"From Toulon to Sainte-Hélène!" Harel had said to me. "I am willing to lay out a hundred thousand francs, if need be!"
It would have been difficult to provide me with a wider margin.
The next morning I began to write. As fast as the scenes were composed I passed them over to Georges, who in her turn sent them on to Harel, who in his gave them to a charming fellow called Verteuil to copy out. Verteuil is now secretary to the Théâtre-Français.
The drama was done at the end of the week. It consisted of twenty-four scenes and contained nine thousand lines. It was three times bigger than an ordinary play, five times longer thanIphigénieand six times longer thanMérope.
Frédéric was to play the part ofNapoléon.I had debated that choice beforehand; physique seemed to me to be most important in such a creation. The success of theNapoléonat the Porte-Saint-Martin was due primarily to Gobert's likeness to the emperor; and nobody could have been less like Napoléon and especially Bonaparte, than Frédéric.
"My dear fellow," Georges had said to me, "remember this: a genius like Frédéric can play any part well."
The reason struck me as being so good that I gave in, and the part was given to Frédéric.
By the ninth day the piece was copied out; Verteuil, with the assistance of two copyists, had only taken one day longer to copy it out than I had to write it.
It was not good work, far from it; but the title would assure a popular success, and the part of the spy would be enough to secure literary success.
They assembled on the ninth day to hear it read, and I read as far as Moscow; next day I continued to the end. The part of Frédéric alone contained four thousand lines—that is to say, it was as long as all the parts inLe Mariage de Figaroput together. But to cut nothing out of it during collation seemed impossible, and it was therefore decided that any cutting down should be done at rehearsals. Everybody set to work with an energy I have rarely seen, even learning passages that were likely to be omitted, which is a most difficult thing to get an artist to do. Frédéric, Lockroy and Stockleit were enraptured with their parts. I was set at liberty the night of the reading. There was a supper given me on my release, as there had been before my incarceration.
These suppers at Georges' house were delightful; I reiterate this statement, for they are amongst my happiest memories of the past; no one could possibly have been more beautiful and queenly, more scornful and caustic, more like a Greekcourtezan, or a Roman matron, or the niece of a pope, than was Georges (in her varying moods). The contrast between Georges and Mars was incredibly great; Mars was always as affected, reserved, tight-laced and self-contained as the wife of a senator of the Empire. And then there was Harel, who was so alert mentally that he always reminded one of a man sitting on a glass stool in touch with an electric battery, with sparks at all his finger-tips, and at the end of each of his hairs.
Whenit came to the actual theatre, it was found to contain over a hundred different parts. For five or six days there was a perfect chaos to unravel; I believe I would rather have put the world to rights as described in the Book of Genesis than this world ofNapoléon.All the parts melted down, compressed and put together (not including the supernumeraries), made between eighty and ninety persons with speaking parts. Jouslin de la Salle, stage manager, quite lost his head over it, and Harel emptied three snuff-boxes full at every rehearsal.
As we have said, Harel laid out a hundred thousand francs in the mounting of the play; but not even M. de Rothschild's cashier would have been capable of calculating the number of brilliant, sparkling, comic expressions he also expended.
In the midst of all this hurly-burly I followed up that everlasting study of dramatic situations and of character which I am looking for always and everywhere, sometimes even in places where they don't exist. Here is an example, for instance:—
Amongst my troop-leaders, acting in—I know not now what part—one of those small rôles calledaccessoires(emergency parts), I had noticed a good-looking young man of between twenty-five and twenty-six years of age, holding a gun as though he had never done anything else all his life long, and, what was still more unusual and important, speaking his part fairly well.
I must ask my readers to forgive me for being obliged sometimes to use theatrical slang; it expresses things often much better than ordinary language does.
Well, it also seemed to me that myaccessoire'sface was familiar to me; and he, on his side, without being too forward,seemed to smile at me as much as to say, "It is not only at the theatre I have seen you." Now where had he seen me? Where had I seen him? This I wanted to find out. I had asked his name; it was Charlet, the same name as our famous lithographer. The name awoke no recollection in my mind. One day, however, right in the midst of a movement of the Old Guard, I stopped in front of him.
"Excuse me, Monsieur Charlet," I said to him, "it seems to me I have seen you somewhere.... Where, I cannot tell; but I will bet my hat you are not a stranger to me. Can you assist my memory?"
"Quite true, monsieur," he answered; "we have seen each other three times before, as one does catch sight of people at special times: once in the rue Saint-Honoré, once on the Pont de la Grève and once at the Louvre."
"Oh yes, I remember ... on the Pont de la Grève you commanded the attack when the standard-bearer was killed?"
"That was it," he replied.
"You are an actor?"
"Well, as you see, I am trying to become one."
"Why did you wait until I spoke to you?"
"I am timid."
"Not in the face of bullets, anyhow!"
"Oh! bullets only kill, when all is said."
He began to laugh.
"I am indeed," he went on, "as timid as I say, to a point you would not believe possible.... For instance, I know M. Charles Nodier."
"You know Charles Nodier?"
"Yes, and quite sufficiently well to have asked him for an introduction to you, or to M. Hugo, or anybody else, but I never dared ask him for one."
"You did wrong: Nodier is a capital fellow, and would most certainly have given you such an introduction."
"I am well aware of it ... although I began by wanting to kill him; but, as afterwards I prevented him from being killed, we are quits."
"What the deuce are you telling me?"
"God's truth."
"How did it come about?"
"Oh! bah! it is too long a story; besides, it is not very interesting...."
"Wrong again, my friend," I said to him; "I am not like ordinary people: everything interests me. As for what you say about the tale being long, well, if it bores me, I will ask you to cut it short."
"We are not in a suitable place here. Indeed, Jouslin de la Salle has already twice tried to silence us."
"They will only think I am asking you your part."
Then he burst out laughing, a good open laugh, showing lovely white teeth.
I like people who can laugh, however poor they are, for it shows they are good-hearted and possess a sound digestion.
"Listen," I said to him, "you are not in the next act."
"No, nor in the one after that ... I only come on again at the burning of Moscow."
"Then let us go up to the foyer and then you can tell me this story."
"Ah! nothing would please me better."
We went from the theatre to the foyer, and sat down in that magnificent gallery which, at night especially, looks like a portico of Herculaneum or an atrium of Pompeii, in the fine shadows that cross it.
"Well?" I asked Charlet, putting a hand on his knee.
"Well," he said, "it was last 27 July—at that time I was a journeyman cabinet-maker—I heard it being said in the faubourg Saint-Antoine, where I was engaged in cutting up some wood, that there had been a riot in the place de la Bourse the previous night, and that there were crowds gathered round the Palais-Royal at that very moment. I was furious over the Ordinances, although I did not thoroughly understand where they curtailed our liberty; but I did understand it to be a sort of challenge thrown down to the citizens. I hadlong been waiting for this moment, and I did not stop to be told twice, but rushed off to see what was going on. When I reached theMarché des InnocentsI heard platoon-firing in the direction of thehalle aux Draps>then I caught sight of several wounded men, some dragging themselves along as best they could, others carried upon litters, and all expending their remaining strength in shouting 'To arms!' This spectacle exasperated me, and, without quite knowing, as I said, which was in the wrong, the People or Royalty, I began to shout in my turn, 'To arms!' A wounded man, who had no strength left to hold his rifle, gave it to me, and some man, I know not who he was, stuffed my pockets with cartridges; workmen and armed bourgeois, some with swords and some with carbines, were running towards the rue aux Fers, and I ran with them.... Now, whether I ran faster than everybody else, or whether I was more excited, somehow I found myself at their head, and they, seeing me at their head, took me for their leader. Upon entering the rue aux Fers we found ourselves opposite a regiment of the Guard; the first line fired: we were so close to the soldiers that the smoke from their rifles enshrouded us like a cloud; in the middle of this cloud I distinguished a young man stagger and fall down dead a few steps from me. I ran up to him; he was hit in the chest by a bullet that had gone right through, had come out at his back, and must have penetrated his heart. I took him in my arms and carried him away.... I was scarcely fifty yards from the troop; but it had ceased firing. For there was nobody in the street but myself, the dead man whom I was holding in my arms and a tall man with a pale face, who wore a red ribbon in his blue frockcoat: it was not worth while wasting powder over us three. I did not really quite know what I was doing; I carried my dead man to the rue de la Ferronnerie, and the man in the blue coat with the red ribbon followed me. This persistence in keeping me in sight made me suspicious of him; I stopped, and, seeing that he was coming up to me, I saved him half his distance by going to meet him. At length wemet. I judged from his gentle, sad face that he did not wish to do me harm; however, when I had lain the dead man on the ground, I made my gun ready for any emergency; but, without taking any notice of my hostile precaution, he laid a hand on my shoulder, and, leaving it there, whilst I gazed at him in much surprise, he said: 'My friend, I have been following all your actions for the past hour.' 'I noticed that you had,' I said, 'and that was why I came towards you instead of waiting till you came up to me.' 'Are you the leader of these men?' 'Yes.... What does it matter to you, though?' 'It matters much,' he replied, 'for I too am a man.'
"There was so much sweetness in the voice of the unknown that I, who had begun by asking myself whether to put a bullet through him as I saw him following me, felt fascinated and looked on him with a certain respect. 'Well then,' I said to him, 'if you are a man you must see that they are killing our brothers, and you must help us to massacre all these villains of soldiers.' He smiled sadly. 'But those soldiers are also men,' he said, 'they are your brothers too; only, you act of your own free will, whilst they receive orders which they are obliged to obey. Do you know what the world calls what you are doing your best to bring about? It calls it a Revolution; and do you know what that means, eh?' 'I don't know whether I am raising a Revolution or not, nor whether a Revolution is a good or an evil thing; but I do know what I want.' 'What is that?' 'I want the Charter,Vive la Charte!' And then, in a word, I added, trying to struggle against the moral influence this unknown person was obtaining over me in spite of myself: 'Who are you? What are you asking of me? Why do you follow me?' 'I follow you because you interest me.' 'Very well, you also interest me to the extent of offering you this advice: believe me, you had better take another route.... 'You will not?' 'Very well, my friend. Then in that case I shall leave you. Good-evening!' A dozen men had collected round me; I picked up the dead man and took my way with my little troop towards the École de médecine, which I meant to reach by crossing the Seine by the Pont au Change;but great was my astonishment to come across my man again at the corner of the rue de la Vannerie; he was not content this time to give me advice, but took hold of my arm and tried to draw me in another direction. 'Ah! what the devil do you want with me? We must attend to this!' I cried, stamping my foot, and giving the dead body to the others to carry. 'I want to prevent you and your companions from going to certain death,' he said. 'There is a whole regiment on the Quai aux Fleurs; what can your fifteen or twenty men do against a regiment?' 'Sacrebleu!' I cried, 'you exasperate me beyond bearing! What does it matter to you if I am killed?' 'My friend,' he said to me, 'you must have a father or mother, sister or wife.... Well, I wish to save them tears.' I felt touched in spite of myself, but I was in the centre of men who had chosen me for their leader, and I would not draw back.... 'You are mistaken,' I said; 'I possess none of those ties, so be good enough to go your way and leave me to go mine.' Then, unhanding myself violently from him: 'To the École de médecine!' I shouted to my companions. 'To the École de médecine!' they repeated. And we rushed on to the place du Châtelet. Sure enough, there was a regiment drawn up on the other side of the Seine on the Quai aux Fleurs! 'Vive la ligne!' we shouted, making for the Pont au Change and shaking our guns. But, instead of fraternising with us, the colonel ordered us to withdraw; we took no notice of his injunction, but continued on our way. We were not more than a third of the way across the bridge when the regiment fired upon us. It was indeed a carnage! Two or three men fell round me; the others took to flight and deserted our dead man. I do not know why I was so set on this dead body; I thought it might be useful both as a standard and as a safeguard. I picked it up and beat a retreat to the place du Châtelet. What remained of my recent troop was waiting for me, and in the forefront was that persistent man of the blue coat and red ribbon. 'Well, my poor fellow,' he said, 'what did I tell you? Three or four of your men are killed and as many wounded! It is a miracle that you are alive; theyprobably fired fifty rounds at you! For Heaven's sake do not do any more such mad things.... Come, follow me!' 'Oh! that is the way the wind blows, is it!' I said, 'you red-ribboned man; do you know that you are beginning to annoy me intensely, and that if you push me much further I shall end by telling you to your face what I am thinking about you?' 'What is that?' 'Why, that you are probably aspy!'"
"When some of my men heard the wordspythey exclaimed, 'What, do you say he is a spy?' And, taking aim at the unknown, they exclaimed: 'If he is a spy, let us shoot him!' I was terrified at this action, for something told me that the man did really mean kindly by me. 'No, no!' I cried, 'what are you thinking of? Down arms,sacrebleu!' 'But you said he was a spy,' several voices explained. 'I did not say that; on the contrary, monsieur is a neighbour of mine, and knows me; you heard him mention my mother, and remind me that if I got killed she would be left without anyone to support her.... A spy indeed, go along!'
"I went up to my unknown friend and held out my hand; he took it and pressed it cordially. He was as cool as though his life had never been endangered in the slightest. 'Thank you, my friend,' he said to me; 'I will never forget what you have just done for me. You are right, I am no spy; I will tell you more: I am of your political opinions, but I saw the first Revolution, and that more than satisfied my taste for revolutions.... So now, as I do not wish to see you killed, I will bid you adieu!' He left us and knocked at the door of the café of the Pont au Change, which, after some difficulty, admitted him. We others went off in the direction of the Quai de la Mégisserie, in order to reach the Pont Neuf; but we had scarcely gone forty yards along the quay before we received a volley from the rue Bertin-Poireé that killed four of our men; and, at the same moment, a squadron of mounted police issued from the place des Trois-Marie and advanced towards us, filling the whole width of the quay. I looked all round me, and found I was alone. I fired my gun in the middle of the police and saw one man fall. They had theirmuskets in hand and fired. I could feel the balls whistle past me, but not a single one hit me. The thought of death never entered my head; I was like one possessed! I receded as they advanced and discharged my rifle a second time, then I hid myself behind the fountain of the Châtelet. I decided to be killed there rather than take to flight. I had reloaded my gun and was taking aim the third time, when I felt someone seize me by the collar of my coat and draw me backwards. I turned round quickly, and it was my blue-coated, red-ribboned stranger once more! 'My friend,' he said, 'you are quite mad. Come and have a glass of eau sucrée with me, and that will bring you to your senses.' I felt in my pockets to see if I had enough to pay my reckoning and found I had ten sous, all I should require; so I replied: 'All right, my mouth is very dry; I will gladly drink something.' I had chewed seven or eight cartridges; and powder, you know, makes one very thirsty. I followed my man, and the café door closed behind us. 'Two glasses of eau sucrée!' he called out. 'Oh, not eau sucrée for me, please,' I said; 'it is too insipid!' 'What will you have then?—a small brandy?' 'I would rather have a kirsch.' 'All right, kirsch be it.' They served me with a glass of kirsch and brought him eau sucrée. 'Well,' he said, 'you are alone; all who were with you are either killed, wounded or fled.' 'True,' I replied; 'but others will take their places.'... 'To be killed, or wounded, or flee in their turn. You poor children! If only revolutions really gave you something in return! but, after each revolution, I have noticed that the people are more unhappy than before.' 'Bah!' I said, 'all the more necessary, then, that we should have a downright good revolution!' 'What are you by trade?' the unknown inquired of me. 'Journeyman cabinet-maker in the quartier de l'Arsenal.' 'How is work in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine?' 'There is plenty.' 'Succeed in making your revolution and then see in six weeks' time how it is.'
"'Well, the belly may be pinched, but at least we shall be free!' 'You may be starved and have less liberty even than before!' He rose. 'Listen, my friend,' he said; 'you told methat you lived in the quartier de l'Arsenal, I think?' 'Yes.' 'Well then, if, as I fear, work runs short, remember me,... come to the Arsenal Library and ask for the librarian,—if I can do you a good turn be sure I will.' He went to the counter, paid, and left. I had noticed signs of understanding going on between the proprietor of the café and my unknown friend, and I stayed behind to find out with whom I had been holding intercourse. As I was going up to question the proprietor of the café, he approached me. 'Do you know the person who has just gone out?' 'No, indeed; I should like to know who he is.' 'You say well, for he is one of the best men on earth!' 'The deuce!' I said, 'so much the worse!' 'Why so?' 'If you only knew what name I called him!' 'Calledhim!' 'Yes, him;—I called him a spy!' 'You called M. Charles Nodier a spy?' 'What, the man who has just left here, and with whom I have been drinking, is M. Charles Nodier?' 'The very same.' 'Oh! my God!' 'Well, what are you going to do?' 'Run after him—catch him up and beg his pardon.... Spy—M. Charles Nodier!' I shook the door the proprietor had bolted, with all my might. The firing began afresh at this moment, and five or six bullets pierced the shutters and broke the panes of glass. 'My gun!' I shouted,—'where is my gun?' 'Oh!'the proprietor said, 'your gun is upstairs.' 'Upstairs,—why?' 'Because I have no desire you should be seen going out of here with your rifle, and to have everything in my café smashed and broken. When it is dark I will return you your gun, and you can go away.... Upon my word, from what M. Nodier told me, you have done quite enough with it for to-day!' A second discharge was heard, and several more bullets came through the shutters. 'Come, come,' said the master of the café, 'it is not safe down here.... Let us go upstairs to the first floor!' So, taking me by the arm, he drew me towards the staircase. 'M. Charles Nodier!' I repeated as I followed him, half stunned; and I had called him a spy! I could think of nothing else the whole time I spent in the café of the Pont au Change, and I was there until nine o'clock. I returned home, and lay all night thinking of my day's adventure."
At this moment the manager came into the foyer.
"Oh, Monsieur Dumas," he said, "they are hunting for you everywhere.... And you here too, Charlet,... you must pay a fine, my friend!"
"A fine! And why?" said Charlet.
"Because they did the scene over again, and you were not there."
"A pretty mess I have got myself into!" said Charlet.
"Well! I am doing good business!"
"Don't be uneasy, I will settle it all with Jouslin de la Salle.... Have you seen Nodier again since?"
"Oh! not very likely, indeed! after having called him a spy! While I was still warm with excitement I could have managed to say something to him, but to present myself again to him in cold blood? Never!"
We returned to the theatre, and, as I had promised, I got him off the fine he had incurred through my fault.
He was the same Charlet that Arago had met on 29 July, at the Marché des Innocents, in command of General Dubourg's escort.
We have met again since then; I will relate the occasion and tell what Nodier did for him.
I am officially received into the Artillery Corps of the National Guard—Antonyis put under rehearsal at the Théâtre-Français—Ill-will of the actors—Treaty between Hugo and the manager of the Porte-Saint-Martin—Firmin's proposition and confidence—Mademoiselle Mars' dresses and the new gas lights—I withdrawAntonyfrom the Théâtre-Français—I offer Dorval the part of Adèle
I am officially received into the Artillery Corps of the National Guard—Antonyis put under rehearsal at the Théâtre-Français—Ill-will of the actors—Treaty between Hugo and the manager of the Porte-Saint-Martin—Firmin's proposition and confidence—Mademoiselle Mars' dresses and the new gas lights—I withdrawAntonyfrom the Théâtre-Français—I offer Dorval the part of Adèle
After my liberty had been restored me by my implacable gaoler and beautiful gaoleress I returned home and found several letters waiting for me, two only being of importance. One was from Bixio; he had knocked three or four times at my door, and, finding it obstinately closed, he had written to tell me that my admission, when proposed to the heads of the Artillery, had been adopted by a large majority; he was requested to ask me in their name if I should like to enter the same battery as M. le Duc d'Orléans. If such was my wish they would manage to gratify it. Now, the king had decreed that the Duc d'Orléans should join the first artillery battery of the National Guard; he reckoned upon the prince's conciliatory and excellent disposition to win over to him a corps which proudly boasted itself to be an active basis of Opposition; and, as the centre of democratic opinions, principles and interests, completely given over to the bourgeoisie. After my rupture with the king it was out of the question that I should wish to come in contact with his son. I therefore replied to Bixio that I thanked the heads of the Artillery Department for admitting me into their corps, and that they could place me anywhere it suited them, except in the first battery.
The second letter came from the Théâtre-Français. Asthe censorship had for the moment disappeared, andAntonywas a free agent; it was therefore a question of beginning to rehearse it at once, so I rushed off to the Théâtre-Français, where I found Mademoiselle Mars and Firmin. My readers know that Mademoiselle Mars had accepted the rôle of Adèle, and Firmin that of Antony; the remaining distribution of parts was settled there and then. The play was capitally mounted, specially in the subordinate parts; Rose Dupuis played the Comtesse de Lacy; Menjaud, the young poet; Monrose, the subscriber to theConstitutionnel; and Madame Hervey took Madame de Camps. I say the play was capitally mounted as far as the subsidiary rôles were concerned, not that I wish in the very least to attack the genius of Mademoiselle Mars or of Firmin; but great as may be the talent of these artists—except when contrasted with an all-embracing and powerful genius like Talma's—there are parts that depend more or less for success upon the personal character of the individuals who act them. Now, no woman could have been less capable of understanding the entirely modern character of Adèle than was Mademoiselle Mars,—a character full of subtle contrasts, of strength and weakness and of extremes of passion and repentance. On the other hand, no man could have been less capable than Firmin of reproducing the gloomy melancholy, bitter irony, fiery passion and philosophic ramblings of the personality of Antony. Mademoiselle Mars possessed grace, wit, charm and the art of elocution and coquetry in the highest degree; but she was wanting in that poetic gift which gilds all other qualities with the undefined mystery that constitutes the charm of Shakespeare's women. Firmin possessed Mademoiselle Mars' qualities in a lesser degree, but he was lacking in the fatalism which creates an Orestes in all ages.
Tameness is one of the principal requirements of modern drama. Now, Mademoiselle Mars dared not, and Firmin could not, be tame. Let us go further, and state that the Théâtre-Français itself was a bad setting for the picture. There are certain atmospheres in which some creations cannot exist.
The rehearsals ofAntonywere going on concurrently with those ofNapoléon.But there was this difference between the two pieces and the two theatres: at the Odéon, everybody was satisfied with his or her own part, and from the manager to the prompter everyone did his best to help me, while at the Théâtre-Français everyone was dissatisfied with his part, and from manager to prompter everybody hindered the author and his work. My reader knows Mademoiselle Mars already. I pointed her out at a rehearsal ofHernanipulling to pieces the rôle of Doña Sol. I am sorry I was in such a hurry, I could have shown her inAntonypulling the part of Adèle to pieces. On his side, Firmin plucked the part of Antony as hard as he could. Every feather of slightly vivid colouring made a blur on the kind of grey tint that they wished to give to a work whose ruling theme had, in the first place, been colour, so that by dint of plucking out gently each feather the part was quietly transformed into that of a lover on the stage of the Gymnase.
By the end of a month of rehearsals the piece, deprived of all its salient features, might have been reduced to three acts or even to a single one. One fine morning the suggestion was made to me to suppress the second and fourth acts, because they made the play too wearisome. I had taken such a disgust for the work that I was quite ready to suppress it entirely; I had even got to the point of believing thatNapoléonwas the real work of art, andAntonythe common ordinary run of work. They settled the day for the production of it, becausethey must get it out of the way as it blocked the theatre, which was in urgent haste to put onDon Carlos, ou l'Inquisition, a drama from which they were expecting great things, but whose author desired to preserve his anonymity at the first performance; and with good reason too.
Meanwhile Hugo had sought me out; he had come to realise that we should never be looked upon at the Théâtre-Français by its actors and frequenters, and even by the public itself, as anything but usurpers; the stupid heresies that they had attributed to us concerning Molière, Corneilleand Racine had sprung up in the orchestra; and everyone who was above the age of fifty came nightly to bask voluptuously under the shadow of our audacity! Consequently, Hugo had looked about for and found a theatre which was not an Olympus, where our triumphs would not be regarded as sacrilege, and where those he should cater for would be plain ordinary mortals and not gods. This theatre was the Porte-Saint-Martin. He had entered into negotiations with its manager, M. Crosnier, for the taking ofMarion Delorme.Thus was realised the prophecy made by Crosnier to Hugo when, on 16 July 1829, the latter had said to him—
"Monsieur, you have come too late; there are two plays of mine accepted, which have priority over yours."
To which Crosnier had replied—
"By Jove! monsieur, who knows? In spite of these two acceptances I may, after all, be the one to play your works!"
When treating with Crosnier, Hugo had negotiated in my name as well as his own, subject to my agreement thereto. I thanked him for his friendly attention; but the only two plays I possessed were in rehearsal, one at the Odéon and the other at the Théâtre-Français. I should therefore have to wait till I had produced another piece. But I did not need to wait for this. The nearer the day of the first representation ofAntonyapproached, the more I became conscious of the ill feeling throughout the theatre. On the other hand, those of my friends who had been present at the rehearsals had gone away shaking their heads, and when urged by me to give them opinions they frankly confessed thatthey could not see any play in it at all.I was completely demoralised, for the further I advanced in my dramatic career the more I lost that early confidence in myself which had kept me up through all the tribulations connected withHenri III.I began to think I must be deceived, and that there could be absolutely nothing inAntony.
Two things happened at the time which ought to have driven me to the extreme of discouragement, but which, on the contrary, restored all my determination. The day of thepremièrewas fixed for the following Saturday, and it was then Tuesday or Wednesday, when Firmin took me aside.
"My dear friend," he said to me, "I did not want to refuse to act the part of Antony for you, first, because I will play all the parts you assign me; secondly, because having given me the rôle of Saint Mégrin, which is a good one, you acquired the right to give me a bad one after it...."
He waited for me to stop him midway, but I, on the contrary, let him say his say out. So he went on—
"But you see, I represent the principal character, and I do not wish to take the responsibility of the failure of the play upon myself."
"So you believe it will be a failure?"
"It is my firm conviction.... I do not know how it comes to pass that you, who know the theatrical world intimately, have ventured to risk such a monotonous part.... Antony is a heavy twaddler, who from the first to the fifth act does nothing but repeat the same thing over and over again; who gets angry for no reason at all, a species of monomaniac who rages unceasingly, and wages furious warfare against his fellow-men."
"So that is the effect Antony produces on you?"
"Yes."
"It does not surprise me; it is exactly what I wished it to do."
"Well, that does not matter; I have warned you, remember."
"Yes, but it is not enough to warn a man of his fall: you should afford him a means of escaping his fall."
"Oh!" said Firmin, "I, as you know, am an actor and not an author; I act pieces, but I don't create them."
"But have you no suggestion to make?"
"Yes, I have ... but I dare not say it."
"Say it, of course."
"You will jump as high as the ceiling!"
"What matter, if I do not come down on your feet!"
"Well, then!"
"Well, what?"
"If I were in your place I would take the play to Scribe."
"No," I replied, "but I will take it to Crosnier."
And, going up to the prompter, I said—
"Garnier, please give me my manuscript; there's a good fellow."
The prompter handed me the manuscript; and Firmin watched me take it, astonished. Mademoiselle Mars was waiting all this time until I was free.
"Well, my good fellow," she said in the dry tone she always used when she wished to prepare an author for something disagreeable, "have you done talking with Firmin? And have you a word left for anybody else?"
"Oh madame!" said Firmin, "you had but to speak; I am not in the habit of taking your authors away from you."
"As far as parts such as this man gives me are concerned, you can take him away from me as much as you like."
"Good!" I said,—"this sounds promising!"
Then, going up to Mademoiselle Mars—
"Madame," I said to her, "I am at your service."
"Ah! that is fortunate! Do you know what I am going to tell you?"
"No, madame, I do not know; but if you will be so good as to inform me, I shall."
"I do not intend to act my part in your play on Saturday."
"Oh! why not, if you please?"
"Because I have spent fifteen hundred francs on my dresses, and wish them to be seen."
"But why can they not be seen on Saturday as well as on any other day?"
"Because we had been promised a new chandelier for Saturday, and the man has just put us off for another three months. When there is another chandelier I will play in your piece."
"Ah! madame," I said to her, "there is only one thing likely to put a stumbling-block in the way of your kind intention...."
"What is that?"
"In three months my play will have been acted."
"How can it?"
"It will be."
"Where?"
"At the Theatre Porte-Saint-Martin.... Adieu, madame—Au revoir, Firmin!"
And out I went, carrying my manuscript with me. As I went down the stairs that led from the theatre to the orchestra I turned my head round and saw Mademoiselle Mars and Firmin together, each exchanging questioning glances and gestures. I regret I am unable to transmit the conversation that ensued between them to posterity. I ran off at once to Madame Dorval, who was then residing in the boulevard Saint-Martin, in a house with an exit to the rue Meslay. By chance she happened to be quite alone. When I was announced she had my name repeated twice to her.
"All right!" I shouted from the dining-room; "it is I. But perhaps you wish to have me shown outside the door?"
"Oh! you're a pretty fellow!" she said to me, in those drawling accents that were sometimes such a charm in her; "I have not seen you for six months!"
"What would you have me do, my dear!" I said, entering and throwing my arms round her neck,—"during that time I have produced a child and a revolution, without reckoning that I have been nearly shot twice.... Is this how you greet the ghosts?"
"I cannot embrace you, mygood dog."
This was the pet name of friendship—even, I may say, of love—that Dorval had given me.
Hergood doghas remained faithful to his poor Dorval to the end!
"Why cannot you greet me more warmly?" I asked.
"Because, likeMarion Delorme, I am renewing my virginity."
"Impossible!"
"True, on my word of honour! I am becoming respectable."
"Ah! my dear, I mentioned making a revolution, here is another one. Who the devil caused this to come about?"
"Alfred de Vigny."
"Do you love him?"
"I cannot speak of it; I am mad over him!"
"What has he done to keep you to such good resolutions?"
"He composes littleÉlévations[1]for me."
"In that case, my dear, accept my sincere compliments; for, in the first place, de Vigny is a poet of very great talent; next, he is a true nobleman: both these attributes are better worth having than a mulatto like myself."
"Do you think so?" Dorval said, in a tone of voice she alone knew how to use.
"It is my turn now to swear on my word of honour!"
"Then you didn't come to make love to me?"
I burst out laughing, and made some exclamation or other.
"No, I could not have received your attentions ... fancy, he treats me like a duchess."
"He is perfectly right."
"He calls me his angel."
"Bravo!"
"The other day I had a small lump on my shoulder, and he told me wings were beginning to sprout."
"You must be immensely amused, my dear."
"Yes, indeed! Piccini did not accustom me to such treatment as that."
"And Merle?"
"Still less so.... By the way, you know Merle and I have married?"
"Really?"
"Yes; it was a means of getting separated from one another."
"But he ought to be the happiest man on earth?"
"You think so! He has hiscafé au laitin the morning,and his slippers by his bedside at night.... Do you wish to say good-day to him?"
"Thanks, no! I have come for you."
"Ah! you are very cunning, my big dog.... But I had forgotten, he is not here, he is away in the country."
"I have some news to tell you."
"What is it?"
"That I have withdrawnAntonyfrom the Théâtre-Français."
"Oh! you have done well! It was the same with Hugo, you know; he tookMarion Delormefrom them and brought it to us. I am playing the part of Marion."
"Well, what do you think of the piece?"
"I think it extremely fine.... I do not know how I shall get on, however. Just think-verses. Can you imagine me as a tragedienne"
"But I do not think it is your first attempt."
"Oh! inMarino Faliero, you mean?"
"Goodness! how the part of Helena did bore me! You saw me in that, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"I was pretty bad in it, was I not?"
"Honestly, you were not very good; but I hope you will do better in Adèle."
"What is Adèle?"
"Antony's mistress, my dear."
"Are you bringingAntonyto us, then?"
"Why, of course!"
"And am I to take the part of Adèle, my good dog?"
"Of course!"
"Three cheers, then! Upon my word, no matter what happens I must kiss you.... Oh! how bad it is of you when I told you I mustn't ... Hullo! what is that in your pocket?"
"The manuscript."
"Oh! give it me to look at."
"I am going to read it to you."
"What! do you really mean it?"
"Certainly I do."
"Like this, to me alone?"
"Certainly."
"Oh! Why, then, you must think me a great actress?"
"De Vigny only treats you like a duchess; but I mean to treat you like a queen."
She rose and made me a curtsey.
"The queen shall be your servant for ever, monsieur, in proof whereof I am going to give you a table and offer you ... what shall it be? What do you like best while you are reading? Will you have eau-de-vie, rum or kirsch?"
"I prefer water."
"All right, then; wait a moment."
She went into her bedroom, where I followed her.
"Oh! why do you follow me in here?"
"Why should I not?"
"It is forbidden."
"Even to me?"
"To everybody!... Alexandre! I give you warning I will ring my bell!"
"Ah! indeed!"
"Alexandre!"
"I would like to settle that question. I bet you will not ring."
"Alexandre!"
She hung on to the bell-rope and rang loudly. I flung myself into an arm-chair and began laughing like a madman. The chambermaid came in.
"Louise!" said Dorval, with perfect dignity, "fetch a glass of water for M. Dumas."
"Louise!... in a wash-hand basin," I added.
"Impertinent fellow!" said Dorval.
She threw herself upon me and hit me with all her strength. Just when she was beating me with the greatest avidity, someone rang the outdoor bell. She stopped short.
"Ah!" she said, "do go quickly into the salon before anybody sees you here, there's a good dog!"
"Suppose I take myself off altogether?"
"What?"
"Suppose we put off our reading till this evening?"
"That would be better still."
"Shall I go out by the way you know?"
"Yes, yes.... Till to-night! Would you like me to give Bocage a hint?"
"No. I want to read it over to you first."
"As you like.... But come, off with you!"
"Oh! how tiresome it is of de Vigny to come just at this moment!"
"What can you expect, my poor friend! We are not to have everything our own way in this world.... Good-bye until to-night."
"Until to-night, then."
She shut the door of her bedroom quickly just as the sitting-room door opened.
"Oh! good-day, my dear Comte," she said; "come and sit here by me ... I was expecting you impatiently...."
Meanwhile, Louise lifted the Persian portière curtain and beckoned me to follow her. I put a louis in her hand. She gazed at me in astonishment.
"Well, what is the matter?" I asked.
"Things are to be, then, as though Madame had not rung?"
"Precisely."
"Shall we not see you again?"
"Oh yes, I return to-night."
"Ah! now I understand."
"Well, no, you do not."
"That is possible too: I can't help it. What is to be done? For the past six months the world has been topsy-turvy here. Ah! monsieur, you whom Madame loves so much, you ought indeed to tell her that she is lost!"
She was right, poor Louise!.. But we will explain in another place why she was right.