La détresse des Harpagon

In a modest provincial manor, a wiry old hunter named Harpagon spends his mornings feeling the wind on his nose to chart the weather, treating the countryside like a grand hunting ground. His cramped, brick‑bounded home is filled with the clatter of cannon‑like rifles, a laurel‑shaped tree he oddly calls a ‘wellingtonia’, and the ever‑present smell of melted tallow that fuels his ever‑growing list of penny‑pinching schemes. Already, listeners sense his relentless preoccupation with saving every scrap, from repurposed candle bits to makeshift lubricants for his firearms.

His wife, Marie, a stout cook in a black cotton apron, endures his endless requests for a few more drops of greasing material while Harpagon jokes about ‘economies of candle stubs’ with a grin that never leaves his thin lips. Their daily banter, punctuated by the hiss of a massive iron basin and the absurdity of melting down treasured wax, shows a household perched on the edge of frugality. As the cold wind gathers, the stage is set for misadventures where Harpagon’s obsessive thrift will clash with the world beyond his courtyard.