CHAPTER V

I find Adolphe again--The pastoral drama--First steps--The Duc de Bellune--General Sébastiani--His secretaries and his snuff-boxes--The fourth floor, small door to the left--The general who painted battles

I got down at No. 9 rue du Bouloy, at five in the morning. This time, I did not make the same mistake that I did when I left the Théâtre Français. I took my bearings, and, by certain landmarks, I thought I recognised the vicinity of the rue des Vieux-Augustins. I questioned the conductor, who confirmed my convictions, and handed me my small luggage. I disputed over it victoriously with several porters, and I reached the _Hôtel des Vieux-Augustins_ towards half-past five. There I felt at home. The waiter recognised me as the traveller with the hares and the partridges, and, in the absence of the landlord, who was still asleep, he took me to the room I had occupied on my last visit. My first desire was for sleep. Owing to the emotions of parting, and owing to wakeful dreams I had had in the diligence, I arrived tired out. I told the boy to wake me at nine, if I had not given any signs of life before. I knew Adolphe's habits by now, and I knew I need not hurry over going to his house. But when the landlord himself came into my room at nine o'clock, he found me up: sleep would have none of me. It was Sunday morning. Under the Bourbons Paris was very dreary on Sundays. Strict orders forbade the opening of shops, and it was considered not only a breach of religious order, but still worse, a crime of _lèse majesty_ to disobey these ordinances. I risked being arrested in Paris at nine in the morning nearly as much as I had risked it by being in the streets after midnight. I did not feel uneasy. Thanks to my sportsman's instincts, I found the rue du Mont-Blanc; then the rue Pigale; then, finally, No. 14 in the rue Pigale.

M. de Leuven was, as usual, walking in his garden. It was early in May: he was amusing himself by giving a bit of sugar to a rose. He turned round and said--

"Ah! it is you. Why have you been so long without coming to see us?"

"Why, because I returned to Villers-Cotterets."

"And you have now come back?"

"As you see. I have come to try my fortune for the last time.... This time, I must stop in Paris, whatever happens."

"Well, as to that, you will always be welcome here, my dear boy. We have a kind of Platonic republic here, save in the matter of the community of women and the presence of poets: one mouth more or less makes no difference to our republic. There is even an empty attic to spare upstairs; you can dispute possession of it with the rats; but I believe you are capable of defending yourself. Go and arrange it all with Adolphe."

M. de Leuven wrote on foreign politics at that time, for the _Courrier français._ Brought up on the knees of the kings and queens of the North, speaking all the Northern languages, knowing everything it is permitted man to know, the politics of foreign courts were almost his mother tongue. He rose at five o'clock every morning, received the papers by six, and by seven or eight his work for the _Courrier français_ was finished.

Generally, by the time his father finished his day's work, Adolphe had not begun his. He was still in bed--which I forgave him after he had assured me that he had worked at a little drama in two acts, called the _Pauvre Fille_, until two in the morning.

The reader will recollect Soumet's charming elegy:--

"J'ai fui le pénible sommeil, Qu'aucun songe heureux n'accompagne; J'ai devancé sur la montagne Les premiers rayons du soleil. S'éveillant avec la nature, Le jeune oiseau chantait sur l'aubépine en fleurs; Sa mère lui portait la douce nourriture; Mes yeux se sont mouillés de pleurs. Oh! pourquoi n'ai-je plus de mère? Pourquoi ne suis-je pas semblable au jeune oiseau Dont le nid se balance aux branches de l'ormeau, Moi, malheureux enfant trouve sur une pierre, Devant l'église du hameau?"

Short lines were much in vogue at that period. M. Guiraud had just made with his _Petits Savoyards_ a reputation almost equal to that M. Dennery has since made with his _Grâce de Dieu_, the only difference being that M. Guiraud's Savoyard only asked for a son, while M. Dennery's Savoyard asked for five. True, M. Dennery is a Jew. The first of Hugo's _Odes_ had made their appearance; Lamartine's _Méditations_ were out; but these were too strong and too substantial meat for the stomachs of 1823, which had been nourished on the refuse of Parny, of Bertin and of Millevoye.

Adolphe was writing his _Pauvre Fille_ in collaboration with Ferdinand Langlé, and it was to be ready for a reading in a week's time.

"Ah me! when shall I have reached that stage?" I thought to myself. While I waited, I questioned Adolphe as to the composition of the Ministry. You ask why I wanted to know about the composition of the Ministry, and what I had to do with ministers? Why, I wanted to know what the Duc de Bellune was. As ministers are but mortals, and quickly forgotten when they are dead, it gives me pleasure to draw this minister from his grave, and to acquaint the reader with the constitution of the Ministry of 1823 at the date of my arrival in Paris.

Keeper of the Seals, Comte de Peyronnet. Foreign Minister, Vicomte de Montmorency. Minister for the Interior, Comte de Cubières. Minister for War, _le Maréchal Duc de Bellune_. Minister for the Navy, Marquis de Clermont-Tonnerre. Minister for Finance, Comte de Villèle. King's Chamberlain, M. de Lauriston.

The Duc de Bellune was still War Minister. That was all I wanted to know.

I have mentioned that I was interested in the Duc de Bellune, no matter what office he held. I had a letter of his in my possession, wherein he had thanked my father for a service he had rendered in Italy; he placed himself at my father's disposition, in case he should ever be able to do anything for him. The occasion offered on behalf of the son instead of the father. But as, at that period, the law of inheritance had not yet been abolished, as there was not even talk of abolishing it, I did not doubt that as I had succeeded in the direct line to Napoleon's hatred, I should succeed in direct line also to the gratitude of the Duc de Bellune. I begged a pen and ink from de Leuven; I trimmed the quill with the care the case demanded, and, in my very best handwriting, I drew up a petition asking for an interview with the Minister of War. I particularised all my claims to his favour; I emphasised them in the name of my father, which the marshal could not have forgotten; I recalled the old friendship which had united them, while leaving unmentioned the service my father had rendered him, of which the marshal's letter (he was then a major or a colonel) gave proof. Then, easy about my future, I returned to literature.

Adolphe sensibly pointed out to me that, sure though I felt of the protection of Marshal Victor, it might still be as well to throw out my line in other directions, in the unlikely, but still possible, case of my being deceived.

I told Adolphe that, if Marshal Victor failed me, there still remained Marshal Jourdan and Marshal Sébastiani.

It was quite out of the question that these would not move heaven and earth for me. I had three or four letters from Jourdan to my father, which gave token of a friendship equal to that of Damon and Pythias. I had only one letter from Marshal Sébastiani; but this letter proved that when at loggerheads with Bonaparte during the Egyptian campaign, it was through the intercession of my father, who was then on excellent terms with the general-in-chief, that he had obtained a commission in the expedition. Surely such services as these would never be forgotten! At that time, as can be seen, I was very simple, very provincial, very confiding. I am wrong in saying "at that time"; alas! I am just the same now, perhaps more so. Nevertheless, Adolphe's suspicions disturbed me. I decided not to wait for the Duc de Bellune's answer before seeing my other patrons, and I told Adolphe I meant to buy the _Almanach des 25,000 adresses_ in order to find out where they lived.

"Do not put yourself to that expense," said Adolphe. "I believe my father has it: I will lend it you."

The tone in which Adolphe said "Do not put yourself to that expense" annoyed me. It was as clear as day that he believed I should be making a useless expenditure in buying the Directory in question. I was angry with Adolphe for having such a low opinion of men.

To give him the lie, I went next morning to Marshal Jourdan. I announced myself as Alexandre Dumas. My success was surprising. The marshal no doubt imagined that the news he had received fifteen years ago was not true, and that my father was still alive. But when he saw me, his face changed completely: he remembered perfectly that a General Alexandre Dumas had existed in times gone by, with whom he had come in contact, but he had never heard of the existence of a son. In spite of all I could urge to establish my identity, he dismissed me, after ten minutes' interview, still a disbeliever in my existence. This good marshal was stronger than St. Thomas: he saw and did not believe.

It was a sad beginning. I recalled the way in which, advising me not to buy an _Almanach des 25,000 adresses,_ Adolphe had said to me, "Do not put yourself to that expense." Was it possible, perchance, that Adolphe's scepticism might prove correct? These depressing cogitations passed through my mind while I was walking from the faubourg Saint-Germain to the faubourg Saint-Honoré--that is to say, from Marshal Jourdan's to Marshal Sébastiani's. I announced myself, as I had at Marshal Jourdan's; at my name the door opened. I thought, for a moment, that I had inherited Ali Baba's famous "Open, sesame!" The _general_ was in his study. I italicise _general,_ as I was in error previously in calling the famous minister of foreign affairs to Louis-Philippe _marshal_:--Comte Sébastiani was only a general when I paid my visit to him. So the general was in his study: in the four comers of this study, as at the four corners of a map are the four cardinal points or four winds, were four secretaries. These four secretaries were writing at his dictation. They were three less in number than Cæsar's, but two more than Napoleon's. Each of these secretaries had on his desk, besides his pen, his paper and his penknife, a gold snuff-box which he opened and offered to the general, every time the latter had occasion, when walking round the room, to stop in front of the desk. The general would daintily insert the first finger and thumb of a hand whose whiteness and delicacy had been the envy of his grand-cousin Napoleon, take a voluptuous sniff of the Spanish powder and, like _le Malade imaginaire,_ proceed to measure the length and the breadth of the room..

My visit was short. Whatever consideration I might have for the general, I did not feel inclined to become his snuff-box boy. I returned to my hotel in the rue des Vieux-Augustins, somewhat cast down. The first two men I had turned to had blown upon my golden dreams, and tarnished them. Besides, although a whole day had gone by, although I had given my address as accurately as possible, I had not yet received any answer from the Duc de Bellune.

I picked up my _Almanack des 25,000 adresses,_ and began to congratulate myself on not having wasted five francs in its acquisition. I was quickly disillusioned, as will be seen; my cheerful confidence had gone; I felt that sinking of heart which ever increases in proportion as golden dreams give place to reality. I then turned over the leaves of the book purely and simply at hap-hazard, looking at it mechanically, reading without taking it in, when, all at once, I saw a name that I had often heard my mother pronounce, and, each time, in such eulogistic terms that all my spirits revived. That name was General Verdier's, who had served in Egypt, under my father.

"Come, come," I said; "the number three is a favourite with the gods; perhaps my third unknown and providential protector will do more for me than the other two--which would be no great tax, seeing the others have not done anything at all."

General Verdier lived in the faubourg Montmartre, No. 6. Ten minutes later, I was holding the following terse dialogue with the concierge of his house:--

"Does General Verdier live here, please?"

"Fourth floor, small door on the left."

I made the concierge repeat it: I believed I must have misunderstood him.

Marshal Jourdan and General Sébastiani lived in sumptuous mansions, in the faubourg Saint-Germain and the faubourg Saint-Honoré; entrance was gained to these mansions by gates like those of Gaza. Why, then, should General Verdier live in the rue du faubourg Montmartre, on the fourth floor, and why did one gain access to him through a small doorway?

The concierge repeated his words: I had not misunderstood.

"Good gracious!" I said, as I climbed the staircase; "this does not look like Marshal Jourdan's lackeys, nor Marshal Sébastiani's Swiss guards. _General Verdier, fourth floor, small door on the left,_ surely this is a man likely to remember my father!"

I reached the fourth floor; I discovered the small door; at this door hung a humble, modest, green string. I rang with an uncontrollable fluttering at my heart. This third trial was to decide my opinion of men. Steps approached, the door was opened. A man of about sixty opened the door; he wore a cap edged with astrakan, and was clothed in a green braided jacket and trousers of white calf-skin. He held in his hand a palette full of paints, and under his thumb, which held his palette, was a paint-brush. I looked at the other doors.

"I beg your pardon, monsieur," I said; "I am afraid I have made some mistake...."

"What is your pleasure, monsieur?" asked the man with the palette.

"To present my compliments to General Verdier."

"In that case, step in: here you are."

I went in, and, when we had crossed a tiny square hall which served as an ante-chamber, I found myself in a studio.

"You will allow me to go on with my work, monsieur?" said the painter, placing himself in front of a battlepiece in the construction of which I had interrupted him.

"Certainly: but will you have the goodness, monsieur, to inform me where I shall find the general?"

The painter turned round.

"The general? What general?"

"General Verdier."

"Why, I am he."

"You?"

I stared with such rude surprise at him that he began to laugh.

"It astonishes you to see me handle the brush so badly," said he, "after having heard, maybe, that I handled a sword passably? What would you have me do? I have an active hand and I must keep it always occupied somehow.... But come, as evidently, after the question you put to me just now, you have nothing to say to the painter, what do you want with the general?"

"I am the son of your old comrade-at-arms in Egypt, General Dumas."

He turned round quickly towards me, and looked at me earnestly; then, after a moment's silence, he said--

"By the powers, so you are! You are the very image of him." Tears immediately came into his eyes, and, throwing down his brush, he held out his hand to me, which I longed to kiss rather than to shake.

"Ah! You remember him, then?"

"Remember him! I should think I do: the handsomest and the bravest man in the army! You are the very spit of him, my lad: what a model he would have made any painter!"

"Yes, you are right; I remember him perfectly."

"And what brings you to Paris, my dear boy? for, if my memory serves me, you lived with your mother, in some village or other."

"True, General; but my mother is getting on in years, and we are poor."

"We are both in the same boat," he said.

"So," I went on, "I have come to Paris, in the hope of obtaining a small situation, now that it is my turn to provide for her as hitherto she has provided for me."

"That is well thought of! But, my poor lad, a place is not so easy to get in these times, no matter how small, especially for the son of a Republican general. Ah! if you were the son of an _émigré_ or of a Chouan,--if only your poor father had served in the Russian or Austrian army,--I daresay you might have had a chance."

"The deuce, General, you frighten me! And I had been counting on your protection."

"What?" he exclaimed.

I repeated my sentence word for word, but with a little less assurance.

"My protection!" He shook his head and smiled sadly.

"My poor boy," he said, "if you wish to take lessons in painting, my protection may be sufficient to provide you with them, and, even so, you will never be a great artist if you do not surpass your master. My protection! Well, well! I am grateful to you for that expression,'pon my word! for you are, most likely, the only person in the world who would ask me for such a thing to-day. You flatterer!"

"Excuse me, General, I do not rightly understand."

"Why, those rascals pensioned me off for some imaginary conspiracy with Dermoncourt! So, you see, here I am, painting pictures; and if you want to do the same, here are a palette, some brushes and a thirty-six canvas."

"Thanks, General; I have never got beyond the first stages; so you see my apprenticeship would be too long, and neither my mother nor I could wait----'

"Ah! what can I say, my lad? You know the proverb: 'The prettiest girl in the world....' Ah I pardon, pardon; I find I am mistaken. I have still half my purse; I had forgotten that: it is true it is hardly worth troubling about." He opened the drawer of a small chest in which, I remember, there were two gold coins and forty francs in silver.

"There," he said, "this is the remainder of my quarter's pay."

"Thank you, General; but I am nearly as wealthy as you." It was my turn to have tears in my eyes. "Thank you, but perhaps you can advise me what further steps I can take."

"You have already taken some steps, then?"

"Yes, I set about them this morning."

"Ah! ah! And who have you seen?"

"I saw Marshal Jourdan and General Sébastiani."

"Pooh!... Well?"

"Well, General, pooh!..."

"And after that...."

"And after that, I wrote yesterday to the Minister of War."

"To Bellune?"

"Yes."

"And has he answered you?"

"Not yet, but I hope he will reply to me."

The general, while he filled in the face of a Cossack, made a grimace which might be summed up in the words: "If you are counting only on that...."

"I have still," I added, in response to his thought, "a letter of introduction to General Foy, deputy of my own department."

"Very well, my dear boy, as I believe that even if you have time to lose, you have no money to spare, I advise you not to wait for the minister's answer. To-morrow is Tuesday; there is a sitting of the Chamber: but present yourself early at General Foy's,--you will find him at work, for he is a hard worker, like myself; only, he does better work. Don't worry; he will receive you kindly."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"I hope so, for I have a letter."

"Yes, he will give you a kindly reception, I have no doubt, because of your letter; but above all he will receive you well for your father's sake, although he did not know him personally. Now, will you dine with me? We will talk of Egypt. It was hot there!"

"Willingly, General. At what hour do you dine?"

"At six o'clock.... Now go and take a turn on the boulevards, whilst I finish my Cossack, and return at six."

I took leave of General Verdier, and descended from the fourth floor, I must confess, with a lighter heart than I had ascended to it.