The reading of _Henri III._ at M. Villenave's and M.
Roqueplan's--Another reading at Firmin's--Béranger is present--A
few words about his influence and popularity--Effect produced by
my drama--Reception by the Comédie-Française--Struggle for the
distribution of parts--M. de Broval's ultimatum--Convicted of the crime
of poetry I appeal to the Duc d'Orléans--His Royal Highness withholds
my salary--M. Laffitte lends me three thousand francs--Condemnation of
Béranger
The execution of _Henri III._ was, relatively speaking, rapid; as soon
as the plot was completely settled in my mind it scarcely took me two
months to finish the work. I recollect that, in the interval between
the composition of the plot and the execution of the piece, I went to
Villers-Cotterets, to shoot, I believe; on my return, I started before
the carriage, and my young friends, Saunier, Labarre and Duez, put me
on my way as far as the village of Vauciennes. During our walk I told
them the whole of _Henri III._ from beginning to end. _Henri III._
was completed directly the plot was completed. When I am busy working
at one of my plays it is a help to me to tell the story; as I tell
it I invent, and, at the conclusion of one of these recitals, some
fine morning, there the play is, ready finished. But it often happens
that this way of composing, namely, by not beginning the composition
until I have finished the plot, is very slow. I kept _Mademoiselle de
Belle-Isle_ nearly five years thus in my head, and since 1832 I have
had the plot of a _Juif errant_ in my mind, waiting till I can get a
moment's leisure to finish it; it will be one of my best pieces of
work. I have only one fear, and that is that I shall die before I can
get it done.
When I had finished _Henri III._ I read it to a small circle of friends
at Madame Waldor's. The play made a great impression; but the unanimous
advice was that I ought to have _Christine_ produced first. They said
that _Henri III._ was too daring for a first production. I need hardly
say that M. Villenave thought all these new movements in literature
monstrous aberrations of the human intellect. It was the period when
an entirely fresh generation was springing up around us and with us.
Several journals had just been begun by men of our age, full of the new
ideas then afloat, in opposition to the views of the _Constitutionnel_,
the _Courrier français_, the _Journal de Paris_ and the _Journal des
Débats_, which from that time reserved the whole of its praise for
Victor Hugo.
These journals were the _Figaro_ and the _Sylphe._ They were edited
by Nestor Roqueplan, Alphonse Royer, Louis Desnoyers, Alphonse Karr,
Vaillant, Dovalle and a dozen other bold champions of the Romantic
school. I invited them all to meet in Nestor Roqueplan's rooms, also
asking Lassagne and Firmin to join us. In those days Nestor Roqueplan
was not magnificently lodged in his apartments at the Opéra; his
salons were not ornamented by Boule, nor were the corner-stones from
Coromandel. He had a small room on the fifth floor, with a chimneypiece
ornamented with a washhand basin, in lieu of a clock, and duelling
pistols instead of candlesticks. Nearly a score of us were packed in
this room; we laid out the mattresses from the bed on the floor to form
divans; we transformed the bedstead into a sofa. I stood before a table
lit by plain candles; the kettle was put on the fire so that each act
could be divided by a cup of tea--and I began. This time, I was dealing
with men of daring opinions, and their advice was therefore exactly the
opposite: they all declared with one accord that I ought to abandon
_Christine_ to her unhappy lot and to push forward _Henri III._ Firmin
was enchanted; he could understand the part of Saint-Mégrin much better
than he had been able to enter into that of Monaldeschi. He undertook
to ask for a reading for me and to hurry one forward. In the meantime,
if I were willing, he would gather his fellow-actors together at his
own house, so that I could read my play to them before the definitive
reading at the Théâtre-Français. I felt beside myself with my success;
I would have read it fifty times had I been asked to do so. I placed
myself in his hands and told him to do whatever he wished. As I was
going away, Lassagne caught me by the arm.
"My friend," he said, "you were only half right in the matter of
_Christine_; you are altogether right in _Henri III._"
Firmin fixed the reading for the following Thursday; it was necessary
that Béranger should be present at it. You must understand the import
of those few words, "It was necessary that Béranger should be present
at it!" Béranger was the hero of the hour; of him Benjamin Constant had
just said, "Good old Béranger! he thinks he is writing chansons and
really he is composing odes!" This _mot_ had gone round, it hit the
mark so deliciously, and the whole of the Liberal party had pronounced
Béranger to be the greatest poet of his age. This partisanship had
roused some opposition, but the only effect was to carry enthusiasm
to the utmost pitch. Please, let me make it clear that I do not wish
to convey the impression that Béranger was overrated, but I think it
was rather unjust on the others; and by the others I mean Lamartine
and Hugo. They also composed odes, admirables odes, too, and no one
went so far as to say that they could not also compose chansons. The
explanation was that Lamartine and Hugo were both out-and-out members
of the Royalist party, and the Royalist party was far from representing
the opinion of the majority. Now, this popular enthusiasm was not on
account of Béranger as a poet pure and simple; it was for Béranger as
a national poet, for Béranger as the author of the _Vieux Drapeau_,
the _Dieu des bonnes gens_, the _Grand'mère._ Here the instincts of
the masses were not at fault; they fully realised that Béranger was
a fiery socialist, that each of his political chansons was the blow
of a pickaxe aimed to undermine the foundations of the throne, and
they applauded with hands and with voices the bold pioneer who dug
the trench by which the people were, one day, to gain access to the
Tuileries. Therefore, Béranger enjoyed an immense influence; all
parties vied with each other as to who should gain Béranger to their
side. They offered him the Cross and he refused it; they offered him a
pension and he refused it; they offered him membership in the Academy
and he refused it; no one became possessed of Béranger, but, on the
contrary, Béranger gained the confidence of everybody in general and of
Laffitte in particular.
Laffitte's friendship with Béranger and Béranger's influence on
Laffitte displayed itself in a singular way in 1830. France owed
the reign of Louis-Philippe to these two men; that is to say, the
indispensable transition as I deem it from aristocratic royalism to
democratic rule--that intermediate stage which has been termed _la
royauté bourgeoise._ We shall have some strange details to relate when
we reach the proper time and place; for, throughout that great week,
we were closely associated with makers and unmakers of kings. But, for
the moment, the Béranger that Firmin promised me was not the man of
politics, but Béranger the poet, the author of _Lisette_, the _Deux
Sœurs de Charité_ and _Frétillon._ We were, besides, to have such
authorities as MM. Taylor, Michelot and Samson; Mlle. Leverd and Mlle.
Mars.
I wished my mother to have the pleasure of being present at this
reading, as I felt quite certain of a successful issue, so I persuaded
her to accompany me.
Alas! poor mother! I might have had a presentiment that she would not
be present at its performance!
The reading created a great impression on everybody. Although, in the
nature of things, Béranger could not thoroughly enter into the spirit
of dramatic form, he, too, was moved to enthusiasm along with the rest,
by the third and fifth acts and did not hesitate to predict that I
should have a great success.
From that night dates a friendship between Béranger and me--a
friendship which has never failed. This friendship often took a
sardonic, almost bitter form of expression, for Béranger is not at
all the good-humoured man people imagine, he has too much genius to be
genial; but this friendship was always sincere and ready to be put to
the proof by deeds and tokens.
The reading, as I have said, had a marked effect upon all present; but
especially were the five Comedians impressed by it--Firmin, Michelot,
Samson, Mlle. Mars and Mlle. Leverd. It was settled that when the
Committee met two days hence, a special reading should be asked for
and that, making use of the guarantee which was given me with regard
to _Christine_, special favour should be sought on my account so that
the piece might be played as soon as possible. The play was read on
17 September 1828 and received with acclamation. After the reading, I
was called into the director's office, which was vacant, for the time
being. There I found Taylor, Mademoiselle Mars, Michelot and Firmin.
Mademoiselle Mars began the subject with her usual frankness, I was
going to say with her usual brutal frankness. I was not to allow
_Henri III._ to be put aside as I had in the case of _Christine_;
everything must be settled at once, while the Committee was in the
mood--the distribution of rôles, the signing of the contract; and,
taking advantage of the eager enthusiasm of the Committee, steps
were immediately to be taken to obtain the _mise en scène_ from the
Administration. Moreover, my generous patron Taylor was about to
quit the theatre to travel in the East; he had kept his promise to
the author of _Hécube_ and was setting out, not only for Alexandria
and Cairo, but even as far as Luxor. Advantage might be taken of his
absence to do me a bad turn. I endowed Mlle. Mars, Firmin and Michelot
with plenary powers, and they undertook my affairs, constituting
themselves my tutelary guardians, and declaring that I was incapable of
carrying out the necessary negotiations myself.
When the question of the distribution of rôles was discussed, Mlle.
Mars met with great opposition. She wished Armand to undertake the
part of Henri III. and Madame Menjaud to be the page. Now, I wanted
Louise Despréaux to be the page and Michelot to be Henri III. The
discussion was protracted, lasting for a week. This struggle was the
beginning of a series of battles between Mlle. Mars and myself which,
in spite of our real friendliness, lasted first with regard to one
subject and then another, until the death of that estimable actress.
But I stood firm. I had profited by the reproaches of Mlle. Mars and
I turned the tables against her. Madame Menjaud was a very talented
woman, but she was neither young enough nor pretty enough for a page
boy, and it was just precisely on this account that Mlle. Mars could
not get rid of that egoism which is the defect of even the most eminent
of artistes, objecting to the contrast of a young and fresh face by the
side of her own, she being at that time fifty-one years of age. I had
to be satisfied with retorting that as Louise Despréaux was a pupil of
Firmin I was bound to have her. My reason for declining to let Armand
play the part of Henri III. was more difficult to divulge. Although
Armand was five or six years the senior of Mlle. Mars, he was still
good-looking, looked quite young and was the most presentable of the
French Comedians, but nobody save Armand himself would ever have dreamt
of his taking the part of Henri III.! I was obliged to tell Armand that
his acting of the part was too realistic, and that I did not wish him
to take it. This answer made Armand my enemy for life, and very nearly
caused me to fall out with Mlle. Mars.
Such were my worries at the theatre--there were plenty more for me at
the offices.
As in the case of _Christine_, the papers immediately published the
news of my reception, and as in the case of _Christine_ there was a
great commotion about it in the offices. However, nothing was said to
me at first. Thanks to the easy means of communication between the
Committee and my little office, Firmin called on me several times, and
my subsequent absences after his calls, which had reference to various
difficulties that arose about distribution of parts or the _mise en
scène_, having been noted, an accusation was concocted against me of a
sufficiently grave nature to constitute a charge of insubordination.
Consequently, I received one morning, through the agency of Féresse,
a request to step upstairs and appear before the director-general. M.
de Broval received me with a severe look that boded a storm. I was at
once reminded of M. Lefèvre and his discourse on the well organised
machine, and the wheel, which, small though it was, prevented the whole
from working. Alas! for the last six years I had not grown into a much
larger wheel, and I felt as small before M. de Broval as I had done
before M. Lefèvre. But there was something stirring in the depths of my
being that was growing, and that was a self-confidence which six years
of work had given me and the reception of my two plays _Christine_ and
_Henri III._ So I awaited the tempest with a calmness that surprised
and almost disconcerted M. de Broval.
At length, in dulcet tones, he explained to me that literature and
official work were incompatible and that, knowing how, in spite of the
natural antipathy between them, I had been endeavouring to combine
them, he requested me to make my choice between the two.
M. de Broval was a fine talker, for he had been a third-class clerk
in the diplomatic service. On great days he wore, as I believe I have
mentioned, a coat with a braided collar, and on this coat the medal
of Saint-Janvier, which he had received on the marriage of the Duc
d'Orléans with the daughter of Ferdinand of Sicily; on ordinary days,
he dressed like everybody else. One of his shoulders was higher than
the other and he had a big red nose. I was always unlucky with deformed
persons. I knew that the time had come when I must stake my last throw;
I let M. de Broval proceed with the rounding off of his sentences, and
his greatly beloved climaxes, until he had finished, and then I said--
"Monsieur le Baron, as far as I have been able to follow your
discourse, I gather you leave me the choice between my place as copying
clerk and my vocation as a literary man."
"That is so, Dumas," the baron replied.
"My place was obtained from the Duc d'Orléans by General Foy; it was
accorded me by the Duc d'Orléans through his influence; now, before
I can believe that the first prince of the blood royal, a man whom
everybody declares to be a patron of letters--and who justified this
title by receiving into his library M. Casimir Delavigne, dismissed
from his office for the crime of making poetry--before, I say, I can
credit that such a man could dismiss me from his administration for the
same crime as that committed by M. Casimir Delavigne, which, in the
case of M. Casimir Delavigne, was a title to favour, I must receive my
_exeat_, whether verbal or in writing, either from the lips or the hand
of M. le Duc d'Orléans. I will neither resign nor accept dismissal. As
for my salary, as M. le Baron has given me to understand that the one
hundred and twenty-five francs payment I draw monthly is an exorbitant
tax upon His Royal Highness's budget, I am willing to renounce it on
the spot."
"Ah! ah!" M. de Broval exclaimed in surprise; "and how do you and your
mother propose to live, monsieur?"
"That is my own business, monsieur"; and I bowed and prepared to take
my leave.
"Take notice, Monsieur Dumas," said M. de Broval, "from the end of next
month you shall not receive any further salary."
"From this present one, monsieur, if you wish it. This will enable you
to save one hundred and twenty-five francs on His Highness's account,
and I have no doubt that His Highness will be duly grateful to you for
this economy."
Whereupon I again bowed and withdrew.
M. de Broval kept his word. When I returned to my office, I was
officially informed that in future I could dispose of my time as I
thought proper, since from that day _my salary was suspended._ It seems
incredible and yet it is a fact. Furthermore, the salaries in the
prince's offices were as a general rule so poor they were not enough
for us to live on. So each had recourse to some particular industry to
ameliorate his constant state of penury: some had married sempstresses
who kept little shops; others had shares in livery stables; there were
even some who ran thirty-two sous restaurants in the Latin Quarter, who
laid down the ducal pens at five o'clock to take up the serviette of
a waiter in a cheap eating-house. Ah well! nothing was said to these,
they were not reproached with lowering his princely dignity in the
eyes of others; no, their industry was extolled and it was looked upon
as quite natural and quite ordinary; whilst I, who felt no vocation
to marry a shopkeeper; who did not possess any capital to invest in
the cab trade; who was accustomed to put a serviette on my knees and
not over my arm, was looked upon as a criminal because I sought a way
of salvation in literature! They suspended my salary because I had a
tragedy and a drama accepted by the Comédie-Française!
Well, I had prepared my plans beforehand, and these plans had fortified
me. I had decided that I would lay my case before Béranger, and ask him
to obtain for me an interview with Laffitte. It was just possible that
Laffitte might do for me what he had done for Théaulon, under similar
circumstances. Laffitte might, perhaps, lend me a thousand crowns. I
went and told Firmin all my difficulties, and he took me to Béranger.
And Béranger took me to Laffitte. I should misrepresent the truth if I
said that M. Laffitte jumped at the opportunity of rendering me this
service; but I should also misrepresent it if I did not hasten to add
that he did render it me. I signed a promissory note for three thousand
francs, I deposited a copy of my manuscript of _Henri III._ with the
cashier, and I pledged my word of honour to return the three thousand
francs upon the sale of the manuscript. There' was no question of
interest.
I left Laffitte's house with my three notes of a thousand francs each
in my pocket, I shook hands warmly with Béranger and I ran home to
my mother. I found her in despair; she had already heard what had
happened. I drew the three notes of a thousand francs from my pocket
and put them into her hands. They represented my salary for two years.
I explained to her how I had come by the money, but she could not
realise it. Nevertheless, my poor mother began to believe that I was
not altogether out of my senses for writing plays, since I could borrow
a thousand crowns on the bare manuscript of one of these plays--a sum
equivalent to two years of my salary. That night, I related at M.
Villenave's what had happened. M. Villenave blamed me, but everyone
else said I had done right.
A fortnight after Béranger had rendered me this service he was
sentenced by the _tribunal de police correctionnelle de la Seine_ to
pay a fine of ten thousand francs and to nine months' imprisonment, as
author of the _Ange gardien_, of the _Gérontocratie_ and of the _Sacre
de Charles le Simple._ Béranger did not appeal against the judgment and
he was a prisoner at the beginning of the year 1829. A month after his
entry into prison, M. Viennet visited him.
"Well, my noble songster," began the author of the _Philippide_, "how
many chansons have you already composed under lock and key?"
"Not one yet," replied Béranger; "do you suppose chansons are written
as easily as epic poems?"