[1]See p. 277 and footnote.
[1]See p. 277 and footnote.
[2]Three persons are honoured with this title; they differ, however, in importance, not by reason of the relative importance of their duties, which are always the same, but according to that of the kind of work to which their talents are applied. Given the case of a work of a special nature, a romantic work likeLouis IX.orÉmilia, the prompter-in-chief takes the manuscript, and not a trace of that noble prose reaches the ears of the players before it has passed through his lips; but if it is a question of a classical work, a work in verse, standing then on his dignity, like the executioner who would only execute gentle folk, he says: you can carry through this bit of business, you fellows, passing the plebeian copy-book to his substitutes. When it is a question of high comedy he delegates his duties to the second prompter, and tragedy is given over to a third, that is to say to the industrious and modest man to whom this letter is dedicated.
[2]Three persons are honoured with this title; they differ, however, in importance, not by reason of the relative importance of their duties, which are always the same, but according to that of the kind of work to which their talents are applied. Given the case of a work of a special nature, a romantic work likeLouis IX.orÉmilia, the prompter-in-chief takes the manuscript, and not a trace of that noble prose reaches the ears of the players before it has passed through his lips; but if it is a question of a classical work, a work in verse, standing then on his dignity, like the executioner who would only execute gentle folk, he says: you can carry through this bit of business, you fellows, passing the plebeian copy-book to his substitutes. When it is a question of high comedy he delegates his duties to the second prompter, and tragedy is given over to a third, that is to say to the industrious and modest man to whom this letter is dedicated.
[3]The game of draughts (les dames)—it is the game that is meant—is in fact this actor's ruling passion, although he is not a first-rate player. He knows, however, how to reconcile that passion with his duties, and is scarcely less eager to quit his game in order to go upon the stage when it is a public performance that is in question, than to quit the stage to resume his game; when merely authors are concerned, it is true, he does not exercise so much alacrity; but as it is only a matter of rehearsals, does he not always arrive quite soon enough ... when he does come?
[3]The game of draughts (les dames)—it is the game that is meant—is in fact this actor's ruling passion, although he is not a first-rate player. He knows, however, how to reconcile that passion with his duties, and is scarcely less eager to quit his game in order to go upon the stage when it is a public performance that is in question, than to quit the stage to resume his game; when merely authors are concerned, it is true, he does not exercise so much alacrity; but as it is only a matter of rehearsals, does he not always arrive quite soon enough ... when he does come?
[4]The seat of memory varies according to the individual. It lay in the stomach of that comedian to whom Voltaire sent hisVariantesin a pâté. Mademoiselle Contat placed it in her heart, and her memory was an excellent one.
[4]The seat of memory varies according to the individual. It lay in the stomach of that comedian to whom Voltaire sent hisVariantesin a pâté. Mademoiselle Contat placed it in her heart, and her memory was an excellent one.
[5]In consequence of this right, M. Firmin is preparing to play Hamlet. He has even bought for it, they tell me, the dress Talma wore in that part. Fancy his dreaming of such a thing. That costume was not made for his figure, and besides, all who wear lions' skins are not always taken for lions.
[5]In consequence of this right, M. Firmin is preparing to play Hamlet. He has even bought for it, they tell me, the dress Talma wore in that part. Fancy his dreaming of such a thing. That costume was not made for his figure, and besides, all who wear lions' skins are not always taken for lions.
[6]Louis XI.andÉmilia, whose merits we fully appreciate, seem indeed to have been borrowed, if not actually robbed, from the theatres of the boulevards. If, during the performance of these pieces, the orchestra perchance woke out of its lethargy, whether to announce by a fanfare of trumpets the entrance or departure of exalted personages, whether to explain by a short symphony what speech had failed to make clear, and even when one was in the precincts consecrated to Racine, Corneille and Voltaire, one was willing enough to fancy oneself at the Ambigu-Comique or at the Gaieté: it needed nothing more than this to complete the illusion. Let us hope that the regenerators of this theatre will take kindly to the remark and will profit by it for the perfecting of the French stage.
[6]Louis XI.andÉmilia, whose merits we fully appreciate, seem indeed to have been borrowed, if not actually robbed, from the theatres of the boulevards. If, during the performance of these pieces, the orchestra perchance woke out of its lethargy, whether to announce by a fanfare of trumpets the entrance or departure of exalted personages, whether to explain by a short symphony what speech had failed to make clear, and even when one was in the precincts consecrated to Racine, Corneille and Voltaire, one was willing enough to fancy oneself at the Ambigu-Comique or at the Gaieté: it needed nothing more than this to complete the illusion. Let us hope that the regenerators of this theatre will take kindly to the remark and will profit by it for the perfecting of the French stage.
[7]For the last six months, and even to-day, the bill announces: "Until the performance ofLes Guelfes et Les Gibelins"; probably to-morrow it will no longer contain the announcement.
[7]For the last six months, and even to-day, the bill announces: "Until the performance ofLes Guelfes et Les Gibelins"; probably to-morrow it will no longer contain the announcement.
[8]It is especially against tragedies in verse that the umpires of good taste to-day protest. Their repugnance in respect of poetry ever outweighs their love for romanticism. If, in that series of chapters—entitled scenes—whose whole forms a novel called a drama, which is sold under the title ofLouis XI.; if, inLouis XI., the Scottish prose of Sir Walter Scott had been put into rhymed verse; that drama would not have been more kindly received by them than a posthumous tragedy of Racine, although common sense would be scarcely more respected there than in a melodrama. It is to the absence of rhyme also thatÉmiliaowes the favour with which these gentlemen have honoured it. When he had heard the reading of that work, one of the most influential members of the tribunal by which it had been judged, exclaimed: "The problem is solved! The problem is solved!We have at last a tragedy in prose!" The Comédiens Français formerly gave a hundred louis to Thomas Corneille for putting a comedy of Molière's,Le Festin de Pierre, into verse. The Comédiens Français will, it is said, to-day give a thousand louis to an academician for putting the tragedies of Corneille, Racine and of Voltaire into prose. Is it indeed necessary that they should address themselves to an academician for that? Do not a good many of them perform that parody every day of their lives?Verse and rhyme are not natural, say lovers of nature. Clothes, gentlemen, are not natural, and yet you wear them to distinguish yourself from the savage; furthermore, you wear clothes of fine materials to distinguish yourselves from the rabble, and, when you are rich enough to enable you to do so, you adorn them with trimmings to distinguish yourself even from well-to-do people. That which one does for the body permit us to do for the intellect; allow us to do for the mind that which you do for matter.
[8]It is especially against tragedies in verse that the umpires of good taste to-day protest. Their repugnance in respect of poetry ever outweighs their love for romanticism. If, in that series of chapters—entitled scenes—whose whole forms a novel called a drama, which is sold under the title ofLouis XI.; if, inLouis XI., the Scottish prose of Sir Walter Scott had been put into rhymed verse; that drama would not have been more kindly received by them than a posthumous tragedy of Racine, although common sense would be scarcely more respected there than in a melodrama. It is to the absence of rhyme also thatÉmiliaowes the favour with which these gentlemen have honoured it. When he had heard the reading of that work, one of the most influential members of the tribunal by which it had been judged, exclaimed: "The problem is solved! The problem is solved!We have at last a tragedy in prose!" The Comédiens Français formerly gave a hundred louis to Thomas Corneille for putting a comedy of Molière's,Le Festin de Pierre, into verse. The Comédiens Français will, it is said, to-day give a thousand louis to an academician for putting the tragedies of Corneille, Racine and of Voltaire into prose. Is it indeed necessary that they should address themselves to an academician for that? Do not a good many of them perform that parody every day of their lives?
Verse and rhyme are not natural, say lovers of nature. Clothes, gentlemen, are not natural, and yet you wear them to distinguish yourself from the savage; furthermore, you wear clothes of fine materials to distinguish yourselves from the rabble, and, when you are rich enough to enable you to do so, you adorn them with trimmings to distinguish yourself even from well-to-do people. That which one does for the body permit us to do for the intellect; allow us to do for the mind that which you do for matter.
M. Arnault'sPertinax—Pizarre, by M. Fulchiron—M. Fulchiron as a politician—M. Fulchiron as magic poet—A word about M. Viennet—My opposite neighbour at the performance ofPertinax—Splendid failure of the play—Quarrel with myvis-à-vis—The newspapers take it up—My reply in theJournal de Paris—Advice of M. Pillet
M. Arnault'sPertinax—Pizarre, by M. Fulchiron—M. Fulchiron as a politician—M. Fulchiron as magic poet—A word about M. Viennet—My opposite neighbour at the performance ofPertinax—Splendid failure of the play—Quarrel with myvis-à-vis—The newspapers take it up—My reply in theJournal de Paris—Advice of M. Pillet
Alas! there are two things for which I have searched in vain! And verily, God knows, how thoroughly I search when I begin! These are Firmin's answer to M. Arnault and the tragedy ofPertinax.Neither answer nor tragedy exist any longer. WhyPertinax?What isPertinax?And what is the successor to Commodus doing here? Rather ask what the unfortunate being was doing at the Théâtre-Français! He fell there beneath the hissings of the pit, as he fell beneath the swords of the prætorians. Here is the history of his second death, his second fall. After a lapse of seventeen years I cannot say much about the first; but, after an interval of twenty-four years, I can relate the second, at which I was present.
After those unluckyGuelfeshad obstinately remained on the bills for nine months they finally disappeared. M. Arnault demanded compensation for Firmin's defective memory. The committee decided that, althoughPertinaxhad only been received eleven years ago, it should be put in rehearsal.
Eleven years ago? You repeat, and you think I am mistaken, do you not? But it is you who are mistaken.Arbogaste, by M. Viennet, received in 1825, was only played in 1841!Pizarre, by M. Fulchiron, received in 1803, has not yet been played! Let me put in a parenthesis in favour of poorPizarreand the unfortunate M. Fulchiron.
M. Fulchiron, you know him well?—Yes. Well, then, he had had a tragedy,Pizarre, received at the Comédie-Française in the month of August 1803—Ah! really? And what has the Comédie-Française been doing the last fifty years?—It has not played M. Fulchiron's tragedy. And what did this same M. Fulchiron do during those fifty years?—He asked to have his piece played. Come! come! come!—What more could you expect? Hope supported him! They had promised it, when they accepted it, that it would have its turn.
Those are the actual words! Look at the registers of the Comédie-Française if you don't believe me. True, the police of the Consulate suspended the work; but the censorship of the Empire was better informed as to the tragedy and returned it to its author.
Hence it arose that, contrary to the opinion of many people who preferred the First Consul to the Emperor, M. Fulchiron preferred the Emperor to the First Consul.
During the whole of the Empire,—that is to say, from 1805 to 1814—during the whole of the Restoration—that is to say, from 1815 to 1830—M. Fulchiron wrote, begged, prayed with, it must be admitted, that gentleness which is indissolubly bound up with his real character. In 1830, M. Fulchiron became a politician. Then he had an excuse to offer. To his friends—M. Fulchiron actually took those people for his friends! think of it!—who asked him—
"Why, then, dear Monsieur Fulchiron, did you not get yourPizarreplayed when so many good things had been said about it for a long time?"
He replied—"Because I am a politician, and one cannot be both a politician and a man of letters at the same time."
"Bah! look at M. Guizot, M. Villemain, M. Thiers!"
"M. Guizot, M. Villemain and M. Thiers have their own ideas on the subject; I have mine."
"Oh! influence in high quarters, then!"
M. Fulchiron blushed and smiled; then, with that air which M. Viennet puts on, when talking of Louis-Philippe, he said,Mon illustre ami—
"Well, yes," replied M. Fulchiron, "the king took hold of the button of my coat, which is a habit of his, as you know."
"No, I did not know."
"Ah! that is because you are not one of the frequenters of the château."
"There are people who lay great stress on being intimates of a château! You understand?"
"When he took me by my coat button," continued M. Fulchiron, "the king said to me, 'My dear Fulchiron, in spite of the beauties it contains, do not have your tragedy played.' 'But why not?' 'How can one make a man a minister who has written a tragedy?' 'Sire, the Emperor Napoléon said, "If Corneille had lived in my day, I should have made him a prince!" 'I am not the Emperor Napoléon, and you are not Corneille.' 'Nevertheless, sire, when one has had a tragedy calling from the deeps for the last thirty years ...' 'You shall read it to me, M. Fulchiron ...' 'Ah! sire, your Majesty's desires are commands. When would your Majesty like me to readPizarre?' Some day ... when all these devils of Republicans leave me a bit of respite!'"
The Republicans never left Louis-Philippe, who, you will agree, was an intelligent man, any respite. That is why M. Fulchiron hated Republicans so much. What! was that the reason? Yes! You thought that M. Fulchiron hated Republicans because they tended to usurp power, to disturb order, to put, as Danton expressed it in his curt description of the Republic,à mettre dessus ce qui est dessous?You are mistaken; M. Fulchiron hated Republicans because by means of all their riots—their 5 June,14April, etc. etc. etc.—upon my word, I forget all the dates!—they prevented him from reading his play to Louis-Philippe. So, on 24 February 1848, however devoted he seemed to be to the established government, M. Fulchiron allowed Louis-Philippe to fall.
See on what slender threads hang great events! If Louis-Philippe had heard the reading ofPizarre, M. Fulchiron would have supported the Government of July, and perhaps Louis-Philippe might still be on the throne. So, after the fall ofLouis-Philippe, M. Fulchiron was as happy as the Prince of Monaco when they took away his principality from him.
"My political career is a failure," says M. Fulchiron, "and you see me once more a literary man! I shall not be a minister, but I will be an academician."
"Indeed!" say you; "then why is not M. Fulchiron an academician?"
"BecausePizarrehas not been played."
"Good! Was not M. Dupaty received into the Academy on condition that his tragedyIsabelleshould not be played?"
"Oh! really?"
"They were already sufficiently troubled by the fact that hisSeconde Botaniquehad been played! That youthful indiscretion delayed his entry for ten years ... But ten years are not fifty."
So M. Fulchiron began to be impatient, as impatient, that is, as he can be. From time to time he appears at the Théâtre-Français, and, with that smile which, it seems to me, should prevent anyone from refusing him anything, he says—
"About myPizarre, it must be high time they were putting it in hand!"
"Monsieur," says Verteuil to him—the secretary of the Comédie-Française, a clever fellow, whom we have already had occasion to mention, through whose hands many plays pass, but who does not compose any himself—"Monsieur, they are even now busy with it."
"Ah! very good!"
And M. Fulchiron's smile becomes still more winning.—
"Yes, and as soon as M. Viennet'sAchille, now under rehearsal, has been played,Pizarrewill occupy the stage."
"But, if I remember rightly, M. Viennet'sAchillewas only accepted in 1809, and, consequently, I have the priority."
"Doubtless; but M. Viennet had twotours de faveurand you only one."
"Then I was wrong to complain."
And M. Fulchiron goes away always smiling, takes his visiting-card in person to M. Viennet, and writes in pencil on itthese few words, "Dear colleague, hasten your rehearsals ofAchille!"
Thus he leaves his card with M. Viennet's porter, the same porter who informed the said M. Viennet that he was a peer of France; and M. Viennet, who is horribly spiteful, has not bowed to M. Fulchiron since the second card. He treats the seven pencilled words of M. Fulchiron as an epigram and says to everybody—
"Fulchiron may, perhaps, be a Martial, but I swear he is not an Æschylus!"
And M. Fulchiron, his arms hung down, continues to walk abroad and through life, as Hamlet says, never doubting that if he is no Æschylus it is all owing to M. Viennet.[1]
I will close my parenthesis about M. Fulchiron, and return to M. Arnault andPertinax, which the ungrateful prompter, in spite of the dedicatory epistle to theGuelfes, has never called anything butPère Tignace(Daddy Tignace).
Pertinax, then, was played as some compensation for the disappearance of theGuelfes.Oh! what a pity it is thatPertinaxhas not been printed! How I would like to have given you specimens of it and then you would understand the merriment of the pit! All I recollect is, that at the decisive moment the Emperor Commodus called for his secretary. I had in front of me a tall man whose broad shoulders and thick locks hid the actor from me every time he happened to be in the line of sight. Unluckily, I did not possess the scissors of Sainte-Foix. By his frantic applause I gathered that this gentleman understood many things which I did not. The upshot of it was that, when the Emperor Commodus called his secretary, the play upon words seemed to me to require an explanation, and I leant over towards the gentleman in front, and, with all the politeness I could command, I said to him—
"Pardon me, monsieur, but it seems to me that this is apièce à tiroirs!" (Comedy made up of unconnected episodes.)
He jumped up in his stall, uttered a sort of roar but controlled himself. True, the curtain was on the point of falling,and before it had actually fallen our enthusiast was shouting with all his might—"Author!"
Unfortunately, everybody was by no means as eager to know the author as was my neighbour in front. Something like three-quarters of the house—and, perhaps, among these were M. Arnault's own friends—did not at all wish him to be named. Placed in the orchestra between M. de Jouy and Victor Hugo, feeling, on my left, the elbows of Romanticism and, on my right, those ofClassicism, if I may be allowed to coin a word, I waited patiently and courageously until they stopped hissing, just as M. Arnault had acted towards me in turning the cold shoulder towards me afterHenri III., leaving me the privilege of neutrality.
But man proposes and God disposes. God, or rather the devil, inspired the neighbour to whom I had perhaps put an indiscreet, although very innocent question, to point me out to his friends, and, consequently, to M. Arnault, as the Æolus at whose signal all the winds had been let loose which blew from the four cardinal points of the theatre in such different ways. A quarrel ensued between me and the tall man, a quarrel which instantly made a diversion in the strife that was going on. Next day all the journals gave an account of this quarrel, with their usual impartiality, generosity and accuracy towards me. It was imperative that I should reply. I chose theJournal de Parisin which to publish my reply; it was edited, at that period, by the father of Léon Pillet, a friend of mine. Therefore, the following day, theJournal de Parispublished my letter, preceded and followed by a few bitter and sweet lines. This is the exordium. After my letter will come the peroration.
"In reporting the failure which the tragedy ofPertinaxmet with at the hands of the critics, we mentioned that a dispute took place in the centre of the orchestra. M. Alexandre Dumas, one of the actors in this little drama, which was more exciting than the one that had preceded it, has addressed a letter to us on this subject. We hasten to publish it without wishing to constitute ourselves judges of the accompanyingaccusations which the author ofHenri III.brings against the newspapers."'Friday, 29May1829'In spite of the fixed resolution I had taken and have adhered to until to-day, of never replying to what the papers say of me, I think it my duty to ask you to insert this letter in your next issue. It is a reply to the short article which forms the complement of the account in your issue of yesterday, in which you give an account ofPertinax.Your article is couched in these terms—"'"As we were leaving the house, a lively contest arose in the orchestra, between an old white-haired man and a very youthful author, in other words, doubtless, between a 'classic' and a 'romantic.' Let us hope that that altercation will not lead to unpleasant consequences.""'It is I, monsieur, who have the misfortune to be thevery youthful author, to whom it is of great importance, from the very fact of his being young and an author, that he should lay down the facts exactly as they happened. I was in the orchestra of the Français, between M. de Jouy and M. Victor Hugo, during the whole of the performance ofPertinax.Obliged, in a manner, as a student of art and as a student of all that which makes masters to listen, I had listened attentively and in silence to the five acts which had just concluded, when, in the middle of the lively dispute that was going on between some spectators who wished M. Arnault to be called and others who did not, I was impudently apostrophised, whilst sitting quite silent, by a friend of M. Arnault, who stood up and pointed at me with his finger. I will repeat what he said word for word—"'"It is not surprising that they are hissing in the orchestra when M. Dumas is there. Are you not ashamed, monsieur, to make yourself the ringleader of a cabal?""'"And when I replied that I had not said one word, he added—"'"That does not matter, it is you who direct the whole league!""'As some persons may believe this stupid accusation I have appealed to the testimony of MM. de Jouy and Victor Hugo. This testimony is, as it was inevitable that it would be, unanimous."'That is enough, I think, to exonerate myself. But,whilst I have the pen in my hand, monsieur, as it is probably the first and, perhaps, the last time that I write to a newspaper.[2]I desire to add a few words relative to the absurd attacks my drama ofHenri III.has brought down on me; such a favourable occasion as this one may, perhaps, never present itself again: allow me, therefore, to take advantage of it."'I think I understand, and I honestly believe that I accept, true literary criticism as well as anyone. But, seriously, monsieur, are the facts I have just quoted really literary criticism?"'The day after the reception of my dramaHenri III.at the Comédie-Française, theCourrier des Théâtres, which did not know the work, denounced it to the censorship, in the hope, so it was said, that the censor would not suffer the scandal of such a performance. That seems to me rather a matter for the police than for literature. Is it not so, monsieur? I will not speak of a petition which was presented to the king during my rehearsals pleading that the Théâtre-Français should return to the road of thereally beautiful.[3]"'It is stated that the august personage to whom it was addressed replied simply, "What can I do in a question of this nature? I only have a place in the pit, like all other Frenchmen." I have not really the courage to be angered against the signatories of a denunciation which has brought us such a reply. Besides, several of us would have blushed, since, for what they had done, and have said that they thought they were signing quite a different thing. Then came the day of the representation. It will be granted that, on that day alone, the newspapers had the right to speak of the work. They made great use of their privileges; but several of them, as they themselves confessed, were not choice in their style of criticism. TheConstitutionneland theCorsairesaid much kinder things the first day than the play deserved. A week later, theConstitutionnelcompared the play with thePie Voleuse, and accused the author of havingdanced a round dance in the green room of the Comédie-Française with some wild fanatics, about the bust of Racine—which stands with its back against the wall—shouting, "Racine is done for!" This was merely ridicule, and people shrugged their shoulders. The next day, theCorsairesaid that the work was a monstrosity, and that the author was a Jesuit and a pensioner. This, it must be admitted, was an excellent joke, addressed to the son of a Republican general whose mother never received the pension which, it seems, was due to her, whether from the government of the Empire or from the king's government. This was more than ridicule, it was contemptible. As for theGazette de France, I will do it the justice of saying that it has not varied for an instant from the opinion that M. de Martainville expressed in it on the first day. This journal made out that there was a flagrant conspiracy in the play against the throne and the altar; while the journalist expressed the liveliest regret that he had not seen the author appear when he was called for. "People declare," he said, "thathis face has a typically romantic air about it." Now, as Romanticism is M. de Martainville'sbête noire, I can believe, without being too punctilious, that he had no intention of paying me a compliment. It is not merely impolite on M. de Martainville's part, but, worse still, it is indelicate: M. de Martainville is very well aware that one can make one's reputation but that one cannot make one's own physiognomy. His own physiognomy is extremely respectable. I could go on explaining the causes of these alterations and insults, and make known various sufficiently curious anecdotes concerning certain individuals; still more could I ... But the twelve columns of your newspaper would not suffice. I will therefore conclude my letter, monsieur, by asking advice of you, since you have great experience. What ought an author to do in order to spare himself the quarrels arising out of first performances? I have had three of this nature during the last three months;—three quarrels, that is to say: had it been three representations I should not have survived!"'One concerningIsabelle de Bavière, with an admirer of M. de Lamothe-Langon, who made out that I had hissed. One at theÉlections, with an enemy of M. de Laville, who contended that I had applauded. Lastly, one atPertinaxwith a friend of M. Arnault, because I neither clapped norhissed. I await your kind advice, monsieur, and I give you my word that I will follow it, if it be anyway possible for me to do so.—I have the honour, etc.'"
"In reporting the failure which the tragedy ofPertinaxmet with at the hands of the critics, we mentioned that a dispute took place in the centre of the orchestra. M. Alexandre Dumas, one of the actors in this little drama, which was more exciting than the one that had preceded it, has addressed a letter to us on this subject. We hasten to publish it without wishing to constitute ourselves judges of the accompanyingaccusations which the author ofHenri III.brings against the newspapers.
"'Friday, 29May1829
'In spite of the fixed resolution I had taken and have adhered to until to-day, of never replying to what the papers say of me, I think it my duty to ask you to insert this letter in your next issue. It is a reply to the short article which forms the complement of the account in your issue of yesterday, in which you give an account ofPertinax.Your article is couched in these terms—
"'"As we were leaving the house, a lively contest arose in the orchestra, between an old white-haired man and a very youthful author, in other words, doubtless, between a 'classic' and a 'romantic.' Let us hope that that altercation will not lead to unpleasant consequences."
"'It is I, monsieur, who have the misfortune to be thevery youthful author, to whom it is of great importance, from the very fact of his being young and an author, that he should lay down the facts exactly as they happened. I was in the orchestra of the Français, between M. de Jouy and M. Victor Hugo, during the whole of the performance ofPertinax.Obliged, in a manner, as a student of art and as a student of all that which makes masters to listen, I had listened attentively and in silence to the five acts which had just concluded, when, in the middle of the lively dispute that was going on between some spectators who wished M. Arnault to be called and others who did not, I was impudently apostrophised, whilst sitting quite silent, by a friend of M. Arnault, who stood up and pointed at me with his finger. I will repeat what he said word for word—
"'"It is not surprising that they are hissing in the orchestra when M. Dumas is there. Are you not ashamed, monsieur, to make yourself the ringleader of a cabal?"
"'"And when I replied that I had not said one word, he added—
"'"That does not matter, it is you who direct the whole league!"
"'As some persons may believe this stupid accusation I have appealed to the testimony of MM. de Jouy and Victor Hugo. This testimony is, as it was inevitable that it would be, unanimous.
"'That is enough, I think, to exonerate myself. But,whilst I have the pen in my hand, monsieur, as it is probably the first and, perhaps, the last time that I write to a newspaper.[2]I desire to add a few words relative to the absurd attacks my drama ofHenri III.has brought down on me; such a favourable occasion as this one may, perhaps, never present itself again: allow me, therefore, to take advantage of it.
"'I think I understand, and I honestly believe that I accept, true literary criticism as well as anyone. But, seriously, monsieur, are the facts I have just quoted really literary criticism?
"'The day after the reception of my dramaHenri III.at the Comédie-Française, theCourrier des Théâtres, which did not know the work, denounced it to the censorship, in the hope, so it was said, that the censor would not suffer the scandal of such a performance. That seems to me rather a matter for the police than for literature. Is it not so, monsieur? I will not speak of a petition which was presented to the king during my rehearsals pleading that the Théâtre-Français should return to the road of thereally beautiful.[3]
"'It is stated that the august personage to whom it was addressed replied simply, "What can I do in a question of this nature? I only have a place in the pit, like all other Frenchmen." I have not really the courage to be angered against the signatories of a denunciation which has brought us such a reply. Besides, several of us would have blushed, since, for what they had done, and have said that they thought they were signing quite a different thing. Then came the day of the representation. It will be granted that, on that day alone, the newspapers had the right to speak of the work. They made great use of their privileges; but several of them, as they themselves confessed, were not choice in their style of criticism. TheConstitutionneland theCorsairesaid much kinder things the first day than the play deserved. A week later, theConstitutionnelcompared the play with thePie Voleuse, and accused the author of havingdanced a round dance in the green room of the Comédie-Française with some wild fanatics, about the bust of Racine—which stands with its back against the wall—shouting, "Racine is done for!" This was merely ridicule, and people shrugged their shoulders. The next day, theCorsairesaid that the work was a monstrosity, and that the author was a Jesuit and a pensioner. This, it must be admitted, was an excellent joke, addressed to the son of a Republican general whose mother never received the pension which, it seems, was due to her, whether from the government of the Empire or from the king's government. This was more than ridicule, it was contemptible. As for theGazette de France, I will do it the justice of saying that it has not varied for an instant from the opinion that M. de Martainville expressed in it on the first day. This journal made out that there was a flagrant conspiracy in the play against the throne and the altar; while the journalist expressed the liveliest regret that he had not seen the author appear when he was called for. "People declare," he said, "thathis face has a typically romantic air about it." Now, as Romanticism is M. de Martainville'sbête noire, I can believe, without being too punctilious, that he had no intention of paying me a compliment. It is not merely impolite on M. de Martainville's part, but, worse still, it is indelicate: M. de Martainville is very well aware that one can make one's reputation but that one cannot make one's own physiognomy. His own physiognomy is extremely respectable. I could go on explaining the causes of these alterations and insults, and make known various sufficiently curious anecdotes concerning certain individuals; still more could I ... But the twelve columns of your newspaper would not suffice. I will therefore conclude my letter, monsieur, by asking advice of you, since you have great experience. What ought an author to do in order to spare himself the quarrels arising out of first performances? I have had three of this nature during the last three months;—three quarrels, that is to say: had it been three representations I should not have survived!
"'One concerningIsabelle de Bavière, with an admirer of M. de Lamothe-Langon, who made out that I had hissed. One at theÉlections, with an enemy of M. de Laville, who contended that I had applauded. Lastly, one atPertinaxwith a friend of M. Arnault, because I neither clapped norhissed. I await your kind advice, monsieur, and I give you my word that I will follow it, if it be anyway possible for me to do so.—I have the honour, etc.'"
After the last line of the above, theJournal de Parisattempted a sort of reply—
"As to the advice which M. Alexandre Dumas is kind enough to ask us to give because of our experience concerning the line of conduct he should take to avoid disputes at first-night performances, we will reply to him that a young author, happy in the enjoyment of a real success, and who knows how to conceal his joyous pride beneath suitable modesty; astudent of artwho, like M. Dumas, gives himself up to the study ofthe works of masters, including, therein, the author ofPertinax,—does not need to fear insulting provocations. If, in spite of these dispositions, natural, no doubt, to the character of M. Dumas, people persist on picking these Teuton or classic quarrels with him, I should advise him to treat them with contempt, the quarrels, I mean, not the Teutons or the classics. Or, indeed, there is another expedient left him: namely, to abstain from going to first performances."
"As to the advice which M. Alexandre Dumas is kind enough to ask us to give because of our experience concerning the line of conduct he should take to avoid disputes at first-night performances, we will reply to him that a young author, happy in the enjoyment of a real success, and who knows how to conceal his joyous pride beneath suitable modesty; astudent of artwho, like M. Dumas, gives himself up to the study ofthe works of masters, including, therein, the author ofPertinax,—does not need to fear insulting provocations. If, in spite of these dispositions, natural, no doubt, to the character of M. Dumas, people persist on picking these Teuton or classic quarrels with him, I should advise him to treat them with contempt, the quarrels, I mean, not the Teutons or the classics. Or, indeed, there is another expedient left him: namely, to abstain from going to first performances."
The advice, it will be admitted, was difficult, if not impossible, to follow. I was too young, and my heart was too near my head, I had, as is vulgarly said, "la tête trop près du bonnet"i.e.I was too hot-headed, to treat quarrels with contempt, whether with Teutons or classics, and I was too inquisitive not to attend first nights regularly. I have since been cured of this latter disease; but it has been for want of time. And yet, it is not so much lack of time which has cured me; it is the first performances themselves.
NOTEI have an apology to make concerning M. Fulchiron. It seems I was in error, not about the date of the reception ofPizarre; not upon the turn of favour[4]which led to the performance of that piece in 1803; not,finally, upon the darkness of the spaces of Limbo in which it balanced with eyes half shut, between death and life—but about the cause which prevented it from being played in 1803.First of all, let me say that no one claimed again in respect of M. Fulchiron, not even he himself. If he had claimed again, my pleasantries would have pained him, and then, I confess, I should have been as sad as, and even sadder than, he, to have given occasion for a protest on the part of so honourable a man and, above all, so unexacting an author. This is what happened.One day, recently, when entering the green room at the Théâtre-Français, where I was having a little comedy calledRomulusrehearsed, which, in spite of its title, had nothing to do with the founder of Rome, I was accosted by Régnier, who plays the principal part in the work."Ah!" he said, "is that you?... I am delighted to see you!""And I to see you ... Have you some good advice to give me about my play?"I should tell you that, in theatrical matters, Régnier gives the wisest advice I know."Not about your play," he replied, "but about yourself.""Oh come, my dear fellow! I would have shaken hands with you for advice about my play; but for personal advice, I will embrace you.""You lay great stress on being impartial?""Why! You might as well ask me if I am keen on living.""And when you have been unjust you are very anxious to repair your injustice?"'Indeed I am!""Then, my dear friend, you have been unfair to M. Fulchiron: repair your injustice.""What! Was his tragedy by chance received in 1804, instead of 1803, as I thought?""No.""Will it be played without my knowing anything about it, as was M. Viennet'sArbogaste?""No, but M. Fulchiron has given his turn of favour to a young briefless barrister, who wrote a tragedy in his spare moments. M. Raynouard was the barrister;Les Templierswas the tragedy.""Are you telling me the truth?""I am going to give you proof of it.""How will you do that?""Come upstairs with me to the archives.""Show me the way."Régnier walked in front and I followed him as Dante's Barbariceia followed Scarmiglione, but without making so much noise as he.Five minutes later, we were among the archives, and Régnier asked M. Laugier, the keeper of the records of the Théâtre-Français, for the file of autograph letters from M. Fulchiron. M. Laugier gave them to him. I was going to carry them off, and I stretched out my hand with that intention, when Régnier snatched them back from me as one snatches a bit of pie-crust from a clever dog who does not yet know how to count nine properly."Well?" I asked him."Wait."He pressed the palm of his hand on M. Fulchiron's letters, which were encased in their yellow boards. Please note carefully that the epithet is not a reproach; I know people who, after fifty years of age, are yellow in a quite different sense from that of M. Fulchiron's letter-book backs."You must know, first of all, my dear friend," continued Régnier, "that formerly, particularly under the Empire, as soon as they produced a new tragedy the receipts decreased.""I conjecture so; but I am very glad to know it officially.""The result is that the committee of the Comédie-Française had great difficulty in deciding to play fresh pieces.""I can imagine so——""A turn was therefore a precious possession.""A thing which had no price!" as said Lagingeole."Very well, now read that letter of M. Fulchiron's."I took the paper from Régnier's hands and read as follows—"To the Members of the Administrative Committee of the Comédie-Française"GENTLEMEN,—I have just learnt that the préfect has given his permission to theTempliers.Desiring to do full justice and to pay all respect to that work and to its author, which they deserve, I hasten to tell you that I give up my turn to the tragedy; but, at the same time, I ask that mine shall be taken up immediately after, so that the second tragedy which shall be played, reckoning from this present time, shall beone of mine; if you will have the kindness to give me an actual promise of this in writing, it will confirm my definite abandonment of my turn.—I remain, gentlemen, respectfully yours,"FULCHIRON, fils"
NOTE
I have an apology to make concerning M. Fulchiron. It seems I was in error, not about the date of the reception ofPizarre; not upon the turn of favour[4]which led to the performance of that piece in 1803; not,finally, upon the darkness of the spaces of Limbo in which it balanced with eyes half shut, between death and life—but about the cause which prevented it from being played in 1803.
First of all, let me say that no one claimed again in respect of M. Fulchiron, not even he himself. If he had claimed again, my pleasantries would have pained him, and then, I confess, I should have been as sad as, and even sadder than, he, to have given occasion for a protest on the part of so honourable a man and, above all, so unexacting an author. This is what happened.
One day, recently, when entering the green room at the Théâtre-Français, where I was having a little comedy calledRomulusrehearsed, which, in spite of its title, had nothing to do with the founder of Rome, I was accosted by Régnier, who plays the principal part in the work.
"Ah!" he said, "is that you?... I am delighted to see you!"
"And I to see you ... Have you some good advice to give me about my play?"
I should tell you that, in theatrical matters, Régnier gives the wisest advice I know.
"Not about your play," he replied, "but about yourself."
"Oh come, my dear fellow! I would have shaken hands with you for advice about my play; but for personal advice, I will embrace you."
"You lay great stress on being impartial?"
"Why! You might as well ask me if I am keen on living."
"And when you have been unjust you are very anxious to repair your injustice?"
'Indeed I am!"
"Then, my dear friend, you have been unfair to M. Fulchiron: repair your injustice."
"What! Was his tragedy by chance received in 1804, instead of 1803, as I thought?"
"No."
"Will it be played without my knowing anything about it, as was M. Viennet'sArbogaste?"
"No, but M. Fulchiron has given his turn of favour to a young briefless barrister, who wrote a tragedy in his spare moments. M. Raynouard was the barrister;Les Templierswas the tragedy."
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"I am going to give you proof of it."
"How will you do that?"
"Come upstairs with me to the archives."
"Show me the way."
Régnier walked in front and I followed him as Dante's Barbariceia followed Scarmiglione, but without making so much noise as he.
Five minutes later, we were among the archives, and Régnier asked M. Laugier, the keeper of the records of the Théâtre-Français, for the file of autograph letters from M. Fulchiron. M. Laugier gave them to him. I was going to carry them off, and I stretched out my hand with that intention, when Régnier snatched them back from me as one snatches a bit of pie-crust from a clever dog who does not yet know how to count nine properly.
"Well?" I asked him.
"Wait."
He pressed the palm of his hand on M. Fulchiron's letters, which were encased in their yellow boards. Please note carefully that the epithet is not a reproach; I know people who, after fifty years of age, are yellow in a quite different sense from that of M. Fulchiron's letter-book backs.
"You must know, first of all, my dear friend," continued Régnier, "that formerly, particularly under the Empire, as soon as they produced a new tragedy the receipts decreased."
"I conjecture so; but I am very glad to know it officially."
"The result is that the committee of the Comédie-Française had great difficulty in deciding to play fresh pieces."
"I can imagine so——"
"A turn was therefore a precious possession."
"A thing which had no price!" as said Lagingeole.
"Very well, now read that letter of M. Fulchiron's."
I took the paper from Régnier's hands and read as follows—
"To the Members of the Administrative Committee of the Comédie-Française
"GENTLEMEN,—I have just learnt that the préfect has given his permission to theTempliers.Desiring to do full justice and to pay all respect to that work and to its author, which they deserve, I hasten to tell you that I give up my turn to the tragedy; but, at the same time, I ask that mine shall be taken up immediately after, so that the second tragedy which shall be played, reckoning from this present time, shall beone of mine; if you will have the kindness to give me an actual promise of this in writing, it will confirm my definite abandonment of my turn.—I remain, gentlemen, respectfully yours,"FULCHIRON, fils"
"Ah! but," said I to Régnier, "allow me to point out to you that the sacrifice was not great and its value was much depreciated owing to the precautions taken by M. Fulchiron to get one of his tragedies played."
"Wait a bit, though," resumed Régnier. "The suggestion made by M. Fulchiron was rejected. They made him see that the injustice which he did not wish done to himself would oppress a third party.If he renounced his turn it would have to be a complete renunciation, and, if M. Fulchiron fell out of rank, he must take his turn again at the end of the file. Now this was a serious matter. Suppose all the chances were favourable it would mean ten years at least! It must be confessed that M. Fulchiron took but little time to reflect, considering the gravity of the subject: then he said, "Well, gentlemen, I know the tragedy of theTempliers; it is much better that it should be performed at once; and thatPizarreshould not have its turn for ten years. It was, thanks to this condescension, of which very few authors would be capable towards a colleague, that the tragedy of theTemplierswas played; and, as one knows, that tragedy was one of the literary triumphs of the Empire.Les Deux Gendresand theTyran domestiquecomplete the dramatic trilogy of the period. Almost as much as eighteen hundred years ago they 'rendered to Cæsar the things which were Cæsar's.' Why not render to M. Fulchiron the justice which is his due?" Chateaubriand "I am not the person to refuse this," I said to Régnier, "and I am delighted to have the opportunity to make M. Fulchiron a public apology! M. Fulchiron did better than write a good tragedy: he did a good deed; whilst I, by sneering at him, did a bad action—without even the excuse of having written a good tragedy!"
[1]See note at end of chapter.
[1]See note at end of chapter.
[2]Like Buonaparte on 15 Vendémiaire, I was far from being able to see clearly into my future.
[2]Like Buonaparte on 15 Vendémiaire, I was far from being able to see clearly into my future.
[3]I have forgotten to inscribe M. de Laville, author ofFolliculaireand ofUne Journée d'Élections, among the number of the signers of that petition, which I have cited in another part of these Memoirs. One of these signatories, who survives the others, has pointed out my error to me and I here repair it.
[3]I have forgotten to inscribe M. de Laville, author ofFolliculaireand ofUne Journée d'Élections, among the number of the signers of that petition, which I have cited in another part of these Memoirs. One of these signatories, who survives the others, has pointed out my error to me and I here repair it.
[4]TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.—Littré definesun tour de faveuras the decision of a theatrical committee or manager by virtue of which a piece is given precedence over others received earlier.
[4]TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.—Littré definesun tour de faveuras the decision of a theatrical committee or manager by virtue of which a piece is given precedence over others received earlier.
Chateaubriand ceases to be a peer of France—He leaves the country—Béranger's song thereupon—Chateaubriand as versifier—First night ofCharles VII.—Delafosse's vizor—Yaqoub and Frédérick-Lemaître—The Reine d'Espagne—M. Henri de Latouche—His works, talent and character—Interlude ofThe Reine d'Espagne—Preface of the play—Reports of the pit collected by the author
Chateaubriand ceases to be a peer of France—He leaves the country—Béranger's song thereupon—Chateaubriand as versifier—First night ofCharles VII.—Delafosse's vizor—Yaqoub and Frédérick-Lemaître—The Reine d'Espagne—M. Henri de Latouche—His works, talent and character—Interlude ofThe Reine d'Espagne—Preface of the play—Reports of the pit collected by the author
People were very full at this time of the resignation and exile of Chateaubriand, both of which were voluntary acts. The previous government had caused his dismissal from the French peerage, by reason of its abolition of heredity in the peerage. The author of theMartyrsexiled himself because the uproar caused by his opposition became daily less evident and he feared that it would die away altogether.
"Do you know, madame, that Chateaubriand is growing deaf?" I said once to Madame O'Donnel, a witty woman, the sister and daughter of witty women.
"Indeed!" she replied, "then it is since people have stopped talking about him."
It must be confessed that a terrible conspiracy, that of silence, was on foot against Chateaubriand, who had not the strength to bear it. He hoped that the echo of his great reputation, which once upon a time had nearly as much weight in the world as Napoléon's, would spread abroad. The newspapers made a great stir about this voluntary exile. Béranger made it the subject of one of his short poems, and he, Voltairian and Liberal, addressed lines to the author ofAtala, Renéand theMartyrs, a Catholic and Royalist. Thispoem of Béranger's it will be remembered began with these four lines—
"Chateaubriand, pourquoi fuir la patrie,Fuir notre amour, notre encens et nos soins?N'entends-tu pas la France qui s'écrie:'Mon beau ciel pleure une étoile de moins!'"
Chateaubriand had the good taste to reply in prose. The best verses are very far below Béranger's worst. It was one of the obsessions of Chateaubriand's life that he made such bad verses and he persisted in making them. He shared this eccentricity with Nodier: these two geniuses of modern prose were haunted by the demon of rhyme. Happily people will forgetMoïseand theContes en vers, just as one has forgotten that Raphael played the violin. While Béranger sang, and Chateaubriand retired to Lucerne,—where eight or ten months later, I was to help him tofeed his chickens,—the day for the first performance ofCharles VII.arrived, 20 October.
I have already said what I thought of the merits of my play: as poetry, it was a great advance uponChristine; as a dramatic work it was an imitation ofAndromaque, theCidand theCamargo.Ample justice was done to it: it had a great success and did not bring in a sou! Let us here state, in passing, that when it was transferred to the Théâtre-Français, it was performed twenty or twenty-five times, and made a hundred louis at each performance. The same thing happened later with regard to theDemoiselles de Saint-Cyr.That comedy, represented in 1842 or 1843 with creditable but not every remunerative success—although it then had Firmin, Mesdemoiselles Plessy and Anaïs as its exponents—had, at its revival, six years later, twice the number of performances which it had had when it was a novelty, making an incredible amount of money during its odd Saint Martin's summer. But let us return toCharles VII.We have mentioned what success the work met with; a comic incident very nearly compromised it. Delafosse, one of the most conscientious comedians I ever knew, played the part ofCharles VII. As I have said, Harel did not want to go to any expense over the play (this time, indeed, he acted like a wise man); to such a degree that I had been obliged, as is known, to borrow a fifteenth-century suit of armour from the Artillery Museum; this cuirass was, on a receipt from me, taken to the property room at the Odéon; there, the theatrical armourer had occasion,—not to clean it, for it shone like silver,—but to oil the springs and joints in order to bring back the suppleness which they had lost during a state of rigidity that had endured for four centuries. By degrees, the obliging cuirass was, indeed, made pliable, and Delafosse, whose shell at the proper moment it was to become, was able, although in an iron sheath, to stretch out his legs and move his arms. The helmet alone declined all concessions; its vizor had probably not been raised since the coronation of Charles VII.; and, having seen such a solemnity as this it absolutely refused to be lowered. Delafosse, a conscientious man, as I have already indicated, looked with pain upon the obstinacy of his vizor, which, during the whole time of his long war-like speech did him good service by remaining raised, but which, when the speech was ended, and he was going off the stage, would give him when lowered a formidable appearance, upon which he set great store. The armourer was called and, after many attempts, in which he used in turn both gentle and coercive measures, oil and lime, he got the wretched vizor to consent to be lowered. But, when this end was achieved, it was almost as difficult a task to raise it again as it had been to lower it. In lowering, it slipped over a spring, made in the head of a nail, which, after several attempts, found an opening, resumed its working, and fixed the vizor in such a way that neither sword nor lance-thrusts could raise it again; this spring had to be pressed with a squire's dagger before it could be pushed back again into its socket, and permit the vizor to be raised. Delafosse troubled little about this difficulty; he went out with lowered vizor and his squire had plenty of time to perform the operation in the green room. Had Henri II. but worn such a vizor he would not have died at the hand ofMontgomery! Behold on what things the fate of empires depend! I might even say the same about the fate of plays! Henri II. was killed because his vizor was raised. Charles VII. avoided this because his vizor remained lowered. In the heat of delivery, Delafosse made so violent a gesture that the vizor fell of itself, yielding, doubtless, to the emotion that it felt. This may have been its manner of applauding. Whatever the cause, Delafosse suddenly found himself completely prevented from continuing his discourse. The lines began in the clearest fashion imaginable; they were emphasised most plainly, but ended in a lugubrious and unintelligible bellowing. The audience naturally began to laugh. It is said that it is impossible for our closest friend to refrain from laughter when he sees us fall. It is no laughing matter, I can tell you, when a play fails, but my best friends began to laugh. Luckily, the squire of King Charles VII., or, rather, Delafosse's super (whichever you like), did not forget on the stage the part he played behind the scenes; he rushed forward, dagger in hand, on the unfortunate king; the public only saw in the accident that had just happened a trick of the stage and, in the action of the super, a fresh-incident. The laughter ceased and the audience remained expectant. The result of the pause was that in a few seconds the vizor rose again, and showed Charles VII., as red as a peony and very nearly stifled. The play concluded without any other accident. Frédérick-Lemaître was angry with me for a long time because I did not give him the part of Yaqoub; but he was certainly mistaken about the character of that personage, whom he took for an Othello. The sole resemblance between Othello and Yaqoub lies in the colour of the face; the colour of the soul, if one may be allowed to say so, is wholly different. I should have made Othello—and I should have been very proud of it if I had!—jealous, violent, carried away by his passions, a man of initiative and of will-power, leader of the Venetian galleys; an Othello with flattened nose, thick lips, prominent cheek-bones, frizzy hair; an Othello, more negro than Arab, should I have given to Frédérick. But my Othello, or, rather, my Yaqoubwas more Arab than negro, a child of the desert, swarthy complexioned rather than black, with straight nose, thin lips, and smooth and flat hair; a sort of lion, taken from his mother's breast and carried off from the red and burning sands of the Sahara to the cold and damp flagstones of a château in the West; in the darkness and cold he becomes enervated, languid, poetical. It was the fine, aristocratic and rather sickly nature of Lockroy which really suited the part. And, according to my thinking, Lockroy played it admirably. The day after the first performance ofCharles VII.I received a good number of letters of congratulation. The play had just enough secondary merit not to frighten anybody, and brought me the compliments of people who, whether unable or unwilling to pay them any longer to Ancelot, felt absolutely obliged to pay them to somebody.
Meanwhile, the Théâtre-Français was preparing a play which was to cause a much greater flutter than my poorCharles VII.This was theReine d'Espagne, by Henri de Latouche. M. de Latouche,—to whom we shall soon have to devote our attention in connection with the appearance upon our literary horizon of Madame Sand,—was a sort of hermit, who lived at the Vallée-aux-Loups. The name of the hermitage quite sufficiently describes the hermit. M. de Latouche was a man of genuine talent; he has published a translation of Hoffmann'sCardillac, and a very remarkable Neapolitan novel. The translation—M. de Latouche obliterated the name on his stolen linen—was calledOlivier Brusson; the Neapolitan novel was calledFragoletta.The novel is an obscure work, badly put together, but certain parts of it are dazzling in their colour and truth; it is the reflection of the Neapolitan sun upon the rocks of Pausilippe. The Parthenopean Revolution is described therein in all its horrors, with the bloodthirsty and unblushing nakedness of the peoples of the South. M. de Latouche had, besides, rediscovered, collected and published the poetry of André Chénier. He easily made people believe that these poems were if not quite all his own, at least in a great measure his. We will concede that M. Henri de Latouche concocteda hemistich here and there where it was wanting, and joined up a rhyme which the pen had forgotten to connect, but that the verses of André Chénier are by M. de Latouche we will not grant!
We only knew M. de Latouche slightly; at the same time, we do not believe that there was so great a capacity for the renunciation of glory on his part as this, that he gave to André Chénier, twenty-five years after the death of the young poet, that European reputation from which he was able to enrich himself. Yet M. de Latouche wrote very fine verse; Frédérick Soulié, who was then on friendly terms with him, told me at times that his poetry was of marvellous composition and supreme originality. In short, M. de Latouche, a solitary misanthrope, a harsh critic, a capricious friend, had just written a five-act prose comedy upon the most immodest subject in France and Spain; not content with shaking the bells of Comus, as said the members of the Caveau, he rang a full peal on the bells of the theatre of the rue de Richelieu. This comedy took for its theme the impotence of King Charles II., and for plot, the advantage accruing to Austria supposing the husband of Marie-Louise d'Orléans produced a child, and the advantage to France supposing his wife did not have one. As may be seen it was a delicate subject. It must be admitted that M. de Latouche's redundant imagination had found a way of skating over the risks of danger which threatened ordinary authors. When one act is finished it is usually the same with the author as with the sufferer put to the rack: he has a rest, but lives in expectation of fresh tortures to follow. But M. de Latouche would not allow himself any moments of repose; he substituted Interludes between the acts. We will reproduce verbatim the interlude between the second and the third act. It is needless to explain the situation: the reader will easily guess that, thanks to the efforts of the king's physician, Austria is on the way to triumph over France.
"INTERLUDE"The personages go out, and after a few minutes interval, the footlights are lowered; night descends. The Chamberlain,preceded by torches, appears at the door of the Queen's apartment, and knocks upon it with his sword-hilt; the head lady-in-waiting comes to the door. They whisper together; the Chamberlain disappears; then, upon a sign from the head lady-in-waiting, the Queen's women arrive successively and ceremoniously group themselves around their chief. A young lady-in-waiting holds back the velvet curtain over the Queen's bedroom. The king's cortège advances; two pages precede his Majesty, holding upon rich cushions the king's sword and the king's breeches. His Majesty is in his night attire of silk, embroidered with gold flowers, edged with ermine; two crowns are embroidered on the lapels. Charles II. wears, carried on a sash, the blue ribbon of France, in honour of the niece of Louis XIV. While passing in front of the line of courtiers, he makes sundry gestures of recognition, pleasure and satisfaction, and the recipients of these marks of favour express their delight. Charles II. stops a moment: according to etiquette he has to hand the candlestick borne by one of the officers to one of the Queen's ladies. His Majesty chooses at a glance the prettiest girl and indicates this favour by a gesture. Two ladies receives the breeches and the sword from the hands of the pages, the others allow the King to pass and quickly close up their ranks. When the curtain has fallen behind his Majesty, the nurse cries,Vive le roi!This cry is repeated by all those present. A symphony, which at first solemnly began with the air of theFolies d'Espagne, ends the concert with a serenade."
"INTERLUDE
"The personages go out, and after a few minutes interval, the footlights are lowered; night descends. The Chamberlain,preceded by torches, appears at the door of the Queen's apartment, and knocks upon it with his sword-hilt; the head lady-in-waiting comes to the door. They whisper together; the Chamberlain disappears; then, upon a sign from the head lady-in-waiting, the Queen's women arrive successively and ceremoniously group themselves around their chief. A young lady-in-waiting holds back the velvet curtain over the Queen's bedroom. The king's cortège advances; two pages precede his Majesty, holding upon rich cushions the king's sword and the king's breeches. His Majesty is in his night attire of silk, embroidered with gold flowers, edged with ermine; two crowns are embroidered on the lapels. Charles II. wears, carried on a sash, the blue ribbon of France, in honour of the niece of Louis XIV. While passing in front of the line of courtiers, he makes sundry gestures of recognition, pleasure and satisfaction, and the recipients of these marks of favour express their delight. Charles II. stops a moment: according to etiquette he has to hand the candlestick borne by one of the officers to one of the Queen's ladies. His Majesty chooses at a glance the prettiest girl and indicates this favour by a gesture. Two ladies receives the breeches and the sword from the hands of the pages, the others allow the King to pass and quickly close up their ranks. When the curtain has fallen behind his Majesty, the nurse cries,Vive le roi!This cry is repeated by all those present. A symphony, which at first solemnly began with the air of theFolies d'Espagne, ends the concert with a serenade."
The work was performed but once and it has not yet been played in its entirety. From that very night M. de Latouche withdrew his play. But, although the public forgot his drama, M. de Latouche was of too irascible and too vindictive a nature to let the public forget it. He did pretty much what M. Arnault did: he appealed from the performance to the printed edition; only, he did not dedicate theReine d'Espagneto the prompter. People had heard too much of what the actors had said, from the first word to the last; the play failed through a revolt of modesty and morality, and so the author contested the question of indecency and immorality. We will reproduce the preface of our fellow-dramatist de Latouche. As annalist werelate the fact; as keeper of archives, we find room for the memorandum in our archives.[1]
The protest he made was not enough; he followed it up by pointing out, in the printed play, every fluctuation of feeling shown in the pit and even in the boxes. Thus, one finds successively the following notes at the foot of his pages—
.·. Here they begin to cough..·. Whispers. The piece is attacked by persons as thoroughly informed beforehand as the author of the risks of this somewhat novel situation.
.·. Here they begin to cough.
.·. Whispers. The piece is attacked by persons as thoroughly informed beforehand as the author of the risks of this somewhat novel situation.
As a matter of fact, the situation was so novel, that the public would not allow it to grow old.
.·. Here the whispers redouble..·. The pit rises divided between two opinions..·. This detail of manners, accurately historic, excites lively disapproval.
.·. Here the whispers redouble.
.·. The pit rises divided between two opinions.
.·. This detail of manners, accurately historic, excites lively disapproval.
See, at page 56 of the play, the detail of manners.
.·. Uproar..·. A pretty general rising caused by a chaste interpretation suggested by the pit.
.·. Uproar.
.·. A pretty general rising caused by a chaste interpretation suggested by the pit.
See page 72, for the suggestion of this chaste interpretation.
.·. Prolonged,Oh! oh!'s..·. They laugh..·. They become indignant.A voice: "It takes two to make a child!".·. Interruption..·. Movement of disapprobation; the white hair of the old monk should, however, put aside all ideas of indecency in this interview..·. Deserved disapproval..·. The sentence is cut in two by an obscene interruption.
.·. Prolonged,Oh! oh!'s.
.·. They laugh.
.·. They become indignant.A voice: "It takes two to make a child!"
.·. Interruption.
.·. Movement of disapprobation; the white hair of the old monk should, however, put aside all ideas of indecency in this interview.
.·. Deserved disapproval.
.·. The sentence is cut in two by an obscene interruption.
See the sentence, on page 115.
.·. Disapproval..·. After this scene (the seventh of the fourth act) the piece, scarcely listened to at all, was not criticised any further.
.·. Disapproval.
.·. After this scene (the seventh of the fourth act) the piece, scarcely listened to at all, was not criticised any further.
This was the only attempt M. de Latouche made at the theatre, and, from that time onwards, la Vallée-aux-Loups more than ever deserved its name.