CHAPTER XV

Mély-Janin's _Louis XI._

Three days after _Térésa_ the _Louis XI._ of Casimir Delavigne was played. I have spoken of Mély-Janin's drama entitled _Louis XI._, which had deeply impressed Soulié and me in 1827. It had, no doubt, also impressed Casimir Delavigne, who was most sensitive to such impressions. Casimir seemed to have been created and brought into this world to prove that the system of innate ideas is the falsest of philosophical systems. We are about to devote a few lines to the study of the _Louis XI._ of 1827 and that of 1832, Mély-Janin's drama and that of Casimir Delavigne. We do not wish to say that these two men were of the same substance; but, having Walter Scott ostensibly as ally, the journalist found himself, one fine night, a match for the dramatic author. We say _ostensibly_, because Casimir Delavigne did not himself totally scorn alliance with the Scottish bard; only, as Walter Scott was still unpopular in France with many people, because of his _History of Napoléon_, Casimir, in his capacity of _National_ poet (it was upon that nationality the fragile pyramid of his talent was specially founded), did not want openly to confess that alliance.

Let us begin with Mély-Janin. At the rising of the curtain one sees a landscape, representing the château of Plessis-les-Tours, a hostelry and a _smiling countryside,_ after the fashion of the time. Wherever anything is not copied from Walter Scott we find, as in that _smiling countryside_, a specimen of the style of the Empire. Isabelle, the rich heiress of Croy, is on the stage with her maid of honour, her attendant, her confidential friend; a theatrical device invented to enable one of the principal characters to confide in another a secret which the teller has known for ten years, and with which the general public now becomes acquainted. In ancient tragedy, when this functionary is a man, he is called Euphorbus (?), Arcas or Corasmin; when a woman, she is called Julia, Œnone or Fatima, and bears the innocent title of confidant. Well, Isabelle confides to the woman who accompanies her in her flight that she has come from the court of Burgundy to the court of France because Duke Charles, fearing to see her dispose of her immense wealth, wished to force her to marry either the Comte de Crèvecœur or the Comte de la Marck, nicknamed the Boar of the Ardennes. She informs her (this same Eléonore, who has not left her side for one moment) that she has found protection, safe although not particularly entertaining, in King Louis XI. The sole anxiety she feels is to know if _he_, whom she has not had time to forewarn of her flight, will have the perseverance to follow her, and the skill to find her again. This is a point upon which Eléonore, well informed as she is, cannot instruct her; but, as Éléonore has learnt nearly all she knows and the public all it needs to know, one sees advancing from the distance two men dressed like decent citizens, who come forward in their turn and gossip quite naturally of their affairs in the very place in all France least suitable for the conversation to be held. Isabelle turns round, sees them and says--

"I see the king coming this way; he is accompanied by his crony Martigny. The simplicity of his costume shows that he wishes to keep his incognito. Here he is; let us withdraw."

And Isabelle de Croy and her confidant withdraw to the _garden side_, having seen Louis XI. and his confidant, whom they must see in order that the public may know that Louis XI. and his confidant are about to take part in the scene, whilst Louis XI. and his confidant, who do not need to see Isabelle and her confidant, and who indeed ought not to see them, do not see them.

You may tell me this is not a very accurate reproduction of the habits of Louis XI., who, after the nature of cats, foxes and wolves, can see in the night on all sides of him and behind, too, and is represented as not able to see things that are in front of him; but I can only reply that this was how the thing was done on the French stage in the year of grace 1827, even amongst poets who had the reputation of being innovators. It will be seen that things had not changed much in 1832. The hatred which was entertained against us can easily be imagined, since we had undertaken to change customs as convenient as these. It was enough to add in parentheses, and in another style of typography, when speaking of those who come on--as Mély-Janin does, for instance, when speaking of the king and his crony Martigny--(_They come on from the back of the stage, and cannot perceive the comtesse and Éléonore hidden by the trees._) The matter was no more difficult than that! Do not forget, if I do, to remind me of the story of the monologue of Tasso. Louis XI. is also with his confidant, only his confidant is called _le compère_ Martigny. They come forward, chatting and disputing; but do not be anxious, they have kept the most important part of their conversation, that which it is urgent the public should know, until their entrance upon the stage; so, after a few unimportant words, exchanged between Louis XI. and his crony, the king says to Martigny--

"Let us return to the business we have in hand. What news have the secret emissaries you sent to the court of Burgundy brought you? Does Charles know that the Comtesse de Croy has withdrawn into my States? Does he know that I have given her shelter?"

You see that the old fox Louis XI. wants the emissaries of the crony Martigny to have informed their master, in order that it may be repeated to himself, that the Duc de Bourgogne knows that the Comtesse de Croy has withdrawn to his States, and that he has given her shelter! As if Louis XI. had need of the emissaries of others! As if he hadn't his own secret spies, who, at all hours, made their way, under all sorts of disguises, noiseless, into his private cabinet, where they were accustomed to talk of his affairs! You must clearly understand that the two interlocutors would not have come there if the secret emissaries of the crony Martigny had not arrived. As a matter of fact, they have returned, and this is the news they have brought: Charles the Bold knows all; he flew into a violent passion when he learnt it; he sent the Comte de Crèvecoeur immediately to fetch back Isabelle. They have learnt, besides, that a young Scotsman, by name Quentin Durward, has joined the two suitors who aspire to the hand of Isabelle, the Comte de Crèvecoeur and the Boar of Ardennes, and has the advantage over them by being loved in return.

"But where, then, has he seen the countess?"

Wait! Here is a clever rase, which prepares us for the _dénoûment_--

"That is what I cannot find out," replies Martigny; "it is certain, however, that he has paid her frequent visits at Herbert's tower."

"At Herbert's tower, sayest thou?"

"Yes; you know that the countess, before surrendering herself to the protection of your court, had already made an attempt to escape. The duke, under the first impulse of anger, had her shut up in Herbert's tower; there she was strictly guarded, and yet they say that, by some secret passage, Quentin Durward found means to get to her."

Louis XI. does not know this; and, as he is no doubt ashamed of not knowing it, instead of replying to Martigny's question, he says--

"But hast thou not tried to attract this young man to my court?"

"He had left that of the Duc de Bourgogne some time after the countess."

"He will, no doubt, follow in her track."

As you see, Louis XI. is really much more subtle than he appears. He continues--

"Martigny, we must watch for his arrival. If he comes, my favour awaits him ... But what art thou looking at?"

You, I presume, who are not Louis XI., have no doubt what crony Martigny is looking at? Why! he is looking towards the young man for whom the king's favours are waiting. This is called _ad eventum festinare_, moving towards the _dénoûment_; it is recommended in the first place by Horace, and in the second by Boileau. Thanks to his disguise, and to a breakfast which he offers to the traveller, Louis XI. learns that he who has just come is, indeed, the man he is looking for, that his name is Quentin Durward, that he is a Scot; that is to say, as nobly born as a king, as poor as a Gascon, and proud, upon my faith! as proud as himself. The old king, indeed, gets some wild cat scratches from time to time; but he is used to that: these are the perquisites of an incognito. Here is an instance. Martigny has gone to order the breakfast.

"Tell me, Maître Pierre," asks Quentin Durward of the king, "what is that château which I see in the distance?"

"It is the royal residence."

"The royal residence! Why, then, those battlements, those high walls, those large moats? Why so many sentinels posted at regular distances? Do you know, Maître Pierre, that it has rather the air of a fortress or of a prison than of the palace of a king?"

"You think so?"

"Why such great precautions?... Tell me, Maître Pierre, if you were king, would you take so much trouble to defend your dwelling?"

"But it is as well to be on one's guard; one has seen places taken by surprise, and princes carried away just when they least expected such a thing. It seems to me, besides, that the king's safety demands ..."

"Do you know a surer rampart for a king than the love of his subjects?"

"No, of course ... yet ..."

"If my lot had placed me on the throne I would rather be loved than feared; I would like the humblest of my subjects to have free access to my person; I should rule with so much wisdom that none would have approached me with evil intention."

That is not recommended either by Horace or by Boileau, but by the leader of the _claque._[1] The fashion of giving advice to a king is always creditable to an author: it is called doing the work of the opposition; and such clap-trap methods appeal to the gallery.

In spite of the advice given by Mély-Janin to Charles X. which the latter should have followed as coming from a friend, he appointed the Polignac Ministry. We know the consequences of that nomination.

Martigny returns. The meal is ready; they sit down to the table. The wine loosens their tongues, especially the small white wine which is drunk on the banks of the Loire. Quentin Durward then informs the king that he is not engaged in the service of any prince, that he is seeking his fortune, and that he has some inclination to enlist in the Scots Guards, where he has an uncle who is an officer.

Here, you see, the drama begins to run on all fours with the romance. But what a difference between the handling of the romance-writer and that of the dramatist, between the man called Walter Scott and the man called Mély-Janin. Now, as the conversation begins to become interesting, the king rises and goes away without giving any other reason for his departure than that which I myself give you, and which I am obliged to guess at. If you question it, here is his bit--

"Adieu, Seigneur Quentin; we shall see each other again. Rely upon the friendliness of Maître Pierre. (_Aside to Martigny_) Be sure to tell him that which concerns him; I leave thee free to do what thou deemest fitting."

"Be at ease, sire."

Left alone with Quentin Durward, Martigny at once informs him that the Comtesse de Croy has taken refuge at the court of King Louis XI., and lives in the ancient château which he points out to him. Then Quentin Durward implores Martigny to go into the castle and give a letter to Isabelle.

"Ah! Sir Durward, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed Martigny, who in his capacity as a citizen of Tours does not know that the title of _Sir_ is only used before a baptismal name.

"You must, it is absolutely imperative!" insists Quentin.

"I beg you to believe that if the thing were possible. (_Aside_) I am more anxious to get in than he. (_Aloud_) Listen, I foresee a way."

You do not guess the way? It is, indeed, a strange one for a man who does not dare to put a love-letter behind walls, doors, curtains, tapestries and portières. You shall know the method employed before long.

Quentin Durward, left alone, informs the audience that the Comte de Crèvecoeur, who comes to claim Isabelle, shall only have her at the expense of his own life. In short, he talks long enough to give Martigny time to enter the château, to see Isabelle, and to put the method in question into practice--

"Well?" asks Quentin.

"I have spoken to her."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing at all; but she blushed, went pale and fainted."

"She fainted? What happiness!"

"When she regained consciousness she talked of taking the air. Look, look, turn your eyes in that quarter."

"My God! It is she! (_To Martigny_) Go away, I implore you!" (_Martigny hides behind a mass of trees._)

The method employed by the man who did not dare to get a note conveyed into a closed room guarded by a confidant was to make Isabelle come out into the open air, in full view of the château de Plessis-les-Tours. Not bad, was it? Isabelle is in a tremble. And with good reason! She knows that Martigny is the King's confidant, and she has her doubts about Martigny being at a safe distance, Martigny, a gallant naturally full of cunning, since he has better emissaries than those of the king, and tells Louis XI. things he does not know. So she only comes on to say to Quentin: "Be off with you!" Only, she says it in nobler terms and in language more befitting a princess--

"Go away, I entreat you!"

"One single word!"

"I am spied upon, ... they might surprise us!"

"But at least reassure my heart. What! go without seeing me! ... Ah! cruel one! You do not know how much absence ..."

"I must be cautious for both of us, Seigneur Durward; they will explain everything to you. Go away!... Let it be enough for the present to know that you are loved more than ever. Go!"

"But this silence ..."

"Says more than any words ..."

"Adieu, then!"

[_He kisses the Countess's hand_.]

"Come, depart!" says Eléonore.

[_Quentin goes out at one side and the Countess at the other_.]

"And we will go and inform the king of all that has happened," says Martigny, coming out from behind his thicket of trees.

END OF ACT I

We clearly perceived that rascal Martigny hiding himself behind that thicket; well, look what took place, notwithstanding: Isabelle and Quentin Durward, who had greater interest in knowing it than we, had no suspicion! Who says now that Youth is not confident? But now let us pass on to the first act of _Louis XI._ by Casimir Delavigne, and let us see if the national poet is much stronger and more realistic than the royalist poet.

[1] Hired applauders.