Soulié at the mechanical saw-mill--His platonic love of gold--I desire
to write a drama with him--I translate _Fiesque_--Death of Auguste
Lafarge--My pay is increased and my position lowered--Félix Deviolaine,
condemned by the medical faculty, is saved by illness--_Louis XI.
à Péronne_--Talma's theatrical wardrobe--The _loi de justice et
d'amour_--The disbanding of the National Guard
From that moment I made up my mind firmly; like Ferdinand Cortez, I
had burnt my boats, and I had either to succeed or to hang myself.
Unfortunately, I was not staking for myself alone; my poor mother was
also equally involved in the game.
Although Soulié had been less fortunate than we had been, in not yet
having had anything of his acted, I had divined what strength of
imagination lay in his work, and I had decided to attempt a work of
some importance in collaboration with him. At heart, I really agreed
with M. Oudard's estimate of my first two productions, and I had shown
it by not wishing my name to appear in connection with either of them,
while, by some instinct that did not lead me far astray, I had signed
the _Ode sur la mort du général Foy_, the _Nouvelles contemporaines_
and _Pâtre romain._ But I quite decided not to sign my name to any
theatrical work until I could do something that would make a great
sensation. Soulié had moved; he lodged near La Gare. By some means or
other, he had become head of a saw-mill, in which upwards of a hundred
workpeople were employed. In comparison with us, Soulié was wealthy. He
had a small allowance from his father, plus his salary as manager of
this industrial establishment; so he could jingle a little gold in his
pockets, which was quite out of the question in our case. Soulié had
a real passion for gold, and he liked to look at it and to handle it.
Towards the close of his life, he was earning between forty and fifty
thousand francs per annum; and, when he had contracts to pay by the end
of the month, he would often keep the two or three thousand francs thus
hypothecated, in his drawer, from the 15th to the 20th. Then, in order
to procure the joy which the sight of gold gave him, he would change
his five-francs piece or his bank-notes for napoleons, asking that
the newest and most glittering coins should be sent him, even at the
expense of four or five sous per napoleon,--for Soulié had not the good
fortune to live in the happy period of the depreciation of gold,--then,
when the end of the month came, it cost him such anguish to part from
his gold, that, although the sum owing lay there in his drawer, he
seldom settled his account when it was due, preferring to pay twenty,
thirty, fifty or a hundred francs extra, in order to feast his eyes
upon the rich metal for a few days longer. And yet nobody could be
more generous or liberal-handed or lavish than Soulié. He loved gold;
but do not misunderstand us, it was not after the fashion of a miser
that he loved it, but as the representative of luxury, as the surest
means to procure all the pleasures of life: he loved gold for the power
it bestows. So he had a very special predilection for the romance of
_Monte-Cristo._ I hope I may be forgiven if I dwell at too great length
on Soulié; he was one of the most interesting personalities I ever
met, and I say of him, as Michelet once said of me, "he was one of
the forces of nature." I could picture Soulié poaching in the forests
of America, a pirate in the Indian Seas or in the Arctic Ocean, an
explorer along the shores of Lake Tchad or Senegal, far better than as
a romance-writer or a dramatist.
He was consummate, too, in the midst of his hundred workmen at the
saw-mill, as he directed them by a nod of the head, by a wave of the
hand, giving his orders in a tone of voice at once gentle and firm,
kindly yet full of power. He had just finished his imitation of
Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._ There were some fine lines in that
piece of work, well conceived, some great thoughts vigorously handled;
but, in the main, it was a mediocre production. He had started it two
years too late, and had not attempted anything fresh at a time when to
be original was one of the conditions of success.
I told Soulié frankly that I had come to ask him to write a drama with
me; but, as neither of us felt at all strong enough to attempt anything
in the way of original creation, we decided to take a subject from
Walter Scott. Walter Scott was all the rage; his _Kenilworth Castle_
had just been played with great success at the Porte-Saint-Martin, and
a version of _Quentin Durward_ was to be acted at the Théâtre-Français.
Talma was allotted the part of Louis XI., and he had intended it to
follow his Tiberius. What a glorious thing it would have been for the
drama for Talma to have personated a character from Walter Scott!
We settled upon _Old Mortality._ There were two characters in _Old
Mortality_--John Balfour of Burley and Bothwell--that completely
fascinated Soulié.
When our subject was chosen, we set to work with great zest; but in
vain did we put our heads together, the plan did not go well. To put
it baldly, we each of us had too much individuality, and we were
continually knocking against each other's angles. At the end of two or
three months of fruitless labour, after five or six useless meetings,
we had made no headway at all, and were scarcely farther advanced than
at our first meeting. But I had gained enormously by my struggle with
this rough champion; I felt all kinds of new forces springing up in me,
and, like a blind man whose sight has been restored, each day, little
by little, my range of vision seemed to widen.
Meantime, I was practising how to handle dramatic poetry by translating
Schiller's _Fiesque_ into verse. I undertook the task in order to teach
myself, and not in hope of payment; and, although it was not to bring
me in a penny, and we stood in the greatest need of work that would pay
me, I had the courage to finish it from end to end.
About this time, my poor mother, who was always in fear of my losing
my place, and who, I must confess, was quite justified in her fears,
had a fresh instance of deceived hopes to bring before my notice.
My compatriot, Auguste Lafarge, the stylish lawyer's clerk who had
momentarily revolutionised the whole town of Villers-Cotterets, and
who had been obliged to sell his business to pay his debts, because he
could not find a rich wife to save the situation, had flung himself
into literature for want of other means of livelihood, and had just
died after two or three years' struggle against horrible poverty. It
was in vain I said to my mother that Lafarge never had the making of a
dramatic poet in him; in vain I told her he had never struggled, but,
on the contrary, had given in without a fight; in vain I urged that
Lafarge never possessed a fraction of my energy and perseverance; the
material fact was that he had suffered hunger and misery and had died
in consequence of his privations.
Another fact that ought to have set her fears to rest only gave her
fresh anxiety. Betz had been promoted. The reader will recollect
that Betz was the nice lad who had been my second in the duel with
M. B. He had been made chief clerk at a salary of 2400 francs, and
his post as order clerk at 2000 francs was given to Ernest, who, in
his turn, left his place of 1800 francs vacant. As I had attended to
my office work with a regularity that not even my worst enemy could
have found fault with, and as, although they may have been unjust
towards me, they were not really ill-intentioned, they could hardly
refuse to give me Ernest's place, which I asked of Oudard as though
it were my due. My request was acceded to, but they changed me from
the Secretarial Department to the Relieving Offices. The _Bureau des
secours_ was really a branch of the Secretariat, but it was looked
upon as a subordinate department. I should most of all have regretted
leaving Lassagne, but a change had been made some time before in the
arrangement of the offices, and a room had been given him to himself,
in consideration of his position as deputy head-clerk. So it came about
that I was quite as near him in the Relief Office as I had been under
the new arrangements at the Secretariat. I gained two things by this
change: first, an increase of salary; secondly, a greater freedom of
action; since, having to obtain information concerning the unfortunate
people who asked for help, I spent whole days in going about from
one end of Paris to the other. I should have been well pleased, as
compensation for the two advantages thus gained, to have given up my
portfolio making, but there was no way out of this.
In spite of my increase of salary, and the greater freedom I gained,
my mother looked upon this change in my position as in the nature of
a disgrace. She was not deceived; and, if she had been, M. Deviolaine
would have taken care to put her right on this head.
In addition to this, a very real calamity was threatening to strike
at that household with which we were closely connected. For some time
past, Félix Deviolaine, who looked the very picture of health, had
been troubled with a cough, and was losing flesh. He grew uneasy at
the weakness he felt to be growing on him, and one day he sought me
out and begged me to take him to Thibaut, whose medical skill he had
often heard me praise. I hastened to do him this service, and took him
to Thibaut, begging him to examine Félix very carefully. Thibaut made
him strip to the waist, tapped his chest, listened to his breathing
both with his ear and with the stethoscope; and, after ten minutes'
examination, told him plainly that he was suffering from a serious lung
complaint, although he was in no danger. But to me he whispered--
"The lad is doomed."
I cannot describe the grief and dismay this curtly expressed
declaration caused me. Félix had never been particularly friendly
towards me; he was of a somewhat jealous disposition, and had rather
repelled than drawn me in to share the enjoyments which, thanks
to his father's social position, he could have obtained for me,
especially with regard to shooting, which I loved above all else. But,
nevertheless, his was one of the tender friendships of my early days,
and if this prophecy were fulfilled it would be the first leaf that
death would tear from the golden branch of my childish recollections.
I did not want to announce this sad news to M. Deviolaine, so I sought
out Oudard and told him what had transpired. Oudard utterly declined to
believe it; for Félix had seemed, until now, the most unlikely subject
to die of pulmonary consumption; but I sent for Thibaut himself, and
Thibaut repeated to him the fatal verdict he had told me. Without
telling the whole truth to M. Deviolaine, Oudard gave him to understand
that Félix required great care, and, as Félix did not wish to have any
other doctor than Thibaut, it was arranged that Thibaut should pay him
daily visits. It was then that I made the special study of pulmonary
consumption which I later turned to account in my romance, _Amaury._ I
have already stated that, just as Thibaut's prediction was on the point
of being realised, and all hopes were given up--even in his mother's
heart, that last sanctuary of hope--Félix Deviolaine was miraculously
saved by articular rheumatism, which drew off the inflammation, and did
what no other remedies had been able to effect.
Whilst these events were happening, the representation of the drama of
_Louis XI. à Péronne_, in which Talma was to have acted, took place
at the Théâtre-Français. It was a great event for all of us young
writers who were aspiring to produce some novel creation; Taylor had
urged its production, had seen that the costumes were accurate and the
staging perfect. The play owed its success partly to the astonishment
it evoked, and partly to its intrinsic worth. I did not see it at
the first presentation, because I was unable to procure a ticket and
was too poor to afford to buy one at the doors; but Soulié joined us
afterwards at the café des Variétés and told us all about it. He was
most enthusiastic over it. This inspired us with courage, and we tried
to take up our _Puritains d'Écosse_ once more.
Talma's dramatic succession at the Théâtre-Français had been divided:
Michelot took Tiberius and Louis XI.; Firmin took Tasso; Joanny was
prepared to undertake the whole of the illustrious dead actor's
repertory; Lafond had become both _the one_ and _the other_[1];
everybody regarded Talma as an obstacle, and now that this obstacle was
removed, each strove to acquire for himself the reputation of the man
who had eclipsed all other reputations. In order not to lose any chance
of success, they divided his costumes among themselves, as they divided
his rôles. A public sale of Talma's wardrobe was announced for 27
April. Here are some of the prices that the different costumes fetched.
The actors who hoped to buy his talent with his clothes, did not pay
dear for them.
Francs
Charles VI. et sa perruque ... 205
Ladislas ... 230
Le Cid ... 62
Mithridate ... 100
Richard III ... 120
Les deux Néron ... 412
La couronne de Néron. 132
Othello, une fois joué à l'Opéra 131
Léonidas ... 200
Clovis ... 97
Joad ... 120
Nicomède ... 60
Le Maire du palais ... 115
Philoctète ... 40
Typpo-Saëb ... 96
Leicester ... 321
Meynau ... 45
Falkland ... 42
Danville ... 130
Le Misanthrope ... 400
Bayard ... 51
Le grand maître des Templiers 40
Jean de Bourgogne ... 79
Manlius ... 80
Sylla, avec la perruque. 160
Hamlet, avec le poignard. 236
L'Oreste d'_Andromaque_. 100
L'Oreste de _Clytemnestre_. 80
Total, fr. 3,884
Two items may be noted in the above: one, _Les deux Néron_, and the
other, _Othello, une fois joué à l'Opéra._ These two descriptions show
how conscientiously Talma hunted up particulars about his costumes.
Once he discovered in Suetonius that Nero had entered the Senate in a
blue mantle embroidered with gold stars; he instantly had a costume
made after the same pattern, and came on to the stage in just such a
blue mantle with gold stars as Nero had worn on entering the Senate.
But, next day, some critic, who had not bothered his head to read
Suetonius, and who took this costume to be a freak of the actor, said
in one of the papers that Talma looked like Night in the prologue to
_Amphitryon._ This was quite enough to prevent Talma from wearing the
star-spangled robe. On another occasion, before playing _Othello_ at
the Opéra for a benefit, he reflected that as the Moor had become
a Venetian general he must necessarily have discarded his Oriental
costume and adopted the Venetian dress. So he wore a very exact copy
of a Venetian costume of the fifteenth century. But, in casting aside
the turban, the girdle and the baggy ornamental pantaloons, half the
picturesque effect had fled and not even all Talma's genius was able to
make up for it, so, disappointed himself, and thinking that the change
of costume had had a damaging effect on his play, he went back to the
traditional costume for the remainder of the performances and never
used the other again. The costume for the Misanthrope, found in Talma's
wardrobe, indicated the lifelong desire he had cherished to play the
part of Alceste, but it was a wish he had never dared to satisfy. The
person who bought it was not afflicted with like modesty.
Whilst these events were occurring, that were of such secondary
importance to France, but so vitally interesting to ourselves, the
Government was slyly attempting to re-establish the Censorship that it
had abolished. In the king's speech to the Chamber, he had said--
"I should have preferred, had it been possible, not to pay any
attention to the press; but, since the habit of publishing political
articles has developed, it has produced fresh abuses which require more
efficacious and extensive means of repression. It is time to put a stop
to painful scandals, and to preserve the liberty of the press itself
from the danger of its own excesses; a project will be submitted to you
with this object in view."
This paragraph was nothing more nor less than a threat, which
translated itself into a Bill presented to the Chamber under the title
of _Projet de loi sur la police de la presse._ The reading of this
Act was interrupted by the Opposition a score of times and ended in a
scene of terrible agitation. Casimir Périer jumped up from his seat,
exclaiming--
"You might just as well bring forward a Bill consisting of the single
clause, 'Printing is suppressed in France to the benefit of Belgium'!"
M. de Chateaubriand called this law a _law of Vandalism._ And to the
outcry in the capital, the whole of France responded, sending joint
and separate petitions to implore the Chamber to reject the Bill as
destructive of all public liberties, disastrous to commerce and an
attack on the sacred rights of property. In the midst of that terrible
manifestation which, in 1827, predicted the armed opposition of 1830,
the _Moniteur_ had either the cleverness or the perfidiousness--one
never can quite fathom the _Moniteur's_ real sentiments--to insert in
an article in favour of the law the phrase characterising it as a _law
of justice and of love._ Oh! what an opportunity this gave for the
weapon of sarcasm, always powerful in France! It fastened upon this
phrase and used it as a weapon with which, on every possible occasion,
to prick the heart of M. de Peyronnet. Everybody exclaimed against this
Act, even the Academy itself. It was M. de Lacretelle who ventured to
take the hazardous and difficult step of attempting to awake the Forty
Immortals in their chairs. He read a rousing discourse to them on 4
January, on the disadvantages of the projected law, and the fetters
it would put upon thought; he repudiated this fresh Censorship, which
was to make printers judges of authors, and demanded that the Academy
should make use of its prerogative and petition the king to accede to
the entreaties of the Forty by withdrawing the Bill. After an hour's
discussion, it was decided almost unanimously that this petition should
be presented to the king, and MM. de Chateaubriand, Lacretelle and
Villemain were deputed to draw it up. On 21 January, the following
notice appeared in the _Moniteur_:--
"ART. I. The appointment of Sieur Villemain, _maître des
requêtes_ to the Council of State, is revoked..."
Then, lower down:--
"By order of the King, M. Michaud of the French Academy will
no longer be one of His Majesty's readers.
"By command of His Excellency the Minister of the Interior,
dated to-day, M. de Lacretelle has been dismissed from the
post of Dramatic Censor."
This persecution was received by a burst of indignation against the
Government and with demonstrative sympathy towards the victims of
Ministerial cruelty. Finally, the chorus of opposition rose to such a
threatening pitch that the Government grew frightened and withdrew on
18 April the Act that it had introduced on 29 November. A furore of
delight then broke out in Paris: houses poured forth their inhabitants
into the streets, and every face glowed with joy; hands were held
out in greeting, and journeymen printers ran through the boulevards
shouting, "Vive le roi!" waving white flags; and a general illumination
took place all over Paris that night. But the mortified Government sent
out troops, shots were fired and wounds received, and the withdrawal of
the famous _loi de justice et d'amour_ should be accredited not to the
king's intelligence, but to his fear.
When Charles X.--poor, blind, deaf monarch--believing that the
enthusiasm aroused by his accession to the throne would last for ever,
commanded a review of the National Guard to be held on 29 April, on
the Champ de Mars, he heard, to his vast surprise, mingled with those
cries of "Vive le roi!" with which sovereigns are intoxicated, and
thrill on their thrones, the bitter and raucous cries of "A bas les
ministres!" and "A bas les Jésuits!" These cries came particularly from
the ranks of the second, third, fifth, seventh and eighth legions,
those, namely, belonging to the financial aristocracy and the lower
middle classes. Astounded by such a reception, Charles X. drew up for
an instant; then, spurring his horse to the front ranks of the legion
that had uttered the bitterest of these invectives, he exclaimed--
"Messieurs, I have come here to receive homage and not lectures."
Alas! the kings of 1827, like those of 1848, should have known that
homage blinds and lectures enlighten.
By six o'clock next morning every post of the National Guard was
relieved by troops of the line, and by seven o'clock, instead of a
leading article in the _Moniteur_ on the review, there appeared the
order to disband. From that moment there was a breach between the Elder
Branch, and the middle class. The former possessed its king, elected by
divine right, to reign over it and to die with it. But from that hour
far-seeing eyes could discern the approaching clouds that were bringing
on their wings the tempest of 1830.
[Footnote 1: See vol. ii. p. 442.]