CHAPTER VIII

I leave Villers-Cotterets to be second or third clerk at Crespy--M. Lefèvre--His character--My journeys to Villers-Cotterets--The _Pélerinage à Ermenonville_--Athénaïs--New matter sent to Adolphe--An uncontrollable desire to pay a visit to Paris--How this desire was accomplished--The journey--Hôtel des Vieux-Augustins--Adolphe-_Sylla_--Talma

During my absence a place had been offered me as second or third clerk, I do not know exactly which, with M. Lefèvre, a lawyer at Crespy. It was a very desirable place, because the clerks were lodged and boarded. My keep had become such a burden on my poor mother, that she consented for the second time to part with me in order to save my food. She made up my little bit of packing--not much bigger than a Savoyard's on leaving his mountains--and off I set. It was three and a half leagues from Villers-Cotterets to Crespy: I did the journey on foot one fine evening, and I duly arrived at M. Lefèvre's.

M. Lefèvre was, at that period, a fairly good-looking man of thirty-four or thirty-five, with dark brown hair, a very pale complexion, and a well-worn appearance physically. You could recognise he was a man who had lived a long while in Paris, who had taken many permissible pleasures, and still more forbidden ones. Although M. Lefèvre was confined to a little provincial town, he might be styled a lawyer of the old school: he had ceremonious ways with his clients, ceremonious manners with us, lofty domineering airs with the world at large. M. Lefèvre seemed to say to all those who had business with him, "Pray appreciate the honour I am bestowing upon you and your town, in condescending to be a lawyer in the capital of a canton when I might have been in practice in Paris."

There was one thing that specially called forth from me feelings of admiration for M. Lefèvre, and it was this: he went to the capital, as they call it in Crespy, some eight or ten times a year, and he never lowered himself to take the diligence: when he wanted a conveyance he would call the gardener. "Pierre," he would say, "I am going to-morrow, or this evening, to Paris; see that the post-horses are ready in the chaise at such and such an hour."

Pierre would go: at the appointed hour the horses would arrive, rousing the whole district with their bells; the postillion, who still wore a powdered wig and a blue jacket with red lapels and silver buttons, would fling himself clumsily, heavily-booted, into the saddle, M. Lefèvre would stretch himself nonchalantly in the carriage, wrapped in a big cloak, take a pinch of snuff from a gold box, and say with an air of careless indifference, "Go on!" and at the word the whip cracked, the bells jingled and the carriage disappeared round the corner of the street for three or four days. M. Lefèvre never told us the day or hour of his return: he would return unawares, for he delighted in taking his world by surprise.

But M. Lefèvre was not a bad sort of man. Although cold and exacting, he was just; he rarely refused holidays when they were asked for, but, as we shall see, he never pardoned holidays taken without leave.

My brother-in-law's mother lived at Crespy, so I had a ready entree into the society of that little town. Alas! alas! what a different world it was from our three-tiered society of Villers-Cotterets of which I have spoken, and above all from our own charming little circle of friends! All the good family of Millet, with whom we had taken shelter during the first invasion, had disappeared: the mother, the two brothers, the two sisters, had all left Crespy and lived in Paris. I have since come across the mother and the eldest sister: they were both in want. I was dreadfully bored in the heart of that ancient capital of Valois! so sick of it that I very often returned home to sleep at my mother's at Villers-Cotterets, when Saturday evening came, taking my gun for a shoot on the way; then I would shoulder my gun at six on Monday morning, and, shooting all the time, I returned to Maître Lefèvre's before the office opened.

Thus things went on for three months. I had a pretty room looking into a garden full of flowers; the evening sun shone into the room; I had paper, ink and pens in abundance on my table; the food was good, I looked well enough, and yet I felt I could not possibly continue to live thus.

During one of my Sunday excursions I turned in the direction of Ermenonville. Ermenonville is about six leagues from Crespy, but what were six leagues to such legs as mine! I visited the historic places of M. de Girardin, the desert, the poplar island, the tomb of the Unknown. The poetic side to this pilgrimage revived my poor drooping Muse a little, like a wan, sickly butterfly coming out of its chrysalis in January instead of May. I set to work. I wrote partly in prose, partly in verse, and under the inspiration of a charming young society damsel named Athénaïs--who knew nothing about it-a bad imitation of the _Lettres d'Émilie_ by Demoustier, and of the _Voyages du chevalier Berlin_. I sent the work to Adolphe when it was finished. Since I could not achieve success by the stage, I might perhaps attain it by publishing. I gave it the essentially novel title of _Pélerinage à Ermenonville._ Adolphe, naturally enough, could not do anything with it; he lost it, never found it again, and so much the better. I cannot recollect a single word of it.

As a matter of fact, Adolphe was not succeeding any better than I was. All his hopes fell to the ground, one after another, and he wrote me that we should never do anything unless we were together. But, to be together, it would be necessary to leave Crespy for Paris, and how was this to be done, in the state of my purse, which even on those happy days when my mother sent me some money never contained more than eight or ten francs.

So it was a material impossibility. But infinite are the mysteries of Providence. One Saturday in the month of November, M. Lefèvre announced to us in his usual fashion--by ordering Pierre to have the horses ready by seven next morning--that he was going to pay one of his monthly visits to Paris. Almost simultaneously with his giving this order, at the conclusion of dinner (another of his habits), the cook came and told me a friend wanted to see me. I went out. It was Paillet, my old head clerk; like myself, he had left Maître Mennesson. He was living temporarily on his farm at Vez, where he lodged in the top of a tower, compared with which the tower of Madame Marlborough, however vaunted it may be, is a mere trifle. The tower of Vez was really wonderful, the only remains left standing of a stout castle of the twelfth century--the ancient nest of vultures now peopled by rooks. Paillet had come over on horseback, to learn the price of corn, I believe. He was from time to time head clerk in the provinces or second clerk in Paris; but his real business, his actual life, was that of a property-owner. We took a turn round the ramparts. I was in full tide of pouring out my grievances to this good friend, who loved me so devotedly, and who sympathised with me to the utmost, when, all of a sudden, I struck my forehead and burst out with--

"Oh, my dear fellow, I have an idea ...!"

"What is it?"

"Let us go and spend three days in Paris."

"And what about the office?"

"M. Lefèvre goes to Paris himself to-morrow; he usually stays away two or three days; we shall have returned in two or three days' time."

Paillet felt in his pockets and drew out twenty-eight francs.

"There, that is all I possess," he said. "And you?"

"I? I have seven francs."

"Twenty-eight and seven make thirty-five! How the deuce do you think we can go to Paris on that? We need thirty francs, to begin with, simply for a carriage to get there and back."

"Wait a bit: I know a way...."

"Well?"

"You have your horse?"

"Yes."

"We will put our things into a portmanteau, we will go in our hunting-clothes, with our guns, and we will shoot along the route; we can live on the game, and so it will cost us nothing."

"How do you make that out?"

"It is simple enough: from here to Dammartin, surely we can kill a hare, two partridges and a quail?"

"I hope we can kill more than that."

"So do I, hard enough, but I am putting it at the lowest. When we reach Dammartin we can roast the hinder portion of our hare, we can jug the front half, and we can drink and eat."

"And then?"

"Then?... We will pay for our wine, our bread and our seasoning with the two partridges, and we will give the quail to the waiter as a tip.... There will only remain your horse to trouble about! Come, come, for three francs a day we shall see wonders."

"But what the dickens will people take us for?"

"What does that matter?--for scholars on a holiday."

"But we only have one gun."

"That will be all we shall need: one of us will shoot, the other will follow on horseback; in this way, as it is only sixteen leagues from here to Paris, it will only mean eight for each of us."

"And the keepers?"

"Ah! that is our worst difficulty. Whichever of us is on horseback must keep watch; he will warn the one who is poaching. The cavalier must dismount from his horse, the sportsman will get up, spur with both heels and clear out of the place at a gallop. The keeper will then come up to the cavalier, and finding him walking along with his hands in his pockets, will say, 'What are you doing here, sir?' 'I?... You can see quite well for yourself.' 'Never mind, tell me.' 'I am walking.' 'Just a minute ago, you were on horseback.' 'Yes.' 'And now you are on foot?' 'Yes.... Is it against the law for a man first to ride and then to walk?' 'No, but you were not alone.' 'Quite possible.' 'Your companion was shooting.' 'Do you think so?' 'Good heavens! why, there he is on horseback carrying his gun.' 'My dear sir, if he is there with his gun on horseback, run after him and try to stop him.' 'But I can't run after him and stop him, because he is on horseback and I am on foot.' 'In that case you will be wise, my friend, to go to the nearest village and drink a bottle of wine to our health.' And at this, one of us will hold out a twenty-sous piece to the honest fellow, which we will reckon in among our profit and loss; the gamekeeper will bow to us, go and drink our health, and we shall pursue our journey."

"Well, I never! that is not badly conceived," cried Paillet. "... They tell me you are writing things."

I heaved a sigh. "It is exactly for the purpose of going to ask de Leuven for news of the plays I have written that I want to go to Paris.... And then, once in Paris----"

"Oh!" interrupted Paillet, "once in Paris, I know a little hotel, rue des Vieux-Augustins, where I usually put up, and where I am known; once in Paris, I shall not be anxious."

"Then it is settled?"

"Why, yes!... it will be a joke."

"We will start for Paris?"

"We will."

"Very well, then, better still, let us start to-night, instead of to-morrow! We can sleep at Ermenonville, and to-morrow evening, leaving Ermenonville early, we shall be in Paris."

"Let us leave to-night."

We went our way, Paillet to his inn, to have his horse saddled; I to Maître Lefèvre's, to get my gun and to put on my shooting-clothes. A shirt, a coat, a pair of trousers and a pair of boots were sent off by the third clerk to Paillet, who stuffed them into a portmanteau; these things accomplished, I shouldered my gun and awaited Paillet outside the town. Paillet soon appeared. It was too late for shooting: our only thoughts were to gain the country. I jumped up behind. Two hours later, we were at Ermenonville.

It was the second or third time I had visited the _Hôtel de la Croix_: so far as I can remember, I was not a profitable customer; but my antecedents were by no means bad, rather the reverse. We were well received. An omelette, a bottle of wine and as much bread as we wanted, constituted our supper. Next day, our account, including the horse's stabling, came to six francs--leaving twenty-nine. Paillet and I looked at one another, as much as to say, "Dear me! how money does fly!" And after two or three sage noddings of the head, we continued our journey, going across country to Dammartin, where we meant to lunch. Lunch did not trouble us: it lay in the barrel of our gun, and we set forth to find it. The country round Ermenonville is full of game and well guarded; so we had hardly gone a quarter of a league before I had killed two hares and three partridges with six shots of my gun. I ought to confess with due humility that these two hares and three partridges belonged to M. de Girardin-Brégy.

Now, when my dog was retrieving the third partridge, Paillet gave the prearranged signal. The figure of a gamekeeper appeared on the skyline, boldly defined against the white fleecy sky, like one of those shepherds or country rustics in huge leggings that Decamps or Jadin put in their landscapes, as a contrast to a lonely and twisted elm-tree.

The manœuvre had already been discussed. In an instant I was on horseback, spurring the horse with both heels, and carrying off with me the incriminating plunder. The dialogue between Paillet and the gamekeeper was lengthy and animated; but it ended as I had predicted. Paillet majestically drew a twenty-sous piece from the common purse, and our total expenditure had reached the sum of seven francs. That was our loss; but on the profit side of our account we had two hares and three partridges. Paillet joined me again; I remained on horseback and he took his turn at hunting. So we alternated. By ten o'clock in the morning we were at Dammartin, with three hares and eight partridges. Of the two gamekeepers we ran across since our last, one had loftily refused the twenty sous, the other had basely accepted. Our funds were now reduced to twenty-seven francs. But we were more than half-way there; and we had three hares and eight partridges to the good! As I had foreseen, we paid our way, and generously, with a hare and three partridges. We could have paid our way in larks.

By eleven o'clock, we were off again, and we made straight tracks for Paris, which we reached at half-past ten that night, I on foot and Paillet on horseback, with four hares, a dozen partridges and two quails. We had a marketable value of thirty francs of game with us.

When we reached the _Hôtel des Vieux-Augustins_, Paillet made himself known and imposed his conditions. He told our host we had made a big bet with some Englishmen. We had wagered that we could go to Paris and back without spending a halfpenny, so we wished to gain the bet by selling our game to him. He engaged to board and put us up, horse and dog included, for two days and two nights, in exchange for our twelve partridges, four hares and two quails. Besides this, when we left he put us up a pasty and bottle of wine. On these conditions, our host declared he would make a good thing out of us, and offered us a certificate to certify that, at least while with him, we had not spent a son. We thanked him and told him our Englishmen would take our word for it.

Paillet and I took our bearings and went to get a bath. With all economy possible, we had had to deduct the sum of three francs fifty from our remaining balance; we were thus left with twenty-three francs fifty. We had spent rather less than a third of our wealth; but we had arrived, and bed and board were assured us for _forty-eight hours_.

In spite of the fatigue of the journey, I slept but ill: I was in Paris! I envied my dog, who, laid down at the foot of my bed, free from imagination, tired out in body, and indifferent to his resting-place, was taking a nap. Next day I woke up at seven o'clock. In a twinkling I was dressed.

De Leuven lived in the rue Pigale, No. 14. It was nearly a league from the rue des Vieux-Augustins, but, good gracious! what did that matter? I had covered ten or a dozen leagues the day before, without reckoning the ins and outs, and I could surely manage one to-day. I set out. Paillet had business of his own to attend to; I had mine. We should probably meet at dinner-time, or perhaps not until night. I left the rue des' Vieux-Augustins by the rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs and walked straight ahead. I saw a passage where a crowd of people were going in and coming out. I went down seven or eight steps until I thought I was lost. I wanted to ascend again, but I felt ashamed. I continued on my way and alighted on the rue Valois. I had made acquaintance, first go off, with the ugliest passage in Paris, the passage of the rue Neuve-des-Bons-Enfants. I went down another passage which opened out before me, and I found myself in the Palais-Royal. I went all round it: half the shops weren't opened. I stopped in front of the Théâtre-Français and I saw on the poster--

"To-morrow, Monday, _Sylla_, a Tragedy in verse, in five acts, by M. de Jouy."

I vowed fervently that somehow or other I would get access to the common purse and I would see _Sylla._ All the more because I read in large letters on the same poster--

"M. TALMA will take the part of Sylla"

However, since it would be much better to go with the help' of Adolphe, I immediately inquired my way to the rue Pigale, and started off for it. After many turnings and twistings, I reached my destination at about nine in the morning. Adolphe was not yet up; but his father was walking in the garden. I went up to him. He stopped, let me approach, held out his hand to me, and said--

"So you have come to Paris, then?"

"Yes, Monsieur de Leuven."

"For some stay?"

"For two days."

"What have you come for?"

"I have come to see two people--Adolphe and Talma."

"Ah! is that so? You have become a millionaire, then, or you would not commit such extravagances."

I told M. de Leuven how Paillet and I had accomplished the journey. He looked at me for a minute, then he said--

"You will get on, you have will-power. Go and wake Adolphe; he will take you to see Talma, who will give you tickets; then come back and lunch together here."

That was the very thing I wanted. I took stock of the interior topography of the house, and rushed off. I only opened two wrong doors before I found Adolphe's: one was Gabriel Arnault's door; the other, Louis Arnault's. I lost my way on the first landing: Louis put me right. I reached Adolphe's room at last. Adolphe slept like the Seven Sleepers. But had I had to deal with Epimenides I would have wakened him. Adolphe rubbed his eyes, and could not recognise me.

"Come, come," I said, "it is really I; wake up and get dressed. I want to go to Talma."

"To Talma! What for? You don't mean to say you have a tragedy to read to him?"

"No, but I want to ask him for some tickets."

"What is he playing in now?"

I fell from my state of exaltation. Adolphe, living in Paris, did not know what Talma was acting! What was the idiot thinking of? No wonder he had not yet got my _Pélerinage d'Ermenonville_ placed, or any of our plays acted. Adolphe got out of bed and dressed himself. At eleven o'clock we were ringing the bell of a house in the rue de la Tour-des-Dames. Mademoiselle Mars, Mademoiselle Duchesnois and Talma all lived side by side. Talma was dressing, but Adolphe was an habitué of the house: they let him in. I followed Adolphe, as Hernani followed Charles-Quint; I, naturally, behind Adolphe.

Talma was extremely short-sighted: I do not know whether he saw me or not. He was washing his chest: his head was almost shaved--this astonished me greatly, for I had heard it said, many times, that in _Hamlet_, when the father's ghost appears, Talma's hairs could be seen standing on end. I must confess that Talma's appearance, under the above conditions, was far from being artistic. But when he turned round, with his neck bare, the lower part of his body wrapped in a large sort of white linen wrapper, and he took one of the corners of this mantle and drew it over his shoulder, half veiling his breast, there was something so regal in the action that it made me tremble.

De Leuven laid bare our request. Talma took up a kind of antique stiletto, at the end of which was a pen, and signed an order for two seats for us. It was a member's order. Besides the actors' order which were received on days when they were acting, members had the right to give two free tickets every day.

Then Adolphe explained who I was. In those days I was just the son of General Alexandre Dumas: but that was something. Besides, Talma remembered having met my father at Saint-Georges's. He held out his hand to me, and I longed to kiss it. Full of theatrical ambitions as I was, Talma was like a god to me--an unknown god, it is true, as unknown as Jupiter was to Semele; but a god who appeared to me in the morning, and who would reveal himself to me at night. Our hands clasped. Oh, Talma! if only you had been twenty years younger or I twenty years older! But at that time the whole honour was mine.

Talma! I knew the past: you could not guess the future. If anyone had told you, Talma, that the hand you had just held was to write sixty to eighty dramas, in each of which you--who were looking out for rôles all your life--would have found one which you would have acted to perfection, you would not have allowed the poor youth to go away thus, blushing at having seen you, proud at having shaken hands with you! But how could you see anything in me, Talma, since I had not discovered it myself?