CHAPTER III

Doligny manager of the theatre in Italy--Saint-Germain bitten by the tarantula--How they could have livened up Versailles if Louis-Philippe had wished it--The censorship of the Grand-Duke of Tuscany--The bindings of printer Batelli--_Richard Darlington, Angèle, Antony_ and _La Tour de Nesle_ performed under the name of Eugène Scribe

The curious discussion to which we have referred[1] proves, among other things, that the author of _Dix ans de la vie d'une femme,_ the drama to which Mercier or Rétif de la Bretonne hardly dared subscribe their names, holds two very distinct opinions, which he does not reckon upon reconciling: one as legislator, and one as poet, since he asked the State Commission to suppress the _small immoral theatres,_ and applied for a censorship which should be a salutary check to restrain talent from the _excesses of all kinds_ to which it is too commonly given. The fact is that, had there been a censorship in 1832, my confrère Scribe's talent, which I appreciate more than any one, restrained by _a salutary check,_ would never have given to timorous souls the spectacle of a play which has remained, not as the model, but as the most advanced specimen, of dramatic _eccentricity._ It was M. Scribe, who, in the following sentence which he pronounced before the State Council, suggested to me the word I wanted--"There is not much money made by really literary plays; success is often achieved better by _eccentricities_ and _attacks against morality and the government._" Furthermore, my illustrious confrère possesses a fine reputation as a man of moral character, not only in France but still more abroad; and I am going to relate an anecdote on this subject, which has its amusing side.

I lived for two years in Florence before a single theatrical manager thought of playing anything of mine; because I was an immoral man, no play, whether in the original or translated, could be performed in any one of the theatres of the City of Flowers. One fine morning, when I was still in bed, I heard a voice I knew in my sitting-room, and the sound of a friend's name. The voice and the name were those of Doligny. You remember that I spoke about Doligny in connection with the Tompson of _Richard Darlington,_ and that I paid full justice to the remarkable manner in which he had acted the part. Very well, it was Doligny, who, actor and manager, came with a French company to seek his fortune in Italy. Everywhere else fortune has three forelocks: in Italy it has only one; everywhere else, it turns on a single wheel: in Italy, it turns on two. Which is to say that, in Italy, more than anywhere else, fortune is for everybody, and particularly for the managers of literary enterprises, an Atlanta difficult to overtake and to seize by the hair. Doligny, then, went from Turin to Milan, from Milan to Rome, from Rome to Naples, from Naples to Venice, from Venice to Bologna, in the hope of overtaking fortune. He had not yet succeeded. Finally, he thought he saw a vision of gold in the direction of Florence. He smote his forehead and said to himself: Why have I not thought of that before? What he had not thought of was my presence at Florence. I carry about with me--where it comes from I have no idea; but there it is, indeed--I carry about an atmosphere of life and excitement which has become proverbial. I lived three years at Saint-Germain; well, the inhabitants themselves, respectable subjects of the Sleeping Beauty, did not know themselves any longer. I communicated to the town a spirit of energy which they took at first for a sort of epidemic, a contagious fever, like that produced by the bite of the Neapolitan spider. I bought the theatre, and the best actors of Paris, coming to supper with me, played from time to time, before sitting down to table to give themselves an appetite, either _Hamlet_ or _Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle,_ or _Les Demoiselles de Saint Cyr,_ for the benefit of the poor. Ravelet had not horses enough, Collinet had not rooms enough, and the railway admitted to me, once, an increase of 20,000 francs takings per annum since I lived at Saint-Germain. It is true that, at the time of the elections, Saint-Germain considered me too _immoral_ to have the honour of being its representative. Saint-Germain had then waked up, or nearly so. It had its forest for horse exercise, went to the theatre and set up on my terrace fireworks which they sent for from Paris, to the great astonishment of Versailles, which, from time to time, rose out of its tomb and looked with vacant eyes over the hills of Louveciennes, and said in dying tones: "What is Saint-Germain doing to make such a commotion as this? Look at me, do I move? Good heavens! When one is dead, it is not a time for having fireworks, going to the play or riding on horseback! Look at me, I sleep like an Academician, and I even push respect for conventions to the point of never snoring!"

Versailles lay down again in its gilded sepulchre, where, as it said, it never even snored. One day the king was annoyed by the noise which came from the direction of Saint-Germain, so much so that he took heed not to hear the faintest breath of wind coming from Versailles. He sent for M. de Montalivet, although he had no love for intellectual people. Montalivet and Vatout were the two exceptions at the court.

"My dear Count," said Louis-Philippe, "do you know what has happened?"

"What, sire?"

"We have succeeded in waking up Saint-Germain (they had made the king think he had brought about this miracle himself); we will manage to galvanise Versailles into life, with the picture gallery and fountains, on each first Sunday in the month!"

"Sire," replied Montalivet, "would you like Versailles instead of being as gloomy as death to be merry even to the point of foolishness!"

"My dear Count," replied the king, "I will not conceal from you that it would give me the greatest pleasure."

"Very well, Sire, Dumas has a fortnight's durance as National Guardsman: command that he spend it here at Versailles."

The king turned his back on M. de Montalivet and did not speak a word to him for a month after. What came of it? Versailles became more and more gloomy, and, after passing from melancholy to darkness, passed from darkness to funereal depths.

As to Saint-Germain, I do not know what became of it; but I have been assured that, since my departure, it has been seized with the spleen and simply shakes with agony. Now it was the knowledge of this vivifying quality which attracted Doligny to Florence. He said to himself: As Dumas is in Tuscany, Tuscany must have again become the department of the Arno, and we shall laugh and earn money. Doligny was mistaken: people laugh all over Italy; but they do not laugh at all in Tuscany. As to earning money there, I only knew the Comte de Larderette who made a fortune there; but his speculation had nothing literary about it.... I listened to Doligny's exposition of plans with a growing melancholy which could not fail to have discouraged him.

"Well," he asked me, "am I mistaken?"

"In what?"

"Do you not go to the court?"

"As little as I can; but I do go."

"Do you not go into society?"

"As little as possible; but, of course, I do see something of it."

"Have you no friends?"

"As few as possible; I have some."

"Do you think my actors are poor ones?"

"I do not know them."

"Do you not think the performance of your plays will pique people's curiosity?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Do you not believe, in short, that, thanks to all this, I can make money?"

"I believe you can; but...."

"But what?"

"You must do it with other plays than mine."

"Why so?"

"Because they will not allow you to play them."

"They will refuse to let me perform your plays?"

"Yes."

"What reason will they give for their refusal?"

"They won't give any."

"All the same, my dear friend, there must be some reason at the bottom."

"No doubt."

"Tell me what it is."

"My friend, you are asking me to make a painful confession."

"Tell me what it is."

"I do not know how to tell you a thing that I am ashamed to confess even to myself."

"Remember that my fortune depends on it!"

"My friend, I am an immoral author."

"Bah!"

"Yes."

"Who said so?"

"_Le Constitutionnel_; so the thing has spread abroad from the east to the west, from the south to the north." "You fill me with dismay!"

"What else can I do!..."

"Still, I am going to send them your plays."

"Send them, but it will be useless."

"But surely when they have read them...."

"Yes, but they won't read them."

"Yet they will refuse?"

"For the sake of appearances."

"Well, I wish to have a clear conscience in the matter." "Have a clear conscience, my dear fellow; it will only cost you your expenses for hiring, if you have already hired the theatre."

"Why of course I have hired it."

"The deuce! Send the plays then."

"This very day."

"Go! only let me know of the refusal directly you receive it."

"What's the good?"

"Who knows? Perhaps I may then have some fresh idea."

"Why have you not one now?"

"Ah! my dear fellow, ideas are capricious damsels which will not let themselves be taken except when they fancy, and the whim of my idea is not to produce anything until after the refusal of the grand-ducal censorship." "All right, we must humour your fancy I suppose." Doligny went away in despair at the probable refusal which threatened him, and yet with a certain degree of hopefulness in the idea that might spring up from that refusal. Three day later I saw him again. Owing to the protection of Belloc the ambassador, a delightful man, the refusal was only delayed for three days. This was a great favour; it might have been put off for a month, six weeks--for ever!

"Well?" I said, when I caught sight of Doligny.

"Well, as you said."

"Refused?"

"Refused."

"What plays did you send?"

"_Richard Darlington, Antony, Angèle, La Tour de Nesle._"

"Heavens! You went to work with a vengeance! the four most immoral plays of an immoral author."

"Do you think if I had sent others?"

"Useless."

"Then, the only thing left is to make use of your idea!"

"You had set special store by those four plays?"

"I believe they would have produced the best results. However, if you think you can obtain leave for others more easily...."

"Oh! that does not matter."

"Why?"

"Well, I have taken upon me to obtain permission, that is all you mind about?"

"Of course! will you undertake that."

"I win."

I picked up my hat.

"You are going?"

"Come with me."

"I will follow you with confidence."

"That is right."

I was writing at that time a big 'work on painting, entitled _La Galerie des Offices._ I took Doligny to the printer's.

"My dear Batelli," I said as I entered, "you must do me a service."

"With pleasure, Monsou Doumasse."

"This is it."

"What is it?"

"I want you to re-bind these four plays, to change the four titles and to put another author's name to them."

"That is easy enough. Just tell me exactly what you want."

"You see this one?"

"_Richard Darlington,_ drama in three acts of seven scenes, by Monsou Alessandre Doumasse."

"Just so. Very well, you must substitute _L'Ambitieux ou le Fils du bourreau,_ by M. Eugène Scribe."

"Bene! Next?"

"You see this?"

"_Angèle,_ drama in five acts by Monsou Alessandre Doumasse."

"You must put: _L'Échelle de femmes,_ by M. Eugène Scribe."

"Bene! Next?"

"You see this one?"

"_Antony,_ drama in five acts by Monsou Alessandre Doumasse."

"Put _L'Assassin par amour,_ by M. Eugène Scribe."

"Bene! Next?"

"You see this one?"

_"La Tour de Nesle,_ by MM. Gaillardet et * * *."

"Put: _L'Adultère puni,_ by M. Eugène Scribe."

"Bene! bene!"

In an hour's time, the bindings were set up, sewed, and glued; the same day the four plays were deposited on the censor's desk. Three days after they were returned signed for permission.

The censors had not made any remarks whatever, they had not found a single word to say against them. It is a wonder that the Committee of Censorship had not proposed to the grand-duke to found a prize for virtue, in favour of four such edifying plays. That same night, the whole town, except MM. les Censeurs knew that the performance of four plays by M. Alexandre Dumas had been sanctioned under the moral signature of Eugène Scribe. I never had such a success. They thought these four works the very perfection of innocence; the grand-duke, the most innocent man in his grand-duchy, was applauded to the echo!

Scribe, on that occasion, was about to receive the Cross of the Commander of Saint-Joseph. Fortunately for Scribe, somebody or other revealed the trickery to the grand-duke. Scribe was beside himself with fear.

[Footnote 1: See Appendix.]