CHAPTER II

M. Briffaut, Censor and Academician--History of _Ninus II._--M. de Lourdoueix--The idea of _Antony_--The piece received by the Français is stopped by the Censorship--The Duc de Chartres--Negotiations for his presence with that of his two brothers at the first representation of _Christine_--Louët--An autograph of the Prince Royal

It was into the midst of such society as this, differing greatly in its humour from that of the Comédie-Française, that the rehearsals of _Christine_ carried me. Just as in the case of _Henri III._, all our artist friends offered their services to me: Boulanger had designed one half the costumes and Saint-Ève the other, when suddenly we received the official intimation--"The piece is stopped."

First _Marion Delorme_ was stopped, then _Christine_! Truly the Censorship was getting its hand in.

I went to the Ministry and found that my play was in the hands of M. Briffaut, author of _Ninus II._ The history of _Ninus II._ might surely make M. Briffaut indulgent to others. But forgive me, perhaps you do not know the history of _Ninus II._ I will tell it you.

M. Briffaut had, in 1809 or 1810, written a play under some title or other, the scene of which was laid in Spain. But it was stopped by the Censorship. A friend of M. Briffaut appealed to Napoleon against the decision of the Censors. Napoleon read the play and found it contained some lines in praise of Spaniards.

"The Censorship was right to forbid it," he said. "It does not at all suit me to have a people praised with whom I am at war!"

"But, sire, what is to become of the author?" the friend asked humbly and sympathetically. "He has composed but this one play and may never write another all his life long; he was counting upon this as an opening to many ambitions--sire, you will ruin his career!"

"Very well, then; if he puts his action, say, in Assyria, instead of in Spain, I will raise no objection; and, instead of calling his hero Pélage, he calls him Ninus I. or Ninus II, I will authorise it."

Now M. Briffaut was not going to be stopped by such conditions as these, so he called his play _Ninus II._; then, wherever the word _Spaniards_ came in, he altered it into _Assyrians_, and _Burgos_ into _Babylon_: it made it awkward in altering the rhymes, but that was all;--and the play was authorised and played; it was, no doubt, on account of this herculean feat, that they made M. Briffaut a member of the Academy. He was, on the whole, a very good fellow, and not unduly proud of having done nothing--a superiority which renders many of my colleagues insolent.

We discussed at length, not the literary, but the political, defects of the unhappy _Christine._ It seemed she bristled with them; and the poor Censor, whose touch was very delicate, did not really know where to lay his hands on them. There was in particular this line which Christine recites in allusion to her crown--

"C'est un hochet royal trouvé dans mon berceau!"

which was looked upon as a crime. In that line, I was attacking the legitimacy, the divine right, the succession! I cannot tell you the number of things I was attacking in it! For the moment I fancy I must, without knowing it, have written my play in that fine Turkish tongue of which Molière gives us a specimen in _Le Bourgeois gentilhomme_, which is capable of expressing a great deal in very few words. Then there was the sending of the crown to Cromwell--a very dangerous suggestion for the Monarchy! It was in vain I protested that the incident was true to history; that Christine had really sent the crown to the Protector, who had had it melted down. To recall to humanity, which seemed to have forgotten the episode, that it had really taken place, was looked upon as a revolutionary and inflammatory act. Indeed, from M. Briffaut's manner of dealing with history in _Ninus II._, it was obvious he did not trouble himself much about historical facts. But, in spite of my discussions with M. Briffaut, pleasant as they were rendered by his affability, no progress was made, and thus, as Harel was pressed for time, I was prevailed on to try and engage the good offices of M. de Lourdoueix, the head of the Censorial staff.

I had been advised to get an introduction to M. de Lourdoueix by a lady of high repute who was one of his friends; I do not know what her name was, but I was given to understand that this was the only channel by which he could be got at; like Raoul, however, in the _Huguenots_, I was full of confidence in the justness of my cause; so, without any introduction whatever, I made an expedition to the South Side, where M. de Lourdoueix was to be found. I do not know whether M. de Lourdoueix had composed a _Ninus III._ or _Ninus IV._, whether he belonged to the Academy, or simply to the Caveau Club; but he was far from being as courteous in his manner as M. Briffaut. Our interview was a brief one; after five minutes' conversation, decidedly bitter on both sides, he said--

"After all, monsieur, it is no use your saying anything further; for as long as the Elder Branch is on the throne and I act as its Censor your work will be suspended."

"Very well, monsieur," I replied, bowing; "I shall wait!"

"Monsieur," M. de Lourdoueix ironically remarked, "that decision had been already arrived at."

"Then I repeat it," I said, and left him.

But it was a sufficiently serious threat: I had no longer the support of M. de Martignac, that man of resource. The Polignac Ministry had succeeded his, and I had no means of approaching the new President of the Council. So I waited; the only weapon left me was patience and, while I was waiting, one day when I was walking on the boulevard I suddenly stopped and said to myself--

"A man who, when discovered by his mistress's husband, kills her,--vowing that she had offered resistance to his addresses, and dying on the scaffold for the murder,--saves the wife's honour and expiates his crime."

The idea of _Antony_ was found; and, as I believe I have said elsewhere, the character of the hero was suggested to me by that of Didier in _Marion Delorme._ Six weeks later, _Antony_ was finished. I read the piece to the Français, but the reading did not receive a very warm welcome. I distributed my two leading parts between Mademoiselle Mars and M. Firmin; but it was quite evident they would rather I had chosen other interpreters for those characters. I sent the play to the Censor, and it was stopped like _Christine_. This made a brace of them. But, whether at the time there was a certain feeling of modesty which has since been lost sight of, or whether I had some friend at the background who was working for me--and I have always suspected the excellent and highly cultivated Madame du Cayla of having been that friend--whether, indeed, Harel really had the influence with the Government he made out, the play of _Christine_ was returned to me without any very great alteration, early in March. They had even left in the famous line about the _hochet royal_, inflammatory though it was said to be, and the sending of the crown to the Protector, in spite of any possible catastrophe that might result from this historical reminiscence! So the interrupted rehearsals were taken up again.

However, in the midst of all my worries, I still went constantly to the Palais-Royal library, where I had made a new acquaintance. My fresh acquaintance was the Duc de Chartres. He was at that time a charming boy and has since become a charming prince; a bad enough scholar, whatever his masters may say;--and for fear lest, for the honour of the scholastic profession, they should give me the lie, I will just give, as illustration, an anecdote thereon. The Duc de Chartres was then, as I say, a winning lad of seventeen and, as I was twenty-seven, the difference of age between us not being as great as that between him and Casimir Delavigne, or between him and Vatout, it was to me he generally turned. Moreover, at this time my name was being talked about a great deal; all sorts of adventures were attributed to me, as a host of sayings have since been put down to my account. I had the passions of the African, they said, and they pointed to my frizzy hair and dark complexion, which neither could nor would deny its tropical origin. It all added to the curious interest felt towards me by a boy on the verge of manhood, who had sympathy towards Art as expressed by us, or, rather, as expressed by me, since at that date Hugo had not yet published anything in the dramatic line. _Hernani_ was not to be performed until 25 February 1830, and the intimacy of which I am speaking began about the end of 1829. So the Duc de Chartres looked upon me as a man, if not of his own age, at least not so very much older, and whenever he could get away, he would come and have a chat with me. I should mention that the conversation was soon diverted and passed from Art to artists, from the play to actors, and that we were as much interested in discussing the relative merits of Mademoiselle Louise Despréaux, of Mademoiselle Alexandrine Noblet and of Mademoiselle Léontine Fay, as of _Henri III._ and _Christine._ But our meetings never lasted long, for, at the end of a few minutes, we heard the Duc d'Orléans chanting his mass, or some gentleman or other shouting out the name of the Duc de Chartres, and the young prince who, as a grown man, still trembled before the king, would run off through some hidden door, stammering--

"Oh, Monsieur Dumas, do not tell them you have seen me!"

Some time before the performance of _Christine_, he had expressed his anxiety to be present, with his two young brothers, at the production of my second drama; but he was afraid permission would not be granted him. Why did the poor lad come to me to help him? He came to beg me to tell the Duc d'Orléans of my wish that his children should be present at the performance of my play. I was quite prepared, on my side, to make this request; and, the first time I saw His Highness, I ventured to do so. The prince "_hummed_ and _hawed_" a little, to express his mistrust with regard to the morality of a play which had ever come under the ban of the Censorship; but I reassured him as best I could; and, after a little pressure, I obtained leave for the young princes to be present at the performance. I took good care to go to the library on the Thursday following, for I felt certain I should see the Duc de Chartres there, and he came, but he was accompanied by M. de Boismilon; however, he managed to pass by me and to say in a whisper--

"We are going! Thank you."

But I have promised to give an anecdote illustrative of the idleness of the Duc de Chartres--a fault they did their utmost to hide from his father; the prizes young princes are usually loaded with serving to divert his suspicions.

I will keep my promise.

In 1835 I took a journey to Italy with Jadin. Our intention was to travel as real tourists, on foot, on horses or mules, in carriages, _corricolo_ or _speronare_ or by boat; in short, just as we could. We decided to leave France by way of the Gulf of Genoa; consequently, at Hyères, we hired a sort of driver who, for a hundred francs, was to take us to Nice, skirting the shores of the Gulf of Jouan, which would enable us to stop for half a day. Jadin intended to make a drawing of the shore where Napoleon had landed in 1815, meaning to have it engraved later. The vetturino had stipulated, as his share of our bargain, to be allowed to add four persons to our number, on condition that they offered no opposition to a first halt of five or six hours at Cannes, and a second halt at Grasse. Among the travellers accompanying us was a young man of twenty-four or twenty-five, who was clad in a blue dress coat, nankeen trousers, coloured stockings and laced shoes. In my _Impressions de voyage_, I gave him the name of Chaix; in my Memoirs, I must give him his real name, which was Louët. For a day and a half, he never addressed a word to us; but our conversation appeared to interest him enormously; he smiled at our jokes and listened attentively to our much rarer serious remarks. At table, his place was always laid by ours and, at our first sleeping-place, he arranged not to be separated from us by anything more than a partition. When we reached the Gulf of Jouan, he stopped and, whilst Jadin made his drawing, I flung myself into the water for a bathe. Just as I was undressing, Louët came up to me and, speaking to me for the first time, asked permission to bathe with me. I did not at first detect the punctilious politeness with which the request was put, and laughingly replied that he was perfectly free to do whatever he liked. He thanked me for the permission and took the most rational and least eventful of baths I ever saw, in three and a half feet of water; then, when the drawing and bathing were finished, we climbed into our carriage and slept at Nice that same night. Three of our companions had already left us, one at the heights of Draguignan and the two others at Grasse. Louët alone remained faithful to us as far as Nice, which surprised me the more as I had heard him tell the others who had accompanied him to the carriage, just as he was parting from them, that he was on his way to Paris.

Now Louët must have given a very wide meaning to the proverb, "Every road leads to Rome," if he could persuade himself so far as to think that the road from Toulon to Nice would take him to Paris. This strange conduct on the part of our travelling-companion roused Jadin's curiosity and mine, but it was at length explained by a request the vetturino made on Louët's behalf, who dared not put it to us himself. Louët had really started from Toulon to go to Paris, but he had been so charmed with our fascinating conversation on the journey that, instead of travelling only as far as Luc and there leaving for Draguignan and Castellane, he had told the vetturino that, as he had never seen Nice, he would go on to that place. When he reached Nice, he asked through the vetturino whether, as a great favour, we would allow him to continue the journey with us; hastening to tell us that his society should cost us nothing, for he would pay a third of whatever our expenses amounted to; the vetturino added, by way of parenthesis, that Louët, whom he knew, had just come into a legacy of about thirty thousand francs and was returning to Paris with it when he fell in with us: after which he did not see how he could find a better way of spending a portion of his money than in our society. The request was proffered with such graceful entreaty and Louët seemed such a good sort of young fellow that we did not even think of discussing the question, but intimated that we should be delighted to have his company; that, as he proposed, the expenses should be divided into thirds, and the very next day we would tell him our plan of travel, so that he might then see if our itinerary suited him. He replied that we need not trouble to give him such a programme, that he had no settled aim--it was us and not the journey he wanted--that, since we had honoured him with leave to accompany us, he would go to China with us, or wherever we wished. Certainly no one could have been more accommodating and, indeed, Louët went the entire Italian journey with us and proved himself throughout an excellent travelling-companion. I related this story in my _Impressions de voyage_ with the light gaiety of narrative that is natural to me, and in 1838 I had a visit from Jadin.

"You will never guess who is coming to see you to-morrow ...?" he began.

"I cannot."

"Louët."

"Nonsense!"

I had not seen Louët since my return from Italy three years before.

"Yes," Jadin went on, "and I am sent to announce the visit to you."

"What! is he by any chance coming to ask satisfaction from me for bringing him into my _Impressions de voyage_?"

"No, quite the reverse; he is delighted to figure in the book and is coming to ask a favour from you."

"Ah! he will be very welcome. What is it?"

"He wishes to tell you what it is himself."

"Good! I will expect him."

Louët came the next day, and was exactly the same excellent, simple fellow, except that he seemed to have advanced considerably in the art of dressing himself.

"Well, Louët, here you are! Why, my friend, you look like a millionaire."

"Yes, because I am better dressed than formerly; but, otherwise, it is exactly the reverse. I haven't a halfpenny."

"What? You haven't a halfpenny?"

"No. I risked my little fortune and lost it."

"Absolutely?"

"The whole of it."

"Ah! poor fellow!"

"So I have come to ask ..."

"What? Not for advice how to make a new fortune, surely?"

"No: for your influence."

"With the Government?" I asked, with growing astonishment.

"No."

"The king?" I asked, more surprised still.

"No."

"With the Duc d'Orléans?"

"Yes."

My countenance fell. I desired to keep the revered and loyal friendship I had vowed to the duke pure from all motives of interest, so that he might be sure of the genuine nature of my attachment; accordingly, every time I was asked to obtain some favour from the prince royal it caused me real pain.

"The Duc d'Orléans!" I repeated. "What in the world do you want me to ask the Duc d'Orléans on your behalf, my dear Louët?"

"Some small post...."

"A small post!" I repeated, shrugging my shoulders.

"He surely will not refuse you it," Louët added.

"On the contrary, my friend, he will refuse it me, because I shall be the first to tell him to refuse my request."

"Why?"

"Because you have no sort of claim upon the Duc d'Orléans--you do not even know him."

"Indeed I have some excuse, I do really know him," said Louët to me. "I was a college chum of his."

"At Henri IV.?"

"Yes."

"You are certain?"

"Why, of course."

"Would he remember you?"

"I was in the same class with him; besides, if he has forgotten me, I possess a little note in his own writing that will revive his memory."

"A note from him?"

"Look here: you shall see it for yourself"; and he showed me three lines on a scrap of foolscap in small handwriting containing these words:--

"MY DEAR LOUËT,--Translate for me from Ασκρωνδη as far as ὅλoς, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.

"DE CHARTRES"

I seized the paper eagerly.

"Oh!" I said, "that being the state of things, my dear Louët, you are saved, and I will answer for everything."

"You will undertake the matter for me, then?"

"With the greatest of pleasure."

"When shall you see the duke?"

"To-morrow morning."

"When shall I come back?"

"To-morrow at noon."

"I shall have my post?"

"I hope so."

"Upon my word, my dear sir, you will have done me an immense service."

"I will do it for you. Go and sleep soundly, without a care. And the day after to-morrow you will wake up with a salary of twelve hundred francs."

Louët went away with this pleasant prospect before him, and I wrote to the prince royal to ask him for an interview next morning. A quarter of an hour later, I received his assent. I was then lodging at No. 22 rue de Rivoli. My windows were exactly opposite those of the Duc d'Orléans and he often used to answer by a sign requests such as I had just addressed to him. Such demands on my part were seldom asked; I always waited until the prince sent for me, for I knew that the king, and particularly the queen, looked askance at my visits to their son. So, next day, when I presented myself to the prince, he said--

"Ah, here you are! Why the deuce are you in such a hurry to see me?"

"Ah, monseigneur, to ask a favour which I am sure you will grant me with great pleasure."

"For whom, or of what is it about?"

"I do not know, monseigneur, why you are so categorical with me; you know I am no purist."

"Never mind, it is a good thing to prove that, although prince royal, I have had a college education."

"Exactly, and it is of one of your college companions, monseigneur, I have come to speak."

"Is there a single one left, by any chance, without a berth?" he asked.

"Yes, monseigneur; I have discovered him."

"Oh! you! You are capable of discovering any mortal thing."

"Well, monseigneur, since I am the discoverer of the Mediterranean...!"

"Well, what more have you discovered now?"

"I have told you, one of your Royal Highness's college companions."

"What is his name?"

I drew the slip of paper from my pocket, ready for use at the first opportunity.

"Louët, monseigneur."

The duke uttered a cry.

"Oh! that dunce!" he said.

I looked at him with a smile and made a show of putting the paper back in my pocket.

"Then, monseigneur," I said, "that alters matters."

"How so?"

"I have nothing further to ask your Highness."

"Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Well, what is that slip of paper which you are putting back into your pocket and which you are dying to show me?"

"I am still very anxious to show it you, it is true, monseigneur."

"Very well, then, show it me!"

"I dare not."

"Give it me!"

I held out my hand towards the prince and with the greatest submission, I handed him the paper.

"Good!" he said; "it is sure to be some infernal machine."

"Read it, monseigneur."

The prince cast a glance at the scrap of paper and blushed red to his eyes.

He blushed very easily, and granting this to be a weakness in him, it was one he shared in common with the Duc de Nemours and the Duc d'Aumale.

"Ah! ah!" he said, when he had read it.

Then, looking at me--

"Well, what does that prove?" he said. "That I was a bigger dunce even than he."

"Monseigneur, you will, in that case, surely, do something to help your superior?"

"What do you want me to do?"

And at this he went quietly up to the fireplace, rolling the scrap of paper between his fingers.

"Well, monseigneur, I sincerely hope you will find him a post."

"Where?"

"Near your own person."

"In what capacity?"

"Why, if it were only as a future tutor to your children, he would translate for them from the Greek for _Aσκρωνδη_ right on to λoς."

"Not that," he said; "but I have an idea."

"Upon my word, it does not surprise me."

Whereat the prince began to laugh.

"Do you think he would learn German?"

"He would learn anything you wanted, monseigneur."

"Very well. I will make him a secretary attached to Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans; when he knows German, he will translate the letters she receives from Germany ... that is the only post I have to offer him."

"When will the salary begin?"

"From to-morrow; tell him to call at Asseline's house."

"I thank you, both on his behalf and on mine, monseigneur."

He came nearer and nearer to the fireplace, rolling all the time the little bit of paper between his fingers. Finally he stretched out his arm towards the fireplace, but, holding my hand between the paper and the flames, I said--

"Pardon, monseigneur."

"What do you want?"

"That bit of paper...."

"Why?"

"It is my brokerage."

"What will you do with it?"

"I will have it framed."

"Oh, I know you are quite capable of doing that. Let me burn it."

"Monseigneur, I will hide it in a pocket-book and only show it once a week."

"Do you promise?"

"On my word of honour!"

"In that case, you can take it, and as you are longing to leave me to go and tell the good news to your protégé, go along with you."

"Oh, monseigneur, you shall not have the trouble of telling me twice."

"Go, go."

He waved me off with his hand, and I left him.

Poor prince! I have many anecdotes to tell of him like this one; and I mean to tell them. It was because of his goodness of heart and the loyalty of his patriotism that he became popular. And, when he died, I wrote these prophetic words:--

"God has just taken away the only obstacle that exists between the Monarchy and a Republic."

That is why you died, monseigneur: you were an obstacle: the Republic was a necessity.