"Yes, on a height."

"And the town?"

"The town is low down, in the valley."

"Is there a river in the town?"

"There are two."

"Are their waters of the same colour?"

"No; one is white and the other is green."

We looked at each other in still greater astonishment than at first.

Marie had never been to Grenoble and they did not think she even knew

the name of the capital of Dauphiné when she was in her ordinary senses.

"But are you quite sure that the Duc de Bordeaux will be at Grenoble?"

"As sure as though his name were written here"; and she pointed to her

forehead.

"What does he look like? Come, give us a description of him."

"He is of medium height, rather stout; he is auburn; his eyes are blue

and his hair is fashioned in the same way as that of the angels drawn

by Mademoiselle Marie Dumas."

"Well, as he passes before your eyes, do you notice anything peculiar

about his gait?"

"He limps."

"And where will he go from Grenoble?"

"To Lyons."

"Will they not oppose his entrance at Lyons?"

"They will try to do so at first, but I can see a number of workpeople

going before him, leading him in."

"Are there no shots fired?"

"Oh yes, monsieur, several; but not much harm is done."

"Where are those shots fired?"

"On the road from Lyons to Paris."

"By which suburb will he enter Paris?"

"By Saint-Martin."

"But, my child, what will be the good of Henri V. becoming King of

France, since he has no children...." I added hesitatingly, "and they

say that he cannot have any?"

"Oh! that is not his fault, monsieur; it is his wife's."

"It comes to the same thing, my dear Marie, since divorce is not

permitted."

"Oh yes! but something will happen that is now only known to God and

myself."

"What is it?"

"His wife will die of consumption."

"And whom will he marry? Some Russian or German princess, I suppose?"

"No; he will say, 'I have returned by the will of the French people, so

I will marry a daughter of the People.'"

We laughed: divination was beginning to intermingle with prophecy.

"And where will he find this daughter of the People, my child?"

"He will say, 'Seek the young girl I saw at No. 42 in the faubourg

Saint-Martin, where she had climbed up on a street-post ; she was clad

in a white dress and was waving a green bough in her hand.'"

"Well, will they go to the faubourg Saint-Martin?"

"Certainly."

"Will they find the young girl?"

"Yes, at No. 42."

"To what family does she belong?"

"Her father is a joiner."

"Do you know the name of this future queen?"

"Léontine."

"And the prince will marry this young girl?"

"Yes."

"He will have a son by her?"

"He will have two."

"What will the eldest be called--Henri or Charles?"

"Neither. Henri V. will say that these two names have brought too much

misfortune to those who have borne them: they will call the boy Léon."

"How long will Henri V. reign?"

"Between ten and eleven years."

"How will he meet his death?"

"He will die of pleurisy, contracted from drinking cold water

from a fountain, one day, when he is out hunting in the forest of

Saint-Germain."

"But remember, my child, that you are making this prophecy before

twelve to fifteen people: one of us here may warn the prince and then,

if he is told that he will die if he drinks cold water, he will refrain

from drinking it."

"He will be warned, but he will drink it, all the same; for he will say

he has eaten many an ice when he was hot, so he can surely drink cold

water."

"Who will warn him?"

"Your son, who will be one of his intimate friends."

"What! my son one of the intimate friends of the prince?"

"Yes, you are well aware that your son's opinions differ from yours."

My daughter and I exchanged glances and burst out laughing, for

Alexandre and I are eternally squabbling over politics.

"And when Henri V. is dead Léon I. will succeed to the throne?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"What will happen during his reign?"

"I cannot see any further: wake me."

I made haste to awake her, but she did not remember anything when

she was awakened; I asked her a few questions about Lamartine,

Ledru-Rollin, Grenoble, Henri V. and Léon I., and she burst out

laughing. I passed two thumbs across her forehead to will her to

remember, and she remembered instantly; I begged her to begin the story

over again, and she repeated it faithfully, in exactly the same terms,

so that the person who had written down my questions and her answers

while she uttered them was able to correct the first narration by the

second.

I have since, upon several occasions, carried out other experiments on

this child; there seemed to be no limits to the power which mesmerism

had in or, rather, upon her; I could make her dumb, blind, or deaf

at will; and, by a word, I could give her back all her faculties and

excite them to a degree of perfection which seemed to exceed the limits

of mortal knowledge. For instance, if I sent her to the piano--asleep

or awake, it mattered little--she would begin a sonata; some person

present would hum in a low voice to me an air that the child was

desired to play, instead of the sonata; the sonata would instantly

cease, and directly I stretched out my hand towards her the child would

play the required tune. We tried this experiment a score of times

before the most incredulous people, and she never failed.

Marie's father's house was built on the site of an old cemetery;

several burial inscriptions could be deciphered even on the stones of

the garden wall; and, because of these, when night fell, the poor

child dared not stir out, but trembled with fear. The night I left,

Madame D---- spoke to me of this terror, and so great was my influence

over the child, that she asked me if I could not do anything in the

matter. I was so accustomed to working miracles that I replied that

nothing could be easier and that we would at once make the experiment.

So I called the child, and, putting both my hands on her head, willing

that all fear should be taken away from her, I said--

"Marie, your mother has just given me some peaches for my journey; go

and fetch me a few vine leaves from the garden to wrap them in."

It was nine o'clock at night, and very dark. The child went out and

returned singing; she brought back the vine leaves which she had

gathered from the very spot where the tombstones were which caused her

such terror by day. From that hour, she showed no hesitation in going

into the garden or to any other part of the house, at any time of the

night and even without a light.

I returned to Auxerre three months later; I had not announced my

journey to anyone. Two days before my arrival, they wanted little Marie

to have a tooth drawn.

"No, mother dear," she said, "wait; M. Dumas will be here the day after

to-morrow: he will take hold of my little finger, while they take out

my tooth, and then I shall not feel the pain."

I came on the day she said; I held the child's hand in mine during the

operation, which was accomplished without her feeling the least pang of

pain.

If I am asked for an explanation of the phenomena I have just related I

cannot give any. I simply state what has happened. I am not an advocate

of magnetism, I only use it when people compel me to do so, and it

always fatigues me excessively. I believe a dishonourable person might

put magnetism to evil uses, and I doubt whether a well-intentioned

person does the least good by the practice of it. Magnetism is a

pastime, it has not yet become a science.

CHAPTER IV

Fresh trials of newspaper editors--The _Mouton enragé_--Fontan--Harel's

witticism concerning him--The _Fils de l'Homme_ before the Police

Court--The author pleads his cause in verse--M. Guillebert's

prose--Prison charges at Sainte-Pélagie--Embarrassment of the Duc

d'Orléans about a historical portrait--The two usurpations

We left the Government busy imprisoning Béranger for nine months, about

the close of the year 1828; we now find it in July 1829 prosecuting the

_Corsaire_ at the Police Court, and sentencing M. Vremiot, its manager,

to fifteen days' imprisonment and to a fine of 300 francs, for an

article entitled _Sottise des deux parts._ The same month it prosecuted

Fontan for an article in the _Album_ called the _Mouton enragé_; and

Barthélemy for his poem _Fils de l'Homme._ As both these trials made

a great sensation, and as it was the general opinion that, by making

it unpopular, they took part in the fall of the Government, we will go

into the matter more fully.

On 20 June 1829, Fontan, who had had a tragedy called _Perkin Warbeck_

acted at the Odéon a year or two before, published in the old _Album_,

edited by Magallon, an article entitled the _Mouton enragé._ The Public

Minister believed this article was meant as an insult to the person of

the king and referred the matter to the Police Court.

The following passages are those particularly specified in the

accusation:--

"Picture to your imaginations, a pretty white sheep, combed,

curled and washed every morning; with goggle-eyes, long

ears, spindle-shanked legs, the lower jaw (or, in other

words, the lower lip) heavy and hanging down; in short, a

true Berry sheep. He walks at the head of the flock of

which he is pretty nearly the monarch; an immense meadow

is his pasture-land and that of his fellow-sheep; some

of the acres of this meadow devolved upon him by right.

And here grew the tenderest grass, and he waxed fat upon

it, which delighted his soul! What a nice thing it is to

inherit an estate! Our sheep is called Robin; he responds

with gracious salutations to the compliments paid him; and

shows his teeth as evidence of his pleasure. In spite of

his gentle appearance, he can be disagreeable when roused;

he can then bite like any other animal. I have been told

that a ewe which was related to him bit him every time she

met him, because she considered he did not govern his flock

with sufficient despotism. I tell you this under the seal

of secrecy,--poor Robin-Mouton is mad! His madness is not

apparent; on the contrary, he strives his utmost to conceal

it; if he feels a fit approaching, and a longing to satisfy

an evil thought, he takes good care to look first to see if

anybody is watching him; for Mouton-Robin knows the lot that

is destined for animals touched with this malady--he lives

in dread of bullets does our Robin-Mouton! And besides, he

is conscious of his weakness. If only he were a bull, ah!

how he would use his horns! he would soon let you see. How

he would insist upon his prerogatives among the sheep-folk

of his acquaintance! He might possibly even be brave enough

to declare war against a neighbouring flock. But, alas! he

comes of a stock that is not very fond of fighting, and

however alluring the amenities of conquest may be to him,

he arrives at the bitter conclusion that he has but the

blood of a sheep running through his veins. This fatal idea

makes him desperate.--Never mind, Robin, you have not much

to complain of; all you have to do is to lead a luxurious

life of idleness. What have you to do from morning to

night? Nothing. You eat, you drink, and you sleep: your

sheep faithfully carry out your commands and satisfy your

smallest caprices; they leap to do your bidding; what more

can you desire? Believe what I tell you and do not attempt

to quit your state of animal tranquillity; crush these vast

ideas of glory, which are too great for that narrow brain of

yours; vegetate in the same way your fathers have vegetated

before you; Heaven made you a sheep, die a sheep! I tell

you frankly you would be quite a charming quadruped if, _in

petto_, you were only sane!"

Fontan was condemned to ten years' imprisonment and a fine of 10,000

francs. The sentence was rather too severe, and it caused a great

outcry. It will be admitted that the article was not good enough to

deserve this severe treatment. The result was to raise Fontan to the

height of a martyr. And Fontan, who was of an energetic and headstrong

character, made no attempt to justify himself before his judges.

"Messieurs," he said simply, "whether or not I intended my article

to bear the interpretation you put upon it, I have the right of

withholding any explanation of the subject; I allow no man to examine

the inner sanctuary of my conscience. I wished to write an article

about a mad sheep and I did it; that is the only explanation I ought or

desire to give you."

I used to know Fontan very well at M. Villenave's house--he was a great

friend of Théodore--an unpolished sort of man, who nevertheless did

not lack some poetic feeling. He was unclean to the point of cynicism,

and less aristocratic than Schaunard in the _Vie de bohème_; instead

of having one pipe for continual smoking and a finer one when he went

out, he had but one cutty pipe which never left his mouth, which smelt

vilely when alight and between his teeth, but which smelt far worse

when it was extinguished and in his pocket.

This condemnation made Fontan's name notorious. I believe the

revolution of July found him at Poissy. He reappeared amidst a certain

measure of popularity, but it was only the transient popularity of

persecution.

Harel, who was the manager of the Odéon, quickly conceived the notion

of turning this popularity to account by asking Fontan to write a play

for him. Fontan complied, and wrote _Jeanne la Folle_, but it was a

failure, or, at any rate, only a partial success. Harel came up to me

after the representation and said--

"Unmistakably I have been deceived in Fontan. There is more of the

prison about him than of talent!"

This was, unfortunately, true. Poor Fontan died quite young and left

nothing remarkable behind him; he published a volume of poetry and saw

two or three dramas or tragedies put on the stage.

Barthélemy's sentence was less severe; he had three months'

imprisonment and was fined 1000 francs.

We will give the reasons that led to his trial. We have already

entertained our readers with the débuts of Barthélemy and Méry. They

are aware how these two poets came together and how the _Villéliade_,

the _Peyronnéide_, the _Corbiéréide_ and a host of other pieces were

concocted which kept public attention spell-bound for a couple of

years. The most important of these poems was _Napoléon en Égypte_. It

took tremendously, and ran into ten editions in less than six months'

time.

Méry, who had pined for sunshine, had gone to find warmth and sea

breezes, those two opposing elements which are, however, admirably

combined at Marseilles. Barthélemy, left alone, conceived the idea

of going to Vienna to offer a copy of a poem to the young Duke of

Reichstadt, wherein his father figured as the hero. To use Benjamin

Constant's words, as the father had been _allowed_ to die of political

cancer, so the son was by way of being _allowed_ to die of a disease

of the chest. A charming dancer and a beautiful archduchess were the

two strange doctors that Austria deputed to follow the progress of the

prince's malady, which, three years later, became simply a matter of

history.

Barthélemy's journey was, of course, useless: he was not allowed to

approach the prince, and he brought back his poem without having been

suffered to offer it to him. But Barthélemy's Odyssey had furnished

him with the subject of a new poem entitled the _Fils de l'Homme,_ and

this was the poem that was denounced by the law. Barthélemy proclaimed

beforehand his intention of defending himself in verse. Of course, such

a proclamation as this filled the Police Court where this poetical

trial was to be held, from eight o'clock in the morning. Barthélemy

kept his word. Here are some of the lines of that singular pleading

which is without precedent the annals of justice.

"Messieurs," he began,--

"Voilà donc mon délit! sur un faible poëme

La critique en simarre appelle l'anathème;

Et ces vers, ennemis de la France et du roi,

Témoins accusateurs, se dressent contre moi!

Hélas! durant les nuits dont la paix me conseille,

Quand je forçais mes yeux à soutenir la veille,

Et que seul, aux lueurs de deux mourants flambeaux,

De ce pénible écrit j'assemblais les lambeaux,

Qui m'eût dit que cette œuvre, en naissant étouffée,

D'un greffe criminel déplorable trophée,

Appellerait un jour sur ces bancs ennemis

Ma muse, vierge encor des arrêts de Thémis?

Peut-être ai-je failli; mais, crédule victime,

Moi-même, j'ai bien pu m'aveugler sur mon crime,

Puisque des magistrats, vieux au métier des lois

M'ont jugé non coupable une première fois.

Aussi, je l'avoûrai, la foudre inattendue,

Du haut du firmament à mes pieds descendue,

D'une moindre stupeur eût frappé mon esprit,

Que le soir si funeste à mon livre proscrit

Où d'un pouvoir jaloux les sombres émissaires

Se montraient en écharpe à mes pâles libraires,

Et, craignant d'ajourner leur gloire au lendemain,

Cherchaient _le Fils de l'homme_, un mandat à la main.

Toutefois, je rends grâce au hasard tutélaire

Qui, sauvant un ami de mes torts solidaire,

Sur moi seul de la loi suspend l'arrêt fatal.

Triste plus que moi-même, au rivage natal

Il attend aujourd'hui l'heure de la justice.

S'il eût été présent, il serait mon complice.

Éternels compagnons dans les mêmes travaux,

Forts de notre union, frères et non rivaux,

Jusqu'ici, dans l'arène à nos forces permise,

Nos deux noms enlacés n'eurent qu'une devise,

Et jamais l'un de nous, reniant son appui,

N'eût voulu d'un laurier qui n'eût été qu'à lui.

Trois ans, on entendit notre voix populaire

Harceler les géants assis au ministère;

Trois ans, sur les élus du conseil souverain

Nos bras ont agité le fouet alexandrin;

Et jamais l'ennemi, froissé de nos victoires,

N'arrêta nos élans par des réquisitoires.

Mais, dès le jour vengeur où, captive longtemps,

La foudre du Château gronda sur les titans,

Suspendant tout à coup ses longues philippiques,

Notre muse plus fière, osant des chants épiques,

Évoqua du milieu des sables africains

Les soldats hasardeux des temps républicains,

Et montra réunis en faisceau militaire,

Les drapeaux lumineux du Thabor et du Caire;

De nos cœurs citoyens là fut le dernier cri;

Notre muse se tut, et, tandis que Méry

Allait sous le soleil de la vieille Phocée

Ressusciter un corps usé par la pensée,

'J'osai, vers le Danube égarant mon essor,

A la cour de Pyrrhus chercher le fils d'Hector.'

Je portais avec soin, dans mes humbles tablettes,

Ces dons qu'aux pieds des rois déposent les poëtes,

Et, poëte, j'allais pour redire à son fils

L'histoire d'un soldat, aux plaines de Memphis.

Voilà tout le complot d'un long pèlerinage.

Un pouvoir soupçonneux repoussa mon hommage,

Et, moi, loin d'un argus que rien n'avait fléchi,

Je repassai le Rhin, imprudemment franchi."

The above was his defence as regarded facts. When he had defended its

theme Barthélemy went on to its form; he complained of the method of

interpretation which judges of all times have pushed to extremes, so

that they persecute whether under the elder or the younger branch of

the Bourbons, whether under M. Cavaignac or under M. Louis-Bonaparte;

he said--

"Pourtant, voilà mon crime! Un songe, une élégie

Me condamne moi-même à mon apologie!

Partout, sur ce vélin, je frissonne de voir

Des vers séditieux soulignés d'un trait noir;

Le doigt accusateur laisse partout sa trace,

Et je suis criminel jusque dans ma préface;

Ah! du moins, il fallait, moins prompt à me juger

Pour me juger, tout lire et tout interroger;

Il fallait, surmontant les ennuis de l'ouvrage,

Jusqu'au dernier feuillet forcer votre courage,

Et, traversant mon livre un scalpel à la main,

Avancer hardiment jusqu'au bout du chemin.

Certes, si comme vous on dépeçait un livre,

Combien peu d'écrivains seraient dignes de vivre!

Qu'on pourrait aisément trouver de noirs desseins

Jusque dans l'Évangile et les ouvrages saints!

Ma prose est toujours prête à disculper ma muse;

La note me défend quand le texte m'accuse;

D'un tissu régulier pourquoi rompre le fil?

De quel droit venez-vous, annotateur subtil,

Dédaignant mon histoire, attaquer mon poëme,

Prendre comme mon tout la moitié de moi-même,

Et, fort de ma pensée arrêtée au milieu,

Diviser contre moi l'indivisible aveu?

Mais j'ose plus encor, fort de mon innocence,

Armé du texte seul, j'accepte la défense;

Seulement, n'allez pas, envenimant mes vers,

D'un sens clair et précis extraire un sens pervers!

Gardez-vous de chercher, trop savant interprète,

Sous ma lucide phrase une énigme secrète!

Ainsi, quand vous lirez: 'qu'à mes yeux éblouis,

La gloire a dérobé les fils de saint Louis;

Qu'aveuglément soumis aux droits de la puissance,

Je ne me doutais pas, dans mon adolescence,

Que l'héritier des lys, exilé de Mittau,

Régnait chez les Anglais dans un humble château,

Et que, depuis vingt ans, sa bonté paternelle!

Rédigeait pour son peuple une charte éternelle!'

Lisez de bonne foi comme chacun me lit.

Pourquoi vous tourmenter à flairer un délit,

A tourner ma franchise en coupable ironie,

A voir un seul côté de mon double génie?

Voulez-vous donc me lire aux lueurs du fanal

Dont la sainte _Gazette_ escorte son journal,

Et, serrant vos deux mains à nuire intéressées,

Exprimer du poison en tordant mes pensées?"

Those are certainly the well-turned lines of a very clever versifier if

not of a great poet. At Athens, before the Areopagitica where Æschylus

pleaded his cause, M. Barthélemy would have been acquitted! But what

could he expect? We are not Athenians, and our judges are by no means

archons.

The poet proceeded, nevertheless, although it was easy to read, in the

frowning faces of the judges, their want of sympathy with the defence

of the accused.

Again let us listen to Barthélemy:--

"Jusqu'ici, l'on m'a vu, d'un tranquille visage,

Conquérir pour ma cause un facile avantage.

J'ai vengé sans effort, dans mon livre semés,

Quelques vers, quelques mots par Thémis décimés.

Redoublons de courage: un grand effort nous reste;

Abordons sans pâlir ce passage funeste,

De l'un à l'autre bout chargé de sombres croix!

Là, sapant par mes vœux le palais de nos rois,

Ébranlant de l'État la base légitime,

D'un sang usurpateur j'appelle le régime,

J'invoque la Discorde aux bras ensanglantés!

Est-il vrai? Suis-je donc si coupable?... Écoutez!

'Il sait donc désormais, il n'a plus à connaître

Ce qu'il est, ce qu'il fut et ce qu'il pouvait être.

Oh! que tu dois souvent te dire et repasser

Dans quel large avenir tu devais te lancer!

Combien dans ton berceau fut court ton premier rêve

Doublement protégé par le droit et le glaive,

Des peuples rassurés espoir consolateur,

Petit-fils d'un César, et fils d'un empereur,

Légataire du monde, en naissant roi de Rome,

Tu n'es plus aujourdhui rien que le _fils de l'homme!_

Pourtant, quel fils de roi contre ce nom obscur

N'échangerait son titre et son sceptre futur?

Mais quoi! content d'un nom qui vaut un diadème,

Ne veux-tu rien, un jour, conquérir par toi-même?

La nuit, quand douze fois ta pendule a frémi,

Qu'aucun bruit ne sort plus du palais endormi,

Et que, seul au milieu d'un appartement vide,

Tu veilles, obsédé par ta pensée avide,

Sans doute que parfois sur ton sort à venir

Un démon familier te vient entretenir.

Oui, tant que ton aïeul, sur ton adolescence,

De sa noble tutelle étendra la puissance,

Les jaloux archiducs, comprimant leur orgueil,

Du vieillard tout-puissant imiteront l'accueil;

Mais qui peut garantir cette paix fraternelle?

Peut-être en ce moment la mort lève son aile;

Tôt ou tard, au milieu de ses gardes hongrois,

Elle mettra la faulx sur le doyen des rois.

Alors, il sera temps d'expliquer ce problème

D'un sort mystérieux ignoré de toi-même.

Fils de Napoléon, petit-fils de François,

Entre deux avenirs il faudra faire un choix.

Puisses-tu, dominé par le sang de ta mère,

Bannir de ta pensée une vaine chimère,

Et de l'ambition éteindre le flambeau!

Le destin qui te reste est encore assez beau;

Les rois ont grandement consolé ton jeune âge;

Le duché de Reichstadt est un riche apanage,

Et tu pourras, un jour, colonel allemand,

Conduire à la parade un noble régiment!

Qu'à ce but désormais ton jeune cœur aspire;

Borne là tes désirs, ta gloire et ton empire.

Des règnes imprévus ne gardons plus l'espoir,

Ce qu'on vit une fois ne doit plus se revoir!'"

Not so, O poet! We shall never see again what we have seen; the phantom

child which you have invoked from its premature grave was only to be

seen by history as a pale spectre held up to view in a dim poetic

distance, as Astyanax or Britannicus; the days that have been we shall

know no more. But the future was reserving a still more extraordinary

vision for us, which was to confirm the words Dr. Schlegel said to

me in 1838: "History has been invented to prove the futility of the

examples she sets before us."

Meanwhile Barthélemy was being sentenced to three months' imprisonment

and a fine of 1000 francs, in spite of, or perhaps because of, his

pleading. But if the prisoner had not done with Justice, neither had

Justice done with the prisoner. Barthélemy was hardly inside the prison

before he received the following letter from M. Guillebert, Registrar:--

"PARIS, 6 _May_ 1830

"MONSIEUR,--I had the honour of asking you in my letter

of 22 March last, to settle the fines and expenses which

you were sentenced to pay by order of the Royal Court on 7

January last, amounting to:--

_Invoice_

francs

Fine.. 1,000 00

Ten per cent.. 100 00

Legal expenses and appeal ditto.. 81 45

Total, 1,181 45

"I repeat my request, as I made a mistake in my first

application, for 1208 francs 95 centimes. I beg you to

discharge these payments by the 10th instant, to avoid the

putting into execution of legal methods according to Article

52 of the _Code pénal._

"I have the honour to remain

"GUILLEBERT, _Registrar"_

And M. Guillebert, who would have been as polite to any prisoner but

would, undoubtedly, not have been so punctilious with him if he had not

been a poet, had the complaisance to put that 52nd Article of the _Code

pénal_, to which he alluded so delicately, in a postscript. This is the

article which, I suppose, has remained unaltered under the government

of King Louis-Philippe I., and under that of M. Bonaparte:--

_Article_ 52

"Distraining for fines, restitutions, damages and interest,

and for costs, can be enforced by means of imprisonment."

To this letter Barthélemy replied, on 9 May 1830, by an epistle

entitled _La Bourse ou la Prison._ But in comparison with Fontan and

Magallon, Barthélemy had nothing to complain of: he was lodged in a

palace. The palace was rent free, but he gives us the tariff for the

cost of furnishing it:--

francs

Ordinary bed, two mattresses, sheets, one blanket and

bolster . . . . . . 4 50

For every extra blanket. . . . . 6 50

One pillow . . . . . 9 50

One chair. . . . . . 6 50

One table...... 6 50

Total, 33 50

And it was by these actions that the Government was alienating itself

from the people by the scandalous trials of Carbonneau, Pleignies and

Tolleron successively; from the army by the executions of Bories,

Raoul, Goubin and Pommier; from the high military aristocracy by the

assassination of Brune, Ramel, Ney and Mouton-Duverney; from the

middle classes by the dissolution of the National Guard; and was

alienating a race far more dangerous still, namely poets, journalists

and men of letters, by the sentences which struck successively such men

as Paul-Louis Courier, Cauchois-Lemaire, Magallon, Béranger, Fontan and

Barthélemy.

Now, a Government which has the people, the army, the middle classes

and literature opposed to it is in a very bad way, and this Government

was therefore in a very bad way on 31 July 1829, on which day it

pronounced its sentence on Barthélemy; exactly a year later, to the

day, it was defunct.

Finally, an anecdote I am just about to relate will prove that I

partially foresaw the trend of coming events. My new position in the

library of the Duc d'Orléans (a post which, as I have already pointed

out to my readers, was more honorary than lucrative) possessed the

great advantage to me of affording me an immense office, where I could

carry on my literary and historical researches nearly as well as, and

far more comfortably than, in the Bibliothèque royale. So I was more

regular in my attendance than either of my two confrères, Vatout and

Casimir Delavigne. Accordingly, one day, when the Duc d'Orléans came

in, humming a tune from one of the masses--a habit of his when he was

in a good temper, which, I must say, he nearly always was--he remarked:

"So! are you by yourself, M. Dumas?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

The Duc d'Orléans took two or three turns round the library, still

continuing his singing. Then he went on, a moment later--

"Neither Vatout, nor Casimir, nor Tallencourt?..."

"MM. Vatout and Casimir have not come, monseigneur, and Tallencourt has

gone out."

Twice again he perambulated round the library, still humming to

himself. He evidently wished to enter into conversation, so I ventured

to ask him--

"Does monseigneur want anything I can do in the absence of the other

gentlemen?"

"No; I wanted to show Vatout an historic portrait and to ask his

opinion."

"Unhappily, as monseigneur needs advice, I am afraid I am no substitute

for M. Vatout."

"Come with me, nevertheless," said the duke.

I bowed and followed the prince from the library to the picture gallery.

Upon an easel rested a portrait that had just been brought back from

the framer; it was waiting for the name of the original to be painted

on the frame. It was a portrait of the emperor, painted by Manzaisse.

To find, in 1829, a portrait of the emperor in the palace of the first

prince of the blood royal was such a novel species of boldness that I

could do nothing but wonder at it.

"What do you think of that portrait?" asked the Duc d'Orléans.

"I am "not very fond of the paintings of M. Mauzaisse, monseigneur."

"Ah, true, I forgot you were a romanticist in painting and in

literature. You admire the painting of M. Delacroix?"

"Yes, monseigneur; also of M. Delacroix, M. Scheffer, M. Granet, M.

Decamps, M. Boulanger, M. Eugène Devéria--oh! we allow a wide margin!"

"Excellent! I am aware you know all about these gentlemen--but that

is not to my present purpose. This is a portrait which I have just

had painted for my gallery; and there is nothing wanting, as you see,

except the insertion of the name. Ought I to put _Bonaparte?_ It would

look like affectation only to recognise the First Consul. Ought I to

put _Napoléon?_ It would seem an affectation to call him emperor; that

was the point on which I wished to consult Vatout."

"But," I replied, "it seems a very simple matter to me; put _Napoléon

Bonaparte_, monseigneur."

"Yes; but that still implies the emperor.... Napoleon, if my memory

serves me correctly, was unjust to your family and you have no love for

him, I believe."

"Monseigneur, I must confess that where that great man is concerned I

share Madame Turenne's opinion of him, that of admiration."

"He was a great man; but there were two terrible blots on his

character--one was a crime, the other a fault--his assassination of the

Duc d'Enghien, and his marriage with Marie-Louise."

"Does monseigneur pardon his usurpation?"

"I did not say so."

"Monseigneur knows the _Médecin malgré lui?_"

"Yes, I admire it immensely."

"Well, in the _Médecin malgré lui_ Sganarille remarks that there are

fagots _and_ fagots."

"Meaning, I presume ...?"

"That there are usurpations and usurpations."

"Bah!"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"I do not understand your meaning."

"I mean to say--and you who are so fair-minded, monseigneur, will

readily understand me--that there is a usurpation which substitutes

one dynasty for another dynasty by the instrumentality of violence,

breaking up all the roots of the old dynasty throughout the country,

all the interests connected with it, leaving raw open wounds for long

enough among the aristocracy and the middle and lower classes, which

are slow to heal; and there is the usurpation which purely and simply

substitutes one man for another, a green bough for a withered branch,

and popularity for unpopularity--that is what I mean, monseigneur, by

my two usurpations."

The Duc d'Orléans laughingly lifted up his hand, as though to stop me;

but he let me finish, all the same.

"M. Dumas," he said to me, "that is a somewhat subtle question, and one

which, if you must have it answered, should be referred to a council

and not to a prince of the blood. However, you are right about the

portrait; I will put _Napoléon Bonaparte_."

I bowed and withdrew to the library.

The duke remained in the picture gallery lost in thought.

CHAPTER V

The things that are the greatest enemies to the success of a play

--The honesty of Mademoiselle Mars' as an actress--Her dressing-room

--The habitués at her supper-parties--Vatout--Denniée--Becquet

--Mornay--Mademoiselle Mars in her own home--Her last days on the stage

--Material result of the success of _Henri III._--My first

speculation--The recasting of _Christine_--Where I looked for my

inspiration--Two other ideas

At the thirty-fifth representation of _Henri III._ Mademoiselle Mars

was obliged to take her holiday. She did her utmost to persuade the

Comédie-Française to compensate her for this holiday; she gave them

every possible facility, but the Comédie-Française would not listen

to anything. The success of _Henri III._ served certain interests but

wounded certain _amour-propres._ At the Comédie-Française one suffers

from a peculiarity unknown, or very nearly so, in any other theatre.

The author whose piece is being acted makes enemies of all the actors

who are not taking part in it.

Towards the close of the run of _Henri III._ I noticed Monrose, an

excellent comedian whose talents should have raised him above the

paltry jealousies of those of lesser genius, come into the green-room,

rubbing his hands together and exclaiming gleefully--

"Ah! we have taken five hundred francs less to-night than at the last

representation!"

I was present--he had not perceived me at first, and, when he caught

sight of me, he pretended not to have seen me, and went away.

Mademoiselle Mars was on the point of renouncing her holiday, so

reluctant was she to interrupt the success of the run.

Mademoiselle Mars was an exceedingly straightforward, honest actress, I

nearly said an honest _man_, and punctiliously accurate; everyone did

his duty when connected with her, because she did hers as carefully as

a pupil during her first year at a boarding-school. Once only was she a

few minutes late at a rehearsal.

"I beg your pardon for being a quarter of an hour late," she said as

she came in; "but I have just lost forty thousand francs.... Let us be

quick and begin." And she rehearsed as though nothing had happened.

Once, when she was going on the stage, she had a sort of apoplectic

fit; but, instead of interrupting the play, as any other actress would

have done, she sent for leeches, and between the first and third acts

she took advantage of the second act, in which she did not have to

appear, to apply them to her chest. When I entered her dressing-room

after the play, she was covered with blood down to her slippers.

Mademoiselle Mars had a very large room--the same that Mademoiselle

Rachel now has. At the end of each performance the room was always

filled with people. Mademoiselle Mars did not trouble herself in the

least about her visitors being present; she would undress and take off

her paint and rouge with a modest dexterity quite remarkable: she had

in particular a way of changing her chemise while talking, without

showing anything of her person beyond her finger tips, that was a _tour

de force._ When her toilet was complete, those who wished to accompany

her home went with her and found a supper ready. The regular attenders

at these suppers were Vatout, Romieu, Denniée, Becquet and myself,

among men, and Julienne, her lady-companion--a character--the beautiful

Amigo, the fair Madame Mira, and sometimes an old lady named Fusil.

Mornay called every evening to conduct Mademoiselle Mars to the

theatre, or saw her safely home.

My readers are acquainted with Romieu; I introduced him in company with

his friend Rousseau. So as I have nothing fresh to tell about him, I

will pass him over.

But I have hardly as yet described Vatout; Madame Valmore took him

off well when she dubbed him a "_butterfly in top-boots._" Vatout was

full of small defects and great qualities. He would superciliously

hold out a finger to you if you offered to shake hands with him, and

he put on the airs of a grand seigneur without ever succeeding in

being mistaken for a grand seigneur. He had a good heart in spite of

his uppish manners; and a charming mind behind his awkward appearance.

He had a way of saying certain things that did not sit at all well on

him. One of his monstrous affectations was to try and resemble the Duc

D'Orléans; I have even been assured that, in confidence, he let people

draw conclusions about this resemblance. The Duc d'Orléans was very

fond of him and, when king, maintained his friendship with him. At the

_Cour Citoyenne_ they quoted his quips and sang his chansons. There

was one in particular about the Mayor of Eu, which became the rage.

Will our modest readers allow us to insert it here? for, to our way of

thinking, it constituted his worthiest claim to the Académie. Do not

let us do injustice to poor Vatout.

LE MAIRE D'EU

AIR_--à faire_

"L'ambition, c'est des bêtises;

Ça vous rend triste et soucieux;

Mais, dans le vieux manoir des Guises.

Qui ne serait ambitieux?...

Tourmenté du besoin de faire

Quelque chose dans ce beau lieu,

J'ai brigué l'honneur d'être maire,

Et l'on m'a nommé maire d'Eu!

Notre origine n'est pas claire ...

Rollon nous gouverna jadis;

Mais César fut-il notre père,

Où descendons-nous, de Smerdis?

Dans l'embarras de ma pensée,

Un mot peut tout concilier:

Nous sommes issus de Persée;

Voyez plutôt mon mobilier!

Je ne suis pas fort à mon aise:

Ma mairie est un petit coin,

Et mon trône une simple chaise

Qui me sert en cas de besoin;

Mes habits ne sentent pas l'ambre:

Mon équipage brille peu;

Mais que m'importe! un pot de chambre

Suffit bien pour un maire d'Eu!

On vante partout ma police;

Ce qu'on fait ne m'échappe pas.

A tous je rends bonne justice;

J'observe avec soin tous, les cas.

On ne peut ni manger ni boire

Sans que tout passe sous mes yeux;

Mais c'est surtout les jours de foire

Qu'on me voit souvent sur les lieux.

Grâce aux roses que l'on recueille

Dans mon laborieux emploi,

Je préfère mon portefeuille

A celui des agents du roi.

Je brave les ordres sinistres

Qui brise leur pouvoir tout net;

Et, plus puissant que les ministres,

J'entre, en tout temps, au cabinet.

Je me complais dans mon empire;

Il ne me cause aucun souci;

Moi, j'aime l'air que l'on y respire;

On voit, on sent la mer d'ici!

Partout l'aisance et le bien-être;

Ma vie est un bouquet de fleurs..

Aussi j'aime beaucoup mieux être

Maire d'Eu que maire d'ailleurs!

Beau château bâti par les Guises,

Mer d'azur baignant le Tréport,

Lieux où Lauzun fit des bêtises,

Je suis à vous jusqu'à la mort;

Je veux, sous l'écharpe française,

Mourir en sénateur romain,

Calme et tranquille sur ma chaise

Tenant mes papiers à la main!'

Vatout was also the author of the famous _mot_ said to an official who,

accompanying the king down a by-street which the latter was determined

to penetrate, made excuses at each step for the obstructions they

encountered. Many hens had laid there, of the type of which Henri IV.

had remarked, "Stop, stop, mother! I much prefer to see the hen than

the egg!"

"Oh, sire," said the poor fellow,--"oh, sire, had I only known your

Majesty intended passing this way, I would have had them all cleared

away."

"You would not have had the right to do that, M. le maire," Vatout

gravely remarked; "they have their papers!"

Between 1821 and 1822 Vatout wrote a book which was an enormous

success. It was about the adventures of la Charte and was entitled

_Histoire de la fille d'un Roi._ Later, he wrote _Idée fixe_, which was

scarcely read; then, some sort of a novel called the _Conspiration de

Cellamare_; finally, various publications about the royal châteaux. In

all, nothing very striking; but nevertheless he was consumed with the

desire to become an Academician, Scribe urging him to it. He reached

his goal, poor fellow; but in the interval between his nomination and

his reception, being as faithful to the royal cause during its exile as

he had been in the heyday of its powerfulness, he went to pay a visit

to the exiles at Claremont, where he was taken ill after dinner, and

died twenty-four hours later! He died without having had the joy of

sitting once in the Académie! Poor Vatout! No one, I am sure, did him

greater justice or regretted him more than I did. I obtained Hugo's

vote for him with much difficulty.

The whole of Parisian society knew Denniée, ex-ordonnateur-general,

who, man of wit and pleasure-seeker as he was, talked as though his

mouth were full of nutshells, and told a host of stories and anecdotes,

each more strange and amusing than the last, with such a defective

pronunciation that they acquired a convincing air of originality. He

worshipped Mademoiselle Mars, who was very fond of him in return. If

three days went Dy without Denniée being seen at her house, one asked

what had become of him; for nothing but illness or an accident could,

it was supposed, account for so long an absence.

Becquet was as well known as Denniée: perhaps he was even better known.

He was one of the weekly contributors to the _Journal des Débâts._ He

was exceedingly clever; but, as he got drunk regularly once a day, his

intellect gradually became dulled. Two often quoted sayings of his will

serve to illustrate the sort of respect and filial affection he had for

his father. Once when Becquet the elder took his son to task concerning

his unfortunate habit of drunkenness, saying to him.

"See, you wretch, how it is ageing you; you will be taken for my

father, and I shall outlive you by ten years!"

"Ah!" Becquet languidly retorted, "why do you always say such

disagreeable things to me?"

Becquet possessed another habit, that of contracting debts. He owed

money to everybody, and this widespread indebtedness reduced his father

to despair.

"Wretch!" he said to him, on another occasion,--this was old Becquet's

usual term for his son, sometimes used as an adjective, at others as

a substantive,--"Wretch!" he said, "by God and the devil, I cannot

conceive how you can live like this."

"Stay, father," Becquet replied, "you have just mentioned the only two

powers to whom I do not owe anything."

The day his father died--it is sad to relate that it was a festival-day

for Becquet, who made merry in heart and purse--he dined at the _café

de Paris_ and ordered his menu like a man who is regardless of cost;

but, when it came to the wine, he called the waiter; some doubt had

probably arisen in his mind, and he wished the opinion of an expert.

"Waiter," he asked, "is the Bordeaux in mourning?"

Two hours later, they carried Becquet home.

One night, I met Becquet in one of those marvellous states of

intoxication that he alone could carry off in such lordly style. It was

on the 21st of January.

"What!" said I to him, "drunk on this day of all days, Becquet?"

"May I ask if there is, perchance, any day on which a man may not be

drunk if he likes?" asked the author of _Mouchoir bleu_ in amazement.

"Certainly, I should have thought there was, especially for you who are

a Royalist, it being the anniversary of the death of Louis XVI."

Becquet seemed to reflect for an instant over the gravity of my

observation; then, placing a hand on my shoulder--

"If they had not cut off the head of good King Louis XVI., do you

suppose he would be dead now?"

"It is more than probable."

"Well, then," said Becquet, carelessly snapping his fingers, "how can

you say anything to me?"

And off he went with the aplomb of the drunkard, who, from long

practice, has learnt to be superior to the general run of drinkers in

being always able to walk straight when intoxicated.

It was when dead-drunk, after having left the house of Mademoiselle

Mars, that Becquet wrote the famous article for the _Journal des

Débats_ which concluded with the following words, and which overthrew

the monarchy:--

"Malheureuse France! Malheureux roi!" "Unfortunate France! Unfortunate

King!"

Becquet died of drink and died whilst drinking. For the last six

months of his life he was never sober: his eyes became dull and

expressionless; his actions were involuntary and instinctive; his hand

mechanically felt for the bottle to pour wine into his glass, which he

had not sufficient strength to empty. To the last moment, Mademoiselle

Mars received him with the whole-hearted friendship that was one of her

finest virtues. When Becquet died, she had not the heart to regret him

although she shed tears at the news.

Mornay formed a singular contrast to all those of whom I have been

speaking. Mornay was elegant and aristocratic, he was the _gentry_

personified, and, in addition to all these qualifications, he had as

much wit as all the rest of us put together. When Mornay was appointed

plenipotentiary, and left first for the grand-duchy of Baden, and

afterwards for Sweden, Mademoiselle Mars lost the brightest star of her

salon. There are minds which possess the qualities of well-seasoned

tinder, and set fire to all around with whom they come in contact;

Mornay was one of these; the rest of us served him for flint. When,

perchance, he happened to be too fatigued to use his own wits, he

counted on our supplying his deficiency. Mornay had no fortune; but

Mademoiselle Mars left him an income of 40,000 livres per annum at her

death. He took down a portrait of her, which he carried away with him,

remarking, "That is the only thing to which I have a right here," and

he left the 40,000 livres per annum to the heirs of Mademoiselle Mars.

Mademoiselle Mars at the theatre, and Mademoiselle Mars in her private

home, were two quite different beings. On the stage, her voice was

entrancing, almost like a song, and her looks were endearing and

soft, full of bewitching charm. At home, her voice was harsh, she

looked almost hard and her movements were brusque and impatient. Her

theatrical voice was acquired, an instrument on which she had been

taught to play and which she played marvellously well, but she rightly

mistrusted it when she had to express great crises of passion, or to

give effect to great heights of poesy; she was afraid then of straining

her gentle notes, and she almost envied Madame Dorval her hoarse,

raucous voice which enabled her to utter piteous cries that went

straight to the heart. I never knew anyone who was more modest about

her talents than was Mademoiselle Mars: she never spoke of herself, her

triumphs, or her creations; she admired her father, Mouvel, profoundly;

she was his pupil, and it gave her evident pleasure to talk of him.

She was also a great admirer of Mademoiselle Contat, and it was odd to

hear her confessing her inferiority to this great actress, in regard to

certain points of art. I cannot say if all the tales told about the age

of Mademoiselle Mars be true, but I know she never concealed a week of

it from her friends. She had a marble sculpture by Boule, in her salon,

which had been given by Queen Marie-Antoinette to her mother because

they had both been confined on the same day. Therefore, Mademoiselle

Mars must have been exactly the same age as the Duchesse d'Angoulême,

who was born on 19 December 1778. When Mademoiselle Mars liked, she

could be charming, for she possessed a great fund of humour; her voice

was just the voice that could imitate, and when she criticised the

members of the Comédie-Française, from Mademoiselle Plessy to Ligier,

it was tersely but capitally done. She showed much kindness towards and

interest in persons whom she thought to possess talent, and would help

them with her advice, her talent and her influence. She once rescued a

clown who was performing in the square at Metz and never rested until

she had found a small position for him. She recommended him to me in

1833 or 1834, but I had no opportunity of giving him a part for fifteen

or eighteen years, when I entrusted him with the rôle of Lorrain in the

_Barrière de Clichy._ The man's name was Patonnelle and he was one of

the best riders at the Cirque.

In common with Talma, Mademoiselle Mars saw her reputation go on

increasing to the very day on which she finally left the stage. Her

last creation, Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle, was one of her happiest

performances. I was her latest supporter at the theatre and, in all

probability, I had the good fortune of prolonging her career for two or

three years.

The latter days of her period at the Comédie-Française were tinged with

bitterness. One day, at an extra performance, someone threw a crown of

immortelles at her feet, such as are placed upon tombs. It had been

put together in one of the very boxes of the theatre, and I could,

if I chose, mention in whose. When she left the stage the same thing

occurred as after the loss of Talma. Everyone believed himself capable

of replacing Talma, and everyone hoped to replace Mademoiselle Mars:

they attempted it in their old rôles; they invented new ones. Managers

and papers did their part by puffing and praising budding reputations.

They had Turenne's money;--had they even the money of Mademoiselle

Mars?...

Although _Henri III._ did not bring any very great wealth to our

household, it had, nevertheless, produced a considerable change: first

and foremost it had freed us from debt; it had repaid Porcher and M.

Laffitte; it had permitted us to quit our humble lodgings in the rue

Saint-Denis and to hire for my mother a set of rooms on the ground

floor, with a garden, at No. 7 rue Madame. She had been recommended

to have air and exercise, and I chose that street and quarter so as

to be close to Mesdames Villenave and Waldor, who from family reasons

had left their house in the rue de Vaugirard and taken a suite of

apartments at No. 11 rue Madame. I had hired a separate room for

myself, on the fourth floor, at the corner of rue de l'Université and

the rue du Bac, and, as my new position brought me visitors from among

the ladies and gentlemen of the Théâtre-Français, I made this room as

pretty as I could afford.

As I had learnt from past experience never to trust too much to the

future, I had compounded for my food for one year, paying 1800 francs

in advance; or, to be more exact, I paid for 365 breakfast coupons and

365 dinner tickets, wine not included. Unluckily, a month after I had

made this arrangement, the Café Desmares went bankrupt, and I lost my

year's payment and meals. It was my first speculation, and it turned

out badly, it will be seen.

Meanwhile, I had been receiving reproaches from an exceedingly charming

young lady at the Théâtre-Français, who grumbled because, after having

had an insignificant part in _Henri III._ there was none at all for

her in _Christine_--for I still flattered myself with the hope that

my _Christine_ would yet be played at the Théâtre-Français, in spite

of the delay owing to M. Brault, who had died meanwhile; and now the

Comédie-Française was not in a hurry to take up either. Her reproaches

went home, as they were deserved, and I felt I owed her a double

reparation. I therefore replied--

"Set your mind at rest: I will recast _Christine_ in order to make

it more dramatic and up to date, and something shall come out of the

transformation that will, I hope, satisfy you."

The mind of a worker is often full of singular prejudices, which are

sometimes odd enough to border upon mania: at times he imagines he can

only conceive his schemes in such and such a place; at others, that he

can only write his play on some special kind of paper. I got it into

my head that I could only evolve a fresh _Christine_ out of my old

_Christine_ if I took a short journey, and was rocked by the motion of

a carriage. As I was not yet rich enough to go in a carriage, I chose a

diligence; it did not matter where the diligence was going, provided I

had the _coupé_, the inside or the _rotonde_ to myself. I went to the

cour des Messageries and, after a couple of hours' waiting, I found

what I wanted, a coach with no passenger in the _coupé._ The diligence

was bound for Havre. This was, indeed, a chance for me, for I had never

been to a seaport, and I should be killing two birds with one stone. In

those days it took fully twenty hours to go from Paris to Havre; this,

again, suited me well enough. Inspiration would have plenty of time to

work, or it would never come at all. I set off and, as imagination,

naturally, plays a principal part in works of art, when my imagination

had what it wanted in the way of external conditions for working, it

began to work. By the time I reached Havre, my play was recast; I had

divided the scenes between Stockholm, Fontainebleau and Rome, and the

character of Paula rose out of this fresh genesis. It meant a complete

overhauling and rewriting of the entire play, and very little was left

of the original one. Although I was in great haste to set to work, I

did not start back again to Paris before I had seen the sea. I stayed

at Havre just long enough to eat some oysters, to have a sail on the

sea, and to buy a couple of china vases which I could have got cheaper

in Paris, and then I got into the diligence. In seventy-two hours I had

been my journey and reconstructed my play.

I have spoken of the strange prejudices which imperiously impose

certain conditions under which work shall be fulfilled. No one is less

of a maniac than myself; nobody who acquires the habit of working

incessantly, as I did, could work with greater ease than I, and yet,

three times, I have felt absolutely compelled to obey a caprice. The

first occasion I have just related; the second was over the composition

of _Don Juan de Marana_, and the third was connected with _Capitaine

Paul._ I was possessed with the notion that I could only conceive my

fantastic drama to the sound of some music. I asked for tickets from my

friend Zimmermann, for the Conservatoire, and, in the corner of a box

together with three strangers, my eyes closed as though I were asleep,

soothed into semi-unconsciousness by Beethoven and Weber, I composed

the principal scenes of my drama in two hours.

It was different in the case of _Capitaine Paul_: I needed sea, a wide

horizon, clouds scudding across the sky, and breezes whistling through

the rigging and masts of ships. I went a voyage to Sicily and anchored

my little boat for a couple of hours at the entrance to the Straits of

Messina. In two days' time _Capitaine Paul_ was finished.

On my return, I found a letter from Hugo. The success of _Henri III._

had inspired him with the desire to write a drama, and he invited me

to go and hear it read at the house of Devéria. That drama was _Marion

Delorme._

CHAPTER VI

Victor Hugo--His birth--His mother--Les Chassebœuf and les

Comet--Captain Hugo--The signification of his name--Victor's

godfather--The Hugo family in Corsica--M. Hugo is called to Naples

by Joseph Bonaparte--He is appointed colonel and governor of the

province of Avellino--Recollections of the poet's early childhood--Fra

Diavolo--Joseph, King of Spain--Colonel Hugo is made a general, count,

marquis and major-domo--The Archbishop of Tarragona--Madame Hugo and

her children in Paris--The convent of Feuillantines

We will now devote a few pages to the author of _Marion Delorme_,

_Notre-Dame de Paris_ and _Orientales_; for we deem he is well worth

the digression.

Victor Hugo was born on 26 March 1803. Where and under what conditions

the poet himself tells us on the first page of his _Feuilles

d'Automne_:--

"Ce siècle avait deux ans; Rome remplaçait Sparte;

Déjà Napoléon perçait sous Bonaparte,

Et du premier consul, trop gêné par le droit,

Le front de l'empereur brisait le masque étroit.

Alors, dans Besançon, vieille ville espagnole,

Jeté comme la graine au gré de l'air qui vole,

Naquit, d'un sang breton et lorrain à la fois,

Un enfant sans couleur, sans regard et sans voix;

Si débile, qu'il fut, ainsi qu'une chimère,

Abandonné de tous, excepté de sa mère,

Et que son cou, ployé comme un frêle roseau,

Fit faire, en même temps, sa bière et son berceau.

Cet enfant que la vie effaçait de son livre,

Et qui n'avait pas même un lendemain à vivre,

C'est moi...."

The child was, indeed, so weak that, fifteen months after his birth, he

could not even hold up his head on his shoulders, but, as though it

were already weighted with all the thoughts of which it only possessed

the germ, it persistently fell forward on his breast.

The poet continues:--

"Je vous dirai peut-être, quelque jour,

Quel lait pur, que de soins, que de vœux, que d'amour,

Prodigués pour ma vie, en naissant condamnée,

M'ont fait deux fois le fils de ma mère obstinée."

His mother, of Breton blood, who persevered in battling with death

for the life of her child, like a true mother and a Bretonne, was

the daughter of a rich ship-owner of Nantes, and granddaughter of

one of the leaders of the _bourgeoisie_ in that land of opposition.

Furthermore, she was cousin-german to Constantin François, Count of

Chassebœuf, who renounced that grand feudal name, reminiscent of

the _barons pasteurs_ of the Middle Ages, for that of Volney, which

would merely remind one of the name of a provincial comedian, if the

gentleman who had the strange fancy of taking that name had not made it

famous by putting it at the beginning of his _Voyage en Égypte_, and at

the end of his _Ruines_; she was, besides, cousin of another imperial

celebrity, Comte Cornet, who was less literary in his tastes than

political. Comte Cornet, whose name is now, perhaps, forgotten, was

deputy for Nantes and one of the Conseil des Cinq-Cents; he took part

in the doings of the famous 18 brumaire, which changed the aspect of

France for half a century. Instead of defending the privileges of the

Assembly, he supported Bonaparte's pretensions; and Napoleon, ont of

gratitude, made him senator--the usual reward for such services--then

count; and so that he should possess everything--in quantity if not

in quality--that the members of the old nobility possessed, who had

rallied round the Empire, he gave him a coat of arms; but, through

one of those pleasantries which a crowned soldier sometimes permits

himself, this coat of arms, which recalled the somewhat plebeian origin

of the person whom it was intended to ennoble, was azure with three

cornets argent.

Madame Hugo's name was Sophie Trébuchet. She had, as we have seen, two

peerages in her family, that of Comte Volney and that of Comte Cornet.

Please remember this fact, for we shall have occasion again to refer to

it. The Lorraine blood of which the poet sings came from his father,

Joseph-Léopold-Sigisbert Hugo. From this side noble descent was quite

undoubted; it sprang from an ancient German source.

His grandfather, Georges Hugo, was captain of the guards to some duke

of Lorraine, and had been ennobled in 1531, by letters patent dated

at Lillebonne, in Normandy, by this duke, who bestowed on him as

coat of arms, on a field azure, _au chef d'argent_, two martlets in

sable. Three martlets are, as is well known, the arms of the House of

Lorraine. So the duke could not have done more for his captain; another

martlet, and he would have put him on the same level with himself. But

those who wish for fuller details than we give on this subject, and

a greater authority, should consult Hozier, register IV., under the

heading of _Hugo._ However, as we believe in the magic of names, we

will give some information that Hozier does not give--namely, that the

old German word _hugo_ is equivalent to the Latin word _spiritus_, and

means breath, soul, spirit!

The feebler a babe is, the more need there is for haste to baptize it.

Major Sigisbert Hugo, in command at that time at Besançon, which was

the depot of a Corsican regiment, seeing his third son was so delicate,

looked round and selected Victor Faneau de la Horie for godparent, who

was shot in 1812 for being the instigating spirit of the conspiracy

of which Mallet was the active agent. And from him the poet received

his Christian name of _Victor_, which, added to his surname, no matter

whether it precedes or follows it, can be translated in no other way

than to mean--

"Conquering spirit--triumphant soul--victorious breath!"

The poet never thought of calling himself by any other name than

the accident of his birth had decreed, as had his maternal cousin

Chassebœuf, and we shall even see later that, when the addition would

have been useful to him, he declined to call himself Hugo-Cornet.

Victor's father was one of the rough champions bred by the Revolution;

he took up arms in 1791, and did not sheathe his sword until 1815.

Others kept theirs in use until 1830 and 1848, but it was rarely

that it brought them good fortune. In 1795 he was a lieutenant and

fought in the Vendéan War. It was his company which formed part of

the detachment, led by Commandant Muscar, that took Charette in the

forest of la Chabotière. By a strange coincidence, it was Colonel

Hugo who captured Fra Diavolo in Calabria, and General Hugo who took

Juan Martin, otherwise known as the _Empecinado_, on the banks of the

Tagus; they were the three principal leaders of that great period

of wars which lasted more than a quarter of a century. Of course it

will be well understood that we do not compare the noble and loyal

Charette with the Calabrian brigand or the Spanish bandit. Charette was

shot, Fra Diavolo hung and Juan Martin garroted. After the peaceful

settlement of la Vendée the lieutenant got his captaincy, left the

Loire for the Rhine and civil war for foreign campaigns, and became

attached to the general staff of Moreau, with whom he made the campaign

of 1796; he next went into Italy, to serve in Masséna's army corps.

In connection with my father, I have mentioned what an antipathy

Bonaparte felt towards officers who came to him already distinguished

by their actions in the armies of the West and the Pyrenees and the

North. Captain Sigisbert Hugo was yet another instance. At the battle

of Caldiero, he was commanded by Masséna to hold the head of the

bridge, with his company, and he was the pivot on which the fate of

the whole battle turned; Masséna accordingly expected to be able to

recompense this magnificent feat of arms by obtaining Captain Hugo

his majority (_chef de bataillon_). But he had not reckoned for the

general-in-chief's hatred. Bonaparte asked whence Captain Hugo had

come, and when he learnt that he had belonged to the Army of the Rhine,

he cancelled the nomination. King Louis-Philippe did pretty much the

same injustice to the general as Bonaparte had to the captain: the

name of the battle of Caldiero is on the Triumphal Arch at Étoile,

but that of General Hugo is not there. The poet avenged this strange

oversight in the last line of his final stanza on the Arc de Triomphe

de l'Étoile:--

"Quand ma pensée ainsi, vieillissant ton attique,

Te fait de l'avenir un passé magnifique,

Alors, sous ta grandeur je me courbe effrayé;

J'admire! et, fils pieux, passant que l'art anime,

Je ne regrette rien devant ton mur sublime,

Que Phidias absent, et mon père oublié!"

However, as Captain Hugo was not among the number of those who are

beaten in their career, he obtained his majority at last, but under

what circumstances I am not aware. However that may be, he was a major,

and happened to be in garrison at Lunéville when the conferences for

the ratification of the treaty of Campo-Formio were begun in that

town. At these conferences Joseph Bonaparte, who was later King of

Naples, then King of Spain and the Indies, was plenipotentiary of the

Republic. I knew this King of Naples and Spain well at Florence. His

disposition was more gentle than elevated, more placid than bold; like

his brothers Louis and Lucien, and we might even say like his brother

Napoleon, he had had at first a passion for literature; the others

had written memoirs, comedies and epic poems, he had written novels.

His daughter, Princess Zenaïde, who is now Princess of Canino, was, I

believe, named after one of her father's heroines. Joseph Bonaparte,

as plenipotentiary, became intimate with Major Hugo, who, as we have

mentioned, joined the depot of the Corsican regiment at Besançon when

the conferences were concluded. And we have also stated that it was

there the famous poet was born of whom we are now writing.

Some months after his birth, the depot of which his father was in

command received orders to undertake garrison duty on the isle of

Elba. And on that island, where Napoleon began his decline and fall,

the author of the _Ode à la Colonne_, or, rather, of the _Odes à la

Colonne_, began to grow strong.

The first tongue that the child, who was predestined to be so

celebrated, learnt to talk was Italian; and the first word he

pronounced--after those two words with which all human voices, lips and

tongues begin, _papa_ and _mamma_--was an apostrophe to his governess:

"_cattiva_!" he called out one day, before anyone knew he had learnt

the meaning of the word. Perhaps it may not be generally known that

_cattiva_ means _naughty._ Of the isle of Elba the child remembers

nothing, and nothing of his early sojourn among his fellow-men; nothing

of this earliest halt on the threshold of his existence has remained in

his memory.

In 1806 the plenipotentiary Joseph was made King of Naples; he then

remembered his friend the major of Lunéville; he inquired what had

become of him, learnt that he was living on the isle of Elba, and

that he had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, or,

as it was still called in 1806, _gros-major._ He wrote to him and

proposed he should come and join fortunes with him, and aid him in the

establishment of his throne in the beautiful city which all ought to

see before they die, and leave in order to die as soon as they have

seen it. But no one dared venture on such military escapades without

the permission of the master. Lieutenant-Colonel Hugo asked leave of

the Emperor Napoleon to attach himself to King Joseph. The Emperor

Napoleon condescended to reply that he not only authorised this change

of service, but that he should be pleased to see a French element in

his brother's armies, which were only the wings of his own army.

Frenchmen never take service in a foreign army without certain feelings

of regret, but this army was destined to be one of the wings of the

National Army. And to ameliorate so far as he could the hardships of

this exile, the newly made king promoted _gros-major_ Hugo a colonel,

made him an aide-de-camp and appointed him governor of the province of

Avellino. When installed in his governorship, the husband sent for his

wife and children, whom he longed to have near him. So, in 1807, Madame

Hugo and her three sons set out for Naples; and the child continued the

life of wandering which had begun in his cradle, and which, continued

through his youth, was to be his lot to the threshold of manhood.

It is to these long journeys taken in his dawning days that the poet

alludes in the following lines:--

"Enfant, sur un tambour ma crèche fut posée;

Dans un casque pour moi l'eau sainte fut puisée;

Un soldat, m'ombrageant d'un belliqueux faisceau

De quelque vieux lambeau d'une bannière usée,

Fit les langes de mon berceau.

Parmi les chars poudreux, les armes éclatantes,

Une muse des camps m'emporta sous les tentes.

Je dormis sur l'affût des canons meurtriers;

J'aimai les fiers coursiers aux crinières flottantes,

Et l'éperon froissant les rauques étriers.

Avec nos camps vainqueurs, dans l'Europe asservie,

J'errai; je parcourus la terre avant la vie,

Et, tout enfant encor, des vieillards recueillis

M'écoutaient, racontant d'une bouche ravie

Mes jours si peu nombreux et déjà si remplis.

Je visitai cette île en noirs débris féconde,

Plus tard premier degré d'une chute profonde!

Le haut Cenis, dont l'aigle aime les rocs lointains,

Entendit, de son antre où l'avalanche gronde,

Ses vieux glaçons crier sous mes pas enfantins.

Vers l'Adige et l'Arno, je vins des bords du Rhône;

Je vis de l'Occident l'auguste Babylone:

Rome, toujours vivante au fond de ses tombeaux,

Reine du monde encor sur un débris de trône,

Avec une pourpre en lambeaux.

Puis Turin; puis Florence, aux plaisirs toujours prête;

Naple, aux bords embaumés où le printemps s'arrête,

Et que Vésuve en feu couvre d'un dais brûlant,

Comme un guerrier jaloux qui, témoin d'une fête,

Jette, au milieu des fleurs, son panache sanglant?"

Happy, a hundred times happy, is the man who is able to embroider

the web of his life with such magic characters! I too have had

recollections similar to those of my literary brother, but I have

expressed mine in humble prose, and I rejoice to find them expressed

again in his splendid and sonorous poetry. Thence ascend the earliest

recollections of the child, indelible recollections, which still shine

clearly when extreme old age has come upon us, as a mirage reflects a

vanished oasis.

Hugo, who had only once been across beautiful Italy, often talked to

me about the grand pictures of it that remained on his memory; they

were as present to his mind as though he had been my companion during

my fifteen or twenty journeys therein! But he never remembered things

in their normal conditions; they always recurred to him in connection

with some momentary incident or accident that happened to have changed

their ordinary aspect. Thus, Parma was remembered as surrounded by a

flood; Acquapendente's volcanic peak stood out lit with the lightnings

of a storm; the Trajan column in connection with the excavations

that were being carried on round it. And yet his recollection was as

exact as it could be. Florence, with its embattled inns, its massive

palaces, its granite fortresses; Rome, with its leaping fountains,

its obelisks which make it look like a town of ancient Egypt, and its

colonnade of Bernino, twin-sister to that of the Louvre; Naples, with

its promenades, its Pausilippe, its rue de Toledo, its bay, its isles

and its Vesuvius. The three children had amused themselves on the long

journey by making crosses with straw and putting them in the cracks

between the glass doors and the grooves they ran in. When the Italian

peasants, especially those who lived in the neighbourhood of Rome, saw

these simple Calvaries, faithful in their worship of images, they would

kneel down or at least make the sign of the Cross. The young travellers

had been much terrified at the sight of bandits' heads stuck on poles

by the roadsides, shrivelling up in the sun. For a long time the poor

children refused to believe they were really human heads, and persisted

that they were bewigged masks like those hung outside all hairdressers'

shops at that period; but when they were taken down and shown them,

in all their hideous reality, they remained very deeply engraved on

Victor's memory.

In the case of a man like Hugo, a genius out of the common run, who

has already played and will still play a great part in the literary

and political history of his country, it is the duty of those who knew

him to depict him for his contemporaries and successors, in the light

and shade which formed the character of the man and the genius of the

poet. Let us hope that the genius of the poet will stand out flawless

throughout our narrative: the character of the man will speak for

itself by his line of conduct and his accomplished actions.

A home for Madame Hugo and her sons was not prepared for them at

Naples, but at Avellino, capital of the province over which Colonel

Hugo had been appointed governor. This home was in a palace, a palace

of marble, like most palaces in that country, where marble is more

common than stone; but this palace possessed a strange peculiarity

which was certain to attract the attention and to remain in the memory

of a child.

One of those shocks of earthquake which are common in the Italian

peninsula had just shaken Calabria from end to end; the marble palace

of Avellino had been shaken like the rest of the buildings; yet, being

on a more solid foundation than they, after oscillating and trembling

in the balance for a moment, it kept upright, but remained cracked

from roof to base. The crack extended diagonally across the wall of

Victor's bedroom, so that he could see the country through this most

original opening almost as plainly as through his window. The palace

was built on a sort of precipice, lined with great nut trees, which

produce the enormous nuts called _avelines_ (filberts) from the name

of the district in which they are grown. When these nuts reached

maturity, the children spent their days wandering among the trees,

hung over the abyss, to gather the bunches. No doubt this taught Hugo

that familiarity with high places, that scorn of precipices and that

indifference to empty space, which he possessed beyond most men and

which filled me with admiration, for I turn giddy on the balcony of a

first storey.

About this time, one of the bitterest enemies of the French was Michel

Pezza, nicknamed Fra Diavolo, about whom my confrère Scribe composed

a comic opera, although the life of the original was a most terrible

drama! Fra Diavolo had begun as a brigand chief, something after the

fashion of Cartouche, but with more cruelty. He practised that romantic

profession, until Cardinal Ruffo, another brigand chief, only in a

higher sphere of society, conceived the idea of reconquering Naples

for his beloved sovereign Ferdinand I., who had abandoned his capital,

disguised as a lackey, in consequence of the French invasion, which was

provoked by his insolent proclamations.

Everyone knows the terrible story of the Two Sicilies, the orgies of

blood presided over by two courtesans, in which a whole generation

disappeared, and in which, in order to prevent the ruin of the State,

they were obliged to give fixed salaries to the executioners, who had

been having ten ducats per execution.

Fra Diavolo joined his band to Cardinal Ruffo's army, with which he

marched upon Naples, recapturing it in company with the cardinal,

and finally being made colonel (and even count, so I understand) by

Ferdinand I. Nevertheless, Ferdinand I. returned to Sicily later,

not only a fugitive before the French invasion, but also before a

brother of the emperor; and Fra Diavolo, with his rank of colonel

and his title of count, started afresh his guerilla warfare and his

brigandage. Colonel Hugo was commissioned to take him, and the price of

20,000 ducats was put on his head. He had already escaped once through

a prodigious feat of audacity and address. He was pursued, hounded

out and hemmed in on every side, with two hundred and fifty to three

hundred men, the remnant of his band; but he hoped to be able to escape

by a defile that he believed was known only to himself. So he had

directed his course towards this defile, but, to his great surprise, he

found this final way of escape guarded like the rest. His last hope had

vanished! He had no means of turning back; they had tried every gorge

and found a wall of bayonets barring the way.

"Come along, then; we have but one way left us!..." exclaimed Fra

Diavolo. "Perhaps they may let us take it! Bind me hand and foot to a

horse.... You have taken me prisoner, and are leading me to the French

colonel to obtain your twenty thousand ducats, the price of my head.

Leave the rest to my lieutenant and do as he does."

They had to hasten, for they were within sight of the French

detachment, which was growing uneasy as to who the troop of men

might be; moreover, they were accustomed, especially in desperate

circumstances, to follow Fra Diavolo's instructions with blind

obedience. In a second he was strapped and bound down, like Mazeppa,

on a horse, and the cortège continued its way, making straight for the

French detachment. This detachment was composed of five or six hundred

men and was commanded by a major. When they saw the troop marching to

them, the French battalion marched to meet it and the two corps came to

close quarters. The Calabrian troop halted within a hundred feet of the

French, and only the lieutenant, clad like a simple peasant, stepped

forward out of the ranks and advanced towards the major.

"What is your business and who is the man you have strapped there?"

demanded the major.

"That strapped man is Fra Diavolo," replied the lieutenant, "whom we

have caught ... and we want the twenty thousand ducats promised for his

head."

Instantly, the name of Fra Diavolo was passed from mouth to mouth.

"You have taken Fra Diavolo?" exclaimed the major.

"Yes," the lieutenant went on, "and, as proof, there he is, bound hand

and foot and strapped to the horse."

Fra Diavolo's eyes flashed fire.

"How did you take him?" asked the major.

The lieutenant invented a fable, to the effect that Fra Diavolo,

hunted, pursued, hemmed about, had sought shelter in a village which he

believed to be friendly to him; but he had been arrested, seized and

bound during the night, and the whole village had formed his escort for

fear he should escape.

"Bandits! wretches! traitors!" exclaimed Fra Diavolo.

The explanation was all sufficient for the major; besides, the chief

thing was that Fra Diavolo was caught; any accompanying explanations

concerning the capture were mere questions of curiosity.

"Very good!" he said; "hand me over your bandit."

"Certainly; but first hand over to us the twenty thousand ducats."

"How is it likely I should have twenty thousand ducats with me?"

retorted the major.

"In that case," said the lieutenant, "no money, no Fra Diavolo!"

"Humph!..." said the major.

"Oh! I am well aware that you are the stronger force," remarked the

lieutenant, "and that you can take us if you wish; but, if you do take

us, you will have stolen twenty. thousand ducats from our pockets."

The major was a logical soul, and he realised the justice of the

reasoning.

"Very well," he said, "take your prisoner to the headquarters; I will

give you a hundred men to accompany you."

The lieutenant and Fra Diavolo exchanged a sly glance which implied

that the major had played into their hands.

The hundred men of the escorting party and the two hundred and fifty

Calabrian peasants set off for the headquarters six leagues away. But

the headquarters never received news of Fra Diavolo, and the hundred

men of the escort never reappeared. When a defile was reached, the

hundred Frenchmen were slaughtered, and Fra Diavolo and his two hundred

and fifty men regained the mountains! Colonel Hugo meant to go on

with the pursuit; and, from henceforth, there was a constant series

of outwittings and marches and counter-marches between him and the

Calabrian chief, which ended in Fra Diavolo being defeated. Taken a

second time, Fra Diavolo was sent to Naples, where his trial was to

take place, and the 20,000 ducats were immediately paid over to those

who had taken him. One morning Colonel Hugo learnt that Fra Diavolo was

condemned to be hung.

"Hung!" The word sounded odd to French ears. Colonel Hugo at once

started off for Naples and obtained an audience of the king, from whom

he wished to solicit a commutation, not of the penalty, but of the

manner of execution. He asked that, as Fra Diavolo had been a soldier,

he might be shot. Unluckily, Fra Diavolo had been a bandit before he

became a soldier, and he had served his own ends before enlisting

in the services of Cardinal Ruffo and Ferdinand I. The documentary

evidence shown to Colonel Hugo by King Joseph was so crammed with

wilful crimes, murders and incendiary fires that Colonel Hugo was

the first to withdraw his proposition. Consequently, Colonel Michel

Pezza, otherwise Fra Diavolo, and Count of I know not what title, was

summarily hung.

In 1808, Napoleon having declared that the Bourbons of Spain had ceased

to reign, Joseph Bonaparte passed from the throne of the Two Sicilies

to that of Spain, where Colonel Hugo followed him. Upon his arrival

in Madrid, Colonel Hugo was made brigadier-general, governor of the

Cours de Tagus, first major-domo and first aide-de-camp to the king, a

grandee of Spain, Count of Cogolludo and Marquis of Cifuentes and of

Siguença! These were high proofs of favour; but there was one among

them all which Colonel Hugo accepted with some aversion: and that was

the title of marquis.

"Sire," he said to Joseph, when the King of Spain condescended to

announce his intentions towards him, "I thought that the emperor had

abolished the title of marquis?"

"Not in Spain, my dear colonel ... only in France."

"Sire," insisted the new general, "if the emperor has only abolished it

in France, Molière has abolished it everywhere else."

And General Hugo contented himself with using the title of count,

and never bore that of marquis. But, in spite of this, he was none

the less be-marquised and be-majordomoed. Among the privileges which

accompanied this latter office was that of presenting people to the

king. On one occasion the new major-domo had to present to King Joseph

the Archbishop of Tarragona, who had come to profess his allegiance to

the king. The Archbishop of Tarragona had a reputation for ugliness,

which left far behind it that which General Hugo's son later bestowed

on the bell-ringer of Notre-Dame. So, when the major-domo looked at

the worthy prelate and recognised that his ugliness had not only not

been exaggerated but that it was, perhaps, even worse than people

had said, ignorant that the archbishop could speak and understand

French, he could not refrain from adding, after he had pronounced the

all-important formula in pure Castilian, "_Señor, presento á vuestra

Magestad el se señor arzobispo de Tarragona_," the following words in

French: "The most villainous-looking brute in your Majesty's kingdom!"

The archbishop respectfully saluted the king; then, turning to the

major-domo, he said in the purest French, with a faultless accent--

"I thank you, general!"

In the precarious state of unsettlement through which Spain was then

passing, General Hugo felt it to be out of the question, when he left

Naples, to bring his family with him. So Madame Hugo, Abel, Eugène and

Victor returned to France. Directly Madame Hugo returned to Paris,

she took an old convent that had belonged to the Feuillantines; for,

during the two years spent in the palace of Avellino, she had learnt

to appreciate the effect on the health of her children of an airy

residence, where they had room to run wild and play at liberty. We

shall see, later, in connection with this convent, what recollections

its large garden, its glorious sunshine and its cool shade left on the

mind of the poet. Here the three children were allowed full liberty, as

I had been allowed in the great park of Saint-Remy whose splendours I

have described. Here Hugo managed to avoid going through the university

treadmill, and learnt his Latin fairly well and his Greek scarcely at

all, thanks to the care of a married priest, an ex-Oratorian, named

Larivière.

"_Il savait le latin très-bien, très-mal le grec!_" his pupil said of

him, in a scrap of verse yet unpublished.

Madame Hugo dwelt in this retreat, which sheltered her fine brood,

from 1808 until 1811. In the early part of 1811 she received a letter

from her husband. The government of King Joseph seemed settled, and

therefore it became necessary to go to Madrid, where her three children

could be attached to the court as pages.

CHAPTER VII

Departure for Spain--Journey from Paris to Bayonne--The

treasure--Order of march of the convoy--M. du Saillant--M. de

Cotadilla--Irun--Ernani--Salinas--The battalion of _écloppés_

(cripples)--Madame Hugo's supplies of provisions--The forty Dutch

grenadiers--Mondragon--The precipice--Burgos--Celadas--Alerte--The

queen's review

As we are about to see, it was then a great business to travel to

Madrid. First, there was France to cross from Paris to Bayonne. This

was merely a question of time. A century ago it took five weeks, and

forty years ago it took nine days, to cover a distance that, later, was

accomplished in fifty hours, and now is done in fifteen or eighteen.

One used to sleep at Blois, at Angoulême and at Bordeaux. Then there

was Spain to cross, from Bayonne to Madrid. In due course, we shall

see what an uncomfortable business it was to cross Spain from Bayonne

to Madrid in the year of grace 1811, in the seventh year of the reign

of Napoleon. Madame Hugo hired the whole diligence to take herself,

her children and her servants across France. Diligences, at that

time, and during the whole of the period, bore the emperor's livery;

they were large coaches, painted green; the interior held six and the

_cabriolets de cuir_ three seats--a total of nine places. The whole of

the luggage was put behind and above. Six persons only occupied the

vast ark, which started on its journey at the accustomed hour, and

rolled heavily away towards the frontier. At Poitiers, two passengers

wished to take their seats in the coach, a Frenchman and a Spaniard.

They were told that the whole diligence was taken by a French lady;

but they appeared to be so disappointed that Madame Hugo offered both

of them seats on condition that they did not pay anything, and they

accepted her offer. Madame Hugo kept the interior of the coach for

herself, Abel, Eugène, the servant and her chambermaid; Victor declined

to be dispossessed of his seat on the cabriolet, and he stayed there

with the two strange passengers. He kept an ineffaceable recollection

of one of the travellers whose name was Isnel, because he stuffed him

and his brothers with cakes and sweetmeats the whole of the journey.

At last, on the ninth day, they reached Bayonne; but there they were

obliged to stop: they could not go into Spain with what was called

treasure. This is a curious bit of history. Joseph was King of Spain,

but his sovereignty was confined to Madrid, and to those parts occupied

by the French army. All the remaining portions of the country were in

a state of insurrection. When any army corps entering the country made

an inlet through the insurrectionary forces, the latter, after opening

before it, closed up behind it again, and the army became a sort of

floating island--a Delos, constantly buffeted by the waves of revolt.

There are no means of levying contributions under such circumstances.

So the King of Spain and of the Indies, who, in reality, was no more in

possession of Spain than of the Indies, not only was unable to maintain

the splendours of his court, but would even have died of starvation

at Madrid, if Napoleon had not sent this prefect of the empire _his

income_ four times a year. King Joseph's income was 48,000,000 francs.

Therefore, every three months they sent him a consignment of 12,000,000

francs. And this was called the _treasure._ Of course, it will be

readily understood that this treasure trove was lovingly coveted by

Spanish guerilleros, and a strong escort had therefore to accompany it,

to keep these gentlemen as much at a distance as possible. Travellers

who had to go to Madrid put themselves under the protection of this

escort just as pilgrims to Mecca put themselves under the protection of

caravans. But, in spite of every precaution, and the escort of two or

three thousand men, the treasure and the pilgrims were not always safe;

the preceding convoy had been attacked, pillaged and slain at Salinas,

with frightful atrocity. General Lejeune, if I remember rightly,

painted a picture of this attack, which was exhibited in the Salon of

1824 or 1825. Notwithstanding this, however, it was much safer to go

with the convoy, and our party therefore waited nearly a month for it

at Bayonne. It arrived about the end of April.

Meantime, Madame Hugo had had plenty of time to complete her

preparations; she had purchased a carriage, the only one, moreover,

there was for sale in Bayonne. It was one of those large trunk-like

conveyances only to be seen nowadays in the drawings of Piranesi

and also, perhaps, occasionally in the procession of a pontifical

gala in the streets of Rome. Picture to yourself an enormous chest,

hung between two poles, upon colossal straps, with steps united to

these poles, so that you began to climb over the pole, and ended by

descending into the carriage. This vehicle had one advantage, however,

since, at a push, it could be converted into a fortress, its sides

being shot-proof, and only destructible by bullets or grape-shot.

Before starting, grave dispute arose concerning the course to take

during the march. There were about three hundred carriages and five or

six hundred passengers waiting, like Madame Hugo, for the reassuring

escort; and it was no easy matter to enforce rules of etiquette in such

a crowd as this, composed, besides, almost exclusively of men or women

attached to the highest offices in the State, or members of the oldest

families of Spain.

Casting a glance over the order of the march, it will be seen that the

desirable places, concerning which everyone put forth his own special

claims, possessed a value which make the persistency with which they

were quarrelled for excusable. This is how the march of the convoy was

arranged, with its escort of a detachment of three thousand men:--

First, at the head as advance-guard, marched five hundred men, with

loaded arms. Next came the waggons containing the treasure, twenty-five

or thirty carriages, surrounded by a thousand men placed five deep.

Then came the travellers, according to their rank, title, grade and,

especially, according to the seniority of their titles to nobility.

These travellers who, as we have said, might easily number some six

hundred, filled three hundred carriages, some drawn by four and some

by six mules, forming a line a league in length. This line could not

be defended so energetically as the treasure; it would have needed ten

thousand men instead of three to protect it. So the carriages were only

guarded by a single line of soldiers, instead of five abreast. Finally,

the convoy was completed by five hundred more men dragging a piece

of cannon forming the extremity of this immense reptile, which could

bite with its head, and sting with its tail. The consequence of this

disposition was that, to be properly guarded, you had to be quite sure

you were of that portion of the convoy which was immediately behind

the waggons containing the treasure. Therefore, it was not simply a

question of etiquette, who came first, second or third, but a matter of

life or death.

Madame Hugo, who had to protect herself and her three children at the

same time, advanced her claim not as a fearful woman, but as an anxious

mother. Several grand ladies of Spain of very old family, and, among

them, the Duchess of Villa-Hermosa, had a right, if they had chosen to

enforce it, of taking precedence over Madame Hugo; but as Madame Hugo

was the wife of a French general, aide-de-camp to the king, she took

precedence of all others and went first, in spite of the protests,

recriminations and complaints of the grandees of Spain, male and

female, her superiors. She had, also, been wonderfully helped in her

claim by the arrival at Bayonne of an aide-de-camp from her husband, M.

le Marquis du Saillant, son of that sister of Mirabeau whom the famous

orator loved and held in sufficiently high esteem to acquaint with his

political sayings and doings, in one of the most curious letters he has

written.

The escort was commanded, first, by the Duc de Cotadilla, a man of

noble name, great fortune and huge appetite, who had thrown in his

lot with Joseph; and, secondly, by Colonel de Montfort, a young man

of thirty, who looked charming in his hussar's uniform, and belonged

to the race of curled darlings who were nevertheless brave young

colonels; amongst whom were Colonels Lefèvre, Bessières and Moncey--all

sons of marshals who had been left killed or mutilated on the

battlefields of the Empire; Colonel Moncey was, probably, the only one

who survived that ten years' tempest of shot and shell, and saw the

Restoration. The Duke of Cotadilla and M. de Montfort produced a very

different impression on the youthful imagination of the future poet.

Twenty years later we find a reminiscence in _Claude Gueux_ of the

impression made by the Duc de Cotadilla's appetite.

"Claude Gueux was a great eater; it was a peculiarity of his

constitution; he possessed a stomach made in such a fashion that the

food supply for two men was hardly sufficient to last him one day. M.

de Cotadilla had a similar appetite and laughed at it: but what may be

a matter of mirth to a grand-duke of Spain who possessed 500,000 sheep

is a burden to a working man and a misfortune to a prisoner."

There is no other mention either before or after this paragraph of the

Duc de Cotadilla in _Claude Gueux_; so we see that this illustrious

Spanish grandee left a very special mark on Victor Hugo's memory.

I do not know whether Hugo has anywhere spoken of Colonel Montfort;

but he will do so, some day or other, for the earliest memories of

childhood are bound to break forth sooner or later.

The Marquis du Saillant was a man of fifty or fifty-five, who loved

taking life easily, always courageous, but bravest of all if anyone

disturbed him at a meal or during his sleep, since nothing being more

disagreeable to him than to be disturbed, he thereupon did his very

best to make the enemy suffer for disturbing him.

Well, at last the huge cavalcade was set in motion and crossed the

Bidassoa in view of the isle des Faisans, the famous political and

matrimonial island. The first night they slept at Irun. The child's

mind was vividly impressed by the fresh style of architecture, strange

manners and different tongue. He ever remembered that halt at Irun,

and revisited it in his poetical dreams, as well as the towns of

Burgos, Vittoria and of Valladolid, noted in other ways:--