CHAPTER VII

Victor Escousse and Auguste Lebras

Meanwhile, the drama of _Pierre III._ by the unfortunate Escousse was played at the Théâtre-Français. I did not see _Pierre III._; I tried to get hold of it to read it, but it seems that the drama has not been printed.

This is what Lesur said about it in his _Annuaire_ for 1831--

"THÉÂTRE-FRANÇAIS (28 _December._)--First performance of _Pierre III._, a drama in five acts; in verse, by M. Escousse.

"The failure of this work dealt a fatal blow to its author; carried away, as he probably was, with the success of _Farruck le Maure._ In _Pierre III._, neither history, nor probability, nor reason, was respected. It was a deplorable specimen of the fanatical and uncouth style of literature (these two epithets are my own), made fashionable by men possessed of too real a talent for their example not to cause many lamentable imitations. But who could suspect that the author's life was bound up in his work? Yet one more trial, one more failure and the unhappy young man was to die!..."

And, indeed, Victor Escousse and Auguste Lebras in collaboration soon put on at the Gaieté the drama of _Raymond_, which also failed. Criticism must have been cruelly incensed against this drama, since we find, after the last words of the play, a postscript containing these few lines, signed by one of the authors--

"P.S.--This work roused much criticism against us, and it must be admitted, few people have made allowances for two poor young fellows, the oldest of whom is scarcely twenty, in the attempt which they made to create an interesting situation with five characters, rejecting all the accessories of melodrama. But I have no intention of seeking to defend ourselves. I simply wish to proclaim the gratitude that I owe to Victor Escousse, who, in order to open the way for my entry into theatrical circles, admitted me to collaboration with himself; I also wish to defend him, as far as it is in my power, against the calumnious statements which are openly made against his character as a man; imputing a ridiculous vanity to him which I have never noticed in him. I say it publicly, I have nothing but praise to give him in respect of his behaviour towards me, not only as collaborator, but still more as a friend. May these few words, thus frankly written, soften the darts which hatred has been pleased to hurl against a young man whose talent, I hope, will some day stifle the words of those who attack him without knowing him! AUGUSTE LEBRAS"

Yet Escousse had so thoroughly understood the fact that with success would come struggle, and with the amelioration of material position would come a recrudescence in moral suffering, that, after the success in _Farruck le Maure_, when he left his little workman's room to take rather more comfortable quarters as an honoured author, he addressed to that room, the witness of his first emotions as poet and lover, the lines here given--

À MA CHAMBRE

"De mon indépendance, Adieu, premier séjour, Où mon adolescence A duré moins d'un jour! Bien que peu je regrette Un passé déchirant, Pourtant, pauvre chambrette, Je vous quitte en pleurant!

Du sort, avec courage, J'ai subi tous les coups; Et, du moins, mon partage N'a pu faire un jaloux. La faim, dans ma retraite, M'accueillait en rentrant ... Pourtant, pauvre chambrette, Je vous quitte en pleurant!

Au sein de la détresse, Quand je suçais mon lait, Une tendre maîtresse Point ne me consolait, Solitaire couchette M'endormait soupirant ... Pourtant, pauvre chambrette, Je vous quitte en pleurant!

De ma muse, si tendre, Un Dieu capricieux Ne venait point entendre Le sons ambitieux. Briller pour l'indiscrète, Est besoin dévorant ... Pourtant, pauvre chambrette, Je vous quitte en pleurant!

Adieu! le sort m'appelle Vers un monde nouveau; Dans couchette plus belle, J'oublîrai mon berceau. Peut-être, humble poète Lion de vous sera grand ... Pourtant, pauvre chambrette, Je vous quitte en pleurant!"

In fact, that set of apartments which Escousse had taken in place of his room, and where, it will be seen, he had not installed himself without pain, saw him enter on 18 February, with his friend Auguste Lebras, followed by the daughter of the porter, who was carrying a bushel of charcoal. He had just bought this charcoal from the neighbouring greengrocer. While the woman was measuring it out, he said to Lebras--

"Do you think a bushel is enough?"

"Oh, yes!" replied the latter.

They paid, and asked that the charcoal might be sent at once. The porter's daughter left the bushel of charcoal in the anteroom at their request, and went away, little supposing she had just shut in Death with the two poor lads. Three days before, Escousse had taken the second key of his room from the portress on purpose to prevent any hindrance to this pre-arranged plan. The two friends separated. The same night Escousse wrote to Lebras--

"I expect you at half-past eleven; the curtain will be raised. Come, so that we may hurry on the _dénoûment!_"

Lebras came at the appointed hour; he had no thought of failing to keep the appointment: the fatal thought of suicide had been germinating for a long while in his brain. The charcoal was already lit. They stuffed up the doors and windows with newspapers. Then Escousse went to a table and wrote the following note:--

"Escousse has killed himself because he does not feel he has any place in this life; because his strength fails him at every step he takes forwards or backwards; because fame does not satisfy his soul, _if soul there be!_

"I desire that the motto of my book may be--

"'Adieu, trop inféconde terre, Fléaux humains, soleil glacé! Comme un fantôme solitaire, Inaperçu j'aurai passé. Adieu, les palmes immortelles, Vrai songe d'une âme de feu! L'air manquait: J'ai fermé mes ailes, Adieu!'"

This, as we have said, took place at half-past eleven. At midnight, Madame Adolphe, who had just been acting at the Théâtre Porte-Saint-Martin, returned home; she lodged on the same floor as Escousse, and the young man's suite of rooms was only separated from her's by a partition. A strange sound seemed to her to come from those rooms. She listened: she thought she heard a twofold noise as of raucous breathing. She called, she knocked on the partition, but she did not obtain any reply. Escousse's father also lived on the same floor, on which four doors opened; these four doors belonged to the rooms of Escousse, his father, Madame Adolphe and Walter, an actor I used to know well at that time, but of whom I have since lost sight. Madame Adolphe ran to the father of Escousse, awakened him (for he was already asleep), made him get up and come with her to listen to the raucous breathing which had terrified her. It had decreased, but was still audible; audible enough for them to hear the dismal sound of two breathings. The father listened for a few seconds; then he laughingly said to Madame Adolphe, "You jealous woman!" And he went off to bed not wishing to listen to her observations any further.

Madame Adolphe remained by herself. Until two o'clock in the morning she heard this raucous sound to which she alone persisted in giving its true significance. Incredulous though Escousse's father had been, he was haunted by dismal presentiments all night long. About eight o'clock next morning he went and knocked at his son's door. No one answered. He listened; all was silent. Then the idea came to him that Escousse was at the Vauxhall baths, to which the young man sometimes went. He went to Walter's rooms, told him what had passed during the night, and of his uneasiness in the morning. Walter offered to run to Vauxhall, and the offer was accepted. At Vauxhall, Escousse had not been seen by anyone. The father's uneasiness increased; it was nearly his office hour, but he could not go until he was reassured by having his son's door opened. A locksmith was called in and the door was broken open with difficulty, for the key which had locked it from the inside was in the keyhole. The key being still in the lock frightened the poor father to such an extent that, when the door was open, he did not dare to cross the threshold. It was Walter who entered, whilst he remained leaning against the staircase bannisters. The inner door was, as we have said, stuffed up, but not closed either with bolt or key; Walter pushed it violently, broke through the obstructing paper and went in. The fumes of the charcoal were still so dense that he nearly fell back. Nevertheless, he penetrated into the room, seized the first object to hand, a water-bottle, I believe, and hurled it at the window. A pane of glass was broken by the crash, and gave ingress to the outer air. Walter could now breathe, and he went to the window and opened it.

Then the terrible spectacle revealed itself to him in all its fearful nakedness. The two young men were lying dead: Lebras on the floor, upon a mattress which he had dragged from the bed; Escousse on the bed itself. Lebras, of weakly constitution and feeble health, had easily been overcome by death; but with his companion it had been otherwise; strong and full of health, the struggle had been long and must have been cruel; at least, this was what was indicated by his legs drawn up under his body and his clenched hands, with the nails driven into the flesh. The father nearly went out of his mind. Walter often told me that he should always see the two poor youths, one on his mattress, the other on his bed. Madame Adolphe did not dare to keep her rooms: whenever she woke in the night, she thought she could hear the death-rattle, which the poor father had taken for the sighs of lovers!

The excellent elegy which this suicide inspired Béranger to write is well-known; we could wish our readers had forgotten that we had given them part of it when we were speaking of the famous song-writer: that would have allowed us to quote the whole of it here; but how can they have forgotten that we have already fastened that rich poetic embroidery on to our rags of prose?