"No, monsieur, and only that because I happen at this moment to be in great need of five napoleons."
"Won't you take fifteen napoleons? I am sure the dog is worth fifteen napoleons."
"No, no, no, no; give me five napoleons, and he is yours."
"What do you call him?"
"Pyramus."
"Pyramus!" exclaimed the Englishman.
Pyramus did not budge.
"Oh," continued the Englishman, "what did you say you called him?"
"I said Pyramus."
"He did not stir when I called him."
"That is because he is not yet accustomed to your pronunciation."
"Oh, he will soon get used to it."
"There is no doubt of it."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"Good! I thank you, monsieur: here are the five napoleons."
I hesitated to take them; but in the English accent with which he pronounced the last words there was an intonation which so cruelly reminded me of the German accent of Bamps that I decided.
"I am much obliged to you, monsieur," I said.
"On the contrary, it is I who ought to thank you," the Englishman replied, trying to raise himself afresh—an attempt which was as abortive as the first.
I made him a sign with my hand, as I bowed; he sank back into his arm-chair, and I went out.
"Well, now, how did it come about that Pyramus fell into the hands of such a master?" I asked old Cartier.
"That scamp of a dog was born with a lucky spoon in his mouth!"
"It was the simplest thing in the world. Valtat brought me a piece of lamb; Pyramus scented the fresh meat; he followed Valtat. Valtat came here; Pyramus came here. The Englishman got out of the carriage; he saw your dog. He had been recommended to take shooting exercise: he asked me if the dog was a good one; I told him it was. He asked me who owned the dog; I told him it belonged to you. He asked me if you would consent to sell it; I told him I would send and fetch you, and then he could ask you himself. I sent for you ... you came ... there's the whole story.... Pyramus is sold and you are not ill pleased?"
"Why, certainly not! The rascal is such a thief that I should have been obliged to give him away or to break his neck.... He was ruining us!"
Cartier shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say, "That would not be a difficult task!" Then, passing to another train of ideas, he said—
"So you have returned home?"
"That is so."
"You were sick of Crespy?"
"I am sick of every place."
"What do you want to do now?"
"Why, I want to go to Paris."
"And when do you start?"
"May be sooner than you think."
"Do not go without giving me an opportunity to pay you out."
"Never fear!"
Before I went to Crespy, I had thoroughly beaten Cartier at billiards.
"Besides," I went on, "if I go, as I shall not leave in any carriage but one of yours, you can stop me on the step."
"Done!... But this time it must be a struggle to death." "To death!"
"Your five napoleons must be staked."
"You know I never play for money, and as for my five napoleons, they already have their vocation."
"Well, well, well, adieu."
"Au revoir."
And I left Cartier, with this engagement booked. We shall see where it led me.
When I re-entered the house, I found Bamps, who was beginning to grow impatient. The first coach for Paris passed through Villers-Cotterets at eight o'clock in the evening: it was now seven.
"Ah! goot!" he said, "there you are!... I did not regon I should zee you again."
"What!" I said, imitating his jargon, "you did not regon you should zee me again?"
Wondrous power of money! I was mocking Bamps, who, an hour before, had made me tremble with fear. Bamps knit his eyebrows.
"We zay, den?" he said.
"We say that I owe you twenty francs per month—that two months have gone by without payment—and that, consequently, I owe you forty francs."
"You owe me vorty vrancs."
"All right, my dear Bamps—here you are!"
And I threw two napoleons on the table, taking care to let the three others in the palm of my hand be visible. My poor mother looked at me with the most profound amazement. I reassured her with a sign. The sign allayed her fears, but not her surprise. Bamps examined the two napoleons, rubbed them to make sure they were not false, and rolled them, one after the other, into his pocket.
"You do not vant any more dings?" he asked.
"No, thank you, my dear Monsieur. Besides, I am expecting to leave here for Paris in a short time."
"You will bear in mind that I have the first claim on your custom?"
"All right, my dear Bamps, for good and all! But ifyou mean to start at eight o'clock ...?"
"If I mean to stard—! I should just tink so!"
"Well, then, there is no time to lose."
"The Tevil!"
"You know where the coach stops?"
"Yess."
"Very well,bon voyage."
"Atieu! Monsir Toumas! Atieu, Matame Toumas!... Atieu! atieu!"
And Bamps, delighted, not only at having secured forty francs, but still further at being somewhat reassured about the rest of his account, set off, wafting us his parting benedictions, with all the speed his little legs could make.
My mother just waited till she had closed both doors, then she said—
"But where did you get that money, you young rogue?"
"I sold Pyramus, mother."
"For how much?"
"A hundred francs."
"So that there are sixty francs left?"
"At your service, dear mother."
"I am afraid I must take them. I have two hundred francs to pay to-morrow to the warehouseman, and I only have a hundred and fifty towards it."
"Here they are ... but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you let me have them back again as soon as I set off for Paris."
"With whom are you going?"
"That must be my business."
"Well, so be it.... I really begin to feel as though God were with you."
At this, we both went to bed, with that settled faith that has never deserted me. And I doubt even whether my mother's faith, at any rate at that moment, was as strong as mine.
My mother is obliged to sell her land and her house—The residue—The Piranèses—An architect at twelve hundred francs salary—I discount my first bill—Gondon—How I was nearly killed at his house—The fifty francs—Cartier—The game of billiards—How six hundred small glasses of absinthe equalled twelve journeys to Paris
My mother is obliged to sell her land and her house—The residue—The Piranèses—An architect at twelve hundred francs salary—I discount my first bill—Gondon—How I was nearly killed at his house—The fifty francs—Cartier—The game of billiards—How six hundred small glasses of absinthe equalled twelve journeys to Paris
The time had now come when my poor mother was obliged to take a definite step. She had borrowed so much and so often upon our thirty or forty acres let to M. Gilbert of Soucy, and upon the house which M. Harlay had at last left for us, that the value of both acres and house was nearly absorbed by mortgages. So it was decided to sell everything. The land was sold by auction, and fetched thirty-three thousand francs. The house was sold, by private contract, for twelve thousand francs to the M. Picot who had given me my first lessons in fencing. We realised forty-five thousand francs. When our debts were settled and all expenses paid, my mother had two hundred and fifty-three francs left. Lest some optimistic readers should think that this was our annual income, I hasten to say that it was capital. Need anyone ask if my poor mother was distressed at such a result? We had never really been so close to destitution. My mother fell into the depths of discouragement. Since my father's death we had been unceasingly drawing nearer and nearer to the end of all our resources. It had been a long struggle—from 1806 to 1823! It had lasted for seventeen years; but we were beaten at last. Nevertheless, I never felt gayer or more confident. I do not know why I deserve it, whether for deeds done in this world, or in other worldswhere I may have had previous existences, but God seems to have me under His special care, and however grave my situation He comes openly to my succour. So, my God! I proudly and yet very humbly confess Thy name before believers and before infidels, and not even from the merit of faith do I say this, but simply because it is the truth. For, hadst Thou appeared to me when I invoked Thee, O my God! and hadst Thou asked me, "Child, say boldly what it is you want," I should never have dared to ask for half the favours Thou hast granted me out of Thy infinite bounty.
Well, my mother told me that, when all our debts were paid, we only had two hundred and fifty-three francs left.
"Very well," I said to my mother; "you must give me the fifty-three francs: I will set out for Paris, and, this time, I promise to return only with good news."
"Are you aware, my dear boy," said my mother, "that you are asking me for a fifth of our capital?"
"You remember that you owe me sixty francs?"
"Yes, but recollect that when I said,'For what purpose shall I return you the sixty francs?' you replied, 'That is my business.'"
"Very well, so indeed it is my business.... Will you give me the Piranèses which are upstairs in the big portfolio?"
"What do you call the Piranèses?"
"Those large black engravings that my father brought back from Italy."
"What will you do with them?"
"I will find a home for them."
My mother shrugged her shoulders dubiously.
"Do as you like about them," she said.
There was an architect, named Oudet, amongst the staff at the workhouse, who very much wanted our Piranèses. I had always refused him them, telling him that one day I would bring him them myself. The day had come. But it was an unlucky day: Oudet had no money. This was quite conceivable. Oudet, as architect to the Castle, received only a hundred francs per month. True, I was not very exorbitantin the matter of my Piranèses, which were well worth five or six hundred francs; I only asked fifty francs. Oudet offered to pay me these fifty francs in three months' time.
In three months!... How could I wait for three months?
I left Oudet in despair. I ought to say, in justice to Oudet, that he was probably in even lower straits than I was. In leaving Oudet, I ran up against another of my friends, whose name was Gondon. He was a shooting comrade. He had a property three leagues from Villers-Cotterets,—at Cœuvre, the country of the beautiful Gabrielle,—and we had very often spent whole weeks together there, shooting by day and poaching by night. It was at his place that I nearly lost my life one evening, in the most ridiculous fashion imaginable. It was the evening before the opening of the shooting season. Five or six of us shooters had come from Villers-Cotterets, and we were putting up at Gondon's, in order to be up early for a start at daybreak. Now, as we had neither rooms nor beds enough for everybody, the sitting-room had been transformed into a dormitory, in the four corners of which four beds were set up—that is to say, four mattresses were laid down. When the candles were extinguished, my three companions took it into their heads to start a bolster fight. As, for some reason or another, I did not feel inclined for the sport, I announced my intention of remaining neutral. The result of this compact was that after a quarter of an hour's fight between Austrians, Russians and Prussians, the Austrians, Russians and Prussians became allies and united to fall upon me, who represented France. So they hurled themselves on my bed, and began to belabour me with the afore-mentioned bolsters, as threshers beat out corn with their flails in a barn. I drew up my sheet over my head, and waited patiently till the storm should have passed over, which could not be long first, at the rate they were beating. And as I anticipated, the storm calmed down. One thrasher retired, then another. But the third, who was my cousin, Félix Deviolaine, upheld no doubt by the tie of kinship, continued striking in spite of the retreat of the others. Suddenly he stopped, and I heard him get silently into hisbed. One might have thought some accident had overtaken him, which he was anxious to conceal from his comrades. In fact, the opposite end of the bolster to that which he had held in his hands, had burst by the violence of the blows, and all the feathers had escaped. This down made a mountain, just where the sheet which protected my head joined the bolster. I was totally unaware of the fact. As I did not feel any more blows, and having heard my last enemy retire to his bed, I gently put out my head and, as for the past ten minutes I had become more or less stifled, according as I tightened or loosened the sheet, I drew a full breath. I swallowed a big armful of feathers. Suffocation was instantaneous, almost complete. I uttered an inarticulate cry, and feeling myself literally being strangled, I began to roll about the room. My companions at first thought I had now taken it into my head to pirouette like a ballet dancer, just as they had fancied a fight; but they realised at last that the strangled sounds I gave forth expressed acute agony. Gondon was the first to realise that something very serious had happened to me, from some unknown cause, and that I wasin extremis. Félix, who alone could have explained my gyrations and my wheezings, lay still, and pretended to be asleep. Gondon rushed into the kitchen, returned with a candle, and threw light on the scene. I must have been a very funny spectacle, and I confess, there was a general burst of laughter. But though I had been pretty gluttonous, I had not swallowed all the feathers and all the down: some stuck to my curly head, giving me a false air of resemblance to Polichinelle. This false air soon began to look like reality from the flush of redness that strangulation had sent into my face. They thought water was the best thing to give me. One of my companions, named Labarre, ran in his shirt to the pump and filled a pot with water, which he laughingly brought me. Such hilarity, when my torture had reached its height, drove me wild. I seized the pot by the handle, and chucked the contents down Labarre's back. The water was icy cold. Its temperature was little in harmony with the natural warmth of his blood, and it produced suchgambols and such contortions on the part of the anointed, that, in spite of my various woes, the desire to laugh was now on my side. I made a different effort from any I had tried hitherto, and I expectorated some of the feathers and down which had blocked my throat. From that moment I was safe. Nevertheless, I continued to spit feathers for a week, and I coughed for a month.
I beg my reader's pardon for this digression; but, as I had neglected to put down this important episode in my life in its chronological order, it will not be deemed extraordinary if I seize the first opportunity that presents itself to repair this omission.
Well, I met Gondon coming out of Oudet's house. He had a hundred francs in his hand.
"Oh, my dear fellow," I said, "if you are so wealthy, you can surely lend Oudet fifty francs."
"What to do?"
"To buy my Piranèses from me."
"Your Piranèses?"
"Yes, I want to go to Paris. Oudet offered to buy my Piranèses for fifty francs, and now...."
"And now he does not wish to have them?"
"On the contrary, he is dying to possess them; but he hasn't a son, and cannot pay me for three months."
"And you want fifty francs?"
"Indeed I do."
"You would like to have them?"
"Rather."
"Wait: perhaps we can arrange matters."
"Oh, do try, my good fellow."
"There is a very simple way: I cannot give you the fifty francs, because I have promised my tailor a hundred francs to-day; but Oudet can make a cheque out to me for fifty francs at three months, I will endorse the cheque, and I will give it to the tailor as ready money."
We went to Oudet's. Oudet made out the cheque, and I carried off the money, thanking Gondon, and above all God,who out of His infinite loving kindness had provided me the means to advance a step farther on my way. I accompanied Gondon as far as his tailor's. At the tailor's door I ran up against old Cartier.
"Well, my boy," he said, "isn't there a bit left of your dog's money to pay for a small glass of wine for your old friend?"
"Certainly, if he wins it of me at billiards;" and I jingled my fifty francs.
I turned to Gondon.
"Come and see what happens," I said to him.
"You go on; I will rejoin you.... At Camberlin's, is it not?"
"At Camberlin's."
Camberlin was the traditional coffee-house; since the discovery of coffee and the invention of billiards, the Camberlins had sold coffee and kept a billiard-table, from father to son.
It was to Camberlin's my grandfather used to go every evening to take a hand at dominoes or piquet, until his little bitch Charmante came scratching at the door, with two lanterns held in her jaws. It was at Camberlin's my father and M. Deviolaine came to challenge each other's skill at play, as, on another green carpet, they challenged each other's skill at the chase. It was at Camberlin's, finally, that, thanks to my antecedents, I had been able, almost gratis, when I lost, to begin my education as an elder Philibert under three different masters, who had ended by seeing me a better player than they were. These three masters were—Cartier, against whom I was going to wipe out an old score; Camusat, Hiraux's nephew, who reclothed his uncle at la Râpée, when they turned him out of Villers-Cotterets in drawers and shirt; and a delightful youth, called Gaillard, who was a first-class player in all sorts of games, and who had, to my great satisfaction, replaced M. Miaud, my old rival, at the work-house. So I had become a much better player than Cartier; but, as he would never admit it, he invariably declined the six points I as invariably offered him before we began the match. Just as we were trying our cues on the billiard-table, Gondon entered.
"What will you take, Gondon?" Cartier asked. "Dumas is paying."
"I will take absinthe; I want to enjoy my dinner well to-day."
"Well, so will I," said Cartier. "And you?"
"I? You know I have made a vow never to take either liqueur or coffee."
To what saint and on what occasion I made this vow I cannot at all say; but I know I kept it religiously.
"Then we will say two small absinthes?" replied Cartier, continuing to joke. "That will be six sous, waiter, in exchange for your receipt." In the provinces, at any rate at Villers-Cotterets, a small glass of absinthe costs three sous.
"My dear Gondon," I said, "I cannot offer you a better prayer than my uncle's, the curé at Béthisy: 'My God, side neither with one nor with the other, and you will see a rascal receive a jolly good whacking!' Will you have your six points, father Cartier?"
"Go along with you!" Cartier exclaimed disdainfully, putting my ball on the yellow.
We played Russian fashion, a game with five balls, and thirty-six points. I made the yellow six times—three times into the right pocket and three times into the left.
"Six times six; thirty-six; first round. Your two small glasses are not worth more than their three sous, father Cartier." "Four sous, you mean to say."
"Not unless I let you win the second round."
"Come on, then!"
"Will you have the six points?"
"I will give them to you, if you like."
"Done! Mark my six points, Gondon; I have my designs on father Cartier. I mean him to contribute to my visit to Paris: the diligences start from his hotel."
At the second round, Cartier got up to twelve.
At thirty points, I had a run and made sixteen more; that made forty-six points, instead of thirty-six. Deducting the six points restored to Cartier, there still remained four I couldoffer him in return. He refused them with his usual dignity. But Cartier was beside himself when he had lost the first game, and the wilder he was the more obstinate he became: once set going, he would have played away his land, his hotel, his saucepans, to the very chickens that were turning on his spit.
Worthy old Cartier! He is alive yet; although he is eighty-six or eighty-seven, he is still remarkably hale, and lives with his two children. I never go to Villers-Cotterets without calling on him. Last time I saw him, about a year ago, I paid him a compliment on his health.
"My goodness, my dear Cartier," I said to him, "you are like our oak trees, which, if they do not grow very tall, go deep into the soil and gain in roots what they miss in the way of leaves. You will live to the Last Judgment."
"Oh, my boy," he said, "I have been very ill,—did you not know it?"
"No—when?"
"Three and a half years ago."
"What was the matter with you?"
"I had toothache."
"That was your own fault. What business have you with' teeth at your age?"
Well, on that day, poor old Cartier! (I am referring to the day of our game),—on that day, to use a gaming term, I took a fine tooth out of his head. We played for five hours on end, always doubling; I wonsix hundred small glasses of absinthefrom him. We should have played longer, and you may judge what an ocean of absinthe Cartier would have owed me, if Auguste had not come to look for him.
Auguste was one of Cartier's sons: his father stood in great awe of him; he put his finger to his lips to ask me to keep mum. I was as generous as was Alexander in the matter of the family of Porus.
I let Cartier go, without demanding my winnings from him. And Gondon and I reckoned up the account. Reduced to money, the six hundred small glasses of absinthe would have produced a total of eighteen hundred sous—that is to say,ninety francs. I could have paid the journey to Paris a dozen times over. My mother had good cause to say, "My boy, God is on your side."
My mother was very uneasy when I returned home; she knew what folly I was capable of, when I had got an idea into my head, and it was therefore with some anxiety that she asked me where I had been. Generally, when I had been to Camberlin's, I took a roundabout way in telling her of it. My poor mother, foreseeing what passions would one day surge in me, was afraid that gaming might be one of them. In several of her surmises she was correct; but at any rate she was completely mistaken in this one. So I told her what had just happened. How the Piranèses had brought us in fifty francs, and how M. Cartier was going to pay my fare to Paris. But these blessings from heaven brought sadness with them, for they meant our separation. I did my best to comfort her by telling her that the separation would be only for a little while, and that as soon as I had obtained a berth at fifteen hundred francs, she should leave Villers-Cotterets also and come and join me; but my mother knew that a berth at fifteen hundred francs was an Eldorado, difficult to discover.
How I obtain a recommendation to General Foy—M. Danré of Vouty advises my mother to let me go to Paris—My good-byes—Laffitte and Perregaux—The three things which Maître Mennesson asks me not to forget—The Abbé Grégoire's advice and the discussion with him—I leave Villers-Cotterets
How I obtain a recommendation to General Foy—M. Danré of Vouty advises my mother to let me go to Paris—My good-byes—Laffitte and Perregaux—The three things which Maître Mennesson asks me not to forget—The Abbé Grégoire's advice and the discussion with him—I leave Villers-Cotterets
One morning, I said to my mother—
"Have you anything to say to M. Danré? I am going to Vouty."
"What do you want of M. Danré?"
"To ask him for a letter to General Foy."
My mother raised her eyes to heaven; she questioned whence came all these ideas to me, that converged all to one end.
M. Danré was my father's old friend, who, having had his left hand mutilated when out shooting, had been brought into our house. There, the reader will remember, Doctor Lécosse had skilfully amputated his thumb, and as my mother had nursed him with the greatest care through the whole of the illness the accident brought on, he had a warm feeling in his heart towards my mother, my sister and myself. It always, therefore, gave him great pleasure to see me, whether I arrived with a message from Me. Mennesson, his lawyer, when I was with Me. Mennesson, or whether on my own account. This time it was on my own affairs. I told him the object of my visit.
When General Foy was put on the lists for election, the electors would not appoint him; but M. Danré had supported his candidature, and, thanks to M. Danré's influence in the department, General Foy had been elected. We know what a foremost place the illustrious patriot took in the Chamber.General Foy was not an eloquent orator; he was far better than that: he possessed a warm heart, ready to act at the inspiration of every noble passion. Not a single great question came under his notice during all the time he was in the Chamber, that was not supported by him if it was a worthy object, or that was not opposed by him if it was unworthy; his words fell from the tribune, terrible as the return thrusts in a duel—piercing thrusts, nearly always deadly to his adversaries. But, like all men of feeling, he wore himself out in the struggle, the most constant and most maddening struggle of all: it killed him while rendering his name immortal.
In 1823, General Foy was at the height of his popularity, and from the pinnacle to which he had attained, he reminded M. Danré from time to time of his existence, which proved to the humble farmer, who, like Philoctètes, had made sovereigns, but had no desire to be one, that he was still his affectionate and grateful friend. Therefore M. Danré did not feel in any way averse to give me the letter I asked of him, and it was couched in the most favourable terms. Then, when M. Danré had written, signed and sealed the letter, he asked me about my pecuniary resources. I told him everything, even to the ingenious methods by the aid of which I had obtained what I had.
"Upon my word," he exclaimed, "I had half a mind to offer you my purse; but, really, it would smirch your record. People do not do that sort of thing to end in failure: you should succeed with that fifty francs of yours, and I do not wish to take away the credit of owing it entirely to yourself. Take courage, then, and go in peace! If you are absolutely in need of my services, write to me from Paris."
"So you feel hopeful?" I said to M. Danré.
"Very."
"Are you coming to Villers-Cotterets on Thursday?"
Thursday was market day.
"Yes; why do you ask?"
"Because if you are, I would beg you to call and tell my mother you are hopeful: she has great confidence in you, andas everybody seems bent on telling her I shall never do anything...."
"The fact is you have not done very much up to now!"
"Because they were determined to push me into a vocation I was not fitted for, dear Monsieur Danré; but you will see, directly they leave me alone to do what I am cut out for, I shall become a hard worker."
"Mind you do! I will reassure your mother, relying on your word."
"You may, and I will fulfil it."
The day but one after my visit, M. Danré came to Villers-Cotterets, as he had promised, and saw my mother. I was watching for his coming; I let him start the conversation and then I came in. My mother was crying, but seemed to have made up her mind. When she saw me, she held out her hand.
"You are bent on leaving me, then?" she said.
"I must, mother. But do not be uneasy; if we separate, this time it will not be for long."
"Yes, because you will fail, and return to Villers-Cotterets once more."
"No, no, mother; on the contrary, because I shall succeed, and bring you to Paris."
"And when do you mean to go?"
"Listen, mother dear: when a great resolution is taken, the sooner it is put into execution the better.... Ask M. Danré."
"Yes, ask Lazarille. I do not know what you did to M. Danré, but the fact is...."
"M. Danré is fair-minded, mother; he knows that everything must move in its own appointed surroundings if it is to become of any worth. I should make a bad lawyer, a bad solicitor, a bad sheriffs officer; I should make a shocking bad teacher I You know quite well that it took three schoolmasters to get me through the multiplication table and it was not a brilliant success. Very well! I believe I can do something better."
"What, you scamp?"
"Mother, I swear I know nothing about what I shall do,but you remember what the fortune-teller whom you questioned on my behalf predicted?"
My mother sighed.
"What did she predict?" asked M. Danré.
"She said," I replied, "'I cannot tell you what your son will become, madame; I can only see him, through clouds and flashes of lightning, like a traveller who is crossing high mountains, reaching a height to which few men attain. I do not say he will command people, but I foresee he will speak to them; although I cannot indicate the precise lines of his destiny, your son belongs to that class of men whom we styleRULERS.' 'My son is to become a king, then?' my mother laughingly retorted. 'No, no, but something similar, something perhaps more desirable: every king has not a crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand.' 'So much the better,' said my mother; 'I never envied the lot of Madame Bonaparte.' I was five years old, Monsieur Danré, I was present when my horoscope was made; well—I will prove the gipsy to be in the right. You know that prophecies are not always fulfilled because they must be fulfilled, but because they put a fixed idea into the minds of those about whom they are made which influences events, which modifies circumstances, which finally brings them to the end aimed at; because this end was revealed to them in advance, whilst, had it not been for the revelation, they would have passed by the end without noticing it."
"I should like to know where he got all these notions from!" my mother exclaimed.
"Oh, why, from his own thoughts," said M. Danré.
"Then is it your judgment, too, that he ought to go?"
"I advise it."
"But you know the poor lad's resources!"
"Fifty francs and his carriage fare paid."
"Well?"
"That will be enough, if he is to succeed, or if his destiny urges him on as he says. If he had a million, he would not obtain what he wishes to obtain so long as he had no vocation for it."
"Well, well, he had better go, if he is so set on it."
"When shall I go, mother?"
"When you like. Only, you must let us have a day together first."
"Listen, mother mine. I will stay all to-day, to-morrow and Saturday with you. On Saturday night I will leave by the ten o'clock coach: I shall reach Paris by five.... I shall have time to get to Adolphe's house before he goes out."
"Ah!" said my mother, as she heaved a sigh, "he is the one who has led you astray!"
I did not much heed the sigh, because I felt sure the engagement made would be fulfilled. I began to make my round of farewells.
I had not seen Adèle since her marriage. I would not write to her: the letter might be opened by her husband, and compromise her. I applied to Louise Brézette, our friend in common. Alas! I found the poor child in tears. Chollet, whose education in forestry was finished, had been obliged to return to his parents, and he had carried off with him all the young girl's first dreams of love: she was forlorn and inconsolable; she mourned the whole of her life for her lover, and bore the marks of her love-sickness. I quoted the example of Ariadne to her, advising her to follow it, and I believe ... I believe she followed it, and that I contributed, in some measure, towards inducing her to follow it....
Poor beloved children! true and affectionate friends of my youth! my life is now so much taken up, the hours that belong to me are so few, I am common property to such an extent, that when, by chance, I go home, or you come here, I cannot give you all the time that the claims of love and of memory demand. But when I shall have won a few of those hours of repose in search of which Théaulon spent his life, and which he never found, oh! I promise you those hours shall be given to you unquestionably, unshared by others. You have ample claims to demand the leisure of my old age, and you will make my latter days to flourish as in my springtime. For there are closed tombs there which draw me as much,more even, than open houses; dead friends who talk to me more clearly than do the living.
When I left Louise, I went to Maître Mennesson; I had always kept on pretty good terms with him. But, since our separation, he had married. I think his marriage made him more sceptical than ever.
"Ah!" he said, when he caught sight of me, "so there you are!"
"Yes; I have come to bid you good-bye."
"You have decided to go, then?"
"On Saturday night."
"And how much do you take with you?"
"Fifty francs."
"My dear lad, there are people who started on less than that—M. Laffitte, for example."
"Yes, exactly so. I mean to pay him a call, and to ask him for a post in his office."
"Well, then, if you find a pin on his carpet, do not fail to pick it up and to put it on his mantelpiece."
"Why?"
"Because when M. Laffitte arrived in Paris, much poorer even than you, he went to see M. Perregaux, just as you are going to call on M. Laffitte; he went to ask for a place in his office, as you are going to ask for one in his. M. Perregaux had no vacancy; he dismissed M. Laffitte, who was going away, his eyes looking down sadly on the floor as father Aubry's were inclined towards the grave, when he perceived a pin, not on the earth but on the carpet. M. Laffitte was a tidy man: he picked up the pin and put it on the mantelpiece, saying, 'Pardon me, monsieur.' But M. Perregaux, be it known, was a person who noticed every little thing: he reflected that a young man who would pick up a pin from the ground must be an orderly person, and, as M. Laffitte was going away, he said to him, 'I have been thinking, monsieur, stay.' 'But you told me you had no opening in your office.' 'If there is not one, we will make one for you.' M. Perregaux did as a matter of fact make room for him—as his partner."
"That is a very delightful story, dear Monsieur Mennesson, and I thank you for your great kindness in relating it to me; but I am afraid it is no good to me; for, unluckily, I am no picker up of pins."
"Ah! that is precisely your great fault."
"Or my strongest point ... we shall see. Therefore, if you have any good advice to give me...?"
"Beware of priests, hate the Bourbons, and remember that the only state worthy of a great nation is a Republic."
"My dear Monsieur Mennesson, reversing the order of your advice, I would say: Yes, I am of your opinion as to the government which is most suited to a great nation, and on the supposition that if I am anything I am a Republican like yourself. As for the Bourbons, I neither love them nor hate them. I have heard it said that their race produced a holy king, a good one and a great one: Saint Louis, Henri IV. and Louis XIV. Only, the last reigning sovereign returned to France riding behind a Cossack; that, I believe, damaged the Bourbon cause in the eyes of France; so it comes about that if some day my voice is needed to hasten their going away, and my gun to assist their departure, those who are driving them out will find one voice and one gun the more. As to distrusting priests, I have only known but one, the Abbé Grégoire, and as he seemed to me the model of all Christian virtues, until I encounter a bad one, let me believe that all are good."
"Well, well, you will change all that."
"It is possible. Meanwhile, give me your hand: I am going to ask for his blessing."
"Go, then, and much good may it do you!"
"I believe it will."
I went to the abbé.
"Well, well," he said, "so you are going to leave us?"
It will be seen that the rumour of my departure had already spread all over the place.
"Yes, M. l'abbé, and I have come to ask you to remember me in your prayers."
"Oh! my prayers? I thought that was the thing you cared least about."
"M. l'abbé, do you remember the day I made my first communion?"
"Yes, I know, it produced a profound impression on you, but you let it stay at that, and you have never been seen at church since."
"Do you suppose the sacrament would have the same effect on me at the tenth time as on the first?"
"Ah! my God, no, certainly not. Unhappily, one gets accustomed to everything in this world."
"Very well, M. l'abbé, my other impressions would have effaced that. One must not get too used to sacred things, M. l'abbé; frequent use of them not only takes away their grandeur, but still more their efficacy. Who told you once that I should only need the consolation of the Church in great trouble, as one only requires bleeding in serious illness?" "You have a curious way of putting things...."
"Well, M. l'abbé, you said it yourself, more than once: we must treat men less according to their maladies than according to their temperaments. I am impressionability personified. I have an impulsive character, you yourself told me so. I shall commit all kinds of mistakes, all kinds of follies—never a wicked or disgraceful action. Not, indeed, because I am better than anyone else; but because bad and dishonourable actions are the result of reflection and of calculation, and when I act, it is on the spur of the moment; and this impulse is so quick, that the action springing from it is done before I have had time to consider the consequences or to calculate the results."—
"There is some truth in what you say: but come, what is the use of giving any advice to a character of your calibre?"
"Well, I did not come to ask for your advice, dear abbé; I came to beg your prayers."
"Prayers?.... You do not believe in them."
"Ah! pardon, that is another matter.... No, true, I have not always had faith in them; but do not be troubled: on the daywhen I shall have need to believe in them, I shall believe in them. Listen: when I took my communion, had I not read in Voltaire that it was a curious sort of God that needed to be digested? and, in Pigault-Lebrun, that the Host was nothing more than a wafer double the thickness of an ordinary wafer? Well, did that prevent me feeling a trembling that shook my whole body, when the Host touched my lips? Did it prevent the tears springing into my eyes, tears of humility, tears of thankfulness, above all, tears of love towards God? Do you not believe that God prefers a generous heart which abandons itself utterly to Him when it is too full, to a niggardly heart which only yields itself drop by drop? Should not prayer come from the depths of the soul, rather than consist of the words of one's lips? Do you believe God will be angry if I forget Him during ordinary daily life, as one forgets the beating of one's heart, so long as I return to Him at every time of trouble or of joy? No M. l'abbé, no; on the contrary, I believe God loves me, and that is why I forget Him, just as one forgets a good father whom one is always sure of."
"Well," replied the abbé, "it matters little to me if you forget God; but I do not want you to doubt His existence."
"Oh! be at rest on that point: it is not the hunter who ever doubts the existence of God—no man does who has spent whole nights in the moonlit woods, who has studied Nature, from the elephant down to the mite, who has watched the setting and the rising of the sun, who has heard the songs of the birds, their evening laments and their morning hymns of praise!"
"Then all will be well.... Now, you know, there is a text in the Gospels which is short and easy to remember; make it the foundation of your actions and you need not fear failure; this text, which ought to be engraved in letters of gold over the entry to every town, over the entry to every house, over the entry to every heart, is:'Do not do unto others that ye would not have them do to you.' And when philosophers, cavillers, libertines, say to you, 'Confucius has a maxim better than that, as follows: Do unto others what you would have them do to you,' reply, 'No, it is not better!—for it is false inits application; one cannot always do what one would like others to do to oneself, whilst one can always abstain from doing what one would not like them to do to oneself.' Come, kiss me and let us leave matters here.... We could not say anything better than that."
And, with these words, we embraced warmly, and I left him.
The next day but one, after having made my last visit to the cemetery,—a pious pilgrimage which my mother made almost every day, and in which, this time, I accompanied her,—we wended our way towards theHôtel de la Boule d'orwhere the passing coach was to pick me up and take me away to Paris. At half-past nine we heard the sound of the wheels; my mother and I had still another half-hour together. We retired into a room where we were alone, and we wept together; but our tears were from different causes. My mother wept in doubt, I wept in hope. We could neither of us see the hand of God; but very certainly God was present and His grace was with us.
I find Adolphe again—The pastoral drama—First steps—The Duc de Bellune—General Sébastiani—His secretaries and his snuff-boxes—The fourth floor, small door to the left—The general who painted battles
I find Adolphe again—The pastoral drama—First steps—The Duc de Bellune—General Sébastiani—His secretaries and his snuff-boxes—The fourth floor, small door to the left—The general who painted battles
I got down at No. 9 rue du Bouloy, at five in the morning. This time, I did not make the same mistake that I did when I left the Théâtre Français. I took my bearings, and, by certain landmarks, I thought I recognised the vicinity of the rue des Vieux-Augustins. I questioned the conductor, who confirmed my convictions, and handed me my small luggage. I disputed over it victoriously with several porters, and I reached theHôtel des Vieux-Augustinstowards half-past five. There I felt at home. The waiter recognised me as the traveller with the hares and the partridges, and, in the absence of the landlord, who was still asleep, he took me to the room I had occupied on my last visit. My first desire was for sleep. Owing to the emotions of parting, and owing to wakeful dreams I had had in the diligence, I arrived tired out. I told the boy to wake me at nine, if I had not given any signs of life before. I knew Adolphe's habits by now, and I knew I need not hurry over going to his house. But when the landlord himself came into my room at nine o'clock, he found me up: sleep would have none of me. It was Sunday morning. Under the Bourbons Paris was very dreary on Sundays. Strict orders forbade the opening of shops, and it was considered not only a breach of religious order, but still worse, a crime oflèse majestyto disobey these ordinances. I risked being arrested in Paris at nine in the morning nearly as much as I had risked it by being in the streets after midnight. I did not feel uneasy. Thanks tomy sportsman's instincts, I found the rue du Mont-Blanc; then the rue Pigale; then, finally, No. 14 in the rue Pigale.
M. de Leuven was, as usual, walking in his garden. It was early in May: he was amusing himself by giving a bit of sugar to a rose. He turned round and said—
"Ah! it is you. Why have you been so long without coming to see us?"
"Why, because I returned to Villers-Cotterets."
"And you have now come back?"
"As you see. I have come to try my fortune for the last time.... This time, I must stop in Paris, whatever happens."
"Well, as to that, you will always be welcome here, my dear boy. We have a kind of Platonic republic here, save in the matter of the community of women and the presence of poets: one mouth more or less makes no difference to our republic. There is even an empty attic to spare upstairs; you can dispute possession of it with the rats; but I believe you are capable of defending yourself. Go and arrange it all with Adolphe."
M. de Leuven wrote on foreign politics at that time, for theCourrier français.Brought up on the knees of the kings and queens of the North, speaking all the Northern languages, knowing everything it is permitted man to know, the politics of foreign courts were almost his mother tongue. He rose at five o'clock every morning, received the papers by six, and by seven or eight his work for theCourrier françaiswas finished.
Generally, by the time his father finished his day's work, Adolphe had not begun his. He was still in bed—which I forgave him after he had assured me that he had worked at a little drama in two acts, called thePauvre Fille, until two in the morning.
The reader will recollect Soumet's charming elegy:—
"J'ai fui le pénible sommeil,Qu'aucun songe heureux n'accompagne;J'ai devancé sur la montagneLes premiers rayons du soleil.S'éveillant avec la nature,Le jeune oiseau chantait sur l'aubépine en fleurs;Sa mère lui portait la douce nourriture;Mes yeux se sont mouillés de pleurs.Oh! pourquoi n'ai-je plus de mère?Pourquoi ne suis-je pas semblable au jeune oiseauDont le nid se balance aux branches de l'ormeau,Moi, malheureux enfant trouve sur une pierre,Devant l'église du hameau?"
Short lines were much in vogue at that period. M. Guiraud had just made with hisPetits Savoyardsa reputation almost equal to that M. Dennery has since made with hisGrâce de Dieu, the only difference being that M. Guiraud's Savoyard only asked for a son, while M. Dennery's Savoyard asked for five. True, M. Dennery is a Jew. The first of Hugo'sOdeshad made their appearance; Lamartine'sMéditationswere out; but these were too strong and too substantial meat for the stomachs of 1823, which had been nourished on the refuse of Parny, of Bertin and of Millevoye.
Adolphe was writing hisPauvre Fillein collaboration with Ferdinand Langlé, and it was to be ready for a reading in a week's time.
"Ah me! when shall I have reached that stage?" I thought to myself. While I waited, I questioned Adolphe as to the composition of the Ministry. You ask why I wanted to know about the composition of the Ministry, and what I had to do with ministers? Why, I wanted to know what the Duc de Bellune was. As ministers are but mortals, and quickly forgotten when they are dead, it gives me pleasure to draw this minister from his grave, and to acquaint the reader with the constitution of the Ministry of 1823 at the date of my arrival in Paris.
Keeper of the Seals, Comte de Peyronnet. Foreign Minister, Vicomte de Montmorency. Minister for the Interior, Comte de Cubières. Minister for War,le Maréchal Duc de Bellune. Minister for the Navy, Marquis de Clermont-Tonnerre. Minister for Finance, Comte de Villèle. King's Chamberlain, M. de Lauriston.
The Duc de Bellune was still War Minister. That was all I wanted to know.
I have mentioned that I was interested in the Duc de Bellune, no matter what office he held. I had a letter of his in my possession, wherein he had thanked my father for a service he had rendered in Italy; he placed himself at my father's disposition, in case he should ever be able to do anything for him. The occasion offered on behalf of the son instead of the father. But as, at that period, the law of inheritance had not yet been abolished, as there was not even talk of abolishing it, I did not doubt that as I had succeeded in the direct line to Napoleon's hatred, I should succeed in direct line also to the gratitude of the Duc de Bellune. I begged a pen and ink from de Leuven; I trimmed the quill with the care the case demanded, and, in my very best handwriting, I drew up a petition asking for an interview with the Minister of War. I particularised all my claims to his favour; I emphasised them in the name of my father, which the marshal could not have forgotten; I recalled the old friendship which had united them, while leaving unmentioned the service my father had rendered him, of which the marshal's letter (he was then a major or a colonel) gave proof. Then, easy about my future, I returned to literature.
Adolphe sensibly pointed out to me that, sure though I felt of the protection of Marshal Victor, it might still be as well to throw out my line in other directions, in the unlikely, but still possible, case of my being deceived.
I told Adolphe that, if Marshal Victor failed me, there still remained Marshal Jourdan and Marshal Sébastiani.
It was quite out of the question that these would not move heaven and earth for me. I had three or four letters from Jourdan to my father, which gave token of a friendship equal to that of Damon and Pythias. I had only one letter from Marshal Sébastiani; but this letter proved that when at loggerheads with Bonaparte during the Egyptian campaign, it was through the intercession of my father, who was then on excellent terms with the general-in-chief, that he had obtained a commission in the expedition. Surely such services as these wouldnever be forgotten! At that time, as can be seen, I was very simple, very provincial, very confiding. I am wrong in saying "at that time"; alas! I am just the same now, perhaps more so. Nevertheless, Adolphe's suspicions disturbed me. I decided not to wait for the Duc de Bellune's answer before seeing my other patrons, and I told Adolphe I meant to buy theAlmanach des 25,000 adressesin order to find out where they lived.
"Do not put yourself to that expense," said Adolphe. "I believe my father has it: I will lend it you."
The tone in which Adolphe said "Do not put yourself to that expense" annoyed me. It was as clear as day that he believed I should be making a useless expenditure in buying the Directory in question. I was angry with Adolphe for having such a low opinion of men.
To give him the lie, I went next morning to Marshal Jourdan. I announced myself as Alexandre Dumas. My success was surprising. The marshal no doubt imagined that the news he had received fifteen years ago was not true, and that my father was still alive. But when he saw me, his face changed completely: he remembered perfectly that a General Alexandre Dumas had existed in times gone by, with whom he had come in contact, but he had never heard of the existence of a son. In spite of all I could urge to establish my identity, he dismissed me, after ten minutes' interview, still a disbeliever in my existence. This good marshal was stronger than St. Thomas: he saw and did not believe.
It was a sad beginning. I recalled the way in which, advising me not to buy anAlmanach des 25,000 adresses,Adolphe had said to me, "Do not put yourself to that expense." Was it possible, perchance, that Adolphe's scepticism might prove correct? These depressing cogitations passed through my mind while I was walking from the faubourg Saint-Germain to the faubourg Saint-Honoré—that is to say, from Marshal Jourdan's to Marshal Sébastiani's. I announced myself, as I had at Marshal Jourdan's; at my name the door opened. I thought, for a moment, that I had inherited Ali Baba's famous"Open, sesame!" Thegeneralwas in his study. I italicisegeneral,as I was in error previously in calling the famous minister of foreign affairs to Louis-Philippemarshal:—Comte Sébastiani was only a general when I paid my visit to him. So the general was in his study: in the four comers of this study, as at the four corners of a map are the four cardinal points or four winds, were four secretaries. These four secretaries were writing at his dictation. They were three less in number than Cæsar's, but two more than Napoleon's. Each of these secretaries had on his desk, besides his pen, his paper and his penknife, a gold snuff-box which he opened and offered to the general, every time the latter had occasion, when walking round the room, to stop in front of the desk. The general would daintily insert the first finger and thumb of a hand whose whiteness and delicacy had been the envy of his grand-cousin Napoleon, take a voluptuous sniff of the Spanish powder and, likele Malade imaginaire,proceed to measure the length and the breadth of the room..
My visit was short. Whatever consideration I might have for the general, I did not feel inclined to become his snuff-box boy. I returned to my hotel in the rue des Vieux-Augustins, somewhat cast down. The first two men I had turned to had blown upon my golden dreams, and tarnished them. Besides, although a whole day had gone by, although I had given my address as accurately as possible, I had not yet received any answer from the Duc de Bellune.
I picked up myAlmanack des 25,000 adresses,and began to congratulate myself on not having wasted five francs in its acquisition. I was quickly disillusioned, as will be seen; my cheerful confidence had gone; I felt that sinking of heart which ever increases in proportion as golden dreams give place to reality. I then turned over the leaves of the book purely and simply at hap-hazard, looking at it mechanically, reading without taking it in, when, all at once, I saw a name that I had often heard my mother pronounce, and, each time, in such eulogistic terms that all my spirits revived. That name was General Verdier's, who had served in Egypt, under my father.
"Come, come," I said; "the number three is a favourite with the gods; perhaps my third unknown and providential protector will do more for me than the other two—which would be no great tax, seeing the others have not done anything at all."
General Verdier lived in the faubourg Montmartre, No. 6. Ten minutes later, I was holding the following terse dialogue with the concierge of his house:—
"Does General Verdier live here, please?"
"Fourth floor, small door on the left."
I made the concierge repeat it: I believed I must have misunderstood him.
Marshal Jourdan and General Sébastiani lived in sumptuous mansions, in the faubourg Saint-Germain and the faubourg Saint-Honoré; entrance was gained to these mansions by gates like those of Gaza. Why, then, should General Verdier live in the rue du faubourg Montmartre, on the fourth floor, and why did one gain access to him through a small doorway?
The concierge repeated his words: I had not misunderstood.
"Good gracious!" I said, as I climbed the staircase; "this does not look like Marshal Jourdan's lackeys, nor Marshal Sébastiani's Swiss guards.General Verdier, fourth floor, small door on the left,surely this is a man likely to remember my father!"
I reached the fourth floor; I discovered the small door; at this door hung a humble, modest, green string. I rang with an uncontrollable fluttering at my heart. This third trial was to decide my opinion of men. Steps approached, the door was opened. A man of about sixty opened the door; he wore a cap edged with astrakan, and was clothed in a green braided jacket and trousers of white calf-skin. He held in his hand a palette full of paints, and under his thumb, which held his palette, was a paint-brush. I looked at the other doors.
"I beg your pardon, monsieur," I said; "I am afraid I have made some mistake...."
"What is your pleasure, monsieur?" asked the man with the palette.
"To present my compliments to General Verdier."
"In that case, step in: here you are."
I went in, and, when we had crossed a tiny square hall which served as an ante-chamber, I found myself in a studio.
"You will allow me to go on with my work, monsieur?" said the painter, placing himself in front of a battlepiece in the construction of which I had interrupted him.
"Certainly: but will you have the goodness, monsieur, to inform me where I shall find the general?"
The painter turned round.
"The general? What general?"
"General Verdier."
"Why, I am he."
"You?"
I stared with such rude surprise at him that he began to laugh.
"It astonishes you to see me handle the brush so badly," said he, "after having heard, maybe, that I handled a sword passably? What would you have me do? I have an active hand and I must keep it always occupied somehow.... But come, as evidently, after the question you put to me just now, you have nothing to say to the painter, what do you want with the general?"
"I am the son of your old comrade-at-arms in Egypt, General Dumas."
He turned round quickly towards me, and looked at me earnestly; then, after a moment's silence, he said—
"By the powers, so you are! You are the very image of him." Tears immediately came into his eyes, and, throwing down his brush, he held out his hand to me, which I longed to kiss rather than to shake.
"Ah! You remember him, then?"
"Remember him! I should think I do: the handsomest and the bravest man in the army! You are the very spit of him, my lad: what a model he would have made any painter!"
"Yes, you are right; I remember him perfectly."
"And what brings you to Paris, my dear boy? for, if mymemory serves me, you lived with your mother, in some village or other."
"True, General; but my mother is getting on in years, and we are poor."
"We are both in the same boat," he said.
"So," I went on, "I have come to Paris, in the hope of obtaining a small situation, now that it is my turn to provide for her as hitherto she has provided for me."
"That is well thought of! But, my poor lad, a place is not so easy to get in these times, no matter how small, especially for the son of a Republican general. Ah! if you were the son of anémigréor of a Chouan,—if only your poor father had served in the Russian or Austrian army,—I daresay you might have had a chance."
"The deuce, General, you frighten me! And I had been counting on your protection."
"What?" he exclaimed.
I repeated my sentence word for word, but with a little less assurance.
"My protection!" He shook his head and smiled sadly.
"My poor boy," he said, "if you wish to take lessons in painting, my protection may be sufficient to provide you with them, and, even so, you will never be a great artist if you do not surpass your master. My protection! Well, well! I am grateful to you for that expression,'pon my word! for you are, most likely, the only person in the world who would ask me for such a thing to-day. You flatterer!"
"Excuse me, General, I do not rightly understand."
"Why, those rascals pensioned me off for some imaginary conspiracy with Dermoncourt! So, you see, here I am, painting pictures; and if you want to do the same, here are a palette, some brushes and a thirty-six canvas."
"Thanks, General; I have never got beyond the first stages; so you see my apprenticeship would be too long, and neither my mother nor I could wait——'
"Ah! what can I say, my lad? You know the proverb: 'The prettiest girl in the world....' Ah I pardon, pardon;I find I am mistaken. I have still half my purse; I had forgotten that: it is true it is hardly worth troubling about." He opened the drawer of a small chest in which, I remember, there were two gold coins and forty francs in silver.
"There," he said, "this is the remainder of my quarter's pay."
"Thank you, General; but I am nearly as wealthy as you." It was my turn to have tears in my eyes. "Thank you, but perhaps you can advise me what further steps I can take."
"You have already taken some steps, then?"
"Yes, I set about them this morning."
"Ah! ah! And who have you seen?"
"I saw Marshal Jourdan and General Sébastiani."
"Pooh!... Well?"
"Well, General, pooh!..."
"And after that...."
"And after that, I wrote yesterday to the Minister of War."
"To Bellune?"
"Yes."
"And has he answered you?"
"Not yet, but I hope he will reply to me."
The general, while he filled in the face of a Cossack, made a grimace which might be summed up in the words: "If you are counting only on that...."
"I have still," I added, in response to his thought, "a letter of introduction to General Foy, deputy of my own department."
"Very well, my dear boy, as I believe that even if you have time to lose, you have no money to spare, I advise you not to wait for the minister's answer. To-morrow is Tuesday; there is a sitting of the Chamber: but present yourself early at General Foy's,—you will find him at work, for he is a hard worker, like myself; only, he does better work. Don't worry; he will receive you kindly."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"I hope so, for I have a letter."
"Yes, he will give you a kindly reception, I have no doubt, because of your letter; but above all he will receive you well for your father's sake, although he did not know him personally. Now, will you dine with me? We will talk of Egypt. It was hot there!"
"Willingly, General. At what hour do you dine?"
"At six o'clock.... Now go and take a turn on the boulevards, whilst I finish my Cossack, and return at six."
I took leave of General Verdier, and descended from the fourth floor, I must confess, with a lighter heart than I had ascended to it.
Régulus—Talma and the play—General Foy—The letter of recommendation and the interview—The Duc de Bellune's reply—I obtain a place as temporary clerk with M. le Duc d'Orléans—Journey to Villers-Cotterets to tell my mother the good news—No. 9—I gain a prize in a lottery
Régulus—Talma and the play—General Foy—The letter of recommendation and the interview—The Duc de Bellune's reply—I obtain a place as temporary clerk with M. le Duc d'Orléans—Journey to Villers-Cotterets to tell my mother the good news—No. 9—I gain a prize in a lottery
Men and things began to appear to me in their true light, and the world, which until now had been hidden from me in the mists of illusion, began to show itself as it really is, as God and the Devil have made it, interspersed with good and evil, spotted with dirt. I related to Adolphe everything that had occurred.
"Go on," he said; "if your story finishes as it has begun, you will accomplish much more than the writing of a comic opera: you will write a comedy."
But Adolphe's thoughts were in reality busy on my behalf.Réguluswas to be played at the Théâtre-Français that night: he had asked for two orchestra stalls from Lucien Arnault, and had kept them for me; only, on that evening, he would be too busy to come with me: thePauvre Filleclaimed every minute of his time.
I was almost glad of this inability: I could thus take General Verdier to the play in return for his dinner. I found him waiting for me at his house at six o'clock; I showed him my two tickets, and laid my proposal before him.
"Well, well, well!" he said, "I cannot refuse this: I do not often allow myself the luxury of going to the play, and especially as it is Talma...."