CHAPTER V

Soulié at the mechanical saw-mill--His platonic love of gold--I desire to write a drama with him--I translate _Fiesque_--Death of Auguste Lafarge--My pay is increased and my position lowered--Félix Deviolaine, condemned by the medical faculty, is saved by illness--_Louis XI. à Péronne_--Talma's theatrical wardrobe--The _loi de justice et d'amour_--The disbanding of the National Guard

From that moment I made up my mind firmly; like Ferdinand Cortez, I had burnt my boats, and I had either to succeed or to hang myself. Unfortunately, I was not staking for myself alone; my poor mother was also equally involved in the game.

Although Soulié had been less fortunate than we had been, in not yet having had anything of his acted, I had divined what strength of imagination lay in his work, and I had decided to attempt a work of some importance in collaboration with him. At heart, I really agreed with M. Oudard's estimate of my first two productions, and I had shown it by not wishing my name to appear in connection with either of them, while, by some instinct that did not lead me far astray, I had signed the _Ode sur la mort du général Foy_, the _Nouvelles contemporaines_ and _Pâtre romain._ But I quite decided not to sign my name to any theatrical work until I could do something that would make a great sensation. Soulié had moved; he lodged near La Gare. By some means or other, he had become head of a saw-mill, in which upwards of a hundred workpeople were employed. In comparison with us, Soulié was wealthy. He had a small allowance from his father, plus his salary as manager of this industrial establishment; so he could jingle a little gold in his pockets, which was quite out of the question in our case. Soulié had a real passion for gold, and he liked to look at it and to handle it. Towards the close of his life, he was earning between forty and fifty thousand francs per annum; and, when he had contracts to pay by the end of the month, he would often keep the two or three thousand francs thus hypothecated, in his drawer, from the 15th to the 20th. Then, in order to procure the joy which the sight of gold gave him, he would change his five-francs piece or his bank-notes for napoleons, asking that the newest and most glittering coins should be sent him, even at the expense of four or five sous per napoleon,--for Soulié had not the good fortune to live in the happy period of the depreciation of gold,--then, when the end of the month came, it cost him such anguish to part from his gold, that, although the sum owing lay there in his drawer, he seldom settled his account when it was due, preferring to pay twenty, thirty, fifty or a hundred francs extra, in order to feast his eyes upon the rich metal for a few days longer. And yet nobody could be more generous or liberal-handed or lavish than Soulié. He loved gold; but do not misunderstand us, it was not after the fashion of a miser that he loved it, but as the representative of luxury, as the surest means to procure all the pleasures of life: he loved gold for the power it bestows. So he had a very special predilection for the romance of _Monte-Cristo._ I hope I may be forgiven if I dwell at too great length on Soulié; he was one of the most interesting personalities I ever met, and I say of him, as Michelet once said of me, "he was one of the forces of nature." I could picture Soulié poaching in the forests of America, a pirate in the Indian Seas or in the Arctic Ocean, an explorer along the shores of Lake Tchad or Senegal, far better than as a romance-writer or a dramatist.

He was consummate, too, in the midst of his hundred workmen at the saw-mill, as he directed them by a nod of the head, by a wave of the hand, giving his orders in a tone of voice at once gentle and firm, kindly yet full of power. He had just finished his imitation of Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._ There were some fine lines in that piece of work, well conceived, some great thoughts vigorously handled; but, in the main, it was a mediocre production. He had started it two years too late, and had not attempted anything fresh at a time when to be original was one of the conditions of success.

I told Soulié frankly that I had come to ask him to write a drama with me; but, as neither of us felt at all strong enough to attempt anything in the way of original creation, we decided to take a subject from Walter Scott. Walter Scott was all the rage; his _Kenilworth Castle_ had just been played with great success at the Porte-Saint-Martin, and a version of _Quentin Durward_ was to be acted at the Théâtre-Français. Talma was allotted the part of Louis XI., and he had intended it to follow his Tiberius. What a glorious thing it would have been for the drama for Talma to have personated a character from Walter Scott! We settled upon _Old Mortality._ There were two characters in _Old Mortality_--John Balfour of Burley and Bothwell--that completely fascinated Soulié.

When our subject was chosen, we set to work with great zest; but in vain did we put our heads together, the plan did not go well. To put it baldly, we each of us had too much individuality, and we were continually knocking against each other's angles. At the end of two or three months of fruitless labour, after five or six useless meetings, we had made no headway at all, and were scarcely farther advanced than at our first meeting. But I had gained enormously by my struggle with this rough champion; I felt all kinds of new forces springing up in me, and, like a blind man whose sight has been restored, each day, little by little, my range of vision seemed to widen.

Meantime, I was practising how to handle dramatic poetry by translating Schiller's _Fiesque_ into verse. I undertook the task in order to teach myself, and not in hope of payment; and, although it was not to bring me in a penny, and we stood in the greatest need of work that would pay me, I had the courage to finish it from end to end.

About this time, my poor mother, who was always in fear of my losing my place, and who, I must confess, was quite justified in her fears, had a fresh instance of deceived hopes to bring before my notice. My compatriot, Auguste Lafarge, the stylish lawyer's clerk who had momentarily revolutionised the whole town of Villers-Cotterets, and who had been obliged to sell his business to pay his debts, because he could not find a rich wife to save the situation, had flung himself into literature for want of other means of livelihood, and had just died after two or three years' struggle against horrible poverty. It was in vain I said to my mother that Lafarge never had the making of a dramatic poet in him; in vain I told her he had never struggled, but, on the contrary, had given in without a fight; in vain I urged that Lafarge never possessed a fraction of my energy and perseverance; the material fact was that he had suffered hunger and misery and had died in consequence of his privations.

Another fact that ought to have set her fears to rest only gave her fresh anxiety. Betz had been promoted. The reader will recollect that Betz was the nice lad who had been my second in the duel with M. B. He had been made chief clerk at a salary of 2400 francs, and his post as order clerk at 2000 francs was given to Ernest, who, in his turn, left his place of 1800 francs vacant. As I had attended to my office work with a regularity that not even my worst enemy could have found fault with, and as, although they may have been unjust towards me, they were not really ill-intentioned, they could hardly refuse to give me Ernest's place, which I asked of Oudard as though it were my due. My request was acceded to, but they changed me from the Secretarial Department to the Relieving Offices. The _Bureau des secours_ was really a branch of the Secretariat, but it was looked upon as a subordinate department. I should most of all have regretted leaving Lassagne, but a change had been made some time before in the arrangement of the offices, and a room had been given him to himself, in consideration of his position as deputy head-clerk. So it came about that I was quite as near him in the Relief Office as I had been under the new arrangements at the Secretariat. I gained two things by this change: first, an increase of salary; secondly, a greater freedom of action; since, having to obtain information concerning the unfortunate people who asked for help, I spent whole days in going about from one end of Paris to the other. I should have been well pleased, as compensation for the two advantages thus gained, to have given up my portfolio making, but there was no way out of this.

In spite of my increase of salary, and the greater freedom I gained, my mother looked upon this change in my position as in the nature of a disgrace. She was not deceived; and, if she had been, M. Deviolaine would have taken care to put her right on this head.

In addition to this, a very real calamity was threatening to strike at that household with which we were closely connected. For some time past, Félix Deviolaine, who looked the very picture of health, had been troubled with a cough, and was losing flesh. He grew uneasy at the weakness he felt to be growing on him, and one day he sought me out and begged me to take him to Thibaut, whose medical skill he had often heard me praise. I hastened to do him this service, and took him to Thibaut, begging him to examine Félix very carefully. Thibaut made him strip to the waist, tapped his chest, listened to his breathing both with his ear and with the stethoscope; and, after ten minutes' examination, told him plainly that he was suffering from a serious lung complaint, although he was in no danger. But to me he whispered--

"The lad is doomed."

I cannot describe the grief and dismay this curtly expressed declaration caused me. Félix had never been particularly friendly towards me; he was of a somewhat jealous disposition, and had rather repelled than drawn me in to share the enjoyments which, thanks to his father's social position, he could have obtained for me, especially with regard to shooting, which I loved above all else. But, nevertheless, his was one of the tender friendships of my early days, and if this prophecy were fulfilled it would be the first leaf that death would tear from the golden branch of my childish recollections.

I did not want to announce this sad news to M. Deviolaine, so I sought out Oudard and told him what had transpired. Oudard utterly declined to believe it; for Félix had seemed, until now, the most unlikely subject to die of pulmonary consumption; but I sent for Thibaut himself, and Thibaut repeated to him the fatal verdict he had told me. Without telling the whole truth to M. Deviolaine, Oudard gave him to understand that Félix required great care, and, as Félix did not wish to have any other doctor than Thibaut, it was arranged that Thibaut should pay him daily visits. It was then that I made the special study of pulmonary consumption which I later turned to account in my romance, _Amaury._ I have already stated that, just as Thibaut's prediction was on the point of being realised, and all hopes were given up--even in his mother's heart, that last sanctuary of hope--Félix Deviolaine was miraculously saved by articular rheumatism, which drew off the inflammation, and did what no other remedies had been able to effect.

Whilst these events were happening, the representation of the drama of _Louis XI. à Péronne_, in which Talma was to have acted, took place at the Théâtre-Français. It was a great event for all of us young writers who were aspiring to produce some novel creation; Taylor had urged its production, had seen that the costumes were accurate and the staging perfect. The play owed its success partly to the astonishment it evoked, and partly to its intrinsic worth. I did not see it at the first presentation, because I was unable to procure a ticket and was too poor to afford to buy one at the doors; but Soulié joined us afterwards at the café des Variétés and told us all about it. He was most enthusiastic over it. This inspired us with courage, and we tried to take up our _Puritains d'Écosse_ once more.

Talma's dramatic succession at the Théâtre-Français had been divided: Michelot took Tiberius and Louis XI.; Firmin took Tasso; Joanny was prepared to undertake the whole of the illustrious dead actor's repertory; Lafond had become both _the one_ and _the other_[1]; everybody regarded Talma as an obstacle, and now that this obstacle was removed, each strove to acquire for himself the reputation of the man who had eclipsed all other reputations. In order not to lose any chance of success, they divided his costumes among themselves, as they divided his rôles. A public sale of Talma's wardrobe was announced for 27 April. Here are some of the prices that the different costumes fetched. The actors who hoped to buy his talent with his clothes, did not pay dear for them.

Francs Charles VI. et sa perruque ... 205 Ladislas ... 230 Le Cid ... 62 Mithridate ... 100 Richard III ... 120 Les deux Néron ... 412 La couronne de Néron. 132 Othello, une fois joué à l'Opéra 131 Léonidas ... 200 Clovis ... 97 Joad ... 120 Nicomède ... 60 Le Maire du palais ... 115 Philoctète ... 40 Typpo-Saëb ... 96 Leicester ... 321 Meynau ... 45 Falkland ... 42 Danville ... 130 Le Misanthrope ... 400 Bayard ... 51 Le grand maître des Templiers 40 Jean de Bourgogne ... 79 Manlius ... 80 Sylla, avec la perruque. 160 Hamlet, avec le poignard. 236 L'Oreste d'_Andromaque_. 100 L'Oreste de _Clytemnestre_. 80 Total, fr. 3,884

Two items may be noted in the above: one, _Les deux Néron_, and the other, _Othello, une fois joué à l'Opéra._ These two descriptions show how conscientiously Talma hunted up particulars about his costumes. Once he discovered in Suetonius that Nero had entered the Senate in a blue mantle embroidered with gold stars; he instantly had a costume made after the same pattern, and came on to the stage in just such a blue mantle with gold stars as Nero had worn on entering the Senate. But, next day, some critic, who had not bothered his head to read Suetonius, and who took this costume to be a freak of the actor, said in one of the papers that Talma looked like Night in the prologue to _Amphitryon._ This was quite enough to prevent Talma from wearing the star-spangled robe. On another occasion, before playing _Othello_ at the Opéra for a benefit, he reflected that as the Moor had become a Venetian general he must necessarily have discarded his Oriental costume and adopted the Venetian dress. So he wore a very exact copy of a Venetian costume of the fifteenth century. But, in casting aside the turban, the girdle and the baggy ornamental pantaloons, half the picturesque effect had fled and not even all Talma's genius was able to make up for it, so, disappointed himself, and thinking that the change of costume had had a damaging effect on his play, he went back to the traditional costume for the remainder of the performances and never used the other again. The costume for the Misanthrope, found in Talma's wardrobe, indicated the lifelong desire he had cherished to play the part of Alceste, but it was a wish he had never dared to satisfy. The person who bought it was not afflicted with like modesty.

Whilst these events were occurring, that were of such secondary importance to France, but so vitally interesting to ourselves, the Government was slyly attempting to re-establish the Censorship that it had abolished. In the king's speech to the Chamber, he had said--

"I should have preferred, had it been possible, not to pay any attention to the press; but, since the habit of publishing political articles has developed, it has produced fresh abuses which require more efficacious and extensive means of repression. It is time to put a stop to painful scandals, and to preserve the liberty of the press itself from the danger of its own excesses; a project will be submitted to you with this object in view."

This paragraph was nothing more nor less than a threat, which translated itself into a Bill presented to the Chamber under the title of _Projet de loi sur la police de la presse._ The reading of this Act was interrupted by the Opposition a score of times and ended in a scene of terrible agitation. Casimir Périer jumped up from his seat, exclaiming--

"You might just as well bring forward a Bill consisting of the single clause, 'Printing is suppressed in France to the benefit of Belgium'!"

M. de Chateaubriand called this law a _law of Vandalism._ And to the outcry in the capital, the whole of France responded, sending joint and separate petitions to implore the Chamber to reject the Bill as destructive of all public liberties, disastrous to commerce and an attack on the sacred rights of property. In the midst of that terrible manifestation which, in 1827, predicted the armed opposition of 1830, the _Moniteur_ had either the cleverness or the perfidiousness--one never can quite fathom the _Moniteur's_ real sentiments--to insert in an article in favour of the law the phrase characterising it as a _law of justice and of love._ Oh! what an opportunity this gave for the weapon of sarcasm, always powerful in France! It fastened upon this phrase and used it as a weapon with which, on every possible occasion, to prick the heart of M. de Peyronnet. Everybody exclaimed against this Act, even the Academy itself. It was M. de Lacretelle who ventured to take the hazardous and difficult step of attempting to awake the Forty Immortals in their chairs. He read a rousing discourse to them on 4 January, on the disadvantages of the projected law, and the fetters it would put upon thought; he repudiated this fresh Censorship, which was to make printers judges of authors, and demanded that the Academy should make use of its prerogative and petition the king to accede to the entreaties of the Forty by withdrawing the Bill. After an hour's discussion, it was decided almost unanimously that this petition should be presented to the king, and MM. de Chateaubriand, Lacretelle and Villemain were deputed to draw it up. On 21 January, the following notice appeared in the _Moniteur_:--

"ART. I. The appointment of Sieur Villemain, _maître des requêtes_ to the Council of State, is revoked..."

Then, lower down:--

"By order of the King, M. Michaud of the French Academy will no longer be one of His Majesty's readers.

"By command of His Excellency the Minister of the Interior, dated to-day, M. de Lacretelle has been dismissed from the post of Dramatic Censor."

This persecution was received by a burst of indignation against the Government and with demonstrative sympathy towards the victims of Ministerial cruelty. Finally, the chorus of opposition rose to such a threatening pitch that the Government grew frightened and withdrew on 18 April the Act that it had introduced on 29 November. A furore of delight then broke out in Paris: houses poured forth their inhabitants into the streets, and every face glowed with joy; hands were held out in greeting, and journeymen printers ran through the boulevards shouting, "Vive le roi!" waving white flags; and a general illumination took place all over Paris that night. But the mortified Government sent out troops, shots were fired and wounds received, and the withdrawal of the famous _loi de justice et d'amour_ should be accredited not to the king's intelligence, but to his fear.

When Charles X.--poor, blind, deaf monarch--believing that the enthusiasm aroused by his accession to the throne would last for ever, commanded a review of the National Guard to be held on 29 April, on the Champ de Mars, he heard, to his vast surprise, mingled with those cries of "Vive le roi!" with which sovereigns are intoxicated, and thrill on their thrones, the bitter and raucous cries of "A bas les ministres!" and "A bas les Jésuits!" These cries came particularly from the ranks of the second, third, fifth, seventh and eighth legions, those, namely, belonging to the financial aristocracy and the lower middle classes. Astounded by such a reception, Charles X. drew up for an instant; then, spurring his horse to the front ranks of the legion that had uttered the bitterest of these invectives, he exclaimed--

"Messieurs, I have come here to receive homage and not lectures."

Alas! the kings of 1827, like those of 1848, should have known that homage blinds and lectures enlighten.

By six o'clock next morning every post of the National Guard was relieved by troops of the line, and by seven o'clock, instead of a leading article in the _Moniteur_ on the review, there appeared the order to disband. From that moment there was a breach between the Elder Branch, and the middle class. The former possessed its king, elected by divine right, to reign over it and to die with it. But from that hour far-seeing eyes could discern the approaching clouds that were bringing on their wings the tempest of 1830.

[Footnote 1: See vol. ii. p. 442.]