsay and in 1914 enlisted in the army as a sargeant in the infantry.9 Awarded the Legion of Honor, Giraudoux returned from combat with the heart of a reformer. According to Agnes Raymond’s biography of Giraudoux, he envisioned the French victory as a time to better the country. Raymond writes that Giraudoux had “this taste for perfection, this desire to create a real environment as harmonious as that in his fictional works.”10 Acting outside the political sphere, he took up work as a creative writer in order to disseminate his dreams of urban renewal in the postwar era, yet the officials of the Third Republic did not listen to him. For this reason, he often compared his fate as a politically-engaged writer with that of the “second sex,” lacking a voice in government yet possessing such “feminine” qualities as creativity and spontaneity.11 Finally, in 1939, Daladier’s government offered him a job as the Commissoner General of Information. His duties included regulating the press, city planning, education management, and promoting the arts. His first task involved the suppression of communist newspapers, not a work of artistic achievement. So began his first encounter with censorship.12 When Pétain took power in 1940, Giraudoux resigned, in part because he was horrified by French complacency with the defeat. After his resignation, Giraudoux felt the need to keep a low profile considering he was described in a Nazi journal as “the  Jewish gang’s Minister of Propoganda.”13

Despite the Occupation, the arts flourished. It was again as a writer that Giraudoux found a medium for his views. During the Occupation, he wrote two films, oversaw the revival of his play Electre, and premiered Sodome and Gomorrhe, a work he had started writing in 1941.14 Even though the Nazis censored all public art, Giraudoux knew how to overcome these barriers due to his work as a censor during the Third Republic. In an interview with Frédéric Lefevre about his writings, Giraudoux said, “Every work needs a context, which for writings of the past is furnished by literary history and for living writers by their own lives.”15 Thus it becomes clear that Giraudoux’s Sodome et Gomorrhe was not written in the vacuum of fiction, but stood as the political voice of Giraudoux in the context of the German Occupation.

Both Giraudoux and Pétain, however, not only reacted to the current state of affairs, but also to the discourse of gender and sexuality from the interwar period. The 1920s and 1930s in the Third Republic were filled with disillusionment. Even though France had triumphed over Germany and reclaimed its pride from the Franco-Prussian War, the French marriage Subverting Sex: An Analysis of Gender in Jean Giraudoux's Sodome et Gomorrhepopulation had been decimated, particularly with the loss of French men. And yet the justification for this enormous loss of life seemed distant and hollow. With such extreme casualties, the aftermath of new forms of warfare, and an economy that was on the decline, French society was in disarray. As Mary Louise Roberts argues, the French used the discourse of gender to express anxieties about these greater social and economic changes.16

In fact, renowned war veteran Pierre Drieu La Rochelle famously summed up the general sentiment about interwar society saying, “This civilization no longer has clothes, no longer has churches, no longer has places, no longer has theatres, no longer has paintings, no longer has books, no longer has sexes.”17 And to Rochelle (as echoed years later by Pétain) this anxiety about sex was expressed last because, according to Roberts, the French mind saw it as the most important fate of society. His fear stemmed from a great change in fashions during this time: women started to embrace a more boyish figure, short hair was in style, and clothes could be more androgynous while revealing more skin.18 On a more material level, women had started to enter the workforce as necessitated by the lack of young men who were mentally or physically ready for labor. All these shifts in the conception of femininity led to fears that gender roles were blurring; sexual difference was disappearing.

Pétain and Giraudoux were forced to navigate these symbols of gender, yet upon the fall of France in 1940, Pétain chose to embrace the symbol of the mother. When France fell so abruptly and so feebly against Hitler’s army, the French psyche was on the verge of collapse. French citizens everywhere deemed the Third Republic a failure. The tenets of democracy, capitalism, and equality had let down the nation. As Pollard writes, “The post-WWI legacy of inflation, unemployment, riots and strikes, near civil war between right and left, had let to social and political uncertainty.19

Yet, when looking to grapple with these complex issues, it once again became easier to use a discourse of gender. Pétain supported a propaganda campaign of  travail, famille, patrie as a way to articulate that national stability came with gender stability. This stability required a clear delineation between masculinity and femininity.  Henry Rousso describes Pétain’s famille as: “le père, le chef de famille, a des droits particuleurs. Quant aux femmes, elles sont invitées à rester au foyer. L’avortement ou l’homosexualité sont sévèrement réprimés.”20 In short, pétainist France sought to assert dominance over the sexes as a way of restoring governmental authority and national pride. It was a crusade to redeem a masculine identity that had been so discredited by the Nazis, to increase the population by promoting motherhood, and to subvert individuals to the will of the state through the regulation of sexual deviance. In short, “the pétainist panacea of strong patriarchal authority was not just appropriate to the short-term crisis, but imperative for France to ‘recover’ its place in world affairs.”21

It is Giraudoux’s play, though, that argues against the beneficial qualities of affirming sexual difference and condemns such differentiation as a repressive sexual model. At the start of the play, the Archangel avers that it is the division of men and women based on sex that has upset the natural order and has angered God, for sexual difference makes a happy marriage impossible. In speaking of the virtues of the couple, the Archangel says, “Ce jemelage et cette ligue contre lui-même étaient aussi une fidélité et une promesse.”22 What is most important to note is the word jumelage. This word connotes the presence of twins. The Archangel speaks of the ideal couple in terms of kinship, familiarity, and, ultimately, a kind of shared identity. To be a twin is to embrace a life of equality; twins recognize their common origin, embrace a common humanity, and share DNA. Further, the Archangel also calls “ce jumelage, cette ligue contre lui-même,” a league against the self.23 With a twin, it is impossible not to see the self in another, yet the Archangel’s words recognize in a couple the ability to transcend self altogether. With marriage described in such terms of sameness, there is little room for sexual difference. Marriage as defined by the Archangel is about finding a partner in life, a twin who can help one lose the debilitating notions of ego and pride.

The Archangel then defines the dangers of sexual difference, “le mal a un sexe.”24 When the other character, the Gardener, tells the Archangel that he is not married, the Archangel begins to rant. He asks the Gardener to listen to the songs of the North and South. These songs are in discord because there is not duet. Men sing in the North and women sing in the South. God has come to punish Sodom and Gomorrah because men and women are no longer one. The Archangel speaks of “le male a un sexe,” saying “Plaisirs, souvenirs, objects prennent un sexe, et il n’y a plus de plaisirs communs, de mémoire commune, de flueurs communes.”25 This sentence denotes that no longer are pleasures, memories, and flowers understood in the same way for all humans; now, our interactions with the world are regulated by our sex. It is interesting to read “fleurs communes” as the ultimate loss, for the Archangel seems to bemoan that not even flowers–nature itself–can be spoken of in common terms between men and women. This discourse of en commun versus prenant un sexe also indicates larger societal implications of sexual difference. Giraoudoux wants his audience to see that the fight for “un couple á Dieux” is not merely a fight for marriage, but a fight for society itself. Unlike Pétain, Giraudoux sees the preservation of family through the acceptance of a common humanity, not through reasserting the duality of male and female.26 In the same way, Giraudoux argues that society cannot form a community if its people are divided by gender and sex. The heterosexual couple and the gender norms promoted by Pétain were first and foremost oppressive and an impediment to national unity.

Now all of humanity’s fate rests on the ability of one couple, Lia and Jean, to prove their relationship as true. Throughout the course of the play, however, Giraudoux emphasizes that it is sexual difference which makes a happy marriage impossible.

In order to further argue against sexual difference, Giraudoux then structures his play so that we receive three equally distinct representations of both femininity and masculinity. The feminine representations are Delila, the traditional kept woman who embraces feminine weakness to manipulate her husband; Ruth, the gossip who embraces female submission; and Lia, the headstrong rebel who wants to break free of the heteronormative world. The masculine representations include Samson, the face of brute strength and virility; Jacques, the oblivious husband; and Jean, the gentleman and tender lover. Navigating these gendered symbols, it soon becomes clear that none of these pairings are compatible; “un couple á Dieux” becomes impossible because each character is trapped by a discourse of sexual difference.

The character Dalila is first mentioned in the Prologue when the Gardener offers the Archangel the names of two couples with the possibility to prove God wrong: “Il reste Jean et Lia, il reste Dalila et Samson.”27 In response the Archangel says that unfortunately Dalila and Samson are abroad and cannot be credited. During Act II, however, Dalila and Samson show up just when all seems lost for Lia and Jean’s relationship. Welcomed by the joyous cries of young girls, Delila walks into the scene as a member of the female chorus cries, “Voici le seul couple heureux, le seul vrai!”28 Samson and Dalila are made out to be the paragon couple, having mastered the ideal balance between femininity and masculinity. They are not just an example of happiness, but of truth itself. It is with such high expectations that we hope to see the two acting in perfect jumelage, being a pair in solidarity and kinship. The scene that unfolds is not so optimistic.

Dalila begins by bragging to the other girls how she chose Samson, the strongest of them all, for her husband. Lia then says to her, “Son nom ne va pas ave le vôtre.”29 Lia’s statement carries the hope of sexual unity as promised by “un couple á Dieux.” It is not that the name of Samson necessarily is dominant or more important than Dalila’s,but it simply goes well with hers. The implication is that the two identities of Samson and Dalila coexist on the same plane. In response, however, Dalila reverts to the rhetoric of sexual difference, saying, “Un homme, c’est d’abord la force.Je suis née peureuse, comme toutes les femmes. . . Mais contre la souris et le moustique, je ne me sense rassuréee que part le presence d’un mari qui étrangle la panthère entre deux doigts.”30 She is completely consumed by the separation of masculinity and femininity in a way that Pétain would have embraced. The man is “d’abord la force.”31 Masculinity means strength, and femininity means cowardice. She would not be able to live without fear of petty insects and mice if she did not have the assurance of a husband with the ability to strangle a panther with two fingers. The feminine is then the role of the dependent, unable to survive alone. This dependence on masculinity turns women into leeches and parasites.

Dalila’s representation parasitic femininity is best expressed when she reveals to the other girls, “J’ai choisi celui qui n’a jamais commu d’autres femmes. . .Comment serait-il infidel? D’ailleurs je prends soin de lui parler toujours de ses ennemis personnels au feminine.”32 Any hope of jumelage is lost with Dalila’s belief that Samson did not grow up around women. He was kept in ignorance about the ways of the other sex and was, therefore, able to be completely taken advantage of by Dalila who convinces him that all women other than herself are evil. In this way, they stay together not because they truly love each other, but because Samson is so innoculated by the rhetoric of sexual difference he fears other women as enemies. Dalila, on the other hand, does not realize that her own feeling of powerlessness has not manifested in love, but manipulation. Her dependence on Samson leads her to fill his head with degrading lies about femininity, and in doing so degrades herself.

When Samson comes into the picture, we get an image of masculinity that is worthy pitying. He is oblivious to his wife’s twisted sense of their relationship. As Dalila says of her role as wife, “Je n’ai qu’á l’entretenir dans cette enfance qui ne finira qu’á sa mort.”33 Samson is described as a big baby who will never grow up until “sa mort.”34 Her role as a woman is to be the eternal mother in which pleasure and love are bargaining chips. Meanwhile, he remains trapped in “cette enfance.” And, when he speaks of his wife, he says, “J’ai choisi cdell que les filles envient et haissent dés le berceau.”35 In her he sees tenderness, loyalty, sympathy, and, above all, beauty. She is not human to him, for she can do no wrong. Upon hearing his description of his wife, one girl cries, “pauvre aveugle.”36 And Samson does appear to be blind. This example of masculine patriarchy leads to complete ignorance. Strength is a poor excuse for intelligence. Giraudoux paints the classic heterosexual couple as dysfunctional. He describes it as a corruption of the archetypal symbol of motherhood that Pétain saw as the future of the French nation. Giraudoux says that to confine the woman to subservience makes her desperate and vengeful against other women, while the power given to the man makes him blind to the world around him. In the words of Judith, another girl from the chorus who addresses Samson, “Tu as choisi la belette et la vipère.”37

Giraudoux further suggests the faults in the feminine and masculine representations of Dalila and Samson, for the couple is suddenly withdrawn from the search for “un couple á Dieux” when Samson is struck down by the heavens, incapacitated. Yet before Samson and Dalila we see the fall of a similar couple trying to embody classic gender roles: Ruth and Jacques. Ruth and Jacques are the good friends of Jean and Lia, but they face their own conflicted matrimony. We are first acquainted with Ruth as she slyly delves into the marital troubles of Lia in the opening scene. Upon Lia’s cursing of the heavens for her emotional frustration, Ruth asks why she blasphemes against the heavens and Lia responds with “Par ce que je suis un front, comme tu es un ventre.”38 Ruth is “un ventre” in that she is the representation of submission and tenderness. This notion of being a stomach also alludes to her association with feminine fertility in that un gross ventre is often euphemistic for a pregnant woman’s figure. Ruth describes her ideal relationship as one in which the man would be her salvation:

C’est sure lui, c’est par lui quie j’allais goûter les délices et les voluptés d’une vie qui restait fade pour moi-même. J’avais dans mes bras celui qui allait aimer pour moi, suffrir pour moi. . .Tous les nuages et les soleils sur son visage, et moi-même au fondde lui me nourrissant de las nourriture des femmes,de ses entrailles et de son coeur. Jusqu’á la mort!”39

Ruth is the feminine caregiver. She sees her own position as stable and domestic and expects her husband to be the opposite. Her notion of femininity makes her feel as though her duty is not to enjoy the pleasures of life, but to keeper of le foyer. It is her duty as a woman to give “la nourriture des femmes,” to allow her body to become a shelter and sanctuary in times of trouble.40 This feminine obligation makes her say, “J’avais dans mes bras celui qui aller aimer pour moi, suffrir pour moi.” Underneath this supposed selflessness is a core of selfishness. Giraoudoux makes Ruth appear unfulfilled in her feminine role, and therefore, expects that a man will be able to compensate for her own domestic frustration. She wants him to suffer and love her out of compensation for her womanly touch. She wants him to make her life worthwhile.

With Ruth’s high demands, Jacques cannot help but fall short. With the image of masculinity as “la voix de tout ce qui vaut d’être entendu,” Ruth quickly become dissatisfied to find that Jacques also favors stability.41 He is not an adventurer or pioneer; instead, he is contented with normalcy. Jacques is not afraid of a quotidian life, yet Ruth speaks of this attitude in disgust, saying, “Il a les memes gestes pour s’habiller, pour se peigner, pour embrasser. . .Maintenant je mange, je pense, je souffre, j’aime moi-même.”42 By viewing masculinity as the complement to feminine complacency, Ruth views Jacques’s normalcy as effeminate and unattractive. It is, in fact, the expectation of sexual difference that makes her incapable of loving and makes her conclude, “j’aime moi-même.”

When Lia, Jean, Jacques, and Ruth find themselves in a disagreement about the weather. Ruth sides with Jean, who thinks the weather is beautiful while Jacques sides with Lia. Jacques is soon frustrated by Ruth’s blatant frustration and condemns her falsehood, “Oui, Ce n’est pas que Ruth voyait bleu le ciel. C’est qu’elle mentait.”43 He accuses Ruth of expressing her discontent in deceit. Rather than take control of her own fate, Ruth insists on wallowing in her problems and fantasizing about what could have been. Shemarriage Subverting Sex: An Analysis of Gender in Jean Giraudoux's Sodome et Gomorrhe only sees what she wants to see because her feminine role has forced her to accept mediocrity. Jacques reveals all of these qualms when he accuses her of infidelity: “Tu ne pense qu’á Jean. Tout ce qu’on peut dire,c’est que tue as lutté contre ton désirm c’est que tu luttes. Mais, Ange, sa fidélité deviant pire qu’une trahison.”44 Both Jacques and Ruth are caught in a web of misunderstanding. Ruth asks of Jacques’s masculinity a delusion of adventure, while Jacques sees Ruth’s delusions as essential to her femininity. Ruth’s femininity tells her to put others first, yet by never accounting for her own joy, she lives in a world of lies and becomes hateful toward her husband. It is for this reason that Jacques accuses her of fighting against her own desire: “tu as lutté contre ton désir.”45 Both Ruth and Jacques have been forced into gender roles that dehumanize them. Ruth is not allowed to think and act for herself and Jacques is expected to take on the strength of a heroic and adventurous life.”Un couple á Dieux” is impossible since neither person is expected to be him/herself.

The couple of Lia and Jean, however, has the most hope of appeasing God. Right from the start, the Archangel deemed them the single source of salvation and humanity. There is such hope attached to Lia and Jean, for Lia is the one character who attempts to transcend sexual indifference and embrace a love between people, not men and women. In speaking of her first love of Jean she says, “Jamais époux au contraire ne sont entrés dans leur maison nouvelle avec plus de promesses. . .J’ai vu Jean comme la biche voit soncerf,de mes yeux les plus clairs,et tel qu’il est. . .Je n’ai jamais eu á le déshabiller que sa robe.”46 Lia speaks of her love with the romanticism of nature: an image of a doe and a stag. The animal relationship does not carry the presumptions and expectations of human constructions of masculinity and femininity but represents an attraction that is primal and the source of life itself. The doe and stag need not put on masks to be acceptable to the other, but merely inhabit their bodies. For the same reason, Lia mentions that her eyes were never clearer,for there was no abstraction to cloud her vision of Jean. They allowed themselves to be vulnerable with each other such that their minds were already naked to each other before they disrobed. Nakedness and sex were secondary to establishing their emotional relationship. Love blossomed from their ability to simply be together as humans, in effect as animals, as lovers.

Unfortunately, Lia’s jumelage with Jean appears to be coming to and yet, it is not necessarily due to a fault of Jean’s. Rather, Lia is beginning to become aware of her sex. She confides in Ruth, saying, “Mais les objets du monde ne sont plus les mêmes pour nous. . .le visage qu’il voit de moi n’est plus le mien. Le monde s’est dédoublé et nous avons chacun le nôtre.”47 She reveals that it is consciousness of sexual difference that has come between them. They are slowly but surely being taught to see the world in terms of male and female duality. It is important to notice that the images of nature have evaporated. Lia speaks of “les objets du monde” and “le visage”: human terms. Jean has begun to regulate his actions according to a construction of masculinity. The face he reveals to Lia is no longer hers, for he no longer lets himself be vulnerable to her. He has become complacent in the traditional marriage roles society has set out for them. She complains of his sudden distance, how he wants to run away from problems on a “tapis volant.”48 Whenever she tries to confront him with her grief, rage, or passion “il ne voit rien, il n’entend rien.”49 He has started to hide himself behind the mask of heterosexual masculinity, which says he must be distant and patriarchal. “Le male a un sexe” has corrupted their relationship.

When Lia tries to confront Jean with her marital troubles, she enters and breaks into a fury about their roles as husband and wife:

Moi, mon corps n’a jamais été que ma voix vers toi; ma gorge, mes cheveux, mes jambs n’ont jamais été que les mots de ce language que le péché original a enlevé à notre bouche. Á travers les éspaisseurs des folies et des sagesses, á travers les ages, á travers la mort, à travers les éspaisseurs des folies et des sagesses, á travers les visage changeants de la terre, mes mains, mes hanches, mes yeux t’ont dit le dévouement et l’espoire d’avant la faute. Tout ce que tu said de ce qu’étaient les vrais fleuves, les vrais arbres, la vraie vie, c’est par eux que tu le sai. Toi, ton corps et un dos, un silence.”50

Lia attacks the root of the problem. Jean has suddenly come to see her very body as sinful. Society has finally convinced him of the evil of femininity: “mes yeux t’ont de le dévoument.”51 He no longer sees her humanity, for he has become obsessed with her body as a representation of “péché original,”something distinctly female. Yet the damage has already been done. He is willing to categorize her in the feminine realm to put distance between them. His presence in her life has become “un dos,” his back always turned to her. Jean’s body is silent in that it no longer shares that common language of human touch and understanding, but has become isolated in the realm of masculinity. And thus their relationship is doomed to fail, for their very bodies can no longer experience the same world.

In the end, Jean and Lia cannot save humanity for the aforementioned reasons. Sexual difference halts their fruitful relationship, leaving them both without the love they once shared. As they prepare for the end of the world, Jean and Lia call upon their gendered kin: Lia with her sisters and Jean with his brothers. So too do the animals of the world divide themselves into masculine and feminine camps as if to undo the great pairing into Noah’s ark. Standing next to Jacques, Jean says, “Lance-la vers les femmes. Ce sera notre adieu.”52 So plays out Giraudoux’s warning against sexual difference: a world divided between the sexes is doomed to collapse.

Giraudoux believed “un couple á Dieux”could only exist without the confines of gender. In doing so, he subverted the propaganda of Pétain, which had sought to uphold this ploy by the Vichy government, and instead revealed such duality as oppressive and incompatible with true love. To Giraudoux, love meant two people who saw each other as equals, as humans, and as partners on life’s journey. Pétain’s heterosexual delineation did just the opposite; it enforced submission, inequality, and dehumanization. Ultimately, Sodome et Gomorrhe is not just a testament to the true meaning of a couple, but a call to a nation to transcend sexual oppression and embrace a common humanity.



Giraudoux, Jean. Théâtre.  (Paris: Bernard Grasset, 1959).

Giraudoux, Jean. Sodom and Gommorrah. Translated by Herma Briffault. (New York: McGraw Hill, 1961).

Pollard, Miranda. Reign of Virtue: Mobilizing Gender in Vichy France. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998).

Raymond, Agnes. Jean Giraudoux: The Theatre of Victory. (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1966).

Roberts, Mary Louise. Civilization without Sexes: Reconstructing Gender in Postwar France, 1917-1927. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).

Rousso, Henry. Vivre sous l’Occupation. (Paris: Gallimard, 2005).




  1. quoted in Miranda Pollard, Reign of Virtue: Mobilizing Gender in Vichy France (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988): 41. []
  2. Ibid., 43. []
  3. Ibid., 1. []
  4. Ibid., 43. []
  5. Ibid., 3. []
  6. Agnes Raymond, Jean Giraudoux: The Theatre of Victory (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1966): 99. []
  7. Jean Giraudox, Sodom and Gomorrah, trans. Herma Briffault (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961): 437. []
  8. Jean Giraudoux, Théâtre (Paris: Bernard Grasset, 1959): 4. []
  9. Raymond, 6. []
  10. Ibid., 10. []
  11. Ibid., 14. []
  12. Ibid., 16. []
  13. Ibid., 17. []
  14. Ibid., 99. []
  15. quoted in Raymond, 3. []
  16. Mary Louise Roberts, Civilization without Sexes: Reconstructing Gender in Postwar France, 1917-1927 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994) 1. []
  17. quoted in Roberts, 2. []
  18. Ibid., 70. []
  19. Pollard, 3. []
  20. Henry Rousso, Vivre sous l’Occupation (Paris: Gallimard, 2005): 38. []
  21. Pollard, 5. []
  22. Giraudoux, 9. []
  23. Ibid. []
  24. Ibid., 10. []
  25. Ibid. []
  26. Ibid. []
  27. Ibid., 10. []
  28. Ibid., 52. []
  29. Ibid., 53. []
  30. Ibid., 54. []
  31. Ibid. []
  32. Ibid., 55. []
  33. Ibid. []
  34. Ibid., 57. []
  35. Ibid. []
  36. Ibid. []
  37. Ibid. []
  38. Ibid., 18. []
  39. Ibid., 19. []
  40. Ibid. []
  41. Ibid. []
  42. Ibid., 20. []
  43. Ibid., 29. []
  44. Ibid., 30 []
  45. Ibid. []
  46. Ibid., 15. []
  47. Ibid., 17. []
  48. Ibid., 21. []
  49. Ibid. []
  50. Ibid., 24. []
  51. Ibid. []
  52. Ibid., 78. []