CHAPTER XVI

The Duc d'Orléans has my salary stopped--A scribbler (_folliculaire_)--_Henri III._ and the Censorship--My mother is seized with paralysis--Cazal--Edmond Halphen--A call on the Duc d'Orléans--First night of _Henri III._--Effect it produced on M. Deviolaine--M. de Broval's congratulations

It was under these conditions that the year 1829 broke upon me--the year in which was to take place the grand duel between my past and my future. My intimate intercourse with the Villenave family had been the means of opening to me several of the salons of the day, and among these that of the Princess de Salm. Here it was that I met Lady Morgan, Cooper and Humboldt.

Meanwhile, _Henri III._ was causing a great sensation. Nothing was talked of save the revolution which its representation meant. I attended the rehearsals with great assiduity, attracted, so I asserted, by my interest in the work; but, according to Mlle. Mars, the real reason was the interest I took in an exceedingly pretty and charming lady, named Mlle. Virginie Bourbier, who played a trifling part in my drama. Since the month of October I had not put foot inside the office. Now, although I had worked hard for nine months of the year and, consequently, was entitled to three-quarters of my bonus, everyone save myself seemed to have had share in the distribution of funds, and in the munificence of His Royal Highness. It was not a simple oversight, as I might have hoped, although that would have been humiliating enough--no, the fact had been debated, considered and decided, and His Royal Highness had condescended to write beside my name, in his own hand--

"The gratuities of M. Alexandre Dumas are to be withheld, as he is engaged in literary work."

The Administration was divided into two camps over my position. Some had bravely dared to take the side of literature against bureaucracy. Among the number of my partisans was little old Bichet, whose head being turned by M. Pieyre and M. Parseval de Grandmaison maintained that I should do great things ... not so great, of course, as Piron; but still, I should make my name known. The others were Lassagne, Lamy, secretary of Mlle. Adélaïde, the son of the director of the _comptabilité Jamet_, whose admiration for the English actors, and specially for a charming English actress, had brought him over to the Romantic school, and some others, who were too dependent on their positions to dare to manifest their sympathy with me openly. Oudard remained neutral. M. Deviolaine wavered; all this talk there had been about me had shaken his opinion. Was I right, in spite of the whole world, and, in spite of my education at three francs per month, should I succeed where scores of others had failed? He expressed his doubt, from time to time, nearly always winding up his hesitation by the following words:--

"The --- is crazy enough to do it!"

As is usual in theatrical matters, the production was postponed from day to day but at last it was fixed to take place on 11 February. A grave anxiety, however, hovered over everybody and myself in particular, like a black cloud. The Censor had not yet given his final decision upon the play. A wretched creature occupied the office at that time, who lived on scandal, making capital of others' self-esteem or their weakness, beside whom Geoffroi was honesty itself and a conscientious critic. The following lines on the _Folliculaire_ by Laville might have been written about him:--

"Un vase de vermeil, une bague de prix, Du vin surtout, voilà ses cadeaux favoris. On assure--je crois que, sur ce fait probable, Pour le vrai, la chronique a pris le vraisemblable-- Qu'au jour où nos amis viennent du vieux Nestor Nous souhaiter les ans, et bien d'autres encor; Au jour où les filleuls aiment tant leurs marraines; Jour de munificence où, sous le nom d'étrennes, Chacun de son voisin attend quelques tributs, Et d'une honnête aumône accroît ses revenus, Il revend au rabais, ou plutôt à l'enchère, Le superflu des vins et de la bonne chère Dont l'accable le zèle ou l'effroi des acteurs; Et que Follicula, pour qui les directeurs De schalls et de chapeaux renouvellent l'emplette, Se fait, pendant deux mois, marchande à la toilette!"

The entire theatrical world paid tribute to this man. Mademoiselle Mars gave him a pension; he received subsidies from the Théâtre-Français, the Odéon, the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique. They came to him as to the open market: he sold eulogy to one, calumny to others; he sold everything, even his silence.

Mademoiselle Mars, Firmin, the company of the Comédie-Française, and even Taylor himself had urged me to pay this man a call; but I had obstinately refused. So, one morning, someone brought me his paper, which contained the following lines:--

"In the play that has just been accepted by the Comédie-Française, the work of an author who, we are told, possesses great merit, there appear characters who had a disgraceful connection with the subject (the Court of Henri III.), whose new appearance on the stage may possibly serve to prove the author's talent, but whose presence, it cannot be denied, create an impropriety impossible to tolerate. History has preserved the names of these miserable heroes, those infamous personages, who took part in a debauch as dissolute as it was inexcusable; we will venture to call them by their true names, and to signify our detestation of the representatives of these rôles of _mignons_, on account of the scandalous mischief they will do to the masses. If the information we have received upon this subject be correct, the authority which honours the theatre with its guardian vigilance will not permit an innovation of this nature, for it knows that its first duty is only to authorise those plays concerning the representation of which a son or a daughter can be innocently satisfied when they ask of their parents, 'What does that mean?'"

I had expected this and was prepared to meet it. I had hardly read the above paragraph before I had armed myself with a substantial cane and had reappeared at the offices.

"De la Ponce," I said, in scriptural phrase, "take up your cloak and your hat."

I set off in search of the critic with all the more satisfaction in that I knew there were days when he was no coward: if a duel would serve his purpose he would fight one. I sent in my name.

He had been expecting me, he said, when he heard my name; but he probably did not expect me to come to him in the frame of mind in which I presented myself before him.

Was I going to be lucky or unlucky? I could not tell, but the _folliculaire_ was not in one of his brave moods: he beat about the bush, spoke of his influence with the Government, tried to show us his last New Year's presents and ended up, in short, by offering to use his influence on my behalf with M. de Martignac, _who was a friend of his and owed him some money._

I quote this sentence especially, as an example of the man's impudence.

I told him I had not come to solicit his influence but to request him to withdraw as quickly as possible and in the fullest manner his article in that day's papers. Next day, his paper contained the following apology:--

"We are exceedingly sorry to find our brief article on _Henri III._, recently accepted by the Comédie-Français, in yesterday's issue contained imputations which were far from our intention. We had not received the accurate information on the subject which is now in our possession, and we can satisfy our readers concerning the taste, the delicacy and the tact with which the scenes and personages to which we referred are handled. This method of treating romance is too closely akin to classic traditions to admit of objection on our part."

My readers may, perhaps, be surprised that I should have had one moment's uneasiness in connection with such a man, but--I must repeat it to be believed--despicable and despised though this man was, he had his influence. Instead of his expressions of opinion being torn up before his eyes by those to whom they referred, they received due attention in the eyes of critics, and I knew intimately one director of the Beaux-Arts who paid him, for many years, a pension of a thousand francs. For the rest, whether this apology influenced the Commission of Examiners or not, the day after the appearance of the apology the piece was returned less cut about and lacerated and mauled than it would have been to-day! True, M. de Martignac, who had heard much about the play, desired to be its censor, and M. de Martignac, as everyone knew, was so clever a man that, while he was in the Government, even Charles X. showed signs of cleverness.

I was at the theatre, full of delight at this unexpected escape of my play, which was now to be produced the following Saturday, when one of M. Deviolaine's servants came hurriedly to me, looking very scared, to tell me that my mother had fallen ill as she was going down the stairs after visiting M. Deviolaine, and that they could not bring her back to consciousness. M. Deviolaine lived on the fourth floor of the house of one Chaulin, a stationer, at the corner of the rue Saint-Honoré and the rue de Richelieu. I rushed away from the theatre, sending the property-lad to tell M. Florence, the doctor belonging to the theatre, that my mother needed his assistance. In a few seconds I was with my mother: she was seated in a large arm-chair; her eyes were open and she had regained consciousness, but she could hardly speak. The whole of one side of her body was quite paralysed. She had been to call on Madame Deviolaine; as usual, I had been the subject of conversation; as usual, they had been telling her I was a wilful blockhead, unworthy the clemency the House of Orléans had shown me; that my play would be a failure and would not even produce enough to pay back M. Laffitte his thousand crowns, and that then I should find myself out of a berth and with no future before me. My poor mother had wept copiously, going away in great distress of mind, and as she was about to step downstairs she was seized with faintness, absolutely lost all power and fell down in a heap, her legs on the stairs and her body on the landing. A lodger found her in this position as he came upstairs; he rang M. Deviolaine's door-bell, and they carried her in and put her in a chair. My poor mother had somewhat regained consciousness by the time I reached her. I felt her pulse, and held up her arm, which fell inert; I pinched her to find the extent of her insensibility, and I came to the conclusion that she had just had a stroke of apoplexy, serious enough at any rate to cause paralysis of her left side. I sent for some mustard and put her feet in hot water till the doctor came. Then, as he was a long while in coming, I sent, to an instrument maker, who lived nearly opposite, for a lancet, and decided to bleed her myself in the foot if Florence did not come. But he came, and performed this operation himself; a slight improvement at once manifested itself, and, her tongue feeling freer, she was able to pronounce a few words. Meanwhile my sister had hastened there; fortunately, she was in Paris, having come up to see the first performance of my play. Fortunately, too, there was an empty room in the house--on the third floor, I think--and we took it for a quarter. Madame Deviolaine sent a bed down to it for my mother; we carried mattresses for ourselves from the rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis; we put the mattresses on the floor of my mother's room; and both my sister and I were determined not to leave her alone for a single moment.

Unluckily, Thibaut was away from Paris. Madame de Celles, daughter of General Gérard, was suffering from consumption and had required a doctor to accompany her to Italy. Madame de Leuven had recommended Thibaut, and he had gone with her. As we only knew Florence slightly, he thoughtfully withdrew of his own accord after he had rendered first aid to our invalid. So I called in another of my friends, named Cazal. He was an extremely clever fellow who, when he found that, in spite of his medical skill, his practice did not increase, invented a new kind of umbrella and parasol, took out a patent for them and made a fortune. Cazal spent the whole night with us by my mother's side; and next day, as the improvement continued, he believed he might look for her recovery if she had no relapse.

How I rejoiced that the idea had come to me of applying to M. Laffitte! how I rejoiced that M. Laffitte had lent me the thousand crowns! We could at least be certain of one thing, that, no matter how things turned out, our mother would want for nothing during her illness. Furthermore, on learning this news, one of my friends, son of a celebrated diamond merchant, Edmond Halphen, not knowing I was as rich as Ali Baba, sent me a small purse containing twenty louis. I returned him the louis, but I kept the purse, in remembrance of that delicate kindness which so few have shown to me, and I recall the act with gratitude, for it touched me deeply. I have, however, sometimes met with the same spontaneous generosity elsewhere, but among my _women_ friends, not among my _men_ friends.

Deeply troubled as I was,--God alone knew how deeply this blow had struck me!--I was obliged to leave my mother, for a few hours; my drama was so novel, even to those who were rehearsing it, that, unless I was present, their confidence took flight. I returned and found everyone greatly concerned by the misfortune that had overtaken me in such an unexpected manner. Taylor was present to prompt in my place in case I was unable to turn up. The play was ready or all but ready, and there was no doubt it would be performed the following Saturday. When I returned home, I found the whole of the Villenave family awaiting me, from Théodore to Élisa. They had missed me the night before, I who never missed going to their house a day, and, when the letter arrived that told my kind friends what had happened, they came off to see me at once. No one can have any idea of the strain of the next two or three days--the profound grief at watching my mother's dying condition, and the terrible labour of preparing a first drama for its public ordeal.

The night before the representation, I took a step that I had decided upon for some time previously. I presented myself at the Palais-Royal and asked to see M. le Duc d'Orléans. The request was so unusual and so audacious that, no doubt, the attendants expected I had an audience. They informed the Duc d'Orléans of my presence and of my request to speak to him. The Duc d'Orléans repeated my name over to himself twice and gave orders to admit me. "Ah! ah! is it you, M. Dumas?" he said. "What good wind blows you hither or, rather, blows you back again?"

"Monseigneur," I said to him, "to-morrow they play _Henri III._"

"Yes," he said, "I know that."

"Well, monseigneur, I have come to ask a favour of you, or rather an act of justice."

"What is it?"

"To give me your presence at my first representation.... A year ago, your Highness was informed that I was an empty-headed, vain fool; for a year I have been working as a humble poet; without giving me a hearing, monseigneur, you have sided with those of your retinue who have been my accusers--perhaps your Highness should have waited, but your Highness thought otherwise and did not wait. To-morrow things will be put to public trial; all I come to beg of you, monseigneur, is that you will be present at the sentence."

The duke looked at me for a moment, and, seeing how calmly I met his scrutiny, he replied--

"I would have granted your request with great pleasure, M. Dumas, for various people have told me that if you were not a model of industry you were an example of perseverance; but, unfortunately, it is impossible."

"Your Highness probably means that a man who aspires to talk with people in high places should know better than to interrogate a prince; but, monseigneur, I have come to you in such exceptional circumstances that I will venture to ask whence arises that impossibility, for I must confess it disappoints me greatly."

"You shall judge for yourself: to-morrow I expect twenty to thirty princes and princesses to dinner."

"Would it not be a novel entertainment, monseigneur, to take these princes and princesses to see _Henri III.?_"

"How could I take them to see it when dinner begins at six and _Henri III._ begins at seven?"

"Let monseigneur advance his dinner one hour and I will delay _Henri III._ for an hour; that would allow monseigneur three hours wherein to assuage the hunger of his august guests."

"Well, that is not a bad idea.... Do you think the Théâtre-Français would consent to the delay?"

"They would be only too delighted to accommodate your Highness."

"But where should I seat them? I only have three boxes."

"I asked the Administration not to dispose of the first circle until I had seen your Highness."

"You presumed, then, to think that I should consent to see your play?"

"I relied upon your sense of justice.... You see, monseigneur, I appeal to Philippe awakened."

"Very well. Go and tell M. Taylor that, if the Comédie-Français consents to put back the representation an hour, I will be present at it, and in order to carry this out I will engage the whole circle."

"I will hasten there immediately, monseigneur."

"Are you satisfied?"

"Enchanted! I trust also that your Highness will not have reason to repent of this kindness."

"I hope so too.... Away with you, and good luck!"

I bowed and left.

Ten minutes later, the theatre had been told; twenty minutes later, the Duc d'Orléans had received an answer in the affirmative. That very evening letters were sent to the guests informing them of the change of hour.

The long-expected day came at last! On that day there was neither rehearsal nor any other meeting: I could remain by my mother's side until the evening. They had given me a certain number of theatre tickets, especially tickets for the pit; the _claque_, _i.e._ hired applause, was not a recognised thing in those days as it is now, and the post of _entrepreneur de succès_ was almost a sinecure: it was left to the care of one's friends and to the impartiality of the public. The generosity of the theatre allowed me to sign a pit ticket for each of my old office companions. Porcher and his wife had each a balcony ticket. I had a little box on the stage itself which held two persons. My sister had one of the boxes in the first row, where she entertained Boulanger, de Vigny and Victor Hugo. I did not know either Hugo or de Vigny, and they introduced themselves to me in despair of getting a chance otherwise. I made the acquaintance of both of them that night. M. Deviolaine had an orchestra ticket. The whole of the remaining seats in the house had been taken for a week past, and the exorbitant price of twenty louis was given for one box.

At a quarter to eight I kissed my mother, who, in the clouded state of her brain, scarcely realised what a battle I was on the eve of fighting. I met M. Deviolaine in the corridor.

"Well, you young rip!..." he said, "so you have got your way at last!"

"What did I tell you?"

"Yes, but we have yet to see what the public thinks of your prose."

"You will see, since you are here."

"I shall see, I shall see," growled M. Deviolaine. "It is highly probable that I shall see...."

I moved away from him, not knowing what he meant by his words, and I reached my box, which, as I have said, was on the stage. I could see the whole house from my box perfectly. Those who were present at that performance will recollect what a splendid sight it was: the first circle was filled with princes smothered under the orders of five or six nations; the whole of the aristocracy crowded into the first and second rows of the boxes; ladies sparkled with diamonds.

The curtain rose. I have never experienced such a sensation as that which a breath of air from the theatre caused me as it passed across my feverish brow. The first act was listened to with patience, although the narrative was long, cold and tiresome. The curtain fell. The words of the Duc de Guise, "Saint Paul! if I can only hunt out the men who assassinated Dugast!" were heartily applauded, and this warmed up both audience and actors.

I ran off to see how my mother was. On my return to the theatre I met M. Deviolaine in the corridor; but, as soon as I appeared, he quickly retired into a small antechamber, on purpose, as I imagined, to avoid me. I did the poor dear man injustice! he had quite other intentions in his thoughts.

The second act began; it was an amusing one; the scene of the pea-shooter concerning which I was much afraid, passed without any signs of objection, and the curtain fell amidst pretty general applause.

The third act was the one to decide the success of the play. In this act comes the scene between the page and the duchess, and the scene between the duchess and the duke--the scene where M. de Guise compels his wife to appoint a meeting with Saint-Mégrin. If the strong situations in that scene found favour with the public, the battle was won. The scene roused cries of horror, but, at the same time, peals of applause; it was the first time any dramatic scenes had been presented with great freedom--I might even call it with brutal frankness.

I went out; I was very anxious to see my poor mother and to embrace her, although she was then hardly in a condition to understand who it was that was embracing her.

How happy I should have been if she had been in the theatre, instead of on her bed! She was sleeping quite peacefully; I kissed her without waking her, and returned to the theatre. Under the porch I again met M. Deviolaine, who was going away.

"What!" I said, "are you not going to stay to the end?"

"How can I stay to the end, you brute?"

"Why can you not stay?..."

"Because I am thoroughly upset! Because I am turned inside out.. an attack of colic."

"Ah!" I exclaimed, laughing; "so that was why I saw you going to the lavatory?"

"Yes, that was the reason, monsieur.... You have already cost me fifty sous! at two sous each time it is ... Why, you will ruin me!"

"Bah! you exaggerate. Whatever could you do at the twenty-fifth time?"

"Nothing, you young puppy! And the last time, if I had not been stopped by the hair of my head, I should have disappeared entirely! Ah! what a business!... Oh dear! I am horribly ill!" and M. Deviolaine laid both hands on his stomach and began running towards the Rue Saint-Honoré.

I went into the theatre; as I had indeed foreseen, from the fourth act to the end it was more than a success, it was an increasing delirium: all hands applauded, even those of the ladies. Madame Malibran, who had only been able to find a seat on the third row, leant right out of her box, holding on to a pillar to keep herself from falling. Then, when Firmin appeared to give the name of the author, the enthusiasm was so universal that even the Duc d'Orléans himself stood up and called out the name of his employé, the success of whose work--if not the most merited, at least the most striking of the epoch--had just caused him to be greeted as a poet.

That very night, when I returned home, I found a letter from M. le Baron de Broval, which I will give word for word:--

"I cannot sleep without first telling you, my dear young friend, how very happy I am at your splendid triumph, without congratulating you and, above all, your estimable mother most heartily, for I know you felt more anxious on her behalf than on your own. My sister and I and all at the office sympathised deeply with you; and now we rejoice at a triumph justly deserved both on account of your very great and persevering talent and your filial devotion. I am very sure that your laurels, and the success in wait for you in the future now laid open before you, will not stand in the way of your friendships, and I assure you that my feelings towards you are very warm. BARON DE BROVAL"

"10 _February_ 1829"

This was the man who, five months before, had compelled me to renounce my salary!