"You know some dramatists, then?"
"Yes, I know M. Arnault."
"Very good!... And now I must confess, General, that I want to stay in Paris really to go in for literature."
"Ah! not really?"
"Really, General."
"Listen: you came to ask my advice ...?"
"Certainly I did."
"Very well, don't count too much on literature for a living; you look as though you had a good appetite; now, literature will necessitate your going hungry many a time.... However, on those days, you must look me up: the painter always shares his crusts with the poet.Ut pictura poesis!I do not need to interpret that, for I presume you know Latin."
"A little, General."
"That is much more than I do. Come, let us go and dine."
"Do we not dine at your rooms?"
"Do you imagine I am rich enough, on my half-pay, to keep up a kitchen and a household? No, no, no, indeed! I dine at the Palais-Royal for forty sous; to-day we will have anextra, and I can get it for six francs. You see you are not going to cost me much, so need not be anxious."
We betook ourselves to the Palais-Royal, where indeed we dined excellently for our six francs, or rather for General Verdier's six francs. Then we went to take our places forRégulus.My mind was still full ofSylla; I saw the gloomy Dictator enter with his flattened locks, his crowned head, his forehead furrowed with anxieties: his speech was deliberate, almost solemn; his glance—that of a lynx and a hyena—shot from under his drooping eyelids like that of a nocturnal animal which sees in the darkness.
Thus I awaited Talma.
He entered, at a rapid pace, with haughty head and terse speech, as befitted the general of a free people and a conquering nation; he entered, in short, asRéguluswould have entered. No longer, the toga, no longer the purple, no longerthe crown: a simple tunic, bound by an iron girdle, without any other cloak than that of the soldier. Here was where Talma was admirable in his personality—always that of the hero he was called upon to represent—he reconstructed a world, he refashioned an epoch.
Yes, inSyllahe was the man of the falling republic; he was the man who, in putting aside the purple, and in restoring to Rome that temporary independence which she was soon no longer to know, said, to those who assisted at this great act of his public life:—
"J'achève un grand destin; j'achève un grand ouvrage;Sur ce monde étonné, j'ai marqué mon passage.Ne m'accusez jamais dans la postérité,Romains, de vous avoir rendu la liberté!"
It was Sylla who, in Marius and with Marius, witnessed the expiration of the last breath of republican virility; it was he who saw the rise of Cæsar—that Cæsar who later spoke thus to Brutus:—
"O le pauvre insensé! qui vient, du couchant sombre,Demander la lumière, et qui marche vers l'ombre!Et qui se croit, rêvant les antiques vertus,Au siècle des Camille et des Cincinnatus!Oui, leur siècle était grand, peut-être regrettable;Oui, la simplicity des habits, de la table;Cette orge qui bouillait sur le plat des Toscans;Ce peu qu'on avait d'or, qui reluisant aux camps;Annibal, sous nos murs plantant sa javeline;Et nos guerriers debout sur la porte Colline;Voilà qui défendait au vice d'approcher!...Mais le Nil dans le Tibre est venu s'épancher,Et l'or asiatique, aux mains sacerdotales,A remplacé l'argile étrusque des vestales;Et le luxe, fondant sur nous comme un vautour,Venge les nations et nous dompte à son tour.La Rome des consuls et de la républiqueA brisé dès longtemps sa ceinture italique.Rome a conquis la Grèce, et Carthage, et le Pont;Rome a conquis l'Espagne et la Gaule.—Répond,Toi, qui ne veux pas voir, comme une mer de lave,Monter incessamment vers nous le monde esclave:Cette ville aux sept monts, qu'un dieu même créa,Est-ce toujours la fille et l'Albe et de Rhéa,La matrone sévère ou bien la courtisane?...Ville de Mithridate et d'Ariobarzane,Ville de Ptolémée, et ville de Juba.Rome est un compost de tout ce qui tomba!Rome, c'est l'univers! et sa débauche accuseMarseille, Alexandrie, Athènes, Syracuse,Et Rhode et Sybaris, fécondes en douleurs,Et Tarente lascive, au front chargé de fleurs!..."
Well, it was in this first epoch, spoken of by Cæsar, when "l'orge bouillait sur le plat des Toscans," that Regulus flourished. Therefore, from his very entry, Talma appeared as the stern republican, the man vowed to great causes. Yes, yes, Talma, you were indeed, this time, the Punic warrior, the colleague of Duillius—that conqueror to whom his contemporaries, still in ignorance of the titles and the honours with which defenders of their country should be rewarded, were giving a flute player to follow him wherever he went, and a rostral column to set up in front of his house; yes, you were indeed the consul who, when he landed on African shores, had to beat down monsters before he could beat down men, and who tested the implements of war, which were destined to break down the walls of Carthage, by crushing a boa-constrictor a hundred cubits in length. You were indeed that man whose two victories spelt two hundred towns, and who refused Carthage peace: Carthage, the Queen of the Mediterranean, the Sovereign of the Ocean, who had coasted down Africa as far as the Equator, who had spread North as far as the Cassiterides, and who possessed armed ships. O Carthaginians, merchants, lawyers and senators! you were lost at last. The race of traders had to give way to the race of warriors, speculators to soldiers, Hannons to Barcas; you would have consented to all the demands of Regulus, if there had not been found in Carthage a Lacedemonian, a mercenary, a Xantippe, who declared that Carthage still possessed the means for resisting, and demandedthe chief command of the armies. The command was given him. He was a Greek. He lured the Romans into the plain, charged into them with his cavalry and crushed them beneath his elephants. It was at this stage of affairs, O Regulus—Talma that you made your entry into Carthage, but conquered, and a prisoner!
Lucien Arnault had certainly not extracted all the dramatic force out of this splendid republican subject that it was capable of showing: he had certainly not shown us Rome, patient and indefatigable as the ploughing oxen; he had certainly not depicted commercial Carthage, with its armies of condottieri recruited from the sturdy Ligurians, that Strabo shows us, in the mountains of Genes, breaking down the rocks and carrying enormous burdens; from those clever slingers who came from the Balearic Isles, who could stop a stag in its flight, an eagle on the wing, with their stone-throwing; from the sturdy and strong Iberians, who seemed insensible to hunger and to fatigue, when they were marching to battle with their red cloaks and their two-edged-swords; finally, from the Numidians whom we fight even to-day at Constantine and at Djidjelli, terrible cavaliers, centaurs thin and fiery like their chargers. No,—although the epoch was not remote,—the piece lacked poetry; you, my dear Lucien, simply extracted from this mass of material the devotion of a single man, and did not choose to depict a people.
Talma was superb when he was urging the Roman Senate to refuse peace, thereby condemning himself to death; Talma was magnificent in that last cry which hung for two centuries after, like a menace, over the city of Dido: "To Carthage! to Carthage!"
I returned to my quarters, this second time even more filled with admiration than on the first occasion; only, as I knew my way, I dispensed with the expense of a cab. Besides, my way was nearly the same as General Verdier's to the faubourg Montmartre; he left me at the corner of the rue Coquillière, shaking my hand and wishing me good luck.
Next day, at ten, I presented myself at General Foy's. Helived at No. 64 rue du Mont-Blanc. I was shown into his study, and found him engaged upon hisHistoire de la Péninsule.As I entered he was writing, standing against a table which could be lowered or raised as required. Round him, on chairs, on arm-chairs, on the floor, were scattered, in apparent confusion, speeches, proofs, maps and open books. When the general heard the door of his sanctum open he turned round. General Foy was, at that time, a man of about forty-eight or fifty years of age, thin, short rather than tall, with scanty grey hair, a projecting forehead, an aquiline nose and a bilious complexion. He carried his head high, his manner was short and his gestures commanding. I was announced.
"M. Alexandre Dumas!" he repeated after the servant; "let him come in."
I appeared before him, trembling all over.
"Are you M. Alexandre Dumas?" he asked.
"Yes, General."
"Are you the son of General Dumas who commanded the Army of the Alps?"
"Yes, General."
"I have been told that Bonaparte treated him very unjustly and that this injustice was extended to his widow."
"He left us in poverty."
"Can I do anything for you?"
"I confess, General, that you are nearly my sole hope."
"How is that?"
"Will you first make yourself acquainted with this letter from M. Danré."
"Ah! worthy Danré!... You know him?"
"He was an intimate friend of my father."
"Yes, he lived a league from Villers-Cotterets, where General Dumas died.... And what is the good fellow doing?"
"He is happy and proud to have been of some use to you in your election, General."
"Of some use? Say rather he did everything!" said he, breaking open the letter. "Do you know," he continued, as he held the letter open without reading it,—"do you know that he madehimself answerable on my account to the electors—body and soul, body and soul?... They did not want to appoint me! I hope his rash zeal did not cost him too much. Let me see what he says."
He began to read.
"Oh! oh! he commends you to me most pressingly; he is very fond of you, then?"
"Almost as fond as he is of his own son, General."
"I must first find out what you are fit for."
"Oh! not good for much."
"Bah! you surely know some mathematics?"
"No, General."
"You have at least some notion of algebra, of geometry, of physics?"
He stopped between each word, and at each word I blushed afresh, and the perspiration ran down my forehead in faster and faster drops. It was the first time I had been thus actually confronted with my ignorance.
"No, General," I replied, stammering; "I do not know anything of those things."
"You have perhaps studied law?"
"No, General."
"You know Latin, Greek?"
"A little Latin, no Greek."
"Can you speak any modern language?"
"Italian."
"You understand book-keeping?"
"Not the least in the world."
I was in agony, and he himself was visibly sorry for me.
"Oh, General!" I burst out in tones that seemed to impress him greatly, "my education is utterly defective and I am ashamed to say that I never realised it until this moment.... Oh! but I will mend matters, I give you my word; and soon, very soon, I shall be able to reply 'Yes' to all the questions to which I have just now said 'No.'"
"But have you anything to live upon in the meantime, my young friend?"
"Nothing, absolutely nothing, General!" I replied, crushed by the feeling of my powerlessness.
The general looked at me in profound pity.
"Nevertheless," he said, "I do not want to abandon you ..."
"No, General, for you will not be abandoning me only! True, I am ignorant and good for nothing; but my mother counts upon me; I have promised her I will find a place, and she ought not to be punished for my ignorance and my laziness."
"Give me your address," said the general. "I will consider what can be done for you.... Write, there, at that desk."
He held the pen out to me which he had just been using. I took it; I looked at it, still wet; then, shaking my head, I gave it back to him.
"What is the matter?"
"No, General," I said; "I cannot write with your pen: it would be a profanation."
He smiled. "What a child you are!" he said. "Look, here is a new one."
"Thanks." I wrote. The general looked on.
I had scarcely written my name before he clapped his hands together.
"We are saved!" he said.
"How is that?"
"You write a beautiful hand."
My head fell on my breast; my shame was insupportable. The only thing I possessed was a good handwriting. This diploma of incapacity well became me! A beautiful handwriting! So some day I might become a copying-clerk. That was my future! I would rather cut off my right arm. General Foy went on without paying much heed to what was passing through my mind.
"Listen," he said: "I am dining to-day at the Palais-Royal; I will mention you to the Duc d'Orléans; I will tell him he ought to take the son of a Republican general into his offices. Sit down there...."
He pointed to an empty desk.
"Draw up a petition, and write your very best."
I obeyed. When I had finished, General Foy took my petition, read it and traced a few lines in the margin. His handwriting compared unfavourably with mine and humiliated me most cruelly. Then he folded up the petition, put it in his pocket and, holding out his hand to bid me good-bye, he invited me to return and lunch with him next day. I returned to my hotel in the rue des Vieux-Augustins, and there I found a letter franked by the Minister of War. Good and evil fortune had, up to this time, treated me pretty impartially. The letter that I was about to break open should turn the scale definitely. The minister replied that, as he had no time for a personal interview, he invited me to lay before him anything I had to say in writing. Decidedly, the balance of the scale was towards ill-fortune. I replied that the audience I asked of him was but to hand him the original of a letter of thanks he had once written to my father, his general-in-chief; but that, as I might not have the honour of seeing him, I would content myself with sending him a copy of it. Poor marshal! I have seen him since: he was then as affectionate to me as he had been indifferent under the circumstances I have just related; and, nowadays, his son and his grandson are my good friends.
I went early, next morning, as I had been advised, to General Foy's, who was now my only hope. The general was at his work, as on the previous day. He received me with a smiling face, which looked very promising.
"Well," he said, "our business is settled."
I looked at him, astounded.
"How is that?" I asked.
"Yes, you are to enter the secretarial staff of the Duc d'Orléans as supernumerary, at twelve hundred francs. It is nothing very great; but mow is your chance to work."
"It is a fortune!... And when am I to begin?"
"Next Monday, if you like."
"Next Monday?"
"Yes, it is arranged with the chief clerk in the office."
"What is his name?"
"M. Oudard.... You will introduce yourself to him in my name."
"Oh, General, I can hardly believe my good fortune."
The general looked at me with an indescribably kindly expression. This reminded me that I had not even thanked him. I threw my arms round his neck and kissed him. He began to laugh.
"There is good stuff in you," he said; "but remember what you have promised me: study!"
"Oh yes, General; I am now going to live by my handwriting: but I promise you that one day I shall live by my pen."
"We shall see; take your pen and write to your mother."
"No, General, no; I wish to tell her this good news with my own lips. To-day is Tuesday; I will start to-night: I will spend Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday with her; I will come back here on the night of Sunday—and on Monday I will go to my office."
"But you will ruin yourself in carriages!"
"No; I have a free pass from the diligence proprietor."
And I related to him how old Cartier owed me a dozen fares. "Now," I asked of the general, "what message shall I take from you to M. Danré?"
"Well, tell him we had lunch together and that I am very well."
A small round table ready laid was carried in at this juncture.
"A second cover," ordered the general.
"Really, General, you make me ashamed...."
"Have you lunched?"
"No, but——"
"To table, to table!... I have to be at the Chamber by noon."
We lunchedtête-à-tête.The general talked to me of my future plans; I confided all my literary plans to him. He looked at me; he listened to me with the benevolent smile of a large-hearted man; he seemed to say, "Golden dreams!foolish hopes! purple but fugitive clouds, which sail over the heaven of youth, may they not vanish into the azure firmament too quickly for my poor protégé!" Beloved and kindly general! loyal soul! noble heart! you are now, alas! dead, before those dreams were realised; you died without knowing they were to be realised one day,—you are dead, and gratitude and grief have inspired me, on the borders of that tomb into which you descended before your time, to write I will not say the first good lines I made,—that would perhaps be too ambitious,—but the first of my lines which are worth the trouble of being quoted. Here are those I recall; the rest I have completely forgotten:—
"Ainsi de notre vieille gloireChaque jour emporte un débris!Chaque jour enrichit l'histoireDes grands noms qui nous sont repris!Et, chaque jour, pleurant sur la nouvelle tombeD'un héros généreux dans sa course arrêté,Chacun de nous se dit épouvante:'Encore une pierre qui tombeDu temple de la Liberté!' ..."
With one bound I covered the distance between the rue du Mont-Blanc and the rue Pigale. I longed to tell Adolphe the realisation of all my hopes. I was now, at last, sure of remaining in Paris. A most ambitious career opened out before me, limitless and vast. God, on His side, had done all that was necessary: He had left me with Aladdin's lamp in the enchanted garden. The rest depended on myself. No man had ever, I believe, seen his wishes more completely satisfied, his hopes more entirely crowned. Napoleon could not have been prouder and happier than I on the day when, having espoused Marie-Louise, he repeated three times before nightfall, "My poor uncle Louis XVI.!" Adolphe entered very heartily into my delight. M. de Leuven, to be still characteristic, quietly ridiculed my raptures. Madame de Leuven, the most perfect of women, rejoiced in advance over the joy my mother would shortly experience. All threewanted to keep me to dinner with them; but I remembered that a diligence left at half-past four o'clock, and that by it I should be able to reach home by one in the morning. It was odd I should be as eager to return to Villers-Cotterets as I had been to come to Paris. True, I was not returning for long. I reached Villers-Cotterets at one o'clock. One thing marred my joy: everybody was asleep; no one was in the dark streets; I could not cry out from the door of the diligence, "Here I am! but only for three days; I am going back to Paris for good." Oh! what an incontestable reality had the fable of King Midas become to me! When I reached Cartier's house, I leapt from the coach to the ground without thinking of making use of the step. When on mother-earth I rushed off, shouting to Auguste—
"It is I, it is I, Auguste! Put my fare down to your father's account."
In five minutes I was at home. I had a special way of my own of opening the door, after my nocturnal escapades; I turned it to account, and I entered my mother's room, who had hardly been an hour in bed, crying—
"Victory, dear mother, victory!"
My poor mother sat up in bed in great agitation: such an early return and one so completely successful had never entered her head. She was obliged to believe my word when, after kissing her, she saw me dance round the room still shouting "Victory!" I told her the whole story: Jourdan and his lackeys, Sébastiani and his secretaries, Verdier and his pictures, the Duc de Bellune refusing to receive me and General Foy receiving me twice. And my mother made me repeat it over and over again; unable to believe that I, her poor child, had in three days, without support, without acquaintances, without influence, by my persistence and determination, myself changed the course of my destiny for ever.
At last I got to the end of my tale and sleep had a hearing. I went to the bed that was scarcely cold since I had last used it, and, when I woke up, I wondered if I could really havebeen absent from Villers-Cotterets during those three days, and if it had not all been a dream. I leapt out of my bed, I dressed myself, I kissed my mother and I ran off along the road to Vouty. M. Danré ought to be the first to hear of my good fortune. This was but fair, since he had brought it about.
M. Danré learnt the news with feelings of personal pride. There is something very comforting to poor human nature when a man counts on a friend for a good action, and this friend accomplishes the deed, without ostentation, in fulfilment of his promise.
M. Danré would have liked me to have stayed there all day; but I was as slippery as an eel. I was not merely in haste that everybody should know of my happiness, but I wanted to increase this happiness twofold, by telling it myself. Dear M. Danré understood this, like the good soul he was. We lunched, and then he set me free. Without, I am thankful to say, representing the same mythological idea as Mercury, my heels, like his, were endowed with wings: in twenty or twenty-five minutes, I was back in Villers-Cotterets; but the news had spread in my absence, in spite of my celerity. Everybody already knew, on my return, that I was a supernumerary in the secretariat of the Duc d'Orléans, and everybody was waiting for me at their doors to congratulate me on my good fortune. They followed me in procession to the door of Abbé Grégoire's house. What recollections of my own have I not put in the story of my poor fellow-countrywoman Ange Pitou! I found our house full of gossips when I returned. Besides our friend Madame Darcourt, our neighbours Mesdames Lafarge, Dupré, Dupuis were holding a confabulation. I was welcomed with open arms, fêted by everybody. They had never doubted my powers; they had always said that I should become somebody; they were delighted to have prophesied an event to my poor mother which was now realised. These ladies, with the exception of Madame Darcourt, let it be noted, were those who had predicted to my mother that her darling son would always be a good-for-nothing. But Fate is the most powerful, the most inexorable of kings; it is not, then, to be wondered at that it has itscourtiers. We were never left alone together the whole of the day. I took advantage of the numbers in the house to go and pay a special farewell visit to my good Louise, who would fain have comforted me after Adèle's marriage, if I had been consolable, and whom I would assuredly have comforted after Chollet had gone, had not I myself left.
In the evening my mother and I at last found ourselves alone together for a little while. We took the opportunity to talk over our private affairs. I wanted my mother to sell everything that we did not need and come as soon as possible to settle with me in Paris. Twenty years of misfortunes had sown distrust in my mother's heart. In her opinion, it was far too hasty to act like this. Then, the twelve hundred francs that I looked upon as a fortune was a very small amount to live upon in Paris. Besides, I had not got the salary yet. A supernumerary is but a probationer: if at the end of one month, or two months, they thought that I was not suitable for the post, and if M. Oudard, the head of my office, should make me take a seat as Augustus had made Cinna, as M. Lefèvre had made me, and ask me, as M. Lefèvre had asked me, "Monsieur, do you understand mechanics?" we were lost; for my mother would not even have her tobacco-shop to fall back upon, which she would have left and which she could not sell merely temporarily. My mother, therefore, decided on a common-sense course, which was as follows—
I was to return to Paris, where my bed, my bedding, my sheets, my table linen, four chairs, a table, a chest of drawers and two sets of plate would be forwarded; I would hire a small room, the cheapest possible; I would stay there until my position was established; and when my place was secure, I would write to my mother. Then my mother would hesitate no longer: she would sell everything and come to join me.
The next day was a Thursday. I utilised my being at Villers-Cotterets to draw for the conscription; my years would have called me to the service of my country, had I not been the son of a widow. I took No. 9, which was no inconvenience to myself, and did not deprive another of a goodnumber I might have taken. I met Boudoux, my old friend of themaretteand thepipée.
"Ah! Monsieur Dumas," he said, "as you have obtained such an excellent situation, you can surely give me a four-pound loaf."
I took him off to the baker; and instead of a four-pound loaf I paid for one of eight pounds for him.
I held my conscription ticket in my hand.
"What is that?" asked Boudoux.
"That? It is my number."
"You have taken No. 9?"
"As you see."
"Well, now, I have an idea: in return for your eight-pound loaf, Monsieur Dumas, if I were you, I would go to my aunt Chapuis, and I would put a thirty-sous piece on No. 9. Thirty sous wont ruin you, and if No. 9 turns up, it will bring you in seventy-three francs."
"Here are thirty sous, Boudoux; go and put them on in my name, and bring me back the ticket."
Boudoux went off, breaking off, with his right hand, huge chunks of the bread which he carried under his left arm. His aunt Chapuis kept both the post-office and the lottery-office.
Ten minutes later, Boudoux returned with the ticket. There was only a fragment of crust left of the eight-pound loaf, and that he finished before my eyes. It was the final day of the lottery. I should know, therefore, by Saturday morning whether I had won my seventy-three francs or lost my thirty sous.
Friday was taken up with making preparations for my Parisian housekeeping. My mother would have liked me to carry off everything in the house; but I realised that, with my twelve hundred francs per annum, the smaller the room the more economical it would be, and I stuck to the bed, the four chairs, and the chest of drawers.
One slight inconvenience remained to me. General Foy had told me that I was a supernumerary at twelve hundred francs; but these hundred francs per month which the munificence of Monseigneur the Duc d'Orléans conceded me would not be paid me until the end of the month. I had not Boudoux'sappetite, but I could certainly eat and eat very heartily: General Verdier had not been out in his surmise.
I had thirty-five francs left out of my fifty. My mother decided to part with another hundred francs: it was half of what she had left. It went to my heart very bitterly to take my poor mother's hundred francs, and I was just thinking of having recourse to the purse of M. Danré, when, in the midst of our discussion, which took place on Saturday morning, I heard Boudoux's voice shouting out—
"Ah! M. Dumas, now this is well worth a second eight-pound loaf."
"What is worth an eight-pound loaf?"
"No. 9 came up! If you go to aunt Chapuis's office, she will count you out your seventy-three francs."
My mother and I looked at each other. Then we looked at Boudoux.
"Are you telling me the truth, Boudoux?"
"Before God, I am, M. Dumas; that rascally No. 9 turned up: you can go and see for yourself on the list; it is the third."
There was nothing astonishing about this: had we not struck a vein of good fortune?
My mother and I went to Madame Chapuis. We were even better off than we supposed. Boudoux had calculated upon the number coming out along with others; I had put my thirty sous on the single item: the result of this difference was that my thirty sous brought me in a hundred and fifty francs, instead of seventy-three.
I have never rightly understood the reason why Madame Chapuis doubled the amount, which was paid me, I remember, in crowns of six livres, plus the necessary smaller change; but when I saw the crowns, when I was allowed to carry them off, I did not ask for further explanation. I was the possessor of the sum of a hundred and eighty-five francs! I had never had so much money in my pocket. Therefore, as all these six-livre crowns made a great chinking and took up a lot of room, my mother changed them for me into gold.
Oh! what a fine thing gold is, however much decried, whenit is the realisation of the dearest hopes in life! Those nine gold coins were little enough; but nevertheless, at that moment, they were of more value in my eyes than the thousands of similar pieces which have passed through my hands since; and which, after the fashion of Jupiter, I have showered upon that most costly of all mistresses men callFancy.So I cost my mother nothing, not even for the carriage of my furniture, for which I paid the carrier in advance, bargaining with him for the sum of twenty francs to bring them to Paris, to the door of the hôtel des Vieux-Augustins, to be removed from there when I should have chosen my lodgings. They were to be delivered on the Monday night.
At last the hour of parting came. The whole town assisted at my departure. It was for all the world as though one of the navigators of the Middle Ages were leaving to discover an unknown land, and the wishes and the cheering of his compatriots were giving him a send-off across the seas.
In truth, those dear good friends realised, with their simple and kindly instinct, that I was embarking on an ocean quite as stormy and uncertain as that which, according to the blind soothsayer, surrounded the shield of Achilles.
I find lodgings—Hiraux's son—Journals and journalists in 1823—By being saved the expense of a dinner I am enabled to go to the play at the Porte-Saint-Martin—My entry into the pit—Sensation caused by my hair—I am turned out—How I am obliged to pay for three places in order to have one—A polite gentleman who reads Elzevirs
I find lodgings—Hiraux's son—Journals and journalists in 1823—By being saved the expense of a dinner I am enabled to go to the play at the Porte-Saint-Martin—My entry into the pit—Sensation caused by my hair—I am turned out—How I am obliged to pay for three places in order to have one—A polite gentleman who reads Elzevirs
The reader will have observed that my balance increased each journey I made to Paris. It was but four months since the firm of Paillet and Company had entered the city with thirty-five francs apiece; only a week ago I had reached the barrier with fifty francs in my pocket; now, finally, I alighted at the door of theHôtel des Vieux Augustinswith one hundred and eighty-five francs.
I began to search for lodgings the same day. When I had climbed and descended a good many staircases, I stopped at a little room on a fourth floor. This room, which contained the luxury of an alcove, belonged to that immense mass of houses called the Italian quarter, and formed part of No. 1. It was papered with a yellow paper at twelve sous the piece, and looked out on the yard. It was let to me for the sum of a hundred and twenty francs per annum. It suited me in every respect, so I did not haggle. I told the porter I would take it, and I advised him that my furniture would come in on the following night. The porter asked me for thedenier à Dieu.I was a complete stranger to Parisian habits and I did not know what thedenier à Dieumeant. I thought it must be a commission on letting the room: I majestically took a napoleon out of my pocket, and I dropped it into the hand of the porter, who bowed down to the ground.
In his eyes I evidently passed for a prince travelling incognito.To give twenty francs asdenier à Dieufor a room at a hundred and twenty!... Such a thing had never been heard of. Twenty francs! it was a sixth of the rent!... So his wife instantly asked for the honour of looking after me. I granted her this favour for five francs per month—always with the same regal air.
From there, I ran to General Verdier's to get up my appetite, and I told him the good news. I had left Paris at such short notice, on the previous Monday, that I had not had time to ascend his four flights of stairs. I mounted them, this time, fruitlessly: the general had taken advantage of its being Sunday and had gone out. I followed his example: I strolled about the boulevards,—the only place where I ran no risk of being lost,—and I reached theCafé de la Porte-Saint-Honoréat the end of my strolling. Suddenly, through the windows, I saw someone I knew: it was Hiraux, the son of good old Hiraux, who had so unsuccessfully endeavoured to make a musician of me. I entered the café. Hiraux had recently bought it: he was the proprietor of it.... I was in his house!... Although he was slightly older than myself, we had been very good chums in our childhood. He kept me to dinner. While waiting for dinner, he put all the journals of the establishment before me. Some of those papers have since disappeared. The chief of them at that time were: theJournal des Débats, always under the direction of the brothers Bertin, and a supporter of the Government. It reflected the views of Louis XVIII. and of M. de Villèle—namely, a moderate and conciliatory Royalism, a policy of optimism and vacillation; the system, in fact, by which, in the midst of the plots of the Carbonari and the intrigues of the Extreme Party, Louis XVIII. managed to die almost in tranquillity: if not on the throne, at any rate close by it.
The oldConstitutionnel—of Saint-Albin, Jay, Tissot and Évariste Dumoulin—was suppressed one day for an article which the Censorship placed on the Index, an article which somehow had managed to get inserted without any trace of the claws and teeth of the censors. Then, with a rapidity of decisionwhich indicated the extreme devotion theConstitutionnelof every epoch has always exhibited in its own cause, it bought for a mere song theJournal du Commerce, which had four hundred subscribers; and, under the title of theJournal du Commerceappeared next morning: it need hardly be said that the good old rogue was recognised under this transparent disguise, and just about the time when I arrived in Paris, it had resumed, or was about to resume, its old title, so dear to the citizens of Paris. TheConstitutionnelwas very timid: it represented the Liberal opinion, and never really breathed out thunder and lightning except against the Jesuits, towards whom it had vowed the same cruel and magnificent hatred that nowadays it fulminates againstdemagogues.
TheDrapeau blancwas edited by Martainville, a man of infinite resource, but one who could hate and was hated in return. Charged with the defence of the bridge of Pecq, as commandant of the National Guard of Saint-Germain, he was reproached with having, in 1814, delivered up this bridge to the Prussians; and he replied to the reproach, not merely by an avowal, but with bravado: not being able to deny it, he boasted about it. But as all treachery torments the heart of the man who has committed it, irrespective of what he said, so it preyed on his vital forces. M. Arnault had infuriated him by deriving his name fromMartinon his father's, andVil(vile) on his mother's side. He was courageous enough, and, ever ready to tackle an adversary, he did battle with Telleville Arnault over hisGermanicus.The bullet of the poet's son merely grazed the thigh of the critic, leaving nothing worse than a slight bruise behind it. "Bah!" said Arnault's father, "he has not even felt it: a blow from a stick would have produced the same effect."
TheFoudrewas the admitted journal of the Marsan Party, the outspoken expression of the ultra-Royalists, who, through all the reactions that followed, leant for support on the Comte d'Artois, and who waited impatiently for that decomposition of the elements, which, at the rate things were going, could not fail to be accomplished under Louis XVIII.
The editors of theFoudrewere Bérard, the two brothersDartois (who were also comic-opera writers), Théaulon and Ferdinand Langlé, Brisset and de Rancé.
At the opposite pole of Liberal opinion to theFoudrewas theMiroir, a newspaper hussar, a delightful skirmisher, overflowing with wit andhumour; it was controlled by all the men who were noted for their spirit of opposition to the times, and who, we hasten to say, were really opposed to it. These men were MM. de Jouy, Arnault, Jal, Coste, Castel, Moreau, etc. So the unfortunateMiroirwas the object of relentless persecution at the hands of the Government, in whose eyes it was for ever flashing a broken ray of sunlight from the days of the Empire. Suppressed as theMiroir, it reappeared as thePandore;suppressed asPandore, it became theOpinion;suppressed finally asOpinion, it rose again under the title of theReunion;but this was the last of its metamorphoses: Proteus was run to earth, and died in chains.
Do not let us forget theCourrier français, the sentinel of advanced opinion, almost Republican, at a time when no one dared even to pronounce the word republic. It was for theCourrier français,edited by Châtelain, one of the most honest and most enlightened patriots of that period, that, as I have already mentioned, M. de Leuven worked.
But I had really nothing to do with any of these political journals: I only read the literary news. As I had found a dinner which cost me nothing, I decided to spend the price of my dinner on a theatre ticket, a ticket for a play: I hunted through the theatre advertisements in all the newspapers, and, guided by Hiraux in the choice of the literature on which I proposed to spend my evening, I decided to go to the Porte-Saint-Martin.
The play was theVampire.It was only the third or fourth representation of the revival of this piece. Hiraux advised me to make haste; the piece had caught on and was drawing crowds. It was played by the two actors who were popular at the Porte-Saint-Martin: Philippe and Madame Dorval. I followed Hiraux's advice; but, in spite of all the haste I made, it is a long way from theCafé de la Porte-Saint-Honoréto thetheatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin: I found the approaches to it blocked.
I was quite fresh to Paris. I did not know all the various theatre customs. I went along by the side of an enormous queue enclosed in barriers, not daring even to ask where the entrance-money was taken. One of thehabituésin the queue no doubt perceived my confusion, for he called out to me—
"Monsieur! monsieur!"
I turned round, wondering if he were addressing me.
"Yes ... you, monsieur," continued the habitué, "you with the frizzy locks ... do you want a place?"
"Do I want a place?" I repeated.
"Yes. If you put yourself at the bottom of this queue, you will never get in to-night. Five hundred people will be turned away."
This was Hebrew to me. Of his language I only gathered that five hundred folk would be turned away and that I should be one of the number.
"Come, would you really like my place?" continued the habitué.
"Have you got a place, then?"
"Can't you see for yourself?"
I could see nothing at all.
"Taken in advance, then?" I asked.
"Taken since noon."
"And a good one ...?"
"What do you mean by good?"
Now it was the habitué who did not understand.
"Well," I went on, "shall I have a good place?"
"You can sit where you like."
"What! I can sit where I like?"
"Of course."
"How much did your place cost?"
"Twenty sous."
I reflected within myself that twenty sous to sit where I liked was not dear. I drew twenty sous from my pocket and gave them to thehabitué, who immediately, with an agility thatproved he was well accustomed to this exercise, climbed up the rails of the barrier, got over it and alighted by my side.
"Well," I said, "now where is your place?"
"Take it, ... but look sharp; for, if they push up, you will lose it."
At the same moment light broke in on my mind: "Those people, inside that barrier, have no doubt taken and paid for their places in advance, and it is in order to keep them they are penned in like that."
"Ah! good, I see!" I replied; and I strode over the barrier in my turn, the reverse way; so that, contrary to the action of my place-seller, who had come without from within, I went from the outside within. I did not understand matters at all. After a second, there was a movement forward. They were just opening the offices. I was carried forward with the crowd, and ten minutes later, I found myself in front of the grating.
"Well, monsieur, aren't you going to take your ticket?" asked my neighbour.
"My ticket? What do you mean?"
"Of course, your ticket!" answered someone just behind me. "If you aren't going to take your ticket, at least allow us to take ours."
And a light thrust showed the desire of those behind me to have their turn.
"But," I said, "surely I have bought my place ...?"
"Your place ...?"
"Yes, I gave twenty sous for it, as you saw.... Why, I gave twenty sous to that man who sold me his place!"
"Oh, his place in the queue!" exclaimed my neighbours; "but his place in the queue is not his place inside the theatre."
"He told me that, with his place, I could go where I liked."
"Of course you can go where you like; take a stage-box. You can do what you like, and you can go where you like. But tickets for the stage-boxes are at the other office."
"Forward! forward! hurry up!" exclaimed those near me.
"Gentlemen, clear the gangway, if you please," cried a voice.
"It is this gentleman, who will not take his ticket, and who prevents us from getting ours!" cried a chorus of my neighbours.
"Come, come, make up your mind."
The murmurs grew, and with them ringing in my ears, by degrees it dawned upon me what had been pretty clearly dinned into me—namely, that I had bought my place in the queue, and not my place in the theatre.
So, as people were beginning to hustle me in a threatening fashion, I drew a six-francs piece from my pocket and asked for a pit ticket. They gave me four francs six sous, and a ticket which had been white. It was time! I was immediately carried away by a wave of the crowd. I presented my once white ticket to the check-taker: they gave me in exchange a ticket that had been red. I went down a corridor to the left; I found a door on my left with the wordPARTERREwritten over it, and I entered. And now I understood the truth of what thehabituéwho had sold me his place for twenty sous had said. Although I had scarcely fifteen or twenty people in front of me in the queue, the pit was nearly full. A most compact nucleus had formed beneath the lights, and I realised then that those must be the best places.
I immediately resolved to mix with this group, which did not look to me to be too closely packed, for a good place therein. I climbed over the benches, as I had seen several other people do, and balancing myself, on the tops of their curved backs, I hastened to reach the centre.
I was becoming, or rather, it must be admitted, I was, a very ridiculous object. I wore my hair very long, and, as it was frizzy, it formed a grotesque aureole round my head. Moreover, at a period when people wore short frock-coats, hardly reaching to the knee, I wore a coat which came down to my ankles. A revolution had taken place in Paris, which had not yet had time to reach as far as Villers-Cotterets. I was in 1 the latest fashion of Villers-Cotterets, but I was in the last but one Parisian mode. Now, as nothing generally is more opposed to the latest fashion than the last mode but one, I looked excessively absurd, as I have already had the modesty to admit.Of course, I appeared so in the eyes of those towards whom I advanced; for they greeted me with shouts of laughter, which I thought in very bad taste.
I have always been exceedingly polite; but at this period, coupled with the politeness I had acquired from my maternal education, there woke in me a restless, suspicious hastiness of temper which I probably inherited from my father. This hastiness made my nerves an easy prey to irritation. I took my hat in my hand—an action which revealed the utter oddity of my way of wearing my hair—and the general hilarity among the group in the rows to which I desired to gain access redoubled. "Pardon me, gentlemen," I said in the politest of tones, "but I should like to know the cause of your laughter, so that I may be able to laugh with you. They say the piece we have come to see is extremely sad, and I should not be sorry to make merry before I have to weep."
My speech was listened to in the most religious silence; then, from the depths of this silence, a voice suddenly exclaimed—
"Oh! that 'ead of 'is!"
The apostrophe seemed to be exceedingly funny, for it had hardly been uttered before the bursts of laughter were redoubled; but the hilarity had scarcely begun afresh before it was accompanied by the sound of a stinging smack in the face which I gave to the wag. "Monsieur," I said, as I slapped him, "my name is Alexandre Dumas. Until after to-morrow, you will find me at theHôtel des Vieux-Augustins, in the road of the same name, and after to-morrow at No. 1 place des Italiens."
It would seem that I spoke a language quite unknown to these gentlemen; for, instead of replying to me, twenty fists were flourished threateningly, and everybody shouted—
"Put him out! put him out!"
"What!" I cried, "put me to the door? That would be a nice thing, upon my word, seeing that I have already paid for my place twice over—once in the queue, and then again at the box-office."
"Put him out! put him out!" cried the voices afresh, with redoubled fury.
"Gentlemen, I have had the honour to give you my address."
"Put him out! put him out!" cried the people, in strident, raucous tones.
All the people present had risen from their seats, were leaning over the gallery, and were almost half out of the boxes. I seemed to be at the end of an immense funnel with everybody gazing at me from all sides.
"Put him out! put him out!" cried those who did not even know what the commotion was about, but who calculated that one person less would mean room for one more.
I was debating what course to take, from the depths of my funnel, when a well-dressed man broke through the crowd, which deferentially opened a way for him, and he asked me to go out.
"Why am I to go out?" I asked in great surprise.
"Because you are disturbing the performance."
"What! I am disturbing the play?... The play has not begun yet."
"Well, you are disturbing the audience."
"Really, monsieur!"
"Follow me."
I remembered the affair that my father, at about my age, had had with a musketeer at la Montansier, and although I knew that the constabulary was dissolved, I expected I was in for something of the same sort. So I followed without making any resistance, in the midst of the cheers of the audience, who testified their satisfaction at the justice that was being dealt out to me. My guide led me into the corridor, from the corridor to the office, and from the office into the street. When in the street he said, "There! don't do it again." And he returned to the theatre.
I saw that I had got off very cheaply, since my father had kept his warder attached to him for a whole week, whilst I had only been in custody for five minutes. I stood for a moment onthe pavement, whilst I made this judicious reflection, and seeing that my guide had re-entered, I too decided to do the same.
"Your ticket?" said the ticket collector.
"My ticket? You took it from me just now, and, as a proof, it was a white one, for which you gave me in exchange a red ticket."
"Then what have you done with your red ticket?"
"I gave it to a woman who asked me for it."
"So that you have neither ticket nor check?"
"Why, no, I have neither ticket nor check."
"Then you cannot go in."
"Do you mean to say I cannot enter, after having paid for my ticket twice over?"
"Twice?"
"Yes, twice."
"How did you do that?"
"Once in the queue, and again at the box-office."
"You humbug!" said the ticket collector.
"What did you say?"
"I said you cannot go in, that is what I said."
"But I mean to get in, nevertheless."
"Then take a ticket at the office."
"That will be the second."
"Well, what does that matter to me?"
"What does it matter to you?"
"If you have sold your ticket at the door, it is no affair of mine."
"Ah! so you take me for a dealer in checks?"
"I take you for a brawler who has just been turned out for disturbing the peace, and if you go on doing it, you'll not be led out into the road the next time, but into the police station."
There could be no mistaking the threat. I began to understand that, without intending it, I had infringed the law—or rather custom, which is far more jealous of contravention than the law.
"Ah, is this so?" I said.
"That is about it," said the collector.
"Well, well, you are the stronger of the two," I said.
And I went out.
When outside the door, I considered how stupid it was to have come to see a play, to have paid for two places to see it-a place in the queue and a place at the office—to have seen only a curtain representing hangings of green velvet, and to come away without seeing anything else. I went on to reflect that, since I had already paid for two tickets, I might as well incur the expense of a third, and as people were still going in and a double queue circled the theatre so that the door formed as it were the clasp to the girdle, I placed myself at the end of the queue which looked to me to be the shortest. It was the opposite queue to the one I had gone in by before; it was not so dense, as it led to the orchestra, the front galleries, the stage-boxes and the first and second rows of stalls. This was what I was informed by the clerk at the box-office when I asked for a ticket for the pit. I looked up, and, as he had indicated, I saw upon the white plan the designation of the places to be obtained at that particular office. The cheapest places were those in the orchestra and second row of stalls. Seats in the orchestra and in the second row of stalls cost two francs fifty; centimes. I took two francs fifty centimes from my pocket, and asked for an orchestra seat. The orchestra ticket was handed to me, and my play-going cost me five francs all told.
No matter: it was no good crying over spilt milk! My dinner had not cost me anything, and to-morrow I was to enter the Duc d'Orléans' secretarial offices; I could well afford to allow myself this trivial orgy. I reappeared triumphant before the check barrier, holding my orchestra ticket in my hand. The collector smiled graciously upon me, and said, "On the right, monsieur." I noticed this was quite a different direction from the first time. The first time I had tacked myself on to the right-hand queue and gone in at the left; the second time, I followed the left queue and they told me to enter on the right. I augured from this that since I had this time reversed the order of my proceedings, the manner of my reception would alsobe reversed, and, consequently, that I should be welcomed instead of rejected.
I was not mistaken. I found quite a different stamp of people in the orchestra from those I had found in the pit, and, as the girl who showed me to my seat pointed out to me a vacant place towards the centre of a row, I set to work to reach it. Everyone rose politely to allow me to pass. I gained my seat, and sat down by the side of a gentleman, wearing grey trousers, a buff waistcoat and black tie. He was a man of about forty or forty-two. His hat was placed on the seat I came to fill. He was interrupted in the perusal of a charming little book,—which I learnt later was an Elzevir,—apologised as he took up his hat, bowed to me and went on reading. "Upon my word!" I said to myself, "here is a gentleman who seems to me better brought up than those I have just encountered." And, promising to enter into friendly relations with my neighbour I sat down in the empty stall.
My neighbour—His portrait—ThePastissier françois—A course in bibliomania—Madame Méchin and the governor of Soissons—Cannons and Elzevirs
My neighbour—His portrait—ThePastissier françois—A course in bibliomania—Madame Méchin and the governor of Soissons—Cannons and Elzevirs
At this period of my life, being made up entirely of ignorance, optimism and faith, I did not know in the least what an Elzevir, or rather Elzevier, was. I learnt that evening, as we shall see; but I did not understand thoroughly until much later, after I had made the acquaintance of my learned friend,la bibliophileJacob. So it is a little previous to say that the polite gentleman was reading an Elzevir; I ought to say simply that he was reading a book. I have related how I had taken the seat next his, and how, having been distracted from his reading by having to lift his hat off my seat, he had immediately plunged back again into his reading, more absorbedly than ever. I have ever admired men who are capable of doing anything whole-heartedly(passionnément);—please do not confoundpassionnémentwithpassionnellement; this latter adverb was not invented in 1823, or, if it were, Fourier had not yet exploited it.
It was not surprising that, interested as I was in literature, I should endeavour to find out what the book was which could inspire such a powerful influence over my neighbour, who was so deeply absorbed in his reading that, metaphorically speaking, he gave himself up, bound hand and foot, into my power. I had more than a quarter of an hour in which to make this investigation before the curtain rose, therefore I conducted it at my leisure. First of all, I tried to see the title of the book; but the binding was carefully hidden by a paper cover, so it was impossible to read the title on the back ofthe book. I rose; in that position I could look down on the reader. Then, thanks to the excellent sight I have the good fortune to possess, I was able to read the following curious title on the opposite side to the engraved frontispiece:—
LE PASTISSIER FRANÇOISOù est enseignée la manière de faire toute sortede pastisserieTrès-utile à toutes sortes de personnes;Ensemble le moyen d'apprester toutes sortes;d'œufs pour les jours maigres et autresEn plus de soixante façons.AMSTERDAMCHEZ LOUIS ET DANIEL ELZÉVIER
1655
"Ah! ah!" I said to myself, "now I have it! This well-mannered gentleman is surely a gourmand of the first order,—M. Grimod de la Reyniere perhaps, whom I have so often heard described as a rival of Cambacérès and of d'Aigrefeuille;—but stay, this gentleman has hands and M. Grimod de la Reyniere has only stumps." At that moment, the polite gentleman let his hand and the book he held fall on his knees; then, casting his eyes upward, he appeared to be lost in profound reflection. He was, as I have said, a man of forty or forty-two years of age, with an essentially gentle face, kindly and sympathetic; he had black hair, blue-grey eyes, a nose slightly bent to the left through an excrescence, a finely cut, clever-looking, witty mouth—the mouth of a born story-teller.
I was yearning to get up a conversation with him—I, a hobbledehoy of a country bumpkin, ignorant of everything, butanxious to learnas they put it in M. Lhomond's elementary lessons. His benevolent countenance encouraged me. I took advantage of the moment when he stopped reading to address a word or two to him.
"Monsieur," said I, "pray forgive me if my question seems impertinent, but are you extremely fond of eggs?"
My neighbour shook his head, came gradually out of hisreverie, and, looking at me with a distraught expression, he said, in a very pronounced Eastern French accent—
"Pardon me, monsieur, but I believe you did me the honour of addressing me ...?"
I repeated my sentence.
"Why do you suppose that?" he said.
"The little book you are reading so attentively, monsieur,—excuse my rudeness, but my eyes fell involuntarily on the title,—contains recipes, does it not? for cooking eggs in more than sixty different ways?"
"Oh yes, true...." he said.
"Monsieur, that book would have been of great use to an uncle of mine, a curé, who was, or rather still is, a great eater, and a fine sportsman: one day he made a bet with one of hisconfrèresthat he would eat a hundred eggs at his dinner; he was only able to discover eighteen or twenty ways of serving them ... yes, twenty ways, for he ate them by fives at a time. You see, if he had known sixty ways of cooking them, instead of a hundred, he could have eaten two hundred."
My neighbour looked at me with a certain attention which seemed to imply that he was asking himself, "Am I by any chance seated next to a young lunatic?"
"Well?" he said.
"Well, if I could procure such a book for my dear uncle, I am sure he would be most grateful to me."
"Monsieur," said my neighbour, "I doubt if, in spite of the sentiments which do a nephew's heart the greatest credit, you could procure this book."
"Why not?"
"Because it is exceedingly rare."
"That little old book exceedingly rare?"
"Do you not know that it is an Elzevir, monsieur?"
"No."
"Do you not know what an Elzevir is?" exclaimed my neighbour, overwhelmed with astonishment.
"No, monsieur, no; but do not be alarmed at such a trifle: since I came to Paris not quite a week ago, I have discoveredthat I am ignorant of nearly everything. Tell me what it is, please: I am not well enough off to afford myself masters, I am too old to go back to college and I have made up my mind to takethe whole worldas my teacher—a teacher whom report says is even more learned than Voltaire."
"Ah! ah! quite right, monsieur," said my neighbour, looking at me with some interest; "and if you profit by the lessons that teacher will give you, you will become a great philosopher, as well as a great savant. Well, what is an Elzevir?... First of all, and in particular, this little volume that you see is one; or, in general, every book that came from the establishment of Louis Elzevir and of his successors, booksellers of Amsterdam. But do you know what a bibliomaniac is?"
"I do not know Greek, monsieur."
"You know your ignorance and that is something. The bibliomaniac—root, βιβλιο, book; μανια, madness—is a variety of the species man—species bipes et genus homo."
"I understand."
"This animal has two legs and is featherless, wanders usually up and down the quays and the boulevards, stopping at all the old bookstalls, turning over every book on them; he is habitually clad in a coat that is too long for him and trousers that are too short; he always wears on his feet shoes that are down at the heel, a dirty hat on his head, and, under his coat, and over his trousers, a waistcoat fastened together with string. One of the signs by which he can be recognised is that he never washes his hands."
"But you are describing a perfectly disgusting animal. I hope the race does not consist entirely of specimens like that, and that there are exceptions."
"Yes, but these exceptions are rare. Well, what this creature is in particular quest after, among the old shopkeepers and on the old bookstalls,—for you know that all animals hunt for something or other,—is for Elzevirs."
"Are they hard to find?"
"Yes, more and more difficult every day."
"And how can Elzevirs be recognised?... Pray remember,monsieur, that you are not risking anything by instructing me; I do not ever expect to become a bibliomaniac, and my questions are solely out of curiosity."
"How can they be recognised? I will tell you. In the first place, monsieur, the first volume in which one finds the name of Elzevir or Elzevier is one entitledEutropii histories romanæ,lib. X. Lugduni Batavorum, apud Ludovicum Elzevierum, 1592, in 8°, 2 leaves, 169 pages. The design on the frontispiece,—remember this carefully, it is the key to the whole mystery,—the design on the frontispiece is that of an angel holding a book in one hand and a scythe in the other."
"Yes, I understand: 1592, in 8°, 2 leaves, 169 pages, an angel holding a book in one hand and a scythe in the other."
"Bravo!... Isaac Elzevir—whom some declare to be the son and others the nephew of Louis Elzevir: I maintain that he is the son; Bérard maintains that he is the nephew, and, although he has Techener on his side, I still think I am right—Isaac Elzevir substituted for this design an elm tree, encircled by a vine laden with grapes, with this device:Non solus.Do you follow me?"
"The Latin, yes."
"Well, then, Daniel Elzevir, in his turn, adopted Minerva and the olive tree as his mark, with the device:Ne extra oleas. You still follow me?"
"Perfectly: Isaac, a vine laden with grapes; Daniel, Minerva and the olive tree."
"Better and better. But, besides these recognised editions, there are anonymous and pseudonymous editions, and there is where the inexperienced bibliomaniacs get confused. Ah!"
"Will you be my Ariadne?"
"Well, these editions are usually designated by a sphere."
"Then that is a guide."
"Yes, but you will see! These brothers, cousins or nephews Elzevir were a very capricious lot of fellows. Thus, for example, one finds, since 1629, a buffalo head forming part of the headpieces in their books, at the beginning of prefaces, dedicatory epistles and text."
"Well, thanks to the buffalo's head, it seems...."
"Wait a bit ... this lasted for five years. Since theSallustof 1634 and even perhaps earlier, they adopted another sign which resembled a siren. Also in this edition...."
"TheSallustof 1634?"
"Exactly! They adopted also, for the first time, on page 216, a tail-piece of a head of Medusa."
"So, when once this principle is fixed and one knows that on page 216 of theSallustof 1634 there is a figure representing ...."
"Yes, yes, upon my word, that would be delightful, if it could be laid down as a positive rule; but, bah! Daniel did not remain constant to his designs. For example, in the 1661Terence, he substitutes a garland of hollyhocks for the buffalo head and the siren, and this garland is to be found in a great many of his editions. But, in thePersiusof 1664 he does not even put that."
"Oh, gracious! and what does he adopt in thePersiusof 1664?"
"He adopts a large ornament, in the centre of which are two swords crossed over a crown."
"As though to indicate that the Elzevirs are the kings of the book-selling world."
"You have hit it exactly, monsieur: a sovereignty no one disputes with them."