Harel's idea--It is suggested I should compose _La
Parisienne_--Auguste Barbier--My state of morals after the
Three Days--I turn solicitor--Breakfast with General La
Fayette--My interview with him--An indiscreet question--The
Marquis de Favras--A letter from Monsieur--My commission
I must confess that on this occasion I returned home dead beat, and if
the most fascinating expedition imaginable had been suggested to me it
would not have dragged me from my bed next day. So I was in bed when
Harel called upon me. The idea he brought me for a new play, which
he thought would be all the rage in Paris, was one on _Napoléon._
Let us render justice where it is due. Harel was the first of any of
the theatrical directors who conceived the idea of making something
out of the great man who had made us all pay dear--Harel or, rather,
Mademoiselle Georges. For, indeed, Mademoiselle Georges owed him much!
Unfortunately, although the notion struck me as a splendid business
speculation, it did not take my fancy from the point of view of art.
The injuries Bonaparte had done my family inclined me to be unjust
towards Napoleon; moreover, I did not think it possible to write such a
drama without rousing evil passions. I therefore refused to undertake
the task. Harel burst out laughing.
"You will think better of it," he said.
And he left me, as Louis-Philippe had left the Republicans, humming--
"Il ne faut pas dire: 'Fontaine....'"
I must also say it struck me as curious, at such a time, that anyone
could dream of taking pen in hand and writing on paper to make a book,
or compose a drama.
Zimmermann also approached me to write a cantata to be set to music.
"My friend," I said to him, "ask a man to do that for you who has not
been fighting, who has not seen anything of recent events, a poet who
has a property in the country, and who, perchance, has remained on his
property during the Three Days and he will do it for you to perfection!
But I, who have seen and taken an active part, could not do anything
good: it would fall below the realities I have witnessed."
He hunted up Casimir Delavigne, who wrote _La Parisienne._
But, suddenly, in the face of _La Parisienne_, and as if to emphasise
the hollowness of this imperial poetry, arose _La Curée_, a torch
brandished by an unknown poet. This wonderful masterpiece, this iambic
poem, burning with the fever of battle and hot sunshine, where Liberty
went by with firm step, walking with great strides, with fiery glance
and naked breast, was signed Auguste Barbier. We all hailed it with
delight. Here was another great poet in our midst; a reinforcement
that came to us, as it were, through a trap-door in the midst of the
flames, like one of the spirits that take part in the transformation
scene of a pantomime. But, whilst the verses of Barbier and even of
Hugo roused my enthusiasm, they did not spur me to emulation: I felt
so completely indifferent to both prose and poetry, that I realised
I must let all this political turmoil have time to subside in me. I
should have liked to have rendered France some service: I could not
feel that the crisis was past, I felt there was still something to do,
in some corner of our great kingdom, and that a fierce storm could not
possibly have calmed down suddenly. Finally, I felt disgusted, I might
say almost ashamed, of the muddle Paris had made of things. I tried for
two or three days to throw myself into something outside my usual life.
Apart from my past or my future, I might have obtained another post
at the Palais-Royal, and asked for some mission or other, to be sent
to Prussia or Russia or Spain; but I would not. I had taken an oath
not to re-enter the palace, at least of my own accord. So I turned my
thoughts towards la Vendée. There might, perhaps, be work to do there.
Charles X. had been seized with momentary hesitation at Saint-Cloud;
M. de Vitrolles had talked to him of la Vendée, and he was within an
ace of embarking in the venture. At Trianon, M. de Guernon-Ranville was
of opinion that there was only one course left to the king, that of
retreating to Tours and convoking both Chambers and all the generals
and high public functionaries and great dignitaries of the kingdom.
Charles had, doubtless, brushed the suggestion aside; no doubt, he was
making for Cherbourg and going to embark for England crushed and dazed;
but if the ghosts of the victims of Quiberon rose up and forbade him
to go to la Vendée, that province was not averse to receiving other
members of his family.
I therefore considered that it would be prudent and politic and humane
to influence la Vendée in an opposite direction. Possibly, also, I
looked at it in this light because I wanted to travel in The Vendée.
So I went and found General La Fayette. I had not seen him since my
expedition to Soissons: he knew I had also taken part in that to
Rambouillet. He held out his arms when he caught sight of me.
"Ah!" he said "here you are at last! How is it that having seen you
during the struggle, I have not seen you since the victory?"
"General," I said, "I have waited till the most pressing matters were
over; but now here I am and in the capacity of a beggar."
"Come, now!" he said, laughing, "is it a prefecture you are wanting, by
the way?"
"God forbid, no!... I want to go to la Vendée."
"What for?"
"To see if there is any means of organising a National Guard."
"Do you know the country?"
"No, but I can learn all about it."
"There is something in your idea," said the general. "Come and
breakfast with me some morning and we will discuss it."
"Here, General?"
"Certainly."
"Thanks, General.... And, at the same time, may I ask you to tell me
something?"
"What?"
"Tell me ... I am going to ask you an odd question, I know, but the
fall of the Bourbons deprives it of half its gravity ... tell me
how it has come about that, after being mixed up--as I know through
Dermoncourt you have been--in all the conspiracies of Béfort, Saumur
and la Rochelle, you have never yet been arrested."
La Fayette began to laugh.
"You put me a question that has already been asked more than once, and
to which I have replied that I attribute my impunity to good luck; that
has been my answer to the question hitherto; but now, thank God! I can
give another reason.... Your wish, however, changes the place of our
breakfast together, and, instead of coming here, come to my house....
You know my address?"
"Do you not recollect that I was there a week ago?"
"I beg your pardon, so you were."
"When shall the breakfast be, General?"
"Let me see ... to-day is the 5th ... what about to-morrow? or if not
then, it must not be until the 10th or the 11th."
"I would prefer to-morrow, General; I am eager to start. So it shall be
to-morrow in the rue d'Anjou-Saint-Honoré?"
"Yes."
"At what time?"
"Nine o'clock.... It is early, I know, but I should like to be here at
eleven."
"Don't be afraid, General, I will not keep you waiting."
"We shall be by ourselves, for I wish to talk at length and undisturbed
with you."
"You are conferring a twofold favour on me, General."
Some deputation or other was announced at this juncture and I withdrew.
Next day, at ten minutes to nine, I presented myself at No. 6 Rue
d'Anjou-Saint-Honoré. The general was waiting for me in his study.
"We will have breakfast in here, if you don't mind. We shall then have
certain things to hand necessary for our conversation."
I smiled.
He stopped me short, seeing that I was going to renew my question of
the previous day.
"Let us first talk of your plan for la Vendée."
"Willingly, General."
"Have you thought more about it?"
"As much as I am capable of reflecting on any subject: I am a man of
impulses and not given to reflection."
"Well, then, tell me all about your proposition."
"My proposal is that you send me to la Vendée to see if it be possible
to organise a National Guard there to protect that part of the country
itself; and to oppose any Royalist plots, should such arise."
"How do you think it possible to preserve a Royalist country from
Royalist attempts?"
"General," I said, "there I may be at fault, but first listen to me,
for I do not think what I am going to lay before you is entirely devoid
of reason; and what appears to you at the first glance impracticable
is, nevertheless, I am of opinion, at least possible, though, perhaps,
not easy of accomplishment."
"Proceed: I am listening."
"La Vendée of 1830 is a different matter from la Vendée of 1792: the
population was formerly exclusively composed of nobles and farmers;
it has been increased since then by a new social class, which has
inserted itself between the two others, namely, that of the proprietors
of national estates. Now, this great work of territorial division,
whether it was the real intention, or whether it was the result
of measures brought about by the Convention, as you please, has
had considerable trouble in becoming established in the country in
question, in consequence of the twofold influence of the priests and of
the nobility, and especially by reason of that terrible disintegrating
factor, civil war, and there were few big landholders who did not leave
some remnants of their inheritance in the hands of the Revolution.
"Well, then, General, these remnants have gone to form a secondary
class of landholders who are possessed with a spirit of progress
and liberty, because progress and liberty alone can secure to them
the tranquil possession of their estates, the right to which any
reactionary Revolution might call in question. Have you not thought
of this yourself at times, General? It is just that secondary class
which has sent us since 1815 patriotic deputies; and it rejoiced in
the Revolution of 1830, because it looked upon itself as an offspring
of the Revolution of 1792, although but a maimed representative. This
class it is which, seeing in the Revolution a fresh consecration of
the sale of national property, must, consequently, uphold it by every
means in its power. Now, I ask you, General, by what better means could
it possibly support it than by the organisation of a National Guard,
commissioned to watch over the tranquillity of the country, which,
composed of a class sufficiently numerous to obtain a majority at
elections, will naturally also be sufficiently powerful to impose peace
on the country through armed force? You see, General, that my plan is
like a solution in Algebra, as substantial as every problem based on
figures is, logical in idea and, therefore, possible of execution."
"Ha, ha! my dear poet," said La Fayette; "so we also dabble in
politics, do we?"
"General," I replied, "I believe we have reached a crisis of social
genesis, to which every man is called upon to contribute, either his
physical or mental powers, either materially or intellectually: the
poet with his pen, the painter with his brush, the mathematician with
his compass, the workman with his rule, the soldier with his gun, the
officer with his sword, the peasant with his vote. Very well, then,
I bring my contribution as poet: my part is the desire to do good,
scornful of danger, hopeful of success. Frankly speaking, I do not
esteem myself greater than I really am. Do not value me at my own
estimation, but at yours."
"Good!... after breakfast you shall have your letter."
We sat down to table. General La Fayette had a delightful mind,
fair and sensible: he erred on the side of goodness, but not from
want of ability; he had seen much, and this made up for his lack of
book-knowledge. Think what it was for a young man like me, to talk
face to face with the history of half a century--as it were; with the
man who had known Richelieu, shaken hands with Major André, argued
with Franklin, been the friend of Washington, the ally of the native
tribes of Canada, the brother of Bailly, one of the denouncers of
Marat, the man who saved the queen's life, the antagonist of Mirabeau,
the prisoner of Olmütz, the representative abroad of French chivalry,
the upholder of liberty in France, the person who became a hero by
proclaiming the rights of man in the Revolution of 1789, and again made
himself a prominent figure by the part he took in the programme of
affairs at the Hôtel de Ville in the Revolution of 1830! Alas! I was
terribly ignorant of history at that time, and my admiration of the
general was so much that of an amateur as hardly to be flattering to
him. This world-wide conversation brought us by degrees to dessert and
naturally led us back to the topic suggested by my question.
"Now, General," I asked him, "will it be impertinent of me to repeat
what I said yesterday? How has it come about that, after having taken
part in all the conspiracies of Béfort, Saumur and la Rochelle, you
were never put to inconvenience?"
The general got up, went to a secretaire, opened it, pulled from it a
locked portfolio and took out a paper which he kept in the palm of his
left hand; with this he returned and sat down at the table again.
"Have you ever heard of a man called Thomas de Mahi, Marquis de
Favras?" he asked me.
"Was he not the leader of a plot who was executed in 1790 or 1791?"
"Precisely the same.... He was the first and last nobleman who was
hanged. He plotted on behalf of Monsieur the king's brother, and tried
to carry off poor Louis XVI. from the Tuileries, whether voluntarily
or by force, and to transport him to some strongly fortified place or
other, in order to get Monsieur appointed regent."
"Monsieur, who afterwards became Louis XVIII.?"
"The same.... Well, on the evening of Christmas Day 1789, M. de Favras
was arrested; all the papers he had upon him were seized and, as I was
commander-in-chief of the National Guard, they brought them to me.
Among those papers was this letter. Read it."
I unfolded the paper which I supposed, after what the general had
told me, had been taken from the pocket of a man who had been tried,
condemned to death, executed and been dust for forty years past, with a
shudder of aversion. I might have spared my feelings, for the paper was
only a copy, not the original. This was the contents:--
"1 _November_ 1790
"I do not know, monsieur, to what purpose you will employ
the time and money I am sending you. The evil gets worse and
worse; the Assembly keeps on taking away something or other
from the royal power--what will be left if you put it off?
I have told you often, and in writing, too, that it is not
by means of lampoons, paid tribunes and by bribing a few
wretched political parties that you will succeed in getting
Bailly and La Fayette out of the way; they have incited the
people to insurrection; it wants another insurrection to
correct them and to prevent them from relapsing. This plan
has, moreover, the advantage of intimidating the new Court
and of causing the removal of a king of straw; when he is at
Metz or at Péronne, he must abdicate. All these things that
we desire are for his welfare; since he loves the nation,
he will be delighted to see it properly governed. Send a
receipt at the foot of this letter for two hundred thousand
francs.
"LOUIS-STANISLAS XAVIER"
"Ah! indeed," I said. "I begin to understand. But why have you only the
copy and not the original?"
"Because the original, to the possession of which I attribute my
impunity, is in London in the hands of one of my friends, a great
collector of autographs, who looks upon it as extremely precious, and
who, I am very sure, will not lose it; whilst in France," the general
added, smiling, "you understand ... it might be lost."
I understood perfectly. I was burning with the desire to ask leave to
take a copy of the duplicate. But I did not dare to.
In due course I will relate how it is I am now able to give the reader
a copy.
The general folded up the letter again, put it back in the portfolio
and consigned both to his desk. Then he took a pen and paper and
wrote:--
"M. Alexandre Dumas is authorised to travel through the
departments of la Vendée, the Loire-Inférieure, Morbihan
and Maine-et-Loire, as Special Commissioner, to confer with
the local authorities of these various departments on the
question of the formation of a National Guard.
"We commend M. Alexandre Dumas, an excellent patriot from
Paris, to our brother-patriots in the West.--All good
wishes. LA FAYETTE
"6 _August_ 1830"
He handed me the paper which constituted my commission.
"Do you authorise me to wear some sort of uniform, General?" I asked
after I had read it.
"Of course," he replied; "have something made resembling an
aide-de-camp's uniform."
"Very well."
"Only, I must warn you that a uniform is the most unsafe dress you
could adopt in travelling through la Vendée; there are many hedges and
not a few deep lanes, especially in le Bocage, and a rifle-shot is soon
despatched!"
"Bah! General, we will see about that when we are there."
"All right! it is settled, then, and you mean to go?"
"Directly the uniform is made, General."
"And you will correspond with me direct?"
"Of course!"
"Then go, and _bon voyage!_ I must now attend the Chamber."
He embraced me, and I took leave.
I have often seen the noble, dignified, excellent old man since. The
reader will meet him again at my house at an evening's entertainment I
gave, an artists' fancy dress ball, himself in costume, playing écarté
with Beauchesne, dressed as Charette, playing his stakes with louis
bearing the effigy of Henry V., like the true Vendean he was.
I was astonished to come across the matter of the original letter of
Favras, as far as I can remember, word for word, in that excellent and
conscientious work by Louis Blanc upon the Revolution. It is from that
work I borrow my copy, and I refer my readers to it if they would like
more details about the unfortunate Favras, who denied Monsieur to La
Fayette whilst the latter had the prince's letter in his pocket and
only had to draw it forth to prove his dishonourableness.