I do not know what the famous poets of my day would have given to

have written those fifteen lines; I know I would have given any of

my plays the fates might have chosen. M. Arnault's great ambition

was, unluckily, to write for the stage. He had begun by _Marius à

Minturnes_, at the time when he was with Monsieur. The tragedy was

produced in 1790, and in spite of the prediction of the Comte de

Provence, who had asserted that a tragedy without a woman must be

a failure, it was a great success. Saint-Phal played young Marius,

Vanhove Marius, and Saint-Prix le Cimbre. That was the happy period

when men of the talent of Saint-Prix accepted parts in which they came

on only in one scene, and in that single scene uttered a few lines,

_e.g._:--

"Quelle voix, quel regard, et quel aspect terrible!

Quel bras oppose au mien un obstacle invincible?...

L'effroi s'est emparè de mes sens éperdus ...

Je ne pourrais jamais égorger Marius!"

The play was dedicated to Monsieur. I have heard M. Arnault relate, in

his extremely fascinating way, that success made him very vain, very

peremptory and very scornful. One day, in 1792, he was in the balcony

of the Théâtre-Français, talking loudly, in his customary fashion,

making a great noise with his cane and hindering people from hearing;

this went on from the raising of the curtain till the end of the first

act, when a gentleman, who was behind M. Arnault and only separated

from him by one row, bent forward, and touching his shoulder with the

tips of his gloved hand, said, "Monsieur Arnault, pray allow us to

listen, even though they are playing _Marius à Minturnes_."

This polite and, I might even add, witty gentleman was Danton. A

month later, this same polite and witty gentleman had instituted the

September massacres. M. Arnault was so alarmed by these massacres

that he fled on foot. On reaching the barricade, he found it guarded

by a sans-culotte in name and in reality; this sans-culotte was

engaged in preventing a poor woman from passing, under the pretext

that her passport for Bercy had not been _vised_ at the section des

Enfants-Trouvés. Now, while he noted the persistence of this honourable

sentinel, an idea occurred to M. Arnault--that this terrible Cerberus

could not read. Joking is a bad disease, of which one is rarely cured.

M. Arnault, who suffered much from this malady, boldly walked up to the

sans-culotte and presented his passport upside down to the man, saying--

"_Viséd_ at the Enfants-Trouvés: there is the stamp."

M. Arnault guessed rightly.

"Pass," said the sans-culotte.

And M. Arnault passed.

In the interval that had elapsed between _Marius_ and the 3rd of

September, the date at which we have arrived, M. Arnault had produced

his tragedy of _Lucrèce._ The play falling flat, the author laid its

want of success at Mademoiselle Raucourt's door.... It is known that

this famous actress's aversion to men was not entirely imputed to

virtuous causes. However that may be, later, we shall have to speak

of Mademoiselle Raucourt in connection with her pupil, Mademoiselle

Georges.

M. Arnault had followed Bonaparte to Egypt. He has related in a very

amusing manner, in his memoirs entitled _Souvenirs d'un sexagénaire_,

the part he took in that expedition. On his return, he wrote an

Ossianic tragedy, called _Oscar_, which was very successful, and which

he dedicated to Bonaparte; then _les Vénitiens,_ the catastrophe of

which was regarded as so outrageously bold that scrupulous people

would not support it, and the author was obliged to please these good

people by changing the action, thanks to which, after the style of

Ducis's _Othello_, his piece now finished off by a death or a marriage,

according to the choice of the spectators. _Les Vénitiens_ was a

tremendous success.

While M. Arnault was a chief clerk in the University during the Empire,

under M. de Fontanes, who was the principal, he took Béranger into

his offices as copying-clerk at twelve hundred francs a year. And it

was there that Béranger wrote his first chanson, the _Roi d'Yvetot._

Upon the second return of the Bourbons, M. Arnault was proscribed, and

retired to Brussels. We have already told how he became acquainted

with M. de Leuven, in exile, over a slap in the face the latter gave

a foreign officer. It was during his exile that M. Arnault composed

nearly all his fables, a charming collection but little known, as

very few people read fables nowadays. For this very reason I am going

to make my readers acquainted with three of them. Be reassured! these

three fables are really by M. Arnault, and not by M. Viennet. Besides,

I am answerable for them, and my word can be depended upon in the case

of all three. Let us further hasten to add that the fables we are about

to read are fables only in title: they are really epigrams.

LE COLIMAÇON

"Sans amis comme sans famille,

Ici-bas, vivre en étranger;

Se retirer dans sa coquille,

Au signal du moindre danger;

S'aimer d'une amitié sans bornes,

De soi seul emplir sa maison;

En sortir, selon la saison,

Pour faire à son prochain les cornes

Signaler ses pas destructeurs

Par les traces les plus impures;

Outrager les plus belles fleurs

Par ses baisers ou ses morsures;

Enfin, chez soi, comme en prison,

Vieillir, de jour en jour plus triste;

C'est l'histoire de l'égoiste

Ou celle du colimaçon."

LE DROIT DE CHACUN

"Un jour, le roi des animaux

Défendit, par une ordonnance,

A ses sujets, à ses vassaux,

De courir sans une licence

Sur quelque bête que ce soit;

Promettant, il est vrai, de conserver le droit

A quiconque en usait pour motif honnête.

Tigres, loups et renards, de présenter requête

A Sa Majesté: loups, pour courir le mouton,

Renards, pour courir le chapon,

Tigres, pour courir toute bête.

Parmi les députés, qui criaient à tue-tête,

Un chien s'égosillait à force d'aboyer.

'Plaise à Sa Majesté, disait-il, m'octroyer

Droit de donner la chasse, en toute circonstance,

A tous les animaux vivant de ma substance.

--Gentilshommes, à vous permis de giboyer,

Dit, s'adressant au tigre, au loup, au renard même

Des forêts le maître suprême

Aux chasseurs tels que vous permis de déployer,

Même chez leurs voisins, leurs efforts, leurs astuces;

Mais néant au placet du chien!'

Que réclamait, pourtant, ce roturier-ta?--Rien,

Que le droit de tuer ses puces."

LES DEUX BAMBOUS

"L'an passé--c'était l'an quarante,--

L'an passé, le Grand Turc disait au grand vizir:

'Quand, pour régner sous moi, je daignai te choisir,

Roustan, je te croyais d'humeur bien différente.

Roustan met son plus grand plaisir.

A me contrarier; quelque ordre que je donne,

Au lieu d'obéir, il raisonne;

Toujours des _si,_ toujours des _mais_;

Il défend ce que je permets:

Ce que je défends, il l'ordonne.

A rien ne tient qu'ici je ne te fasse voir

A quel point je suis las de ces façons de faire!

Va-t'en! Qu'on fasse entrer mon grand eunuque noir

C'est celui-là qui connaît son affaire,

C'est lui qui, toujours complaisant,

Sans jamais m'étourdir de droit ni de justice,

N'ayant de loi que mon caprice,

Sait me servir en m'amusant.

Jamais ce ton grondeur, jamais cet air sinistre!

Ainsi que tout désir, m'épargnant tout travail,

Il conduirait l'empire aussi bien qu'un sérail.

J'en veux faire un premier ministre.

--En fait de politique et de gouvernement,

Sultan, dit le vizir, chacun a son système:

Te plaire est le meilleur; le mien, conséquemment,

Est mauvais.... Toutefois, ne pourrais-je humblement,

Te soumettre un petit problème?

--Parle.--Ce n'est pas d'aujourd'hui.

Que péniblement je me traîne,

Vieux et cassé, sultan, dans ma marche incertaine,

Ma faiblesse a besoin d'appui.

Or, j'ai deux roseaux de la Chine:

Plus ferme qu'un bâton, l'un ne sait pas plier,

L'autre, élégant, léger, droit comme un peuplier,

Est plus souple qu'une badine.

Lequel choisir?--Lequel?... Roustan, je ne crois pas

Qu'un flexible bambou puisse assurer nos pas.

--Tu le crois! lorsque tu m'arraches

Ton sceptre affermi par mes mains,

Pour le livrer à des faquins

Sans caractere et sans moustaches.'

Rois, vos ministres sont, pour vous,

Ce qu'est, pour nous, le jonc dont l'appui nous assiste,

Je le dis des vizirs ainsi que des bambous,

On ne peut s'appuyer que sur ce qui résiste."

If you read, one after the other, M. Arnault's one hundred and fifty

fables, you will find throughout, the same ease, the same touch, the

same carping spirit. When you have read them, you will certainly not

say of the author, "He is a delightful person," but you will assuredly

say, "He is an honest man."

In 1815 M. Arnault was exiled. Why? For so slight a reason that no one

bothered even to think of it; his name was on the list, and that was

all! But who signed that list? Louis XVIII., formerly Monsieur--that is

to say, the very same Comte de Provence under whose protection the poet

had begun his career, and to whom he had dedicated his _Marius._

Now, although there was no reason for M. Arnault's exile, party spirit

invented one and said that he was proscribed as a regicide. There were,

however, two sufficient reasons why this could not be: first, because

M. Arnault did not belong to the Convention; secondly, because in 1792

and 1793 he was abroad. Nevertheless, the rumour was tacitly accepted,

and soon nobody doubted that M. Arnault was exiled on that ground.

M. Arnault sent _Germanicus_ from Brussels: it was played on the

22nd of March 1817, and forbidden the following day. During the

representation the tragedy shifted from the stage to the pit, where a

terrible fight took place, in which several people were hurt and one

even killed. The battle was waged between the Life Guards and the

partisans of the late Government. The weapon that was generally made

use of in this skirmish was that kind of bamboo upon which Roustan,

the Grand Turk's first vizir, whose grievances we have just heard, was

wont to lean. One can understand that the thicker and less pliable they

were, the better they served for defence and for attack. From the date

of that fray these canes were dubbed "_Germanicus"_ Angry feelings

waxed strong at this period. The day but one after the representation,

Martainville published a scurrilous article attacking M. Arnault's

private honour. This article, which was the result of a blow given the

critic by Telleville, led to a duel in which, as we said above, the

journalist had his thigh bruised by a bullet.

_Germanicus_ was revived later. We were present at the revival;

but, divorced from the passions of the moment, the play was not a

success. His unlooked-for and outrageously unjust proscription added

a bitterness to M. Arnault's nature--a bitterness which cropped out

on the least excuse, and which was not expelled from his blood by

the legacy Napoleon bequeathed him in his will of a hundred thousand

francs. The legacy was useful in aiding him to build a beautiful house

in the rue de la Bruyère: as is usually the case, however, the builder

sank twice the amount he had intended to spend thereon, so M. Arnault

found himself a hundred thousand francs poorer after his legacy than

before he had inherited that sum.

M. Arnault loved poetry for its own sake: he made lines on every

occasion. He wrote them on his portrait, on his garden door, on the

Abbé Geoffroy, on his dog's tricks, on a poet in uniform whose portrait

had been exhibited in the last Salon.

Here are the lines above referred to, which show not only the author's

wit, but also his very nature:--

VERS SUR LE PORTRAIT DE L'AUTEUR

"Sur plus d'un ton je sais régler ma voix;

Ami des champs, des arts, des combats et des fêtes,

En vers dignes d'eux, quelquefois,

J'ai fait parler les dieux, les héros et les bêtes."

POUR LA PORTE DE MON JARDIN

"Bons amis dont ce siècle abonde,

Je suis votre humble serviteur;

Mais passez: ma porte et mon cœur

Ne s'ouvrent plus à tout le monde."

SUR UN BON HOMME QUI N'A PAS LE VIN BON[1]

"Il est altéré de vin;

Il est altéré de gloire;

Il ne prend jamais en vain

Sa pinte ou son écritoire.

Des flots qu'il en fait couler,

Abreuvant plus d'un délire.

Il écrit pour se soûler,

Il se soûle pour écrire."

POUR LA NICHE DE MON CHIEN

"Je n'attaque jamais en traître,

Je caresse sans intérêt,

Je mords parfois, mais à regret:

Bon chien se forme sur son maître."

POUR LE PORTRAIT D'UN POÈTE EN UNIFORME

"Au Parnasse ou sur le terrain,

En triompher est peu possible:

L'épée en main il est terrible,

Terrible il est la plume en main;

Et pour se battre et pour écrire,

Nul ne saurait lui ressembler;

Car, s'il ne se bat pas pour rire,

Il écrit à faire trembler."

No matter what were his troubles, M. Arnault had always worshipped

dogs. Out of fifty of his fables, more than twenty have these

interesting quadrupeds for their heroes. When I was honoured by an

introduction into the private life of his family, the gate was guarded

by a horrible beast, half pug, half poodle, called Ramponneau. M.

Arnault never stirred without this dog: he had him in his study while

he worked, in his garden when he took his walks there. Only the king's

highway was denied him by M. Arnault, for fear of poisoned meat. M.

Arnault himself superintended his dog's education, and on one point

he was inexorable. Ramponneau would persist in committing ill manners

in his study. Directly the sight and the odour revealed the crime

committed, Ramponneau was seized by his flanks and the skin of his

neck, conducted to the spot where the indiscretion had been committed

and soundly thrashed. After this, Ramponneau's nose was rubbed in the

subject-matter of his crime, according to an old custom, the origin

of which is lost in the deeps of time--an operation to which he

submitted with visible repugnance. These daily faults and the ensuing

chastenings went on for nearly two months, and M. Arnault began to

fear that Ramponneau was uneducatible on this point, although he

learnt a crowd of pleasing tricks, such as feigning death, standing to

attention, smoking a pipe, leaping to honour the Emperor. I ask pardon

for the word "uneducatible." I could not find the word I wanted, so I

made one up. M. Arnault, I repeat, began to fear that Ramponneau was

uneducatible on this one point, when, one day, Ramponneau, who had

just committed his usual crime, seeing his master was far too much

absorbed in his tragedy of _Guillaume de Nassau_ to perceive what

had just happened, went and pulled at the hem of his dressing-gown.

M. Arnault turned round: Ramponneau jumped up two or three times to

attract his attention; then, when he was quite sure he had arrested it,

he went straight to the spot which we have termed the subject-matter of

his crime, and rubbed his nose in, purely of his own accord, without

any compulsion, certainly with evident repugnance, but with touching

resignation. The poor beast was deceived. He had thought that the

whippings and punishment which followed the crime had had no other end

than to teach him to rub his nose in the object in question of his own

accord. Ramponneau's education was completely at fault, and he kept

this defect all his life, the muzzle he was provided with making very

little difference to his habit.

I have already referred to M. Arnault's remarkable gift of swift and

witty repartee. I will give two instances of it now, and others in

their due place and season later, as we come across them.

One day I was walking down the rue de la Tour-des-Dames with him. A

young swell who was driving a tilbury, and who had lost control of

his horse going down that steep decline, just missed running over M.

Arnault, who was not a patient man.

"You blackguard!" he said; "can't you look where you are going?"

"What did you say,--blackguard?" exclaimed the young man.

"Yes, blackguard!" repeated M. Arnault.

"Monsieur, you shall render an account for that insult!... Here is my

address!"

"Your address?" replied M. Arnault. "Keep it to drive your horse to."

Another day, on the Champs-Élysées, he passed by a priest without

saluting him. We have said that M. Arnault was very short-sighted;

besides, he was not very fond of black men, as they were called at that

time. The priest, whom he had almost jostled against, turned round.

"There goes a Jacobin," he said, "he jostles against me and does not

salute me."[2]

"Monsieur," replied M. Arnault, "do not be more exacting than the

Gospel: _Extra ecclesiam nulla est salus."_[3]

I see I have forgotten among all these matters to speak of Madame

Arnault. She was about forty when I was first introduced to her and she

was still a charming little woman at that age, dark, pretty, plump,

full of airs and graces. Madame Arnault was cordially good to me for

five years, then things changed. Perhaps it was my own fault: the

reader shall judge when the time comes.

[1] The Abbé Geoffrey.

[2] Et qui ne me salue pas.

[3] Hors de l'Église, pas de salut!

CHAPTER IV

Frédéric Soulié, his character, his talent--Choruses of the various

plays, sung as prologues and epilogues--Transformation of the

vaudeville--The Gymnase and M. Scribe--The _Folle de Waterloo_

Adolphe took me to Frédéric Soulié's house that evening. Frédéric

Soulié had a gathering of friends to celebrate his refusal at the

Gymnase; for he looked upon the acceptance on condition of alteration

as a refusal.

I shall often return to, and speak much of Soulié: he was one of the

most powerful literary influences of the day, and his personality was

one of the most marked I have known. He died young. He died, not only

in the full tide of his talent, but even before he had produced the

perfect and finished work he would certainly have created, some day

or other, had not death hastened its footsteps. Soulié's brain was a

little confused and obscure; his thoughts were only lighted up on one

side, after the fashion of this planet; the reverse side to the one

illuminated by the sun was pitifully dark. Soulié did not know how to

begin either a novel or a drama. The opening explanation of his work

was done hap-hazard: sometimes in the first act, sometimes in the

last, if it were a play; if it were a novel, sometimes in the first,

sometimes in the last volume. His introduction, timidly begun, nearly

always was laboriously unravelled. It seemed as though, like those

night birds which need the darkness to develop all their faculties,

Soulié was not at ease save in twilight.

I was for ever quarrelling with him on this point. As he was gifted

with unrivalled imagination and power, when he was on the warpath,

I used to beseech him continually to let in the utmost possible

daylight at the beginning of his action. "Be clear to the verge of

transparency," I continually said to him. "God's greatness consists in

His making of light; without light, we should not have known how to

appreciate the sublime grandeur of creation."

Soulié was twenty-six when I first knew him. He was a lusty young

man, of medium height, but capitally proportioned; he had a prominent

forehead; dark hair, eyebrows and beard; a well-shaped nose and full

eyes; thick lips and white teeth. He laughed readily, although it was

never a fresh young laugh. It sounded ironical and strident, which gave

it the quality of age. Being naturally of a bantering disposition,

irony was a weapon he could wield admirably.

He had tried his hand at most things, and he retained some slight

knowledge of everything he had done. After having received an excellent

education in the provinces, I believe he studied law at Rheims, to

which we owe the admirable description of student's life in his book

entitled _Confession générale._ He passed his legal examinations and

was called to the Bar; but he did not take kindly to the profession.

Rather than follow that very liberal avocation, he preferred a

mercantile calling. This aversion led to his developing the notion of a

big steam sawmill in 1824 or 1825.

In the meantime, Soulié (who then signed himself Soulié de Lavelanet)

lived upon a small allowance his father made him a hundred louis, as

far as I am able to remember. He lived in the rue de Provence, on the

first floor, in a bewitching room that seemed a palace to us. There

was, above all else, a most unwonted luxury in this room, a piano on

which Soulié could play two or three tunes. He was both very radical

and very aristocratic, two qualities which often went together at that

period: see, for example, Carrel, whom we have already seen in the

Béfort affair, and who will reappear on the scene presently, after the

amnesty to be accorded by Charles X. on his accession to the throne.

Soulié was brave, without being quarrelsome; but he had the

sensitiveness both of the student and of the Southerner. He was

passably skilful as a swordsman and a first-rate shot.

Soulié at first thought me a worthless lad, of no importance; and it

was quite natural he should. He was astonished and almost overwhelmed

by my early successes. By that time I knew Soulié as he was; jealous

almost to envy, but, by reason of the strong kindliness of his good and

upright heart, able to keep all the evil tendencies of his character

under control. A constant struggle was waged within him between good

and bad principles, and yet not once perhaps did the evil principle get

the better of him. He very often tried to hate me, but never managed to

succeed: very often, when he set out to run me down in conversation,

he would end by praising me. And, as a matter of fact, I was the man

who hampered his career more than any other: in the theatre, in the

newspapers, in the matter of books, I was everywhere in his path, doing

him involuntary but actual damage everywhere; and, in spite of this,

I was so certain of Soulié, and so sure of his supreme justice and

goodness of heart, that, if I had needed any act of service, I should

have gone to Soulié to ask it of him, rather than of any other--and he

would have rendered me this service, more readily than any other person

would.

At first Soulié turned his attention towards poetry. It was in the

domain of poetry, I believe, that he looked to make his conquests. His

first stage-play was an imitation of Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._

I never experienced greater emotion than that which I felt at the first

representation of this play.

We were often months or a year without seeing each other; but when

fate turned us face to face, no matter how far off we might be, we

each walked straight to the other's heart and open arms. Perhaps,

before catching sight of me, Soulié had not particularly cared to meet

me; perhaps, had someone told him, "Dumas is over there," he would

have made a detour; but, directly he caught sight of me, the electric

current dominated his will and he was mine, body and soul, as though

never a single jealous thought had crossed his mind. It was different

with regard to Hugo or Lamartine: he did not like them, and he rarely

spoke impartially of their talent. I feel convinced that it was Hugo's

_Odes et Ballades_ and Lamartine's _M&ditations_ which led Frédéric

Soulié to write in prose. Rest in peace, friend of my youth, companion

of my first serious efforts, I will depict thee as thou wert; I will

design a statue of thee, not a bust; I will isolate thee; I will place

thee on the pedestal of thy works, so that all those who never knew

thee may take the measure of thy impressive figure; for thou art one

of those who can be studied from all aspects, and who, living or dead,

have no need to be afraid of being placed in a full light.

At the time of which I am writing, Soulié was linked in literary

friendship with Jules Lefèvre and Latouche,--Latouche, with whom he

quarrelled so fiercely later over _Christine._ In private life, his

chief friend was a tall, stout fellow called David, who was at that

time, and may still be, a stockbroker. I do not know whether Soulié was

his only friend; but I believe that on the Exchange he made not a few

enemies.

When we went to see Soulié, he was entertaining a dozen of his friends

to tea, cake and sandwiches. Such luxuries quite dazzled me. Soulié was

conscious of his own powers, and this rendered him extremely scornful

towards second-rate literature. In his efforts to poach upon other

writers' preserves, until the time came when he could do better than

they, he treated certain contemporary celebrities, whose positions I

envied greatly, with lofty off-handedness. He proposed, he said, to

publish an Almanac for the coming year, 1824, entitled the _Parfait

Vaudevilliste_, which should consist of ready-made verses from old

soldiers and young colonels. Among these verses from old soldiers were

some of the first order, and the following may be taken as a model: it

is one which Gontier sang in _Michel et Christine_, and for which he

was enthusiastically applauded nightly:--

"Sans murmurer,

Votre douleur amère,

Frapp'rait mes yeux, plutôt tout endurer!

Moi, j'y suis fait, c'est mon sort ordinaire;

Un vieux soldat sait souffrir et se taire,

Sans murmurer!"

There were also, at that time, in the plays in course of

representation, a certain number of choruses applicable to current

events, and these found a fitting place in the _Parfait Vaudevilliste._

Unfortunately, I did not copy any of them at Soulié's at that period.

Three or four months before his death, I begged him to send me his

collection: he had lost it. Instead, he sent me five or six of the

choruses he remembered; only he could not tell me exactly to what

period they belonged; he could only affirm that they were not bastard

waifs and strays, as might readily be believed, but acknowledged and

legitimate offspring; and, by way of proof, he sent along with them the

names of their begetters.

These choruses were, of course, the author's exclusive property. He

placed them in identical situations: some of them had already done duty

ten, twenty, thirty times, and only waited the opportunity to be used

a thirty-first time. We will begin with a chorus from the _Barbier

châtelain_, by Théaulon: to every man his due.

"Bonne nuit!

Bonne nuit!

Ça soulage,

En voyage.

Bonne nuit!

Bonne nuit!

Retirons-nous sans bruit."

This became proverbial: directly the scene began, everyone commenced to

hum in advance the chorus which came at the end of it. Another chorus,

of Brazier and Courcy, in the _Parisien à Londres,_ was also not devoid

of merit. Unluckily, the scene it belonged to was so peculiar that it

was only used once. Nevertheless, it remained in the memories of a fair

number of connoisseurs. It was about a Frenchman who was surprised

during a criminal amour and who, when led before his judges, excited a

lively curiosity among the audience.

So the audience sang:--

"Nous allons voir juger

Cet étranger,

Qui fut bien léger!...

A l'audience,

On défend l'innocence,

Et l'on sait la venger."

The stranger was condemned to marriage, and the audience, satisfied,

left, singing the same chorus, with this slight variation:--

"Nous _avons vu_ juger

Cet étranger,

Qui fut bien léger!...

A l'audience,

On défend l'innocence,

Et l'on sait la venger."

But as breakfasts, dinners and suppers are more frequent at theatres

than foreigners condemned to espouse Englishwomen, there was a chorus

of Dumanoir which, always sung when people were sitting down to the

table, gave the public some notion of the drunkenness of the partakers.

They sang this:--

"Quel repas

Plein d'appas,

Où, gai convive,

L'Amour arrive!...

Quel repas

Plein d'appas!

On n'en fait pas

De pareils ici-bas!"

In spite of the holy laws of propriety, more respected, one knows,

among dramatic authors than in any other class of society, Adolphe

one day allowed himself the liberty of using this couplet and had the

audacity to put it in one of his plays, without troubling to change

it one single iota. There is quite a long story about this: Adolphe,

threatened with a lawsuit by Dumanoir, was only able to settle matters

by offering a chorus for dancers in exchange for the drinking chorus.

This is de Leuven's chorus: it will be seen that if Dumanoir did not

gain much through this, he did not lose much by it:--

"A la danse,

A la danse,

Allons, amis, que l'on séance!

Entendez-vous du bal

Les gais accords, le doux signal?..."

Dumanoir faithfully adhered to the agreement, but only used the chorus

once; then he returned it to Adolphe, who, on regaining possession,

continued to use his chorus, to the great satisfaction of the audience.

All these choruses, however, pale before that of _Jean de Calais_. This

was by Émile Vanderburch, one of the authors of the _Gamin de Paris_,

and it concluded the play. It runs thus:--

"Chantons les hauts faits

De Jean de Calais!

On dira, dans l'histoire,

Qu'il a mérité

Sa gloire

Et sa félicité!..."

Indeed, a great revolution was taking place at this time in comic

opera; and this revolution was brought about by a man who has since

proscribed others as revolutionists. We refer to Scribe, who, in the

literary revolution of 1820 to 1828, played pretty nearly the rôle the

Girondists played in the political revolution of 1792 and 1793.

Before Scribe, comic operas (with the exception of the delightful

sketches of Désaugiers) were hardly more than bare skeletons, left for

the actors to clothe as they liked. Nowadays the great thing is to

create rôles for M. Arnal, M. Bouffé, or Mademoiselle Rose Chéri, but

at that time no one thought of creating a rôle for M. Potier, M. Brunet

or M. Perrin. M. Perrin, M. Brunet or M. Potier found their rôles

outlined for them at the first rehearsal, and made them what they were

at the first representation.

Scribe was the first author to make plays instead of outline sketches.

Plots developed in his clever hands, and so, in three or four years,

the Théâtre du Gymnase attained its full growth. It was not modelled on

any other company, but created what might well be called M. Scribe's

company: it was composed almost exclusively of colonels, young widows,

old soldiers and faithful servants. Never had such widows been seen,

never such colonels; never had old soldiers spoken thus; never had

such devoted servants been met with. But the company of the Gymnase,

as M. Scribe created it, became the fashion, and the direct patronage

of Madame la Duchesse de Berry contributed not a little towards the

fortune made by the manager, and to the author's reputation. The form

of verse itself was changed. The old airs of our fathers, who had been

satisfied with the gay repetition of _lon, lon, la, larira dondaine,_

and the _gai, gai, larira dondé,_ were abandoned for the more

artificially mannered comic opera, pointed epigrams and long-drawn-out,

elegantly turned verses. When the situation became touching, eight or

ten lines would express the feelings of the character, borrowing charm

from the music, and sighing declarations of love, for which prose had

ceased to suffice. In short, a charming little bastard sprang into

being, of which, to use a village expression, M. Scribe was both father

and godfather, and which was neither the old vaudeville, nor comic

opera, nor comedy.

The models of the new style were the _Somnambule, Michel et Christine_,

the _Héritière_, the _Mariage de raison, Philippe_ and _Marraine._

Later, some vaudevilles went a degree farther; for example, the

_Chevalier de Saint-Georges, un Duel sous Richelieu,_ the _Vie de

bohème._ These bordered on comedy, and could at a pinch be played

without lines. Other changes will be pointed out, so far as they

affected the arts. Let us briefly state here that we had entered into

the age of transition. In 1818, Scribe began by the vaudeville; from

1818 to 1820 Hugo and Lamartine appeared in the literary world, the

former with his _Odes et Ballades_, the latter with his _Méditations,_

the first attempts of the new poetry; from 1820 to 1824 Nodier

published novels of a kind which introduced a fresh type--namely, the

picturesque; from 1824 to 1828 it was the turn of painting to attempt

fresh styles; finally, from 1828 to 1835, the revolution spread to the

dramatic world, and followed almost immediately on the footsteps of the

historical and imaginative novel. Thus the nineteenth century, freed

from parental restraint, assumed its true colour and originality. Of

course it will be understood that, as I was so closely associated with

all the great artists and all the great sculptors of the time, each

of them will come into these Memoirs in turn; they will constitute a

gigantic gallery wherein every illustrious name shall have its living

monument.

Let us return to Soulié. We had reached the date when his first

piece of poetry had the honour of print: it was called the _Folk de

Waterloo_, and had been written at the request of Vatout, for the work

he produced on the Gallery of the Palais-Royal. I need hardly say that

Soulié read it to us. Here it is: we give it in order to indicate the

point of departure of all our great poets. When we take note of the end

to which they have attained, we can measure the distance traversed.

Probably some contemporary grumblers will tell us it matters very

little where they started or where they ended: to such we would reply

that we are not merely writing for the year 1851 or the year 1852, but

for the sacred future which seizes chisel, brush, and pen as they drop

from the hands of the illustrious dead.

LA FOLLE DE WATERLOO

"Un jour, livrant mon âme à la mélancolie,

J'avais porté mes pas errants

Dans ces prisons où la folie

Est offerte en spectacle aux yeux indifférents.

C'était à l'heure qui dégage

Quelques infortunés des fers et des verrous;

Et mon cœur s'étonnait d'écouter leur langage,

Où se mêlaient les pleurs, le rire et le courroux.

Tandis que leur gardien les menace ou les raille,

Une femme paraît pâle et le front penché;

Sa main tient l'ornement qui, les jours de bataille.

Brille au cou des guerriers sur l'épaule attaché,

Et de ses blonds cheveux s'échappe un brin de paille

A sa couche arrache

En voyant sa jeunesse et le morne délire,

Qui doit, par la prison, la conduire au tombeau,

Je me sends pleurer.... Elle se prit à rire,

Et cria lentement:'Waterloo! Waterloo!'

'Quel malheur t'a donc fait ce malheur de la France?'

Lui dis-je.... Et son regard craintif

Ou, sans voir la raison, je revis l'espérance,

S'unit pour m'appeler à son geste furtif.

'Français, parle plus has, dit-elle. Oh! tu m'alarmes!

Peut-être ces Anglais vont étouffer ta voix;

Car c'est à Waterloo que, la première fois,

Adolphe m'écouta sans répondre à mes larmes.

'Lorsque, dans ton pays, la guerre s'allumait,

Il me quitta pour elle, en disant qu'il m'aimait;

C'est là le seul adieu dont mon cœur se souvienne ...

La gloire l'appelait, il a suivi sa loi;

Et, comme son amour n'était pas tout pour moi,

Il servit sa patrie, et j'oubliai la mienne!

'Et, quand je voulus le chercher,

Pour le voir, dans le sang il me fallut marcher;

J'entendais de longs cris de douleur et d'alarmes;

La lune se leva sur ce morne tableau;

J'aperçus sur le sol des guerriers et des armes,

Et des Anglais criaient: "Waterloo! Waterloo!"

'Et moi, fille de l'Angleterre,

Indifférente aux miens qui dormaient sur la terre,

J'appelais un Français, et pleurais sans remords ...

Tout à coup, une voix mourante et solitaire

S'éleva de ce champ des morts:

"Adolphe?" me dit-on. "Des héros de la garde

Il était le plus brave et marchait avec nous;

Nous combattions ici.... Va, baisse-toi, regarde,

Tu l'y retrouveras, car nous y sommes tous!"

'Je tremblais de le voir et je le vis lui-même....

Dis-moi quel est ce mal qu'on ne peut exprimer?

Ses yeux, sous mes baisers, n'ont pu se ranimer....

Oh! comme j'ai souffert à cette heure suprême;

Car il semblait ne plus m'aimer!

Et puis ... je ne sais plus!... Connaît-il ma demeure?

Jadis, quand il venait, il venait tous les jours!

Et sa mère, en pleurant, accusait nos amours....

Hélas! il ne vient plus, et pourtant elle pleure!

La folle vers la porte adresse alors ses pas,

Attache à ses verrous un regard immobile,

M'appelle à ses côtés, et, d'une voix débile:

'Pauvre Adolphe, dit-elle, en soupirant tout bas;

Comme il souffre!... il m'attend, puisqu'il ne revient pas!'

Elle dit, dans les airs la cloche balancée

Apprit à la douleur que l'heure était passée

D'espérer que ses maux, un jour, pourraient finir.

La folle se cachait; mais, dans le sombre asile

Où, jeune, elle portait un si long avenir,

A la voix des gardiens d'où la pitié s'exile,

Seule, il lui fallut revenir.

'Adieu! je ne crains pas qu'un Français me refuse,

Dit-elle, en me tendant la main;

Si tu le vois, là-bas, qui vient sur le chemin;

D'un aussi long retard si son amour s'accuse,

Dis-lui que je le plains, dis-lui que je l'excuse,

Dis-lui que je l'attends demain!'"

CHAPTER V

The Duc d'Orléans--My first interview with him--Maria-Stella-Chiappini

--Her attempts to gain rank--Herhistory--The statement of the Duc

d'Orléans--Judgment of the Ecclesiastical Court of Faenza

--Rectification of Maria-Stella'scertificate of birth

I had been installed nearly a month at the office, to the great

satisfaction of Oudard and of M. de Broval (who, thanks to my beautiful

handwriting, thought that M. Deviolaine had been too hard on me),

when the former sent word by Raulot that he wanted me in his office.

I hastened to respond to the invitation. Oudard looked very solemn.

"My dear Dumas," he said, "M. le Duc d'Orléans has just asked me for

someone to copy quickly and neatly a piece of work he has prepared

for his counsel. Although there is nothing secret about it, you must

understand that it will not do to have the papers left about in the

office while being copied. I thought of you, because you write rapidly

and correctly: it will be the means of bringing you before the duke. I

am going to take you into his room."

I must confess I felt greatly excited on learning that I was about to

find myself face to face with a man whose influence might be of much

importance in the shaping of my destiny.

Oudard noticed the effect this news produced on me, and tried to

reassure me by telling me of the perfect kindness of the duke. This did

not at all prevent me from feeling very nervous as I approached His

Royal Highness's room. I had a moment's respite, for His Royal Highness

was at breakfast; but I soon heard a step that I guessed was his,

and fear seized me once more. The door opened, and the Duc d'Orléans

appeared. I had seen him already, once or twice, at Villers-Cotterets,

when he came to the sale of the woods. I believe I said that he stayed

then with M. Collard, from whom he was the recipient of the most lavish

hospitality imaginable, although, so far as he himself was concerned,

the Duc d'Orléans always tried to restrain hospitality offered him

within the limits of a simple family visit.

M. le Duc d'Orléans had, as a matter of fact, the good feeling to

recognise almost publicly his illegitimate relations: he had his two

natural uncles--the two abbés Saint-Phar and Saint-Albin--living with

him at the Palais-Royal, and he did not make any distinction between

them and the other members of his family.

The prince would be fifty years old the following October: he was

still a very good-looking man, though his figure was marred by his

stoutness, which had increased during the past ten years; his face was

frank, his eyes bright and intelligent, without depth or steadfastness;

he was fluently affable, but nevertheless his words never lost their

aristocratic savour unless his sole interest were to conciliate a vain

citizen; he had a pleasant voice, which in his good-humoured moments

was usually kind in tone; and, when he was in the mood, he could be

heard, even a long way off, singing the mass in a voice almost as

out of tune as that of Louis XV. I have since heard him sing the

_Marseillaise_ as falsely as he sang the mass. To make a long story

short, I was presented to him: not much ceremony was observed in my

case.

"Monseigneur, this is M. Dumas, of whom I have spoken to you, the

protégé of General Foy."

"Oh, good!" replied the duke. "I was delighted to do something to

please General Foy, who recommended you very warmly to me, monsieur.

You are the son of a brave man, whom Bonaparte is said to have left

almost to die of starvation."

I bowed in token of affirmation.

"You write a very good hand, you make and seal envelopes excellently;

work, and M. Oudard will look after you."

"In the meantime," Oudard interposed, "Monseigneur wishes to entrust

you with an important piece of work: His Highness desires it to be done

promptly and correctly."

"I will not leave it until it is finished," I replied, "and I will do

my utmost to be as accurate as His Highness requires."

The duke made a sign to Oudard, as much as to say, "Not bad for a

country lad."

Then, going before me, he said--

"Come into this room and sit down at that table."

And with these words he pointed out a desk to me.

"Here you will be undisturbed."

He then opened a bundle in which about fifty pages were arranged in

order, covered on both sides with his big handwriting and numbered at

the front of each page.

"See," he said, "copy from here to there: if you finish before I come

back, you must wait for me; I have several corrections to make in

certain passages, and I will make them as I dictate them to you."

I sat down and set to work at my task. The work with which I was

entrusted was concerned with an event which had recently made a great

stir, and which could not fail to take up the attention of Paris. This

was the claim made by Maria-Stella-Petronilla Chiappini, Baroness of

Sternberg, to the rank and fortune of the Duc d'Orléans, which she

contended belonged to her.

Here is the fable upon which her pretension was founded. We give it

from Maria-Stella's point of view, without, be it well understood,

believing for a single instant in the justice of her claim.

Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans, who was married in 1768, had,

to the beginning of January 1772, only presented her husband,

Louis-Philippe-Joseph d'Orléans, with a still-born daughter. The

absence of male issue troubled the Duc d'Orléans greatly, as his

fortune, derived chiefly from portions granted him as a younger son,

would, in default of male issue, revert to the Crown. It was with this

in his mind and in the hope that travel might perhaps lead to the

Duchesse d'Orléans being again pregnant, that Louis-Philippe and his

wife set out for Italy, in the early part of the year 1772, under the

name of the Comte and Comtesse de Joinville.

I repeat for the last time, that throughout this narrative it is not I

who am speaking, but the claimant, Maria-Stella-Petronilla.

Well, the august travellers had scarcely reached the top of the

Apennines before symptoms of a fresh pregnancy declared themselves,

which caused the Duchesse d'Orléans to stay at Modigliana.

In the village of Modigliana there was a prison, and a gaoler to watch

over the prison. The gaoler was called Chiappini. M. le Duc d'Orléans,

faithful to his traditions of familiarity with the people, became on

still more easy terms with the gaoler as the intimacy took place under

cover of his incognito. There was, besides, a reason for the intimacy.

Chiappini's wife was expecting her confinement just at the same time

as Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans. A treaty was accordingly entered into

between the illustrious travellers and the humble gaoler, to the effect

that should Madame la Comtesse de Joinville by chance give birth to

a girl, and the wife of Chiappini to a boy, the two mothers should

exchange their two children.

Fate ordained matters as the parents had foreseen: the gaoler's wife

gave birth to a boy, the prince's wife gave birth to a girl; and the

agreed exchange was made, the prince handing over a considerable sum to

the gaoler as well.

The child destined to play the part of prince was then transported

to Paris, and although he was born as far back as 17 April 1773, the

fact was kept secret till 6 October, on which date it was declared,

and the child was baptized by the almoner of the Palais-Royal, in the

presence of the parish priest and of two valets. In the meantime, the

duchess's daughter, left in Italy, was brought up there under the name

of Maria-Stella-Petronilla. The rest of the story can be guessed.

Nevertheless, we will give it in detail. Maria-Stella did not know

the story of her birth until after the death of the gaoler Chiappini.

She had a melancholy childhood. The gaoler's wife, who regretted her

son and who was for ever reproaching her husband for the agreement

made, rendered the child's life very miserable. The young girl was, it

seems, extremely beautiful, and at the age of seventeen she made such a

deep impression upon Lord Newborough, one of the wealthiest noblemen

of England, who was passing through Modigliana, that he married her

almost in spite of herself, and took her away to London. She was left

a widow very young, with several children,--one of whom is now a peer

of England,--but she soon married the Baron de Sternberg, who took her

away to St. Petersburg, where she presented him with a son.

One day, the Baroness de Sternberg, who was almost separated from her

husband, received a letter with an Italian postmark; she opened it

and read the following lines, written by the hand of the man whom she

believed to be her father:--

"MILADY,--I have at last reached the close of my life,

without having revealed to anyone a secret which closely

concerns you and me. This secret is as follows:--

"The day on which you were born, of a lady whose name

I cannot divulge, and who has already departed this

life, I also had a child born to me, a boy. I was asked

to make an exchange, and taking into consideration

the impoverished state of my fortune at that time, I

consented to the urgent and advantageous proposals made

to me. It was then I adopted you as my daughter, and

at the same time the other person adopted my son. I

perceive that Heaven has made up for my wrongdoing, since

you are placed in a higher station in life than your

father--though he was in almost the same rank--and it is

this reflection which allows me to die with some degree

of tranquillity. Keep this before your mind, so that you

may not hold me wholly responsible. Although I ask your

forgiveness for my error, I earnestly beseech you to

keep the fact secret, in order that the world may not be

able to talk about a matter now past remedy. This letter

will not even be sent you until after my death. LAURENT

CHIAPPINI"

Upon receipt of this letter, Maria-Stella at once prepared to travel

to Italy. She did not agree with the gaoler Chiappini in thinking the

matter irremediable: she wished to know who was her true father. She

gathered information wherever she could find it, and at length she

learned that in 1772--in other words, a year before her birth--two

French travellers arrived at Modigliana, and remained there until the

month of April 1773. These two travellers called themselves the Comte

and Comtesse de Joinville. Upon this slight clue, the Baroness de

Sternberg set off to France, and began by visiting the little town of

Joinville, whose name her father bore. Here she learnt that Joinville

had once been an inheritance belonging to the Orléans family, and that

Duc Louis-Philippe-Joseph, who had been travelling in Italy in 1772,

had died upon the scaffold in 1793.

Only his son, the Duc d'Orléans, was left (the two younger brothers

having died, the Duc de Montpensier in England and the Duc de

Beaujolais at Malta), the inheritor of the whole of his father's

wealth. He lived in Paris, and he was the only prince of the blood of

the house of Orléans.

Maria-Stella left immediately for Paris, made useless efforts to gain

access to the duke himself, gave herself into the hands of intriguing

persons who exploited her cause, to business men who cheated her, and

ended by writing to the papers, stating that the Baroness de Sternberg,

who was the bearer of a communication of the greatest importance to

the heirs of the Comte de Joinville, had arrived in Paris, and desired

to acquaint them with this communication at the earliest possible

opportunity.

The Duc d'Orléans did not wish to receive this communication direct;

neither did he desire to have recourse to the agency of a business man:

he commissioned his uncle, the old Abbé of Saint-Phar, to call on the

baroness.[1] Then everything was laid bare, and the duke discovered

the whole plot that was being weaved about him. Learning that, whether

from honest belief or from cupidity, Maria-Stella seriously meant to

pursue her cause, and that she was going to return to Italy to furnish

herself with documents wherewith to establish her identity, he hastened

to take the precaution of preparing a memoir, intended for his counsel,

to refute the fabrication by the aid of which Maria-Stella intended to

take away his rank and his fortune, or at all events to make him pay

for the right to keep them. In the meantime, she was appealing to the

Duchesse d'Angoulême as the likeliest person to harbour the liveliest

feelings of resentment against the Orléans family.

It was this memoir that I was called upon to copy. I must own that I

did not transcribe it without reading it, although my total ignorance

of history left many points obscure to me in the prince's refutation.

Not only was this paper based upon fact, but it was written with that

customary power of reasoning which the Duc d'Orléans was noted for

exercising, even in minor matters of diplomacy. He employed counsel for

form's sake only, for he himself drew up not merely notes on the case

he wished to prove, but lengthy statements, which roused the admiration

of the celebrated barrister Me. Dupin, to whom they were always sent.

I came to the end of the portion the duke had told me to write, after a

couple of hours' work; so I put down my work and waited. When the duke

returned, he came to the table at which I was writing, picked up my

copy, made a gesture indicative of his approval of my handwriting, but

almost immediately afterwards said--

"Oh! oh! you have a punctuation of your own, I see;" and taking a pen,

he sat down at a corner of the table and began to punctuate my copy

according to the rules of grammar.

The duke flattered me highly by saying I had a punctuation of my

own. I knew no more about punctuation than about anything else: I

punctuated according to my fancy, or rather, I did not punctuate at

all. To this day, I only punctuate on my proofs: I believe you could

take up any of my manuscripts hap-hazard and run through a whole volume

without finding a single exclamation mark, or an acute accent or a

grave accent. After the duke had read the statement and corrected my

punctuation, he got up and, walking up and down, dictated to me the

part he wanted to correct. I wrote almost as quickly as he dictated,

which seemed to please him extremely. I reached this sentence: "And if

there were nothing else but the _striking resemblance which exists

between the Duc d'Orléans and his illustrious grandfather Louis

XIV._, would not that likeness alone be sufficient to demonstrate the

falseness of this adventuress's pretensions?"

Although, as I have previously stated, I was not very well read in

history, yet in this matter I knew quite enough (as they say in

duelling of a man who has had three months' training in a fencing

school) to make a fool of myself--that is to say, I knew that M. le Duc

d'Orléans was descended from Monsieur, that Monsieur was the son of

Louis XIII. and brother of Louis XIV., and that, consequently, Louis

XIV., being Monsieur's brother, could not be the grandfather of the Duc

d'Orléans, who was honouring me by dictating to me a memorandum against

Maria-Stella's claim. So, when he came to these words, "And if there

were nothing else but the _striking resemblance which exists between

the Duc d'Orléans and his illustrious grandfather Louis XIV."_ I looked

up. It was most impertinent of me! A prince is never mistaken, and in

this instance the prince did not allow himself to be taken in.

So, the Duc d'Orléans stopped in front of me and said to me, "Dumas,

you should know this: when a person is descended from Louis XIV. even

if only through bastards, it is a sufficiently great honour to boast

about!... Proceed."

And he resumed: "Would not that likeness alone be sufficient to

demonstrate the falseness of this adventuress's pretensions?..."

I wrote this time without raising an eye, and I never looked up again

throughout the remainder of the sitting.

At four o'clock the Duc d'Orléans set me free, asking me if I could

come to work in the evening.

I replied that I was at His Highness's disposition. I picked up my hat,

I bowed, I went out, I took the stairs four at a time and I ran to find

Lassagne. He chanced to be still at his desk.

"How can Louis XIV. be the grandfather of the Duc d'Orléans?" I asked

as soon as I got in, without any preliminary explanation.

"Good gracious!" he said, "it is plain enough: because the regent

married Mademoiselle de Blois, who was Louis XIV.'s natural daughter by

Madame de Montespan--a marriage that procured him a sound smack in the

face when it was announced by him to the Princess Palatine, Monsieur's

second wife, who thus expressed her feelings at the _mésalliance._ ...

You will find all this in the memoirs of the Princess Palatine and in

Saint-Simon."

I felt extinguished by the ready and accurate answer given me.

"Oh!" I said, with downcast head, "I shall never be as learned as that!"

I finished the copy of the statement by eleven o'clock that same

evening. It was sent next day to M. Dupin, who should have it still,

written in my handwriting.

We will now finish the story of Maria-Stella.

When she had threatened the Duc d'Orléans, she returned to Italy, to

hunt up evidence that would establish the authenticity of her birth,

and the substitution of the daughter of the Comtesse de Joinville for

the son of the gaoler Chiappini.

She did, in fact, obtain the following decree from the Ecclesiastical

Court of Faenza, on 29 May 1824: we will give it for what it is worth,

or rather for what it was worth. This decree is followed by the

official rectification of the birth certificate:--

JUDGMENT OF THE ECCLESIASTICAL COURT OF FAENZA

"Having invoked the very sacred name of God, we,

sitting in our tribunal, and looking only to God and

His justice, pronouncing judgment in the suit pleaded

or to be pleaded before us, before the inferior or any

other more competent court: between Her Excellency Maria

Newborough, Baroness of Sternberg, domiciled at Ravenna,

petitioner, of the one part; and M. le Comte Charles

Bandini, as trustee judicially delegated by M. le Comte

Louis and Madame la Comtesse N. de Joinville or any other

person not present having or claiming an interest in

the case, defendants arraigned before the law, as also

the most excellent Dr. Thomas Chiappini, domiciled at

Florence, defendant also cited, but not arraigned before

the law;--whereas the petitioner, appearing before this

episcopal curé, as a competent tribunal, by reason of

the ecclesiastical acta hereinafter set forth subject to

its jurisdiction, has demanded that an order be made to

have her certificate of baptism, etc., corrected by the

insertion therein of suitable annotations; and whereas

the trustee of the defendants cited has demanded that the

claim of the petitioner be set aside, with costs; and

whereas the other defendant cited, Dr. Chiappini, has not

appeared before us, although twice summoned so to do by

an archiepiscopal usher of Florence acting on our behalf,

according to the custom of this curé, and whereas the

effect of this contumacy has been duly considered in its

bearing on the case;

"In virtue of the acta, etc.;--having heard the

respective defendants, etc.;--Considering that Laurent

Chiappini, being near the term of his mortal life, did,

by a letter which was handed to the petitioner after

the decease of the said Chiappini, reveal to the said

petitioner the secret of her birth, showing clearly to

her that she was not his daughter, but the daughter of

a person whose name he stated he was bound to withhold;

that it has been clearly proved by experts that this

letter is in the handwriting of Laurent Chiappini; that

the word of a dying man is proof positive, since it is

not in his interest any longer to lie, and since he is,

presumably, thinking only of his eternal salvation; that

such a confession must be regarded, in the light of a

solemn oath, and as a deposition made for the benefit of

his soul and for righteousness' sake; that the trustee

would essay in vain to impair the validity of the

evidence of the said letter on the plea that no mention

is made therein as to who were the real father and mother

of the petitioner, seeing that--though such mention is

in effect wanting--recourse has nevertheless been had,

on behalf of the same petitioner, to testimonial proof,

to presumption and to conjecture; that, when there is

written proof, as in the present case, testimonial

proof or any other argument may be adduced, even when

it is a question of personal identity; that if, in a

case of identity, following on the principle of written

proof, proof by witness is also admissible, so much

the more should it hold good in this case, where the

demand is confined to a document to be used hereafter,

in the question of identity;--considering that it

clearly results from the sworn and legal depositions of

the witnesses, Marie and Dominique-Marie, the sisters

Bandini, that there was an agreement between M. le Comte

and Signior Chiappini to exchange their respective

children in case the countess gave birth to a daughter

and Chiappini's wife to a son; that such an exchange in

effect took place, and, the event foreseen having come

to pass, that the daughter was baptized in the church of

the priory of Modigliana, in the name of _Maria-Stella_,

her parents being falsely declared to be the couple

Chiappini; that they are in entire agreement as to the

date of the exchange, which coincides with that of the

birth of the petitioner, and that they allege reasons

in support of their cognisance, etc.;--considering that

it is in vain for the trustee to attack the likelihood

of this evidence, since not only is there nothing

impossible in their statements, but they are, on the

contrary, supported and corroborated by a very large

number of other presumptions and conjectures; that

one very strong conjecture is based on public rumour

and on gossip that was rife at the time in connection

with the exchange, such public rumour, when allied to

past events, having the value of truth and of full

cognisance; that this public rumour is proved, not only

by the depositions of the aforesaid sisters Bandini,

but also by the attestation of Monsieur Dominique

de la Valle and by those of the other witnesses of

Bringhella and of witnesses from Ravenna, all of which

were legally and judicially examined in their places of

origin and before their respective tribunals; that the

vicissitudes experienced by M. le comte are convincing

testimony to the reality of the exchange; that there is

documentary evidence to prove that, in consequence of

the rumour current at Modigliana on the subject of the

said exchange, the Comte de Joinville was compelled to

take flight and to seek refuge in the convent of St.

Bernard of Brisighella, and that while out walking he

was arrested, and then, after having been detained some

time in the public hall at Brisighella, he was taken

by the Swiss Guards of Ravenna before His Eminence, M.

le Cardinal Legate, who set him at liberty, etc.; that

M. le Comte Biancoli Borghi attests, in his judicial

examination, that, while sorting some old papers of

the Borghi family, he came upon a letter written from

Turin to M. le Comte Pompée Borghi, the date of which he

does not recollect, signed 'Louis, Comte de Joinville,'

which stated that the changeling had died, and that any

scruple on its account was now removed;--considering

that the said Comte Biancoli Borghi alleges cognisance

in his depositions; that the fact of the exchange is

further proved by the subsequently improved fortunes

of Chiappini, etc.; that the latter spoke of the

exchange to a certain Don Bandini de Variozo, etc.;

that the petitioner received an education suitable to

her distinguished rank, and not such as would have

been given to the daughter of a gaoler, etc.; that it

results clearly from all the counts so far pleaded,

and from several others contained in the pleadings,

that Maria-Stella was falsely declared, in the act of

birth, to be the daughter of Chiappini and his wife,

and that she owes her birth to M. le Comte and Madame

la Comtesse de Joinville; that it is, in consequence,

a matter of simple justice to permit the correction of

the certificate of birth as now demanded by the said

Maria-Stella; lastly, that Dr. Thomas Chiappini, instead

of opposing her demand, has committed contumacy;

"Having repeated the very Holy Name of God, we

declare, hold, and definitely pronounce judgment as

follows:--that the objections raised by the trustee, the

aforesaid defendant, be and they are hereby set aside;

and therefore we also declare, hold, and definitely

adjudicate that the certificate of birth of 17 April

1773, inscribed in the baptismal register of the priory

church of St. Stephen, Pope and Martyr, at Modigliana,

in the diocese of Faenza, in which it is declared that

Maria-Stella is the daughter of Laurent Chiappini and

of Vincenzia Diligenti, be rectified and amended, and

that in lieu thereof she be declared to be the daughter

of M. le Comte Louis and Madame la Comtesse N. de

Joinville, of French nationality, to which effect we also

order that the rectification in question be forthwith

executed by the clerk of our court, with faculty also,

by authority of the Prior of the church of St. Stephen,

Pope and Martyr, at Modigliana, in the diocese of Faenza,

to furnish a copy of the certificate so amended and

rectified to all who may demand it, etc.;

"Preambles pronounced by me:--domestic canon

"_(Signed)_ VALERIO BORCHI, Pro-Vicar General

"The present judgment has been pronounced, given, and by

these writings, promulgated by the very illustrious and

very reverend Monsignor the Pro-Vicar General, sitting

in public audience, and it has been read and published

by me, the undersigned prothonotary, in the year of our

Lord Jesus Christ 1824,'indiction XII; on this day, 29

May, in the reign of our lord, Leo XII., Pope P.O.M., in

the first year of his pontificate, there being present,

amongst several others; Monsieur Jean Ricci, notary, Dr.

Thomas Beneditti, both attorneys of Faenza, witnesses.

(_Signed_) ANGE MORIGNY

"Episcopal Prothonotary General

"Correction of the Certificate of Birth:--

"This day, 24 June 1824, under the protection of the

holiness of our pope Leo XII., lord sovereign pontiff,

happily reigning, in the 1st year of his pontificate,

indiction XII, at Faenza;--the delay of ten days, the

time used for lodging an appeal, having expired since the

day of the notification of the decision pronounced by the

Ecclesiastical Tribunal of Faenza, on 29 May last,--in

the case of Her Excellency Maria Newborough, Baroness de

Sternberg, against M. le Comte Charles Bandini of that

town, as trustee legally appointed to M. le Comte Louis

and Madame la Comtesse N. de Joinville and to all others

absent who did not put in an appearance, who may have,

or might lay claim to have an interest in the case, as

well as to Dr. Thomas Chiappini, living at Florence, in

the States of Tuscany, without anyone having entered

an appeal; I, the undersigned, in virtue of the powers

given me by the above announced judgment, have proceeded

to put the same judgment into execution--namely, the

rectification of the certification of birth produced in

the pleadings of the trial, as follows:--

"In the name of God, _Amen_, I the undersigned canon

chaplain, curé of the priory and collegiate church of

Saint-Étienne, Pope and Martyr, in the territory of

Modigliana, in the Tuscan States, and in the diocese

of Faenza, do certify having found, in the fourth

book of the birth register, the following notice:

'_Maria-Stella-Petronilla, born yesterday of the

married couple Lorenzo, son of Ferdinand Chiappini,

public sheriff officer to this district, and Vincenzia

Diligenti, daughter of the deceased N. of this parish,

was baptized, on_ 17 _April_ 1773, _by me, Canon

François Signari, one of the chaplains; the godfather

and godmother being François Bandelloni, tipstaff, and

Stella Ciabatti_.--Witnessed at Modigliana, 16 April

1824; (_signed_) Gaëtan Violani, canon, etc.' I have, I

say, proceeded to put the above-mentioned decision into

execution, by means of the below-mentioned correction,

which shall definitely take effect in the form and terms

following: 'Maria-Stella-Petronilla, born yesterday

of the married pair, M. le Comte Louis and Madame la

Comtesse N. de Joinville, natives of France,--then

dwelling in the district of Modigliana,--was baptized on

April 17, 1773, by me, Canon François Signari, one of the

chaplains; the godfather and godmother being: François

Bandelloni, tipstaff, and Stella Ciabatti.'

"_(Signed)_ ANGE MORIGNY

"Episcopal Prothonotary of the Tribunal of Faenza"[2]

Furnished with these documents, the Baroness de Sternberg returned

to Paris towards the close of the year 1824; but, it seems, neither

these documents nor the personages who had set her going inspired

great confidence; for, neither from Louis XVIII.,--who was not very

fond of his cousin, since, under no pretext, would he ever allow him

to be styled Royal Highness, while he reigned, saying that he would be

always quite close enough to the throne,--nor from Charles X., could

she obtain any support in aid of the restitution of her name and of her

estates.

When Charles X. fell and the Duc d'Orléans became king, matters were

even worse for her. There was no means of appealing from Philip asleep

to Philip awake. Intimidation had no effect; the most determined

enemies of the new king did not wish to soil their hands with

this claim, which they regarded in the light of a conspiracy, and

Maria-Stella remained in Paris, without so much as the notoriety of the

persecution she expected to receive. She lived at the top of the rue

de Rivoli, near the rue Saint-Florentin, on the fifth floor; and in

the absence of two-footed, featherless courtiers, she held a court of

two-clawed feathered creatures which waked the whole rue de Rivoli at

five o'clock in the morning with their chatter. Those of my readers who

live in Paris may perhaps recollect to have seen flocks of impudent

sparrows swooping down, whirling by thousands about the balconied

windows: these three windows were those of Maria-Stella-Petronilla

Newborough, Baroness of Sternberg, who, in order not to give the lie to

herself, to the end of her life signed herself "Née Joinville."

She died in 1845, the day after the opening of the Chambers. Her last

words were--

"Hand me the paper, that I may read the speech of that villain!"

She had not been outside her door for five years, for fear, she said,

of being arrested by the king. The poor creature had become almost

mad....

About three weeks after I had made the copy of the memorandum

concerning her, M. Oudard called me into his office and informed me

that I had been _placed on the regular staff._ In other words, I was

given a berth at a salary of twelve hundred francs, in reward for my

good handwriting and my cleverness in the matter of making envelopes

and sealing. I had no reason to complain: Béranger had exactly the same

on his entry into the University.

I sent my mother this good news the same day, begging her to get

ready to come to me as soon as I had received the first payment of my

increased salary.

[1] I do not know whether the Abbé de Saint-Phar saw or did not see

Maria-Stella. I merely transcribe the memoirs of that lady.

[2] The translator is obliged to a legal friend for the version of the

above documents.

CHAPTER VI

The "year of trials"--The case of Potier and the director of

the theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin--Trial and condemnation

of Magallon--The anonymous journalist--Beaumarchais sent to

Saint-Lazare--A few words on censorships in general--Trial of

Benjamin Constant--Trial of M. de Jouy--A few words concerning the

author of _Sylla_--Three letters extracted from the _Ermite de la

Chaussée-d'Antin_--Louis XVIII. as author

My anxiety to bring my readers along, without interruption, to the

moment when my lot and that of my mother was settled, by my being

placed on the staff as a copying-clerk at twelve hundred francs, has

caused me to pass over a host of events of far greater interest, no

doubt, to strangers, than those I have related, but which--if egotism

may be permitted me--in my own eyes, and to my mind, should take a

secondary place.

The year 1823, which we might style the "year of trials," opened by the

trial of Potier on 7 January. Those who never saw Potier can form no

conception of the influence this great comedian, who was much admired

by Talma, had on the public; yet the damages and compensation that M.

Serres, the manager of the Porte-Sainte-Martin, demanded from him, may

give some idea of the value that was put upon him. One morning Potier,

faithful, as M. Étienne would have said, to his _first loves_, took it

into his head to return to the Variétés, a project which he carried

out, it appears, forgetting to ask M. Serres to cancel his engagement

before he left. Now Potier had been acting the part of old Sournois

in _Petites Dandaïdes_, with such success both in the way of applause

and in packed houses, that M. Serres not only refused to sanction this

desertion, but reckoning up the losses which he considered Potier had

caused him by his departure, and would cause him in the future, because

of this same departure, decided, after sending through the sheriffs

officer his account to the famous comedian, to send a duplicate copy

of it to the first Chamber of the Royal Court. The odd thing about the

account was that the manager of the theatre of Porte-Sainte-Martin

claimed absolutely nothing but what was due to him under the terms of

his contract. These are the particulars of his claim:--

1. For each day's delay, reckoning at the

highest receipts taken in the theatre,

from 1 March 1822 to 1 April in

the same year, being at a rate

of three thousand six hundred and

eleven francs ... 144,408 fr.

2. Restitution of money.. 30,000 "

3. Amount paid in advance, forfeited. 20,000 "

4. Damage and compensation.. 60,000 "

5. For one hundred and twenty-two days

which have expired since the first claim.... 440,542 "

6. For the seven years and ten months

which remain to run before the end of the

engagement.. 10,322,840 "

7. Finally, as damages and compensation

in respect of this period of seven years.... 200,000 "

Total. 11,217,790 "

If the manager of the Porte-Sainte-Martin had had the misfortune to win

his case, he would have been obliged to pay Potier, in order to notify

the sentence, a registration fee of three to four hundred thousand

francs.

The Court condemned Potier to resume his engagement within a week's

time: as to damages and compensation, it condemned him, _par corps_,

to pay them according to the estimated scale. Three days later, it

was known that the matter had been settled, less a discount of eleven

million two hundred and seven thousand seven hundred and ninety francs

made by the manager.

On 8 February it was the turn of Magallon, the chief editor of the

_Album._ Magallon appeared before the seventh Chamber of the Police

Correctional Court, accused of having hidden political articles under

the cloak of literature, with intent to incite hatred and contempt

towards the Government. The Court condemned Magallon to thirteen

months' imprisonment and to pay a fine of two thousand francs.

It was a monstrous sentence, and it created great uproar; but a far

greater scandal still, or rather, what converted a matter of scandal

into an outrage, was that for this slight literary offence, and on the

pretext that the sentence exceeded one year, Magallon was taken to the

central prison of Poissy, on foot, with his hands bound, tied to a

filthy criminal condemned afresh to penal servitude, who, dead-drunk,

kept yelling unceasingly the whole way, "Long live galley slaves!

honour to, all galley slaves!"

When they reached Poissy, Magallon was put into prison clothes. From

that evening he had to live on skilly and learn to pick oakum.... We

content ourselves with relating the bare facts; although we cannot

resist adding that they happened under the reign of a prince who

pretended to be a man of letters, since he had ordered a quatrain from

Lemierre and a comedy from Merville....

We have already related that M. Arnault, whose _Marius à Minturnes_ had

succeeded, in spite of Monsieur's prediction, paid, in all probability,

for this want of respect for the opinion of His Royal Highness by four

years of exile, on the return of the Bourbons.

And this was not Louis XVIII.'s first attempt on his _confrères_,

the men of letters. Without mentioning M. de Chateaubriand, whom he

hounded out of the ministry as though he were a lackey,--an act which

caused that worthy gentleman to remark, on receiving his dismissal,

"It is strange, for I have not stolen the king's watch!"--without

counting Magallon, whom he sent to Poissy chained to a scurvy convict;

without counting M. Arnault, whom he banished from the country; there

was, besides, a little story of the same kind in connection with

Beaumarchais.

More than once has M. Arnault related in my hearing the curious and too

little known history of Beaumarchais' imprisonment. These are the facts.

There is always a public Censorship, except during the first two or

three months following the accession of princes to the throne, and the

two or three months after they are deposed; but when these three months

have elapsed, the Censorship reappears on the waters after its plunge,

and proceeds to discover some minister, preferably of Liberal or even

Republican tendencies, and to lay a snare for him.

When the _Mariage de Figaro_ was running its course, M. Suard was

censor, and he was also a journalist. He was one of those who had most

bitterly opposed the representation of Beaumarchais' work, and he

was largely responsible for the fifty-nine journeys--_du marais à la

police_--that the illustrious author made without being able to obtain

leave for his play to be performed.

At length, thanks to the intervention of the queen and the Comte

d'Artois, the _Folle Journée_, recovered intact out of the claws of

these gentlemen, was played on 27 April 1784. M. Suard was vindictive

both in his capacity as censor and as a journalist; so that if he

could not exercise the Censorship by the use of scissors, he had

recourse to his pen. M. Suard was on very familiar terms with the

Comte de Provence, and he served the Comte de Provence as a screen

when His Royal Highness wished to give vent, incognito, to some petty

literary spite. M. le Comte de Provence detested Beaumarchais almost

as much as did M. Suard himself; the result was that the Comte de

Provence hastened to unburden himself, by means of M. Suard, in the

_Journal de Paris_, against the unfortunate _Mariage de Figaro_, which

continued its successful run, in spite of M. Suard's signed articles

or the anonymous articles of His Royal Highness. In the meantime,

Beaumarchais handed over the sum of about thirty or forty thousand

francs which he received as author's rights in the _Mariage de Figaro_

to the _association for helping poor foster-mothers._

Monsieur, who had not got a child (a less polite chronicler than myself

would say who was incapable of begetting one), and who consequently,

owing to his failing in this respect, had not much sympathy with

_foster-mothers_, indulged himself, always under the cloak of

anonymity, in attacking the man, after having attacked the play, and

wrote a letter against him in the _Journal de Paris_, overflowing with

venomous spleen. Beaumarchais, who thought he recognised this onslaught

as from the hand of M. Suard, proceeded to lash the pedant soundly.

As ill-luck would have it, it was His Royal Highness who received the

tanning intended for the censor's hide. Monsieur, smarting under the

stripes, went with the story of his grievances to Louis XVI., giving

him to understand that Beaumarchais was perfectly well aware that he

was not replying to the royal censor, but to the brother of the king.

Louis XVI.; offended on behalf of Monsieur, commanded the citizen who

dared to take the liberty of chastising a royal personage, regardless

of his rank, to be arrested and taken to a house of correction--not

to the Bastille, that prison being considered too good for such a

worthless scamp; and as His Majesty was playing loo when he made this

decision, it was on the back of a seven of spades that the order was

written for Beaumarchais' arrest and his committal to Saint-Lazare.

Thus we see that, when Louis XVIII. had Magallon taken to Poissy, he

remained faithful to Monsieur's traditions.

... Apropos of the Censorship, a good story of the present censor is

going the rounds this 6th of June, 1851. We will inquire into it and,

if it be true, we will relate it in the next chapter.

This excellent institution furnishes so many other instances of a like

nature that its facts and achievements have to be registered regardless

of chronological order, where and when one can, lest one run the risk

of forgetting them, and that I would indeed be a sad pity!...

_Revenons à nos moutons!_ our poor _moutons_ shorn to the quick, like

Sterne's lamb.

I have remarked that the year 1823 was the "year of trials"; let us see

how it earned that name.

During the week that elapsed between the Magallon affair and the

sentence passed on him, Benjamin Constant appeared before the Royal

Court, on account of two letters: one addressed to M. Mangin,

procurator-general at the Court of Poitiers, and the other to M.

Carrère, sub-prefect of Saumur. As it was a foregone conclusion that

Benjamin Constant was to be condemned, the Court sentenced him to pay a

fine of a thousand francs and costs.

On 29 January--a week before this happened--the Correctional Police

sentenced M. de Jouy to a month's imprisonment, a fine of a hundred

and fifty francs and the costs of the trial, for an article in the

_Biographie des contemporains_ which had been recognised as his. This

article was the biography of the brothers Faucher. The sentence created

a tremendous sensation. M. de Jouy was then at the height of his fame:

the _Ermite de la Chaussée-d'Antin_ had made him popular, the hundred

representations of _Sylla_ had made him famous.

I knew M. de Jouy well: he was a remarkably loyal man, with a

delightful mind and an easy pen. I believe he had been a sailor,

serving in India, where he knew Tippo-Sahib, upon whom he founded a

tragedy, commissioned, or very nearly so, by Napoleon, which was acted

on 27 January 1813. The work was indifferent and did not meet with much

success.

On the return of the Bourbons, the Court was half-heartedly willing

to encourage men of letters, M. de Jouy in particular, who held one

of the highest positions among them. It was the more easily managed

since M. de Jouy was an old Royalist, and I believe a soldier of

Condi's army; it was not a case of making a convert but retaining an

old partisan. His articles in the _Gazette_, signed "l'Ermite de la

Chaussée-d'Antin," had an enormous success. I heard it said at the

time that M. de Jouy was called up before M. de Vitrolles and asked to

mention what it was he wanted. What he wanted was the due recognition

of his services, namely, the Cross of Saint-Louis,--for, as a rule,

straightforward men only desire things they are entitled to;--desiring

the Cross, and having deserved it, he asked for it. But they wished to

force conditions upon him: they desired that he should not merely be

satisfied with refraining from pointing fun at the absurdities of the

Restoration; they wanted him to emphasise the glories of the Empire.

They wanted him to do a base action before he, a loyal soldier, a

clean-handed man, a poet of considerable repute among his _confrères_,

could obtain the Cross. What happened? The noted poet, the loyal

soldier, the honest man, said that the Cross should go to Hades first,

and he showed the person who came to propose these conditions to the

door. It was the right way to treat the minister, but it was unlucky

for the Cross, which would not have honoured M. de Jouy, but which M.

de Jouy would have honoured! And behold M. de Jouy in the Opposition,

behold M. de Jouy writing articles in the _Biographie_ which cost him a

month's imprisonment, and which increased his popularity twofold. What

fools Governments are to refuse a man the Cross he asks, and to grant

him the persecution he does not desire, the persecution which will be

far more benefit to him, in honour and in worldly goods, than the bit

of ribbon which nobody would have noticed! Moreover, M. de Jouy did not

write anything so very reprehensible. No; on the contrary, M. de Jouy

was distinguished for the suavity of his criticism, the urbanity of his

opposition, the courtesy of his anger. The manner adopted by this good

Ermite has long since been forgotten; and the generation which followed

ours has not even read his works. Heigho! if the said generation reads

me, it will read him; for I am about to open his works and to quote

some pages from them at hap-hazard. They go back to the first months

of the second return of the Bourbons, to the period when all the world

lived out in the squares, to the time when everybody seemed eager after

I know not what: after a Revolution, one has need to hate men; but

after a Restoration, one can do nothing but despise them!

M. B. de L---- is overwhelmed with requests for positions and writes

to the Ermite de la Chaussée-d'Antin to beg him to insert the following

letters in his paper:--

"MONSIEUR,--We have neither of us time to spare, so I

will explain to you the object of my letter in a very few

words. I formerly had the honour to be attached to one

of the princes of the house of Bourbon; I may even have

been so fortunate as to show some proofs of my devotion

to that august family at a time when, if not meritorious,

it was at least dangerous to allow one's zeal to leak

out; but I endeavour not to forget that the Mornays,

the Sullys, the Crillons would modestly style this the

fulfilment of one's duty. I am unaware upon what grounds

people in my province credit me with what I do not enjoy,

and to which I am indebted for the hosts of solicitations

I receive, without being able to be of service to those

who apply to me. I have only discovered one method of

escaping from this novel form of persecution--that is, to

publish a letter of one of my relatives and the answer I

thought fit to make to it. The first is in some measure

a résumé of three or four hundred letters that I have

received on the same topic. I am the less reluctant to

make it public since I reserve to myself the right of

holding back the writer's name, and besides, this letter

reflects as much credit on the heart of the writer as it

displays the good sense of the mind that dictated it.

"B. DE L----"

This is the relative's letter:--

"How glad I am, my friend, that events have brought back

our illustrious princes to the throne! What good fortune

it is! You have no notion what reputation these events

and your stay in Paris give me here. The prefect is

afraid of me, and his wife, who never used to bow to me,

has invited me twice to dinner. But there is no time to

be lost, and we rely on you. Would you believe that my

husband has not yet taken any steps whatever to regain

his position, pretending that it exists no longer, and

that the commission was made up to him in assignats?

There isn't a more apathetic man in the whole of France.

"My brother-in-law has laid claim to the Cross of

Saint-Louis: he had been waiting for it for nine years

when the Revolution broke out. It would be unjust of

them not to compensate him for the twenty years of

his services, the troubles and the misfortunes he has

undergone on his estates; he is counting on you to hasten

the prompt despatch of his patent.

"I append a memorandum to my letter, from my oldest son,

the marquis; he had the right to his uncle's reversion,

and it will be easy for you to obtain it for him. I am

anxious that his brother, the chevalier, shall be placed

in the navy, but in a rank worthy of his name and the

past services of his family. And as my grandson, Auguste

de G----, is quite old enough I to become a page, you

have only to speak a word on his behalf.

"We are coming to Paris early next month. I shall bring

my daughter with me, as I wish to present her at Court.

They will not refuse you this favour if you solicit it

with sufficient perseverance and willingness.

"Think of poor F----. He failed us, it is true, at the

time of the Revolution; but he has made ample amends

during the past month: you know he is penniless, and

is ready to sacrifice everything for our rulers. His

devotion goes even so far as to be willing to take a post

as prefect, and he is well fitted for it. Do you not

remember the pretty song he made about me?

"M. de B----, son of the late intendant of the province,

is coming to see you; try and be useful to him; he

is a friend of the family. If they are not going to

re-establish intendancies, he will be satisfied with a

post as receiver-general; it is the least they can do for

a man devoted to his sovereign, one who was imprisoned

for six months during the Terror.

"I must not forget to recommend M---- to your notice. He

has been blamed for having served all parties, because

he has been employed in every Government in France for

the last twenty years; but he is a good fellow--you can

take my word for it: he was the first to don the white

cockade; besides, all he asks is to be allowed to keep

his place as superintendent of the posting service. Be

sure and write to me under cover of his frank.

"I append my father-in-law's papers: a sum of forty-five

thousand francs is still owing to him from the estates

of Languedoc; I hope they will not keep you waiting for

its reimbursement, and that you will not hesitate to

make use of the money if you are under any temporary

embarrassment, though this is very unlikely in your

present situation. Adieu, my dear cousin. With greetings

in which the whole family unite, and expecting the

pleasure of seeing you soon in Paris.

"J. DE P----"

_[Answer]_

"PARIS, 15 _June_ 1814

"MY DEAR COUSIN,--You can hardly conceive with what

interest I have read the letter you have done me the

honour to send me, or with what zeal I have tried to

further the just and reasonable demands of all the

persons you recommend to my notice. You will, not be

more astonished than I have been myself at the obstacles

placed in my way, which you would deem insurmountable if

you knew as well as I the people with whom we have to

deal.

"When I spoke of your son, who has long been desirous

of service, and asked for a berth as major in his

father's old regiment, they urged, as a not unreasonable

objection, that peace was concluded, and that before

thinking of a position for the Marquis de V----, they

must consider the lot of 25,000 officers, some of whom

(would you believe it?) press for the recognition of

their campaigns, their wounds, and even go so far

as to urge the number of battles in which they were

engaged; whilst others more directly associated with the

misfortunes of the royal family had returned to France

without any fortune beyond the goodwill and complaisance

of the king. I then asked, with a touch of sarcasm, what

they meant to do for your son and for the multitude of

brave Royalists who have suffered so much through the

misfortunes of the realm, and whose secret prayers for

the recall of the royal family to the throne of its

ancestors had been unceasing. They replied that they

rejoiced to see the end of all our afflictions and the

fulfilment of our prayers.

"Your husband is a very extraordinary man. I can well

understand, my dear cousin, all you must be suffering

on account of his incredible apathy. To be reduced at

the age of sixty-five, or sixty-six at the outside, to

a fortune of 40,000 livres income, to bury himself in

the depth of a château, and to renounce all chance of an

ambitious career, as though a father had no duty towards

his children, as though a gentleman ought not to die

fighting!

"I am sorry your brother-in-law should have laid claim

to the Cross of Saint-Louis before it had been granted

to him; for it may happen that the king will not readily

part with the right to confer this decoration himself,

and that he will not approve of the honour certain

persons are anxious to have conferred upon them. You will

realise that it would be less awkward not to have had the

Cross of Saint-Louis than to find oneself obliged to give

it up.

"I did not forget to put forward the claims of your

son, the chevalier, and I do not despair of getting him

entered for the examination of officers for the Royal

Marines. We will then do our utmost to get him passed

into the staff of one hundred officers, who are far too

conscious of their worth, of the names they bear and of

the devotion they profess to have shown at Quiberon.

"Your grandson Auguste is entered for a page; I cannot

tell you exactly when he will be taken into the palace,

my dear cousin, as your request followed upon three

thousand seven hundred and seventy-five other requests,

made on behalf of the sons of noblemen or officers slain

on the field of battle, though they cannot show the

slightest claim on account of services rendered to the

State or to the princes.

"You are well advised in wishing to place your daughter

at Court, and it will not be difficult when you have

found a husband for her whose rank and fortune will

entitle her to a position there. If this is not arranged,

I do not quite see what she would do there, or what

suitable post she could occupy there, however able she

may be: maids of honour are not yet reinstated.

"I have presented a petition in favour of F, to which I

annexed the pretty song he composed for you; but they

have become so exacting that such claims no longer

suffice to obtain a post as prefect. I will even go so

far as to tell you that they do not think much of your

protégé's conversion and of the sacrifices he is prepared

to make; his enemies persist in saying that he is not a

man who can be relied upon.

"I witnessed his powers of work in former times, and I am

convinced that if he would serve the good cause nowadays

with half the zeal he formerly exerted on behalf of the

bad cause, they would be able very usefully to employ

him. But will this ever be put to the test?

"I have not learnt whether intendances are to be

re-established, but they seem to think that public

receiverships will be diminished, if only in the number

of those which exist in departments beyond our bounds.

This makes me fear that M. de B---- will have to be

satisfied with the enormous fortune his father made

in the old revenue days, which he found means to hide

during the Revolutionary storms: he must learn to be

philosophical.

"Do not be in the least uneasy over the lot of M----. I

know him: he has considerable elasticity of character

and of principle--for twenty years he has slipped in and

out among all parties, without having offended any. He

is a marvellously clever fellow, who will serve himself

better than anyone else ever will be served: he is no

longer superintendent of the posting bureau, having just

obtained a more lucrative post in another department of

the Government. Do you always take such great interest in

his affairs?

"I return you your father-in-law's papers, dear cousin,

relative to the debt on the Languedoc estates. From

what I can gather, the liquidation does not seem likely

to take place yet a while, in spite of the justice of

your claim. They have decided that arrears of pay due

to troops, the public debt, military pensions and a

crowd of other objects of this nature shall be taken

into consideration--this measure is evidently the fruit

of some intrigue. You should tell F---- to draw up a

pamphlet upon the most urgent needs of the State and to

endeavour to refer to this debt in the first line of his

pamphlet. You have no idea how much the Government is

influenced by the multitude of little pamphlets which are

produced every day by ill-feeling, anger and hunger with

such commendable zeal.

"You will see, my dear cousin, that, at the rate things

are going, you must possess your soul in patience. I

would even add that the journey you propose to take

to Paris will not advance your affairs. According to

the police reckoning, there are at this present moment

a hundred and twenty-three thousand people from the

provinces, of all ranks, of all sexes, of all ages, who

are here to make claims, furnished with almost as good

credentials as yours, and who will have the advantage

over you in obtaining a refusal of being first in the

field to put forward their cases. Finally, as I know you

are acquainted with philosophy and the best things in

literature, I beg you to read over again a chapter in

the English _Spectator_, on the just claims of these who

ask for posts: it is in the thirty-second section of the

seventh volume in the duodecimo edition: history repeats

itself.

"Accept, my dear cousin, an expression of my most

affectionate greetings, coupled with my sincere regrets.

"B. DE L----"

In 1830, after the Revolution of July, Auguste Barbier produced a poem

on the same subject, entitled the _Curée._ When one re-reads those

terrible verses and compares them with work by M. de Jouy, the writings

of the latter seem a model of that Attic wit which was characteristic

of the old school, and Barbier an example of the brutal, fiery,

unpremeditated writing I so typical of his Muse.

Meanwhile, at about the period we have reached, whilst Louis XVIII. was

hunting down men of letters with that ruthlessness of which we have

just cited a few examples, he was laying claim to a place in their

midst. Through the foolish advice of his sycophants, the regal author

published a little work entitled _Voyage de Paris à Bruxelles._ I do

not know whether it would be possible to-day to procure a single copy

of the royal brochure, wherein were to be found not only such errors

in French grammar as "J'étais déjà un peu gros, à cette époque, pour

_monter et descendre de cabriolet_," but, worse still, revelations of

ingratitude and heartlessness.

A poor widow risks her head to take in fugitives, and sacrifices her

last louis to give them a dinner; Monsieur relates this act of devotion

as though it were no more than the fugitives' due, and ends the chapter

by saying, "The dinner was execrable!"

It was written in kitchen French, as Colonel Morisel observed to M.

Arnault.

"That is easily explained," replied the author of _Germanicus_, "since

the work was by a _restaurateur"_.

The _Miroir_, ordered to review the _Voyage de Paris à Bruxelles_,

contented itself by saying, "If the work is by the august personage to

whom it is attributed, it is above the region of criticism; if it is

not by him, it is beneath criticism."

Let us revert to Colonel Morisel, one of the most interesting

characters of the time. They could not get up the same kind of trial

against the author of the _Messéniennes_, of the _Vêpres siciliennes_,

of the _Comédiens_ and of _Paria_, as they did against M. de Jouy and

Magallon; they could not imprison him in Sainte-Pélagie or send him to

Poissy, bound hand to hand and side by side with a filthy convict; but

they could reduce him to poverty, and that is what they did.

On 15 April we read in the Liberal papers: "We hear that M. Ancelot,

author of _Louis IX._ and of _Maire du Palais_, has just received

letters patent of nobility, and that M. Casimir Delavigne, author

of _Vêpres siciliennes_, of _Paria_ and of the _Messéniennes_, has

just lost his post in the Library of the Minister of Justice." It was

quite true: M. Ancelot had been made a baron, and M. Casimir Delavigne

was turned out into the street! It was at this juncture that, on the

recommendation of Vatout, who had just published the _Histoire de la

Fille d'un Roi_, the Duc d'Orléans appointed Casimir Delavigne to the

post of assistant librarian at the Palais-Royal, where, six years

later, I became his colleague.