CHAPTER II

The lantern_--La Chasse et l'Amour_--Rousseau's part in it--The couplet about the hare--The _couplet de facture_--How there may be hares _and_ hares--Reception at l'Ambigu--My first receipts as an author--Who Porcher was--Why no one might say anything against Mélesville

De Leuven and I went to hunt up Rousseau, who was then living in the rue du Petit-Carreau with a woman. We found him in a mad state of mind. The night before, he had been supping, and supping very well, too, at Philippe's--I may as well mention here that I can recommend Philippe as the only man left at whose place one can still have a good supper. Rousseau had left with Romieu at about one o'clock in the morning, just tipsy. He had not taken two steps before the fresh air had its usual effect, and he became drunk; after walking about a hundred paces he was dead drunk. Romieu made heroic efforts to lead him as far as he could; but, when he had been dragged down to the pavement twice, he decided to place him in the safest position possible and then to leave him. Consequently, at thirty paces from his door, recognising the impossibility of dragging him farther, Romieu laid him comfortably down outside a fruiterer's shop-door, on a heap of cabbage leaves and dead carrot tops which he found there, propping his head up against a wall. Then, by the aid of his knuckles and boots, he knocked up a grocer hard by, where he bought a lantern, which he lighted and placed by Rousseau's side. Then he bid adieu to his unlucky friend, addressing him in the following terms, half in satisfaction of a duty fulfilled and half in supplication to the Powers above:--

"And now, sleep peacefully, son of Epicurus. No one will trample upon you!"

Rousseau spent the night quite quietly, thanks to the lamp which kept watch over him, and he woke up finding two or three sous in his hand. Some kind souls had given him alms, taking him for a poor wretched outcast. But, as he was in his own neighbourhood, when daylight broke, he was recognised by both grocer and fruiterer, and was exceedingly humiliated by the fact. We comforted him by the offer of a good breakfast at the _café des Variétés_, and, being Sunday, and therefore a holiday, we afterwards took him off to Adolphe's rooms.

Adolphe had a very charming apartment at that time, almost as pretty as Soulié's. The house that M. Arnault had built in the rue de la Bruyère was a very nice one, and the de Leuven family had followed the Arnaults from the rue Pigalle to the rue de la Bruyère. We sat down and had some tea, Rousseau declaring he was dying of thirst, and then we each read in turn to our guest the whole of our literary attempts, in order that he might judge for himself which he thought worthiest of his exalted protection. By the time we had come to the second scene, Rousseau pretended that he could listen better if he lay down on Adolphe's bed, and consequently he mounted it; at the fourth scene he was snoring--which testified that, no matter how soft the bed of herbs lent him by the fruiterer in the rue du Petit-Carreau, one never sleeps properly when one stays out all night. We respected Rousseau's sleep, and waited patiently till he awoke again. When he awoke, his head felt heavy and he could not put two ideas together, so he asked to be allowed to take our MSS. away with him, and promised to read them carefully at home and let us know the result. We confided our treasures to him,--two melodramas and three comic operas,--and we arranged to dine with him at Adolphe's rooms on the following Thursday. Madame de Leuven herself undertook to see that the dinner should be good and well served, for she was conscious of the importance of the occasion, and Rousseau was invited by letter as well as verbally. At the bottom of the letter, where' one puts on ball invitations "Dancing," we put, "There will be two bottles of champagne"; and Rousseau, of course, turned up.

Neither melodramas nor vaudevilles had pleased him. The melodramas were borrowed from novels too well known, from which plenty of melodramas had already been taken. The vaudevilles were founded on ideas which were dull from beginning to end. Stronger men than we might well have been cast down at such a verdict. But Adolphe had an idea which supported our courage and soothed our self-respect.

"He has not read them," he whispered to me.

"Quite likely," I replied.

This semi-conviction somewhat restored our spirits. At dessert, I told several stories, and among them a hunting tale.

"What do you mean," exclaimed Rousseau, "by telling such capital stories as that and yet amusing yourself by cribbing melodramas from Florian and tales from M. Bouilly? Why, in the story you have just related, there is a comedietta complete in itself, _la Chasse et l'Amour._"

"Do you think so?" we both exclaimed.

(At that period of our friendship we addressed Rousseau in formal parlance.)

"The deuce I do."

"But suppose we were to write this comedietta ...?"

"Let us do it!" we repeated in chorus.

"Wait a moment; not so fast," said Rousseau. "There is still another bottle of champagne; let us drink it."

"Yes," said Adolphe, "and we must have a third to toast our new venture. We will begin work upon it immediately."

"Amen!" cried Rousseau; and he raised his glass. "To the success of _la Chasse et l'Amour_!" he cried.

We took good care to do full justice to the toast, which was renewed until not one drop of the golden liquor was left in the bottle.

"The third bottle!" said Rousseau, as he drained the last drops of the second into his glass.

"Let us set to work on the draft.... The third bottle shall be brought up."

"All right, let us start!" cried Rousseau.

We rang for the servant, who removed the plates, dishes and cloth, leaving only the three glasses; then pens, ink and paper were put on the table, a pen was stuck into my hand, and the third bottle was brought up. It was emptied in a quarter of an hour's time, and by the end of an hour the plan was drawn up. Do not ask me to describe the play, I have no wish to remember it. We divided the twenty-one scenes which, I believe, composed the work, into three divisions of seven each. My seven were those of the beginning, Rousseau took the seven dealing with the denouement and de Leuven the middle seven. Then we arranged to meet again at dinner in a week's time to read the play, each undertaking to complete his part in a week. This was how plays of the old school were composed. Scribe has changed all that, after the fashion of Molière's doctor, who had located the liver on the left and the heart on the right. That which had been undertaken before Scribe's time in a spirit of caprice and flippancy was turned by him into a serious business. My seven scenes were written by the following night. At the appointed day we all met; both Adolphe and I had done our parts, but Rousseau had not written a word of his. He declared that he was so accustomed to writing in company that his ideas would not flow when he was alone, and he could not do a thing. We told Rousseau that that need certainly not stop him, for we would keep him company.

It was arranged that the evening of that day should be given up to revising Adolphe's and my portions, and that the following day the sittings should begin, during which Rousseau should compose his part. My part was read, and was received with great applause--one couplet especially astonishing Rousseau. The comic rôle was filled by a Parisian sportsman, bespectacled, a sportsman of the plain of Saint-Denis, in fact; and he sings the following lines in explanation of his prowess:--

"La terreur de la perdrix Et l'effroi de la bécasse, Pour mon adresse à la chasse, On me cite dans Paris. Dangereux comme la bombe, Sous mes coups rien qui ne tombe, Le cerf comme la colombe, A ma seule vue, enfin, Tout le gibier a la fièvre; Car, pour mettre à has un lièvre, Je sais un fameux lapin!"

Adolphe read his part, and received honourable mention for his workmanship in the _couplet de facture._[1] No one nowadays has any knowledge of the _couplet de facture_, save the Nestors of art, who have pleasant memories of the _his_ and _ter_ [repeated encores] which almost always welcomed the _couplet de facture._ Here are Adolphe's couplets--to every man his due:--

AIR DU VAUDEVILLE DES _BLOUSES_

"Un seul instant examinez le monde, Vous ne venez que chasseurs ici-bas. Autour de moi quand on chasse à la ronde, Pourquoi donc seul ne chasserais-je pas?

Dans nos salons, un fat parfumé d'ambre De vingt beautés chasse à la fois les cœurs, Un intrigant rampant dans l'antichambre Chasse un cordon, un regard, des faveurs. Sans consulter son miroir ni son âge, Une coquette, à soixante-dix ans, En minaudant, chasse encore l'hommage Que l'on adresse à ses petits-enfants. Un lourd journal que la haine dévore, Toujours en vain chasse des souscripteurs; Et l'Opéra, sans en trouver encore, Depuis longtemps chasse des spectateurs. Un jeune auteur, amant de Melpomène, Chasse la gloire et parvient à son but: Un autre croit, sans prendre autant de peine, Qu'il lui suffit de chasser l'Institut. Pendant vingt ans, les drapeaux de la France Sur l'univers flottèrent en vainqueurs, Et l'étranger sait par expérience, Si nos soldats sont tous de bons chasseurs: Un seul instant examinez le monde, Vous ne verrez que chasseurs ici-bas. Autour de moi quand on chasse à la ronde, Pourquoi donc seul ne chasserais-je pas?"

As we have said, only Rousseau's part now remained to be done. We set to work the following evening, but, because of the making up of the mail-bag, we could not begin until nine o'clock, and we did not finish before one in the morning. As I lived in the faubourg Saint-Denis, it fell to me to conduct Rousseau to the rue Poissonnière. But when Rousseau left our hands he was nearly always in a sound state of mind and body, so I had no occasion to go to the expense of purchasing lanterns to keep watch over him.

When the play was finished, we had to consider to what theatre we would present our _chef-d'œuvre._ I had no preference in the matter; so long as the play was acted at all, and taken up promptly, I cared little at what house I was presented. Adolphe and Rousseau were in favour of the Gymnase, and, as I had nothing to say against that house, it was agreed. Rousseau asked for a reading, and, as he had had his pieces played there before, they could not refuse him a hearing. He therefore obtained a reading, though Poirson, who was the mainspring of the Gymnase, kept him waiting three weeks. There was nothing to be done but to wait--we had been waiting for the past two years!

The great day arrived at last. We had arranged that the names of only two of the authors should appear in the matter. I generously yielded the post of honour to de Leuven, for I did not wish my name to be known until I had done some really important work. All depends in this world on a good beginning, and to make myself known by _la Chasse et l'Amour_, remarkable though that work was, did not seem to my ambitious pride a sufficiently worthy début. For, although my hopes had been dwindling during the past two years, my pride was still to the fore. It was therefore decided that I should not appear either in the matter of the reading or on the play-bills, but that my name, Dumas, should be published when the play was printed.

The great day arrived at last. We breakfasted together at the café du Roi; then, at half-past ten, we separated: Rousseau and Adolphe went to the Gymnase, and I went to my office.

Oh! I must confess I passed through a terrible strain from eleven till three o'clock. At three, the door opened, and through the crack I caught a glimpse of two sorrowful faces. Rousseau came in first, followed by de Leuven. _La Chasse et l'Amour_ had been declined unanimously. There hadn't been a single dissentient voice. Poirson seemed astounded that anyone should have dreamed of reading such a piece of work at a theatre that bore the lofty title Théâtre de Madame. He was dreadfully scandalised by the passage which ended with these four lines:--

"A ma seule vue, enfin, Tout le gibier a la fièvre; Car, pour mettre à has un lièvre, Je suis un fameux lapin!"

Rousseau pointed out to him that there had not always been, even in prohibited seasons, such a horror of game, since, in the _Héritière_, Scribe had made his colonel say, whilst holding up an old hare that he drew from out his game-bag:--

"Voyez ces favoris épais Sous lesquels se cachent ses lèvres; C'est le Nestor de ces forêts, C'est le patriarche des lièvres! D'avoir pu le tuer vivant, Je me glorifîrai sans cesse, Car, si je tardais d'un instant, Il allait mourir de vieillesse!"

But Poirson retorted that there were hares _and_ hares; that the comparison which M. Scribe made of his, to a patriarch and to Nestor, elevated it in the eyes of all cultured people, whilst the horrible play of words we had allowed ourselves by opposing the word _lièvre_ to _lapin_ was in the worst possible taste, and would not even be tolerated by a _théâtre de boulevard._ I innocently asked if the Gymnase was not a boulevard theatre; and now it was Rousseau's turn to pay me out: he was very angry with me, as he looked upon my passage as the cause of our rejection.

"You must learn, my dear friend, that there are boulevards _and_ boulevards, just as there are hares _and_ hares."

I was immensely surprised; I had never made any distinction between hares, other than in dividing them into hares tender and hares tough; or, in the matter of boulevards, beyond in summer preferring those that were shadiest to those that were sunniest, and in winter those that were sunny to those in the shade. I was mistaken: hares and boulevards had degrees of rank.

We parted, after arranging a meeting for that night. Lassagne noticed that I was cast down, and was most sympathetic towards me. When Ernest's back was turned, he said--

"Never mind, my dear friend, we will write a play together."

"Do you really mean it?" I cried, leaping for joy.

"Hush!" he said; "don't go dancing like that in the passages and bellowing in the office."

"Oh, don't be anxious!"

"I read your ode to General Foy; it is crude, but it contains several excellent lines, and two or three good metaphors. I will help you to succeed."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"But we may perhaps be obliged to call in a third person, for neither you nor I could attend the rehearsals; besides, it must not be known that I have had anything to do with it."

"Add whoever you like. But when can we begin?"

"Well, try to think of a subject, and I will do the same; we will then select whichever seems the likeliest."

Then Ernest came back, and Lassagne put his finger on his lips. I nodded, and the matter was settled. That night, as arranged, Adolphe, Rousseau and I met.

Can anything possibly be more melancholy than a meeting of authors whose works have been refused? Unless one is a Corneille or a M. Viennet, there is always the haunting doubt that the manager may be correct, and the author self-deceived. Rather than settle this momentous question outright, we adopted a _via media_, and that was to read it before some other theatre. But to which should we take it? Poirson had contemptuously condemned us to the boulevard theatres, so Rousseau offered to read it at the Ambigu. The manager, Warez, was a friend of his, so there was a chance he could get a hearing at once, which would certainly not be the case elsewhere. We therefore sanctioned the proposal, and the reading, which Rousseau, asked on the following day, was accorded for the ensuing Saturday.

We awaited that day in great anxiety, I especially; for the result, miserable though it might be, was almost a matter of life or death to me. My mother and I were terrified to see how nearly we had reached the end of our resources. Although our neighbour Després was dead and we had taken his rooms as he advised, since they were a hundred francs cheaper than ours, and although we exercised the greatest possible economy in our expenses, our resources were lessening, little by little, but quite fast enough to give us serious uneasiness as we contemplated the time when we should be reduced to living on my income only.

The eventful Saturday arrived.

I went to my office, the others to the reading.

At one o'clock the door of my office opened, but behind it stood two faces whose expression left me no more room for doubt than I had had the first time.

"Accepted?" I cried.

"With acclamation, my dear boy," said Rousseau.

"And what about the hare passage?"

"Encored!"

Oh! instability of human judgment! that which had revolted M. Poirson sent M. Warez into ecstasies.

It seemed, then, that there were indeed hares _and_ hares, boulevards _and_ boulevards. I ascertained what the rights of the author of a vaudeville written for the Ambigu would amount to. They consisted of twelve francs for author's rights and six seats in the theatre. That meant four francs each per night and two seats. These two places were valued at forty sous. The total I should make out of my dramatic début would be six francs a day. Six francs a day, be it understood, equalled my salary and half as much again. Only, when would our first representation be given? They had promised Rousseau it should be as soon as possible, and, as a matter of fact, he was summoned to read it to the actors in a week's time. That was indeed a red-letter day. When he came back after the reading, Rousseau drew me aside.

"Listen," he said; "we have become intimate friends during our ups and downs of disappointment and delight--if you are hard up for a little money...."

"Hard up for money? I should think I am, indeed!"

"All right; if you are in need, I will tell you of a decent fellow who will lend you some."

"On what security?"

"On your tickets."

"On what tickets?"

"Why, on your theatre tickets."

"On my two seats a day?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. I have sold him both my tickets and my rights ... he has paid me two hundred and fifty francs outright. So, I said to myself, I mustn't forget my friends. I puffed you up well; I told him you were a young fellow just beginning your career, but that you showed considerable promise. I left him under the impression that you I were going to surpass Scribe and Casimir Delavigne altogether, and he is expecting you this evening at the café de l'Ambigu."

"What is your man's name?"

"Porcher."

"Good! I will go."

Rousseau had already gone a little way when he came back again.

"By the bye, talk to him about whatever you like, but don't run down Mélesville to him."

"Why ever do you suppose I should say anything against Mélesville? I think nothing but good of him."

"Oh, you callow lad! Don't you know that in the literary arena it is of those one thinks the best that one says the worst things?"

"No, I did not know.... But why must one not speak ill of Mélesville to Porcher?"

"Some day when I have time I will tell you."

And Rousseau nodded amicably to me, and, with a wave of his hand, went off jingling his 250 francs, leaving me to puzzle as to why I might not run down Mélesville to Porcher.

I did not wait till the usual closing hour, but ran home gleefully with the good news to my mother. I did not, however, mention the offer Rousseau had made me. That evening, after making up my second mail-bag, I went to the café de l'Ambigu and asked for M. Porcher. He was pointed out to me playing a game of dominoes. I went up to him, and he probably knew who I was, for he got up.

"I am the young man Rousseau spoke about," I said to him.

"I am at your service, monsieur. Are you in a hurry, or will you allow me to finish my game of dominoes?"

"By all means finish it, monsieur--I am in no hurry; I will take a walk on the boulevard."

I went outside the café to wait, and Porcher came out five minutes later.

"So you have had a play accepted at the Ambigu?" he began.

"Yes, and it has been put in rehearsal to-day."

"I know. And you want money advanced on your tickets?"

"Listen!" I said; "this is how I am placed." And I told him in a few words the whole story of my life.

"How much do you want on your tickets? You know they are only worth two francs per day?"

"Oh yes, I know that only too well!"

"I cannot therefore give you much."

"I know that also."

"For the piece may not be a success."

"Well, what can you give me?"

"How much?... Let us see!"

I rallied all my courage, for I thought myself that the request was exorbitant.

"Can you give me fifty francs?"

"Oh yes," said Porcher.

"When?"

"Immediately--I haven't the amount with me, but I will get it from the café."

"And I will come in and give you a receipt."

"No need; I shall put your name down on my register, as I do M. Mélesville's and other authors'; but it is an understood thing, is it not, that you will always do business with me?"

"I agree, on my sacred honour."

Porcher went in, got fifty francs from the desk and handed them to me. I have experienced few sensations as delightful as the touch of the first money I earned by my pen: hitherto, what I had earned had been but for my orthography.

"Look here," he said, "be sensible, work hard, and I will introduce you to Mélesville."

I looked at Porcher: this was the second time he had pronounced the name in connection with which Rousseau had cautioned me particularly.

"Why should I make Mélesville's acquaintance?" I ventured to ask timidly.

"Why, to work along with him, to be sure. If you worked with Mélesville, your future would be assured."

I looked at Porcher.

"Listen, monsieur," I said; "lam awfully afraid that what I am going to say to you may displease you."

"Oh! oh!" Porcher began. "You are not going to say anything against M. Mélesville to me, are you?"

"Heaven forbid, monsieur; no! I have only seen M. Mélesville once or twice, I believe, at the most: he is a man of about thirty-five, is he not?"

"Yes."

"Dark and thin?"

"Yes."

"Always laughing?"

"Yes."

"With a splendid set of teeth?"

"That is he."

"Well, M. Mélesville is a man of infinite genius."

"He is indeed!"

"But I have an ambition."

"What is it?"

"To succeed by my own efforts in a year or two's time."

"At what house?"

"At the Théâtre-Français."

"Ah! ah!--that would be a bad job."

"At the Théâtre-Français?"

"Yes."

"For whom?"

"For me."

"Why?"

"Ah! you have no idea of the difficulties they make over their tickets at that deuced theatre. Never mind! Authors' rights are good, and if you manage to get in there, why! you will do very well ... only, I warn you, it won't be an easy matter."

"I know that well enough; but I know M. Talma slightly."

"Oh! all right, then; that is equivalent to the Roman saying, I know the pope.' Good, excellent, magnificent! Go ahead ... but don't forget that your first transactions were with Porcher."

"I will remember."

"Have a good memory; people with good memories are generally good-hearted."

"Monsieur, I think you are a living proof of your own statement."

"Why so?"

"Because you have mentioned the name of Mélesville three times."

"Mélesville! Why, monsieur, I would kill myself for his sake."

"I will not be so inquisitive as to inquire the reason of this devotion."

"Oh, it is easily explained. I was a hairdresser and used to cut M. Mélesville's hair; he was in Fortune's good books, but that didn't matter! he wrote plays. Ten or twelve years ago that was, and then authors did not sell their tickets, they gave them away."

"Monsieur Porcher, believe me, if I were richer I would give you mine with the greatest pleasure."

"You do not understand: tickets, in those times, were given away, not sold. M. Mélesville, then, gave me his tickets; I went to see his plays with friends, and I applauded. He produced so many plays, and gave me so many tickets, that an idea came into my head; namely, instead of taking them and giving them away for nothing, to buy them from him, and sell them, so I proposed the business to him. 'You are a simpleton, Porcher,' he said to me. 'What the deuce could you make out of that?' 'Let me try.' 'Oh, try if you like, my dear fellow.' I tried it, monsieur, and it succeeded. From that time, I have carried on my little business, and if I ever acquire a fortune, it will be to M. Mélesville I shall owe it. Come home with me, and I will show you his portrait along with those of my wife and children."

I have been several times to Porcher's home since then,--probably a hundred times to ask his help, once only to give him assistance,--and every time I have been there I have looked at Mélesville's portrait, raised by the gratitude of that worthy man to the level of those of his wife and children. Once, Porcher had something or other to ask of Cavé, when Cavé was Director of the Beaux-Arts. I took Porcher to Cavé's house, and I said to the latter--

"Look here, I am bringing you a man who has done more for literature during the past five-and-twenty years than you and your predecessors and successors have done, or will do, in a century."

And I only said what was true. It never enters the head of any literary struggler to apply to the Minister of the Interior or to the Director of the Beaux-Arts in his pecuniary difficulties. But it does occur to him to apply to Porcher, and he will be aided. He will find a cheerful face and open bank at Porcher's--two things he will certainly not find at the Home Office. Théaulon, Soulié and Balzac among the dead, and all authors now alive, will bear me out.

During the past five-and-twenty years Porcher has probably lent to literary men 500,000 francs. I am as grateful on my own account to Porcher, as Porcher was to Mélesville, and when I visit him nowadays I feel both proud and delighted to see my own portrait, in bust, pastel and medallion, hanging up beside the portraits of his own children. But I am the most grateful of all for those first fifty francs he gave me, which I carried to my mother, and which revived in her heart the heavenly flower of hope that had begun to fade! And ask Madame Porcher, who has known all the finest minds in France, to let you see some of the charming letters she has received. She certainly ought to publish a selection from them. They would not yield in interest to those of Madame de Sévigné, although they would be of a somewhat different nature. We will select one at haphazard, sent her by an author of our acquaintance; it is not one of mine, though the signature is extraordinarily like mine. He had asked for the modest loan of a hundred francs, and had received the reply that he must wait for a few days, after which the transaction could in all probability be carried out. This is the letter:--

"'Wait a few days,'madame! Why, that is the same as telling a man whose head is to be cut off to dance a jig--or make a pun; why, in a few days I shall be a millionaire! I shall have got five hundred francs! If I apply to you, if I bother you, it is because I am reduced to such a state of wretchedness that I could even give points to Job--the most unfortunate hero of times past. If you do not send the hundred francs by my slave, I shall squander my last remaining sous in procuring a clarionette and a poodle-dog, and I shall come and perform with them in front of your door, with the inscription writ large on my stomach: 'Have pity on a literary man whom Madame Porcher has deserted.' Would you have me come and ask you for the hundred francs on my head, or cry, 'Vive la république,' or marry Mademoiselle Moralès?--Would you rather I went to l'Odéon, or unearthed talent _à Cachardy_, or wore _chapeaux gibus_? I will do exactly what you command me, if only you will send me the hundred francs. Send it me ten times over rather than not at all! With deepest and reiterated devotion, X---

_"P. S._--It does not matter to me whether the hundred francs are in silver, in gold or in notes--send whichever is convenient to you."

[Footnote 1: "A couplet written for effect and especially notable for the wealth of its rhymes."--LITTRÉ.]