The Miller's Son

Princes, yes, but maids and servants too

Early in the second act of A Little Night Music, we are told that “the hands on the clock turn, but don’t sing a nocturne just yet.” Well, Madame Armfeldt’s country estate might be bathed in the perpetual twilight of a Swedish midsummer night, but when evening falls on Broadway, an eleven o’clock number will often follow.

I used to think that calling something an “eleven o’clock number” suggested a kind of last-minute urgency, rather like saying that a decision has been made “at the eleventh hour.” But in the days when Broadway shows would routinely begin at 8:30 or even 8:45 P.M., these numbers—which do indeed occur late in a show, toward the end of Act II—would actually be performed at around 11:00 P.M., hence the name. (“What’s hard is simple…”)

Stephen Sondheim is jointly responsible for perhaps the most famous eleven o’clock number of all time. The whole of Gypsy seems to build toward “Rose’s Turn,” in which Madame Rose drops the facade she has maintained for so long, finally confronting her own shattered dreams, at last acknowledging all that has fed into her relentless pursuit of stardom for her daughters. “Rose’s Turn” is the archetypal eleven o’clock number: it is BIG, sung by a central character, and is pivotal not only for the character in question but for the show as a whole.

“The Miller’s Son,” although occupying the same structural position in A Little Night Music, makes for an unusual eleven o’clock number. It is sung by Petra, a flirtatious 21-year-old maid in the household of Fredrik Egerman. Crucially, she is undoubtedly more of a secondary character than, say, Gypsy’s Rose. Arthur Laurents, Sondheim’s collaborator on West Side Story, Gypsy, Anyone Can Whistle, and Do I Hear A Waltz?, remarked, “What that character is doing singing right before the final curtain, I don't know.” The number does not set out to resolve the central conflict of the story, instead serving as more of a reflective commentary on life’s choices and one particular character’s aspirations. We are invited, like Petra, to reflect upon love, marriage, and social mobility, but the show’s core plot is notably unaffected by the number itself.

When looking at “The Miller’s Son” and its role in A Little Night Music, it is perhaps less significant to note that Petra is a secondary character, and more significant to note that she is a maid. “That’s what I mean by class,” says Gene Gorman repeatedly, early in Sondheim’s Saturday Night—and perhaps we can credit Petra with conveying a similar message, albeit implicitly. One way to think about “The Miller’s Son” is indeed as a commentary on social class, an interrogation of the dynamics of aspiration within a rigid societal hierarchy. By the time we hear this number, we are well aware of the romantic entanglements and existential dilemmas of the show’s upper classes, and in particular we notice their varying levels of ennui and general dissatisfaction with life. Petra, by contrast, is keenly aware of her social standing and the limitations it imposes, but chooses to view life with a pragmatic eye as she considers ways in which she might navigate it to her advantage. Unlike the higher-born characters who surround her, who seem in many cases trapped by their privilege, hemmed in by societal expectations, Petra is free to dream and adapt.

The three imagined futures that Petra invites us to consider in “The Miller’s Son” are, of course, explicitly stratified by social class. Her first potential suitor is the miller’s son himself, a man rooted in the working-class milieu and emblematic of a simple life. Petra’s fantasy here is one of modest but sincere joys, mutual understanding, and strong, earthy bonds.

Next, Petra introduces us to a businessman. This archetypal middle-class figure represents a life of greater comfort and stability, of “five fat babies and lots of security.” If the miller’s son is a lovingly hand-carved yet modest wooden stool, we might imagine the businessman as an easy chair, all soft upholstery and plush cushions. This is a future of upward mobility, one reflective of Petra’s belief that love and contentment can flourish in a more affluent environment—yet this is a future that would be still somewhat grounded by practical concerns.

Finally, Petra contemplates life with the Prince of Wales, at the pinnacle of the social hierarchy. Having imagined that hand-carved stool, then an easy chair, she now conjures up a throne. This scenario is clearly the most fantastical, with the opulence and allure of “pearls and servants and dressing for festivals” speaking to an almost fairytale existence, dreamlike in its unattainability. One can almost hear two stepsisters chiming in: “You wish to go to the festival?”

It is instructive to consider another character here too, particularly given A Little Night Music’s explicitly Mozartian title. Susanna, maid to Countess Almaviva in The Marriage of Figaro, plays a more central role in her story than Petra does, but the two characters have much in common. Susanna is clever, witty, and assertive, frequently outsmarting her social superiors. In Figaro, Mozart and librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte critique a similarly rigid class structure, with Susanna’s intelligence and capability standing in sharp contrast to an often foolish and arrogant aristocracy.

Throughout the opera, Susanna conspires with both Figaro and the Countess to thwart the Count’s attempts to seduce her, and swaps identities with the Countess in an effort to expose the Count’s infidelity. “Se vuol ballare, signor Contino, il chitarrino le suonerò,” sings Figaro. If you want to dance, my little Count, I’ll play the little guitar for you. The musical metaphor is fitting, as Susanna orchestrates the situation in which she finds herself to her own advantage. And Susanna shows herself to be keenly perceptive about men and their predictable patterns of behavior. In Act II, she says to the Countess, “Cogli uomin, signora, girate, volgete. Vedrete che ognora si cade poi là.” Look at men, madam, turn around, look. You will see that always one ends up there.

In “The Miller’s Son,” Sondheim reminds us that every character, regardless of social status, has a unique and valuable viewpoint. We see, through Petra’s eyes, the universality of desire and ambition. This shift in perspective enriches A Little Night Music every bit as much as “Rose’s Turn” enriches Gypsy—but the role of this number is to deepen our understanding of what unfolds, not to drive the plot forward. And Arthur Laurents, despite his own perplexity at the placement of this number, shared a most intriguing nugget of information: “Steve told me that [“The Miller’s Son”] summed up the show.”

In A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Pseudolus, Senex, and Hysterium delight in telling us repeatedly that “Everybody ought to have a maid.” And Sondheim, through this most unconventional of eleven o’clock numbers, shows us that every tale of the upper classes really ought to have one too.