CHAPTER VII

I find lodgings--Hiraux's son--Journals and journalists in 1823--By being saved the expense of a dinner I am enabled to go to the play at the Porte-Saint-Martin--My entry into the pit--Sensation caused by my hair--I am turned out--How I am obliged to pay for three places in order to have one--A polite gentleman who reads Elzevirs

The reader will have observed that my balance increased each journey I made to Paris. It was but four months since the firm of Paillet and Company had entered the city with thirty-five francs apiece; only a week ago I had reached the barrier with fifty francs in my pocket; now, finally, I alighted at the door of the _Hôtel des Vieux Augustins_ with one hundred and eighty-five francs.

I began to search for lodgings the same day. When I had climbed and descended a good many staircases, I stopped at a little room on a fourth floor. This room, which contained the luxury of an alcove, belonged to that immense mass of houses called the Italian quarter, and formed part of No. 1. It was papered with a yellow paper at twelve sous the piece, and looked out on the yard. It was let to me for the sum of a hundred and twenty francs per annum. It suited me in every respect, so I did not haggle. I told the porter I would take it, and I advised him that my furniture would come in on the following night. The porter asked me for the _denier à Dieu._ I was a complete stranger to Parisian habits and I did not know what the _denier à Dieu_ meant. I thought it must be a commission on letting the room: I majestically took a napoleon out of my pocket, and I dropped it into the hand of the porter, who bowed down to the ground.

In his eyes I evidently passed for a prince travelling incognito. To give twenty francs as _denier à Dieu_ for a room at a hundred and twenty!... Such a thing had never been heard of. Twenty francs! it was a sixth of the rent!... So his wife instantly asked for the honour of looking after me. I granted her this favour for five francs per month--always with the same regal air.

From there, I ran to General Verdier's to get up my appetite, and I told him the good news. I had left Paris at such short notice, on the previous Monday, that I had not had time to ascend his four flights of stairs. I mounted them, this time, fruitlessly: the general had taken advantage of its being Sunday and had gone out. I followed his example: I strolled about the boulevards,--the only place where I ran no risk of being lost,--and I reached the _Café de la Porte-Saint-Honoré_ at the end of my strolling. Suddenly, through the windows, I saw someone I knew: it was Hiraux, the son of good old Hiraux, who had so unsuccessfully endeavoured to make a musician of me. I entered the café. Hiraux had recently bought it: he was the proprietor of it.... I was in his house!... Although he was slightly older than myself, we had been very good chums in our childhood. He kept me to dinner. While waiting for dinner, he put all the journals of the establishment before me. Some of those papers have since disappeared. The chief of them at that time were: the _Journal des Débats_, always under the direction of the brothers Bertin, and a supporter of the Government. It reflected the views of Louis XVIII. and of M. de Villèle--namely, a moderate and conciliatory Royalism, a policy of optimism and vacillation; the system, in fact, by which, in the midst of the plots of the Carbonari and the intrigues of the Extreme Party, Louis XVIII. managed to die almost in tranquillity: if not on the throne, at any rate close by it.

The old _Constitutionnel_--of Saint-Albin, Jay, Tissot and Évariste Dumoulin--was suppressed one day for an article which the Censorship placed on the Index, an article which somehow had managed to get inserted without any trace of the claws and teeth of the censors. Then, with a rapidity of decision which indicated the extreme devotion the _Constitutionnel_ of every epoch has always exhibited in its own cause, it bought for a mere song the _Journal du Commerce_, which had four hundred subscribers; and, under the title of the _Journal du Commerce_ appeared next morning: it need hardly be said that the good old rogue was recognised under this transparent disguise, and just about the time when I arrived in Paris, it had resumed, or was about to resume, its old title, so dear to the citizens of Paris. The _Constitutionnel_ was very timid: it represented the Liberal opinion, and never really breathed out thunder and lightning except against the Jesuits, towards whom it had vowed the same cruel and magnificent hatred that nowadays it fulminates against _demagogues_.

The _Drapeau blanc_ was edited by Martainville, a man of infinite resource, but one who could hate and was hated in return. Charged with the defence of the bridge of Pecq, as commandant of the National Guard of Saint-Germain, he was reproached with having, in 1814, delivered up this bridge to the Prussians; and he replied to the reproach, not merely by an avowal, but with bravado: not being able to deny it, he boasted about it. But as all treachery torments the heart of the man who has committed it, irrespective of what he said, so it preyed on his vital forces. M. Arnault had infuriated him by deriving his name from _Martin_ on his father's, and _Vil_ (vile) on his mother's side. He was courageous enough, and, ever ready to tackle an adversary, he did battle with Telleville Arnault over his _Germanicus._ The bullet of the poet's son merely grazed the thigh of the critic, leaving nothing worse than a slight bruise behind it. "Bah!" said Arnault's father, "he has not even felt it: a blow from a stick would have produced the same effect."

The _Foudre_ was the admitted journal of the Marsan Party, the outspoken expression of the ultra-Royalists, who, through all the reactions that followed, leant for support on the Comte d'Artois, and who waited impatiently for that decomposition of the elements, which, at the rate things were going, could not fail to be accomplished under Louis XVIII.

The editors of the _Foudre_ were Bérard, the two brothers Dartois (who were also comic-opera writers), Théaulon and Ferdinand Langlé, Brisset and de Rancé.

At the opposite pole of Liberal opinion to the _Foudre_ was the _Miroir_, a newspaper hussar, a delightful skirmisher, overflowing with wit and _humour_; it was controlled by all the men who were noted for their spirit of opposition to the times, and who, we hasten to say, were really opposed to it. These men were MM. de Jouy, Arnault, Jal, Coste, Castel, Moreau, etc. So the unfortunate _Miroir_ was the object of relentless persecution at the hands of the Government, in whose eyes it was for ever flashing a broken ray of sunlight from the days of the Empire. Suppressed as the _Miroir_, it reappeared as the _Pandore;_ suppressed as _Pandore_, it became the _Opinion;_ suppressed finally as _Opinion_, it rose again under the title of the _Reunion;_ but this was the last of its metamorphoses: Proteus was run to earth, and died in chains.

Do not let us forget the _Courrier français_, the sentinel of advanced opinion, almost Republican, at a time when no one dared even to pronounce the word republic. It was for the _Courrier français,_ edited by Châtelain, one of the most honest and most enlightened patriots of that period, that, as I have already mentioned, M. de Leuven worked.

But I had really nothing to do with any of these political journals: I only read the literary news. As I had found a dinner which cost me nothing, I decided to spend the price of my dinner on a theatre ticket, a ticket for a play: I hunted through the theatre advertisements in all the newspapers, and, guided by Hiraux in the choice of the literature on which I proposed to spend my evening, I decided to go to the Porte-Saint-Martin.

The play was the _Vampire._ It was only the third or fourth representation of the revival of this piece. Hiraux advised me to make haste; the piece had caught on and was drawing crowds. It was played by the two actors who were popular at the Porte-Saint-Martin: Philippe and Madame Dorval. I followed Hiraux's advice; but, in spite of all the haste I made, it is a long way from the _Café de la Porte-Saint-Honoré_ to the theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin: I found the approaches to it blocked.

I was quite fresh to Paris. I did not know all the various theatre customs. I went along by the side of an enormous queue enclosed in barriers, not daring even to ask where the entrance-money was taken. One of the _habitués_ in the queue no doubt perceived my confusion, for he called out to me--

"Monsieur! monsieur!"

I turned round, wondering if he were addressing me.

"Yes ... you, monsieur," continued the habitué, "you with the frizzy locks ... do you want a place?"

"Do I want a place?" I repeated.

"Yes. If you put yourself at the bottom of this queue, you will never get in to-night. Five hundred people will be turned away."

This was Hebrew to me. Of his language I only gathered that five hundred folk would be turned away and that I should be one of the number.

"Come, would you really like my place?" continued the habitué.

"Have you got a place, then?"

"Can't you see for yourself?"

I could see nothing at all.

"Taken in advance, then?" I asked.

"Taken since noon."

"And a good one ...?"

"What do you mean by good?"

Now it was the habitué who did not understand.

"Well," I went on, "shall I have a good place?"

"You can sit where you like."

"What! I can sit where I like?"

"Of course."

"How much did your place cost?"

"Twenty sous."

I reflected within myself that twenty sous to sit where I liked was not dear. I drew twenty sous from my pocket and gave them to the _habitué_, who immediately, with an agility that proved he was well accustomed to this exercise, climbed up the rails of the barrier, got over it and alighted by my side.

"Well," I said, "now where is your place?"

"Take it, ... but look sharp; for, if they push up, you will lose it."

At the same moment light broke in on my mind: "Those people, inside that barrier, have no doubt taken and paid for their places in advance, and it is in order to keep them they are penned in like that."

"Ah! good, I see!" I replied; and I strode over the barrier in my turn, the reverse way; so that, contrary to the action of my place-seller, who had come without from within, I went from the outside within. I did not understand matters at all. After a second, there was a movement forward. They were just opening the offices. I was carried forward with the crowd, and ten minutes later, I found myself in front of the grating.

"Well, monsieur, aren't you going to take your ticket?" asked my neighbour.

"My ticket? What do you mean?"

"Of course, your ticket!" answered someone just behind me. "If you aren't going to take your ticket, at least allow us to take ours."

And a light thrust showed the desire of those behind me to have their turn.

"But," I said, "surely I have bought my place ...?"

"Your place ...?"

"Yes, I gave twenty sous for it, as you saw.... Why, I gave twenty sous to that man who sold me his place!"

"Oh, his place in the queue!" exclaimed my neighbours; "but his place in the queue is not his place inside the theatre."

"He told me that, with his place, I could go where I liked."

"Of course you can go where you like; take a stage-box. You can do what you like, and you can go where you like. But tickets for the stage-boxes are at the other office."

"Forward! forward! hurry up!" exclaimed those near me.

"Gentlemen, clear the gangway, if you please," cried a voice.

"It is this gentleman, who will not take his ticket, and who prevents us from getting ours!" cried a chorus of my neighbours.

"Come, come, make up your mind."

The murmurs grew, and with them ringing in my ears, by degrees it dawned upon me what had been pretty clearly dinned into me--namely, that I had bought my place in the queue, and not my place in the theatre.

So, as people were beginning to hustle me in a threatening fashion, I drew a six-francs piece from my pocket and asked for a pit ticket. They gave me four francs six sous, and a ticket which had been white. It was time! I was immediately carried away by a wave of the crowd. I presented my once white ticket to the check-taker: they gave me in exchange a ticket that had been red. I went down a corridor to the left; I found a door on my left with the word PARTERRE written over it, and I entered. And now I understood the truth of what the _habitué_ who had sold me his place for twenty sous had said. Although I had scarcely fifteen or twenty people in front of me in the queue, the pit was nearly full. A most compact nucleus had formed beneath the lights, and I realised then that those must be the best places.

I immediately resolved to mix with this group, which did not look to me to be too closely packed, for a good place therein. I climbed over the benches, as I had seen several other people do, and balancing myself, on the tops of their curved backs, I hastened to reach the centre.

I was becoming, or rather, it must be admitted, I was, a very ridiculous object. I wore my hair very long, and, as it was frizzy, it formed a grotesque aureole round my head. Moreover, at a period when people wore short frock-coats, hardly reaching to the knee, I wore a coat which came down to my ankles. A revolution had taken place in Paris, which had not yet had time to reach as far as Villers-Cotterets. I was in 1 the latest fashion of Villers-Cotterets, but I was in the last but one Parisian mode. Now, as nothing generally is more opposed to the latest fashion than the last mode but one, I looked excessively absurd, as I have already had the modesty to admit. Of course, I appeared so in the eyes of those towards whom I advanced; for they greeted me with shouts of laughter, which I thought in very bad taste.

I have always been exceedingly polite; but at this period, coupled with the politeness I had acquired from my maternal education, there woke in me a restless, suspicious hastiness of temper which I probably inherited from my father. This hastiness made my nerves an easy prey to irritation. I took my hat in my hand--an action which revealed the utter oddity of my way of wearing my hair--and the general hilarity among the group in the rows to which I desired to gain access redoubled. "Pardon me, gentlemen," I said in the politest of tones, "but I should like to know the cause of your laughter, so that I may be able to laugh with you. They say the piece we have come to see is extremely sad, and I should not be sorry to make merry before I have to weep."

My speech was listened to in the most religious silence; then, from the depths of this silence, a voice suddenly exclaimed--

"Oh! that 'ead of 'is!"

The apostrophe seemed to be exceedingly funny, for it had hardly been uttered before the bursts of laughter were redoubled; but the hilarity had scarcely begun afresh before it was accompanied by the sound of a stinging smack in the face which I gave to the wag. "Monsieur," I said, as I slapped him, "my name is Alexandre Dumas. Until after to-morrow, you will find me at the _Hôtel des Vieux-Augustins_, in the road of the same name, and after to-morrow at No. 1 place des Italiens."

It would seem that I spoke a language quite unknown to these gentlemen; for, instead of replying to me, twenty fists were flourished threateningly, and everybody shouted--

"Put him out! put him out!"

"What!" I cried, "put me to the door? That would be a nice thing, upon my word, seeing that I have already paid for my place twice over--once in the queue, and then again at the box-office."

"Put him out! put him out!" cried the voices afresh, with redoubled fury.

"Gentlemen, I have had the honour to give you my address."

"Put him out! put him out!" cried the people, in strident, raucous tones.

All the people present had risen from their seats, were leaning over the gallery, and were almost half out of the boxes. I seemed to be at the end of an immense funnel with everybody gazing at me from all sides.

"Put him out! put him out!" cried those who did not even know what the commotion was about, but who calculated that one person less would mean room for one more.

I was debating what course to take, from the depths of my funnel, when a well-dressed man broke through the crowd, which deferentially opened a way for him, and he asked me to go out.

"Why am I to go out?" I asked in great surprise.

"Because you are disturbing the performance."

"What! I am disturbing the play?... The play has not begun yet."

"Well, you are disturbing the audience."

"Really, monsieur!"

"Follow me."

I remembered the affair that my father, at about my age, had had with a musketeer at la Montansier, and although I knew that the constabulary was dissolved, I expected I was in for something of the same sort. So I followed without making any resistance, in the midst of the cheers of the audience, who testified their satisfaction at the justice that was being dealt out to me. My guide led me into the corridor, from the corridor to the office, and from the office into the street. When in the street he said, "There! don't do it again." And he returned to the theatre.

I saw that I had got off very cheaply, since my father had kept his warder attached to him for a whole week, whilst I had only been in custody for five minutes. I stood for a moment on the pavement, whilst I made this judicious reflection, and seeing that my guide had re-entered, I too decided to do the same.

"Your ticket?" said the ticket collector.

"My ticket? You took it from me just now, and, as a proof, it was a white one, for which you gave me in exchange a red ticket."

"Then what have you done with your red ticket?"

"I gave it to a woman who asked me for it."

"So that you have neither ticket nor check?"

"Why, no, I have neither ticket nor check."

"Then you cannot go in."

"Do you mean to say I cannot enter, after having paid for my ticket twice over?"

"Twice?"

"Yes, twice."

"How did you do that?"

"Once in the queue, and again at the box-office."

"You humbug!" said the ticket collector.

"What did you say?"

"I said you cannot go in, that is what I said."

"But I mean to get in, nevertheless."

"Then take a ticket at the office."

"That will be the second."

"Well, what does that matter to me?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"If you have sold your ticket at the door, it is no affair of mine."

"Ah! so you take me for a dealer in checks?"

"I take you for a brawler who has just been turned out for disturbing the peace, and if you go on doing it, you'll not be led out into the road the next time, but into the police station."

There could be no mistaking the threat. I began to understand that, without intending it, I had infringed the law--or rather custom, which is far more jealous of contravention than the law.

"Ah, is this so?" I said.

"That is about it," said the collector.

"Well, well, you are the stronger of the two," I said.

And I went out.

When outside the door, I considered how stupid it was to have come to see a play, to have paid for two places to see it-a place in the queue and a place at the office--to have seen only a curtain representing hangings of green velvet, and to come away without seeing anything else. I went on to reflect that, since I had already paid for two tickets, I might as well incur the expense of a third, and as people were still going in and a double queue circled the theatre so that the door formed as it were the clasp to the girdle, I placed myself at the end of the queue which looked to me to be the shortest. It was the opposite queue to the one I had gone in by before; it was not so dense, as it led to the orchestra, the front galleries, the stage-boxes and the first and second rows of stalls. This was what I was informed by the clerk at the box-office when I asked for a ticket for the pit. I looked up, and, as he had indicated, I saw upon the white plan the designation of the places to be obtained at that particular office. The cheapest places were those in the orchestra and second row of stalls. Seats in the orchestra and in the second row of stalls cost two francs fifty; centimes. I took two francs fifty centimes from my pocket, and asked for an orchestra seat. The orchestra ticket was handed to me, and my play-going cost me five francs all told.

No matter: it was no good crying over spilt milk! My dinner had not cost me anything, and to-morrow I was to enter the Duc d'Orléans' secretarial offices; I could well afford to allow myself this trivial orgy. I reappeared triumphant before the check barrier, holding my orchestra ticket in my hand. The collector smiled graciously upon me, and said, "On the right, monsieur." I noticed this was quite a different direction from the first time. The first time I had tacked myself on to the right-hand queue and gone in at the left; the second time, I followed the left queue and they told me to enter on the right. I augured from this that since I had this time reversed the order of my proceedings, the manner of my reception would also be reversed, and, consequently, that I should be welcomed instead of rejected.

I was not mistaken. I found quite a different stamp of people in the orchestra from those I had found in the pit, and, as the girl who showed me to my seat pointed out to me a vacant place towards the centre of a row, I set to work to reach it. Everyone rose politely to allow me to pass. I gained my seat, and sat down by the side of a gentleman, wearing grey trousers, a buff waistcoat and black tie. He was a man of about forty or forty-two. His hat was placed on the seat I came to fill. He was interrupted in the perusal of a charming little book,--which I learnt later was an Elzevir,--apologised as he took up his hat, bowed to me and went on reading. "Upon my word!" I said to myself, "here is a gentleman who seems to me better brought up than those I have just encountered." And, promising to enter into friendly relations with my neighbour I sat down in the empty stall.