Chapter 2

"Vieil as de pique, il l'aime!"("Old ace of spades, he loves her!")

and, in his unaffected indignation, he could not refrain from shouting out—

"Oh! but really that is going a little too far!"

"What is going too far, monsieur?" my friend Lassailly inquired, who was on his left and had heard M. Parseval de Grandmaison's remark, but had not caught what Firmin said.

"I say, monsieur," the Academician replied, "that it is going a little too far to call a respectable, worthy old man like Ruy Gomez de Silva, 'old ace of spades'!"

"What! It is too strong an expression?"

"Yes, say what you like, it is not good taste, especially coming from such a young man as Hernani."

"Monsieur," Lassailly replied, "he had a right to say so. Cards were invented—they were invented in the time of Charles VI.; Monsieur l'Académicien, if you are not aware of that fact, I acquaint you with it. Hurrah for the old ace of spades! Bravo, Firmin! Bravo, Hugo! Ah!"

You can understand how hopeless it was to attempt to reply to people who attacked and defended in this fashion.

Hernanimet with great success, although it was more strongly contested thanHenri III.It is simple enough to find the reason for this: beauties of form and style are least readily appreciated by the vulgar mind, and these were Hugo's particular charms. On the other hand, these beautiful touches, being purely artistic, made a great impression on us, and on me in particular.

Hernanireceived all the tributes customary to triumph: itwas outrageously attacked, and defended with equal violence; it was parodied with a clever astuteness directed against the traditionary dramatic customs, under the title ofArnali, ou la Contrainte par Cor(Arnali, or Constraint by Acclamation), a French work translated from the Gothic. And with regard to parodies,—let us make note of a historical fact, the date of which might else be lost in the mists of time, if we did not jot it down here.

The story—for such it is—of Cabrion and of M. Pipelet goes back to the month of March 1829. This is what happened, and it caused so much uneasiness to the porters of Paris that they have remained a melancholy race ever since!

Henri III., foreordained to meet with a great success, or at any rate to make a sensation, had also to have its parody; to facilitate the execution of this important work, I had sent my manuscript in advance to de Leuven and Rousseau; then, at their request, I had worked with them at the piece to the best of my ability, and we called itLe Roi Dagobert et sa Cour.But the Censorship regarded this title as lacking in respect to the descendant of Dagobert. The descendant of Dagobert, that worthy company which bears, for arms, scissors sable upon a field argent, meant His Majesty Charles X. It confused descendant with successor, but gentlemen on committees of examination are known to be above the consideration of such a mere trifle as that. So we altered the title to that ofLa Cour du roi Pétaud, to which the Censorship raised no objection. Just as if nobody were descended from le roi Pétaud!

So the parody ofHenri III. et sa Courwas played at the Vaudeville under this title. It parodied the play, scene for scene. Now, at the conclusion of the fourth act, the farewell scene between Saint-Mégrin and his servant was parodied by one between the hero of the parody (unfortunately I have forgotten his name) and his porter. In this extremely tender, touching and sentimental scene, the hero asks the porter for a lock of his hair to the tune ofDormez donc; mes chères amours!which was all the rage just then, and most appropriate to the situation. On the night of the performance everybody went away singing the refrain and the words of the song. Three or four days afterwards, a party of us were dining at Véfours, including de Leuven, Eugène Sue, Desforges, Desmares, Rousseau, several others and myself. At the end of the dinner, which had been exceedingly lively, we sang the famous refrain in chorus:—

"Portier, je veuxDe tes cheveux!"

Eugène Sue and Desmares decided to carry into effect this flight of our imagination and, as they entered the house, No. 8 rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin, where Eugène Sue knew the name of the concierge, they asked the good man if his name were not M. Pipelet. He answered in the affirmative. Then, in the name of a Polish princess who had seen him and fallen desperately in love with him, they asked, with many entreaties, for a lock of his hair, and, to get rid of them, the poor Pipelet ended by giving it them. He was a lost man, after he had committed such a weakness! That same evening three other requests were addressed to him on behalf of a Russian princess, a German baroness and an Italian marchioness; and, every time the request was put to him, an invisible choir sang under the great doorway—

"Portier, je veuxDe tes cheveux!"

The joke was continued the next day; we sent everybody we knew to ask Master Pipelet for a lock of his hair, so that he eventually only answered the bell with horror, whilst to no purpose whatever did he remove from his door the traditional notice—

Address yourself to the Porter.

On the following Sunday, Eugène Sue and Desmares decided to give the poor devil a serenade on a grand scale: they entered the courtyard on horseback, with guitars in theirhands, and began singing the persecuting air. But, as we said, it was Sunday, and, the householders being away in the country, the porter quite expected they would try to embitter his Sabbath as on other days, not allowing him the rest God had conceded to Himself. Having informed every servant throughout the house, he slipped behind the singers, shut the street door and made a pre-arranged signal, whereupon five or six servants ran to his assistance, and the troubadours were compelled to turn their musical instruments into weapons of defence: they came away with nothing but the necks of their guitars in their hands. Nobody ever knew the details of this fight, which must have been a terrible one; the combatants kept it to themselves; but it was known to have happened; and the porter of the rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin was voted a literary outlaw. From that moment the wretched man's life became a premature hell to him: even his night's rest was not respected; for every belated littérateur had to take an oath to return home by way of the rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin, were he living even at the Barrière du Maine. The persecution endured for over three months; at the end of that time a new face appeared to answer the accustomed demand: Pipelet's wife came weeping to the grating to say that her husband had fallen a victim to this persecution and had been carried off to a hospital with an attack of brain fever. The unlucky man was in a delirium and, in his raving, repeated incessantly, over and over again, the refrain that had cost him his reason and his health. This, then, is the real truth about the celebrated persecution of the Pipelets, which made a great sensation during the years 1829 to 1830.

Now let us return toChristine.When the play was returned from the Censorship it was rehearsed with a will. Romanticism, which had taken possession of the Théâtre-Français, had just spread to the other side of the Seine and had turned aside from the Academy—as in the case of a fortress which a great general scorns to attack at a time of invasion—and threatened to carry the Odéon by assault.

It was creating quite a revolution in the Latin quarter.Further, in order to give more effect to the next performance, Harel constantly suspended the play—a means of advertisement and a way of publishing hitherto quite unknown.

On the morning of the general rehearsal I received a line from Soulié; it was, with the exception of the slight correspondence previously mentioned and the sending of places forRoméo et Juliette, the only sign of his existence he had given me for a year. He asked me for a pass for this rehearsal. I sent him at once a pass for himself and any of his friends who might wish to accompany him. The rehearsal took place the same night. Now, in those days, general rehearsals were actual performances of the play as it would be presented finally. Friends were not yet sick of it, success had not made them indifferent or jealous, and there really seemed to be a general interest taken in the outcome of some of them. The cause we were upholding was that of every obscure aspirant who hoped to become famous some day; and they would share a good deal of the influence acquired by us, in order to make their path more sure and brilliant. Egotism made them devotees. So the general rehearsal ofChristinewas an enthusiastic success.

I left the orchestra after the fifth act, and went to pay my respects to Soulié. He was greatly moved and held out his arms to me. I embraced him with deep emotion; it had distressed me to be on cool terms with a man whom I loved and whose talent I admired more than others did, because, better than others, I appreciated that talent.

"Ah!" said he, "you were certainly well advised in writing yourChristinealone. It is an admirable piece of work, but parts of it suffer as regards composition; that will come. Some day you will be our leading dramatist, and we your humble servants."

"Come now, my dear friend," I said, "you must be mad to say such things!"

"Not so; I mean what I say, upon my honour. To tell you that it gives me immense pleasure would be going too far; you would not believe me, but nevertheless it is so."

I thanked him.

"Look here," he said, "let us talk seriously: I know there is a plot organised against your play and that they are going to make it hot for you to-morrow night."

"Oh, I felt certain of it."

"Have you fifty places left in the pit?"

"Yes."

"Then let me have them and I will bring all my workmen from the sawmill, and we will back you up against them, never fear!"

I gave him a packet of tickets without counting them, and, as they were waiting for me on the stage, I again embraced him and we parted.

I think this man possessed certain brotherly and trusting qualities which one looks for in vain in theatrical circles: he who had been hissed three or four months previously in the same theatre, and under similar circumstances, now asked his rival for fifty places, in order to back up a play the success of which would but intensify the failure of his own, and from a rival who, with lavish generosity, gave him at once, without the slightest hesitation or misgivings, a pile of tickets quite sufficient in number to ruin the best play in the world if they fell into the wrong hands. We were, probably, rather absurd figures, but we were unquestionably well-meaning.

As no delay had been considered necessary, the play was performed the next day.

Frédéric had told me the truth. There had been organised by someone—by whom I had not the slightest idea, perhaps spontaneously and without any other incentive than the hatred borne towards us—the roughest sort of opposition I ever witnessed. As usual, I was present in a box at my first night, so I lost none of the incidents of that terrible battle which raged for seven hours; during which the play was knocked down a dozen times and always rose up again, ending at two in the morning by forcing the panting, horrified and scared public to go down on its knees.

Oh! I repeat it with an enthusiasm that has not diminishedafter twenty-five years of fighting, and in spite of my fifty or more triumphant successes, the contest between the genius of man and the ill-will of the crowd, the vulgarity of the audience, the hatred of enemies, is a grand and splendid spectacle. There is an immense satisfaction in dramatic quarters in feeling the opposition forced down on its knees and slowly made to bite the dust in utter defeat. Oh! what pride would victory produce, if it were not that, amongst honest men, it is a cure for vanity!

It is quite impossible to give any idea of the effect that the arrest of Monaldeschi produced on the audience, after the monologue of Sentinelli at the window, which had been hooted at. The whole theatre burst into roars of applause, and when, in the fifth act, Monaldeschi, saved by the love of Christine, sends the poisoned ring to Paula, there were furious outcries against the cowardly assassin, which were turned into frantic cheers when they saw him drag himself, wounded and bleeding, to the feet of the queen, who, in spite of his supplications and prayers, gives utterance to this line, which Picard had pronouncedimpossible—

"Eh bien, j'en ai pitié, mon père.—Qu'on l'achève!"

At last the whole audience was won over and the success of the play was assured. The epilogue, which was calm, and cold, and grandiose, a kind of vast cavern with damp floors and I dank vaults, where I buried the bodies of my characters, detracted from its successful acceptation. Those guilty souls with blanched heads and dead affections, meeting one another again after thirty years' separation, the one without hatred and the other without love, gazing in wonder at each other and asking forgiveness for the crime they had perpetrated, presented a succession of scenes that were more philosophic and religious in spirit than dramatic in art. Confronted with my own work, I recognised my mistake; but, having erred, I must atone; so I cut out the epilogue, which was really the best piece in the whole work, as regards style, although far from being perfect. Let us hasten to say that the rest was not very striking; it was written inimitation of a language in which I had then only just begun to stammer, in faltering accents.

I had not lost sight of Soulié during the performance: he and his fifty men were there. Even if I had put a mask over my face, I should not have dared to do what he had done for the success of my play!

Oh! dear and loyal-hearted friend! Known to and appreciated by few, I, who did know and appreciate you during your lifetime, and defended you after your death, I still extol your virtues!

But to conclude my story: the whole of the audience left the theatre without a single soul being able to tell whetherChristinewas a success or a failure.

I had a supper-party afterwards, for any of my friends who liked to come. If we were not fully triumphant at the victory, we were, at all events, excited by the fight. There were about twenty-five of us to supper—Hugo, de Vigny, Paul Lacroix, Boulanger, Achille Comte, Planche (Planche, who had not yet been bitten by the dog of hatred, and who only later showed an inclination to madness), Cordelier-Delanoue, Théodore Villenave—and I know not who besides, of the noisy youthful crew full of life and activity that surrounded us at that time; all the volunteers belonging to that great war of invasion, which was not in reality as terrible as it pronounced itself to be, and, after all, only threatened to capture Vienna in order to obtain possession of the Rhine frontiers.

Now listen to what happened: the event I am going to relate was almost a duplicate of the episode in connection with Soulié; and I will answer for it as being unique in the annals of literature.

There were some hundred lines in my play which had to be altered, and which, to make use of an expressive vulgarism, had beenempoignés(seized upon) at the first night's performance; they were to be held up to hostile criticism, for they would not fail to be dropped on afresh at the next performance; besides some dozen cuts which had to be made and dressed by skilful and by fatherly hands; this needed doing immediately, that verynight, so that the manuscript could be sent back the next morning for the alterations to be made at noon, and the piece acted that same night. Now it was out of the question that I, who had twenty-five guests to entertain, could do it. But Hugo and de Vigny took the manuscript, and, telling me to set my mind at rest, they shut themselves up in a small room, and, whilst the rest of us were eating and drinking and singing, they worked. They toiled for four consecutive hours with the same conscientious energy they would have employed upon their own work; and when they came out at daybreak, finding us all gone to bed and asleep, they left the manuscript, ready for the performance, on the mantelpiece, and, without waking anybody, these two rivals went off arm in arm, like two brothers!

Do you remember that, dear Hugo? Do you recollect that, de Vigny?

We were roused from our lethargic condition next morning by the bookseller Barba, who came to offer me twelve thousand francs for the manuscript ofChristine—that is to say, double the sum for which I had soldHenri III.It was, then, unquestionably a success!

A passing cab—Madame Dorval in theIncendiaire—Two actresses—The Duc d'Orléans asks for the Cross of the Legion of Honour on my behalf—His recommendation has no effect—M. Empis—Madame Lafond's Salon—My costume as Arnaute—Madame Malibran—Brothers and sisters in Art

The day after, or rather the evening of the second day after my first representation, I was crossing the place de l'Odéon at one o'clock in the morning, passing from the lighted theatre into the darkness of the street, and from the noise of the applause of a crowded house to the silence of an empty square, from intoxication to reflection, from reality to dreams, when a woman's head appeared at the door of a cab calling me by name. I turned round, the cab pulled up and I opened the door.

"Are you M. Dumas?" the person inside inquired.

"Yes, madame."

"Very well, come inside and kiss me. Ah! you possess marvellous talent, and you don't draw women badly either!"

It made me laugh, and I kissed the fair speaker. She who spoke thus to me was Dorval—Dorval to whom I could have retorted in the same words—

"You have marvellous talent, and you take off women rather well."

The fact is that since we had seen Dorval act Malvina in theVampireshe had improved immensely. In theIncendiaire, especially, she had been perfectly magnificent. Those who read these lines now will not know what the play was: I can only recollect a priest's part, which Bocage played excellently well, and a confession scene in which Dorval wassublime. Picture to yourselves a young girl who has had a torch put into her hands; how, or by what means, I no longer remember, but no matter; besides, that was twenty-two or twenty-three years ago, and I have forgotten the drama and, I repeat, I can only recollect the actress. She acted the confession scene, referred to above, on her knees: it lasted a whole quarter of an hour, during which space of time one held one's breath or only breathed in weeping. One night Madame Dorval was more beautiful, more tender and more pathetic than ever: and I will tell you why. You will have seen pictures by Ruysdael and Hobbema, and will recall how rays of sunlight stray across their landscapes, lighting up a corner of the grey sky, and illuminating the misty atmosphere, where the great oxen graze in the tall grass. Well, then, listen to this. When the player is fatigued, having played the same part over from ten to fifty times, inspiration gradually dies down and genius slumbers and emotion gets deadened; the actor's sky grows grey and his atmosphere clouded, and he searches for rays of sunshine like those that illumine the canvases of Hobbema or Ruysdael. The sight of a friend among the spectators, a talented fellow-artist leaning over the dress-circle, is, to him, as a ray of sunlight; a thoughtful face with eyes shining in the dim light of a box. Then communication is established between the house and the stage; the electric current is perceived and, thanks to it, the player returns to the days of the earliest performances; all the slumbering chords awake, and suddenly weep, mourn and sob more quiveringly than ever; the public applauds and shouts bravo, and thinks that it is for it the player works these wonders. Poor deluded public! It is towards some kindred soul, unsuspected by you, that all this effort, those cries and tears are directed! You simply get the benefit of it as from dew or light or flame. But, after all, what matters it to you who pours the dew down, who spreads this light, who lights this flame, since in this dew and light and flame you refresh and light and warm yourself? So, one night, Dorval had surpassed herself—for whom? She had not the slightest idea. It wasfor a woman in the audience—a woman who for three hours had kept her spellbound beneath her eagle glance; for three hours Dorval saw none of the other people in the house, she wept and talked and lived and, in a word, acted for that one woman alone: when she applauded and cried "Bravo!" the actress had been paid for her labour, rewarded for her pains and compensated for her talent! She had said to herself, "I am satisfied since she is." Then the curtain had fallen and, breathless, crushed, almost dead from exhaustion, like a pythoness when removed from her tripod, Dorval went to her room; from victress she became victim, and fell half fainting upon her couch. Suddenly the door of her dressing-room opened, and the unknown woman appeared on the threshold. Dorval sprang up trembling and took her by both hands as though she were a friend. For a few minutes the two women looked at one another in silence, smiling, with tears in their eyes.

"Forgive me, madame," the unknown said, with incredible sweetness of voice; "but I could not return home without telling you of the joy, the emotion, the happiness I owe to you. Oh! it was wonderful, sublime, exquisite!"

Dorval looked at her and thanked her with her eyes, and an inclination of her head and a motion of the shoulders peculiarly her own, all the while interrogating her, inquiring with every muscle of her countenance—

"But who in the world are you, madame? Who are you?"

The unknown guessed her thoughts, and replied—only those who had heard that wonderful siren speak can conceive the sweetness of her tones—

"I am Madame Malibran."

Dorval uttered a cry and pointed to the only picture which adorned her room. It was a portrait of Madame Malibran as Desdemona. Henceforth Madame Dorval possessed one of the two things she had hitherto lacked before she could become a woman of the highest merit: a friend who would be true to her but, at the same time, discriminating; and such a friendship Madame Malibran offered her. Now that shehad her portion of friendship, it rested with Providence to bestow upon her that of love.

After Madame Dorval had played the parts of Adèle d'Hervey and Marion Delorme, she played Kitty Bell; by that time she had developed into a most accomplished woman and a consummate actress. Dorval's exclamation when she stopped me near the Odéon, and the artistic freemasonry she frankly sealed with a fraternal kiss, made me very happy! For pride to be satisfied, praise must come from a higher source or, at the very least, from as high a one as that of the recipient. For the praise that comes from above is ambrosial, that from below is but incense.

One day, Michelet wrote to me (I had never either seen or spoken with him previously).

"Monsieur," he said, "I like and admire you; you are one of the forces of nature."

This letter gave me keener and more real pleasure than if I had received the news that the grand Cross of the Légion d'honneur had been bestowed upon me. Mention of the Légion d'honneur suggests a few words relative to the sensation caused by the successes of bothHenri III.andChristine.

Christinehad been played on 20 February, and on 9 March, very probably at the request of the Duc de Chartres, who had been present, at his own desire, at the first representation, the Duc d'Orléans wrote as follows to M. Sosthène de la Rochefoucauld:—

"PALAIS-ROYAL, 9March1830"I hear, monsieur, that you intend to submit to the King the suggestion of granting the Cross of the Légion d'honneur to M. Alexandre Dumas, when the season comes round at which he usually grants promotions to that order."M. Alexandre Dumas' success as a dramatist, indeed, seems to me to deserve such a mark of esteem, and I shall be the more pleased for him to get it, since he has been attached to my secretarial staff and in my forestry department for the past six years, during which time he has supported his family in a most praiseworthy way. I am told he intends totravel in the north of Europe, and that he sets great store by the nomination taking place before his departure. I do not know whether 12 April would be a suitable occasion on which to submit the proposition to the King; but I wish to suggest the idea to you, as a token of the interest I take in M. Dumas."Allow me to take advantage of this opportunity to offer you the assurance of my sincere regard for you.—Yours affectionately,LOUIS-PHILIPPE D'ORLÉANS"

"PALAIS-ROYAL, 9March1830

"I hear, monsieur, that you intend to submit to the King the suggestion of granting the Cross of the Légion d'honneur to M. Alexandre Dumas, when the season comes round at which he usually grants promotions to that order.

"M. Alexandre Dumas' success as a dramatist, indeed, seems to me to deserve such a mark of esteem, and I shall be the more pleased for him to get it, since he has been attached to my secretarial staff and in my forestry department for the past six years, during which time he has supported his family in a most praiseworthy way. I am told he intends totravel in the north of Europe, and that he sets great store by the nomination taking place before his departure. I do not know whether 12 April would be a suitable occasion on which to submit the proposition to the King; but I wish to suggest the idea to you, as a token of the interest I take in M. Dumas.

"Allow me to take advantage of this opportunity to offer you the assurance of my sincere regard for you.—Yours affectionately,LOUIS-PHILIPPE D'ORLÉANS"

One day, when I was in the library, M. le Duc de Orléans came in with a letter in his hand. I had risen at his entrance and remained standing as he advanced towards me.

"Look here, Monsieur Dumas," he said, "this is what has been asked on your behalf. Read it."

Intensely astonished, I read the letter I have just transcribed above. I knew that M. Sosthène de la Rochefoucauld, who was very friendly towards me, had been urged by Beauchesne to send my name in to M. de la Bouillerie's office; but it was far enough from my thoughts that the Duc d'Orléans would ever consent to recommend me himself. I blushed excessively, stammered out a few words of thanks and asked him to whom I owed the good fortune of being recommended by him.

"To a friend," he replied, and that was all I could extract from him.

Unfortunately, the duke's recommendation was of no avail. I have since been informed that it was M. Empis, head clerk of the king's household, who frustrated the kind intention of the prince and of M. de la Rochefoucauld. M. Empis belonged to an entirely opposite school of literature from mine; he had written a very remarkable play calledLa Mère et la Fille, the leading part in which was created by Frédérick Lemaître, upon his first appearance at the Odéon, and the piece was extraordinarily successful. I said above "Unfortunately the duke's recommendation was of no avail." Let us explain the wordunfortunately.Unfortunate it was, indeed; for at that time the Cross of the Légion d'honneur had not been bestowed broadcast, and it would have been a rich prize had I obtained it. I was young and full of hope and vigour and enthusiasm;I was just on the threshold of my career; and therefore the fact of my nomination would have given me very great delight. But it is among the misfortunes of those who have the power of giving such honours that they never know how to give them in time; this cross, that the Duc d'Orléans asked for me in 1830, King Louis-Philippe only gave me in 1836, at the Fêtes of Versailles; even then it was not he himself but the prince royal who gave it me, upon the occasion of his marriage, when the orders at his disposal were one grand'croix and two croix d'Officier and one croix de Chevalier. The grand'croix was for François Arago; the two "croix d'Officier" were for Augustin Thierry and Victor Hugo; the croix de Chevalier was for me.

Having reached this period of my life, I will tell all the stories connected with this order, and how M. de Salvandy, so that he might be forgiven for presenting the croix d'Officier to Hugo and the croix de Chevalier to me, felt obliged to give one at the same time to an excellent fellow, whose name was so totally unknown as to preserve, by its very obscurity, the celebrity of our own. The result was that I put my cross inside my pocket, instead of pinning it in my buttonhole.

And this reminds me of the story of the father of one of my literary confrères, a wealthy cotton merchant, who, having received the cross, because he had lent Charles X. two million francs, only wore the ribbon in the buttonhole of his fob. Thus I had, for the time being, to deprive myself of the red ribbon. I was angry at first with M. Empis for having defeated my pretty dream, but far more angry with him later for having writtenJulie, ou la Réparation!

However, we managed to find endless diversions during that happy winter of 1830, severe though it was. It is a remarkable fact that revolutions almost always surprise people in the midst of dances, and kings in the midst of fireworks. There were, too, any number of masked balls. There was a Salon held in Paris in those days by Madame Lafond, which was entirely comprised of artistic society. Madame Lafond was, at that date, a woman of between thirty-six and thirty-eight yearsof age, in the zenith of her beauty, which was that of a brunette, and she was admirably preserved: she had dark speaking eyes and black wavy hair, add to these charms a most bewitching smile, the most graceful hands imaginable, and an intellect that was remarkable both for its power and its kindliness, and you will still only have a very imperfect impression of the mistress of that Salon. Her husband was the musician Lafond, who was a talented violin player: he was small and fair, and supported his wife to perfection at her soirées, playing the same part Prince Albert plays at the Court of Queen Victoria. I believe he was killed by a carriage accident. He had two sons a great deal younger than I, who still wore little round jackets and turned-down collars, and were sent to bed at eight o'clock. They have grown up into two delightful young fellows, whom I have since met at various Embassies.

In those days, neither the costume of pierrots nor that of dock labourers had become the fashionable rage; Chicard and Gavarni were still hidden in the dark depths of the future; and the Opera ballet had not emerged from the traditional domino in which it would have been a difficult matter to thread those mad galops, to the sound of that terrible music, which won Musard the nickname of "the Napoleon of the Cancan." The real cancan, which was a capital national dance, the only one which possessed the elements of spontaneity and of the picturesque, was consigned to the outskirts of civilisation, with other contraband goods proscribed by custom.

Now, the choice of a suitable costume was a very serious business to an author of twenty-six, who had already begun to possess the reputation, whether erroneously or not, of being quite an Othello. I had made the acquaintance at Firmin's balls—I do not know why I have never yet spoken of those delightful réunions of his, where one was sure to find, without powder or paint, the youngest and prettiest faces in Paris—of a clever young fellow, a pupil of M. Ingres, and who has since become the celebrated antiquary Amaury Duval. He had just returned from Greece, where he had taken part in an artistic expedition that had been sent to the land ofPericles, after the battle of Navarino. He appeared at one of Firmin's balls in the disguise of a Pallikar. The Pallikar was all the rage then; Byron had introduced, it, and all our pretty women had collected funds for that mother of lovely women, the land of Greece. From this time I became great friends with Amaury and, later, I gave his name to one of my romances, in remembrance of our youthful friendship; or, rather, let us say, of the friendship of our youth. He proclaimed himself a fanatical partisan of my works, and he it was, it will be recollected, son and nephew of an Academician, who was said to have demanded the heads of the members of the Academy, after the first representation ofHenri III.So I went and hunted him up, for it was most important at a fancy dress ball to make the most of one's natural advantages. I have said that I never was good-looking, but I was tall and well built, although rather slight; my face was thin, and I had large brown eyes, with a dark complexion; in a word, if it was impossible to create beauty, it was easy enough to form character. So we decided that the dress of an Albanian would suit me exactly; and Amaury accordingly designed me a costume. Now, the turban was the most striking part of this costume, and, being rolled two or three times round the head, it passed round the neck and was tied at the point it started from. But the costume had to be made, and, as it was covered with embroidery and braid and lace, it took a fortnight to make.

At last, the evening arrived, and the dress was finished by eleven o'clock; by midnight I entered Madame Lafond's house. This costume of mine was then almost unknown in France: the jacket and leggings were of red velvet, embroidered with gold; thefustanelle, as white as snow, had not been robbed of a single inch of its proper width; the dazzling silver arms were marvellously wrought, and, above all, the originality of the head-dress drew all eyes upon me. I guessed I should make a triumphant sensation, but had no idea of the method in which it would be expressed. I had not taken ten steps into the room before a young woman, clad as a Roman priestess,crowned with verbena and cypress, made her apologies to her partner and left him to come to me. She then led me apart into a small boudoir and, making me sit down, remained standing in front of me and said—

"Now, Monsieur Dumas, you are going to teach me how to put on a turban like that; to-morrow I am acting Desdemona with Zucchelli and you know how those Italian devils array themselves; I should, at any rate, like him to have a head-dress like yours, it would work me up!"

The Roman priestess was Madame Malibran, of whom I shall soon have much more to say and of whom I have already spoken twice in connection with the first representation ofHenri III., where she hung over the edge of her box on the third tier throughout the fifth act; and also in connection with Dorval, into whose arms she ran to fling herself after a representation ofl'Incendiaire.Yes, it was Madame Malibran, the incomparable artist, who alone, perhaps, of all artists, wedded the drama to song, strength to grace, joy to sadness, to a degree no one has ever attained. Alas! she too died young, and is now but a shadow on our horizon! Shade of Desdemona and of Rosine, of la Somnambule and of Norma, a dazzling, harmonious, melancholy shadow! that those who saw the living reality can still revive by the aid of memory, but who is merely a phantom for those who saw her not! She died when still young, but thereby she, at any rate, carried away with her into the tomb all the advantages that are to be derived from premature death; she died beautiful, loving and beloved, at the zenith of her triumph, girt with glory, crowned with laurels and enshrouded in fame! But theatrical artists leave nothing that can be transmitted to posterity, no traces of the purity of their singing, the grace of their movements or the passion of their gestures—nothing but a reflection which remains in the memory of their contemporaries. It therefore remains for us, painters or poets, who do leave something behind us after we have gone; to us, privileged children of Art, who possess the faculty of reproducing the form or the spirit of material and perishable things throughthe medium of our brushes and pens; to whom God has given a mirror for a soul, which remembers instead of forgets; it rests with us to make you live again, O brothers and sisters! to depict you as you were, and, if possible, to reflect your images even greater and more beautiful than they were in life!

Did my readers think when I began these volumes that my aim was merely egotistic, for the purpose of talking everlastingly of myself? No, indeed; I meant it to serve for a huge frame in which to depict all my brethren in Art, fathers or children of my century, the great spirits and charming personalities, whose hands, cheeks and lips I have pressed; those who have loved me, and whom I have loved; those who have been, or who still are, the ornament of our times; including those I may never have known, and those even who have detested me! TheMemoirs of Alexandre Dumas—why, it would be absurd! What could I have become alone, as an isolated individual, a lost atom, a speck of dust amidst so many whirlwinds Simply nothing. But by associating myself with you, by pressing with my left hand the right hand of an artist, with my right hand the left hand of a prince, I became a link in the golden chain which connects the past with the future. No, I am not writing my own Memoirs, but those of all I have known; and as I have come in contact with the greatest and most illustrious people in France, it is really Memoirs of France I am writing.

I spent the best part of the night teaching Madame Malibran how to put on an Albanian turban, and the next day Zucchelli played Othello in a head-dress similar to the one I had worn on the previous evening. Madame Malibran was quite right. Othello's coiffure had its effect, for she had never been greater or more sublimely beautiful!

Farewell, Marie! Her name too was Marie, in common with Marie Dorval and Marie Pleyel—au revoir!I shall meet you again at Naples!

Why the Duc d'Orléans' recommendation on the subject of my croix d'honneur failed—The indemnity of a milliard—La Fayette's journey to Auvergne—His reception at Grenoble, Vizille and at Lyons—Charles X.'s journey to Alsace—Varennes and Nancy—Opening of the Chambers—The royal speech and the Address of the 221—Article 14—The conquest of Algiers and the recapture of our Rhine frontiers

Let us turn from an artistic to an aristocratic evening party, one which made quite a different sensation! I refer to the famous soirée at the Palais-Royal given, on 31 May 1830, by the Duc d'Orléans to his brother-in-law, the King of Naples. But first let us return to matters a little farther back.

Why did the recommendation of the Duc d'Orléans in the matter of obtaining a croix d'honneur for me carry so little weight? It was because, as his popularity grew day by day, so, in proportion, did his credit wane at the Tuileries. Because, daily growing emboldened and weighing in his mind the question he meant to put, so he has since told me, to a council and not to a prince of the blood, he let slip expressions against the Court which showed too open an opposition to its methods. Because, since M. de Polignac had been made a minister, since the occasion of the famous audience given to Victor Hugo when he was received by the king at Saint-Cloud, everybody was expecting a fresh revolution to break out. A revolution must have been universally expected, since I, in my own small turn, had replied to M. de Lourdoueix in the famous phrase "I will wait" (j'attendrai), and, had I waited, the matter would only have been postponed for six months.

On 2 March the Chamber re-opened. The king waspresent at the sitting, his mind made up for a revolutionary measure. Now a thousand things determined Charles X. upon taking such a course: his own travels in Alsace, M. de La Fayette's in the Auvergne, and other events that we will record in their proper places. General La Fayette, having gained possession of his indemnity money as a Royalist émigré, had made up his mind to travel through Auvergne as a Republican. In fact, the milliard of indemnity had just been distributed; and, strange to say, it was found to enrich more Liberals than Royalists. The Duc d'Orléans, for instance, received 16,000,000 francs. The Duc de Liancourt received 1,400,000 francs as his share. The Duc de Choiseul, 1,100,000 francs. General La Fayette, 456,182 francs. M. Gaëtan de La Rochefoucauld, 428,206 francs. M. Thiers, 357,850 francs. And lastly, M. Charles de Lameth, 201,696 francs.

Well, General La Fayette set out for Auvergne. General La Fayette, whom I knew intimately, and who was quite friendly in his inclinations towards myself, whom I hope to describe in his proper turn in the course of these Memoirs, without allowing the respectful homage of a young man and the sympathy of the friend to injure the impartiality of the historian—General La Fayette, I say, was born in 1757, at Chavagnac, near Brioude, and, some day before the close of the session of 1829, he had set out to visit the ancient land of the Arvernese. He had yielded to the wish of seeing his native land once more, a desire which moves our souls with such profound memories that it draws us to it throughout our whole life, and it is a remarkable fact that this attraction grows stronger as we near death, as though nature had implanted an imperious wish in man's heart to seek his burial-place near the spot where he was born. Now, General La Fayette was welcomed throughout that tour with joy and affection and respect, but without fanaticism. Banquets had been given him at Issoire and Clermont and Brioude; but none of them had had any sort of political significance until then: they were simply meetings of fellow-citizens, celebrating the return of one of their members, and nothing more. Suddenly, the news of achange of government became known, and the accession of M. de Polignac to power.

From the very moment that the news of the change of government arrived, La Fayette's journey assumed a different complexion: it bore the aspect of an influential protest, and an almost religious hopefulness of tone. The general was at Puy—a remarkable coincidence—in the same town where the ancestors of M. de Polignac had formerly held sway, when, a couple of hours before the banquet took place that was being prepared in his honour, the people heard of the formation of the Ministry of 8 August; immediately they rallied excitedly round the famous traveller, pressing up to him with shouts of "Vive La Fayette!" and, at the repast, two hours later, the following pretty revolutionary toast was drunk:—

"The Chambre des députés, theone and only hopeof France!"

The general intended to go to Vizille to see his granddaughter, wife of Augustin Périer, who lived in a château built in olden times by the Constable of Lesdiguières, an ancient feudal manor house, which was later turned into a factory and workshop. To go to Vizille—a historic town whose Government, with that of Bretagne, in 1788 was the first to offer opposition to the royal decrees—he had to pass through Grenoble. Moreover, pass through it he would; the general was just the man to go two or three leagues out of his way in order to cull the flower of popularity, which quickly fades and which, after forty years, was springing up as fresh the second time as the first.

Grenoble is a great town for dissension: nowhere have the seeds of liberty produced more luxuriant crops than in this unsubmissive city, which, in 1815, out of reverence for Napoleon, burst the gates that would not open to him; which, in 1816, witnessed the guillotining of Didier, Drevet and Buisson, and the shooting down of twenty-two conspirators, including an old man of sixty-five and a child of fifteen! A couple of score of young men on horseback and several carriages came out togreet the general; they met him a league away from the town to form an escort; then at the gate of France the former mayor, deprived of his office, probably through the many political reactions of the times, awaited him, to present him with a crown of silver oak leaves. This wreath—a token of the love and gratitude of the people—was the outcome of a subscription at fifty centimes a head. At Vizille they outdid even this: they fired cannon. On 5 September it was the turn of Lyons to show the general sympathy by means of a reception that was quite an ovation in itself. A deputation was even appointed to receive him at the borders of the department of the Rhône; it was escorted by a troop of five hundred horsemen, by a thousand young folk on foot and by sixty carriages occupied by the leading merchants of the town. In the midst of these carriages came an empty barouche, drawn by four horses, which was intended for the general's use.

At the gate of the city the general was harangued by a former lawyer. We do not recollect the speech, except that it was ultra Liberal in tone, but we recall a few words of the reply from him to whom it was addressed. "To-day," the general replied, "after a long diversion of brilliant patriotism and of constitutional hopes, I once again find myself in your midst at what I should consider a critical moment, had I not observed everywhere during my journeyings, as also in this powerful city, the calm and even contemptuous steadfastness of a great people, which is aware of its rights, conscious of its strength and will remain faithful to its duties!"

This utterance, ten months beforehand, was prophetic of the Bretonne Association, the refusal of tax-paying and the Revolution of July.

The general's account of his travels was printed, and a hundred thousand copies of it were sold. "Those whom God would ruin He first deprives of reason." The Monarchy had, indeed, gone mad! A most influential paper, a monarchical one, published an article on this journey, of which the following few lines may serve as a specimen:—

"General La Fayette's journey is a revolutionary orgy, which is not so much the result of patriotic enthusiasm as of various combinations of party spirit. The Comité directeur and Masonic Lodges called them together, these parties being desirous of fêting the Revolution, in the person of the general, who, since 1789, has preached and defended similar principles in short, it is the actual Revolution elevated to high places."

It is now necessary for us to say a few words about the tour of Charles X. in Alsace; it will balance that of General La Fayette. Besides, any events that lead up to great catastrophes in history are of peculiar interest. Contrary to that of La Fayette, who, as we have seen, had excited the enthusiasm of the people wherever he went, the king's journey, following the usual custom of princely journeys, had only displayed an official and factitious loyalty, spread over the real hatred below, as the folds of a beautiful cloth cover up a worm-eaten table. It may be said to have done far more, it had brought to light some of those sinister omens which foretell great disasters. They had passed through Varennes (and one asks by what unlucky chance or forgetfulness had that town, fatal to the cause of monarchy, been chosen for the king's route?), and at Varennes they stopped to change horses, at the head of the bridge, at the entrance of the archway, exactly at the same spot where Louis XVI., the Queen, Madame Élisabeth, the Children of France and their governess, Madame de Tourzel, had been compelled to stop by Drouet's threats, to get down from the coach and to follow M. Sausse into his grocer's shop, which was to serve them as the antechamber to the Temple. Madame la Duchesse d'Angoulême, who had been one of the party on that first journey, was with the second. When she recognised the fatal spot, after a lapse of thirty-eight years, she shuddered, uttered a cry and would not allow the carriage time for a relay, but commanded the postillions to go on to the next posting-place. This time the postillions obeyed; they had refused on 21 June 1791. They did not, however, set offfast enough to prevent overhearing a few injudicious words which the duchess let fall; words that, borne on the winds of hatred, preceded her throughout the journey, to such effect that, when Charles X. and his family reached Nancy, the chief of Royalist towns, and showed themselves on the palace balcony to bow to the people, hissings were heard above the cheers, each time the king saluted: the people treated their princes just as one treats actors who have played their parts badly. The Duc d'Orléans lost sight of nothing; like a hunter on the watch for his prey, he lay in wait to take advantage of all the errors made by the royal quarry he was hunting down. Thus I, too, who was on a footing of intimacy in his household, could, so to speak, feel the pulse of his ambition beating, and had no doubt of the nature of his desires, which daily grew more and more hopeful in character.

I have mentioned that the Chamber opened on 2 March 1830. I was present at the opening session. Just as the king placed his foot on the first step of the throne, he caught it in the velvet pile carpet that covered the steps. He tripped and nearly fell. His cap rolled on the floor. The Duc d'Orléans sprang forward to pick it up, and returned it to the king. I nudged my neighbour—as far as I can recollect, it was Beauchesne.

"Before a year is out," I said to him, "the same thing will happen to the crown—only, instead of giving it back to Charles X., he will keep it for himself."

In the speech pronounced by Charles X., after he had set the cap on his head which the Duc d'Orléans had given him back, was the following noteworthy paragraph:—

"I have no doubt of your co-operation in the good deeds I wish to carry out. You will reject with scorn all treacherous insinuations which malevolent feeling endeavours to propagate. Should evil machinations raise up against my rule obstacles which I neither will nor ought to foresee, I should find strength to overcome them through my resolution to maintain the public peace, in the just confidence of the French people and in the love they ever bear towards their king."

The Address of the 221 was the reply to this speech; to the above paragraph, the following was the answer:—

"The Charter has laid it down as an indispensable condition of the regular working of public affairs, that there should be a permanent agreement of political views between your Government and the desires of the people. Sire, our loyalty and devotion compel us to tell you that such concurrence of opinion does not exist."

It was a declaration of war in perfect form.

Charles X. trembled in every limb whilst he listened to the reading of the Address. Then, when the deputation had quitted the Tuileries, he said—

"I will not suffer my crown to be dipped in the gutter!" And he dissolved the Chamber.

These were some of the events which thrilled through every heart, even in that of theJournal des Débats. It attacked the Government with most unusual violence.

"Polignac, La Bourdonnaye and Bourmont," it exclaimed, "that is equivalent to saying Coblence, Waterloo, 1815! Those are the three principles, the three chief characters of the Ministry. Press them hard, twist them and they will disgorge nothing but humiliations and misfortunes and danger!"

Charles X. read this article.

"Ah!" he said, "these people who invoke the Charter are not aware that it contains Article 14, which we can hold at their heads."

And, as a matter of fact, the Polignac Ministry had only been created in order to put into force that famous article, which Louis XVIII. had concealed in the Charter, as a sword of dissension, but of which he would never make use.

All the hopes of the king and M. de Polignac were vested in that very Article 14.

Thus, when M. de Peyronnet had been summoned to form a Ministry, M. de Polignac said to him—

"Remember, we want to put Article 14 in force."

"That is, indeed, my intention too!" M. de Peyronnet had said.

Everything was turning out for the best, since everybody was advising France to apply Article 14.

It only remained to be seen whether France would allow it to be put in force. They really hoped to turn the country's attention in another direction by two dazzling visions; then, whilst it was turned away, they meant to bandage its eyes and gag its lips. These two events were: the conquest of Algiers; and the restitution of our Rhine frontiers.

Our readers know all about the conquest of Algiers. Exasperated by our consul, the dey had struck him a blow across the face with his fan. This blow was followed by three years of siege; but, as the blockade really blockaded nothing, Hussein-dey, with Turkish logic, had concluded that, as in Turkey, insults were always revenged in proportion to the strength of the injured party, we could not be very strong since we did not take our revenge. Consequently, being blockaded as he was, he amused himself by shooting at a ship of truce, and also openly threatened to put our consul at Tripoli to death by empaling him; our consul not fancying a death of that kind, took refuge on board an English ship which deposited him one fine day at Marseilles. Now these insults were beyond toleration, and an African expedition was decided upon.

That good friend of ours, England, that precious ally, which I thinks it has a twofold right to meddle in all our affairs; which, every time that we put our foot on any shore, trembles for fear we mean to set up trade there; England, which, after having taken India from us, the West Indies, Antilles and the isle of France, would like to take away from us the two or three stations we have left, either in the Gulf of Mexico or in Oceania or in the Indian Ocean, was greatly disturbed at our projected expedition. Russia, on the contrary, rejoiced; it delighted at the thought of France encamped on the other side of the Mediterranean to keep an eye on Portugal and Gibraltar. Charles X. understood that Russia was his real ally, that we, the rulers of the West, had no disputed question to settle with her whose ambitions all looked Eastwards. Austria,on account of its Mediterranean coast-line, lent its aid to the expedition; Holland, whose consul had been put in chains by orders of the dey, approved; the King of Piedmont, who saw in it the safety of his commerce in respect of Genoa and Sardinia, rejoiced much; Greece, who saw in it the prospect of a fresh blow aimed at her old enemies, encouraged us to go ahead with our proceedings; Méhémet-Ali, who regarded it as a means of weakening the Porte, offered us his services; and, finally, all the powers of modern Italy, Tuscany, Rome, Naples and Sicily, applauded us! And it was a capital opportunity for once to send England about its business. M. d'Haussez, the Minister of Marine, took it upon himself to do this. One day, Lord Stuart, the English Ambassador in Paris, called upon him and, with that arrogant air peculiar to English ambassadors, demanded an explanation.

"If you wish a diplomatic explanation," M. d'Haussez replied, "M. le President du Conseil will give it you; if a personal explanation will satisfy you, I will give it you: and it is this—we don't care a snap of the fingers for you."

I was at the house of Madame du Cayla the evening when M. d'Haussez related this heroic piece of brutality, and I should add that everybody applauded it, even the ladies present. Lord Stuart transmitted the reply to his Government, which, no doubt, found it satisfactory, since they left us alone.

History has recorded the various attempts that have been made to conquer Algiers; it was impregnable, a fact that had been proved, so people said, by the Charles V. expedition in 1541, by Duquesne's in 1662 and by Lord Exmouth's in 1816; all three attempts having failed or having been only partially successful. Happily, François Arago held very different views, when summoned for consultation on the point. François Arago knew Algiers, for he had been taken prisoner by a Corsair and had spent several months on board his ship. He declared that there were two things to be found in the neighbourhood of Algiers, namely wood and water, though their existence had been denied by the engineers. He convinced M de Polignac, who was readyenough to be convinced, and he, in his turn, convinced General Bourmont, who accepted the command of the land army, and Admiral Duperré, who accepted the command of the fleet. Then, when all the preparations had been energetically pushed forward, one hundred and three battleships, three hundred and seventy-seven transport ships, and two hundred and twenty-five vessels, carrying thirty-six thousand troops for landing, and twenty-seven thousand sailors, all set sail on 16 May from the port of Toulon and majestically advanced towards Algiers. So much for the conquest of Algiers, which, at the end of the month of May, the time we have reached, was in full swing.

Now let us pass on to the restitution of our Rhine frontiers. No accident had led up to this event as in the case of Algiers. It was a political combination, of which all the honour is due to M. de Renneval, for it was he from whom the idea first emanated. France and Russia entered into an offensive and defensive alliance against England. And, trusting to this alliance, France would take back her Rhine frontiers, and would, on her side, shut her eyes to the seizing of Constantinople by Russia. Turkey would cry out, but no one would care. Prussia and Holland would cry out, but Hanover would be taken from England and divided into two parts, of which one would be given to Prussia, the other to Holland. As to Austria, she would keep quiet, thanks to a slice of Servia, with which a cake would be kneaded and thrown to her as to Cerberus, not only to prevent her biting, but also to keep her from barking.

These were two fine schemes for a king of France to accomplish—that one man should abolish a barbarian power, the terror of the Mediterranean, and give back to France her Rhine provinces, performing, that is, a feat which Charles-Quint had failed in, winning back by diplomacy what Napoleon had lost by arms; he would be, at once, both a great military warrior and a great politician. What was to be feared, and who could upset the Monarchy in this double scheme? Two elements: the Ocean and the People!

The soirée on 31 May 1830 at the Palais-Royal—The King of Naples—A question of etiquette—How the King of France ought to be addressed—The real Charles X.—M. de Salvandy—The first flames of the volcano—The Duc de Chartres sends me to inquire into the commotion—Alphonse Signol—I tear him from the clutches of a soldier of the Garde royal—His irritation and threats—The volcano nothing but a fire of straw

It was in the midst of these events that the ball took place which I mentioned at the beginning of the last chapter. As we have said, it was given by the Duc d'Orléans to his brother-in-law, the King of Naples. The King of Naples was that contemptible François, son of Ferdinand and Caroline, who in 1820 was chosen by the patriots to represent them, and betrayed them; who, selected in order to be a support to the Revolution, suppressed it. He was the ruler of his citizens, decimated in 1798, and proscribed in 1820; but, sure of the allegiance of his lazzaroni (the real pillar of strength upon which the throne of the Two Sicilies rests), he came to visit France and to spend a short time with his family. The regal travellers—the queen accompanied him—met with a splendid reception at the Court, but so great was the aversion shown by Paris to this betrayer, that the prefect of the Seine, much as he desired to give a fête to him, dared not do it for fear the people would break his windows. The Duc d'Orléans, however, under cover of the relationship, and relying upon his ever growing popularity, ventured to do what the prefect of the Seine had not dared. But there was one great question to be settled, or, rather, a great favour to be obtained—and that was the presence at this fête of King Charles X. I remember thestir that took place over it at the time, at the Palais-Royal. The Duc d'Orléans, who knew Court etiquette as well as any man in the kingdom, was fully aware that a King of France gives fêtes himself, but does not accept invitations to any others. There was, indeed, a precedent to this derogation from the usual custom: a century before, Louis XV., on returning from a journey or fête, I forget which, spent three days with the Prince of Condé; but it wasin the country, at Chantilly, so it was of no signification. It is also true, that in visiting the Duc d'Orléans you visited the duchess, who was the daughter of a king and atrue Bourbon, as Madame la Duchesse d'Angoulême expressed it; which was not polite towards the Orléans, who were then looked upon asfalse Bourbons; but the duke thought it would be a fine thing to receive the king in his own house! So great an honour would reflect glory upon the family escutcheon; and the duke closed his eyes in order not to see the grimace that Madame la Dauphine made, shut his ears in order not to hear the remarks made by Madame la Duchesse d'Angoulême and persisted in his request so respectfully, that Charles X. let himself be persuaded, on condition that a company of his guards should occupy the Palais-Royal an hour before his arrival. These questions of etiquette were very paltry matters compared with those which were being debated at the same time between the people and the Monarchy. As soon as the royal promise was obtained, the household of the Duc d'Orléans thought of nothing else but the forthcoming ball. It was resolved to display before the King of Naples all the best literary and artistic exponents of the world of France. King Charles X., who knew little or nothing about them, would see them at the same time, and so he could kill two birds with one stone. Apparently, I was looked upon as a spurious specimen, just as the Orléans were spurious Bourbons; for I had been forgotten, or, at all events, left out of the list. But that excellent youth, the Duc de Chartres, asked for a ticket for me, and was delighted to send me one. I hesitated to accept, since the man should see was the sonof the king and queen who had poisoned my father. But not to reply to the invitation would have been to grieve the Duc de Chartres, both on account of my absence and because of the reason for that absence. I therefore decided to accept. The invitations said "Half-past eight"; the king, Charles X., was to arrive at nine. When the due d'Orléans caught sight of me, he came up to me—a mark of attention that astonished me much.

It was not that he had a favour to confer on me, but a piece of advice he had to give me. His Royal Highness, supposing me to be little versed in etiquette, wished to give me some tips to avoid tripping on the slippery floors of the Palais-Royal.

"Monsieur Dumas," the duke said, "if, by chance, the king does you the honour of addressing you, you know that, in replying to him, you should neither address him asSireorHis Majesty, but simplythe King."

"Yes, monseigneur, I am acquainted with that fact."

"Ah! how do you know that?"

"I know it, monseigneur, and even the reason for the mode of address. The wordsSireandMajestywere profaned directly they were given to the usurper, and true-born courtiers very wisely consider that they could no longer be given to a legitimate monarch."

"Very good!" the duke said, turning on his heel, and plainly indicating by the tone of his voice that he would much have preferred me to be less well informed in Court matters.

Ten minutes later, the drums beat to arms. The Duc d'Orléans took the duchesse by the arm and signed to Madame Adélaïde and to the Duc de Chartres to follow him; he went at such a rate, to meet the royal visitor, that he lost his wife in the guard-chamber as Æneas had done three thousand years before on leaving Troy, and as, eighteen years later, the Duc de Montpensier was to do upon quitting the Tuileries. The duke reached the great entrance hall of the Palais-Royal just as Charles X. was stepping out of his carriage and putting his foot on the first step of the stairs that led up to it. We had rushed after our illustrious hosts, whom we sawreappear between a hedge of guards two deep, in the following order:—

King Charles X. walked first with Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans upon his arm. M. le Dauphin next, giving his arm to Madame Adélaïde. Then M. le Duc d'Orléans, with Madame la Dauphine; and, last, M. le Duc de Chartres, giving his arm to Madame la Duchesse de Berry. In front of them, ready to receive them at the door of the first salon, advanced the King and Queen of Naples.

It is quite twenty-two years since King Charles X. died in exile; the men of our generation saw him, but those of thirty, or young men of about twenty, did not see him and it is for their eyes we pen the following description. Charles X. was then an old man of seventy-six, tall and thin, with his head inclined a little on one side, adorned with beautiful white hair; his eyes were still vivacious and smiling; he had the Bourbon nose, and a mouth made ugly by the under lip drooping on his chin; he was most gracious and courteous, faithful and loyal, true to his friendships and to his vows; he possessed every kingly attribute except enthusiasm. In manner he possessed a regal air peculiar to his race. If Article 14 had not been in the Charter, he would certainly never have dreamt of making acoup d'état; for, to do so, meant breaking his oath, and had he forfeited his promise, he would, as he himself said, never again have dared to look at the portrait of François I. or the statue of King John. Furthermore, desiring absolutism from mere indolence, and tyranny from lack of activity, he used to say, apropos of tyranny and absolutism—

"You may pound all the princes of the house of Bourbon in the same mortar without extracting a single grain of despotism out of them!" And Louis Blanc has drawn him admirably in the lines: "As human as he was commonplace, if he desired to make his power absolute, it was in order to relieve himself of violent action; for there was nothing energetic about him, not even in his fanaticism; nothing really great, not even about his pride."

In conclusion, the precautions taken on my behalf by the Duc d'Orléans were unnecessary. The king never even looked at me; although I should add that I never took the least pains to put myself within range of his vision.

I felt a real antipathy towards the Bourbons of the Elder Branch of the family, and it was only when I thought of the dead, of the past and of those living in exile, that I could bring myself to do justice to them later.

When the king, the dauphin, the dauphiness and the Duchesse de Berry had arrived, the fête began.

M. de Salvandy has related, with regard to this fête, the whole of his conversation with the Duc d'Orléans. It began with these words, which made the political fortune of the author ofAlonzo:—

"Monseigneur, this is a true Neapolitan fête, for we are dancing upon the edge of a volcano ..."

And, indeed, the volcano very soon began to show its fires. They proceeded from the Palais-Royal, the crater of 1789, which people thought had been extinguished thirty-five years before, but which was, in reality, only slumbering. I was there and saw it spring up, and can therefore give an account of the eruption that took place under my own eyes. I had gone out to cool myself on the terrace, and was meditating upon the strange coincidence of fate that made me, even in those days a Republican, almost an enforced witness of a fête given by the Bourbons of France, against whom my father had fought, to those Bourbons of Naples who had poisoned him, when all of a sudden loud cries were heard and bright lights were seen in the gardens of the Palais-Royal. A mass of flame, as though coming from a stack of wood, rose from one of the square lawns among the flower-beds which seemed to spring from the pedestal of the statue of Apollo. And this was what had happened. The numerous spectators of the princely fête that crowded in the Palais-Royal garden were anxious to have their share in the festivities, and, in contempt of the sentinels who guarded the lawns, a dozen young people had scaled the balustrades and, taking eachother's hands, had begun a round dance, singing the old revolutionaryÇa ira.During this time other young people had entertained themselves by piling up a pyramid of chairs and illuminating it by putting in the interstices of the chairs lamps taken from here and there. The leading builder of this tottering edifice and the principal actor in this revolutionary escapade was a young man whose death gave him a certain celebrity. He styled himself a literary man and his name was Alphonse Signol. Three days before, he had brought me a drama, entitledle Chiffonnier, and had asked me to read it. It certainly had some merit (we shall see later what became of it), but it was so far removed from my own style of writing of which, consequently, I was master, that it would have been impossible for me to render him any assistance, even in the way of advice. If only Signol had been content with putting the lamps on the chairs, all would have been well; but, instead, he took it into his head to place the chairs on top of the lamps, and all went wrong. The flame from a lamp reached the straw of one of the chairs and the whole pile flared up. Thence issued flames and cries, and women flying through the trees and under the arches of the stone galleries. This tumult quickly attracted the attention of the guests of the Duc d'Orléans. It was a serious matter to have shrieks and a fire in the garden of the Palais-Royal whilst Charles X. was within its precincts! I saw the Duc d'Orléans gesticulating wildly at a window; and whilst I was beginning to be far more taken up by what was passing inside than out of doors, I felt someone touch me gently on the shoulder. I turned round, and it was M. le Duc de Chartres, who had tried in vain to find out the meaning of all the disorder and smoke, and wanted to know if I had been more lucky in my inquiries than he. I replied in the negative, but offered at once to go and find out for him the cause and the upshot of the commotion; and as I could see he rejected my offer only from motives of discretion, in five seconds I was out in the hall and in another five in the garden. I arrived just in time to witness a struggle between a young man and a soldier, in which the youth was going to come offworst; when, thinking I recognised him, I sprang forward. I was so strong that I soon managed to separate the two combatants. I was right in my conjectures: the youth was Signol. The soldier was a corporal or sergeant belonging to the 3rd Regiment of the Guard. Signol had been pretty severely handled in the struggle; he was, consequently, furious, and although separated from the soldier, he still threatened to attack him again.

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