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AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
1250 copies First Edition, June 1892.
1000 „ Second Edition, July 1892.
1000 „ Third Edition, 12th August, 1892.
1500 „ Fourth Edition, 22nd August, 1892.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS
(NOTES AND RECOLLECTIONS)
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
REIGN OF LOUIS-PHILIPPE
FOURTH EDITION
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, ld.
1892
Digitized by me Internet Arciiive
in 2007 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/englislimaninpari01vanduoft
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAOB
The Quartier- Latin in the late thirties — The difference between
then and now — A caricature on the walls of Paris — I am
anxious to be introduced to the quarter whence it emanated
— ^I am taken to " La Childebert," and make the acquaint-
ance of the original of the caricature — The story of Bougiuier
and his nose — Dantan as a caricaturist — He abandons that
branch of art after he has made Madame Malibran burst into
tears at the sight of her statuette — How Bouginier came to
be immortalized on the facade of the Passage du Caire —
One of the first co-operative societies in France — An artists'
hive — The origin of "La Childebert" — Its tenants in my
time — The proprietress — Madame Chanfort, the providence
of poor painters — Her portraits sold after her death — High
jinks at " La Childebert " — The Childebertians and their
peacefully inclined neighbours — Gratuitous baths and com-
pulsory douches at "La Childebert" — The proprietress is
called upon to repair the roof— The Childebertians bivouac
on the Place St. Germain-des Pr^s — They start a " Society
for the Conversion of the Mahometans " — The public sub-
scribe liberally — "What becomes of the subscriptions? — My
visits to " La Childebert " breed a taste for the other amuse-
ments of the Quartier-Latin — Bobino and its entertainments
— The audience — The manager — His stereotyped speech —
The reply in chorus — Woe to the bourgeois intruder — Stove-
pipe hats a rarity in the Quartier-Latin — The dress of the
collegians — Their mode of living — Suppers when money
was flush, rolls and milk when it was not — A fortune-teller
in the Eue de Tournon — Her prediction as to the future of
Josephine de Beauharnais — The allowance to students in
those days — The Od^on deserted— Students' habits— The
Chaumi^re — Rural excursions — Pfere Bonvin's .. .. 1
vi CONTENTS.
CHAPTER II.
FAOB
My introduction to the celebrities of the day — The Caf^ de Paris
— The old Prince Demidoff— The old man's mania— His
sons — The furniture and attendance at the Cafe de Paris —
Its high prices — A mot of Alfred de Musset — The cuisine —
A rebuke of the proprietor to Balzac — A version by one of
his predecessors of the cause of Vatel's suicide — Some of the
habitues — Their intercourse with the attendants — Their
courteous behaviour towards one another — Le veau "k la
casserole — What Alfred de Musset, Balzac, and Alexandre
Dumas thought of it — A silhouette of Alfred de Musset —
His brother Paul on his election as a member of the Acade-
mie — A silhouette of Balzac, between sunset and sunrise —
A curious action against the publishers of an almanack — A
full-length portrait of Balzac— His pecuniary embarrassments
— His visions of wealth and speculations — His constant
neglect of his duties as a National Guard — His troubles in
consequence thereof— L'Hotel des Haricots— Some of his
fellow-prisoners — Adam, the composer of " Le Postilion de
Lonjumeau " — Eugene Sue ; his portrait — His dandyism —
The origin of the Paris Jockey Club — Eugene Sue becomes
a member — The success of * Les Mysteres de Paris " — The
origin of " Le Juif-Errant " — Sue makes himself objection-
able to the members of the Jockey Club — His name struck
off the list — His decline and disappearance . . . . 34
CHAPTER III,
Alexandre Dumas pfere — Why he made himself particularly
agreeable to Englishmen — His way of silencing people — The
pursuit he loved best next to literature — He has the privilege
of going down to the kitchens of the Cafe de Paris — No one
questions his literary genius, some question his culinary
capacities — Dr. Veron and his cordon-bleu — Dr. Veron'a
reasons for dining out instead of at home — Dr. Veron's
friend, the philanthropist, who does not go to the theatre
because he objects to be hurried with his emotions — Dr.
V^ron, instigated by his cook, accuses Dumas of having
oollaborateurs in preparing his dishes as he was known to
have oollaborateurs in his literary work — Dumas' wrath — '
He invites us to a dinner which shall be wholly cooked by
CONTENTS. Vll
TAOK
him in the presence of a delegate to be chosen by the guests
— The lot falls upon me — Dr. V^ron and Sophie make the
amende Jtonordble — A dinner-party at V^ron's — A curious
lawsuit in connection with Weber's " Freyschutz " — Nestor
Roqueplan, who became the successor of the defendant in
the case, suggests a way out of it — Leon Pillet virtually
adopts it and wins the day — A similar plan adopted years
before by a fireman on duty at the opera, on being tried
by cuurt-martial for having fallen asleep during the per-
formance of " Guido et Genevra " — Firemen not bad judges
of plays and operas — They were often consulted both by
Meyerbeer and Dumas— Dumas at work — How he idled his
time away — Dumas causes the traffic receipts of the Chemin
de Fer de I'Ouest to swell during his three years' residence
at Saint-Germain — M. de Montalivet advises Louis-Philippe
to invite Dumas to Versailles, to see what his presence will
do for the royal city — Louis-Philippe does not act upon the
advice — The relations between Dumas and the d'Orleans
family — After the Eevolution of '48, Dumas becomes a can-
didate for parliament — The story of his canvass and his
address to the electors at Joigny — Dumas' utter indifference
to money matters — He casts his burdens upon others —
Dumas and his creditors — Writs and distraints — How they
are dealt with — Dumas' indiscriminate generosity — A dozen
houses full of new furniture in half as many years — Dumas'
frugality at table — ^Literary remuneration — Dumas and his
son — ''Leave me a hundred francs" .. ,. .. 62
CHAPTER IV.
Dr. Louis Veron — The real man as distinguished from that of
his own "Memoirs" — He takes the management of the
Paris Opera — How it was governed before his advent —
Meyerbeer's "Robert le Diable" underlined — Meyerbeer
and his doubts upon the merits of his work — Meyerbeer's
generosity — Meyerbeer and the beggars of the Rue Le
Peletier — Dr. Veron, the inventor of the modern newspaper
puff — Some specimens of advertisements in their infancy —
Dr. Veron takes a leaf from the book of Moli^re — Dr.
Veron's love of money — His superstitions — ^His objections to
travelling in railways — He quotes the Queen of England as
VIU CONTENTS.
PAGE
an example — When Queen Victoria overcomes her objection,
Veron holds out — "Queen Victoria has got a successor:
the Veron dynasty begins and ends with me " — Tliirteen at
table — I make the acquaintance of Taglioni — The woman
and the ballerina — Her adventure at Perth — An improvised
performance of "Nathalie, la Laiti^re Suisse" — Another
adventure in Russia — A modem Claude Du-Val — My last
meeting with Taglioni — A dinner-party at De Momy's — A
comedy scene between husband and wife — Flotow, the com-
poser of " Martha " — His family — His father's objection to
the composer's profession — The latter's interview with M.
de Saint-Georges, the author of the libretto of Balfe's
" Bohemian Girl " — M. de Saint-Georges prevails upon the
father to let his son study in Paris for five years, and to pro-
vide for him during that time — The supplies are stopped
on the last day of the fifth year — Flotow, at the advice of
M. de Saint-Georges, stays on and lives by giving piano-
lessons — His earthly possessions at his first success —
"Eob Eoy" at the Hotel Castellane — Lord Granville's
opinion of the music — The Hotel Castellane and some Paris
salons during Louis-Philippe's reign — The Princesse de
Lieven's, M. Thiers', etc. — What Madame de Girardin's was
like — Victor Hugo's — Perpetual adoration ; very artistic, but
nothing to eat or to drink — The salon of the ambassador of
the Two Sicilies — ^Lord and Lady Granville at the English
Embassy — The salon of Count Apponyi — A story connected
with it — Furniture and entertainments — Cakes, ices, and
tea; no champagne as during the Second Empire — The
Hotel Castellane and its amateur theatricals — Bival com-
panies — No under-studies— Lord Brougham at the Hotel
Castellane — His bad French and his would-be Don Juan-
isra — A French rendering of Shakespeare's "There is but
one step between the sublime and the ridiculous," as applied
to Lord Brougham — He nearly accepts a part in a farce
where his bad French is likely to produce a comic eflfect —
His successor as a murderer of the language — M. de Saint-
Georges — ^Like Molifere, he reads his plays to his house-
keeper — When the latter is not satisfied, the dinner is spoilt,
however great the success of the play in public estimation —
Great men and their housekeepers — Turner, Jean Jacques
Kousseau, Eugene Delacroix .. .. .. ..90
CONTENTS. IX
CHAPTER V.
The Boalevards in the forties — The Chinese Baths — A favourite
tobacconist of Alfred de Musset — The price of cigars — ^The
diligence still the usual mode of travelling — Provincials in
Paris — ^Parliamentary see-saw between M. Thiers and M.
Guizot — ^Amenities of editors — ^An advocate of universal
suffrage — Distribution of gratuitous sausages to the working
man on the king's birthday — The rendezvous of actors in
search of an engagement — Frederick Lemaitre on the eve of
appearing in a new part — The Legitimists begin to leave
their seclusion and to mingle with the bourgeoisie — Alex-
andre Dumas and Scribe — The latter's fertility as a play-
wright — The National Guards go shooting, in uniform
and in companies, on the Plaine Saint-Denis — ^Vidocq's
private inquiry office in the Rue Vivienne — No river-side
resorts — The plaster elephant on the Place de la Bastille —
The sentimental romances of Loisa Puget — The songs of the
•working classes — Cheap bread and wine— How they enjoyed
themselves on Sundays and holidays — Theophile Gautier*s
pony-carriage — The hatred of tlie bourgeoisie — Nestor
Roqueplan's expression of it — Gavami's — ^M. Thiers' sister
keeps a restaurant at the comer of the Rue Drouot — ^When
he is in power, the members of the Opposition go and dine
there, and publish facetious accounts of the entertainment
— All appearances to the contrary, people like Guizot better
than Thiers — But few entries for the race for wealth in those
days — The Rothschilds still live in the Rue Lafitte —
Favourite lounges — The Boulevards, the Rue Le Peletier,
and the Passage de I'Opera — The Opera — The Rue Le
Peletier and its attractions — The Restaurant of Paolo Broggi
— The Estaminet du Divan — ^Literary waiters and Boniface
— ^Major Fraser — The mystery surrounding his origin —
Another mysterious personage — The Passage de I'Opera is
invaded by the stockjobbers, and loses its prestige as a pro-
menade — Bernard Latte's, the publisher of Donizetti's operas,
becomes deserted — Tortoni's — Louis-Blanc — His scruples as
an editor — ^A few words about duelling — ^Two tragic meet-
ings — Lola Months — 'Her adventurous career — ^A celebrated
trial — ^My first meeting with Gustavo Flaubert, the author
of" Madame Bo vary " and " Salambo " — Emile de Girardin —
Hi8 opinion of duelling — My decision with regard to it — The
CONTENTS.
original of "La Dame aux Cailaelias" — Her parentage —
Alexandre Dumas gives the diagnosis of her character in
connection with his son's play — ^L'Homme au Camellia — M.
Lautour-Mezerai, the inventor of children's periodical litera-
ture in France — Auguste Lireux — He takes the manage-
ment of the Od^on — Balzac again — His schemes, his greed
— ^Lireux more fortunate with other authors — Anglophobia
on the French stage — Gallophobia on the English stage .. 124
CHAPTER VI.
Rachel and some of her fellow-actors — Rachel's true character —
Her greediness and spitefulness — Her vanity and her wit —
Her powers of fascination — The cost of being fascinated
by her — Her manner of levying toll — Some of her victims,
Comte Duch§,tel and Dr. Veron — The story of her guitar —
A little transaction between her and M. Fould — ^Her sup-
posed charity and generosity — Ten tickets for a charity
concert — How she made them into twenty — How she could
have made them into a hundred — ^Baron Taylor puzzled —
Her manner of giving presents — Beauvallet's precaution
with regard to one of her gifts — ^Alexandre Dumas the
younger, wiser or perhaps not so wise in his generation —
Rachel as a raconteuse — The story of her debut at tlie
Gymnase — What Rachel would have been as an actor instead
of an actress — Her comic genius — Rachel's mother — What
became of Rachel's money — Mama Felix as a pawnbroker —
Rachel's trinkets — Two curious bracelets — Her first appear-
ance before Nicholas I. — A dramatic recital in the open air
— Rachel's opinion of the handsomest man in Europe —
Rachel and Samson — Her obligations to him — How she repays
them — How she goes to Berryer to be coached in the fable of
" The Two Pigeons " — An anecdote of Berryer — Rachel's fear
of a "warm reception" on the first night of "Adrienne
Lecouvreur" — How she averts the danger — Samson as a
man and as an actor — Petticoat-revolts at the Com^die-
Fran^aise — Samson and Regnier as buffers — Their different
ways of pouring oil upon the troubled waters — Mdlle.
Sylvanie Plessy — A parallel between her and Sarah Bern-
hardt — Samson and Regnier's pride in their profession — The
different character of that pride — " Apollo with a bad tailor,
CONTENTS. XI
and who dreeses without a looking-glaas " — Samson gives a
lesson in declamation to a procureur-imp^rial — The secret of
Begnier's greatness as an actor — A lesson at the Conser-
vatoire — Regnier on "make-up" — Begnier's opinion of genius
on the stage — A mot of Augustine Brohan — Giovanni, the
wigmaker of the Oom^{lie-Fran5aise — His pride in his pro-
fession — M. Ancessy, the musical director, and hia three
wigs .. .. .. .. .. .. 183
CHAPTER Vn.
Two composers, Auber and Fflicien David— Auber, the legend
of his youthful appearance — How it arose — His daily rides,
his love of women's society — His mot on Mozart's "Don
Juan" — The only drawback to Auber's enjoyment of women's
society — His reluctance to take his hat oflf — How he managed
to keep it on most of the time — His opinion upon Meyerbeer's
and Hal^vy's genius — His opinion upon Gerard de Nerval,
who hanged himself with his hat on — ^His love of solitude —
His fondness of Paris — His grievance against his mother for
not having given him birth there — He refuses to leave Paris
at the commencement of the siege — His small appetite — ^He
proposes to write a new opera when the Prussians are gone
— Auber suflfers no privations, but has diflBculty in finding
fodder for his horse — ^The Parisians claim it for food —
Another legend about Auber's independence of sleep — ^How
and where he generally slept — Why Auber snored in Veron's
company, and why he did not in that of other people — ^His
capacity for work — ^Auber a brilliant talker — Auber's grati-
tude to the artists who interpreted his work, but different
from Meyerbeer's — The reason wHy, according to Auber —
Jealousy or humility — ^Auber and the younger Coquelin —
" The verdict on all things in this world may be summed
up in the one phrase, ' It's an injustice' " — Felicien David —
The man — The beginnings of bis career — ^His terrible poverty
— He joins the Saint-Simoniens, and goes with some of them
to the East — Their reception at Constantinople — M. Scribe
and the libretto of "L'Africaine" — David in Egypt at
the court of Mehemet-Ali — David's description of him —
Mehemet's way of testing the educational progress of hia
sons — Woe to the fat kine — ^Mehemet-Ali suggests a new
XU CONTENTS.
mode of teaching music to the inmates of the harem — Fflicien
David's further wanderings in Egypt — ^Their eiFect upon
his musical genius — His return to France — He tells the story
of the first performance of " Le Desert " — An ambulant box-
office — His success — Fame, but no money — He sells the score
of "Le Desert" — He loses his savings — "La Perle du
Bresil" and the Coup-d'Etat— " No luck "—Napoleon III.
remains his debtor for eleven years — ^A mot of Auber, and
one of Alexandre Dumas p^re— The story of " A'ida " — Why
Felicien David did not compose the music — The real author
of the libretto .. .. .. .. .. 217
CHAPTER VIIL
Three painters, and a school for pifferari — Gabriel Decamps,
Eugfene Delacroix, and Horace Vernet — The prices of
pictures in the forties — Delacroix' find no purchasers at
all — Decamps' drawings fetch a thousand francs each —
Decamps not a happy man — The cause of his unhappiness
— The man and the painter — He finds no pleasure in
being popular — Eugene Delacroix — His contempt for the
bourgeoisie — A parallel between Delacroix and Shakespeare
— Was Delacroix tall or short? — His love of fiowers — His
delicate health — His personal appearance — ^His indifference
to the love-passion — George Sand and Delacroix — ^A mis-
carried love-scene — ^Delacroix' housekeeper, Jenny Leguillou
— Delacroix does not want to pose as a model for one of
George Cand's heroes — Delacroix as a writer — His approval
of Carlyle's dictum, "Show me how a man sings," etc. —
His humour tempered by his reverence— His failure as a
caricaturist — His practical jokes on would-be art-critics —
Delacroix at home — His dress while at work — Horace
Vernet's, Paul Delaroche's, Ingres' — Early at work — He
does not waste time over lunch — How he spent his evenings
— His dislike of being reproduced in marble or on canvas
after his death — Horace Vernet — The contrast between the
two men and the two artists — Vernet's appearance — His own
account of how he became a painter — Moral and mental re-
semblance to Alexandre Dumas pfere — His political opinions
— ^Vernet and Nicholas I. — A bold answer — His opinion on
the mental state of the Bomanoffs — The comic side of
CONTENTS. Xlll
PAOK
Vernet's character — He thinks himself a Vauban — ^Hia
interviews with M. Thiers — His admiration of everything
military — His worship of Alfred de Vigny — His ineffectual
attempts to paint a scene in connection with the storming of
Constantine— Laurent- Jan proposes to write an epic on it —
He gives a synopsis of the cantos — ^Laurent- Jan lives " on
the fat of the land " for six months — A son of Napoleon's
companion in exile, General Bertrand — The chaplain of
" la Belle-Poule " — ^The lirst French priest who wore the
English dress — Horace Vernet and the veterans of "la
grande armee" — His studio during their occupancy of it
as models — His budget — His hatred of pifferari — A pro-
fessor — ^The Quartier-Latin revisited .. .. .. 234
CHAPTER IX.
Louis-Philippe and his family — ^An unpublished theatrical skit
on his mania for shaking hands with every one — ^His art of
governing, according to the same skit — ^Louis-Philippe not
the ardent admirer of the bourgeoisie he professed to be —
The Faubourg Saint-Germain deserts the Tuileries — The
English in too great a majority — ^Lord 's opinion of the
dinners at the Tuileries — The attitude of the bourgeoisie
towards Louis-Philippe, according to the King himself —
Louis-Philippe's wit — His final words on the death of
Talleyrand — His love of money — ^He could be generous at
times — ^A story of the Palais-Royal — ^Louis-Philippe and the
Marseillaise — Two curious stories connected with the Mar-
seillaise — ^Who was the composer of it? — ^Louis-Philippe's
opinion of the throne, the crown, and the sceptre of France
as additions to one's comfort — His children, and especially
his sons, take things more easily — Even the Bonapartists
admired some of the latter — ^A mot of an Imperialist — How
the boys were brought up — Their nocturnal rambles later
on — The King himself does not seem to mind those escapades,
but is frightened at M. Guizot hearing of them — Louis-
Philippe did not understand Guizot — The recollection of
his former misery frequently haunts the King — ^He worries
Queen Victoria with his fear of becoming poor — Louis-
Philippe an excellent husbaud and father — ^He wants to
write the libretto of an opera on an English subject — ^His
XIV CONTENTS.
reli^on — The court receptions ridiculous — Even the prole-
tariat sneer at them — The entree of the Duchesse d'Orleans
into Paris — The scene in the Tuileries gardens — ^A mot of
Princesse CMmentine on her father's too paternal solicitude
— A practical joke of the Prince de Joiuville — His carica-
tures and drawings — The children inherited their talent for
drawing and modelling from their mother — The Due de
Nemours as a miniature and water-colour painter — Suspected
of being a Legitimist — ^All Louis-Philippe's children great
patrons of art — How the bourgeoisie looked upon their inter-
course with artists — The Due de Nemours' marvellous
memory — The studio of Eugene Lami — His neighbours,
Paul Delaroche and Honor^ de Balzac — The Duo de
Nemours' bravery called in question — The Due d'Aumale'a
exploits in Algeria considered mere skirmishes — A curious
story of spiritism — The Due d'Aumale a greater favourite
with the world than any of the other sons of Louis-
Philippe — His wit — The Due d'Orleans also a great
favourite — His visits to Decamps' studio — An indifferent
classical scholar — A curious kind of black-mail — His in-
difference to money — There is no money in a Republic —
His death — ^A witty reply to the Legitimists . . , , 264
CHAPTER X.
The Revolution of '48 — The beginning of it — The National
Guards in all their glory — The Cafe Gregoire on the Place
du Cairo — The price of a good breakfast in '48 — The palmy
days of the Cuisine Bourgeoise — The excitement on the
Boulevards on Sunday, February '20th, '48 — The theatres —
A ball at Poirson's, the erstwhile director of the Gymnase
— A lull in the storm — Tuesday, February 22nd — Another
visit to the Cafe Gregoire — On my way thither — The Come-
die-Fran9aise closes its doors — What it means, according
to ray old tutor — "We are waited upon by a sergeant and
corporal — ^We are no longer "messieurs," but "citoyens" —
An eye to the main chance — The patriots do a bit of business
in tricolour cockades — The company marches away — Casual-
ties — "Le patriotisrae" means the difference between the
louis d'or and the ^cu of three francs — The company
bivouacs on the Boulevard Saint-Martin — A tyrant's victim
CONTENTS. XV
FAQI
" malgre lui —Wednesday, February 23rd— The Caf€ Gti-
goire once more — The National Guards en neglig^—A novel
mode of settling accounts — The National Guards fortify the
inner man — A bivouac on the Boulevard du Temple — A
camp scene from an opera — ^I leave — ^My companion's account
— The National Guards protect the regulars — ^The author of
these notes goes to the theatre — The Gymnase and the
Variety on the eve of the Revolution — Bouflfe and Dejazet
—Thursday, February 24th, '48— The Boulevards at 9.30 a.m.
— No milk — The Revolutionaries do without it — The Place
du Carrousel — The sovereigo people fire from the roofs on
the troops — The troops do not dislodge them — The King
reviews the troops — The apparent inactivity of Louis-
Philippe's sons — ^A theory about the difference in bloodshed
— One of the three ugliest men in France comes to see the
King — Seditious cries — The King abdicates — Chaos — ^The
sacking of the Tuileries — Receptions and feasting in the
Galerie de Diane — " Du caf^ pour nous, des cigarettes pour
les dames " — The dresses of the princesses — The bourgeois
feast the gamins who guard the barricades — The Republic
proclaimed — ^The riflF-raff insist upon illuminations — An
actor promoted to the Governorship of the Hotel de Ville —
Some members of the " provisional Government " at work
— Mery on Lamartine — Why the latter proclaimed the
Republic .. .. .. .. .. .. 298
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTEB I.
The Quartier-Latin in the late thirties — The difference between then
and now — A caricature on the walls of Paris — I am anxious to be
introduced to the quarter whence it emanated — I am taken to " La
Childebert," and make the acquaintance of the original of the
caricature — The story of Bouginier and his nose — Dantan as a
caricaturist — He abandons that branch of art after he has made
Madame Malibran burst into tears at the sight of her statuette —
How Bouginier came to be immortalized on the facade of the
Passage du Cairo — One of the first co-operative societies in France
— An artists' hive — The origin of "La Childebert "—Its tenants in
my time — The proprietress — Madame Ohaufort, the providence of
poor painters — Her portraits sold after her death — High jinks at
"La Childebert" — The Childebertians and their peacefully in-
clined neighbours — Gratuitous baths and compulsory douches at
"La Childebert" — The proprietress is called upon to repair tlie
roof — The Childebertians bivouac on the Place St. Germain-des-
Pre's — Tliey start a " Society for the Conversion of the Mahome-
tans"— The public subscribe liberally— What becomes of the
subscriptions ? — My visits to " La Ciiildebert " breed a taste for
the other amusements of the Quartier-Latin — Bobino and its
entertainments — The audience — The manager — His stereotyped
speech — The reply in chorus — Woe to the bourgeois-intruder —
Stove-pipe liats a rarity in the Quartier-Latin — The dress of
the collegians — TJieir mode of living — Suppers when money was
flush, rolls and milk when it was not— A fortune-teller in the
Rue de Tournon— Her prediction as to the future of Josephine de
Beauharnais— The allowance to students in those days — The
Ode'on deserted — Students' habits — The Chaumiere — Eural ex-
cursions — Pere Bonvin's.
Long before Baron Haussmann began his architectural
transformation, many parts of Paris had undergone
changes, perceptible only to those who had been
brought up among the inhabitants, though distinct
VOL. I. B
2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
from them in nationality, education, habits, and tastes.
Paris became to a certain extent, and not altogether
voluntarily, cosmopolitan before the palatial mansions,
the broad avenues, the handsome public squares which
subsequently excited the admiration of the civilized
world had been dreamt of, and while its outer aspect
was as yet scarcely modified. This was mainly due
to the establishment of railways, which caused in the
end large influxes of foreigners and provincials, who
as it were drove the real Parisian from his haunts.
Those visitors rarely penetrated in large numbers
to the very heart of the Quartier-Latin. When
they crossed the bridges that span the Seine, it was
to see the Sorbonne, the Pantheon, the Observatory,
the Odeon, and the Luxembourg ; they rarely stayed
after nightfall. The Prado, the Theatre Bobino, the
students' taverns, escaped their observation when there
was really something to see; and now, when the
Closerie des Lilas has become the Bal BuUier, when
the small theatre has been demolished, and when the
taverns are in no way distinguished from other Parisian
taverns — when, in short, commonplace pervades the
whole — people flock thither very often. But during
the whole of the forties, and even later, the rive
gauche, with its Quartier-Latin and adjacent Faubourg
St. Germain, were almost entirely sacred from the
desecrating stare of the deliberate sightseer ; and,
consequently, the former especially, preserved its
individuality, not only materially, but mentally and
morally — immorally would perhaps have been the
word that would have risen to the lips of the ob-
server who lacked the time and inclination to study the
life led there deeper than it appeared merely on the
THE QUARTIER-LATIN IN THE FORTIES. 3
fiurface. For though there was a good deal of royster-
ing and practical joking, and short-lasted liaison, there
was little of deliberate vice, of strategic libertinism —
if I may be allowed to coin the expression. True,
«very Jack had his Jill, but, as a rule, it was Jill who
iiad set the ball rolling.
The Quartier - Latin not only sheltered sucking
lawyers and doctoi's, budding professors and savans
and literateurs, but artists whose names have since
then become world-renowned. It was with some of
these that I was most thrown in contact in that
quarter, partly from inclination, because from my
earliest youth I have been fonder of pictures than
•of books, partly because at that time I had already
seen so many authors of fame, most of whom were
the intimate acquaintances of a connection of mine,
that I cared little to seek the society of those who
had not arrived at that stage. I was very young,
and, though not devoid of faith in possibilities, too
mentally indolent when judgment in that respect
involved the sitting down to manuscripts. It was so
much easier and charming to be able to discover a
budding genius by a mere glance at a good sketch,
«ven when the latter was drawn on charcoal on a not
particularly clean " whitewashed '* wall.
I was scarcely more than a stripling when one
morning such a sketch appeared on the walls of Paris,
and considerably mystified, while it at the same time
amused, the inhabitants of the capital. It was not the
work of what we in England would call a " seascape
and mackerel artist," for no such individual stood by
to ask toll of the admirers ; it was not an advertisement,
for in those days that mode of mural publicity was
i
4 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
scarcely born, let alone in its infancy, in Paris. What^
then, was this colossal, monumental nose, the like of
which I have only seen on the faces of four human
beings, one of whom was Hyacinth, the famous actor
of the Palais-Koyal, the other three being M. d'Argout,
the Governor of the Bank of France ; M. de Jussieu,
the Director of the Jardin des Plantes ; and Lasailly,
Balzac's secretary ? What was this colossal nose, with
a ridiculously small head and body attached to it ?
The nasal organ was certainly phenomenal, even
allowing for the permissible exaggeration of the
caricaturist, but it could surely not be the only title
of its owner to this sudden leap into fame ? Was it
a performing nose, or one endowed with extraordinary
powers of smell ? I puzzled over the question for
several days, until one morning I happened to run
against my old tutor, looking at the picture and
laughing till the tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks.
It was a positive pleasure to see him. " C'est bien lui,
c'est bien lui," he exclaimed ; " c'est absolument son
portrait crache ! " " Do you know the original ? " I
asked. " Mais, sans doute, je le connais, c'est un ami
de mon fils, du reste, tout le monde connait Bouginier."
" But I do not know him," I protested, feeling very
much ashamed of my ignorance. " Ah, you ! that's
quite a different thing ; you do not live in the Quartier-
Latin, but everybody there knows him." From that
moment I knew no rest until I had made the acquaint-
ance of Bouginier, which was not very difficult ; and
through him I became a frequent visitor to " La
Childebert," which deserves a detailed description,
because, though it was a familiar haunt to many
Parisians of my time with a taste for Bohemian
AN IMMORTAL CARICATURE. 5
society, I doubt whether many Englishmen, save (the
late) Mr. Blanchard Jerrold and one of the Mayhews,
ever set foot there, and even they could not have seen
it in its prime.
But before I deal with " La Childebert," I must say
a few words about Bouginier, who, contrary to my
expectations, owed his fame solely to his proboscis. He
utterly disappeared from the artistic horizon in a few
years, but his features still live in the memory of those
who knew him through a statuette in terra cotta
modelled by Dantan the younger. During the reign
of Louis-Philippe, Dantan took to that branch of art
as a relaxation from his more serious work ; he finally
abandoned it after he had made Madame Malibran
burst into tears, instead of making her laugh, as he
intended, at her own caricature. Those curious in
such matters may see Bouginier's presentment in a
medallion on the frontispiece of the Passage du Caire,
amidst the Egyptian divinities and sphinxes. As a
matter of course, the spectator asks himself why this
modern countenance should find itself in such incon-
gruous company, and he comes almost naturally to the
conclusion that Bouginier was the owner, or perhaps
the architect, of this arcade, almost exclusively tenanted
— until very recently — by lithographers, printers, etc.
The conclusion, however, would be an erroneous one.
Bouginier, as far as is known, never had any property
in Paris or elsewhere ; least of all was he vain enough
to perpetuate his own features in that manner, even if
3ie had had an opportunity, but he had not ; seeing
Ihat he was not an architect, but simply a painter, of
no great talents certainly, but, withal, modest and
sensible, and as such opposed to, or at any rate not
6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
sharing, the crazes of mediae valism, romanticism, and
other isms in which the young painters of that day
indulged, and which they thought fit to emphasize in
public and among one another by eccentricities of
costume and language, supposed to be in harmony
with the periods they had adopted for illustration.
This absence of enthusiasm one way or the other
aroused the ire of his fellow-lodgers at the " Childe-
bert," and one of them, whose pencil was more deft
at that kind of work than those of the others, executed
their vengeance, and drew Bouginier's picture on the
*' fag end " of a dead wall in the vicinity of the Church
of St. Germain-des-Pres. The success was instantaneous
and positively overwhelming, though truth compels
one to state that this was the only flash of genius that
illumined that young fellow's career. His name was
Fourreau, and one looks in vain for his name in the
biographical dictionaries or encyclopedias of artists.
Fate has even been more cruel to him than to his
model.
For the moment, however, the success, as I have
already said, was overwhelming. In less than a fort-
night there was not a single wall in Paris and its out-
skirts without a Bouginier on its surface. Though
Paris was considerably less in area than it is now,, it
wanted a Herculean effort to accomplish this. No
man, had he been endowed with as many arms as
Briareus, would have sufficed for it. Nor would it
have done to trust to more or less skilful copyists — they
might have failed to catch the likeness, which was
really an admirable one ; so the following device was
hit upon. Fourreau himself cut a number of stencil
plates in brown paper, and, provided with them, an
THE CHILDEBERTIANS ON THEIR TRAVELS. 7;
army of Childebertiaus started every night in various,
directions, Fourreau and a few undoubtedly clever
youths heading the detachments, and filling in the
blanks by hand.
Meanwhile summer had come, and with it the long-
ing among the young Tintos to breathe the purer air
of the country, to sniff the salt breezes of the ocean.
As a matter of course, they were not all ready to start
at the same time, but being determined to follow the
same route, to assemble at a common goal, the con-
tingent that was to leave a fortnight later than the
first arranged to join the others wherever they might be.
" But how ? " was the question of those who were
left behind. " Very simply indeed," was the answer ;
" we'll go by the Baniere d'ltalie. You'll have but to
look at the walls along the road, and you'll find your
waybill."
So said, so done. A fortnight after, the second
division left head-quarters and made straight for the
Barriere d'ltalie. But when outside the gates they
stood undecided. For one moment only. The next
they caught sight of a magnificent Bouginier on a wall
next to the excise office — of a Bouginier whose out-
stretched index pointed to the Fontainebleau road.
After that, all went well. As far as Marseilles their
Bouginier no more failed them than the clouds of
smoke and fire failed the Israelites in the wilderness.
At the seaport town they lost the track for a little while,
rather through their want of faith in the ingenuity
of their predecessors than through the latter's lack of
such ingenuity. They had the Mediterranean in front
of them, and even if they found a Bouginier depicted
somewhere on the shore, his outstretched index could.
8 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
only point to the restless waves ; he could do nothing-
more definite. Considerably depressed, they were
going down the Cannebiere, when they caught sight
of the features of their guiding star on a panel between
tlie windows of a shipping office. His outstretched
index did not point this time ; it was placed over a
word, and that word spelt " Malta." They took ship
as quickly as possible for the ancient habitation of the
Knights-Templars. On the walls of the Customs in the
island was Bouginier, with a scroll issuing from his
nostrils, on which was inscribed the word " Alexandria."
A similar indication met their gaze at the Pyramids,
and at last the second contingent managed to come up
with the first amidst the ruins of Thebes at the very
moment when the word " Suez " was being traced as
issuing from Bouginier's mouth.
Among the company was a young fellow of the
name of Berthier, who became subsequently an archi-
tect of some note. The Passage du Cairo, as I have
already observed, was in those days the head-quarters
of the lithographic-printing business in general, but
there was one branch which flourished more than the
rest, namely, that of lettres de faire fart* menus of
restaurants and visiting-cards. The two first-named
documents were, in common with most printed matter
intended for circulation, subject to a stamp duty, but
in the early days of the Second Empire Louis-Napo-
leon had it taken off. To mark their sense of the
benefit conferred, the lithographic firms f determined
* The "lettre de faire part " is an intimation of a birth, marriage, or
death sent to the friends, and even mere acquaintances, of a family. —
Editor.
t The lithographers were almost the first in France to form a co-
operative society, but not in the sense of the Kochdale pioneers, which
AN artists' hive. ^
io liave the arcade, which stood in sad need of repair,
restored, and Berthier was selected for the task. The
passage was originally built to commemorate Bona-
parte's victories in Egypt, and when Berthier received
the commission, he could think of no more fitting
fapade than the reproduction of a house at Karnac.
He fondly remembered his youthful excursion to the
iand of Pharaohs, and at the same time the image of
Bouginier uprose before him. That is why the pre-
sentment of the latter may be seen up to this day on
the frieze of a building in the frowsiest part of Paris.
If I have dwelt somewhat longer on Bouginier than
the importance of the subject warranted, it was mainly
to convey an idea of the spirit of mischief, of the love
of practical joking, that animated most of the inmates
of " La Childebert." As a rule their devilries were
innocent enough. The pictorial persecution of Bouginier
is about the gravest thing that could be laid to their
•charge, and the victim, like the sensible fellow he was,
rather enjoyed it than otherwise. Woe, however, to the
starched bourgeois who had been decoyed into their
lair, or even to the remonstrating comrade with a
serious turn of mind, who wished to pursue his studies
in peace ! His life was made a burden to him, for the
very building lent itself to all sorts of nocturnal
surprises and of guerilla sorties. Elsewhere, when a
man's door was shut, he might reasonably count upon
a certain amount of privacy ; the utmost his neighbours
could do was to make a noise overhead or by his side.
At the "Childebert" such privacy was out of the
dates from about the same period. The Lacrampe Association was for
supplying lithographic work. It began in the Passage du Caire with
■ten members, and in a short time numbered two hundred workmen. —
Editob.
10 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS.
question. There was not a door that held on its hinges^-
not a window that could be opened or shut at will, not
a ceiling that did not threaten constantly to crush you
beneath its weight, not a floor that was not in danger
of giving way beneath you and landing you in the-
room below, not a staircase that did not shake under
your very steps, however light they might be ; in short,
the place was a wonderful illustration of " how the rotten
may hold together," even if it be not gently handled.
The origin of the structure, as it stood then, was
wrapt in mystery. It was five or six stories high, and'
must have attained that altitude before the first
Revolution, because the owner, a Madame Legendre,
who bought it for assignats amounting in real value
to about one pound sterling, when the clergy's property
was sold by the nation, was known never to have spent
a penny upon it either at the time of the purchase or-
subsequently, until she was forced by a tenant more
ingenious or more desperate than the rest. That it
could not have been part of the abbey and adjacent
monastery built by Childebert I., who was buried there
in 558, was very certain. It is equally improbable
that the Cardinal de Bissy, who opened a street upon
the site of the erstwliile abbey in the year of Louis
XIV. 's death, would have erected so high a pile for
the mere accommodation of the pensioners of the former
monastery, at a time when high piles were the ex(;ep-
tion. Besides, the Nos. 1 and 3, known to have
been occupied by those pensioners, all of whose rooms
communicated with one another, were not more than
two stories high. In short, the original intention of
the builder of the house No. 9, yclept " La Childebert,'*^
has never been explained. The only tenant in thfr
THE POOR painters' PROVIDENCE. 11
Rue Childebert who might have thrown a light on the
subject had died before the caravansary attained its^
fame. He was more than a hundred years old, and had
married five times. His fifth wife was only eighteen
when she became Madame Chanfort, and survived him
for many, many years. She was a very worthy soul,,
a downright providence to the generally impecunious
painters, whom she used to feed at prices which even
then were ridiculously low. Three eggs, albeit fried
in grease instead of butter, for the sum of three-half-
pence, and a dinner, including wine, for sixpence, could
not have left much profit ; but Madame Chanfort always
declared that she had enough to live upon, and that
she supplied the art-students with food at cost price
because she would not be without their company. At
her death, in '57, two years before the "Childebert"
and the street of the same name disappeared, there
was a sale of her chattels, and over a hundred portraits
and sketches of her, " in her habit as she lived," came
under the hammer. To show that the various occu-
pants of " La Childebert " could do more than make
a noise and play practical jokes, I may state that not
a single one of these productions fetched less than
fifty francs — mere crayon studies ; while there were
several that sold for two hundred and three hundred
francs, and two studies in oil brought respectively
eight hundred francs and twelve hundred francs.
Nearly every one of the young men who had signed
these portraits had made a name for himself. The
latter two were signed respectively Paul Delaroche
and Tony Johannot.
Nevertheless, to those whose love of peace and
quietude was stronger than their artistic instincts-
S2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
and watchful admiration of budding genius, the
neighbourhood of " La Childebert " was a sore and
grievous trial. At times the street itself, not a very-
long or wide one, was like Pandemonium let loose ; it
was when there was an " At Home " at "La Childebert,"
^nd such functions were frequent, especially at the
beginning of the months. These gatherings, as a rule,
partook of the nature of fancy dress conversaziones ; for
-dancing, owing to the shakiness of the building, had
become out of the question, even with such dare-devils
as the tenants. "What the latter prided themselves
upon most was their strict adherence to the local colour
•of the periods they preferred to resuscitate. Unfortu-
nately for the tranquillity of the neighbourhood, they
pretended to carry out this revival in its smallest
details, not only in their artistic productions, but in
their daily lives. The actor who blacked himself all
over to play Othello was as nothing to them in his
attempted realism, because we may suppose that he
;got rid of his paint before returning to the everyday
-world. Not so the inmates of " La Childebert." They
were minstrels, or corsairs, or proud and valiant knights
from the moment they got up till the moment they
went to bed, and many of them even scorned to stretch
their weary limbs on so effeminate a contrivance as a
modern mattress, but endeavoured to keep up the
illusion by lying on a rush-bestrewn floor.
I am not sufficiently learned to trace these various
and succeeding disguises to their literary and theatrical
causes, for it was generally a new book or a new play
that set the ball rolling in a certain direction ; nor can
I vouch for the chronological accuracy and complete-
«ness of my record in that respect, but I remember
THE CHILDEBEKTIANS AT HOME. 1^
some phases of that ever-shifting masquerade. When
I was a very little boy, I was struck more than once
with the sight of young men parading the streets in
doublets, trunk hose, their flowing looks adorned with
velvet caps and birds' wings, their loins girded with
short swords. And yet it was not carnival-time. No
one seemed to take particular notice of them ; the
Parisians by that time had probably got used to their
vagaries. Those competent in such matters have
since told me that the " get-up " was inspired by " La
Gaule Poetique" of M. de Marchangy, the novels of
M. d'Arlincourt, and the kindred stilted literature that
characterized the beginning of the Restoration. Both
these gentlemen, from their very hatred of the Greeks
and Romans of the first Empire, created heroes of
fiction still more ridiculous than the latter, just as
Metternich, through his weariness of the word
•* fraternity," said that if he had a brother he would
call him "cousin." A few years later, the first)
translation of Byron's works produced its effect ; and
then came Defauconpret, with his very creditable
French versions of Walter Scott. The influence of
Paul Delaroche and his co-champions of the cause
of romanticism, the revolution of July, the dramas of
Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo, all added their
quota to the prevailing confusion in the matter of
style and period, and early in the forties there were
at the " Childebert " several camps, fraternizing in
everything save in their dress and speech, which wera
the visible and audible manifestation of their individual
predilection for certain periods of history. For instance;^
it was no uncommon thing to hear the son of a con-
cierge, whose real or fancied vocation had made him
14 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
embrace the artistic profession, swear by " the faith
of his ancestors," while the impoverished scion of a
noble house replied by calling him "a bloated
reminiscence of a feudal and superstitious age."
At the conversaziones which I mentioned just now,
the guests of the inmates of " La Childebert " not only
managed to out-Herod Herod in diction and attire,
but, to heighten illusion still further, adopted as far
a,s possible the mode of conveyance supposed to have
been employed by their prototypes. The classicists,
and those still addicted to the illustration of Greek
and Koman mythology, though nominally in the
minority at the " Childebert " itself, were, as a rule,
most successful in those attempts. The ass that
had borne Silenus, the steeds that had drawn the
chariot of the triumphant Roman warrior, the she-goat
that was supposed to have suckled Jupiter, were as
familiar to the inhabitants of the Rue Childebert as
the cats and mongrels of their own households. The
obstructions caused by the former no longer aroused
their ire ; but when, one evening, Romulus and Remus
made their appearance, accompanied by the legendary
she-wolf, thej went mad with terror. The panic was
at its height when, with an utter disregard of mytho-
logical tradition, Hercules walked up the street, leading
the Nemsean lion. Then the aid of the police was
invoked; but neither the police nor the national
guards, who came after them, dared to tackle the
animals, though they might have done so safely,
because the supposed wolf was a great dane, and the
lion a mastiff, but so marvellously padded and painted
as to deceive any but the most practised eye. The
culprits, however, did not reveal the secret until they
THE PROPRIETRESS OF "LA CHILDEBERT." 15
-were at the commissary of police's oflSce, enjoying the
magnificent treat of setting the whole of the neighbour-
hood in an uproar on their journey thither, and of
frightening that official on their arrival.
In fact, long before I knew them, the inmates of the
" Childebert " had become a positive scourge to the
neighbourhood, while the structure itself threatened
ruin to everything around it. Madame Legendre
absolutely refused to do any repairs. She did not
deny that she had bought the place cheap, but she
pointed out at the same time that the rents she
charged were more than modest, and that eight times
but of ten she did not get them. In the beginning
of her ownership she had employed a male concierge,
to prevent, as it were, the wholesale flitting which was
sure to follow a more strenuous application for arrears
upon which she ventured now and then in those days.
That was towards the end of the Empire, when the
disciples of David had been reduced to a minority in
the place by those of Lethiere, who sounded the first
note of revolt against the unconditional classicism of
the illustrious member of the Convention. If all the
disciples of the Creole painter had not his genius,
most of them had his courage and readiness to draw
the sword on the smallest provocation,* and the various
•Cerberi employed by Madame Legendre to enforce
her claims had to fly one after another. The rumour of
the danger of the situation had spread, and at last
* Guillaurae Letliibre, whose real name was Guillon, was a native
•of Guadeloupe. He fought and seriously woanded several officers
because the latter had objected to "a mere dauber wearing mous-
taciies." He was obliged to leave Paris, but, thanks to the protection
of Lucien Bonaparte, was appointed Director of the French Academie
at Rome. — Editob.
16 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Madame Legendre could find no man to fill it, except
on monetary conditions with which she would not —
perhaps could not — comply. From that day forth
she employed a woman, who was safe, because she had
been told to let "lawless impecuniosity" take its
course, and it was recorded that pecuniarily the pro-
prietress was the better off for this change of tactics,
I am willing to repeat that record, which, if true,
did credit to the head of the landlady and the heart*
of her tenants, but am compelled to supplement it by
a different version. When I saw the " Childebert " in-
'37 or '38, no man in his senses would have paid rent
for any one room in it on the two top stories ; he
might as well have lived in the streets. It was an.
absolute case of the bottomless sedan chair in which
two of his fellow-porters put Pat ; "but for the honour
of the thing, he might have walked." Consequently
the tenants there were rarely harassed for their rent ;
if they paid it at all, it was so much unexpected gain .
It happened, however, that now and then by mistake
a youngster was put there who had scruples about
discharging his liabilities in that respect ; and one of
these was Emile Lapierre, who subsequently became
a landscape-painter of note. One night, after he had
taken up his quarters there, the floodgates of heaven
opened over Paris. Lapierre woke up amidst a deluge.
I need not say that there were no bells at the "Chil-
debert ; " nevertheless there was no fear of dying
unattended, provided one could shout, for there was
always a party turning night into day, or hailing the
smiling morn before turning in. Lapierre's shouts
found a ready echo, and in a few moments the old-
concierge was on the spot.
A REVOLT AT "LA CHILDEBERT." 17
" Go and fetch a boat — go and fetch a boat !" yelled
Lapierre. " I am drowning ! " yelled Lapierre.
" There are none in the quarter,'* replied the old
woman innocently, thinking he was in earnest.
" Then go and fetch Madame Legendre, to show her
the pond she is letting me instead of the room for
which I pay her."
"Madame would not come, not even for you,
monsieur, who are the only one punctual with your
rent; besides, if she did come, she would have no
repairs done."
" Oh, she'll have no repairs done ! We'll soon find
out I think I'll make her," screamed Lapierre ; and
he kept his word.
It was the only instance of Madame Legendre
having had to capitulate, and I have alluded to it
before ; it remains for me to tell how it was done.
Lapierre, contrary to the precept, allowed the sun to
go down upon his wrath, in the hope perhaps of induc-
ing Madame Legendre to change her oft-announced
decision of doing no repairs ; but he rose betimes next
morning, and when there was no sign of workmen,
he proceeded to carry out his plan. The floors of the
" Childebert " were made of brick, and he simply
removed three or four squares from his, after which
he went downstairs and recruited half a dozen water-
carriers, and bade them empty their full pails into the
opening he had made. I shall probably have some
remarks to make elsewhere about the water-supply of
Paris ; at present it is sufficient to say that in those
days there was not a single house in the capital
which was not dependent upon those Auvergnats who
carried the commodity round in barrels on carts drawn
VOL. L C
18 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
by hand or horse. These gentlemen, though astonished
at the strange task required of them, consented. In
less than ten minutes there was a string of water-carts
stationed in the Rue Childebert, and in a few minutes
more the lower stories were simply flooded. Aime
Millet, the sculptor, whose room was situated im-
mediately beneath that of Lapierre, was the first
victim. It was he who gave the alarm, but, as a matter
of course, in the twinkling of an eye there were one
or two heads at every window, and though very early,
there was a stampede of very primitively clad models(?)
into the street, shouting and yelling out at the top of
their voices. Outside no one seemed to know exactly
what had occurred ; the prevailing impression was that
the place was on fire. Then Madame Legendre was sent
for in hot haste. By that time the truth had become
known in the house. The alarm had subsided, but not
the noise. When the report of Madame Legendre's
coming got wind, a deputation went to the entrance
of the street to welcome her. It was provided with
all sorts of instruments except musical ones, and the
old dame was conducted in state to Millet's room.
The cause of the mischief was soon ascertained, for
the water-carriers were still at work. The police had
refused to interfere ; in reality, they would not have
been sorry to see the building come down with a crash,
for it was as great a source of annoyance to them as
to the peaceful burghers they were supposed to protect.
A move was made to the room above, where Lapierre —
without a stitch of clothing — stood directing the
operations.
" What are you doing, Monsieur Lapierre ? "
screeched Madame Legendre.
THE PROPRIETRESS MAKES A CONCESSION. 19
" 1 am taking a bath, madame ; it is very warm. You
gave me one against my will the night before last ;
and lest I should be accused of selfishness, I am letting
my neighbours partake of the pleasure."
That is how Madame Legendre was compelled to
repair the roof of " La Childebert."
Such was the company amidst which I was intro-
duced by the son of my old tutor. Many years have
passed since then, during which I have been thrown
into the society of the great and powerful ones of this
world, rather through the force of circumstances than
owing to my own merits, but I have looked in vain
for the honest friendships, the disinterested actions,
the genuine enthusiasm for their art, underlying
their devilry, of which these young men were
capable. The bourgeois vices, in the guise of civic
and domestic virtues, entered the souls of Frenchmen
early in the reign of Louis-Philippe, and have been
gnawing since, with ever-increasing force, like a cancer,
at everything that was noble and worthy of admiration
in a nation. But those vices never found their way
to the hearts of the inmates of " La Childebert " while
they were there, and rarely in after-life. Many attained
world-wide reputations ; few gathered riches, even when
they were as frugal as the best among them — Eugene
Delacroix.
To have known these young men was absolutely a
liberal education. To the Podsnap and Philistine of
no matter what nationality, it seems a sad thing to
have no thought for to-morrow. And these youngsters
had not even a thought for the day. Their thoughts
were for the future, when the world mayhap would ring
with their names ; but their physical or mental hearing
20 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
never strained for the ring of money. They were
improvident creatures, to be sure ; but how much more
lovable than the young painters of the present period,
whose ideal is a big balance at their bankers ; who
would rather have their names inscribed on the
registers of the public debt than in the golden book
of art ; whose dreamt-of Eden is a bijou villa in the
Pare Monceaux or in the Avenue Villiers ; whose
providence is the richard, the parvenu, the wealthy
upstart, whose features they perpetuate, regardless
of the perpetuation of their own budding fame.
When I began to jot down these notes, I made up
my mind to eschew comparisons and moralizing ; I find
I have unconsciously done both, but will endeavour not
to offend again. Still, I cannot help observing how
the mere " moneyed nobody " rushes nowadays to the
eminent painter to have his lineaments reproduced,
when a guinea photograph would serve his purpose
just as well for " family use ; '•' for I take it that no one,
besides his relations and friends, cares or will care to
gaze upon his features. And yet our annual picture
exhibitions are crowded with the portraits of these
nonentities. They advertise themselves through the
painters that transfer them to canvas, and the latter
are content to pocket heavy fees, like the advertising
agents they are. I am certain that neither Holbein,
Kubens, Van Dyck, Hals, nor Rembrandt would have
lent themselves to such transactions. When they, or a
Reynolds, a Lawrence, a Gainsborough, conferred the
honour of their brush upon some one, it was because
he or she was already distinguished from his or her
fellow-creatures by beauty, social position, talents,
genius, or birth ; not because he or she wanted to be,
ART PATRONS AT "LA CHILDEBERT." 21
or, in default of such distinction, wanted to attract the
public notice at all costs. That, I fancy, was the way
in which painters of other days looked upon the thing.
I know it was the way in which the young fellows at
the " Childebert " did ; and woe to their comrade who
ventured to apply in art the principle of international
maritime law, that " le pavilion couvre la marchandise "
(the flag covers the cargo). He was scouted and jeered
at, and, moreover, rarely allowed to reap the pecuniary
benefit of his artistic abasement. Hence the " patron
for a portrait " seldom found his way to " La Childe-
bert." When he did, the whole of the place conspired
to make his life and that of his would-be protege a
misery.
To enumerate all the devices resorted to to make
the sittings abortive, to " distort the features that had
donned the bland smile of placid contentment " with
the paralyzing fear of some impending catastrophe,
would be impossible ; the mention of a few must
suflBce. That most frequently employed, and com-
paratively easy of execution, was the setting alight of
damp straw ; the dense smoke penetrated every nook
and cranny of the crazy building, and the sitter, mad
with fright, rushed away. The chances were a hun-
dred to one against his ever returning. Another was
the intrusion of a male model offering his services
as a Saint-Jerome, or a female one offering hers as
Godiva ; for, curious to relate, the devotion of the wife
of Leofric of Murcia was a favourite subject with the
Childebertians. As a matter of course, the applicants
were in the costume, or rather lack of costume, appro-
priate to the character. The strait-laced bourgeois
or bourgeoise was shocked, and did not repeat the
22 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
visit. The cry that there was a mad dog in the house
was a common one on those occasions ; and at last the
would-be portrait-painters had to give in, and a big
placard appeared on the frontispiece : " Le commerce
des portraits a ete cede aux directeur et membres de
I'Ecole des Beaux-Arts."
The most curious thing in connection with the
" Childebert " was that, though the place was inex-
pressibly ill kept, it escaped the most terrible visita-
tions of the cholera. I prefer not to enter into details
of the absolute disregard of all sanitary conditions,
but in warm weather the building became positively
uninhabitable. Long before the unsavoury spectacle
of " learned fleas " became a feature of the suburban
fairs, Emile Signol, who is best known as a painter of
religious subjects, had trained a company of performers
of a different kind of nocturnal pests. He averred in
his opening lecture that their ingenuity was too great
to remain unknown, and cited anecdotes fully proving
his words. Certain is it that they were the only
enemies before which the combined forces of the
Childebertians proved powerless. But even under
such trying circumstances the latter never lost their
buoyant spirits, and their retreats en masse were effected
in a manner the reports of which set the whole of
Paris in a roar. One Sunday morning, the faithful
worshippers, going to matins at the Church of St.
Germain-des-Pres, found the square occupied by a
troop of Bedouins, wrapt in their burnouses, and sleep-
ing the sleep of the just. Some had squatted in
corners, calmly smoking their chibouks. This was in
the days of the Algerian campaign, and the rumour
spread like wildfire that a party of Arab prisoners of
A NEW CONVERSION SOCIETY. 23
war were bivouacked round the church, where a special
service would be given in the afternoon as the first step
to their conversion to Christianity. It being Sunday,
the whole of Paris rushed to the spot. The Bedouins
had, however, disappeared, but a collection was made
in their behalf by several demure-looking young men.
The Parisians gave liberally. That night, and two or
three nights after, the nocturnal pests' occupation was
gone, for the " Childebert " was lighted a giorno from
basement to roof, and the Childebertians held high
festival. The inhabitants of the streets adjacent to
the Eue Childebert spent as many sleepless nights,
though their houses were perfectly wholesome and
clean.
I had the honour to be a frequent guest at those
gatherings, but I feel that a detailed description of
them is beyond my powers. I have already said that
the craziness of the structure would have rendered
extremely dangerous any combined display of chore-
graphic art, as practised by the Childebertians and
their friends, male and female, at the neighbouring
Grande-Chaumiere ; it did, however, not prevent a lady
or gentleman of the company from performing a pas
seul now and then. This, it must be remembered, was
the pre-Eigolbochian period, before Chieard with his
chahut had been ousted from his exalted position by
the more elegant and graceful evolutions of the
originator of the modern cancan, the famous Brididi ;
when the Faubourg du Temple, the Bal du Grand
Saint-Martin, and " the descent of the Courtille "
were patronized by the Paris jeunesse doree, and in
their halcyon days, when the hahitues of the establish-
ment of Le Pere Lahire considered it their greatest
24) AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
glory to imitate as closely as possible the baccha-
nalian gyrations of the choregraphic autocrat on the
other side of the Seine. No mere description could
do justice to these gyrations ; only a draughtsman of the
highest skill could convey an adequate idea of them.
But, as a rule, the soirees at the " Childebert " were
not conspicuous for such displays; their programme
was a more ambitious one from an intellectual point of
view, albeit that the programme was rarely, if ever,
carried out. This failure of the prearranged proceed-
ings mainly arose from the disinclination or inability
of the fairer portion of the company to play the
passive part of listeners and spectators during the
recital of an unpublished poem of perhaps a thousand
lines or so, though the reciter was no less a personage
than the author. In vain did the less frivolous and
male part of the audience claim " silence for the
minstrel ; " the interrupters could conceive no minstrel
without a guitar or some kindred instrument, least of
all a minstrel who merely spoke his words, and the
feast of reason and flow of soul came generally to an
abrupt end by the rising of a damsel more outspoken
still than hei companions, who proposed an adjourn-
ment to one of the adjacent taverns, or to the not far
distant " Grande-Chaumiere," " si on continue a nous
assommer avec des vers." The threat invariably
produced its effect. The " minstrel " was politely
requested to " shut up," and Beranger, Desaugiers, or
even M. Scribe, took the place of the Victor Hugo in
embryo until the small hours of the morning; the
departure of the guests being witnessed by the night-
capped inhabitants of the Rue Childebert from their
windows, amidst the comforting reflections that for
BOBINO AND ITS HABITUES. 25
another three weeks or so there would be peace in the
festive halls of that " accursed buildinp^."
My frequent visits to "La Childebert" had developed
a taste for the Bohemian attractions of the Quartier-
Latin. I was not twenty, and though I caught fre-
quent glimpses at home of some of the eminent men
with whom a few years later I lived on terms of friend-
ship, I could not aspire to their society then. It is
doubtful whether I would have done so if I could. I
preferred tlie Theatre Bobino to the Opera and the
Comedie-Franpaise ; the Grande-Chaumiere — or the
Ohauraiere, as it was simply called — to the most
brilliantly lighted and decorated ballroom ; a stroll
with a couple of young students in the gardens of the
Luxembourg to a carriage- drive in the Bois de Bou-
logne ; a dinner for three francs at Magny's, in the Rue
Contrescarpe-Dauphine, or even one for twenty-two
sous at Viot's or Blery's, to the most sumptuous repast
at the Cafe Riche or the Cafe de Paris. I preferred the
buttered rolls and the bowl of milk at the Boulangerie
Cretaine, in the Rue Dauphine, to the best suppers at
the Cafe Anglais, whither I had been taken once or
twice during the Carnival — in short, I was very young
and very foolish ; since then I have often wished that,
at the risk of remaining very foolish for evermore, 1
could have prolonged my youth for another score of
years.
For once in a way I have no need to be ashamed
of my want of memory. I could not give an account
of a single piece I saw during those two or three years
at Bobino, but 1 am certain that not one of the
companions of my youth could. It is not because the
lapse of time has dimmed the recollection of the plots,
26 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
but because there were no plots, or at any rate none
that we could understand, and I doubt very much
whether the actors and actresses were more enlightened
in that respect than the audience. The pieces were
vaudevilles, most of them, and it was suflScient for us
to join in the choruses of the songs, with, which they
were plentifully interlarded. As for the dialogue, it
might have been sparkling with wit and epigram ; it
was nearly always drowned by interpolations from
one side of the house or the other. When the tumult
became too great, the curtain was simply lowered,
to be almost immediately raised, '* discovering " the
manager — in his dressing-gown. He seemed prouder
of that piece of attire than the more modern one would
be of the most faultless evening dress. He never
appealed to us by invoking the laws of politeness ; he
never threatened to have the house cleared. He simply
pointed out to us that the police vvould inevitably
close the place at the request of the inhabitants of the
Bue de Madame if tlie noise rose above a certain pitch,
and disturbed their peaceful evening hours, spent in
the bosom of their families; which remark was always
followed by the audience intoning as one man Gretry's
" Oil peut-on etre mieux qu'au sein de sa famille ? "
the orchestra — such an orchestra! — playing the accom-
paniment, and the manager himself beating time.
Then he went on. " Yes, messieurs et mesdames, we
are here en famille also, as much en famille as at the
Grande-Chaumiere ; and has not M. Lahire obtained
from the Government the permission de faire sa police
tout seul ! After all, he is providing exercise for your
muscles ; I am providing food for your brain."
The speech was a stereotyped one — we all knew it by
COLLEGIANS AND THEIR DRESS. 27
heart ; it invariably produced its effect in keeping us
comparatively quiet for the rest of the evening, unless
a bourgeois happened to come in. Then the uproar
became uncontrollable ; no managerial speech could
quell it until the intruder had left the theatre.
By a bourgeois was meant a man who wore broad-
cloth and a top hat, but especially the latter. In fact,
that head-gear was rarely seen within the inner pre-
cincts of the Quartier-Latin, even during the daytime,
except on the head of a professor, or on Thursdays
when the collegians — the term " lyceen " was not in-
vented — were taken for their weekly outing. The
semi-military dress of the present time had not been
thought of then. The collegian wore a top hat, like
our Eton boys, a white necktie, a kind of black quaker
coat with a stand-up collar, a very dark blue waistcoat
and trousers, low shoes, and blue woollen stockings. In
the summer, some of them, especially those of the
College Rollin, had a waistcoat and trousers of a lighter
texture, and drab instead of blue. They were virtually
prisoners within the walls of the college all the week,
for in their Thursday promenades they were little more
than prisoners taking exercise under the supervision of
their gaolers. They were allowed to leave on alternate
Sundays, provided they had parents, relations, or
friends in Paris, who could come themselves or send
their servants to fetch them in the morning and take
them back at night. The rule applied to all, whether
they were nine or double that number of years ; it
prevails even now. I only set foot in a French college
of those days twice to see a young friend of mine, and
I thanked my stars that four or five years of that
existence had been spared to me. The food and the
28 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
table appointments, the bedrooms — they were more
like cells with their barred windows — would have been
declined by the meanest English servant, certainly by
the meanest French one. I have never met with a
Frenchman who looks back with fond remembrance
on his school-days.
The evening wns generally wound up with a supper
at Dagneaux's, Piuson's, or at the rotisseuse — that is,
if the evening happened to fall within the first ten
days of the month; afterwards the entertainment
nearly always consisted of a meat-pie, bought at one
of the charcutiers', and washed down with the bottles
of wine purchased at the Horel de I'Empereur Joseph
IL, at the south-eastern angle of the Kue de Tournon,
where it stands still. The legend ran that the brother
of Marie Antoinette had stayed there while on a visit
to Paris, but it is scarcely likely that he would have
done so while his sister was within a step of the throne
of France ; nevertheless the Count von Falkenstein —
which was the name he adopted when travelling in-
cognito — was somewhat of a philosopher. Did not
he once pay a visit to Jean-Jacques Rousseau without
having apprised him of his call? Jean-Jacques was
copying music as the door opened to let in the visitor,
and felt flattered enough, we may be sure; not so
Buffon, whom Joseph surprised under similar circum-
stances, and who could never forgive himself for having
been caught in his dressing-gown — he who never sat
down to work except in lace ruffles and frill.
If I have been unwittingly betrayed into a semi-
historical disquisition, it is because almost every step
in that quarter gave rise to one, even amongst those
light-hearted companions of mine, to the great as-
A CELEBRATED FORTUNE-TELLER. 29
tonishment of the fairer portion of the company.
They only took an interest in the biography of one
of the inhabitants of the street, whether past or
present, and that was in the biography of Mdlle. Lenor-
mand, a well-known fortune-teller, who lived at No. 5.
They had heard that the old woman, who had been
the mistress of Hebert of " Pere Duchesne " fame, had,
during the First Revolution, predicted to Josephine
de Beauharnais that she should be empress, as some
gipsy at Grenada predicted a similar elevation to
Eugenie de Montijo many years afterwards. Mdlle.
Lenormand had been imprisoned after Hebert's death,
but the moment Napoleon became first consul she
was liberated, and frequently sent for to the Tjuxem-
bourg, which is but a stone's throw from the Rue de
Tournon. As a matter of course her fame spread, and
she made a great deal of money during the first
empire. Ignorant as they were of history, the
sprightly grisettes of our days had heard of that; their
great ambition was to get the five francs that would
open the door of Mdlle. Lenormand's to them, Mdlle.
Lenormand died about the year '4.3. Jules Janin,
who lived in the same street, in the house formerly
inhabited by Theroigne de Mericourt, went to the
fortune-teller's funeral. The five francs so often
claimed by the etudiante, so rarely forthcoming from
the pockets of her admirer, was an important sum
in those days among the youth of the Quartier-Latin.
There were few whose allowance exceeded two hundred
francs per month. A great many had to do with less.
Those who were in receipt of five hundred francs —
perhaps not two score among the whole number — were
scarcely considered as belonging to the fraternity.
30 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARTS.
They were called *' ultrapontins," to distinj^uish them
from those wlio from one year's end to another never
crossed the river, except perhaps to go to one of the
theatres, because tliere was not much to be seen at
the Odeon during the thirties. With Harel's migra-
tion to the Porte St. Martin, the glory of the second
Theatre-Franpais had departed, and it was not until
'41 that Lireux managed to revive some of its
ancient fame. By that time I had ceased to go to
the Quartier-Latin, but Lireux was a familiar figure
at the Cafe Riche and at the divan of the Rue Le
Peletier ; he dined now and then at the Cafe de Paris.
So we made it a point to attend every one of his first
nights, notwithstanding the warnings in verse and in
prose of every wit of Paris, Theophile Gautier in-
cluded, who had written : —
" On a fait Ik dessus mille plaisanteriea,
Je le sais ; il poussait de I'berbe aux galeries ;
Trente-six varie'te's de champignons malsains
Dans les loges tigraient la mousse des coussins."
It was impossible to say anything very spiteful of
a theatre which had remained almost empty during
a gratuitous performance on the king's birthday;
consequently while I frequented the Quartier-Latin
the students gave it a wide berth. When they were
not disporting themselves at Bobino, they were at the
Chaumiere, and not in the evening only. Notwith-
standing the enthusiastic and glowing descriptions of it
that have appeared in later days, the place was simple
enough. There was a primitive shooting-gallery, a
skittle-alley, and so forth, and it was open all day.
The students, after having attended the lectures and
taken a stroll in the gardens of the Luxembourg,
repaired to the Chaumiere, where, in fine weather,
RURAL EXCURSIONS. 31
they were sure to find their "lady-loves" sitting at
work demurely under the trees. The refreshments
were cheap, and one spent one's time until the dinner
hour, chatting, singing, or strolling about. The stu-
dents were very clannish, and invariably remained in
their own sets at the Chauraiere. There were tables
exclusively occupied by Bourguignons, Angevins, etc.
In fact, life was altogether much simpler and more
individual than it became later on.
One of our great treats was an excursion to the
establishment of Le Pere Bonvin, where the student
of to-day would not condescend to sit down, albeit
that the food he gets in more showy places is not
half as good and three times as dear. Le Pere
Bonvin was popularly supposed to be in the country,
though it was not more than a mile from the
Barriere Montparnasse. The "country" was repre-
sented by one or two large but straggling plots of
erstwhile grazing-land, but at that time dotted with
chalk-pits, tumble-down, wooden shanties, etc. Such
trees as the tract of "country" could boast were on
the demesne of Pere Bonvin, but they evidently felt
out of their element, and looked the reverse of
flourishing. The house of Pere Bonvin was scarcely
distinguished in colour and rickettiness from the
neighbouring constructions, but it was built of stone,
and had two stories. The fare was homely and
genuine, the latter quality being no small recom-
mendation in an establishment where the prolific
" bunny " was the usual plat de resistance. For sophis-
tication, where the rabbit was concerned, was part of
the suburban traiteur's creed from time immemorial,
and the fact of the former's head being visible in the
32 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
dish was no guarantee as to that and the body by
its side having formed one whole in the flesh. The
ubiquitous collector of rags and bottles and rabbits'
skins was always anxiously inquiring for their heads
also, and the natural conclusion was that, thanks to
the latter, stewed grimalkin passed muster as gibe-
lotte. At Pere Bonvin's do such suspicion could be
entertained for one moment ; the visitor was admitted
to inspect his dinner while alive. Pere Bonvin was
essentially an honest man, and a character in his way.
During the daytime he exercised the functions of
garde-champetre; at night he became the restaurateur.
In those days both his sons, Franpois and Leon, were
still at home, but the former had apparently already
made up his mind not to follow in his sire's footsteps.
He was a compositor by trade, but the walls of the
various rooms showed plainly enough that he did not
aim at the fame of an Aldine or an Elzevir, but at
that of a Jan Steen or a Gerard Dow. He has fully
maintained the promise given then. His pictures
rank high in the modern French school; there are
few of his contemporaries who have so thoroughly
caught the spirit of the Dutch masters. Leon was
a mere lad, but a good many among the habitues of
Pere Bonvin predicted a more glorious career for him
than for his brother. The word " heaven-born musi-
cian" has been often misapplied; in Leon's instance
it was fully justified. The predictions, however, were
not realized. Whether from lack of confidence in his
own powers, or deterred by the never-ceasing remon-
strances of his father, Leon, unlike Franpois, did not
strike out for himself, but continued to assist in the
business, only turning to his harmonium in his spare
PfeRE bonvin's, 33
time, or towards the end of the evening, when all
distinction between guests and hosts ceased to exist,
and the whole made a very happy family. He married
early. I lost sight of him altogether, until about
'64 I heard of his tragic end. He had committed
suicide.
VOL. T. 1>
34' AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTER II.
My introduction to the celebrities of the day — The Cafe de Paris —
The old Prince Demidoff — The old man's maniei — His sons — The
furniture and attendance at the Cafe de Paris — Its high prices —
A mot of Alfred de Musset — The cuisine — A rebuke of the
proprietor to Balzac — A version by one of his predecessors of the
cause of Vatel's suicide — Some of the habitues — Their intercourse
with the attendants — Their courteous behaviour towards one
another — Le vcau h la casserole — What Alfred de Musset,
Balzac, and Alexandre Dumas thought of it — A silhouette of
Alfred de Musset — His brother Paul on his election as a member
of the Academic — A silhouette of Balzac, between sunset and
sunrise — A curious action against the publisliers of an almanack
— A full-length portrait of Balzac — His pecuniary embarrass-
ments — His visions of wealtli and speculations — His constant
neglect of his duties as a National Guard — His troubles in con-
sequence thereof — L'Hotel des Haricots — Some of his fellow-
prisoners — Adam, the composer of " Le Postilion de Lonjumeau "
— Eugene Sue ; his portrait — His dandyism — The origin of the
Paris Jockey Club — Eugene Sue becomes a member — The success
of " Les Mysteres de Paris " — The origin of " Le Juif-Errant " —
Sue makes himself objectionable to the members of the Jockey
Club — His name struck off the list — His decline and disappear-
ance.
If these notes are ever published, the reader will
gather from the foregoing that, unlike many English-
men brought up in Paris, I was allowed from a very
early age to mix with all sorts and conditions of men.
As I intend to say as little as possible about myself,
there is no necessity to reveal the reason of this early
emancipation from all restraint, which resulted in my
being on familiar terms with a great many celebrities
before I had reached my twenty-first year. I had no
claim on their goodwill beyond my admiration of their
THE CAF6 DE PARIS. 3S
talents and the fact of being decently connected. The
constant companion of my youth was hand and glove
with some of the highest in the land, and, if the truth
must be told, with a good many of the lowest; but
the man who was seated at the table of Lord Palmer-
ston at the Cafe de Paris at 8 p.m., could afford de
3*encanailler at 2 a.m. next morning without jeopar-
dizing his social status.
The Cafe de Paris in those days was probably not
•only the best restaurant in Paris, but the best in
Europe. Compared to the " Freres Provenpaux "
Vefour and Very, the Cafe de Paris was young ; it
■was only opened on July 15, 1822, in the vast suite
of apartments at the corner of the Eue Taitbout and
Boulevard de Italiens, formerly occupied by Prince
Demidoff, whose grandson was a prominent figure in
the society of the Second Empire, and whom I knew
personally. The grandfather died before I was born,
or, at any rate, when I was very young; but his
descendant often told me about him and his two
sons, Paul and Anatole, both of whom, in addition
to his vast wealth, inherited a good many of his
eccentricities. The old man, like many Russian
grand seigneurs, was never so happy as when he
<50uld turn his back upon his own country. He
inhabited Paris and Florence in turns. In the latter
place he kept in his pay a company of French
actors, who were lodged in a magnificent mansion
near to his own, and who enacted comedies, vaude-
villes, and comic operas. The London playgoer may
remember a piece in which the celebrated Ravel made
a great sensation ; it was entitled " Les Folies Dra-
matiques," and was founded upon the mania of the
S6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
old man. For he was old before his time and racked
with gout, scarcely able to set his feet to the ground.
He had to be wheeled in a chair to his entertainments
and theatre, and often fell into a dead faint in the
middle of the performance or during the dinner. " It
made no difference to his guests," said his grandson ;
" they wheeled him out as they had wheeled him in,
and the play or repast went on as if nothing had
happened." In fact, it would seem that the prince
would have been very angry if they had acted other-
wise, for his motto was that, next to enjoying himself,
there was nothing so comfortable as to see others do
so. Faithful to this principle, he always kept some
one near, whose mission it was to enjoy himself at his
expense. He was under no obligation whatsoever,
except to give an account of his amusements, most
frequently in the dead of the night, when he got
home, because the old prince suffered from insomnia ;
he would have given the whole of his vast possessions
for six hours' unbroken slumber.
I have an idea that the three generations of these
Demidoffs were as mad as March hares, though I am
bound to say, at the same time, that the form this
madness took hurt no one. Personally, I only knew
Prince Anatole, the second son of the old man, and
Paul, the latter's nephew. Paul's father, of the same
name, died almost immediately after his son's birth.
He had a mania for travelling, and rarely stayed in
the same spot for forty-eight hours. He was always
accompanied by a numerous suite and preceded by
a couple of couriers, who, nine times out of ten, had
orders to engage every room in the hotel for him.
Being very rich and as lavish as he was wealthy, few
A RUSSIAN GRAND SEIGNEUR. 37
hotel proprietors scrupled to turn out the whole of
their guests at his steward's bidding and at a moment's
notice. Of course, people refused to put up with such
cavalier treatment; but as remonstrance was of no
avail, they often brought actions for damages, which
they invariably gained, and were promptly settled by
Boniface, who merely added them to Prince Paul's
bill. The most comical part of the business, however,
was that the prince as often as not changed his mind
on arriving at the hotel, and, without as much as
alighting, continued his journey. The bill was never
disputed. Another of his mauias was that his wife
should wash her hands each time she touched a metal
object. For a while Princess Demidoff humoured
her husband, but she found this so terribly irksome
that she at last decided to wear gloves, and continued
to do so long after her widowhood.
It must be obvious to the reader that this digression
has little or no raison d'etre, even in notes that do not
profess to tell a succinct story ; but my purpose was
to a certain extent to vindicate the character of
one of the most charming women of her time, who
had the misfortune to marry what was undoubtedly
the most eccentric member of the family. I am
referring to Princess Anatole DemidofF, nee Bonaparte,
the daughter of Jerome, and the sister of Plon-Plon.
To return to the Cafe de Paris and its habitues.
First of all, the place itself was unlike any other res-
taurant of that day, even unlike its neighbour and rival,
the Cafe Hardi, at the corner of the Kue LafiStte, on
the site of the present Maison d'Or. There was no
undue display of white and gold ; and " the epicure
was not constantly reminded that, when in the act of
88 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
eating, he was not much superior to the rest of
humanity," as Lord Palmerston put it when com-
menting upon the welcome absence of mirrors. The
rooms might have been transformed at a moment's
notice into private apartments for a very fastidious,
refined family; for, in addition to the tasteful and
costly furniture, it was the only establishment of its
kind in Paris that was carpeted throughout, instead of
having" merely sanded or even polished floors, as was
the case even in some of the best Paris restaurants as
late as five and six years ago (I mean in the seventies)
— Bignon, the Cafe Foy, and the Lion d'Or, in the
Rue du Helder, excepted. The attendance was in
every respect in thorough keeping with the grand air
of the place, and, albeit that neither of the three or
four succeeding proprietors made a fortune, or any-
thing approaching it, was never relaxed.
On looking over these notes, I am afraid that the
last paragraph will be intelligible only to a small
section of my readers, consequently I venture to
explain. Improved communication has brought to
Paris during the third quarter of the century a great
many Englishmen who, not being very familiar either
with French or with French customs in their better
aspect, have come to look upon the stir and bustle of
the ordinary Paris restaurant, upon the somewhat free-
and-easy behaviour of the waiters, upon their eccen-
tricities of diction, upon their often successful attempts
at " swelling " the total of the dinner-bill as so much
matter of course. The abbreviated nomenclature the
waiter employs in recapitulating the bill of fare to
the patron is regarded by him as merely a skilful
handling of the tongue by the native ; the chances are
A DISSERTATION ON RESTAURANTS. 39
ten to one in favour of the patron trying to imitate
the same in his orders to the attendant, and deriving
a certain pride from being successful. The stir and
bustle is attributed to the more lively temperament
of our neighbours, the free-and-easy behaviour as a wish
on the waiter's part to smooth the linguistically thorny
path of the benighted foreigner, the attempt to multiply
items as an irrepressible manifestation of French greed.
Wherever these things occur, nowadays, the patron
may be certain that he is " in the wrong shop ; " but
in the days of which I treat, the wrong shop was legion,
especially as far as the foreigner was concerned ; the
Cafe de Paris and the Cafe Hardi were the notable
exceptions. Truly, as Alfred de Musset said of the
former, " you could not open its door for less than
fifteen francs ; '* in other words, the prices charged
were very high ; but they were the same for the repre-
sentatives of the nations that conquered as for those
who were vanquished at Waterloo. It would be more
correct to say that the 'personnel of the Cafe, from the
proprietor and manager downward, were utterly
oblivious of such distinctions of nationality. Every
one who honoured the establishment was considered
by them a grand seigneur^ for whom nothing could be
too good. I remember one day in '45 or '46 — for M.
Martin Guepet was at the head of affairs then — Balzac
announcing the advent of a Eussian friend, and asking
Guepet to put his best foot forward. " Assuredly, mon-
sieur, we will do so," was the answer, " because it is
simply what we are in the habit of doing every day."
The retort was sharp, but absolutely justified by
facts. One was never told at the Cafe de Paris that
this or that dish " could not be recommended," that
40 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAKIS.
*' the fish could not be guaranteed." When the quality
of the latter was doubtful, it did not make its appear-
ance on the bill of fare. A propos of fish, there was
a story current in the Cafe de Paris which may or
may not have been the invention of one of the many
clever literary men who foregathered there. It was
to the effect that one of Guepet's predecessors — Angil-
bert the younger, I believe — had cast a doubt upon
the historical accuracy of the facts connected with the
tragic death of Vatel, the renowned chef of the Prince
de Conde. According to Angilbert, Vatel did not
throw himself upon his sword because the fish for
Louis XIV.'s dinner had not arrived, but because it
had arrived, been cooked, and was found " not to be
so fresh as it might be." The elimination of those
dishes would have disturbed the whole of the economy
of the menu, and rather than suffer such disgrace
Vatel made an end of himself. " For you see, mon-
sieur," Angilbert is supposed to have said, " one can
very well arrange a perfect dinner without fish, as long
as one knows beforehand; but one cannot modify a
service that has been thought out with it, when it fails
at a moment's notice. As every one of my chefs is a
treasure, who would not scruple to imitate the sacrifice
of his famous prototype; and as I do not wish to
expose him to such a heroic, but inconvenient death,
we take the certain for the uncertain, consequently
doubtful fish means no fish."
Truth or fiction, the story accurately conveys the
pride of the proprietors in the unsullied gastronomic
traditions of the establishment, and there is no doubt
that they were ably seconded in that respect by every
one around them, even to the clientele itself. Not a
STILL THE CAFJS DE PARIS. ^ 41
eingle one of the latter would have called the waiters
by their names, nor would these have ventured to
•rehearse the names of the dishes in a kind of slang
or mutilated French, which is becoming more frequent
day by day, and which is at best but fit as a means
of communication between waiters and scullions.
Least of all, would they have numbered the clients,
as is done at present. A gentleman sitting at table
No. 5 was " the gentleman at table No. 5," not merely
" number five." There was little need for the bellow-
ing and shouting from one end of the room to the
other, because the head waiter himself had an eye
everywhere. The word " addition," which people think
it good taste in the seventies and eighties to employ
when asking for their bills, was never heard. People
did not profess to know the nature of the arithmetical
operation by which the total of their liabilities was
arrived at ; they left that to the cashier and the rest
of the underlings.
No coal or gas was used in the Cafe de Paris : lamps
and wood fires upstairs ; charcoal, and only that of a
peculiar kind, in the kitchens, which miglit have been
a hundred miles distant, for all we knew, for neither
the rattling of dishes nor- the smell of preparation
betrayed their vicinity. A charming, subdued hum
of voices attested the presence of two or three score
of human beings attending to the inner man; the
idiotic giggle, the affected little shrieks of the shop-
girl or housemaid promoted to be the companion of
the quasi-man of the world was never heard there.
The cabinet particuUer was not made a feature of the
Cafe de Paris, and suppers were out of the question.
Now and tlien the frank laughter of the younger
42 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
members of a family party, and that was all. As a
rule, however, there were few strangers at the Cafe de
Paris, or what are called chance customers, as distinct
from periodical ones. But there were half a score of
tables absolutely sacred from the invasion of no matter
whom, such as those of the Marquis du Hallays, Lord
Seymour, the Marquis de St. Cricq, M. Eomieu, Prince
Rostopchine, Prince Soltikoff, Dr. Veron, etc., etc.
Lord Palmerston, when in Paris, scarcely ever dined
anywhere else than at the Cafe de Paris — of course
T mean when dining at a public establishment.
Almost every evening there was an interchange of
dishes or of wines between those tables ; for instance.
Dr. Veron, of whom I will have a good deal to say
in these notes, and who was very fond of Musigny
vintage, rarely missed offering some to the Marquis
du Hallays, who, in his turn, sent him of the finest
dishes from his table. For all these men not only pro-
fessed to eat well, but never to suffer from indigestion.
Their gastronomy was really an art, but an art aided
by science which was applied to the simplest dish.
One of these was veau a la casserole, which figured at
least three times a week on the bill of fare, and the
like of which I have never tasted elsewhere. Its
recuperative qualities were vouched for by such men.
as Alfred de Musset, Balzac, and Alexandre Dumas.
The former partook of it whenever it was on the bill ;
the others often came, after a spell of hard work, to
recruit their mental and bodily strength, with it, and
maintained that nothing set them up so effectually.
These three men were particularly interesting to
me, and their names will frequently recur in these
notes. I was very young, and, though perhaps not so
ALFRED DE MUSSET. 4»
enthusiastic about literature as I was about painting
and sculpture, it would indeed have been surprising
if I had remained indifferent to the fascination ex-
perienced by almost every one in their society: for
let me state at once that the great poet, the great
playwright and the great novelist were even something
more than men of genius ; they were men of the
world, and gentlemen who thouglit it worth their
while to be agreeable companions. Unlike Victor
Hugo, Lamartine, Chateaubriand, and Eugene Sue, all
of whom I knew about the same time, they did not
deem it necessary to stand mentally aloof from ordinary
mortals. Alfred de Musset and Alexandre Dumas
were both very handsome, but each in a different way.
With his tall, slim figure, auburn wavy hair and beard,
blue eyes, and finely-shaped mouth and nose, De
Musset gave one the impression of a dandy cavalry
oflScer in mufti, rather than of a poet: the "Miss-
Byron" which Preault the sculptor applied to him
was, perhaps, not altogether undeserved, if judged
intellectually and physically at first sight. There was
a feminine grace about all his movements. The " Con-
fessions d'un Enfant du Siecle," his play, ''Frederic
and Bernerette," were apt to stir the heart of women
rather than that of men ; but was it not perhaps
because the majority of the strong sex cannot be
stirred except with a pole ? And the poet who was so
sensitive to everything rough as to leave invariably
the coppers given to him in exchange, was unlikely
to take voluntarily to such an unwieldy and clumsy
instrument to produce his effects.*
• This reluctance to handle coppers proved a sore grief to his more
economical and less fastidious brother Paul, who watched like a
44 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Throughout these notes, I intend to abstain care-
fully from literary judgments. I am not competent
to enter into them ; but, if I were, I should still be
reluctant to do so in the case of Alfred de Musset,
who, to my knowledge, never questioned the talent of
any one. De Musset improved upon better acquaint-
ance. He was apt to strike one at first as distant and
supercilious. He was neither the one nor the other,
simply very reserved, and at the best of times very
sad, not to say melancholy. It was not affectation, as
has been said so often ; it was his nature. The charge
of superciliousness arose from his distressing short-
sightedness, which compelled him to stare very hard
at people without the least intention of being offensive.
I have said that Balzac often came, after a spell of
•hard work, to recruit his forces with the veau a la
casserole of the Cafe de Paris; I should have added
that this was generally in the autumn and winter, for,
at the end of the spring and during the summer, the
dinner hour, seven, found Balzac still a prisoner at
home. Few of his acquaintances and friends ever
caught sight of him, they were often in total ignor-
ance of his whereabouts, and such news as reached
them generally came through Joseph Mery, the poet
guardian angel over his junior, whom he worshipped. It is on record
^hat he only said a harsli word to him once in his life, namely, when
they wanted to make him, Paul, a member of tlie Acade'mie Fran^aise.
" C'est bien assez d'un immortel dans la famille," he replied to those
who counselled him to stand. Then, turning to his brother, " Je ne
comprends pas pourquoi tu t'es fourre dans cette galere, si elle est
assez grande pour moi, tu dois y gtre joliment a I'e'troit." It is difficult
to imagine a greater instance of brotherly pride and admiration,
because Paul de Musset was by no means a nonentity, only from a
very early age he had always merged his individuality in that of
Alfred. To some one who once remarked upon this in my hearing,
he answered, " Que voulez-vous? c'est comme cela : Alfred a eu toujours
ia moitie' du lit, seulement la moitie' etait toujours prise du milieu."
WALKS BEFORE SUNRISE. 45^
and novelist, the only one who came across him during
those periods of eclipse. Mery was an inveterate
gambler, and spent night after night at the card-table.
He rarely left it before daybreak. His way lay past
the Cafe de Paris, and for four consecutive mornings^
he had met Balzac strolling leisurely up and down^
dressed in a pantalon a pieds (trousers not terminating
below the ankle, but with feet in them like stockings),
and frock coat with velvet facings. The second
morning, Mery felt surprised at the coincidence; the
third, he was puzzled ; the fourth, he could hold out
no longer, and asked Balzac the reason of these
nocturnal perambulations round about the same spot.
Balzac put his hand in his pocket and produced an
almanack, showing that the sun did not rise before
3.40. "I am being tracked by the officers of the-
Tribunal de Commerce, and obliged to hide myself
during the day ; but at this hour I am free, and can
take a walk, for as long as the sun is not up they
cannot arrest me."
I remember having read that Ouvrard, the great
army contractor, had done the same for many years ;
nevertheless, he was arrested one day, — the authorities
proved that the almanack was wrong, that the sun
rose ten minutes earlier than was stated therein. Ho^
brought an action against the compiler and publishers.
They had to pay him damages.
Though literary remuneration was not in those days-
what it became later on, it was sufficiently large to
make it difficult to explain the chronic impecuniosity
of Balzac, though not that of Dumas. They were-
not gamblers, and had not the terrible fits of idle-
ness or drinking which left De Musset stranded every
40 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
now and again. Lamartine suffered from the same
•complaint, I mean impecuniosity. There is proof
of Balzac's industry and frugality in two extracts
from his letters to his mother, dated Angouleme,
July, 1832, when he himself was thirty-two years old,
^nd had already written half a dozen masterpieces.
^'Several bills are due, and, if I cannot find the
money for them, I will have them protested and let
-the law take its course. It will give me breathing time,
and I can settle costs and all afterwards."
Meanwhile he works eight hours a day at "Louis
Lambert," one of the best things among his numberless
best things. His mother sends him a hundred francs,
and, perhaps with the same pen with which he wrote
those two marvellous chapters that stand out like
a couple of priceless rubies from among the mass of
other jewels, he thanks her and accounts for them.
" For the copying of the maps, 20 frs. ; for my passport,
10 frs. I owed 15 frs. for discount on one of my bills,
and 15 frs. on my fare. 15 frs. for flowers as a birthday
present. Lost at cards, 10 frs. Postage and servant's
tips, 15 frs. Total, 100 frs."
But these ten francs have not been lost at one fell
swoop ; they represent his bad luck at the gaming table
during the whole month of his stay at Angouleme, at
the house of his friend and sister's schoolfellow,
Madame Zulma Carraud, — hence, something like seven
sous {3^d.) per day : for which extravagance he makes
up, on his return to Paris, by plunging into work
harder than ever. He goes to roost at 7 p.m., " like
the fowls ; " and he is called at 1 a.m., when he writes
until 8 a.m. He takes another hour and a half of sleep,
and, after partaking of a light meal, " gets into his
HONORS DE BALZAC. 47
collar " until four in the afternoon. After that, he
receives a few friends, takes a bath, or goes out, and
immediately he has swallowed his dinner he " turns
in," as stated above, " I shall be compelled to lead
this nigger's life for a few months without stopping,
in order not to be swamped by those terrible bills that
are due."
These extracts are not personal recollections. I have
inserted them to make good my statement that Balzac
was neither a gambler, a drunkard, nor an idler.
" How does he spend his money ? " I asked Mery,
when he had told us of his fourth meeting with Balzac
on that very morning.
" In sops to his imagination, in balloons to the land
of dreams, which balloons he constructs with his hard-
won earnings and inflates with the essence of his
visions, but which nevertheless will not rise three feet
from the earth," he answered. Then he went on
explaining : " Balzac is firmly convinced that every
one of liis characters has had, or has still, its counter-
part in real life, notably the characters that have risen
from humble beginnings to great wealth ; and he
thinks that, having worked out the secret of their
success on paper, he can. put it in practice. He
embarks on the most harum-scarum speculations with-
out the slightest practical knowledge ; as, for instance,
when he drew the plans for his country-house at the
Jardies (Ville d'Avray), and insisted upon the builder
carrying them out in every respect while he was away.
When the place was finished there was not a single
staircase. Of course, they had to put them outside, and
he maintained that it was part of his original plan ;
but he had never given a thought to the means of
48 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS.
ascent. But here is Monsieur Louis Lurine. If yoi>
would like an idea of Balzac's impracticability, let him-
tell you what occurred between Balzac and Kugelmann
a few months ago."
Kugelmann was at that time publishing a very
beautifully illustrated work, entitled, " Les Kues de
Paris," which Louis Lurine was editing. We were-
standing outside the Cafe Eiche, and I knew Lurine
by sight. Mery introduced me to him. After a few
preliminary remarks, Lurine told us the following
story. Of course, many years have elapsed since, but
I think I can trust to my memory in this instance.
" I had suggested," said Lurine, " that Balzac should
do the Rue de Eichelieu, and we sent for him. I did
not want more than half a sheet, so imagine my
surprise when Balzac named his conditions, viz., five
thousand francs, something over six hundred francs a
page of about six hundred words. Kugelmann began
to yell, I simply smiled ; seeing which, Balzac said, as-
soberly as possible, ' You'll admit that, in order to
depict a landscape faithfully, one should study its every
detail. Well, how would you have me describe the
Eiue de Richelieu, convey an idea of its commercial
aspect, unless I visit, one after the other, the various
establishments it contains ? Suppose I begin by the
Boulevard des Italiens : I'd be bound to take my
dejeuner at the Cafe Cardinal, I would have to buy a
couple of scores at Brandus', a gun at the gunsmith's
next door, a breastpin at the next shop. Could I do
less than order a coat at the tailor's, a pair of boots at
the bootmaker's ? '
" I cut him short. * Don't go any further,* I said,
* or else we'll have you in at " Compagnie des Indes,"
HONORS DE BALZAC. 49
and, as both lace and Indian shawls have gone up
in price, we'll be bankrupt before we know where we
are.'
" Consequently,'* concluded Lurine, " the thing fell
through, and we gave the commission to Gu6not-
Lacointe, who has done the thing very well and has
written twice the pages Balzac was asked for, without
buying as much as a pair of gloves."
When Balzac was not being harassed by the
officials of the Tribunal de Commerce, he had to
dodge the authorities of the National Guards, who
generally had a warrant against him for neglect of
duty. Unlike his great contemporary Dumas, Balzac
had an invincible repugnance to play the amateur
warrior — a repugnance, by-the-by, to which we owe
one of the most masterly portraits in his wonderful
gallery, that of the self-satisfied, bumptious, detestable
bourgeois, who struts about in his uniform ; I am
alluding to Crevel of " La Cousine Bette." But
civic discipline could take no cognizance of the
novelist's likes and dislikes, and, after repeated
" notices " and " warnings," left at his registered
domicile, his incarceration was generally decided upon.
As a rule, this happened about half a dozen times in
a twelvemonth.
The next thing was to catch the refractory national
guard, which was not easy, seeing that, in order to
avoid an enforced sojourn at the Hotel des Haricots,*
Balzac not only disappeared from his usual haunts,
but left his regular domicile, and took an apartment
^ • The name of the military prison which was originally built on the
site of the former College Montaign, where the scholars were almost
exclusively fed on haricot beans. Throughout its removals the
prison preserved its nickname. — Editob.
VOL. I. E
50 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
elsewhere under an assumed name. On one occasion,
at a small lodgings which he had taken near his
publisher, Hippolyte Souverain, under the name of
Madame Dupont, Leon Gozlan, having found him out,
sent him a letter addressed to " Madame Dupont, nee
Balzac."
The sergeant-major of Balzac's company had un-
doubtedly a grudge against him. He happened to be
a perfumer, and ever since the publication and success
of " Cesar Birotteau " the Paris perfumers bore Balzac
no goodwill. That particular one had sworn by all
his essences and bottles that he M^ould lay hands on
the recalcitrant private of his company in the streets,
for only under such conditions could he arrest him.
To watch at Balzac's ordinary domicile was of no use,
and, when he had discovered his temporary residence,
he had to lure him out of it, because the other was on
his guard.
One morning, while the novelist was hard at work,
his old housekeeper, whom he always took with him,
came to tell him that there was a large van downstairs
•with a case addressed to him. " How did they find me
out here ? " exclaimed Balzac, and despatched the
dame to gather further particulars. In a few moments
she returned. The case contained an Etruscan vase
sent from Italy, but, seeing that it had been knocking
about for the last three days in every quarter of Paris
in the carman's efforts to find out the consignee, the
former was anxious that M. Balzac should verify the
intact condition of the package before it was unloaded.
Balzac fell straight into the trap. Giving himself
no time even to exchange his dressing-gown, or rather
his monk's frock he was in the hbit of wearing, for
BALZAC AND THE NATIONAL GUARD. 51
a coat, or his slippers for a pair of boots, lie rushed
downstairs, watching with a benign smile the carrier
handling most delicately the treasure that had come
to him.
" Caught at last," said a stentorian voice behind
him, and dispelling the dream as its owner laid his hand
on the novelist's shoulder, while a gigantic companion
planted himself in front of the street door and cut off
all retreat that way.
" With a refinement of cruelty, which in the eyes of
posterity will considerably diminish the glory of his
victory " — I am quoting Balzac's own words as he
related the scene to us at the Hotel des Haricots — the
sergeant-major perfumer would not allow his prisoner
to change his clothes, and while the van with the
precious Etruscan vase disappeared in the distance,
Balzac was hustled into a cab to spend a week in
durance vile, where on that occasion he had the
company of Adolphe Adam, the composer of " Le
Postilion de Lonjumeau."
However, '* les jours de fete etaient passes," and had
been for the last five years, ever since the Hotel des
Haricots had been transferred from the town mansion
of the De Bazancourts in -the Rue des Fosses-Saint-
Germain to its then locale near the Orleans railway
station. There were no more banquets in the refec-
tory as there had been of yore. Each prisoner had
his meals in his cell. Joseph M6ry, Nestor Roqueplan,
and I were admitted as the clock struck two, and had
to leave exactly an hour afterwards. It was during
this visit that Balzac enacted the scene for us which
I have endeavoured to describe above, and reminded
Mery of the last dinner he had given to Dumas, Jules
52 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Sandeau, and several others in the former prison, which
dinner cost five hundred francs. Eugene Sue, who was
as unwilling as Balzac to perform his civic duties,
had had three of his own servants to wait upon him
there, and some of his plate and silver brought to his
cell.
Seeing that the name of the celebrated author of
" Les Mysteres de Paris " has presented itself in the
course of these notes, I may just as well have done
with him, for he forms part of the least agreeable
of my recollections. He was also an habitue of the
Cafe de Paris. A great deal has been written about
him ; what has never been sufficiently insisted upon
was the inveterate snobUshness of the man. When I
first knew him, about *42-'43, he was already in the
zenith of his glory, but I had often heard others
mention his name before then, and never very favour-
ably. His dandyism was offensive, mainly because it
did not sit naturally upon him. It did not spring
from an innate refinement, but from a love of show,
although his father, who had been known to some of
the son's familiars, was a worthy man, a doctor, and, it
appears, a very good doctor, but somewhat brusque,
like our own Abernethy ; still much more of a gentle-
man at heart than the son. He did not like Eugene's
extravagance, and when the latter, about '24, launched
out into a cabriolet, he shipped him off on one of the
king's vessels, as a surgeon; to which fact French
literature owed the first novels of the future author of
" Les Mysteres de Paris " and '* Le Juif-Errant."
But the father was gathered to his fathers, and
Eugene, who had never taken kindly to a seafaring
life, returned to Paris, to spend his inheritance and to
THE ORIGIN OF THE FRENCH JOCKEY CLUB. 53
resume his old habits, which made one of his
acquaintances say that " le pere and le fils had hoth
entered upon a better life." It appears that, though
somewhat of a poseur from the very beginning, he was
witty and amusing, and readily found access to the
circle that frequented the gardens of the Tivoli and
the Cafe de Paris.* They, in their turn, made him
a member of the Jockey Club when it was founded,
which kindness they unanimously regretted, as will
be seen directly.
The Tivoli gardens, though utterly forgotten at
present, was in reality the birthplace of the French
Jockey Club. About the year 1833 a man named
Bryon, one of whose descendants keeps, at the hour
I write, a large livery stables near the Grand Cafe,
opened a pigeon-shooting gallery in the Tivoli ; the
pigeons, from what I have heard, mainly consisting of
quails, larks, and other birds. The pigeons shot at
were wooden ones, poised up high in the air, but
motionless, as we still see them at the suburban fairs
around Paris. Seven years before, Bryon had started
a " society of amateurs of races," to whom, for a certain
consideration, he let a movable stand at private meet-
ings, for there were no others until the Society for the
Encouragement of breeding French Horses started
operations in 1834. But the deliberations at first took
place at Bryon's place in the Tivoli gardens, and
continued there until, one day, Bryon asked the
fourteen or fifteen members why they should not have
a locale of their own ; the result was that they took
* There were two Tivoli gardens, both in the same neighbourhood,
the site of the present Quartier de I'Europe. The author is alluding
to the second, so often mentioned in the novels of Paul de Kock. —
Kditob.
54 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
modest quarters in the Rue du Helder, or rather
amalgamated with a small club located there under the
name of Le Bouge (The Den) ; for Lord Seymour, the
Duke de Nemours, Prince Demidoff, and the rest were
sufficiently clear-sighted to perceive that a Jockey
Club governed on the English principle was entirely
out of the question. That was the origin of the
French Jockey Club, which, after various migrations,
is, at the time of writing, magnificently housed in one
of the palatial mansions of the Rue Scribe. As a
matter of course, some of the fashionable habitues of
the Cafe de Paris, though not knowing a fetlock from
a pastern, were but too pleased to join an institution
which, with the mania for everything English in full
swing, then conferred as it were upon its members
a kind of patent of " good form," and, above all, of
exclusiveness, for which some, even amidst the flesh-
pots of the celebrated restaurant, longed. Because,
it must be remembered, though the majority of the
company at the Caf6 de Paris were very well from
the point of view of birth and social position, there was
no possibility of excluding those who could lay no
claim to such distinctions, provided they had the
money to pay their reckoning, and most of them had
more than enough for that. It appears that Eugene
Sue was not so objectionable as he became afterwards,
when the wonderful success of his " Mysteres de Paris "
and the " Juif-Errant" had turned his head; he was
made an original member of the club. Election on
the nomination by three sponsors was not necessary
then. That article was not inserted in the rules until
two years after the foundation of the Paris Jockey
Club.
EUGfeNE SUE. 55
Of the success attending Sue's two best-known
works, I can speak from personal experience ; for
I was old enough to be impressed by it, and foolish
enough to rank him, on account of it, with Balzac and
Dumas, perhaps a little higher than the former. After
the lapse of many years, I can only console myself for
my infatuation with the thought that thousands, of far
greater intellectual attainments than mine, were in the
same boat, for it must not be supposed that the
furore created by *' Les Mysteres de Paris " was confined
to one class, and that class the worst educated one.
While it appeared in serial form in the Debate, one
had to bespeak the paper several hours beforehand,
because, unless one subscribed to it, it was impossible
to get it from the news-vendors. As for the reading-
rooms where it was supposed to be kept, the pro-
prietors frankly laughed in your face if you happened
to ask for it, after you had paid your two sous
admission. "Monsieur is joking. We have got five
copies, and we let them out at ten sous each for half
an hour : that's the time it takes to read M. Sue's
story. We have one copy here, and if monsieur likes
to take his turn he may do so, though he will probably
have to wait for three or four hours."
At last the guileless demoiselle behind the counter
found even a more effective way of fleecing her clients.
The cabinets de lecture altered their fees, and the two
sous, which until then had conferred the right of stay-
ing as long as one liked, were transformed into the
price of admission for one hour. Each reader received
a ticket on entering, stating the time, and the shrewd
caissiere made the round every ten minutes. I may
say without exaggeration that the days on which the
56 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
instalment of fiction was " crowded out," there was a
general air of listlessness about Paris. And, after the
first few weeks, this happened frequently ; for by that
time the Bertins had become quite as clever as their
formidable rival, the proprietor and editor of the
Constitutionnel, the famous Dr. Veron, whom I have
already mentioned, but of whom I shall have occasion
to speak again and again, for he was one of the most
notable characters in the Paris of my early manhood.
But to return for a moment to " Les Mysteres de Paris "
and its author.
The serial, then, was frequently interrupted for one
or two days, without notice, however, to the readers ;
and on its resumption there was a nice little paragraph
to reassure the " grandes dames de par le monde," as
well as their maids, with regard to the health of M. Sue,
who was supposed to have been too ill to work. The
public took all this au grand serieux. They either
chose to forget, or were ignorant of the fact, that
a novel of that kind, especially in the early days of
serial feuilleton, was not delivered to the editor bit by
bit. Sue, great man as he was, would not have dared
to inaugurate the system only adopted somewhat later
by Alexandre Dumas the Elder, namely, that of
writing " from hand to mouth." These paragraphs
served a dual purpose — they whetted the lady and
other readers' interest in the author, and informed the
indifferent ones how great that interest was. For
these paragraphs were, or professed to be, — I really
believe they were, — the courteous replies to hundreds
of kind inquiries which the author "could not acknow-
ledge separately for lack of time."
But this was not all. There was really a good
A STARTLING SUCCESS o7
excuse for Eugene Sue "se prenant au serienx,"
seeing that some of the most eminent magistrates
looked upon him in that light and opened a cor-
respondence with him, submitting their ideas about
reforming such criminals as " le maitre d'ecole," and
praising Prince Rodolph, or rather Eugene Sue under
that name, for " his laudable efforts in the cause of
humanity." In reality, Sue was in the position of
Moli^re's " bourgeois gentilhomme " who spoke prose
without being aware of it ; for there was not the
smallest evidence, from his former work, that he
intended to inaugurate any crusade, either socialistic
or philanthropic, when he began his "Mysteres de
Paris." He simply wanted to write a stirring novel.
But, unlike M. Jourdain, he did not plead ignorance
of his own good motives when congratulated upon
them. On the contrary, he gravely and oflBcially replied
in the Debats without winking. Some of the papers,
not to be outdone, gravely recounted how whole
families had been converted from their evil ways by
the perusal of the novel; how others, after supper,
had dropped on their knees to pray for their author ;
how one working man had exclaimed, " You may say
what you like, it would be a good thing if Providence
sent many men like M. Sue in this world to take up
the cudgels of the honest and struggling artisan."
Thereupon Beranger, who did not like to be forgotten
in this chorus of praise, paid a ceremonious visit to
Sue, and between the two they assumed the protector-
ship of the horny-handed son of toil.
It must not be supposed that I am joking or
exaggerating, and that the engoument was confined to
the lower classes, and to provincial and metropolitan
58 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
faddists. Such men as M. de Lourdoueix, the editor
of the Gazette de France, fell into the trap. I have
pointed out elsewhere that the republicans and social-
ists of those days were not necessarily godless folk,
and M. de Lourdoueix fitly concluded that a social-
istic writer like Sue might become a powerful weapon
in his hands against the Jesuits. So he went to the
novelist, and gave him a commission to that effect.
The latter accepted, and conceived the plot of " The
Wandering Jew." When it was sketched out, he com-
municated it to the editor ; but whether that gentle-
man had reconsidered the matter in the interval, or
whether he felt frightened at the horribly tragic
conception with scarcely any relief, he refused the
novel, unless it was modified to a great extent and
its blood-curdling episodes softened. The author,
taking himself au serieux this time as a religious
reformer, declined to alter a line. Dr. Veron got
wind of the affair, bought the novel as it stood, and,
by dint of a system of puffing and advertising which
would even make a modern American stare, obtained
a success with it in the Constitutionnel which equalled
if it did not surpass that of the Debats with the
" Mysteres."
" It is very amusing indeed," said George Sand one
night, " but there are too many animals. I hope we
shall soon get out of this menagerie." Nevertheless,
she frankly admitted that she would not like to miss
an instalment for ever so much.
Meanwhile Sue posed and posed, not as a writer —
for, like Horace Walpole, he was almost ashamed of
the title — but as "a man of the world" who knew
nothing about literature, but whose wish to benefit
DE MUSSET AND SUE. 59
humanity had been greater than his reluctance to
enter the lists with such men as Balzac and Dumas.
After his dinner at the Cafe de Paris, he would
gravely stand on the steps smoking his cigar and
listen to the conversation with an air of superiority
without attempting to take part in it. His mind was
supposed to be far away, devising schemes for the
social and moral improvement of his fellow-creatures.
These philanthropic musings did not prevent him
from paying a great deal of attention — too much
perhaps — to his personal appearance, for even in those
days of beaux, bucks, and dandies, of Counts d'Orsay
and others, men could not help thinking Eugene Sue
overdressed. He rarely appeared without spurs to his
boots, and he would no more have done without a new
pair of white kid gloves every evening than without
his dinner. Other men, like Nestor de Eoqueplan,
Alfred de Musset, Major Eraser, all of whose names
will frequently recur in these notes, did not mind
having their gloves cleaned, though the process was
not so perfect as it is now ; Eugene Sue averred that
the smell of cleaned gloves made him ill. Alfred de
Musset, who could be very impertinent when he liked,
but who was withal a very good fellow, said one day :
" Mais enfin, mon ami, 9a ne sent pas pire que les
bouges que vous nous depeignez. N'y seriez vous
jamais alle ? "
In short, several years before the period of which I
now treat, Eugene Sue had begun to be looked upon
coldly at the Jockey Club on account of the " airs he
gave himself;" and three years before the startling
success of his work, he had altogether ceased to go
there, though he was still a member, and remained so
60 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
nominally until '47, when his name was removed from
the list in accordance with Rule 5. Owing to momen-
tary pecuniary embarrassments, he had failed to pay
his subscription. It may safely be asserted that this
was merely a pretext to get rid of him, because such
stringent measures are rarely resorted to at any
decent club, whether in London or Paris, and least
of all at the Jockey Clubs there. The fact was, that
the members did not care for a fellow-member whose
taste differed so materially from their own, whose
daily avocations and pursuits had nothing in common
with theirs ; for though Eugene Sue as early as 1835
had possessed a race-horse, named Mameluke, which
managed to come in a capital last at Maisons-sur-
Seine (afterwards Maisons-Lafitte); though he had
ridden his haque every day in the Bois, and driven
his cabriolet every afternoon in the Champs-Elysees,
the merest observer could easily perceive that all this
was done for mere show, to use the French expression,
" pose." As one of the members observed, " M. Sue
est toujours trop habille, trop carosse, et surtout trop
eperonne."
M. Sue was all that, and though the Jockey Club
at that time was by no means the unobtrusive body
of men it is to-day, its excesses and eccentricities
were rarely indulged in public, except perhaps in
carnival time. A M. de Chateauvillard might take
it into his head to play a game of billiards on horse-
back, or M. de Machado might live surrounded by a
couple of hundred parrots if he liked ; none of these
fancies attracted the public's notice: M. Sue, by his
very profession, attracted too much of it, and brought
a great deal of it into the club itself; hence, when he
EXPELLED FROM THE JOCKEY CLUB. 61
raised a violent protest against his expulsion and
endeavoured to neutralize it by sending in his resig-
nation, the committee maintained its original decision.
A few years after this, Eugene Sue disappeared from
the Paris horizon.
62 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CBAPTEE III.
Alexandre Dumas pfere — ^Why he made himself particularly agree-
able to Englishmen — His way of silencing people — The pursuit he
loved best next to literature — He has the privilege of going down
to the kitchens of the Cafe de Paris — No one questions his
literary genius, some question his culinary capacities — Dr. Veron
and his cordon-bleu — Dr. Veron's reasons for dining out instead
of at home — Dr. Veron's friend, the philanthropist, who does not
go to the theatre because he objects to be hurried with his
emotions — Dr. Veron, instigated by his cook, accuses Dumas of
having coUaborateurs in preparing his dishes as he was known
to have coUaborateurs in his literary work — Dumas's wrath — He
invites us to a dinner which shall be wholly cooked by him in
the presence of a delegate to be chosen by the guests — The lot
falls upon me — Dr. Veron and Sophie make the amende honor-
able — A dinner-party at Veron's — A curious law-suit in con-
nection with Weber's "Freyschutz" — ^Nestor Eoqueplan, who
became the successor of the defendant in the case, suggests a
way out of it — Leon Pillet virtually adopts it and wins the day —
A similar plan adopted years before by a fireman on duty at the
opera, on being tried by court-martial for having fallen asleep
during the performance of " Guido et Genevra " — Firemen not
bad judges of plays and operas — They were often consulted both
by Meyerbeer and Dumas — Dumas at work — How he idled his
time away — Dumas causes the traffic receipts of the Chemin de
Fer de I'Ouest to swell during his three years' residence at Saint-
Germain — M. de Montalivet advises Louis-Philippe to invite
Dumas to Versailles, to see what his presence will do for the
royal city — Louis-Philippe does not act upon the advice — The
relations between Dumas and the d'Orleans family — After the
Revolution of '48, Dumas becomes a candidate for parliament —
The story of his canvass and his address to the electors at Joigny
— Dumas' utter indifference to money matters — He casts his
burdens upon others — Dumas and his creditors — Writs and dis-
traints — How they are dealt with — Dumas' indiscrimina:>e
generosity — A dozen houses full of new furniture in half as
many years — Dumas' frugality at table — Literary remuneration
— Dumas and his son — " Leave me a hundred francs."
Among my most pleasant recollections of those days
are those of Alexandre Dumas. To quote his own words,
DUMAS THE ELDER, 63
" whenever he met an Englishman he considered it his
particular duty to make himself agreeable to him, as
part of the debt he owed to Shakespeare and Walter
Scott." I doubt whether Dumas ever made himself
deliberately disagreeable to any one ; even when
provoked, he managed to disarm his adversary with
an epigram, rather than wound him. One evening,
a professor at one of the provincial universities had
been dining at the Cafe de Paris, as the guest of Roger
de Beauvoir. He had a magnificent cameo breast-pin.
It elicited the admiration of every one, and notably
that of Dumas. He said at once that it was a portrait
of Julius Caesar.
" Are you an archaeologist ? " asked the professor.
" I," replied Dumas, " I am absolutely nothing."
" Still," insisted the visitor, " you perceived at once
that it was a portrait of Julius Caesar."
" That is not very wonderful. C«sar is essentially a
Roman type ; and, besides, I know Caesar as well as
most people, and perhaps better."
To tell a professor of history — especially a pro-
vincial one — that one knows Ca3sar as well as most
people and perhaps better, is naturally to provoke
the question, " In what capacity ? " As a matter of
course the question followed immediately.
" In the capacity of Caesar's historian," said Dumas,
imperturbably.
We were getting interested, because we foresaw
that the professor would, in a few minutes, get the
worst of it. Dumas' eyes were twinkling with
mischief.
" You have written a history of Caesar ? " asked the
learned man.
64 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
« Yes ; why not ? "
" Well, you won't mind my being frank with yoti :
it is because it has never been mentioned in the world
of savans."
" The world of savans never mentions me."
" Still, a history of Caesar ought to make somewhat
of a sensation."
" Mine has not made any. People read it, and that
was all. It is the books which it is impossible to read
that make a sensation : they are like the dinners one
cannot digest ; the dinners oue digests are not as much
as thought of next morning." That was Dumas' way
of putting a would-be impertinent opponent hors de
combat, and his repartees were frequently drawn from
the pursuit he loved as well, if not better than
literature, namely, cooking. It may sound exaggerated,
but I verily believe that Dumas took a greater pride
in concocting a stew than in constructing a novel or
a play. Yery often, in the middle of the dinner, he
would put down his knife and fork. " Ca, c'est rude-
ment bon : il faut que je m'en procure la recette."
And Guepet was sent for to authorize Dumas to
descend to the lower regions and have a consultation
with his chefs. He was the only one of the hahitues
who had ever been in the kitchens of the Cafe de
Paris. As a rule these excursions were followed by an
invitation to dine at Damas' two or three days hence,
when tlie knowledge freshly acquired would be put
into practice.
There were few of us who questioned Dumas* literary
genius; there were many who suspected his culinary
abilities, and notably among them. Dr. Yeron. The
germs of this unbelief had been sown in the doctor's
DR. V^RON. 65
mind by his own cordon-bleu, Sophie. The erstwhile
director of the opera lived, at that time, in a beautiful
apartment on the first floor of a nice house in the Rue
Taitbout, at the corner of which the Cafe de Paris
was situated. Sophie had virtually a sinecure of it,
because, with the exception of a dinner-party now and
then, her master, who was a bachelor, took his dinners
at the restaurant. And with regard to the dejeuner,
there was not much chance of her displaying her
talents, because the man, who was reputed to be a very
Apicius, was frugality itself. His reasons for dining
out instead of at home were perfectly logical, though
they sounded paradoxical. One day, when I was
remarking upon the seemingly strange habit of dining
out, when he was paying " a perfect treasure " at home,
he gave me these reasons. " My dear friend, depend
upon it that it is man's stomach which found the
aphorism, * Qui va jpiano va sanOy qui va sano va
lontano.' In your own home the soup is on the table
at a certain hour, the roast is taken off the jack, the
dessert is spread out on the sideboard. Your servants,
in order to get more time over their raeals, hurry you
up ; they do not serve you, they gorge you. At the
restaurant, on the contrary, *they are never in a hurry,
they let you wait. And, besides, I always tell the
waiters not to mind me ; that I like being kept a long
while — that is one of the reasons why I come here.
•* Another thing, at the restaurant the door is opened
at every moment and something happens. A friend, a
chum, or a mere acquaintance comes in ; one chats and
laughs : all this aids digestion. A man ought not to
be like a boa-constrictor, he ought not to make digestion
a business apart. He ought to dine and to digest at
VOL. I. p
66 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the same time, and nothing aids this dual function like
good conversation. Perhaps the servant of Madame
de Maintenon, when the latter was still Madame
Scarron, was a greater philosopher than we suspect
when he whispered to his mistress, * Madame, the
roast has run short ; give them another story.'
"I knew a philanthropist," wound up Dr. Veron,
*' who objected as much to be hurried over his emotions
as I object to be hurried over my meals. For that
reason he never went to the theatre. When he wanted
an emotional fillip, he wandered about the streets
until he met some poor wretch evidently hungry and
out of elbows. He took him to the nearest wine-shop,
gave him something to eat and to drink, sat himself
opposite to his guest, and told him to recount his
misfortunes. ' But take your time over it. I am
not in a hurry,' he recommended. The poor outcast
began his tale ; my friend listened attentively until he
was thoroughly moved. If the man's story was very
sad, he gave him a franc or two ; if it was positively
heartrending and made him cry, he gave him a five-
franc piece ; after which, he came to see me, saying,
* I have thoroughly enjoyed myself, and made the
intervals between each sensational episode last as long
as I liked, and, what is more, it has just cost me seven
francs, the price of a stall at the theatre.' "
To return to Dr. Veron's scepticism with regard to
Dumas' culinary accomplishments, and how he was
converted. Dumas, it appears, had got the recipe
for stewing carp from a German lady, and, being at
that moment on very friendly terms with Dr. Veron,
which was not always the case, had invited him and
several others to come and taste the results of his
DUMAS AS A COOK. 67
experiments. The dish was simply splendid, and for
days and days Veron, who was really a frugal eater,
could talk of nothing else to his cook.
" Where did you taste it ? " said Sophie, getting
somewhat jealous of this praise of others ; " at the
Cafe de Paris?"
" No, at Monsieur Dumas'," was the answer.
" Well, then, I'll go to Monsieur Dumas' cook, and
get the recipe."
" That's of no use," objected her master. "Monsieur
Dumas prepared the dish himself."
"Well, then, I'll go to Monsieur Dumas himself
and ask him to give me the recipe."
Sophie was as good as her word, and walked herself
off to the Chaussee d'Antin. The great novelist felt
flattered, and gave her every possible information, but
somehow the dish was not like that her master had
so much enjoyed at his friend's. Then Sophie grew
morose, and began to throw out hints about the great
man's borrowing other people's feathers in his culinary
pursuits, just as he did in his literary ones. For
Sophie was not altogether illiterate, and the papers at
that time were frequently charging Dumas with keep-
ing his collaborateurs too much in the background and
himself too much in front. Dumas had never much
•difficulty in meeting such accusations, but Sophie had
unconsciously hit upon the tactics of the clever solicitor
who recommended the barrister to abuse the plaintiff,
the defendant's case being bad, and she put it into
practice. "C'est avec sa carpe comme avec ses romans^,
les autres les font et il y met son nom," she said one
day. "Je I'ai bien vu, c'est un grand diable de
vaniteux."
68 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Now, there was no doubt about it, to those who did
not know him very well, Dumas was "un grand
diable de vaniteux ; " and the worthy doctor sat ponder-
ing his cook's remarks until he himself felt inclined
to think that Dumas had a clever chef in the back-
ground, upon whose victories he plumed himself.
Meanwhile Dumas had been out of town for more than
a month, bat a day or so after his return he made
his appearance at the Cafe de Paris, and, as a matter
of course, inquired after the result of Sophie's efforts.
The doctor was reticent at first, not caring to acknow-
ledge Sophie's failure. He had, however, made the
matter public, alleging, at the same time, Sophie's
suspicions as to Dumas' hidden collaborateur, and one
of the company was ill advised enough to let the
cat out of the bag. During the many years of my
acquaintance with Dumas, I have never seen him in
such a rage as then. But he toned down in a very
few minutes. " II n'y a qu'une reponse a une accusa-
tion pareille," he said in a grandiloquent tone, which,
however, had the most comical effect, seeing how
trifling the matter was in reality — " il n'y qu'une
reponse ; vous viendrez diner avec moi domain, vous-
choissirez un delegue qui viendra a partir de trois
heures me voir preparer raon diner." I was the
youngest, the choice fell upon me. That is how my
life-long friendship with Dumas began. At threo
o'clock next day I was at the Chaussee d'Antin, and
was taken by the servant into the kitchen, where the
great novelist stood surrounded by his utensils, some
of silver, and all of them glistening like silver. With
the exception of a soupe aux choux, at which, by his
own confession, he had been at work since the morn-
A CHALLENGE. 6D
ing, all the ingredients for the dinner were in their
natural state — of course, washed and peeled, but
nothing more. He was assisted by his own cook and
a kitchen-maid, but he himself, with his sleeves rolled
up to the elbows, a large apron round his waist, and
bare chest, conducted the operations. I do not think I
have ever seen anything more entertaining, though in
the course of these notes 1 shall have to mention fre-
quent vagaries on the part of great men. I came to the
conclusion that when writers insisted upon the culinary
challenges of Careme, Duglere, and Casimir they
were not indulging in mere metaphor.
At half-past six the guests began to arrive ; at a
quarter to seven Dumas retired to his dressing-room ;
at seven punctually the servant announced that
" monsieur 6tait servi." The dinner consisted of the
aforenamed soupe aux choux, the carp that had led
to the invitation, a ragout de mouton a la Hongroise,
roti de faisans, and a salad e Japonaise. The sweets
and ices had been sent by the patissier. I never
dined like that before or after, not even a week later,
when Dr. Veron and Sophie made the amende
honoralle in the Kue Taitbout.
I have spent many delightful evenings with all
these men ; I do not remember having spent a more
delightful one than on the latter occasion. Every
one was in the best of humours ; the dinner was very
fine, albeit that, course for course, it did not come
up to Dumas' ; and, moreover, during the week that
had elapsed between the two entertainments, one of Dr.
Veron's successors at the opera, L^on Pillet, had been
served with the most ludicrous citation that was ever
entered on the rolls of any tribunal. For nearly nine-
70 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
teen years before that period there had been several
attempts to mount Weber's " Freyschutz," all of which
had come to nought. There had been an adaptation
by Castil-Blaze, under the title of " Robin des Bois,"
and several others ; but until '41, Weber's work, even
in a mutilated state, was not known to the French
opera-goer. At that time, however, M. Emilien Pac-
cini made a very good translation; Hector Berlioz
was commissioned to write the recitatives, for it must
be remembered that Weber's opera contains dialogue,
and that dialogue is not admissible in grand opera.
Berlioz acquitted himself with a taste and reverence
for the composer's original scheme that did great credit
to both ; he sought his themes in Weber's work itself,
notably in the " Invitation a la Valse : " but notwith-
standing all this, the " Freyschutz " was miserably
amputated in the performance lest it should " play "^
longer than midnight, though a ballet was added
rather than deprive the public of its so-called due.
Neither Paccini nor Berlioz had set foot in the
opera-house since their objections to such a course
had been overruled, and they made it known to the
world at large that no blame attached to them ;
nevertheless, this quasi " Freyschutz " met with a
certain amount of success. M. Pillet was rubbing his
hands with glee at his own cleverness, until a Nemesis
came in the shape of a visitor from the Fatherland,
who took the conceit out of the director with one fell
blow, and, what was worse still, with a perfectly legal
one.
The visitor was no less a personage than Count
Tyszkiewicz, one of the best musical critics of the
time and the editor of the foremost musical publica-
A MUSICAL LAW-SUIT. 71
tion in the world ; namely, Die Musikalische Zeitung,
of Leipzig. The count, having been attracted by the
announcement of the opera on the bills, was naturally
anxious to hear how French artists would acquit
themselves of a work particularly German, and, having
secured a stall, anticipated an enjoyable evening. But
alack and alas ! in a very little while his indignation at
the liberties taken with the text and the score by the
singers, musicians, and conductor got the upper hand,
and he rushed ofif to the commissary of police on duty
at the theatre to claim the execution of Weber's
opera in its integrity, as promised on the bills, or the
restitution of his money. Failing to get satisfaction
either way, he required the commissary to draw up
a verbatim report of his objections and his claim,
determined to bring an action. Next morning, he
sent a lithographed account of the transaction to all
the papers, requesting its insertion, with which request
not a single one complied. Finding himself baffled at
every turn, he engaged lawyer and counsel and began
proceedings.
It was at that stage of the affair that the dinner at
Dr. Veron's took place. As a matter of course, the
coming lawsuit gave rise to a great deal of chaff on
the part of the guests, although the victim of this
badinage and defendant in the suit was not there. It
was his successor who took up the cudgels and pre-
dicted the plaintiff's discomfiture. " The counsel,"
said Koqueplan, " ought to be instructed to invite the
president and assessors to come and hear the work
before they deliver judgment : if they like it person-
ally, they will not decide against Pillet ; if they don't,
they'll fall asleep and be ashamed to own it alter-
72 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
wards. But should they give a verdict for the plaintiflf,
Pillet ought to appeal on a question of incompetence ;
a person with the name of Tyszkiewicz has no right to
plead in the interest of harmony." *
Among such a company as that gathered round
Dr. Yeron's table, a single sentence frequently led to
a host of recollections. Scarcely had Eoqueplan's
suggestion to invite the president and assessors of the
court to the performance of the " Freyschutz " been
broached than our host chimed in : '* I can tell you a
story where the expedient you recommend was really
resorted to, though it did not emanate from half as
clever a man as you, Koqueplan. In fact, it was only
a pompier that hit upon it to get out of a terrible
scrape. He was going to be brought before a court-
martial for neglect of duty. It happened under the
management of my immediate successor, Duponchel, at
the fourth or fifth performance of Halevy's ' Guido et
Genevra.' Some of the scenery caught fire, and, but
for Duponchel's presence of mind, there would have
been a panic and a horrible catastrophe. Nevertheless,
the cause of the accident had to be ascertained, and it
was found that the brigadier fireman posted at the
spot where the mischief began had been asleep. He
frankly admitted his fault, at the same time pleading
extenuating circumstances. ' What do you mean ? '
asked the captain, charged with the report. * Such a
thing has never happened to me before, mon capitaine,
but it is impossible for any one to keep his eyes open
* The latter plea was, in fact, advanced by Fillet's counsel in the
first instance, on Eoqueplan's advice, and perhaps influenced the
court ; for though it gave a verdict for the plaintiff, it was only for
seven francs (the price of the stall), and costs. The verdict waa
based upon the " consideration " that the defendant had not carried
out altogether the promise set forth on the programme.
A MUSICAL TEST. 73
Oiuring that act. You need not take my word, but
perhaps you will try the effect yourself.* The captain
did try ; the captain sat for two or three minutes after
the rise of the curtain, then he was seen to leave his
place hurriedly. The brigadier and his men were
•severely reprimanded, but they were not tried. Out
-of respect for Halevy the matter was kept a secret.
" I may add," said our host, " that the pompier is by
no means a bad judge of things theatrical, seeing that
he is rarely away from the stage for more than three
or four nights at a time. I remember perfectly well
-that, during the rehearsals of 'Robert le Diable,*
Meyerbeer often had a chat with them. Curiously
enough he now and then made little alterations after
these conversations. I am not insinuating that the
great composer acted upon their suggestions, but I
should not at all wonder if he had done so."
Alexandre Dumas, in whose honour, it will be
Temembered, the dinner was given, had an excellent
memory, and some years afterwards profited by the
experiment. I tell the story as it was given to us
subsequently by his son. Only a few friends and
Alexandre the younger were present at the first of the
final rehearsals of " The Three Musketeers," at the
Ambigu Comique. They were not dress rehearsals
proper, because there were no costumes, and the
scenery merely consisted of a cloth and some wings.
Behind one of the latter they had noticed, during the
first six tableaux, the shining helmet of a fireman who
was listening very attentively. The author had noticed
him too. About the middle of the seventh tableau
the helmet suddenly vanished, and the father remarked
upon it to his son. When the act was finished, Dumaa
74 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
went in search of the pompier, who did not knovr
him. " What made you go away ? " he asked him.
" Because it did not amuse me half as much as the
others," was the answer. " That was enough for my
father," said the younger Dumas. " There and then ha
went to Beraud's room, took off his coat, waistcoat, and
braces, unfastened the collar of his shirt — it was the
only way he could work — and sent for the prompt
copy of the seventh tableau, which he tore up and
flung into the fire, to the consternation of Beraud.
* What are you doing ? ' he exclaimed. * You see
what I am doing ; I am destroying the seventh tableau.
It does not amuse the pompier. 1 know what it wants.*
And an hour and a half later, at the termination of
the rehearsal, the actors were given a fresh seventh
tableau to study."
I have come back by a roundabout way to the author
of " Monte-Christo," because, tout chemin avec moi
mene a Dumas ; I repeat, he constitutes one of the
happiest of my recollections. After the lapse of many
years, I willingly admit that I would liave cheerfully
foregone the acquaintance of all the other celebrities,
perhaps David d'Angers excepted, for that of Dumas
pere.
After the lapse of many years, the elder Dumas
still represents to me all the good qualities of the
Trench nation and few of their bad ones. It was
absolutely impossible to be dull in his society, but it
must not be thought that these contagious animal
spirits only showed themselves periodically or when in
company. It was what the French have so aptly
termed "la joie de vivre," albeit that they rarely
associate the phrase with any one not in the spring
DUMAS AT REST. 75
of life. With Dumas it was clironic until a very few
months before his death. I remember calling upon
him shortly after the dinner of which I spoke just
DOW. He had taken up his quarters at Saint-Germain,
and come to Paris only for a few days. "Is monsieur
at home ? " I said to the servant.
"He is in his study, monsieur," was the answer.
" Monsieur can go in,"
At that moment I heard a loud burst of laughter
from the inner apartment, so I said, " I would sooner
wait until monsieur's visitors are gone."
** Monsieur has no visitors ; he is working," remai'ked
the servant with a smile. "Monsieur Dumas often
laughs like this at his work."
It was true enough, the novelist was alone, or rather
in company with one of his characters, at whose sallies
he was simply roaring.
Work, in fact, was a pleasure to him, like every-
thing else he undertook. One day he had been out
shooting, between Villers-Cotterets and Compiegne,
since six in the morning, and had killed twenty-nine
birds. " I am going to make up the score and a half,
and then I'll have a sleep, for I feel tired," he said.
When he had killed his thirtieth partridge he slowly
walked back to the farm, where liis son and friends
found him about four hours later, toasting himself
before the fire, his feet on the andirons, and twirling
his thumbs.
" What are you sitting tliere for like that ? " asked
his son.
" Can't you see ? I am resting."
" Did you get your sleep ? "
" No, I didn't ; it's impossible to sleep here. Tiiere-
76 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
is an infernal noise ; what with the sheep, the cows, the
pigs, and the rest, there is no chance of getting a
wink."
" So you have been sitting here for the last four
hours, twirling your thumbs ? "
" No, I have been writing a piece in one act." The
piece in question was "Romulus," which he gave to
Eegnier to have it read at the Comedie-Franfaise,
under a pseudonym, and as the work of a young
unknown author. It was accepted without a dis-
sentient vote.
It is a well-known fact, vouched for by the accounts
•of the Compagnie du Chemin de Fer de I'Ouest, that
during the three years Dumas lived at Saint-Germain,
the receipts increased by twenty thousand francs per
annum. Of course, it has been objected that railways
being then in their infancy the increment would have
been just the same without Dumas' presence in the royal
residence, but, curiously enough, from the day he left,
the passenger traffic fell to its previous state. Dumas
had simply galvanized the sleepy old town into life,
lie had bought the theatre where the artists of the
Comedie-Franpaise, previous to supping with him,
came to play "Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle" or the
"Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr," for the benefit of the
poor. On such occasions, there was not a room to be
had at the hotels. After supper, there were twice a
week fireworks on the Terrace, which could be seen
from Paris and from Versailles, to the great astonish-
ment of Louis-Philippe, who really attributed the
change to the beneficence of his reign, although he
failed to account for the continued dulness of the
latter royal borough, where he himself resided, and
DUMAS AS A CENTRE OF ATTRACTION. 77
whose picture-galleries he had restored and thrown
open to the public, besides having the great fountains
to play every first Sunday of the month.
One day the king sent for M. de Montalivet, and
told him that, though gratified at the revived
prosperity of Saint-Germain, he would like to see a
little more gaiety at Versailles.
" You really mean it, sire ? " asked the minister.
" Not only do I mean it, but I confess to you that
it would give me great pleasure."
"Well, sire, Alexandre Dumas has lately been
sentenced to a fortnight's imprisonment for neglecting
his duty in the National Guards : make an order for
him to spend that fortnight in Versailles, and I
guarantee your Majesty that Versailles will be lively
enough."
Louis-Philippe did not act upon the suggestion.
The only member of the d'Orleans' family who was
truly sympathetic to Dumas was the king's eldest son,
whose untimely death shortly afterwards affected the
great novelist very much, albeit that he frankly
acknowledged to regretting the man and not the
future ruler ; for while loudly professing his re-
publican creed, he never pretended to overlook liia
indebtedness to Louis-Philippe, when Due d'Orleans,.
for having befriended him ; nay, I am inclined to
think that Dumas' gratitude was far greater than the
case warranted. When, in 1847, the fancy took him to
go into parliament, he naturally turned to the borough
he had benefited so much by his stay there — Saint-
Germain, and Saint-Germain denied him. They
thought him too immoral. Dumas waited patiently
for another opportunity, which did not come until the
78 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS.
following year, when Louis-Philippe had abdicated.
Addressing a meeting of electors at Joigny, he was
challenged by a M. de Bonneliere to reconcile his title
of republican with his title of Marquis de la Pailleterie,
and the fact of his having been a secretary to the Due
d'Orleans, although he had never occupied so im-
portant a position in the Due d'Orleans' household.
His reply was simply scathing, and I give it in full
as the papers of the day reproduced it. " No doubt,"
he said, in an offhand, bantering way, "I was formerly
called the Marquis de la Pailleterie, which was ray
father's name, and of which I was very proud, being
unable then to claim a glorious one of my own make.
But at present, when I am somebody, I call myself
Alexandre Dumas and nothing more ; and everybody
knows me, you among the rest — you, you absolute
nobody, who have merely come to be able to boast
to-morrow, after insulting me to-night, that you have
known the great Dumas. If such was your ambition,
you might have satisfied it without failing in the
<jommon courtesies of a gentleman."
When the applause which the reply provoked had
subsided, Dumas went on : " There is also no doubt
about my having been a secretary to the Due d'Orleans,
and that I have received all kinds of favours from his
family. If you, citizen, are ignorant of the meaning
of the term, 'the memory of the heart,' allow me
at least to proclaim here in my loudest voice, that I
am not, and that I entertain towards this royal family
all the devotion an honourable man can feel."
It is, however, not my intention to sketch Alexandre
Dumas as a politician, for which career I considered
him singularly unfit; but the speech from which I
DUMAS AS A POLITICIAN. 79
extracted the foregoing contains a few lines which,
more tlian thirty-five years after they were spoken,
cannot fail to strike the reader with his marvellous
foresight. " Geographically," he said, commenting
upon the political state of Europe, " Prussia has
the form of a serpent, and, like it, she seems to be
asleep, and to gather her strength in order to swallow
everything around her — Denmark, Holland, Belgium,
and, when she shall have swallowed all that, you will
find that Austria will be swallowed in its turn, and
perhaps, alas, France also."
The last words, as may be imagined, provoked a
storm of hisses; nevertheless, he kept his audience
spellbound until midnight.
A parliamentary candidate, however eloquent, who
fiings his constituents into the river when they happen
to annoy him, must have been a novelty even in
those days, and that is what Dumas did to two
brawlers after said meeting, just to show them that
his " aristocratic grip " was worth their " plebeian
one."
A few years later, at a dinner at Dumas', in the Rue
dAmsterdam, I met a Monsieur du ChaiFault who had
been an eye-witness of this,' as well as of other scenes
<luring that memorable day. Until the morning of
that day, M. du Chaffault had never set eyes on the
great novelist; in the evening, he was his friend for life.
It only proves once more the irresistible fascination
Dumas exercised over every one with whom he came
in contact, because the beginning of that friendship
cost M. du Chaffault six hundred francs, the expenses
of that part of the electoral campaign. The story, as
told by M. du Chafifault the following afternoon in the
80 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Cafe Eiche to Dr. Veron, myself, and Joseph Mery, ia
too good to be missed. I give it as near as I can
remember.
"I was about twenty-four then, with nothing par-
ticular to do, and a moderate private income. They
were painting and whitewashing my place, a few milea
away from Sens, and I had taken up my quarters in
the principal hotel in the town. The first elections
under the second republic were being held. There was
a good deal of excitement everywhere, and I liked it,
though not taking the slightest interest in politics.
This was in May, 1848 ; and about six, one morning
while I was still in bed, the door of my room was sud-
denly opened without knocking, and what seemed to-
me a big black monster stood before me. There was
a pistol lying by the side of me, and I was reaching
towards it, when he spoke. 'Don't alarm yourself,*
he said; *I am Alexandre Dumas. They told me
you were a good fellow, and I have come to ask you
a service.'
" I had never seen Dumas in the flesh, only a portrait
of him, but I recognized him immediately. * You have
often afforded me a great deal of amusement, but I
confess you frightened me,' I said. * What, in Heaven's-
name, do you want at this unholy hour ? '
" ' I have slept here,' was the answer. * I landed here
at midnight, and am starting for Joigny by-and-by, to
attend a political meeting. I am putting up as a
member for your department.'
" I jumped out of bed at once, Dumas handed me
my trousers, and, when I got as far as my boots, he
says, * Oh, while I think of it, I have come to ask
you for a pair of boots ; in stepping into the carriage,.
DUMAS' ELECTION TACTICS. 81
one of mine has come to utter grief, and there is no
shop open.'
" As you may see for yourselves, I am by no means
a giant, and Dumas is one. I pointed this out to
him, but he did not even answer me. He had caught
sight of three or four pair of boots under the dress-
ing-table, and, in the twinkling of an eye, chose the
best pair and pulled them on, leaving me his old
ones, absolutely worn out, but which I have preserved
in my library at home. I always show them to my
visitors as the thousand and first volume of Alexandre
Dumas.*
" By the time he got the boots on we were friends,
as if we had known one another for years; as for
Dumas, he was * theeing ' and * thouing * me as if
we had been at school together.
" * You are going to Joigny ? ' I said ; * I know a
good many people there.'
" * All the better, for I am going to take you along
with me.*
*' Having to go no further than Joigny, and being
taken thither in the conveyance of my newly-made
friend, I did not think it necessary to provide myself
with an extra supply of funds, the more that I had
between five and six hundred francs in my pocket. In
a short time we were on our road, and the first stage
of three hours seemed to me as many minutes. When-
ever we passed a country seat, out came a lot of
anecdotes and legends connected with its owners,
interlarded with quaint fancies and epigrams. At
that first change of horses, Dumas' secretary paid. At
he second, Villevailles, Dumas says, *Have you got
* Alexandre Domas had a marvellously small foot.— Edito&
VOL. I. G
82 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
twenty francs change ? * Without a moment's hesita-
tion, I took out my purse, paid the money, and put
down in my pocket-book, * Alexandre Dumas, twenty
francs.* I might have saved myself the trouble, as I
found out in a very short time, for the moment he
got out at Joigny, he rushed off in a hurry without
troubling about anything. The postilion turned to
me for his money, and I paid, and put down once
more, * Alexandre Dumas, thirty francs.'
" The first meeting was fixed for four, at the theatre.
They applied to me for the hire of the building, for the
gas, I went on paying, but I no longer put down the
items, saying to myself, * When my six hundred francs
are gone, my little excursion will be at an end, and
I'll go back to Sens.' The little excursion did not
extend to more than one day, seeing that I had to
settle the dinner bill at the Due de Bourgogne,
Dumas having invited every one he met on his way.
I am only sorry for one thing, that I did not have ten
thousand francs in my pocket that morning in order
to prolong my excursion for a week or so. But next
morning my purse was empty, and *our defeat was
certain.' I had already identified myself with Dumas'
aspirations, so I returned to Sens by myself, but over-
joyed at having seen and spoken to this man of genius,
who is richer than all the millionnaires in the world
put together, seeing that he never troubles himself
about paying, and has therefore no need to worry about
money. Three months afterwards, the printer at Joigny
drew upon me for a hundred francs for electioneering
bills, which, of course, I could not have ordered,
but which draft I settled as joyfully as I had settled
the rest. I have preserved the draft with the boots ;
DUMAS' IMPECUNIOSITY. 83
they are mementoes of my first two days* friendship
with my dear friend."
At the first blush, all this sounds very much as if
we were dealing with a mere Harold Skimpole, but no
man was more unlike Dickens* creation than Alexandre
Dumas. M. du Chafifault described him rightly when
he said that he did not worry about money, not even
his own. " My biographer,'* Dumas often said, " will
not fail to point out that I was *a panier perce,' *
neglecting, as a matter of course, to mention that, as
a rule, it was not I who made the holes.*'
The biographers have not been quite so unjust as
that. Unfortunately, few of them knew Dumas inti-
mately, and they were so intent upon sketching the
playwright and the novelist that they neglected the
man. They could have had the stories of Alexandre
Dumas* improvidence with regard to himself and his
generosity to others for the asking from his familiars.
On the other hand, the latter have only told these
stories in a fragmentary way ; a complete collection of
them would be impossible, for no one, not even Dumas
himself, knew half the people whom he befriended. In
that very apartment of the Rue d'Amsterdam which
I mentioned just now, the board was free to any and
every one who chose to come in. Not once, but a score
of times have I heard Dumas ask, after this or that man
had left the table, "Who is he? what's his name?"
Whosoever came with, or at the tail, not of a friend,
but of a simple acquaintance, especially if the ac-
quaintance happened to wear skirts, was immediately
invited to breakfast or dinner as the case might be.
* Literally, a basket with holes in it ; figuratively, the term applied
to irreclaimable spendthrifts. — Editor.
84 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Count de Cherville once told me that Dumas, having
taken a house at Varenne-Saint-Hilaire, his second
month's bill for meat alone amounted to eleven hundred
francs. Let it be remembered that his household
consisted of himself, two secretaries, and three servants,
and that money went a great deal further than it does
at present, especially in provincial France, in some
parts of which living is still very cheap. In conse-
quence of one of those financial crises, which were
absolutely periodical with Alexandre Dumas, M. de
Cherville had prevailed upon him to leave Paris for
a while, and to take up his quarters with him. All
went comparatively well as long as he was M. de
Cherville's guest; but, having taken a liking to the
neighbourhood, he rented a house of his own, and
furnished it from garret to cellar in the most expensive
way, as if he were going to spend the remainder of his
life in it. Exclusive of the furniture, he spent between
fifteen thousand and eighteen thousand francs on
hangings, painting, and repairs. The parasites and
harpies which M. de Cherville had kept at bay came
down upon him like a swarm of locusts. " And how
long, think you, did Dumas stay in his new domicile ?
Three months, not a day more nor less. As a matter of
course, the furniture did not fetch a quarter of its cost ;
the repairs, the decorating, etc., were so much sheer
waste: for the incoming tenant 'refused to refund a
cent for it, and Dumas, having made up his mind to go
to Italy, would not wait for a more liberal or conscien-
tious one, lest he should have the rent of the empty
house on his shoulders also. Luckily, I took care that
he should pocket the proceeds of the sale of the
furniture."
DUMAS AND THE BAILIFFS. 85
This last sentence wants explaining. As a rule,
when a man sells his sticks, he pockets the money.
But the instance just mentioned was the only one in
which Dumas had the disposal of his household goods.
The presiding divinity invariably carried them away
with her when she had to make room for a successor,
and these successions generally occurred once, some-
times twice, a year. "La reine est morte, vive la
reine.'* The new sovereign, for the first few days of
her reign, had to be content with bare walls and very
few material comforts ; then the nest was upholstered
afresh, and " il n'y avait rien de change en la demeure,
sauf le nom de la maitresse."
Consequently, though for forty years Alexandre
Dumas could not have earned less than eiglit thousand
pounds per annum ; though he neither smoked, drank,
nor gambled ; though, in spite of his mania for cooking,
he himself was the most frugal eater — the beef from
the soup of the previous day, grilled, was his favourite
dish, — it ruined writs and summonses around him, while
he himself was frequently without a penny.
M. du Chaffault one day told me of a scene a propos
of this which is worth reproducing. He was chatting
to Dumas in his study, when a visitor was shown in.
He turned out to be an Italian man of letters and
refugee, on the verge of starvation. M. du Chaffau.It
could not well make out what was said, because they
were talking Italian, but all at once Dumas got up and
took from the wall behind him a magnificent pistol,
one of a pair. The visitor walked off with it, to M. du
Chaffault's surprise. When he was gone, Dumas turned
to his friend and explained : " He was utterly penniless,
and 80 am I ; so I gave him the pistol."
86 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
"Great Heavens, yon surely did not recommend him
to go and make an end of himself ! " interrupted du
Chaffault.
Dumas burst out laughing. "Of course not. I
merely told him to go and sell or pawn it, and leave
me the fellow one, in case some other poor wretch
should want assistance while I am so terribly hard up."
And yet, in this very Kue d' Amsterdam, whether
Dumas was terribly impecunious or not, the dejeuner,
which generally began at about half-past eleven, was
rarely finished before half-past four, because during
the whole of that time fresh contingents arrived to be
fed, and communication was kept up between the apart-
ment and the butcher for corresponding fresh supplies
of beefsteaks and cutlets.
Is it a wonder, then, that it rained summonses, and
writs, and other law documents? But no one took
much notice of these, not even one of the four secre-
taries, who was specially appointed to look after these
things. If I remember aright, his name was Hirschler.
The names of the other three secretaries were Rusconi,
Viellot, and Fontaine. Unfortunately, Hirschler was
as dilatory as his master, and, until the process-server
claimed a personal interview, as indifferent. These
" limbs of the law " were marvellously polite. I was
present one day at an interview between one of these
and Hirschler, for Dumas' dwelling was absolutely and
literally the glass house of the ancient philosopher —
with this difference, that no one threw any stones /rowi
it. There was no secret, no skeleton in the cupboard ;
the impecuniosity and the recurrent periods of plenty
were both as open as the day.
The " man of law " and Hirschler began by shaking
AN UNWRITTEN COMEDY 87
hands, for they were old acquaintances ; it would have
been difficult to find a process-server in Paris who was
not an old acquaintance of Dumas. After which the
visitor informed Hirschler that he had come to
distrain.
** To distrain ? I did not know we had got as far
as that," said Hirschler. " Wait a moment. I must
go and see." It meant that Hirschler repaired to
the kitchen, where stood a large oaken sideboard, in
a capacious drawer of which all the law documents,
no matter by whom received, were indiscriminately
thrown, to be fished out when the "mauvais quart
d'heure " came, and not until then.
** You are right," said Hirschler, but not in the
least worried or excited. " I really did not know we
had got as far as that. I must ask you to wait another
minute. I suppose a third or a fourth of the total
amount will do for the present ? "
" Well, I do not know," said the process-server with
most exquisite politeness. " Try what you can do. I
fancy that with a third I may manage to stop proceed-
ings for a while."
The third or fourth part of the debt was rarely in
the house ; messengers had to be despatched for it to
Cadot, the publisher, or to the cashier of the MoniteuYy
ConstitiUionnel, or Steele. Meanwhile the process-server
was feasted in a sumptuous way, and when the mes-
senger returned with the sum in question, Hirschler
and the process-server shook hands once more, with
the most cordial au revoir possible.
As a matter of course, the same process-server re-
appeared upon the scene in a few months. The comedy
had often as many as a dozen representations, so that
88 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
it may safely be said that a great number of Dumas*
debts were paid six or seven times over. Even six-
pence a line of sixty letters did not suffice to keep pace
with such terrible improvidence, though the remu-
neration was much more frequently fourpence or five-
pence. It rarely rose to sevenpence halfpenny, but in
all cases a third went to Dumas' collaborateurs, another
third to his creditors, and the rest to himself.
I have allowed my pen to run away with me. One
more story, and then I leave Alexandre Dumas for the
present. It is simply to show that he would have
squandered the fortune of all the Rothschilds combined :
I repeat, not on himself; he would have given it away,
or allowed it to be taken. He had no notion of the
value of money. About a year after I had made his
acquaintance, he was ill at Saint-Germain, and I went
to see him. His dog had bitten him severely in the
right hand ; he was in bed, and obliged to dictate.
His son had just left him, and he told me, adding,
*' C'est un cceur d'or, cet' Alexandre." Seeing that I
did not ask what had elicited the praise, he began
telling me.
" This morning I received six hundred and fifty
francs. Just now Alexandre was going up to Paris,
and he says, ' I'll take fifty francs.'
" I did not pay attention, or must have misunder-
stood ; at any rate I replied, * Don't take as much as
that ; leave me a hundred francs.'
" * What do you mean, father ? * he asked. * I am
telling you that I am going to take fifty francs.'
" ' I beg your pardon,' I said. * I understood you
were going to take six hundred.' "
He would have considered it the most natural thing
THE TWO DUMASES. 89
in the world for his son to take six hundred and leave
him fifty ; just as he considered it the most natural
thing to bare his arm and to have a dozen leeches put
on it, because his son, when a boy of eight, having met
with an accident, would not consent to blood-letting of
that kind. In vain did the father tell him that the
leeches did not hurt. "Well, put some on yourself,
and then I will." And the giant turned up his sleeves,
and did as he was told.
90 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTEE IV.
Dr. Louis Veron — The real man as distinguished from that of his
own " Memoirs " — He takes the management of the Paris Opera —
How it was governed before his advent — Meyerbeer's " Robert le
Diable" underlined — Meyerbeer and his doubts upon the merits
of his work — Meyerbeer's generosity — ^Meyerbeer and the beggars
of the Rue Le Peletier — Dr. Veron, the inventor of the modern
newspaper puff — Some specimens of advertisements in their
infancy — Dr. Ve'ron takes a leaf from the book of Moliere —
Dr. Veron's love of money — His superstitions — His objections
to travelling in railways — He quotes the Queen of England as
an example — When Queen Victoria overcomes her ol)jection,
Veron holds out — " Queen Victoria has got a successor : the
Veron dynasty begins and ends with me " — Thirteen at table —
I make the acquaintance of Taglioni — The woman and the
ballerina — Her adventure at Perth — An improvised perform-
ance of " Nathalie, la Laiti^re Suisse " — ^Another adventure in
Russia — A modem Claude Du-Val — My last meeting with Tag-
lioni — A dinner-party at De Morny's — A comedy scene between
husband and wife — Flotow, the composer of " Martha " — His
family — His father's objection to tlie composer's profession — The
latter's interview with M. de Saint-Georges, the author of the
libretto of Balfe's " Bohemian Girl " — M. de Saint-Georges
prevails upon the father to let his son study in Paris for five
years, and to provide for him during that time — The supplies are
stopped on the last day of the fifth year — Flotow, at the advice
of M. de Saiut-Georges, stays on and lives by giving piano-
lessons — His earthly possessions at his first success — " Rob
Roy" at the Hotel Castellane — Lord Granville's opinion of the
music — The Hotel Castellane and some Paris salons during
Louis-Philippe's reign — The Princesse de Lieven's, M. Thiers',
etc. — What Madame de Girardin's was like — ^Victor Hugo's —
Perpetual adoration ; very artistic, but nothing to eat or to
drink — The salon of the ambassador of the Two Sicilies — Lord
and Lady Granville at the English Embassy — The salon of
Count Apponyi — A story connected with it — Furniture and
entertainments — Cakes, ices, and tea ; no champagne as during
the Second Empire — The Hotel de Castellane and its amateur the-
atricals — Rival companies — No under-studies — Lord Brougham
at the Hotel Castellane — His bad French and his would-be
Don Juanism — A French rendering of Shakespeare's " There is
but one step between the sublime and the ridiculous," as applied
DE. V]6rON. 91
to Lord Brougham — ^He nearly accepts a part in a farce where
his bad French is likely to produce a comic effect — His successor
as a murderer of the language — M. de Saint-Georges — Like
Moli^re, he reads his plays to his housekeeper — When the latter
is not satisfied, the dinner is spoilt, however great the success of
the play in public estimation — Great men and their housekeepers
— Turner, Jean Jacques Bousseau, Eugene Delacroix.
Next to Dumas, the man wlio is uppermost in my
recollections of that period is Dr. Louis Yeroo, the
founder of the Bevue de Paris, which was the precursor
of the Bevue des Deux Mondes; Dr. Veron, under
whose management the Paris Opera rose to a degree
of perfection it has never attained since ; Dr. Veron,
who, as some one said, was as much part and parcel
of the history of Paris during the first half of the
nineteenth century as was Napoleon I. of the history
of France ; Dr. Veron, than whom tliere has been
no more original figure in any civih'zed community
before or since, with the exceptioo, perhaps, of Phineas
Barnum, to whom, however, he was infinitely superior
in education, tact, and manners.
Dr. Veron has written his own " Memoirs " in six
bulky volumes, to which he added a seventh a few
years later. They are full of interesting facts from
beginning to end, especially to those who did not
know intimately the author or the times of which he
treats. Those who did are tempted to repeat the
mot of Diderot when they gave him the portrait of
his father. " This is my Sunday father ; I want my
everyday father." The painter, in fact, had repre-
sented the worthy cutler of Langres in his best coat
and wig, etc. ; not as his son had been in the habit
of seeing him. The Dr. Veron of the "Memoirs"
is not the Dr. V6ron of the Cafe de Paris, nor the
Dr. Veron of the avant-scene in his own theatre, snoring
92 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
a duet with Auber, and "keeping better time than
the great composer himself ; " he is not the Dr. Veron
full of fads and superstitions and uniformly kind,
" because kindness is as a rule a capital investment ; "
he is not the cheerful pessimist we knew; he is a
grumbling optimist, as the journalists of his time
have painted him ; in short, in his book he is a
quasi-philanthropic illusion, while in reality he was
a hard-hearted, shrewd business man who did good
by stealth now and then, but never blushed to find it
fame.
The event which proved the starting-point of Dr.
Veron's celebrity was neither of his own making nor
of his own seeking. Though it happened when I was
a mere lad, I have heard it discussed in after-years
sufiBciently often and by very good authorities to be
confident of my facts. In June, 1831, Dr. Veron took
the management of the Paris Opera, which up till
then had been governed on the style of the old regime,
namely, by three gentlemen of the king's household
with a working director under them. The royal
privy purse was virtually responsible for its liabilities.
Louis-Philippe shifted the burden of that responsibility
on the State, and limited its extent. The three
gentlemen of the king's household were replaced by
a royal commissioner, and the yearly subsidy fixed at
£32,500 ; still a pretty round sum, which has been
reduced since by ^6500 only.
At Dr. Yeron's advent, Meyerbeer's " Eobert le
Diable " was, what they call in theatrical parlance,
" underlined," or, if not underlined, at least definitely
accepted. Only one work of his had at that time betu
heard in Paris, " II Crociato in Egitto."
VJ^RON AND MEYERBEER. 93
It is diflScult to determine, after so many years,
whether Dr. Veron, notwithstanding his artistic in-
stincts, was greatly smitten with the German composer's
masterpiece. It has often been argued that he was
not, because he insisted upon an indemnity of forty
thousand francs from the Government towards the cost
of its production. In the case of a man like Veron,
this proves nothing at all. He may have been
thoroughly convinced of the merits of "Eobert le
Diable," and as thoroughly confident of its success
with the public, though no manager, not even the
most experienced, can be; it would not have pre-
vented him from squeezing the forty thousand francs
from the minister on the plea that the performance
of the work was imposed upon him by a treaty
of his predecessor. To Dr. Yeron's credit be it
said that he might have saved himself the hard
tussle he had with the minister by simply applying
for the money to Meyerbeer himself, who would have
given it without a moment's hesitation, rather than
see the success of " Kobert le Diable " jeopardized by
inefficient mounting, although up to the last Meyer-
beer could never make up his mind whether magnificent
scenery and gorgeous dresses were an implied com-
pliment or the reverse to the musical value of his
compositions. A jpropos of this there is a very
characteristic story. At one of the final dress-re-
hearsals of " Robert le Diable," Meyerbeer felt much
upset. At the sight of that beautiful set of the
cloister of Sainte-Rosalie, where the nuns rise from
their tombs, at the effect produced by the weird
procession, Meyerbeer came up to Veron.
" My dear director," he said, '* I perceive well enough
^4 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
that you do not depend upon the opera itself; you
are, in fact, running after a spectacular success."
" Wait till the fourth act," replied Veron, who was
above all logical.
The curtain rose upon the fourth act, and what did
Meyerbeer behold ? Instead of the vast, grandiose
apartment he had conceived for Isabella, Princess of
Sicily, he found a mean, shabby set, which would have
been deemed scarcely good enough for a minor theatre.
"Decidedly, my dear director," says Meyerbeer,
with a bitter twinge in his features and voice, " I
perceive well enough that you have no faith in my
score ; you did not even dare go to the expense of a
new set. I would willingly have paid for it myself."
And he would willingly have paid for it, because
Meyerbeer was not only very rich, but very generous.
" It is a very funny thing," said Lord , as he
came into the Cafe de Paris one morning, many years
afterwards ; " there are certain days in the week when
the Rue Le Peletier seems to be swarming with
beggars, and, what is funnier still, they don't take
any notice of me. I pass absolutely scot-free."
" I'll bet," remarked Roger de Beauvoir, " that they
are playing * Robert le Diable ' or * Les Huguenots '
to-night, and I can assure you that I have not seen
the bills."
" Now that you speak of it, they are playing * Les
Huguenots ' to-night," replied Lord ; " but what
has that to do with it? I am not aware that the
Paris beggars manifest a particular predilection for
Meyerbeer's operas, and that they are booking their
places on the days they are performed."
" It's simply this," explained De Beauvoir : " both
meterbeer's charity. 95
Rossini and Meyerbeer never fail to come of a morning
to look at the bills, and when the latter finds hLs name
on thera, he is so overjoyed that he absolutely empties
his pockets of all the cash they contain. Notwith-
standing his many years of success, he is still afraid
that the public's liking for his music is merely a
passing fancy, and as every additional performance
decreases this apprehension, he thinks he cannot be
sufficiently thankful to Providence. His gratitude
shows itself in almsgiving."
I made it my business subsequently to verify what
I considered De Beauvoir's fantastical statement, and
I found it substantially correct.
To return to Dr. Veron, who, there is no doubt, did
the best he could for "Robert le Diable," to which
and to the talent of Taglioni he owed his fortune.
At the same time, it would be robbing hirn of part of
his glory did we not state that the success of that
great work might have been less signal but for him ;
both his predecessors and successors had and have
still equally good chances without having availed
themselves of them, either in the interest of lyrical
art or in that of the public.
I compared Dr. Veron just now to Phineas Barnum,
and the comparison was not made at random. Dr.
Veron was really the inventor of the newspaper puflf
direct and indirect — of that personal journalism which
records the slightest deed or gesture of the popular
theatrical manager, and which at the present day is
carried to excess. And all his subordinates and co-
workers were made to share the advantages of the
system, because their slightest doings also reflected
glory upon him. An ar^i^t filling at a moment's
96 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
notice the part of a fellow-artist who had become
suddenly ill, a carpenter saving by his presence of
mind the situation at a critical juncture, had not only
his paragraph in next morning's papers, but a whole
column, containing the salient facts of his life and
career. It was the system of Frederick the Great
and of the first Napoleon, acknowledging the daring
deeds of their smallest as well as of their foremost
aids — with this difference, that the French captain
found it convenient to suppress them now and then,
and that Dr. Yeron never attempted to do so. When
the idea of putting down these notes first entered my
mind, I looked over some files of newspapers of that
particular period, and there was scarcely one between
1831 and 1835 that did not contain a lengthy refer-
ence to the Grand Opera and its director. I was
irresistibly reminded of the bulletins the great
Napoleon dictated on the battle-field. I have also
seen a collection of posters relating to the same
brilliant reign at the Opera. Of course, compared to
the eloquent effusions and ingenious attempts of the
contemporary theatrical manager to bait the public,
Veron's are mere child's play ; still we must remember
that the art of puffing was in its infancy, and, as such,
some of them are worth copying. The public was not
so hlase, and it swallowed the bait eagerly. Here
they are.
" To-morrow tenth performance of ... , which hence-
forth will only be played at rare intervals.
"To-morrow twentieth performance of ... ; posi-
tively the last before the departure of M. . . .
" To-morrow seventeenth performance of ...; re-
appearance of Madame ...
PRIMITIVE PUFFING. 97
"To-morrow fifteenth performance of ... by all
the principal artists who ' created ' the parts.
'* To-morrow thirtieth performance of . . . The
third scene of the second act will be played as on the
first night.
" To-morrow twentieth performance of ... , which
can only be played for a limited number of nights.
" To-morrow sixteenth performance of . . . In the
Ball-Koom Scene a new pas de Chales will be intro-
duced.
" To-morrow thirtieth performance of . . . This suc-
cessful work must be momentarily suspended owing
to previous arrangements."
Childish as these lines may look to the present
generation, they produced a fortune of £2000 a year
to Dr. Veron in four years, and, but for the outbreak
of the cholera in '32, when " Robert le Diable " was
in the flush of its success, would have produced another
£1000 per annum. At that time Dr. Veron had already
been able to put aside £24,000, and he might have
easily closed his theatre during those terrible months ;
but, like Moliere, he asked himself what would become
of all those who were dependent upon him, and had
not put aside anything ; so he made his savings into
ten parcels, intending to hold out as many months
without asking help of any one. Five of the parcels
went. At the beginning of the sixth month the cholera
abated ; by the end it had almost disappeared.
Those who would infer from this that Dr. Veron
was indifferent to money, would make a great mistake.
But he would not allow his love of it to get the upper
hand, to come between him and his conscience, to
make him commit either a dishonest or a foolish act.
VOL. I. H
98 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
By a foolish act he meant headlong speculation.
When the shares of the Northern Kailway were
allotted, Dr. Veron owned the Gonstitutionnel ; 150
shares were allotted to him, which at that moment
represented a clear profit of 60,000 francs, they being
400 francs above par. Dr. Veron made up his mind
to realize there and then. But it was already late;
the Bourse was closed, the stockbrokers had finished
business for the day. He, however, met one on the
Boulevards, who gave him a cheque for 55,000 francs
on the Bank of France, which could only be cashed
next day. The shares were left meanwhile in Dr.
Veron's possession. Three minutes after the bargain
was concluded Dr. Veron went back to his office. " I
must have ready money for this, or decline the
transaction," he said. The stockbroker, by applying
to two of his colleagues, managed to scrape together
50,000 francs. Dr. Veron gave him a receipt in i'ull,
returned home, singing as he went the French version
of " A bird in the hand," etc.
Veron was exceedingly superstitious, and had fads.
He could never be induced to take a railway journey.
It was generally known in France at that time that, in
the early days of locomotion by steam, Queen Victoria
had held a similar objection. Veron, when twitted
with his objection, invariably replied, " I have yet to
learn that the Queen of England is less enlightened
than any of you, and she will not enter a railway
carriage." But one day the report spread that the
queen had made a journey from Windsor to London
by the "iron horse," and then Veron was sorely
pressed. He had his answer ready, " The Queen of
England has got a successor : the Veron dynasty begins
TAGLIONI. 99
and ends with me. I must take care to make it last
as long as possible." He stuck to his text till the end
of his life.
On no consideration would Veron have sat down
** thirteen at table." Once or twice, when the guests
and host made up that number, his coachman's son
was sent for, dressed, and made presentable, and joined
the party; at others he politely requested two or
three of us to go and dine at the Cafe de Paris, and
to have the bill sent to him. We drew lots, as to who
was to go.
It was through Dr. Veron that I became acquainted
with most of the operatic celebrities — Meyerbeer,
Halevy, Auber, Duprez, etc. ; for though he had
abdicated his directorship seven or eight years before
Ave met, he was perhaps a greater power then in the
lyrical world than at the date of his reign.
It was at Dr. Veron's that I saw Mdlle. Taglioni
for the first time — off the stage. It must have
been in 1844, for she had not been in Paris since
1840, when I had seen her dance at the Opera. I had
only seen her dance once before that, in '36 or '37, but 1
was altogether too young to judge then. 1 own that in
1840 I was somewhat disappointed, and my disappoint-
ment was shared by many, because some of my friends,
to whom I communicated my impressions, told me
that her three years' absence had made a vast differ-
ence in her art. In '44 it was still worse; her per-
formances gave rise to many a spiteful epigram, for
she herself invited comparison between her former
glory and her decline, by dancing in one of her most
successful creations, " L'Ombre." Those most leniently
disposed towards her thought what Alfred de Musset
100 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
SO gracefully expressed when requested to write some
verses in her album.
" Si vous ne voulez plus danser,
Si vous ne faites que passer
Sur ce grand theS,tre si sombre,
Ne courez pas apres votre ombre
Et t&chez de nous la laisser."
My disappointment with the ballerina was as
nothing, however, to my disappointment with the
woman. I had been able to determine for myself
before then that Marie Taglioni was by no means a
good-looking woman, but I did not expect her to be
so plain as she was. That, after all, was not her fault ;
but she might have tried to make amends for her
lack of personal charms by her amiability. She rarely
attempted to do so, and never with Frenchmen. Her
reception of them was freezing to a degree, and on the
occasions — few and far between — when she thawed, it
was with Russians, Englishmen, or Viennese. Any
male of the Latin races she held metaphorically as
well as literally at arm's length. Of the gracefulness,
so apparent on the stage, even in her decline, there
was not a trace to be found in private life. One of
her shoulders was higher than the other; she limped
slightly, and, moreover, waddled like a duck. The
pinched mouth was firmly set ; there was no smile on
the colourless lips, and she replied to one's remarks
in monosyllables.
Truly she had suffered a cruel wrong at the hands
of men — of one man, bien entendu ; nevertheless, the
wonder to most people who knew her was not that
Comte Gilbert de Voisins should have left her so soon
after their marriage, but that he should have married
her at all. " The fact was," said some one with whom
TAGLIONI AT PERTH. 101
I discussed the marriage one day, "that De Voisins
considered himself in honour bound to make that
reparation, but I cannot conceive what possessed him
to commit the error that made the reparation neces-
sary." And I am bound to say that it was not the
utter lack of personal attractions that made every one,
men and women alike, indifferent to Taglioni. She
was what the French call " une pimbeche." * " Am
I not a good-natured woman?" said Mdlle. Mars
one day to Hoffman, the blood-curdling novelist.
"Mademoiselle, you are the most amiable creature I
know between the footlights and the cloth," he replied.
No one could have paid Taglioni even such a left-
handed compliment, for, if all I heard was true, she was
not good-tempered either on or off the stage. Dr.
Veron, who was really a very loyal friend, was very
reticent about her character, and would never be drawn
into revelations. "You know the French proverb,"
he said once, when I pressed him very closely. " * On
ne herite pas de ceux que Ton tue ; ' and, after all, she
helped me to make my fortune."
That evening I was seated next to Mdlle. Taglioni
at dinner, and when she. discovered my nationality
she unbent a little, so that towards the dessert
we were on comparatively friendly terms. She had
evidently very grateful recollections of her engage-
ments in London, for it was the only topic on which I
could get her to talk on that occasion. Here is a little
story I had from her own lips, and which shows the
Scotch of the early thirties in quite a new light. It
may have been known once, but has been probably
forgotten by now, except by the " oldest inhabitant " of
* The word "shrew " is the nearest equivalent — Editob,
102 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Perth. In 1832 or 1833 — I will not vouch for the exact
year, seeing that it is two score of years since the story
was told to me — the season in London had been a
fatiguing one for Taglioni. A ballet her father had
composed for her, " Nathalie, ou la Laitiere Suisse," a
very inane thing by all accounts, had met with great
success in London. The scene, however, had, as far as
I could make out, been changed from Switzerland to
Scotland, but of this I will not be certain. At the
termination of her engagement Taglioni wanted rest,
and she bethought herself to recruit in the Highlands.
After travelling hither and thither for a little while,
she arrived at Perth, and, as a matter of course, put
down her name in the visitors' book of the hotel, then
went out to explore the sights of the town. Meanwhile
the report of her arrival had spread like wildfire, and
on her return to the hotel she found awaiting her a
deputation from the principal inhabitants, with the
request to honour them with a performance. "The
request was so graciously conveyed," said Taglioni,
" that I could not but accept, though I took care to
point out the difficulties of performing a ballet all by
myself, seeing that there was neither a corps de ballet,
a male dancer, nor any one else to support me. All
these objections were overruled by their promise to
provide all these in the best way they could, and before
1 had time to consider the matter fully, I was taken
off in a cab to inspect the theatre, etc. Great heavens,
what a stage and scenery! Still, I had given my
promise, and, seeing their anxiety, would not go back
from it. I cannot tell where they got their personnel
from. There was a director and a stage-manager, but
as he did not understand French, and as my English
.A SCRATCH PERFORMANCE. 108
at that time was even worse than it is now, we were
obliged to communicate through an interpreter. His
English must have been bewildering, to judge from the
manager's blank looks when he spoke to him, and his
French was even more wonderful than my English.
He was a German waiter from the hotel.
*' Nevertheless, thanks to him, I managed to convey
the main incidents of the plot of 'Nathalie' to the
manager, and during the first act, the most complicated
one, all went well. But at the beginning of the second
everything threatened to come to a standstill. I must
tell you that my father hit upon the novel idea of
introducing a kind of dummy, or lay figure, on which
this idiotic Nathalie lavishes all her caresses. The
young fellow, who is in love with Nathalie, contrives
to take the dummy's place ; consequently, in order to
preserve some semblance of truth, and not to make
Nathalie appear more idiotic than she is already, there
ought to be a kind of likeness between the dummy and
the lover. I know not whether the interpreter had
been at fault, or whether in the hurry-scurry I had
forgotten all about the dummy, but a few minutes
before the rise of the curtain I discovered that there
was no dummy. ' You must do the dummy,' I said
to Pierre, my servant, * and I'll pretend to carry you
on.' Pierre nodded a silent assent, and immediately
began to don the costume, seeing which I had the
curtain rung up, and went on to the stage. I was not
very comfortable, though, for I heard a violent alter-
cation going on behind the scenes, the cause of which
I failed to guess. I kept dancing and dancing, getting
near to the wings every now and then, to ask whether
Pierre was ready. He seemed to me inordinately long
104 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
in changing liis dress, but the delay was owing to
something far more serious than his careful preparation
for the part. Pierre had a pair of magnificent whiskers,
and the young fello^v^ who enacted the lover had not
a hair on his face. Pierre was ready to go on, when the
manager noticed the difference. * Stop ! ' he shouted ;
* that won't do. You must have your whiskers taken off.'
Pierre indignantly refused. The manager endeavoured
to persuade him to make the sacrifice, but in vain,
until at last he had him held down on a chair by two
stalwart Scotchmen while the barber did his work.
"All this had taken time, but the public did not
grow impatient. They would have been very difficult
to please indeed had they behaved otherwise, for I
never danced to any audience as I did to them. One
of the few pleasant recollections in my life is that
evening at Perth ; and, curiously enough, Pierre, who
is still with me, refers to it with great enthusiasm,
notwithstanding the cavalier treatment inflicted upon
him. It was his first and last appearance on any stage."
Here is another story Taglioni told me on a sub-
sequent occasion. I have often wondered since
whether Macaulay would not have been pleased with
it even more than I was.
"The St. Petersburg theatrical season of '24-25
had been particularly brilliant, and nowhere more so
than at the Italian Opera. I came away laden with,
presents, among others one from the Czar — a magnifi-
cent necklet of very fine pearls. When the theatre
closed at Lent, I was very anxious to get away, in
spite of the inclement season, and notwithstanding
the frequent warnings that the roads were not safe.
Whenever the conversation turned on that topic, the
A RUSSIAN CLAUDE DU-VAL. 105
name of Trischka was sure to crop up; he, in fact,
was the leader of a formidable band of highwaymen,
compared with whose exploits those of all the others
seemed to sink into insignificance. Trischka had
been steward to Prince Paskiwiecz, and was spoken of
•as a very intelligent fellow. Nearly every one with
whom I came in contact had seen him while he was
still at St. Petersburg, and had a good word to say for
'him. His manners were reported to be perfect ; he
-spoke French and German very fairly; and, most
curious of all, he was an excellent dancer. Some went
even as far as to say that if he had adopted that
profession, instead of scouring the highways, he
would have made a fortune. By all accounts he never
■molested poor people, and the rich, whom he laid
under contribution, had never to complain of violent
treatment either in words or deeds — nay, more, he
never took all they possessed from his victims ; he
was content to share and share alike. But papa
n'ecoutait pas de cet' oreille la; papa etait tres peu
j)artageur; and, truth to tell, I was taking away a
great deal of money from St. Petersburg — which was
perhaps another reason why, papa did not see the neces-
sity of paying tithes to Trischka. If we had followed
papa's advice, we should have either applied to the
Ozar for an armed escort, or else delayed our departure
till the middle of the summer, though he failed to see
that the loss of my engagements elsewhere would have
amounted to a serious item also. But papa had got
it into his head not to part with any of the splendid
presents I had received ; they were mostly jewels, and
people who do not know papa can form no idea what
they meant to him. However, as we were plainly
lOG AX ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
told tHat Trischlva conducted liis operations all the
year round, that we were as likely to be attacked by
him in summer as in winter, papa reluctantly made
up his mind to go in the beginning of April. Papa
provided himself with a pair of large pistols that
would not have hurt a cat, and were the laughing-
stock of all those who accompanied us for the first
dozen miles on our journey ; for I had made many
friends, and they insisted on doing this. We had two
very roomy carriages. My father, my maid, two
German violinists, and myself were in the first; the
second contained our luggage.
" At the first change of horses after Pskoff, the
postmaster told us that Trischka and his band had
been seen a few days previously on the road to Duna-
bourg; at the same time, he seemed to think very
lightly of the matter, and, addressing himself par-
ticularly to me, opined that, with a little diplomacy
on my part and a good deal of sang-froid, I might be
let off very cheaply. All went well until the middle
of next night, when all of a sudden, in the thick
of a dense forest, our road was barred by a couple of
horsemen, while a third opened the door of our
carriage. It was Trischka himself. ' Mademoiselle
Taglioni ? ' he said in very good German, lifting his
hat. *I am Mademoiselle Taglioni,' I replied in
French. 'I know,' he answered, with a deeper bow
than before. * I was told you were coming this way.
I am sorry, mademoiselle, that I could not come to
St. Petersburg to see you dance, but as chance has
befriended me, I hope you will do me the honour ta
dance before me here.' * How can I dance here, in
this road, monsieur?' I said beseechingly. 'Alas,
TAGLIONl'S HUSBAND. 107"
mademoiselle, I have no drawing-room to offer yon,'
he replied, still as polite as ever. ' Nevertheless,' he
continued, *if you think it cannot be done, I shall
be under the painful necessity of confiscating your
carriages and luggage, and of sending you back on
foot to the nearest post-town.' * But, monsieur,' I
protested, * the road is ankle-deep in mud.' * Truly,'
he laughed, showing a beautiful set of teeth, *but
your weight won't make any difference ; besides, I
dare say you have some rugs and cloths with you
in the other carriage, and my men will only be too
pleased to spread them on the ground.'
" Seeing that all my remonstrance would be in vain,
I jumped out of the carriage. While the rugs were
being laid down, my two companions, the violinists,
tuned their instruments, and even papa was prevailed
upon to come out, though he was sulky and never
spoke a word.
"I danced for about a quaiter of an hour, and I
honestly believe that I never had such an appreciative
audience either before or afterwards. Then Trischka
led me back to the carriage, and, simply lifting his
hat, bade me adieu. ' I keep the rugs, mademoiselle.
I will never part with them,' he said. The last I saw
of him, when our carriages were turning a bend in the
road, was a truly picturesque figure on horseback,
waving his hand."
More than eight years elapsed before I met
Taglioni again, and then she looked absolutely like
an old woman, though she was under fifty. It was at
the Comte (afterwards Due) de Morny's, in '52, and,
if I remember rightly, almost immediately after his
resignation as Minister of the Interior. Taglioni and
108 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Mdlle. Kachel were the only women present. Just as
we were sitting down to dinner, Count Gilbert De
Voisins came in, and took the next seat but one on my
left which had been reserved for him. We were on
friendly, though not on very intimate, terms. He was
evidently not aware of the presence of his wife, for after
a few minutes he asked his neighbour, pointing to her,
" Who is this governess-looking old maid ? " He told
him. He showed neither surprise nor emotion ; but, if
an artist could have been found to sketch his face
there, its perfect blank would have been more amusing
than either. He seemed, as it were, to consult his
recollections ; then he said, " Is it ? It may be, after
all ; " and went on eating his dinner. His wife acted
less diplomatically. She recognized him at once, and
made a remark to her host in a sufficiently loud voice to
be overheard, which was not in good taste, the more
that De Morny, notwithstanding his many faults, was
not the man to have invited both for the mere pleasure
of playing a practical joke. In fact, I have always
credited De Morny with the good intention of bringing
about a reconciliation between the two; but the affair
•was hopeless from the very beginning, after Taglioni's
-exhibition of temper. I am far from saying that
Count Gilbert would have been more tractable if it
had not occurred, but his spouse shut the door at once
upon every further attempt in that direction. Never-
theless, whether out of sheer devilry or from a wish
to be polite, he went up to her after dinner, accom-
panied by a friend, who introduced him as formally as
if he and she had never seen one another. It was at
a moment when the Comte de Morny was out of the
room, because I feel certain that he was already sorry
VON FLOTOW. 10^
then for what he had endeavoured to do, and had
washed his hands of the whole affair. Taglioni made
a stately bow. "I am under the impression," she
said, "that I have had the honour of meeting you
before, about the year 1832." With this she turned
away. Let any playwright reproduce that scene in a
farcical or comedy form, and I am sure that three-
fourths of his audience would scout it as too exag-
gerated, and yet every incident of it is absolutely true.
Among my most pleasant recollections of those days
is that connected with Von Flotow, the future com-
poser of " Martha." In appearance he was alto-
gether unlike the traditional musician ; he looked more
like a stalwart officer of dragoons. Though of noble
origin, and with a very wealthy father, there was a
time when he had a hard struggle for existence.
Count von Flotow, his father, and an old officer of
Blucher, was nearly as much opposed to his son
becoming a musician as Frederick the Great's. Never-
theless, at the instance of Flotow's mother, he was sent
to Paris at the age of sixteen, and entered the Con-
servatoire, then under the direction of Eeicha. His
term of apprenticeship was, not to extend beyond two
years, " for," said the count, " it does not take longer
for the rawest recruit to become a good soldier."
" That will give you a fair idea," remarked Von Flotow
to me afterwards, " how much he understood about it.
He had an ill-disguised contempt for any music which
did not come up to his ideal. His ideal was that per-
formed by the drum, the fife, and the bugle. And the
very fact of Germany ringing a few years later with
the names of Meyerbeer and Halevy made matters
worse instead of mending them. His feudal pride
110 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
would not allow of his son's entering; a profession the
foremost ranks of which were occupied by Jews.
* Music,' he said, * was good enough for bankers' sons
and the like,' and he considered that Weber had cast
s. slur upon his family by adopting it."
The two years grudgingly allowed by Count von
Flotow for his son's musical education were inter-
rupted by the revolution of 1830, and the young fellow
had to return home before he was eighteen, because,
in his father's opinion, " he had not given a sign of
becoming a great musician ; " in other words, he had
not written an opera or anything else which had
-attracted public notice. However, towards the begin-
ning of 1831, the count took his son to Paris once
more ; " and though Meyerbeer nor Halevy were not
so famous then as they were destined to become within
the next three years, their names were already sufiS-
ciently well known to have made an introduction
valuable. It would not have been difficult to obtain
such. My father would not hear of it. ' I will
not have my son indebted for anything to a Jew,'
he said; and I am only quoting this instance of
prejudice to you because it was not an individual
but a typical one among my father's social equals.
The remark about *his son's entering a profession in
which two Jews had carried off the highest prizes ' is of
a much later date. Consequently we landed in Paris,
provided with letters of introduction to M. de Saint-
Georges.* Clever, accomplished, refined as was M.
de Saint-Georges, he was scarcely the authority a
* Jules-Henri de Saint-Georges, one of the most fertile librettists of
the time, the principal collaborateur of Scribe, and best known in Eng-
land as the author of the book of Balfe's " Bohemian Girl." — Editor.
VON FLOTOW'S FATHER. Ill
father with serious intentions about his son's musical
career would have consulted ; he was a charming,
skilful librettist and dramatist, a thorough man of the
world in the best sense of the word, but absolutely-
incapable of judging the higher qualities of the com-
poser. Nevertheless, I owe him much ; but for him I
should have been dragged back to Germany there and
then ; but for him I should have been compelled to
go back to Germany five years later, or starved in the
streets of Paris.
" My father's interview with M. de Saint-Georges,
and my first introduction to him," said Flotow on
another occasion, "were perhaps the most comical scenes
^ver enacted off the stage. You know my old friend,
and have been to his rooms, so I need not describe
him nor his surroundings to you. You have never
seen my father ; but, to give you an idea of what he
was like, I may tell you that he was an enlarged
edition of myself. A bold rider, a soldier and a
sportsman, fairly well educated, but upon the whole
& very rough diamond, and, I am afraid, with a corre-
sponding contempt for the elegant and artistic side of
Paris life. You may, there/ore, picture to yourself the
<lifference between the two men — M. de Saint-Georges
in a beautiful silk dressing-gown and red morocco
clippers, sipping chocolate from a dainty porcelain
cup ; my father, who, contrary to German custom, had
always refused to don that comfortable garment, and
who, to my knowledge, had never in his life tasted
■chocolate. For the moment I thought that every-
thing was lost. I was mistaken.
" * Monsieur,' said my father in French, which abso-
lutely creaked with the rust of age, * I have come to
112 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS.
ask your advice and a favour besides. My son desires-
to become a musician. Is it possible ? '
" * There is no reason why he should not be,* replied
M. de Saint-Georges, * provided he has a vocation.'
" ' Vocation may mean obstinacy,' remarked my
father. * But let us suppose the reverse — that obsti-^
nacy means vocation : how long would it take him to
prove that he has talent ? '
" ' It is difficult to say — five years at least.'
" ' And two he has already spent at the Conservatoire
will make seven. I hope he will not be like Jacob,
who, after that period of waiting, found that they had
given him the wrong goddess ! ' growled my father,,
who could be grimly humorous when he liked. ' Five
years more be it, then, but not a single day longer. If
by that time he has not made his mark, I withdraw
his allowance. I thank you for your advice; and
now I will ask a favour. Will you kindly supply my
place — that is, keep an eye upon him, and do the best
you can for him ? Remember, he is but twenty. It is
hard enough that I cannot make a soldier of him^
from what I have heard and from what I can see, you
will prevent him from becoming less than a gentle-
man.'
" M. de Saint-Georges was visibly moved. * Let me
hear what he can do,' he said, ' and then I will telL
you.'
" I sat down to the piano for more than an hour.
" ' I will see that your son becomes a good musician,.
M. le Comte,' said M. de Sainte-Georges.
" Next morning my father went back to Germany..
Nothing would induce him to stay a single day. He
said the atmosphere of Paris was vitiated.
THE LIBRETTIST OF "THE BOHEMIAN GIRL." 113
" I need not tell you that M. de Saint-Georges kept
his word as far as he was able ; he kept it even more
rigorously than my father had bargained for, because
when, exactly on the last day of the stipulated five
years, I received a letter demanding my immediate
return, and informing me that my father's banker had
instructions to stop all further supplies, M. de Saint-
Georges bade me stay.
" * I promised to make a musician of you, and I
have kept my word. But between a musician and
an acknowledged musician there is a difierence. I
say stay ! ' he exclaimed,
" * How am I to stay without money ? *
" * You'll earn some.'
"'How?'
" * By giving piano-lessons, like many a poor artist
has done before you.*
" I followed his advice, and am none the worse for
the few years of hardships. The contrast between my
own poverty and my wealthy surroundings was suffi-
ciently curious during that time, and never more so than
on the night when my name really became known to
the general public. I am jalluding to the first per-
formance of * Le Due de Guise,' \\hich, as you may
remember, was given in aid of the distressed Poles, and
sung throughout by amateurs. The receipts amounted
to thirty thousand francs, and the ladies of the chorus
had something between ten and twelve millions of
francs of diamonds in their hair and round their
throats. All my earthly possessions in money con-
sisted of six francs thirty-five centimes.'
I was not at the Theatre de la Eenaissance that
night, but two or three years previously I had heard
VOL. I. I
114 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS
the first opera Flotow ever wrote, at the Hotel Cas-
tellane. I never heard " Rob Roy " since ; and, curi-
ously enough, many years afterwards I inquired of
Lord Grauville, who sat next to me on that evening in
1838, whether he had. He shook his head negatively.
"It is a great pity," he said, " for the music is very
beautiful." And I believe that Lord Granville is a
very good judge.
The Hotel Castellane, or " La Maison du Mouleur,"
as it was called by the general public on account of
the great number of scantily attired mythological
deities with which its fagade was decorated, was one
of the few houses where, during the reign of Louis-
Philippe, the discussion of political and dynastic dif-
ferences was absolutely left in abeyance. The scent
of party strife — I had almost said miasma — hung over
all the other salons, notably those of the Princesse
de liieven, Madame Thiers, and Madame de Girardin,
and even those of Madame Le Hon and Victor Hugo
were not free from it. Men like myself, and especially
young men, who instinctively guessed the hoUowness
of all this — who, moreover, had not the genius to
become political leaders and not sufficient enthusiasm
to become followers — avoided them ; consequently
their description will find little or no place in these
notes. The little I saw of Princesse de Lieven at the
Tuileries and elsewhere produced no wish to see more.
Thiers was more interesting from a social and artistic
point of view, but it was only on very rare occasions
that he consented to doff his political armour, albeit
that he did not wear the latter with unchanging dignity.
Madame Thiers was an uninteresting woman, and only
the "feeder" to her husband, to use a theatrical
\
SOCIETY IN THE FORTIES. 115
phrase. Madame Le Hon was exceedingly beautiful,
exceedingly selfish, and, if anything, too amiable.
The absence of all serious mental qualities was cleverly
disguised by the mask of a grande dame ; but I doubt
whether it was anything else but a mosk. Madame
Delphine de Girardin, on the other hand, was endowed
with uncommon literary, poetical, and intellectual
gifts ; but I have always considered it doubtful whether
even the Nine Muses, rolled into one, would be bfarable
for any length of time. As for Victor Hugo, no man
not blessed with an extraordinary bump of veneration
would have gone more than once to his soirees. The
permanent entertainment there consisted of a modern
version of the " perpetual adoration," and of nothing
else, because, to judge by my few experiences, his
guests were never oflfered anything to eat or to drink.
As a set-off, the furniture and appointments of his
apartments were more artistic than those of most of
his contemporaries ; but Becky Sharp has left it on
record that " mouton aux navets," dished up in price-
less china and crested silver, is after all but "mouton
aux navets," and at Hugo's even that homely fare was
wanting.
Among the few really good salons were those of the
ambassadors of the Two Sicilies, of England, and of
Austria. The former two were in the Faubourg Saint-
Honore, the latter in the Faubourg Saint-Germain.
The soirees of the Due de Serra-Cabriola were very
animated; there was a great deal of dancing. I cannot
say the same of those of Lord and Lady Granville,
albeit that both the host and hostess did the honours
with charming and truly patrician grace and hos-
pitality. But the English guests would not throw off
k
116 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
their habitual reserve, and the French in the end
imitated the manner of the latter, in deference, pro-
bably, to Lord and Lady Granville, who were not at all
pleased at this sincerest form of French flattery of
their countrymen.
There was no such restraint at Count Apponyi's,
in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, the only house where
the old French noblesse mustered in force. The latter
virtually felt themselves on their own ground, for the
host was known to have not much sympathy with
parvenus, even titled ones, though the titles had been
gained on the battle-field. Had he not during the
preceding reign ruthlessly stripped Soult and Marmont,
and half a dozen other dukes of the first empire, by
giving instructions to his servants to announce them
by their family names? Consequently, flirtation a la
Marivanx, courtly galanterie a la Louis XV., sprightly
and witty conversation, " minuetting " a la Watteau,
was the order of the day as well as of the night there,
for the dejeuner dansant was a frequent feature of the
entertainment. No one was afraid of being mistaken
for a financier anobli ; the only one admitted on a
footing of intimacy bore the simple name of Hope.
Nevertheless, it must not be thought that the enter-
tainments, even at the three embassies, partook of
anything like the splendour so noticeable during
the second empire. The refreshments elsewhere par-
took of a simple character; ices and cake, and lukewarm
but by no means strong tea, formed the staple of them.
Of course there were exceptions, such as, for instance,
at the above-named houses, and at Mrs. Tudor's, Mrs.
Locke's, and at Countess LamoylofTs ; but the era of
flowing rivers of champagne, snacks that were like
AMATEUR THEATRICALS. 117
banquets, and banquets that were not unlike orgies, had
not as yet dawned. And, worse than all, in a great
many salons the era of mahogany and Utrecht velvet
was in full swing, while the era of white-and-gold
walls, which were frequently neither white nor gold,
was dying a very lingering death.
The Hotel Caste 1 lane was a welcome exception to
this, and politics were rigorously tabooed, the reading
of long-winded poems was interdicted. Politicians were
simply reminded that the adjacent Elysee-Bourbon, or
even the Hotel Pontalba, might still contain sufficiently
lively ghosts to discuss such all-important matters
with them ; * poets who fancied they had something
to say worth hearing, were invited to have it said for
them from behind the footlights by rival companies of
amateurs, each of which in many respects need not
have feared comparison with the professional one oi
the Comedie-Franpaise. Amateur theatricals were,
therefore, the principal feature of the entertainments
at the Hotel Castellane ; but there were *' off nights "
to the full as brilliant as the others. There was
neither acting nor dancing on such occasions, the latter
amusement being rarely indulged in, except at the
grand balls which often followed one another in rapid
succession.
I have said rival companies, but only the two
* The Elys^e-Bonrbon, which was the ofScial residence of Louie-
Napoleon during his presidency of the second republic, was almost
untenanted during the reign of Louis-Philippe.
The Hotel Pontalba was partly built on the site of the former
mansion of M. de Morfontaine, a staunch royalist, who, curiously
enough, had married the daughter of Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau,
the member of the Convention who had voted the death of Louis XVI.,
and who himself fell by the hand of an assassin. Mdlle. le Peletier
Baint-Fargeau was called " La Fille de la Nation." — Edjtob.
118 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
permanent ones came under that denomination ; the
others were what we should term "scratch companies,"
got together for one or two performances of a special
work, generally a musical one, as in the case of
Flotow's "Kob Eoy" and "Alice." They vied in
talent with the regular troupes presided over respec-
tively by Madame Sophie Gay, the mother of Madame
Emile de Girardin, and the Dachesse d'Abrantes.
Each confined itself to the interpretation of the works
of its manageress, who on such evening did the
honours, or of those whom the manageress favoured
with her protection. The heavens might fall rather
than that an actor or actress of Madame Gay's company
should act with Madame d'Abrantes, and vice versa.
Seeing that neither manageress had introduced the
system of " under-studies," disappointments were fre-
quent, for unless a member of the Comedie-Franfaise
could be found to take up the part at a moment's
notice, the performance had necessarily to be post-
poned, the amateurs refusing to act with any but the
best. Such pretensions may at the first blush seem
exaggerated ; they were justified in this instance, the
amateurs being acknowledged to be the equals of the
professionals by every unbiassed critic. In fact,
several ladies among the amateurs "took eventually
to the stage," notably Mdlles. Davenay and Mdlle.
de Lagrange. The latter became a very bright star
in the operatic firmament, though she was hidden to
the musical world at large by her permanent stay in
Eussia. St. Petersburg has ever been a formidable
competitor of Paris for securing the best histrionic
and lyrical talent. Madame Arnould-Plessy, Bressant,
Dupuis, and later on M. Worms, deserted their native
LORD BROUGHAM AS DON JUAN. 119
scenes for the more remunerative, though perhaps really
less artistic, triumphs of the theatre Saint-Michel ;
and when they returnefl, the delicate bloom that had
made their art so delightful was virtually gone.
"C'etait de I'art Franpais a la sauce Tartare," said
some one who was no mean judge.
The Comte Jules de Castellane, though fully equal,
and in many respects superior, in birth to those who
professed to sneer at the younger branch of the
Bourbons, declined to be guided by these opponents
of the new dynasty in their social crusade against the
adherents to the latter; consequently the company
was perhaps not always so select as it might have been,
and many amusing incidents and piquantes adventures
were the result. He put a stop to these, however,
when he discovered that his hospitality was being
abused, and tliat invitations given to strangers, at the
request of some of his familiars, had been paid for in
kind, if not in coin.
As a rule, though, the company was far less addicted
to scandal-mongering and causing scandal than simi-
larly composed "sets" during the subsequent reign.
They were not averse to playing practical jokes, espe-
cially upon those who made themselves somewhat too
conspicuous by their eccentricities. Lord Brougham,
who was an assiduous guest at the Hotel Castellane
during his frequent visits to Paris, was often selected
as their victim. He, as it were, provoked the tricks
played upon him by his would-be Don-Juanesque
behaviour, and by the many opportunities he lost of
holding his tongue — in French. He absolutely mur-
dered the language of Moliere. His worthy successor
in that respect was Lady Normanby, who, as some one
120 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
said, "not only murdered the tongue, but tortured it
besides." The latter, however, never lost her dignity
amidst the most mirth-compelling blunders on her
part, while the English statesman was often very near
enacting the buffoon, and was once almost induced to
accept a role in a vaudeville, in which his execrable
French would no doubt have been highly diverting
to the audience, but would scarcely have been in
keeping with the position he occupied on the other
side of the Channel. *' Quant a Lord Brougham,"
said a very witty Frenchman, quoting Shakespeare
in French, "il n'y a pour lui qu'un pas entre le
sublime et le ridicule. C'est le pas de Calais, et il
le traverse trop souvent."
In 1842, when the Comte Jules de Castellane
married Mdlle. de Villontroys, whose mother had
married General Eapp and been divorced from him,
a certain change came over the spirit of the house ;
the entertainments were as brilliant as ever, but the
two rival manageresses had to abdicate their sway,
and the social status of the guests was subjected
to a severer test. The new dispensation did not
ostracize the purely artistic element, but, as the
comtesse tersely put it, "dorenavant, je ne recevrai
que ceux qui ont de I'art ou des armoiries." She
strictly kept her word, even during the first years of
the Second Empire, when pedigrees were a ticklish
thing to inquire into.
I have unwittingly drifted away from M. de Saint-
Georges, who, to say the least, was a curious figure in
artistic and literary Paris during the reigns of Louis-
Philippe and his successor. He was quite as fertile as
Scribe, and many of his plots are as ingeniously con-
M. DE SAINT-GEORGES. 121
ceived and worked out as the latter's, but he suffered
both in reputation and purse from the restless activity
and pushing character of the librettist of '* Kobert le
Diablo." Like those of Rivarol,* M. Saint-Georges*
claims to be of noble descent were somewhat contested,
albeit that, unlike the eighteenth-century pamphleteer,
he never obtruded them ; but there could be no doubt
about his being a gentleman. He was utterly different
in every respect from his rival. Scribe was not only
eaten up with vanity, but grasping to a degree; he
had dramatic instinct, but not the least vestige of
literary refinement. M. de Saint-Georges, on the
contrary, was exceedingly modest, very indifferent to
money matters, charitable and obliging in a quiet way,
and though perhaps not inferior in stage-craft, very
elegant in his diction. When he liked, he could write
verses and dialogue which often reminded one of
Moliere. It was not the only trait he had in common
with the great playwright. Moliere is said to have
consulted his housekeeper, Laforet, with regard to his
productions; M. de Saint-Georges was known to do
the same — with this difference, however, that he did
not always attend to Marguerite's suggestions, in which
case Marguerite grew wroth, especially if the piece
turned out to be a success, in spite of her predictions
of failure. On such occasions the popular approval
scarcely compensated M. de Saint-Georges for his
discomforts at home; for though Marguerite was an
admirable manager at all times — when she liked,
though there was no bachelor more carefully looked
after than the author of " La Fille du Eegiment," he
had now and then to bear the brunt of Marguerite's
* One of the great wits of the Bevolution.— Editob.
122 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
temper when the public's verdict did not agree with
hers.
If under such circumstanoes M. de Saint-Georges
ventured to give a dinner, the viands were sure to be
cold, the Bordeaux iced, and the Champagne luke-
warm. M. de Saint-G-eorges, who, notwithstanding his
courtly manners, was candour itself, never failed to
state the reasons of his discomfiture as a host to his
guests. " Que voulez vous, mes amis, la piece n'a pas
plu a Marguerite et le diner s'en ressent. Si je lui
faisais une observation, elle me repondrait cotnme elle
m'a repondu deja maintes fois. Le diner 6tait mauvais,
vous dites? C'est possible, il etait assez bien pour
ceux qui ont ea le bon gout d'applaudir votre piece
hier-au-soir." Because Mdlle. Marguerite had a seat
in the upper boxes reserved for her at all the first
representations of her master's pieces. She did not
always avail herself of the privilege at the Opera, but
she never missed a first night at the Opera-Comique.
I have quoted textually the words of M. de Saint-
Georges on the morrow of the premiere of " Giselle,"
a ballet in two acts, written in collaboration with
Th^ophile Gautier. " * Giselle ' had been a great
success; Marguerite had predicted a failure; hence
we had a remarkably bad dinner."
I had had many opportunities of seeing Marguerite,
and often wondered at the secret of the tyranny she
exercised. She was not handsome — scarcely comely ;
she was not even as smart in her appearance as dozens
of servants I have seen, and her mental attainments,
as far as I could judge, were not above those of her
own class. One can understand a Turner, a Jean
Jacques Rousseau, submitting to the influence of
1.N IMPARTIAL CRITIC. 123
such a low-born companion, because, after all, they,
though men of genius, sprang from the people, and
may have felt awkward, ill at ease, in the society
of well-bred men and women, especially of women.
Beranger sometimes gave me that idea. But, as I have
already said, no one could mistake M. de Saint-Georges
for anything but a well-bred man. Notwithstanding
his little aflfectations, his inordinate love of scents, his
somewhat effeminate surroundings, good breeding was
patent at every sentence, at every movement. He was
not a genius, certainly not, but the above remarks
hold good of a man who was a genius, and who sprang,
moreover, from the higher bourgeoisie of the eighteenth
century — I am alluding to Eugene Delacroix.
124 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
' CHAPTER V.
The Boulevards in the forties — The Chinese Baths — A favourite
tobacconist of Alfred de Musset — The price of cigars — The
diligence still tlie usual mode of travelling — Provincials in Paris
— Parliamentary see-saw between M. Thiers and M. Guizot —
Amenities of editors — An advocate of universal suffrage — Dis-
tribution of gratuitous sausages to the working man on the king's
birthday — The rendezvous of actors in search of an engagement —
Frederick Lemaitre on the eve of appearing in a new part — The
Legitimists begin to leave their seclusion and to mingle with the
bourgeoisie — ^Alexandre Dumas and Scribe — The latter's fertility
as a playwright — The National Guards go shooting, in unifoim
and in companies, on the Plaine Saint-Denis — Vidocq's private
inquiry office in the Kue Vivienne — No river-side resorts — The
plaster elephant on the Place de la Bastille — The sentimental
romances of Loisa Puget — The songs of the working classes —
Cheap bread and wine — How they enjoyed themselves on Sundays
and holidays — Theophile Gautier's pony-carriage — The hatred of
the bourgeoisie — Nestor Koqueplan's expression of it — Gavarni's —
M. Thiers' sister keeps a restaurant at the comer of the Rue
Drouot — When he is in power, the members of the Opposition go
and dine there, and publish facetious accounts of the entertain-
ment — Ail appearances to the contrary, people like Guizot better
than Thiers — But few entries for the race for wealth in those
days — The Rothschilds still live in the Rue Lafitte — Favourite
lounges — The Boulevards, the Rue Le Peletier, and the Passage
de rOpera — The Opera — The Rue Le Peletier and its attractions
— The Restaurant of Paolo Broggi — The Estaminet du Divan —
Literary waiters and Boniface — Major Fraser — The mystery sur-
rounding his origin — Another mysterious personage — The Passage
de rOpera is invaded by the stockjobbers, and loses its prestige as
a promenade — Bernard Latte's, the publisher of Donizetti's operas,
becomes deserted — Tortoni's — Louis-Blanc — His scruples as an
editor — ^A few words about duelling — Two tragic meetings — ^Lola
Montes — Her adventurous career — ^A celebrated trial — My first
meeting with Gustavo Flaubert, the author of " Madame Bovary "
and "Salambo" — Emile de Girardin — His opinion of duelling —
My decision with regard to it — The original of " La Dame aux
Camelias " — Her parentage — Alexandre Dumas gives the diagnosis
of her character in connection with his son's play — L'Homme an
Camellia — M. Lautoar-Mczcrai,the inventorof children's periodical
PARIS IN THE FORTIES. 125
literature in France — Angnste Lireux — He takes the manaprement
of the Odeon — Balzac again — His schemes, his greed — Lireux
more fortunate wilh other authors — Anglophobia on the French
stage — Gallophobia on the English stage.
Even in those days " the Boulevards " meant to most
of us nothing more than the space between the present
opera and the Rue Drouot. But the Credit Lyonnaia
and other palatial buildings which have been erected
since were not as much as dreamt of ; if I remember
rightly, the site of that bank was occupied by two or
three " Chinese Baths." I suppose the process of
steaming and cleansing the human body was some-
thing analogous to that practised in our Turkish baths,
but I am unable to say from experience, having never
been inside, and, curious to relate, most of my familiars
were in a similar state of ignorance. We rarely crossed
to that side of the boulevard except to go and dine at
the Cafe Anglais. At the corner of the Rue Lafitte, oppo-
site the Maison d'Or, was our favourite tobacconist's,
and the cigars we used to get there were vastly supe-
rior to those we get at present in Paris at five times
the cost. The assistant who served us was a splendid
creature. Alfred de Musset became so enamoured of
her that at one time his- familiars apprehended an
" imprudence on his part." Of course, they were afraid
he would marry her.
In those days most of our journeys in the interior of
France had still to be made by the mails of Lafitte-
Caillard, and the people these conveyances brought
up from the provinces were almost as great objects
of curiosity to us as we must have been to them.
It was the third lustre of Louis-Philippe's reign.
" God," ace rding to the coinage, " protected France,"
and when the Almighty seemed somewhat tired of the
126 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
task, Thiers and Guizot alternately stepped in to do
the safeguarding. Parliament resounded with the
eloquence of orators who are almost forgotten by now,
except by students of history ; M. de Genoude was
clamouring for universal suffrage ; M. de Cormenin,
under the nom de plume of " U'imon," was the fashion-
able pamphleteer ; tlie papers indulged in vituperation
against one another, compared to which the amenities
of the rival Eatanswill editors were compliments.
Grocers and drapers objected to the participation of
M. de Laraartine in the affairs of State. The Figaro of
those days went by the title of Corsaire-Satan, and,
though extensively read, had the greatest difficulty in
making both ends meet. In order to improve the lot
of the working man, there was a gratuitous distribution
of sausages once a year on the king's fete-day. The
ordinary rendezvous of provincial and metropolitan
actors out of an engagement was not at the Cafe de
Suede on the Boulevard Montmartre, but under the
trees at the Palais-Royal. Frederick Leraaitre went to
confession and to mass every time he *' created " a new
role. The Legitimists consented to leave their aristo-
cratic seclusion, and to breathe the same air with the
bourgeoisie and proletarians of the Boulevard du Crime,
to see him play. The Government altered the title of
Sue and Goubeaux's drama " Les Pontons Anglais " into
" Les Pontons," short, and made the authors change
the scene from England to Spain. Alexandre Dumas
chaffed Scribe, and flung his money right and left ;
while the other saved it, bought country estates, and
produced as many as twenty plays a year (eight more
than he had contracted for). The National Guards
went in uniform and in companies to shoot hares and
THE HATRED OF THE BOURGEOISIE. 127
rabbits on the Plaine Saint-Denis, and swaggered
about on the Boulevards, ogling the women. Vidocq
kept a private inquiry office in the Passage Vivienne,
and made more money by blackmailing or catching
unfaithful husbands than by catching thieves. Bou-
gival, Asnieres and Joinville-le-Pont had not become
riparian resorts. The plaster elephant on the Place de
la Bastille was crumbling to pieces. The sentimental
romances of Madame Loisa Puget proved the delight
of every bourgeoise family, while the chorus to every
popular song was " Larifla, larifla, fla, fla, fla."
Best of all, from the working man's point of view,
was the low price of bread and wine ; the latter could
be had at four sous the litre in the wine-shops. He,
the working man, still made excursions with his wife
and children to the Artesian well at Grenelle; and if
stranded perchance in the Champs-Ely sees, stood lost
in admiration at the tiny carriage with ponies to
match, driven by Theophile Gautier, who had left off
wearing the crimson waistcoats wherewith in former
days he hoped to annoy the bourgeois, though he
ceased not to rail at him by word of mouth and with
his pen. He was not singular in that respect. Among
his set, the hatred of the bourgeois was ingrained ; it
found constant vent in small things. Nestor Roqueplan
wore jackboots at home instead of slippers, because the
latter chaussure was preferred by the shopkeeper.
Gavami published the most biting pictorial satires
against him. Here is one. A dissipated-looking loafer
is leaning against a lamp-post, contemptuously staring
at the spruce, trim bourgeois out for his Sunday walk
with his wife. The loafer is smoking a short clay
pipe, and some of tlie fumes of the tobacco come
128 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
between the wind and the bourgeois' respectability.
" Voyou ! " says the latter contemptuously. " Voyou
tant que vous voulez, pas epicier," is the answer.
In those days, when M. Thiers happened to be in
power, many members of the Opposition and their
journalistic champions made it a point of organizing
little gatherings to the table-d'hote kept by Mdlle.
Thiers, the sister of the Prime Minister of France.
Her establishment was at the entrance of the present
Rue Drouot, and a sign-board informed the passer-by
to that effect. There was invariably an account of these
little gatherings in next day's papers — of course, with
comments. Thiers was known to be the most wretched
shot that ever worried a gamekeeper, and yet he was
very fond of blazing away. ** We asked Mdlle. Thiers,"
wrote the commentators, '* whether those delicious
pheasants she gave us were of her illustrious brother's
bagging. The lady shook her head. * Non, monsieur ;
le President du Conseil n'a pas I'honneur de fournir
mon etablissement ; a quoi bon, je peux les acheter a
meilleur marche que lui et au meme endroit. S'il m'en
envoyait, il me ferait payer un benefice, parcequ'il ne
fait jamais rien pour rien. C'est un pen le defaut de
notre famille.' " I have got a notion that, mercurial as
was M. Thiers up to the last hour of his life, and even
more so at that period, and sedate as was M. Guizot,
the French liked the latter better than the former.
M. Guizot had said, "Enrichissez vous," and was
known to be poor ; M. Thiers had scoffed at the advice,
and was known to be hoarding while compelling his
sister to earn her own living. It must be remem-
bered that at the time the gangrene of greed had not
entered the souls of all classes of Frenchmen so deeply
A LITERARY CAVt. 129
as it has now, that the race for wealth had as*
yet comparatively few votaries, and that not every
stockjobber and speculator aspired to emulate the
vast financial transactions of the Rothschilds. The
latter lived, in those days, in the Rue Lafitte, where
they had three separate mansions, all of which since
then have been thrown into one, and are at present
exclusively devoted to business purposes. The Rue
Lafitte was, however, a comparatively quiet street.
The favourite lounges, in addition to the strip of
Boulevards I have already mentioned, were the Rue
Le Peletier and the galleries of the Passage de I'Opera.
Both owed the preference over the other thoroughfares
to the immediate vicinity of the Opera, which had its
frontage in the last-named street, but was by no means
striking or monumental. Its architect, Debret, had to
run the gauntlet of every kind of satire for many a
year after its erection ; the bitterest and most scathing
of all was that, perhaps, of a journalist, who wrote one
day that, a provincial having asked him the way to the
grand opera, he had been obliged to answer, "Turn
down the street, and it is the first large gateway on
your right."
But if the building itself was unimposing, the
company gathered around its entrance consisted
generally of half a dozen men whose names were then
already household words in the musical world — Auber,
Halevy, Rossini and Meyerbeer, St. Georges, Adam.
Now and then, though rarely together, all of these
names will frequently reappear in these notes. The
chief attractions, though, of the Rue Le Peletier
were the famous Italian restaurant of Paolo Broggi,
patronized by a great many singers, the favourite haunt
VOL. I. K
130 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
of Mario, in the beginning of his career, and I'Esta-
rainet du Divan, which from being a very simple caf6
indeed, developed into a kind of politico-literary club
under the auspices of a number of budding men of
letters, journalists, and the like, whose modest purses
were not equal to the charges of the Cafe Kiche and
Tortoni, and who had gradually driven all more prosaic
customers away. I believe I was one of the few
habitues who had no literary aspirations, who did not
cast longing looks to the inner portals of the offices of
the National, the bigwigs of which — Armand Marrast,
Baron Domes, Gerard de Nerval, and others — sometimes
made their appearance there, though their restaurant
in ordinary was the Cafe Hardi. The Estaminet du
Divan, however, pretended to a much more literary
atmosphere than the magnificent establishment on the
boulevard itself. It is a positive fact that the waiters
in the former would ask, in the most respectful way
imaginable, "Does monsieur want Sue's or Dumas*
fenilleton with his cafe?" Not once but a dozen
times I have heard the proprietor draw attention
to a remarkable article. Major Fraser, though he
never dined there, spent an hour or two daily in the
Estaminet du Divan to read the papers. He was a
great favourite with every one, though none of us knew
anything about his antecedents. In spite of his English
name, he was decidedly not English, though he spoke
the language. He was one of the best-dressed men of
the period, and by a well-dressed man I do not mean
one like Sue. He generally wore a tight-fitting, short-
skirted, blue frock-coat, grey trousers, of a shape which
since then we have defined as "pegtops," but the
fashion of which was borrowed from the Cossacks.
MAJOR FRASER. 131
They are still worn by some French officers in cavalry
reofiments, notably crack cavalry regiments.
Major Fraser might have fitly borrowed Piron's
epitaph for himself: '*Je ne suis rien, pas meme
Acad6micien." He was a bachelor. He never alluded
to bis parentage. He lived by himself, in an entresol
at the corner of the Rue Lafitte and the Boulevard
des Italiens. He was always flush of money, though
the sources of his income were a mystery to every one.
He certainly did not live by gambling, as has been
suggested since; for those who knew him best did
not remember having seen him touch a card.
I have always had an idea, though I can give no
reason for it, that Major Fraser was the illegitimate
son of some exalted personage, and that the solution of
the mystery surrounding him might be found in the
records of the scandals and intrigues at the courts
of Charles IV. and Ferdinand VII. of Spain. The
foreign " soldiers of fortune " who rose to high posts,
though not to the highest like Richards and O'Reilly,
were not all of Irish origin. But the man himself was
80 pleasant in his intercourse, so uniformly gentle and
ready to oblige, that no one- cared to lift a veil which
he was so evidently anxious not to have disturbed.
I only remember his getting out of temper once,
namely, when Leon Gozlan, in a comedy of his, intro-
duced a major who had three crosses. The first had
been given to him because he had not one, the second
because he had already one, and tlie third because all
good things consist of three. Then Major Fraser sent
his seconds to the playwright; the former effected a
reconciliation, the more that Gozlan pledged his word
that an allusion to the major was farthest from his
132 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
thoughts. It afterwards leaked out that our irrepres-
sible Alexandre Dumas had been the involuntary cause
of all the mischief. One day, while he was talking to
Gozlan, one of his secretaries came in and told him
that a particular bugbear of his, and a great nonentity
to boot, had got the Cross of the Legion of Honour.
"Grand Dieu," exclaimed Gozlan, "pourquoi lui
a-t-on donne cette croix ? "
" Vous ne savez pas ? " said Alexandre, looking very
wise, as if he had some important state secret to
reveal.
" Assurement, je ne le sais pas," quoth Gozlan, " ni
vous non plus."
" Ah, par exemple, moi, je le sais."
" He bien, dites alors."
" On lui a donne la croix parceque il n'en avait pas."
It was the most childish of all tricks, but Gozlan
laughed at it, and, when he wrote his piece, remembered
it. He amplified the very small joke, and, on the first
night of his play, the house went into convulsions
over it.
Major Fraser's kindness and gentleness extended to
all men — except to professional politicians, and those,
from the highest to the lowest, he detested and
despised. He rarely spoke on the subject of politics,
but when he did every one sat listening with the raptest
attention ; for he was a perfect mine of facts, which he
marshalled with consummate ability in order to show
that government by party was of all idiotic institutions
the most idiotic. But his knowledge of political
history was as nothing to his familiarity with the
social institutions of every civilized country and of
every period. Curiously enough, the whole of his
A MYSTERIOUS ORIENTAL. 133
library in his own apartment did not exceed two or
three scores of volumes. His memory was something
prodigious, and even men like Dumas and Balzac con-
fessed themselves his inferiors in that respect. The
mere mention of the most trifling subject sufliced to set
it in motion, and the listeners were treated to a** maga-
zine article worth fifty centimes la ligne au moins," as
Duraas put it. But the major could never be induced
to write one. Strange to say, he often used to hint
that his was no mere book-knowledge. "Of course,
it is perfectly ridiculous," he remarked with a strange
smile, " but every now and again I feel as if all this
did not come to me through reading, but from personal
experience. At times I become almost convinced that
I lived with Nero, that I knew Dante personally, and
so forth."
"When Major Fraser died, not a single letter was
found in his apartment giving a clae to his antecedents.
Merely a file of receipts, and a scrap of paper attached
to one — the receipt of the funeral company for his
grave, and expenses of his burial. The memorandum
gave instructions to advertise his demise for a week in
the Journal des Dehdts, the money for which would be
found in the drawer of his dressing-table. His clothes
and furniture were to be sold, and the proceeds to be
given to the Paris poor. " I do not charge any one
with this particular duty," the document went on ; "I
have so many friends, every one of whom will be ready
to carry out my last wishes."
Another " mystery," though far less interesting than
Major Fraser, was the Persian gentleman whom one
met everywhere, at the Opera, at the Bois de Boulogne,
at the concerts of the Conservatoire, etc. Though
134 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
invariably polite and smiling, he never spoke to any
one. For ten years, the occupant of the stall next to
his at the Opera had never heard him utter a syllable.
He always wore a long white silk petticoat, a splendidly
embroidered coat over that, and a conical Astrakan
cap. He was always alone ; and though every one knew
where he lived, in the Passage de I'Opera, no one had
ever set foot in his apartment. As a matter of course,
all sorts of legends were current about him. Accord-
ing to some, he had occupied a high position in his
own country, from which he had voluntarily exiled
himself, owing to his detestation of Eastern habits;
according to others, he was simply a dealer in Indian
shawls, who had made a fortune. A third group, the
spiteful ones, maintained that he sold dates and
pastilles, and that the reason why he did not speak
was because he was dumb, though not deaf. He died
during the Second Empire, very much respected in the
neighbourhood, for he had been very charitable.
Towards the middle of the forties the Passage de
rOpera began to lose some of its prestige as a lounge.
The outside stockjobbers, whom the police had driven
from the Boulevards and the steps of Tortoni, migrated
thither, and the galleries that had resounded with the
sweet warblings — in a very low key — of the clients of
Bernard Latte, the publisher of Donizetti's operas,
were made hideous and unbearable with the jostling
and bellowing of the money-spinners. Bernard Latte
himself was at last compelled to migrate.
In the house the ground-floor of which was occupied
by Tortoni, and which was far different in aspect from
what it is now, lived Louis Blanc. Towards nine in the
morning he came down for his cup of cafe au lait.
\
LOUIS BLANC. 135
It was the first cup of coflfee of the day served in the
establishment. I was never on terms of intimacy with
Blanc, and least of all then, for I shared with Major
Fraser a dislike to politic-mongers, and, rightly or
wrongly, I have always considered the author of
" L'Histoire de Dix Ans " as such. Though Louis
Blanc was three or four and thirty then, he looked
like a boy of seventeen — a fact not altogether owing
to his diminutive stature, though he was one of the
smallest men, if not the smallest man, I ever saw. Of
course I mean a man not absolutely a dwarf. I have
been assured, however, that h^ was a giant compared
to Don Martinez Garay, Duke of Altamira, and
Marquis of Astorga, a Spanish statesman, who died
about the early part of the twenties. These notes do
not extend beyond the fall of the Commune, and it
was only after that event that I met M. Blanc once or
twice in his old haunts. Hence my few recollections
of him had better be jotted down here. They are not
important. The man, though but sixty, and apparently
not in bad health, looked desillusione. They were,
no doubt, the most trying years to the Third Kepublic,
but M. Blanc must have perceived well enough that,
granting all the existiag difficulties, the men at the
head of affairs were not the Republicans of his dreams.
He had, moreover, suffered severe losses ; all his im-
portant documents, such as the correspondence between
him and George Sand and Louis-Napoleon while the
latter was at Ham, and other equally valuable matter,
had been destroyed at the fire of the Northern Goods
Station at La Villette, a fire kindled by the Communists.
He was dressed almost in the fashion of the forties, a
widc'skirted, long, brown frockcoat, a shirt innocent of
136 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
starch, and a broad-brimmed hat. A few years later,
he founded a paper, L'Eomme-Libre, the oflSces of which
were in the Kue Grange-Bateliere. The concern was
financed by a Polish gentleman. Blanc gave his
readers to understand that he would speak out plainly
about persons and thiogs, whether past or present;
that he would advance nothing except on docu-
mentary proofs ; but that, whether he did or not,
he would not be badgered into giving or accepting
challenges in defence of his writings. " I am, first of
all, too old, " he said ; " but if I were young again, I
should not repeat my folly of '47, when I wanted to
fight with Eugene Pelletan on account of a woman
whose virtue, provided she had any, could make no
difference to either of us. It does not matter to me
that we were not the only preux chevaliers of that
period, ready to do battle for or against the charms
of a woman whose remains had crumbled to dust by
then." *
* M. Eugene Pelletan, the father of M. Camille Pelletan, the editor
of La Justice, and first lieutenant to M. Clemenceau, having severely
criticized some passages in M. Blanc's "Histoire de la Revolu-
tion," relating to Marie-Antoinette, the author quoted a passage
of Madame Campan's " Memoires " in support of his writings. The
critic refused to admit the conclusiveness of the proof, whereupon
M. Blanc appealed to the Societe des Gens de Lettres, which, on the
summing up of M. Taxile Delord, gave a verdict in his favour. M.
Pelletan declined to submit to the verdict, as he had refused to admit
tlie jurisdiction, of the tribunal. M. Blanc, who had at first scouted
all idea of a duel, considered himself obliged to resort to this means
of obtaining satisfaction, seeing that M. Pelletan stoutly maintained
his opinion. A meeting had been arranged when the Revolution of
'48 broke out. The opponents having both gone to the H6tel-de-
Ville, met by accident at the entrance, and fell into one another's
arms. " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed Thiers, when he heard of it.
" If Pelletan had killed Blanc, I should have been the smallest man
in France."
M. Blanc's allusion to other "preux chevaliers" aimed particularly
at M. Cousin, who, having become a minister against his will, resumed
with a sigh of relief his studies under the Second Empire. He was
LOUIS BLANC AS AN EDITOR. 137
M. Blanc's boast that he would advance nothing
except on proof positive was not an idle one, as his
contributors found out to their cost. Every afternoon,
at three, he arrived at the office to read the paper in
proof from the first line to the last. Not the slightest
inaccuracy was allowed to pass. Kind as he was, his
reporters' lives became a burden. One of the latter
told me a story which, though it illustrates the ridicu-
lousness of M. Blanc's scruples when carried too far,
is none the less valuable. A dog had been run
over on the Boulevards, and the reporter, with a
hankering after the realistic method, had endeavoured
to reproduce onomatopoeically the sounds uttered by
the animal in pain.
" Are you quite sure, monsieur, about your sounds ? "
asked Blanc
" Of course, I am as sure as a non-scientific man can
be," was the answer.
" Then strike them out ; one ought to be scientifically
sure. By-the-by, I see you have made use of the word
• howl ' (Jiurler). Unless I am mistaken, a dog when
in pain yelps {glapit). Please alter it."
On another occasion, on going through the advertise-
ments, he found a new one relating to a cough mixture,
setting forth its virtues in the most glowiug terms.
especially fond of the seventeenth century, and all at once he, who had
scarcely ever noticed a pretty woman, became violently smitten with
the Duchesse de Longueville, who had been in her grave for nearly
two centuries. He positively invested her with every perfection,
moral and mental; uafortunately, lie could not invest her with a
shapely bust, the evidence being too overwhelmingly against her
having been adorned that way. One day some one showed him a
portrait of the sister of the "grand Condi," in which she was amply
provided with the cliarms the absence of which M. Cousin regretted.
Ho wrote a special chapter on tlie subject, and was well-nigh ehalleng-
ing all his contradictors.— EsixoB.
138 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Immediately the advertisement canvasser was sent for,
M. Blanc having refused to farm out that department
to an agency, as is frequently done in Paris, in order
to retain the absolute control over it.
" Monsieur, I see that you have a new advertisement,
and it seems to me a profitable one ; still, before insert-
ing it, I should like to be certain that the medicine
does all it professes to do. Can you personally vouch
for its efficiency ? "
" Mon Dieu, monsieur, I believe it does all it pro-
fesses to do, but you can scarcely expect me to run
ihe risk of bronchitis in order to test it upon myself ! "
" Heaven forbid that I should be so exacting and
indifferent to other people's health, but until you can
bring me some one who has been cured, we will not
insert it."
Let me come back for a moment to that sentence of
Louis Blanc, about the practice of duelling, in con-
nection with one of the most tragic affairs of that
kind within my recollection. I am alluding to the
Dujarrier-Beauvallon duel. I have been in the habit
for years, whenever an important meeting took place
in France, to read every shade of English opinion on
the subject ; and while recognizing the elevated sen-
timents of the writers, I have no hesitation in saying
that not a single one knew what he was writing about.
They could not grasp the fact that for a man of social
standing to refuse a challenge or to refrain from
sending one, save under very exceptional circumstances,
was tantamount to courting social death. They knew
not that every door would henceforth be closed against
him ; that his wife's best friends would cease to call
upon her, by direction of their husbands ; that his
DUELS. 139
children at school would be shunned by their comrades ;
that no young man of equal position to his, were he
ever so much in love with hLs daughter, would ask her
to become his wife, that no parents would allow their
daughter to marry his son. That is what backing
out of a duel meant years ago; that is what it still
means to-day — of course, I repeat, with certain classes.
Is it surprising, then, that with such a prospect facing
him, a man should risk death rather than become a
pariah ? Would the English leader-writer, if he be a
man of worth, like to enter his club-room without a
hand held out to welcome him from those with whom
he was but a few weeks ago on the most friendly
footing, witliout a voice to give him the time of day ?
I think not ; and that is what would happen if he were
a Frenchman who neglected to ask satisfaction for even
an imaginary insult.
I knew M. Dujarrier, the general manager of La
Presse, and feel convinced that he was not a bit more
quarrelsome or eager ** to go out " than Louis Blanc.
It is, moreover, certain that he felt his inferiority, both
as a swordsman and as a marksman, to such a practised
shot and fencer as M. de Beauvallon ; and well he
might, seeing that subsequent evidence proved that
he, Dujarrier, had never handled either weapon. Yet
he not only strenuously opposed all attempts on the
part of his friends to effect a reconciliation, but would
not afford a hint to his adversary of his want of skill,
lest the latter should make him a present of his life.
The present would not have been worth accepting.
It would have been a Nessus-shirt, and caused the
moral death of the recipient. Consequently, Dujarrier
literally went like a lamb to the slaughter rather than
140 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
be branded as a coward, and he made no secret of his
contemplated sacrifice. " I have no alternative but
to fio:ht," he said, two days before the meeting, to
Alexandre Dumas, who taxed all his own ingenuity,
and that of his son, to- prevent, at any rate, a fatal
issue. The only way to effect this, according to the
very logical reasoning of the two Dumases, was to
induce Dujarrier, who, as the offended party, had the
choice of weapons, to choose the sword. They counted
upon the generosity of Beauvallon, who, as a gentle-
man, on discovering his adversary's utter lack of skill,
would disarm, or inflict a slight wound on him. Un-
fortunately, young Dumas, with the best intentions,
unburthened himself to that effect among those most
interested in the affair, namely, the staffs of La Presse
and Le Globe. These two journals were literally at
daggers drawn, and some writers connected with the
latter went hinting, if not saying openly, that
Dujarrier was already showing the white feather.
Whether Dujarrier heard of the comments in that
shape, or whetiier he instinctively guessed what they
would be, has never been clearly made out, but it is
certain that from that moment he insisted upon the
use of pistols. "I do not intend my adversary to
show me the slightest favour, either by disarming me
or by wounding me in the arm or leg. I mean to have
a serious encounter," he said. Young Dumas,
frightened perhaps at his want of reticence in the
matter, begged his father to go and see Grisier,* and
claim his intervention. Alexandre Dumas, than whom
no stauncher friend ever existed, who would have
* The great fencing-maBter, whom Dumas immortalized in his
"Maltre d'Armes."— Editor.
EMILE DE GIRARDIN ON DUELLING. 141
willingly risked his own life to save that of Dujarrier,
had to decline the mission suggested by his son, " I
cannot do it," he said ; " the first and foremost thing
is to safeguard Dujarrier's reputation, which is the
more precious because it is his first duel."
" His first duel," — here is the key-note to the
whole of the proceedings as far as Dujarrier and his
personal friends were concerned. Had Dujarrier been
in the position of the editor of his paper, Emile de
Girardin, — had he been out before and killed or severely
wounded his man, as the latter killed Armand Carrel
nine years before, — he might have openly announced
his determination " never to go out again " under no
matter what provocation. Unfortunately, Dujarrier
was not in that position ; in fact, it is no exaggeration
to say that Dujarrier paid the penalty of M. de
Girardin's decision. A great deal. of mawkish senti-
ment has been wasted upon the tragic fate of Armand
Carrel ; in reality, he had what he deserved, albeit
that no one more than M. de Girardin himself regretted
his untimely end. Most writers will tell one that
Carrel fell a victim to his political opinions ; nothing
is farther from the truth. Armand Carrel fell a victim
to a "question of shop "of which he allowed himself,
though perhaps not deliberately, to become the
champion. After many attempts, more or less success-
ful, in the way of popular journalism, M. de Girardin,
in 1836, started La Presse, a serious journal of the same
size as the then existing ones, but at half the sub-
scription of the latter, all of which absolutely banded
at once against him. Armand Carrel, who was a
soldier, and a valiant soldier, a writer of talent, and
a gentleman to boot, ought to have stood aloof from
142 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
that kind of polemics. Emile de Girardin was not the
likely man to submit to open or implied insult. His
best, albeit his least-known, book, " Emile," which is
as it were an autobiography, had given the measure of
his thoughts on the subject of duelling. "Emile"
goes into society as a soldier would go into an enemy's
country. Not that he is by nature cruel or blood-
thirsty, but he knows that, to hold his own, he must be
always ready, not only for defence, but for attack.
" The secret one is bound to preserve with regard
to the preparations for a meeting, and those prepa-
rations themselves are simply horrible. The care,
the precautions to be taken, the secret which is not
to leak out, all these are very like the preparations
for a crime," he says. "Nevertheless," he goes on,
"the horror of all this disappears, when the man,
impelled by hatred or resentment, is thirsting for
revenge ; but when the heart is absolutely without
gall, and when the imagination is still subject to all
the softer emotions, then, in order not to recoil with
fear at the ever horrible idea of a duel, a man must
be imbued with all the force of a prejudice which
resists the very laws that condemn it."
It was under the latter circumstances that M. de
Girardin confronted his adversary. The two men had
probably never exchanged a word with one another,
they felt no personal animosity ; nay, more, the duel
was not an inevitable one ; and yet it cost one man his
life, and burthened the other with lifelong regrets.
Had the issue been different. La Presse would
probably have disappeared, and all recrimination
ceased. As it was, unable to goad M. de Girardin
into a reversal of his decision "never to go out
A CELEBRATED ENCOUNTER. 143
again," and that in spite of nine years of direct
insult from a so-called political party, of every kind
of quasi-legal vexation, M. de Beauvallon consti-
tuted himself a second Armand Carrel, selecting
Dujarrier as his victim, the chief not being available.
But here all resemblance to Armand Carrel ceased,
and the law itself was anxious to mark the diflference.
In the one case it had been set at nought by two
men of undoubted courage and undoubted honour,
meeting upon equal terras ; in the other, it was
j)roved that, not content with Dujarrier's well-known
inferiority, De Beauvallon's pistols had been tried
before the encounter. The court could take no cog-
nizance of this, but it marked its disapproval by
sentencing Beauvallon to eight years', and one of his
seconds, M. d'Ecqnevilley, to ten years' imprison-
ment for perjury. Both had declared on oath that
the pistols had not been tried. The Dujarrier duel
caused a deep and painful sensation. I have dwelt
upon it at greater length than was absolutely
necessary, because it inspired me with a resolution
from which I have never departed since. I was
twenty-seven at the time, and, owing to circumstances
which I need not relate here, foresaw that the greater
part of my life would be spent in France. I am
neither more courageous nor more cowardly than most
persons, but I objected to be shot down like a mad
dog on the most futile pretext because some one
happened to have a grudge against me. To have de-
clined "to go out" on the score of my nationality
would not have met the case in the conditions in
which I was living, so from that moment I became
an assiduous client at Gosset's shooting-gallery, and
144 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
took fencing lessons of Grisier. I do not know that
I became very formidable with either weapon, only
sufficiently skilled not to be altogether defenceless.
I took care at the same time to let it go forth that a
duel to me not only meant one or both parties so
severely wounded as not to be able to continue the
struggle, but the resumption of the combat, when he
or they had recovered, until one was killed. Of course,
it implied that I would only go out for a sufficiently
weighty reason, but that, if compelled to do so for a
trifling one, I would still adhere to my original reso-
lution. Only once, more than twelve years afterwards,
I had a quarrel fastened upon me, arising out of the
excitement consequent upon the attempt of Orsini.
I was the offended party, and, as such, could dictate
the conditions of the meeting. I declined to modify
in the least the rules I had laid down for my own
guidance, and stated as much to those who were to
act for me — General Fleury and Alexandre Dumas.
My adversary's friends refused to accept the terms.
I was never molested afterwards, though an English-
man had not always a pleasant life of it, even under
the Second Empire.
In connection with Dujarrier's duel, I may say a
few words here of that quasi-wonderful woman, Lola
Montes. I say " quasi," because really there was
nothing wonderful about her, except perhaps her
beauty and her consummate impudence. She had
not a scrap of talent of any kind ; education she had
none, for, whether she spoke in English, French, or
Spanish, grammatical errors abounded, and her ex-
pressions were always those of a pretentious house-
maid, unless they were those of an excited fishwife.
LOLA MOXTteS, 145
She told me that she had been at a boarding school
in Bath, and that she was a native of Limerick, but
that when quite a child she was taken to Seville by
her parents. Her father, accordin<^ to her account,
was a Spaniard, her mother a Creole. *' But I scan-
dalized every one at school, and would not learn."
I could quite believe that ; what I could not believe
was that a girl of her quick powers — for she un-
doubtedly possessed those — could have spent, how-
ever short a time in the society of decent girls of
her own age, let alone of presumedly refined school-
mistresses, without having acquired some elementary
notions of manner and address. Her gait and carriage
were those of a duchess, for she was naturally graceful,
but the moment she opened her lips, the illusion
vanished — at least to me ; for I am bound to admit
that men of far higher intellectual attainments than
mine, and familiar with very good society, raved and
kept raving about her, though all those defects could
not have failed to strike them as they had struck me.
I take it that it must have been her beauty, for, though
not devoid of wit, her wit was that of the pot-house,
which would not have been tolerated in the smoking-
room of a club in the small hours.
When Dujarrier was carried home dying to tlie
Kue Lafitte, a woman flung herself on the body and
covered his face with kisses. That woman was Lola
Montes. In his will he left her eighteen shares in the
Palais-Royal Theatre, amounting in value to about
20,000 francs. She insisted afterwards in appearing as
a witness at the trial at Rouen, although her evidence
threw not the slightest light upon the matter. She
wanted to create a sensation; and she accomplished
VOL. I. L
146 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAKIS.
her aim. I was there, and though the court was
crowded with men occupying the foremost ranks in
literature, art, and Paris society, no one attracted the
attention she did. Even the sober president and
assessors sat staring at her open-mouthed when she
took her stand behind the little rail which does duty
for a witness-box in France. She was dressed in
mourning — not the deepest, but soft masses of silk
and lace — and when she lifted her veil and took off
her glove to take the prescribed oath, a murmur of
admiration ran through the court. That is why she
had undertaken the journey to Rouen, and verily she
had her reward.
It was on that occasion that I became acquainted,
though quite by accident, with the young man who,
ten or eleven years later, was to leap into fame all of
a sudden with one novel. I have already said that
the court was very crowded, and next to me was
standing a tall, strapping fellow, somewhat younger
than myself, whom, at the first glance, one would have
taken to be an English country gentleman or well-to-
do farmer's son. Such mistakes are easily made in
Normandy. AVhen Lola Montes came forward to give
her evidence, some one on the other side of him
remarked that she looked like the heroine of a novel.
" Yes," he replied ; " but the heroines of the real novels
enacted in everyday life do not always look like that."
Then he turned to me, having seen me speak to
several people from Paris and in company of Alex-
andre Dumas and Berryer, whom everybody knew.
He asked me some particulars about Lola Montes,
which I gave him. I found him exceedingly well-
informed. We chatted for a while. When he left
SHE TELLS HER OWN STORY. 147
he handed me his card, and hoped that we should see
one another again. The card bore the simple super-
scription of " Gustave Flaubert." I was told during
the evening that he was the son of a local physician
of note. Twelve years later the whole of France rang
with his name. He had written *•' Madame Bovary,"
and laid the foundation of what subsequently became
the ultra-realistic school of French fiction.
To return for a moment to Lola Montes. The trial
was really the starting-point of her notoriety, for, in
spite of her beauty, she had been at one time reduced
to sing in the streets in Brussels. That was after she
had fled from Calcutta, whither her first husband, a
captain or lieutenant James, in the service of the
East India Company, had taken her. She landed at
Southampton, and, during her journey to London,
managed to ingratiate herself with an English
nobleman, by pretending that she was the wife of a
Spanish soldier who had been stiot by the Carlists.
She told me all tliis herself, because she was not in
the least reticent about her scheming, especially after
her scheming had failed. She would, however, not
divulge the name of her i,ra veiling companion, who
tried to befriend her by introducing her to some of his
acquaintances, with the view of obtaining singing
lessons for her. " But I did not make my expenses,
because you English are so very moial and my patron
was suspected of not giving himself all that trouble
for nothing. Besides, they managed to ferret out that
I was not the widow of a Spanish officer, but the wife
of an English one ; and then, as you may imagine, it
was all up. I got, however, an engagement at the
Opera House in the ballet, but not for long ; of course.
148 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
1 could not dance much, but I could dance as well
as half your wooden ugly women that were there.
But they told tales about me, and the manager dis-
missed me.*
• The English nobleman must have been Lord Malmesbury, who
alludes to her as follows : " This was a most remarkable woman, and
may be said by her conduct at Munich to have set fire to the magazine
of revolution, which was ready to burst forth all over Europe, and
which made the year 1848 memorable. I made her acquaintance by
accident, as I was going up to London from Heron Court, in tlie
railway. 'I'he Consul at Southampton asked me to take charge of a
Spanish lady who had been recommended to his care, and who had
just landed. I consented to do this, and was introduced by him to a
remarkably handsome person, who was in deep mourning, and who
appeared to be in great distress. As we were alone in the carriage,
she, of her own accord, informed me, in bad English, that she was the
widow of Don Diego Leon, who had lately been shot by the Carlists
after he was taken prisoner, and that she was going to London to sell
some Spanish property that she possessed, and give lessons in singing,
as she was very poor. On arriving in London slie took some lodgings,
and came to my house to a little concert which I gave, and sang some
Spanish ballads. Her accent was foreign, and she had all the appearance
of being what she pretended to be. She sold different things, such as
veils, etc., to the party present, and received a good deal of patronage.
Eventually she took an engagement for the ballet at the Opera House,
but her dancing was very inferior. At last she was recognized as an
impostor, her real name bein<^ Mrs. James, and Irish by extraction,
and had married an oflBcer in India. Her engagement at the Opera
was cancelled, she left the country, and retired to Munich. She was a
very vioh nt woman, and actually struck one of the Bavarian generals
as he was reviewing the troops. The king became perfectly infatuated
with her beauty and cleverness, and gave her large sums of money,
with a title, which she afterwards bore when she returned to England."
(" Memoirs of an Ex-minister," by the Earl of Malmesbury.)
Lord Malmesbury is wrong in nearly every particular which he has
got from hearsay. Lola Montes did not retire to Munich after her
engagement at the Opera House had been cancelled, but to Brussels,
and from there to Warsaw. Nor did she play the all-important part
in the Bavarian riots or revolution he ascribes to her. The author of
these notes has most of the particulars of Lola Montes' career previous
to her appearance in Munich from her own lips, and, as he has already
said, she was not in the least reticent about her scheming, especially
when her scheming had failed. For the story of the events at Munich,
I gather inferentially from his notes that he is indebted to Karl von
Abel, King Ludwig's ultramontane minister, who came afterwards
to Paris, and who, if I mistake not, was the father or the uncle of Herr
von Abel, the Berlin correspondent of the 'limes, some fourteen or
fifteen years ago. — Editor.
ROYAL CONJUGAL FELICITY. 149
She fostered no illusions with regard to her chore-
graphic talents ; in fact, she fostered no illusions about
anything, and her candour was the best trait in her
character. She had failed as a dancer in Warsaw,
whither she had gone from London, by way of Brussels.
In the Belgian capital, according to her own story,
she had been obliged to sing in the streets to keep
from starvation. I asked her why she had not come
from London to Paris, "where, for a woman of her
attractions, and not hampered by many scruples," as
I pointed out to her, " there were many more resources
than elsewhere." The answer was so characteristic
of the daring adventuress, who, notwithstanding her
irapecuniosity, flew at the highest game to be had,
that I transcribe it in full. I am often reluctant to
trust to my memory : in this instance I may ; I
remember every word of it. This almost illiterate
schemer, who probably had not the remotest notion of
geography, of history, had pretty well " the Almanach
de Gotha " by heart, and seemed to guess instinctively
at things which said Almanach carefully abstained from
mentioning, namely, the good understanding or the
reverse between the married royal couples of Europe, etc.
"Why did not I come to Paris!" sho replied.
" What was the good of coming to Paris where
there was a king, bourgeois to his finger-nails, tight-
fisted besides, and notoriously the most moral and
best father all the world over ; with princes who were
nearly as much married as their dad, and with those
who were single far away ? What was the good of
coming to a town where you could not bear the title
of ' la maitresse du prince ' without the risk of being
taken to the frontier between two gendarmes, where
150 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
you could not have squeezed a thousand luuis out of
any of the royal sons for the life of you ? What was
the good of tryino^ to get a count, where the wife of
a grocer or a shoemaker might have objected to your
presence at a ball, on the ground of your being an
immoral person ? No, I really meant to make my way
to the Hague. I had heard that William II. whacked
his wife like any drunken labourer, so that his sons
had to interfere every now and then. I had heard
this in Calcutta, and from folk who were likely to
know. But as I thought that I might have the
succession of the whacks, as well as of the lord, I
wanted to try my chance at Brussels first; besides,
I hadn't much money."
"But King Leopold is married, and lives very happily
with his wife," I interrupted.
" Of course he does — they all do," was the answer ;
"mais pa n'empeche pas les sentiments, does it? I
am very ignorant, and haven't a bit of memory, but
I once heard a story about a Danish or Swedish king
— I do not know the difference — who married an
adventuress like myself, though the queen and the
mother of his heir was alive. He committed bigamy,
but kings and queens may do things we mayn't. One
day, he and his lawful wife were at one of their country
seats, and, leaning out of the window, when a carriage
passed with a good-looking woman in it, * Who is this
lady?' asked the queen. 'That's my wife,' replied
the king. ' Your wife ! what am I, then ? ' said the
queen. ' You ? well, you are my queen.' *
"Never mind, whatever my intentions on Leopold's
* Lola Monies was perfectly correct. It was Frederick lY. of
Denmark, only the woman was not an adventuress like herself, but
tlic Countess Eeventlow, whom he had abducted. — Editor.
HER WANDERINGS. 151
money or aflfections may have been, they came to
nothing; for before I could get as much as a peep at
him, my money had all been spent, and I was obliged
to part with my clothes first, and then to sing in the
streets to get food. I was taken from Brussels to
Warsaw by a man whom I believe to be a German.
He spoke many languages, but he was not very well
off himself. However, he was very kind, and, when
we got to Warsaw, managed to get me an engagement
at the Opera. After two or three days, the director
told me that I couldn't dance a bit. I stared him foil
in the face, and asked him whether he thought that,
if I could dance, I would have come to such a hole
as his theatre. Tiiereupon he laughed, and said I was
a clever girl for all that, and that he would keep me
on for ornament. I didn't give him the chance for
long. I left after about two months, with a Polish
gentleman, who brought me to Paris. The moment I
get a nice round lump sum of money, I am going to
carry out my original plan ; that is, trying to hook a
prince. I am sick of being told that I can't dance.
They told me so in London, they told me in Warsaw,
they told me at the Porte Saint-Martin where they
hissed me. I don't think the men, if lett to themselves,
would hiss me ; their wives and their daughters put
them up to it : a woman like myself spoils their trade
of honest women. I am only waiting my chance
here ; for though you are all very nice and generous
and all that kind of thing, it is not what I want."
Shortly after this conversation, the death of Dujarrier
and his legacy to her gave her the chance she had
been looking for. She left for Loudon, I heard, with
an Englishman ; but I never saw him, so I cannot say
152 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
for certain. But, it appears, site did not stay long',
because, a little while after, several Parisians, on their
return from Germany, reported that they had met her
at Wiesbaden, at Homburg, and elsewhere, punting in
a small way, not settling down anywhere, and almost
deliberately avoiding both Frenchmen and Englishmen.
The rumour went that her husband was on her track,
and that her anxiety to avoid him had caused her
to leave London hurriedly. In spite of her chequered
career, in spite of the shortcomings at Brussels, Lola
Montes was by no means anxious for the " sweet yoke
of domesticity." In another six months, her name was
almost forgotten by all of us, except by Alexandre
Dumas, who now and then alluded to her. Though
iar from superstitious, Dumas, who had been as much
smitten with her as most of her admirers, avowed that
he was glad she had disappeared. *' She has *the evil
eye,' " he said ; " and sure to bring bad luck to any one
who closely links his destiny with hers, for however
short a time. You see what has occurred to Dujarrier.
If ever she is heard of again, it will be in connection
with some terrible calamity that has befallen a lover
of hers." We all laughed at him, except Dr. Veron,
who could have given odds to Solomon Eagle himself
at prophesying. Fortunately he was generally afraid
to open his lips, for he was thoroughly sincere in his
belief that he could prevent the event by not predicting
it — at any rate aloud. For once in a way, however,
Alexandre Dumas proved correct. When we did hear
again of Lola Montes, it was in connection with the
disturbances that had broken out at Munich, and the
abdication of her royal lover, Louis I. of Bavaria, in
favour of his eldest son, Maximilian.
I
LOLA AND LOUIS L OF BAVARIA. 153
The substance of the following notes relating to
said disturbances was communicated to me by a
political personage who played a not inconsiderable
part in the events themselves. As a rule it is not very
safe to take interested evidence of that kind, " but in
this instance," as my informant put it, " there was really
no political reputation to preserve, as far as he was
concerned." Lola Montes had simply tried to over-
throw him as Madame Dubarry overthrew the Due de
Choiseul, because he would not become her creature ;
and she had kept on repeating the tactics with every
succeeding ministry, even that of her own making.
But it should be remembered that revolution was in
the air in the year '48, and that if T^ola Montes had
been the most retiring of favourites, or Louis I. the most
moral of kings, the uprising would have happened just
the same, though the upshot might have been different
•with regard to Louis himself.
Here is a portrait of him, which, in my literary
ignorance, I think sufficiently interesting to reproduce.
" Louis was a chip of the old Wittelsbach block ;
that is, a Lovelace, with a touch of the minnesing&r
about him. Age had not damped his ardour; for,
though he was sixty-one when Lola Montes took up
her quarters at Munich, any and every "beauty" that
came to him was sure of an enthusiastic welcome. And
Heaven alone knows how many had come to him
during his reign ; they seemed really directed to him
from every quarter of the globe. The new arrival had
her portrait painted almost immediately ; it was added
to the collection for which a special gallery had been
set apart, and whither Louis went to meditate by him-
self at least once a day. He averred that he went
154 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
thither for poetic inspiration, for he took himself an
serieux as a poet, and, above all, as a classical poet,
modelling his verse upon those of ancient times. He
had published a volume of poems, entitled * Walhalla's
Genossen ; ' * but his principal study of antiquity was
mainly confined to the rites connected, with the worship
of Venus. He Mas very good-natured and pleasant in
his dealings with every one ; he had not an ounce of
gall in the whole of his body. He was, moreover, very
religious in his own way, and consequently the tool of
the Jesuits, who really governed the kingdom, but who
endeavoured to make his own life sweet and pleasant
to him. They liked him to take part in the religious
processions, as any burgher of devout tendencies might,
but being aware of his tendency to be attracted by the
first pretty face he caught sight of, they took care to
relegate all the handsome maidens and matrons to
the first and second floors. In that way Louis's eyes
were always lifted heavenwards, and religious appear-
ances were preserved.
"Under such conditions, it was not diflicult for a
woman of Lola Montes' attractions and daring to gain
her ends. She was not altogether without means when
she came to Munich, though the sum in her possession
was far from a hundred thousand francs, as she after-
wards alleged it was. At any rate, she was not the
penniless adventuress she had formerly been, and when,
in iier beautiful dresses, she applied to the director of
the Hof-Theatre for an engagement, the latter was
fairly dazzled, and granted her request without a
murmur. She did, however, not want to dance, and,
before her first appearance, she managed to set tongues
* " Compauions in Walhalla." — Editor.
A ROYAL LOVELACE. 155
wagging about her beauty, and, as a matter of course,
the rumours reached the king's ears. I am afraid I
shall have to prefer a grave charge, but I am not
doins: so without foundation. It is almost certain
by now that the Jesuits, seeing in her a tool for the
further subjugation of the superannuated royal trou-
badour, countenanced, if they did not assist her in her
schemes ; they, the Jesuits, did many things of which
a Catholic, like myself, however firm in his allegiance
to Rome, could not but disapprove. At any rate,
three or four days after the king's first meeting with
her, Lola Montes was presented at court, and introduced
to the royal family and corps diplomatique by the
sovereign himself, as ' his best friend.' Events pro-
ceeded apace. In August, '47, the king granted
her patents of * special naturalization,' created her
Baroness von Rosenthal, and, almost immediately
afterwards. Countess von Landsfeld. Slie received an
annuity of twenty thousand florins, and had a magni-
ficent mansion built for her. At the instance of the
king, the queen was compelled to confer the order
of St. Therese upon her. I, and many others, had
strenuously opposed all this, though not unaware that,
up till then, the Jesuits were on her side, rather than
on ours. We paid the penalty of our opposition with
our dismissal from oflSce, and then Lola Montes con-
fronted the Jesuits by herself. She was absolutely
mad to invade Wurtemberg, not for any political
reason ; she could no more have accounted for any
such than the merest hind, but simply because, a few
months before her appearance at Munich, she had
been, in her opinion, slighted by the old king. The
fact was, old William, sincerely attached to Amalia
156 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Stubenraiich, the actress, had not fallen a victim to
Lola Montes' charms, and had taken little or no notice
of her. The contemplated invasion of Wurtemberg was
an act of private revenge. But mad as she was, there
was some one more mad still — King Louis I. of Bavaria.
" The most ill-advised thing she did, perhaps, was
to change her supporters. Like the ignorant, over-
bearing woman she was, she would not consent to share
her power over the king with the Jesuits ; she tried to
form an opposition against them among the students
at the University, and she succeeded to a certain extent.
These adherents constituted the nucleus of a corps
which soon became known under the title of *Allemanen.'
But the more noble-minded and patriotic youths at the
Munich University virtually ostracized the latter, and
several minor disturbances had already broken out in
consequence of this, when, in the beginning of February,
'48, a more than usually serious manifestation against
* Lola's creatures,' as they were called, took place.
The woman did not lack pluck, and she insisted upon
defying the rioters by herself. But they proved too
much for her ; and, after all, she was a woman. She
endeavoured to escape from their violence, but every
house was shut against her ; the Swiss on guard at the
Austrian Embassy refused her shelter. A most painful
scene happened ; the king himself, the moment the
news reached him, rushed to her rescue, and, having
elbowed his way through the threatening, yelling
crowd, offered her his arm, and conducted her to the
church of the Theatines, hard by. As a matter of
course, several officers had joined him, and all might
have been well, if she had taken the lesson to heart.
But her violent, domineering, vindictive temper got
THE REVOLUTION AT MUNICH. 157
the better of her. No sooner did she find herself in
comparative safety, than, emboldened by the presence
of the officers, she snatched a pistol from one of them,
and, armed with it, leapt out of the building, confront-
ing the crowd, and threatening to fire. Heaven alone
knows what would have been the result of this mad
act, but for the timely arrival of a squadron of
cuirassiers, who covered her retreat.
"The excitement might have died out in a week or
a fortnight, though the year '48 was scarcely a pro-
pitious one for a display of such quasi-feudal defiance,
if she had merely been content to forego the revenge
for the insults she herself had provoked ; but on the
luth of February she prevailed upon the king to issue
a decree, closing the University for a twelvemonth.
The smouldering fire of resentment against her con-
stant interference in the affairs of the country blazed
forth once more,and this time with greater violence than
ever. The working men, nay, the commercial middle
classes, hitherto indifferent to the king's vagaries,
which, after all, brought grist to their mill, espoused
the students' cause. Barricades were erected ; the cry
was not * Long live the Constitution,' or ' Long live the
Republic,' but * Down with the concubine,' It was
impossible to mistake the drift of that insurrection, but,
in order to leave no doubt about it in the sovereign's
mind, a deputation of the municipal council and one
of the Upper House waited upon Louis, and insisted
upon the dismissal of Lola Montes, who, in less than an
hour, left Munich, escorted by a troop of gendarmes,
who, however, had all their work to do to prevent her
from being torn to pieces by the mob. Her departure
was the signal for the pillaging of her mansion, at
158 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
which the king looked on — as he thought — incognito.
It is difficult to determine what prompted him to
commit so rash an act. Was it a feeling of relief at
having got rid of her — for there was a good deal of
cynicism about that semi-philosophical, semi-mystical
troubadour — or a desire to chew the cud of his vanished
happiness? Whatever may have been the reason, he
paid dearly for it, for some one smashed a looking-
glass over his head, and he was carried back to the
palace, unconscious, and bleeding profusely. It was
never ascertained who inflicted the wounds, though
tliere is no doubt that the assailant knew his victim.
Meanwhile Lola Montes had succeeded in slipping
away from her escort, and three hours later she
re-entered Munich disguised, and endeavoured to make
her way to the palace. But the latter was carefully
guarded, and for the next month all her attempts in
that direction proved fruitless, though, audacious as
she was, she did not dare stop for a single night in the
capital itself. Besides, I do not believe that a single
inhabitant would have given her shelter. Unlike a
good many royal favourites of the past, she had no
personal adherents, no faithful servants who would
Jiave stood by her through thick and thin, because she
never treated any one kindly in the days of her pros-
perity : she could only bribe ; she was incapable of
inspiring disinterested affection among those who were
insensible to the spell of her marvellous beauty."
So far the narrative of my informant. The rest is
pretty well known by everybody. A i'ew years later,
she committed bigamy with another English officer,
named Heald, who was drowned at Lisbon about the
same time that her real husband died. Alexandre
"LA DAME AUX CAM^LIAS." 159
Dumas was right — she brought ill-luck to those who
attached themselves to her for any length of time,
whether in the guise of lovers or husbands.
These notes about Lola Montes remind me of
another woman whom public opinion would place in
the same category, though she vastly differed in
character. I am alluding to Alphonsine Plessis, better
known to the world at large as " La Dame aux
Camelias." I frequently met her in the society of
some of my friends between '43 and '47, the year of
her death. Her name was as I have written it, and
not Marie or Marguerite Duplessis, as has been written
since.
The world at large, and especially the English, have
always made very serious mistakes, both with regard to
the heroine of the younger Dumas' novel and play, and
the author himself. They have taxed him with having
chosen an unworthy subject, and, by idealizing it,
taught a lesson of vice instead of virtue ; they have
taken it for granted that Alphonsine Plessis was no
better than her kind. She was much better than that,
though probably not sufficiently good to take a house-
maid's place and be obedient to her pastors and
masters, to slave from morn till night for a mere pit-
tance, in addition to her virtue, which was ultimately to
prove its own reward — the latter to consist of a home of
her own, with a lot of squalling brats about her, where
she would have had to slave as she had slaved before,
without the monthly pittances hitherto doled out to her.
She was not sufficiently good to see her marvellously
beautiful face, her matchless graceful figure set off
by a cambric cap and a calico gown, instead of having
the first enhanced by the gleam of piiceless jewels in
160 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
her hair and the second wrapped in soft laces and velvets
and satins ; but, for all that, she was not the common
courtesan the goody-goody people have thought fit to
proclaim her — the common courtesan, who, according
to these goody-goody people, would have descended to
her grave forgotten, but for the misplaced enthusiasm
of a poetical young man, who was himself corrupted
by the atmosphere in which he was born and lived
afterwards.
The sober fact is that Dumas jils did not idealize
anything at all, and, least of all, Alphonsine Plessis'
character. Though very young at the time of her
death, he was then already much more of a philosopher
than a poet. He had not seen half as much of
Alphonsine Duplessis during her life as is commonly
supposed, and the first idea of the novel was probably
suggested to him, not by his acquaintance with her,
but by the sensation her death caused among the Paris
public, the female part of which — almost without
distinction — went to look at her apartment, to appraise
her jewels and dresses, etc. "They would probably
like to have had them on the same terms," said a
terrible cynic. The remark must have struck young
Dumas, in whose hearing it was said, or who, at any
rate, had it reported to him ; for if we carefully look
at all his earlier plays, we find the spirit of that
remark largely pervading them.
Alphonsine Plessis had probably learned even less
in her girlhood than Lola Montes, but she had a
natural tact, and an instinctive refinement which no
education could have enhanced. She never made
grammatical mistakes, no coarse expression ever
passed her lips. Lola Montes could not make friends;
HOW THE PLAY WAS WRITTEN. 161
Alphonsine Plessis could not make enemies. She
never became riotous like the other, not even boister-
ous; for amidst the most animated scenes she was
haunted by the sure knowledge that she would die
young, and life, but for that knowledge, would have
been very sweet to her. Amidst these scenes, she
would often sit and chat to me : she liked me, because
I never paid her many compliments, although I was
bat six years older than the most courted woman of
her time. The story of her being provided for by a
foreign nobleman because she was so like his deceased
daughter, was not a piece of fiction on Dumas' part ;
it was a positive fact. Alphonsine Plessis, after this
provision was made for her, might have led the most
retired existence ; she might, like so many demi-
mondaines have done since, bought hejself a country-
house, re-entered " the paths of respectability," have
had a pew in the parish church, been in constant
communication with the vicar, prolonged her life by
several years, and died in the odour of sanctity : but,
notwithstanding her desperate desire to live, her very
nature revolted at such self-exile. When Alexandre
Dumas read the " Dame aux Caraelias " to his father,
the latter wept like a baby, but his tears did not
drown the critical faculty. " At the beginning of the
third act," he said afterwards, " I was wondering how
Alexandre would get his Marguerite back to town
without lowering her in the estimation of the spectator.
Because, if such a woman as he depicted was to remain
true to nature — to her nature — and consequently able
to stand the test of psychological analysis, she could
not have borne more than two or three months of such
retirement. This does not mean that she would have
VOL. I. H
162 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
severed her connection with Armand Duval, but he
would have become * un plat daus le menu ' after a
little while, nothing more. The way Alexandre got
out of the diflSculty proves that he is my son every
inch of him, and that, at the very outset of his career,
he is a better dramatist than I am ever likely to be.
But depend upon it, that if, in real life and with such
a woman, le pere Duval had not interfered, la belle
Marguerite would have taken the * key of the street ' on
some pretext — and that, notwithstanding the sale of
her carriages, the pledging of her diamonds and her
furs — in order not to worry the man she loved, for the
time being, with money matters. Honestly speaking, it
wanted my son's cleverness to make a piece out of
Alphonsine Plessis' life. True, he was fortunate in that
she died, which left him free to ascribe that death to
any cause but the right one, namely, consumption. I
know that he made use of it, but he toolc care to show
the malady aggravated by Armand Duval's desertion
of her, and this is the only liberty he took with the
psychological, consequently scientific and logical, de-
velopment of the play. People have compared his
Marguerite Gautier to Manon Lescaut, to Marion
Delorme, and so forth : it just shows what they know
about it. They might just as well compare Tliiers to
Cromwell. Manon Lescaut, Marion Delorme, Crom-
well, knew what they wanted : Marguerite Gautier and
Thiers do not ; both are always in search of Vineonnu,
the one in experimental politics, the other in experi-
mental love-making. Still, my son has been true to
Nature ; but he has taken an episode showing her at
her best. He was not bound to let the public know
that the frequent recurrence of these love episodes, but
THE GENEALOGY OF "LA. DAME AUX CAM^LIAS." 163
always with a different partner, eonstitutes a disease
which is as well known to specialists as the disease
of drunkenness, and for which it is impossible to find
a cure. Messalina, Catherine IL, and thousands of
women have suffered from it. When they happen to
be born in such exalted stations as these two, they buy
men ; when they happen to be born in a lowly station
and are attractive, they sell themselves ; when they
are ugly and repulsive they sink to the lowest depths
of degradation, or end in the padded cells of a mad-
house, where no man dares come near them. Nine
times out of ten the malady is hereditary, and I am
certain that if we could trace the genealogy of
Alphonsine Plessis, we should find the taint either on
the father's side or on the mother's, probably on the
former's, but more probably still ou both." *
• The following is virtually a summary of an article by Count G.
de Ck)ntade8, in a French bibliographical periodical, Le Livre (Dec
10, 1885), and shows how near Alexandre Dumas was to the truth. I
have given it at great length. My excuse for so doing is the extra-
ordinary popularity of Dumas' play with all classes of playgoers.
As a consequence, there is not a single modern play, with the
exception of those of Shakespeare, the genesis of which has been
80 much commented upon. It is no exaggeration to say that most
educated playgoers, not to mention professional students of the drama,
have at some time or other expressed a wish to know sometliing more
of the real Marguerite Gautier's parentage and antecedents than is
shown by Dumas, either in his play or in his novel, or than what they
could gather from the partly apocryphal details given by her con-
temporaries. Dumas himself, in his preface to the play, says that she
was a farm servant. He probably knew no more than that, nor did
Alphonsine Plessis herself. In after-years, the eminent dramatist
had neither the time nor the inclination to search musty parish
registers ; Count de Contades has done so for him. Here are the
results, as briefly as possible, of his researches. Alphonsine Plessis'
paternal grandmother, "moitie mendiante et moitie prostitute,"
inhabited, a little less than a century ago, the small parish of Long^-
Bur-Maire, which has since become simply Longe' in the canton of
Briouze, arrondissement of Argentan (about thirty miles from
Alen9on). She had been nicknamed " La Guenuchetonne," a rustic
version of the archaic French word gu^ippe (slattern). Lotiis
Descours, a kind of country clod who had ieutered the priesthood
164 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
There were few of us who, during Alphonsine Plessis*
lifetime, were so interested in her as to have gone to
without tlie least vocation, and just because his people wislied him
to do 80, becomes enamoured of "La Guenucbetonne," and early ia
January, 1790, the cure Philippe christens a male child, which is
registered as Marin Plessis, mother Louis-Renee Plessis, father
unknown. That the father was known well enough is proved by the
Christian name bestowed upon tiie babe, Murin, which was that of
Louis Descours' father. This gallant adventure of the country priest
was an open secret for miles around.
Marin Plessis grew into a handsome fellow, and when about twenty
took to travelling in the adjacent provinces of lower and upper
Normandy with a pack of smallwares. Handsome and amiable
besides, he was a welcome guest everywhere, and soon became a great
favourite with the female part of the Normandy peasantry. For a
little while he flitted from one rustic beauty to another, until he was
fairly caught by one more handsome than the rest, Marie Deshayes.
She was not, perhaps, immaculately virtuous, but, apart from her
extraordinary personal attractions, she was something more than an
ordinary peasant girl.
Some sixty years before Marin Plessis' union with Marie Deshayes,
there lived in the neighbourhood of Evreux a spinster lady of good
descent, though not very well provided with worldly goods. She was
comely and sweet-tempered enough, but then, as now, comeliness and
a sweet temper do not count for much in the French matrimonial
market, and least of all in the provincial one. Owing to the modesty
of her marriage portion, she had no suitors for her hand, and, being
of an exceedingly amorous disposition, she bestowed her affection
where she could, " without regret, and without false shame," as the
old French chronicler has it.
The annals of the village — for, curiously enough, these annals do
exist, though only in manuscripts— are commendably reticent about
the exact number and names of her lovers. It would seem that the
author, a contemporary of Mdlle. Anne du Mesnil d'Argentelles and
the great-grandfather of the present possessor of the notes, a gentleman
near Bernay, was divided between tlie wish of not being too hard upon
his neighbour, who was, after all, a gentlewoman, and the desire to leave
a record of a peculiar phase of the country manners of those days to
posterity. Be this as it may, Mdlle. d'Argentelles' swains, previous
to the very last one, have been doomed to anonymous obscurity.
But with the advent of Etienne Deshayes, tlie annalist becomes less
reticent, he is considered worthy of being mentioned in full, perhaps
as a reward for having finally " made an honest woman " of his
inamorata. For that is the final upshot of tlie love-story between him
and Mdlle. d'Argentelles, which, in its earlier stages, bears a certain
resemblance to that between Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Madame
de Warens, with this difference — that the Normand Jean-Jacques is
considerably older than his mistress.
The children bora of this marriage were very numerous. One of
THE REAL ALPHONSINE PLESSIS. 166
the length of such a psychological analysis of her
pedigree. Nevertheless, most men were agreed that
she was no ordinary girl. Her candour about her
early want of education increased the interest.
" Twenty or twenty-five years ago," said Dr. V^ron,
one day, after Alphonsine Plessis had left the dinner
table, " a woman of her refinement would not have been
phenomenal in her position, because at that period the
grisette, promoted to the rank of femme entretenue,
had not made her appearance. The expression * femme
entretenue' was not even known. Men chose their
companions, outside marriage, from a different class ;
they were generally women of education and often of
good family who had made a faux pas, and, as such,
forfeited the society and countenance of their equals
who had not stumbled in that way, at any rate not in
the sight of the world. I confess, Alphonsine Plessis
interests me very much. 8he is, first of all, the best-
dressed woman in Paris ; secondly, she neither flaunts
nor hides her vices ; thirdly, she is not always talking
or hinting about money ; in short, she is a wonderful
courtesan."
The result of all this adipiration was very favourable
to Alexandre Dumas fils when he brought out his book
about eighteen months after her death. It was in
them, Louis-Deshayes, married a handsome peasant girl, Marie-
Madeleine Murra, who appears to have been somewhat too intimate
with a neighbouring squire, but who gave birth a few years after to
a daughter, of whose paternity tliere could not be the smallest doubt,
seeing that she grew up into a speaking likeness of her maternal
grandmother, the erstwhile Mdlle. Anne du Mesnil d'Argentelles.
Fate ought to have had a better lot in store for beautiful Marie
Deshayes than a marriage with a poor pedlar like Matin Plessis ; but
the latter was very handsome, and, notwithstanding the opposition
of the family, she became his wife. On the 15th of January, 1824, the
child which was to be immortalized as " La Dame aux Camillas "
•aw the light, in a small village in Lower Normandy.— Editor.
166 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
every one's hands, and the press kept whetting thfe
curiosity of those who had not read it as yet with
personal anecdotes about the heroine. In addition to
this, the title was a very taking one, and, moreover,
absolutely new; for, though it was obvious enough
from Alphonsine Plessis' habit of wearing white
camellias the greater part of the year, no one had ever
thought of applying it to her wliile she was alive ;
hence, the credit of its invention belongs decidedly to
Dumas ^Zs.
I may return to the subject of " La Dame aux
Cam61ias " in connection with the play ; meanwhile, I
will say a few words of the only man among our set
who objected to the title, " because it injures ray own,"
as he put it; namely, M. Lautour-Mezerai, who had
been 8urnamed"L'Homme au Camellia;" in the singular,
from his habit of never appearing in public without
that flower in his button-hole. And be it remembered
that in those days, the flower was much more rare than
it is at present, and consequently very expensive. The
plagiarist, if there was one, must have been Alphon-
sine Plessis, for Dr. Veron, who was one of his oldest
friends, did not remember having even seen him
minus the camellia, and their friendship dated from
the year 1831. It is computed that during the nine-
teen years Mezerai was in Paris, previous to his
departure for the South of France and afterwards for
Algeria, in both of which provinces he fulfilled the
functions of prefect, he must have spent no less than
fifty thousand francs on his favourite floral ornament,
for he frequently changed it twice a day, and its price,
especially in the thirties and earlier part of the forties^
was not Jess than five francs. It is, therefore, not
l'homme au camellia. 167
surprising that he resented the usurpation of his title.
M. Lautour-Mezerai was one of the most elegant men
I knew. He not only belonged to a very good pro-
vincial stock, but his family on both sides counted
some eminent names in literature.* He was a most
charming companion, exceedingly generous ; but he
would not have parted with the flower in his button-
hole for any consideration, not even to oblige his greatest
friend, male or female. It was more than an ornament
to him, he looked upon it as a talisman. He always
occupied the same place at the Opera, in the balcony,
or what we call the " dress-circle," and many a
covetous glance from the brightest eyes was cast at
the dazzling white camellia, standing out in bold relief
against the dark blue coat, but neither glances nor
direct requests had any effect upon him. He became
absolutely savage in his refusal when too hardly
pressed, because, by his own admission, he was super-
stitious enough to believe that, if he went home
without it, something terrible would happen to him
during the night.
M. Lautour-Mezerai , was, however, something more
than a mere man of fashion. To him belongs the
credit of having founded— at any rate in France — the
children's periodical. For the comparatively small
subscription of six francs per annum, thousands of
little ones received every month a number of the
Journal des Enfants, stitched in blue paper, and with
their own name on the wrapper. It flattered their
pride to be treated like their elders by having their
literature despatched to them in that way, and there is
* Curiously enough, he belonged to the same department, and died
almost on the very spot where Marin Plessis was born. — Editob.
168 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
no doubt that this ingenious device contributed, to a
certain extent, to the primary and enormous success
of the undertaking. But M. Lautour-Mezerai was too
refined a litterateur to depend upon such a mere trick,
and a look at even the earlier numbers of the Journal
des En/ants, would prove conclusively that, in the
way of amusing children while instructing them a
little, nothing better has been done since, whether
in France, England, or Grermany. The editor and
manager succeeded in grouping around him such
men as Paul Lacroix (le hihliophile Jacoh) and Charles
Nodier, both of whom have never been surpassed in
making history attractive to young minds. Emile
Souvestre, Leon Gozlan, Eugene Sue, and even Alex-
andre Dumas told them the most wonderful stories.
The men who positively kept the adult population of
France spellbound by their stirring romances seemed
to take a delight in competing with women like
Virginie Ancelot, the Duchesse d'Abrantes, and others
on the latter's ground. As a consequence, it became
the fashion to present the young ones on New Year's
Day with a leceipt for a twelvemonth's subscription,
made out in their names, instead of the everlasting bag
of sweets. At one time the circulation of Le Journal
des Enfanis was computed at 60,000, and M. Lautour-
Mezerai was said to make 100,000 francs per annum
out of it.
In a former note, I incidentally mentioned Auguste
Lireux. He is scarcely remembered by the present
generation of Frenchmen ; I doubt whether there are
a hundred students of French literature in England
who know his name, let alone his writings : yet he is
worthy of being remembered by both. He had — what
A THEATRICAL MANAGER. 169
a g:reat many French writers of talent, far greater
than his own, essentially lack — humour. True, the
latter was not subtle ; but it was rarely, if ever, coarse.
The nearest approach to him among the journalists of
the present day is M. Francisque Sarcey; but the
eminent dramatic critic has had a better education.
Nevertheless, if Lireux had finished as he began, he
would not be so entirely forgotten. Unfortunately
for his fame, if not for his material welfare, he took it
into his head to become a millionnaire, and he almost
succeeded ; at any rate, he died very well off, in a
beautiful villa at Bougival.
I remember meeting with Lireux almost immediately
after he landed in Paris, at the end of '40 or the
beginning of '41. He came, I believe, from Rouen ;
though, but for his accent, he might have come from
Marseilles. Tall, well-built, with brown hair and
beard and ruddy complexion, a pair of bright eyes
behind a pair of golden spectacles, very badly dressed,
though ills clothes were almost new, very loud and very
restless, his broad-brimmed hat cocked on one side,
he gave one the impression of what in Paris we used
to call a " departeraental pracle." He was that to a
certain extent, still he was not really pompous, and
the feeling of discomfort one experienced at first soon
wore off. He was not altogether unknown among the
better class of journalists in the capital, for it appears
that he frequently contributed to the Paris papers from
the provinces. He had a fair knowledge of the French
drama theoretically, for he had never written a piece,
and openly stated his intention never to do so. But
in virtue of his dramatic criticisms in several periodi-
cals — which, in spite of the difference in education
170 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
between the two men, read unoommonly like the
articles of M. Sarcey in the Temps — and his un-
wavering faith in his lucky star, he considered himself
destined not only to lift the Odeon from the slough
in which it had sunk, but to make it a formidable
rival to the house in the Rue de Richelieu. He had
no ambition beyond that. The Odeon was really at
its lowest depth. Harel had enjoyed a subsidy of
130,000 francs, M. d'Epagny eleven years later had
to content himself with less than half, and yet the
authorities were fully cognizant of the necessity of
a second Theatre-Franpais. Whether from incapacity
or ill-luck, M, d'Epagny did not succeed in bringing
back the public to the old house. The direction was
offered then to M, Hippolyte Lucas, the dramatic critic
of Le Steele, and one of the best English scholars I
have ever met with among the French, and, on his
declining the responsibility, given to Lireux, who for
the sake of making a point, exclaimed, " Directeur I
. . . au refus d'Hippolyte Lucas ! " *
It was a piece of bad taste on Lireux's part, because
M. Lucas was his superior in every respect, though
he would probably have failed where the other
succeeded — at least for a while. Save for this mania
of saying smart things in and out of season, Lireux
was really a good-natured fellow, and we were all
glad that he had realized his ambition. The venture
looked promising enough at the start. He got an
excellent company together, comprising Bocage, Mon-
rose, Gil-Peres, Maubant, Mdlles. Georges and Araldi,
Madame Dorval, etc. ; and if, like young Bonaparte's
* An imitation of the line of Don Carlos in Hugo's " Hemani : "
" Empereur I . . . au refus de Frederio-le-Sage I " — Editor
LIREUX AND HIS PATRONS. 171
troops, they were badly paid and wanted for every-
thing, they worked with a will, because, like Bonaparte,
Lireux inspired them with confidence. He, on the
other hand, knew their value, and on no pretext would
allow them to be ousted from the positions they had
honourably won by their talents and hard work.
Presumptuous mediocrity, backed either by influence
or intrigue, found him a stern adversary ; the intriguer
got his answer in such a way as to prevent him from
returning to the charge. One day an actor of reputed
incapacity, Machanette, claimed the title-role in
Moliere's " Misanthrope."
" You have no one else to play Alceste," he said.
" Yes, I have. I have got one of the checktakers,"
replied Lireux.
Auguste Lireux was one of those managers the
race of which began with Harel at the Porte Saint-
Martin and Dr. Yeron at the Opera. Duponehel, at
the latter house, Montigny at the Gymnase, Buloz
and Arsene Houssaye at the Comedie-Fran^aise, en-
deavoured as far as possible to follow their traditions
of liberality towards the public and their artists,
and encouragement given to untried dramatists. It
was not Lireux's fault that he did not succeed for any
length of time. Of course, there is a ridiculous side to
everything. During the terrible cholera visitation of
1832, Harel published a kind of statistics, showing that
not a single one of the spectators had been attacked
by the plague ; but all this cannot blind us to the
support given to the struggling playwright, Dumas,
in the early part of his career. During the winter of
1841-42, which was a severe one, Lireux sent foot-
warmers to the rare audience that patronized him on
172 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
a bitterly cold night, " when tragedy still further chills
the house ; " the little bit of charlatanism cannot dis-
turb the fact of his having given one of the foremost
dramatists of the day a chance with " La Cigue." I am
alluding to the first piece of Emile Augier.
This kind of thing tells with a general public,
more so still with a public composed of generous-
minded, albeit somewhat riotous youths like those
of the Quartier-Lfitin in the early forties. Gradually
the latter found their way to the Odeon, " sinon pour
voir la piece, alors pour entendre Lireux, qui est
toujours amusant ; " which, in plain language, meant
that come what may they would endeavour to provoke
Lireux into giving them a speech.
Flattering as was this resolve on their part to
Lireux's eloquence, the means they employed to
encompas^s their end would have made the existence
of an ordinary manager a burden to him. But Lireux
was not an ordinary manager ; he possessed " the gift
of the gab" to a marvellous degree: consequently he
made it known that he would be happy at any time
to address MM. les etudiants without putting them
to the expense of apples and eggs on the evening
of the performance, and voice-lozenges the next day,
if they, MM. les etudiants, would in return respect
his furniture and the dresses of his actors. The
arrangement worked exceedingly well, and for four
years the management and the student part of the
audience lived in the most perfect harmony.
Lireux did more than that, he forestalled their
possible objections to a doubtful episode in a play.
I remember the first night of "Jeanne de Naples."
The piece had dragged fearfully. Lireux had made
THE PRUNING-KNIFE WITH A VENGEANCE. 173
three diflferent speeches during the evening, but he fore-
saw a riot at the end of the piece which no eloquence
on his part would be able to quell. It appears — for we
only found this out the next day — that the condemned
woman, previous to being led to execution, had to
deliver a monologue of at least a hundred and fifty
or two hundred lines. The unhappy queen had
scarcely begun, when a herculean soldier rushed on
the stage, took her into his arms and carried her off
by main force, notwithstanding her struggles. It was
a truly sensational ending, and the curtain fell amidst
deafening applause. It redeemed the piece !
Next day Lireux made his appearance at Tortoni's
in the afternoon, and, as matter of course, the pro-
duction of the previous evening was discussed.
" I cannot understand," said Roger de Beauvoir,
** how a man with such evident knowledge of stage-
craft as the author displayed in that denoument, could
have perpetrated such an enormity as the whole of
the previous acts."
Lireux was fairly convulsed with laughter. "Do
you really think that was his own invention ? " he
asked.
" Of course I do," was the reply.
" Well, it is not. His denoument was a speech
which would have taken about twenty minutes, at
the end of which the queen is tamely led off between
the soldiers. I know what would have been the
result : the students would have simply torn up the
benches and Heaven knows what else. You know
that if the gas is left burning, if only a moment, after
twelve, there is an extra charge irrespective of the
quantity consumed. I looked at my watch when she
174 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
began to speak her lines. It was exactly thirteen
minutes to twelve ; she might have managed to get
to the end by twelve, but it was doubtful. What was
not doubtful was the row that would have ensued, and
the time it would have taken me to coi)e with it. My
mind was made up there and then. I selected the
biggest of the supers, told him to go and fetch her,
and you know the rest."
There were few theatrical managers in those days
who escaped the vigilance of Balzac. Among the
many schemes he was for ever hatching for benefiting
mankind and making his own fortune, there was one
which cannot be more fitly described than in the
American term of "making a corner;" only that
particular " corner " was to be one in plays.
About two years before the advent of Lireux, and
when the house at Ville d'Avray, of which I have
spoken elsewhere, was completed, a party of literary
men received an invitation to spend the Sunday there.
It was not an ordinary invitation, but a kind of
circular-letter, the postsciiptum to which contained the
following words, " M. de Balzac will make an important
communication." Leon Guzlan, Jules Sandeau, Louis
Desnoyers, Henri Mounier, and those familiar with
Balzac's schemes, knew pretty well what to expect ;
and when Lassailly, one of the four men whose nose
vied with the legendary one of Bonginier, confirmed
their apprehensions that it was a question of making
their fortunes, they resigned themselves to their fate.
Jules Sandeau, who was gentleness itself, merely
observed with a sigh that it was the fifteenth time
Balzac had proposed to make him a millionnaire ;
Henri Monnier offered to sell his. share of the pro-
BALZAC AGAIN. 175
spective profits for 7 francs, 50 centimes ; Ldon Gozlan
suggested that their host might have discovered a
diamond mine, whereupon Balzac, who had just entered
the room, declared that a diamond mine was nothing
to it. He was simply going to monopolize the whole
of the Paris theatres. He exposed the plan in a
magnificent speech of two hours' duration, and would
have continued for two hours more had not one of the
guests reminded him that it was time for dinner.
" Dinner," exclaimed Balzac ; " why, I never thought
of it."
Luckily there was a restaurant near, and the future
millionnairesandthoir would-be benefactor were enabled
to sit down to "a banquet quite in keeping, not only
with the magnificent prospects just disclosed to them,
but with the splendour actually surrounding them," as
M^ry expressed it.
For it should be added that the sumptuous dwelling
which was to be, was at that moment absolutely bare
of furniture, save a few deal chairs and tables. The
garden was a wilderness, intersected by devious paths,
sloping so suddenly as to make it impossible to keep
<me's balance without the aid of an Alpenstock or
the large stones imbedded in the soil, but only
temporarily, by the considerate owner. One day,
Dutacq, the publisher, having missed his footing,
rolled as far as the wall inclosing the domain, without
his friends being able to stop him.
The garden, like everything else connected with the
schemes of Balzac, was eventually to become a gold-
mine. Part of it was to be built upon, and converted
into a dairy ; another part was to be devoted to the
culture of the pine-apple and the Malaga grape, all pi"
176 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
which would yield an income of 30,000 francs annually
" at least " — to borrow Balzac's own words.
The apartments had been furnished in the same
grandiose way — theoretically. The walls were, as I
have already remarked, absolutely bare, but on their
plaster, scarcely dry, were magnificent inscriptions of
what was to be. They were mapped out regardless
of expense. On that facing the north there was a
splendid piece of thirteenth-century Flemish ta})estry
— in writing, of course, flanked by two equally price-
less pictures by Kaphael and Titian. Facing these,
one by Rembrandt, and, underneath, a couch, a couple
of arm-chairs, and six ordinary ones, Louis XV., and
upholstered in Aubus;*on tapestry — subjects, Lafon-
taine's Fables. Opposite again, a monumental mantel-
piece in malachite (a present of Czar Nicholas, who
had expressed his admiration of Balzac's novels), with
bronzes and clock by De Gouttieres. The place on
the ceiling was marked for a chandelier of Venetian
glass, and in the dining-room a square was drawn on
the carpetless floor for the capacious sideboard, whereon
would be displayed " the magnificent family plate."
Pending the arrival of the furniture, the building of
the dairy, hothouses, and wineries, the guests had to
sit on hard wooden chairs, to eat a vile dinner, supple-
mented, however, by an excellent dessert. Balzac was
very fond of fruit, and especially of pears, of which he
always ate an enormous quantity. The wine was, as
a rule, very inferior, but on that particular occasion
Balzac's guests discovered that their host's imagination
could even play him more cruel tricks in the selection
of his vintages than it played him in his pursuit of
financial schemes and the furnishing of his house.
BALZAC'S VISIONS. 177
When the fruit was placed upon the table, Balzac
assumed a most solemn air. "Gentlemen," he said,
" I am going to give you some Chateau-Lafitte, such
as you have never tasted — such as it has been given
to few mortals to taste. I wish you to sip it carefully
— I might almost say reverently, because the oppor-
tunity may not repeat itself in our lives."
Wherewith the guests' glasses were filled; all of
them made horrible faces, for it was abominable stuff,
but one more outspoken than the rest gave his opinion
there and then —
" This may be * Chateau de la Rue Lafitte,' but it is
enough to give one the colic."
Any one else but Balzac would have been horribly
disconcerted ; he, on the contrary, did not budge.
" Yes," he said proudly, " you are right in one respect ;
this ambrosial nectar comes in a straight line from the
Rne Lafitte, for it is Baron James de Rothschild who
made me a present of two barrels, for which I am
profoundly grateful. Drink, gentlemen, drink, and be
thankful also."
Those who would consider this a piece of clever
acting on Balzac's part, would be greatly mistaken.
His imagination at times affected his palate as well
as his other organs, and at that moment he was under
the distinct impression that he was offering his guests
one of the rarest vintages on record.
I have endeavoured hitherto to digress as little as
possible in my recollections, though their very nature
made it difficult. In this instance, digression was
absolutely necessary to convey an idea of the shock
which would naturally result from the contact of two
such brains as those of Balzac and Lireux ; for it was
VOL. I. N
178 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
not long after the young manager's advent to the
Odeon that Balzac found his way to his sanctum.
The play he offered him was " Les Kessources de
Quinola." Strange as it may seem to us, even as late
as '42, Balzac's name as a novelist did not rank first
in the list with the general public, still it is very
doubtful whether any young manager would have
refused a stage play by him ; consequently, Lireux
accepted " Les Kessources de Quinola " almost without
fear. It is not to the purpose to say that it was a
bad play, and that he ought to have known better ; it
has been amply proved by now that the most ex-
perienced manager is not infallible ; but it is a moot
point whether the greatest masterpiece would have
succeeded with the tactics adopted by Balzac to insure
its success. The following may appear like a scene
from a farcical comedy ; I can vouch for the truth of
every word of it, because I had it from the lips of
Lireux himself, who, after all, was the heaviest
sufferer by Balzac's incurable greed, or, to put it as
leniently as one can, by his constant chase after a
capital stroke of business. His resolve to pack the
house on the first night was not due to a desire to
secure a favourable reception from a friendly audience,
but to the determination to secure " a lump sum," let
come what might. In Balzac are found the two
contradictory traits of the money-grubber and the
spendthrift.
The scene alluded to just now, took place when the
rehearsals were far advanced; the author and the
manager were discussing the invitations to be sent
out, etc. All at once Balzac declared that he would
have none but Knights of the Order of Saint-Louis in
BALZAC AND LIBEUX. 179
the pit. " I am agreeable,*' replied Lireux ; " provided
you ferret them out." *
" I'll see to that," said Balzac. " Pray go on. What
is the next part of the house ? "
" Orchestra stalls."
" Nothing but peers of France there."
"But the orchestra stalls will not hold them all,
Monsieur de Balzac."
" Those who cannot find room in the house will have
to stand in the lobbies," said Balzac, imperturbably.
" Stage boxes ? " continued Lireux.
" They will be reserved for the Court."
" Stage boxes on the first tier ? "
" For the ambassadors and plenipotentiaries."
" The open boxes on the ground floor ? "
** For the wives and families of the ambassadors."
*' Upper circle ? " enumerated Lireux, not a muscle
of his face moving.
" For the deputies and grand officers of State."
" Third circle ? " enumerated Lireux.
"The heads of the great banking and financial
establishments."
* It shows that Lireux ■was not very fsumliar with the royal edicts
affecting that order, and that BalzUc himself exaggerated the social
and monetary importance of its wearers. For, though Louis-Philippe at
his accession suppressed the order, not less than twelve thousand new
knights had been created by his two immediate predecessors. They,
the recently created knights, were allowed to retain their honours and
pensions; but, even betore the fall of the Bourbons, the distinction
had lost much of its prestige. After the Battle of Navarino, Admiral
de Rigny, soliciting rewards for his officers who had distinguished
themselves, tacitly ignored the order of Saint-Louis in favour of tliat
of the Legion of Honour. The order, as founded by Louis XIV. in
1693, was only available to officers and Catholics. Several modifica-
tions were introduced afterwards in its statutes. The Order of Saint-
Louis and that of " MUitary Merit " were the only two recognized by
the Constituent Assembly of 1789 ; but the Convention suppressed the
former, only leaving the latter. — Editob.
180 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" The galleries and amphitheatre ? "
"A carefully selected, but varied, bourgeoisie,"
wound up Balzac.
Lireux, who was a capital mimic, re-enacted the
scene for us four and twenty hours after it had been
enacted in his own room, and while he was still under
the impression that it was merely a huge joke on
Balzac's part. He soon discovered, however, that the
latter was terribly in earnest, when, a few days later,
Balzac claimed the whole of the seats for the first
three nights, on the penalty of withdrawing his piece
there and then. Lireux foolishly submitted, the box
office was closed ; every one applying for tickets was
referred to Balzac himself, or, rather, to the shady indi-
vidual who had egged him on to this speculation. The
latter, at the first application, had run up the prices ;
the public felt disgusted, and, when the curtain rose
upon "Les Eessources de Quinola," the house was
almost empty. Thereupon a batch of nondescripts
was sent into the streets to dispose of the tickets at
any price; the bait was indignantly rejected, and the
curtain fell amidst violent hisses. I repeat, a master-
piece would have failed under such circumstances ;
but the short run of the revival, almost a quarter of
a century later at the Vaudeville, proved that the
piece was not even an ordinary money-drawing one.
It only kept the bills for about nine or ten days.
Lireux was more fortunate with several other pieces,
notably with that of Leon Gozlan, known to students
of the French drama as " La Main Droite et la Main
Gauche," but which originally bore the title of "II
etait une Fois un Eoi et une Reine." There could be
no doubt about its tendency in its original form; it
ANGLOPHOBIA ON THE STAGE. 181
was nothing less than an indictment for bigamy both
against Queen Victoria and her Consort; and the
authorities had to insist not only upon the change of
title and the names of the dramatis personse, but upon
the action being shifted from London to Stockholm.
The author and manager had to comply; but the
public, who had got wind of the affair, crowded the
house every night in order to read between the lines.
One of my great sources of amusement for many
years has been the perusal of political after-dinner
speeches, and political leaders in the English papers,
especially when the speakers and writers have en-
deavoured to lay stress upon the cordial relations
between the French and the English, upon the friendly
feelings guiding their actions on both sides. I am
putting together these notes nearly fourteen years
after the conclusion of the Franco-German War,
nearly three quarters of a century after Waterloo.
There is not a single Frenchman, however Chauvinistic,
who ever thinks, let alone talks, of avenging Napo-
leon's defeat by Wellington ; while, on the other
hand, there is not a single Frenchman, however
unpatriotic, who does not dream now and then of
wiping out the humiliation suffered at Sedan. Well,
in spite of the almost entire oblivion of the one
disaster, and the poignant recollection of the other,
the French of to-day hate the English more than the
Germans; or — let me put it more correctly — they hate
the Germans, they despise us. Nothing that we can
do will ever remove this dislike of us.
It has been thus as long as I can remember ; no royal
visits, no exchange of so-called international courtesies
will alter the feeling. It is ready to burst forth, the
182 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
smallest provocation or fancied one will set it ablaze.
During the forties there were a good many real or
imaginary provocations on the part of England, and, as
a consequence, the hostile feeling against her broke
forth where it is almost always sure to break forth first
in France — on the stage and in song. After " La Main
Droite et la Main Gauche," came Hal^vy's opera of
" Charles VI." It is but fair to say that the Govern-
ment did all it could to stem the tide, but, notwith-
standing its positive orders to modify the chorus of
the famous war song in the first act, the song was
henceforth regarded as a patriotic hymn. Nor did the
visit of the Queen to Louis-Philippe at Eu, in 1843,
effect much improvement in this state of things ; and,
as a matter of course, we on the English side of the
Channel retaliated the skits, etc., though I do not
think we took them au grand serieux. When, in
January, *44, I went to London for a few days, I found
the Christmas pantomime of "King Pippin" in full
swing at Drury Lane. I well remember a scene of it,
laid in the shop of a dealer in plaster figures. Two
of these represented respectively the King of France
and the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. At a
given moment, the two statues became animated, drew
close to one another, and exchanged the most profuse
salutations. But meanwhile, at the back of the stage,
the Gallic cock and the British lion (or leopard)
assumed a threatening attitude, and at each mark of
affection between the two royal personages, shook their
heads violently and seemed to want desperately to
come to close quarters. The audience applauded voci-
ferously, and it was very evident to me that neither
in Paris nor in London the two nations shared the
entente cordiale of their rulers.
BACHEU 183
CHAPTER VI.
Bachel and some of her fellow-actors — ^Rachel's trne character — Her
greediness and spitefulness — Her vanity and her wit — Her powers
of fascination — The cost of being fascinated by her — Her
manner of levying toll — Some of her victims, Oomte Duch&tel and
Dr. Veron — The story of her guitar — A little transaction between
her and M. Pould — Her supposed charity and generosity —
Ten tickets for a charity concert — How she made them into
twenty — How she could have made them into a hundred— Baron
Taylor puzzled— Her manner of giving presents — Beauvallet's
precaution witli regard to one of her gifts — Alexandre Dumas
the younger, wiser or perhaps not so wise in his generation —
Bachel as a racontense — The story of her d^btit at the Gymnase —
What Rachel would have been as an actor instead of an actress —
Her comic genius — Rachel's mother — What became of Rachel's
money — Mama Felix as a pawnbroker — Rachel's trinkets — Two
curious bracelets — Her first appearance before Nicholas I. — A
dramatic recital in tlie open air — Rachel's opinion of the hand-
somest man in Europe — Rachel and Samson — Her obligations to
him — How she repays them — How she goes to Berryer to be
coached in the fable of "The Two Pigeons" — An anecdote of
Berryer — Rachel's fear of a " warm reception " on the first night
of " Adrienne Lecouvreur " — How she averts the danger — Samson
as a man and as an actor — Petticoat-revolts at the Gomedie-
Fran^aise — Samson and Regnier as buflfers — Their different ways
of pouring oil upon the troubled wat«rs — Mdlle. Sylvanie
Plessy — A parallel between htir and Sarah Bernhardt — Samson
and Regnier's pride in their profession — The different character
of that pride — " Apollo with a bad tailor, and who dresses without
a looking-glass "—Samson gives a lesson in declamation to a
procureur-imp^rial — The secret of Regnier's greatness as an actor
— A lesson at the Conservatoire — Regnier on "make-up" —
Regnier's opinion of genius on the stage — A mot of Augustine
Brohan — Giovanni, the wigmaker of the Comedie-Fran^aise —
His pride in his profession — M. Ancessy, the musical director,
and his three wigs.
There were few authors of my time who came in
contact with Bachel without writing about her ; there
were absolutely none who have represented her in her
true character. Either her genius blinded them to
184 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
her faults, or else they were content to perpetuate the
popular belief in her amiability, good nature, generosity,
etc. The fact is, that Rachel off the stage was made
of very ordinary clay. She had few of the good
qualities of her race, and a good many of the bad
ones ; she was greedy to a degree, and could be very
spiteful. All these drawbacks, in the eyes of most
of her biographers, were redeemed by her marvellous
tragic abilities on the stage, by a wonderful " gift of
the gab," by a *' happy-go-lucky," " hail-fellow, well-
met " manner off the stage to those whom she liked to
propitiate. Nevertheless, there were times when she
had not a single friend at the Comedie-Franpaise, and
though her champions attributed this hostility to
jealousy of her great gifts, a moment's consideratioa
would show us that such a feeling could scarcely have
influenced the men who to a great extent shared her
histrionic triumphs, viz. Beauvallet, Regnier, Provost,
Sara son, and least of all the latter. Still, all these
would have willingly kept her out of the Comedie-
Franpaise after she had left it in a huff. She was diflScult
to get on with ; her modesty, assumed in everyday life,
was a sham, for woe to the host who, deceived by it,
did not at once make her the queen of the entertain-
ment ! And, in reality, nothing in her warranted such
a temporary elevation. She was witty in her way and
after her kind — that is, she had the quick-wittedness
of the French woman who is not an absolute fool, and
who has for many years rubbed elbows with everything
distinguished in art and literature. Notwithstanding
this intimacy, I am doubtful whether she had ever read,
let alone appreciated, any of the masterpieces by the
writers of her own days that did not directly bear upon
tHE REAL WOMAN. 185
her profession. I exclude fiction — I mean narrative
fiction, and especially that of a sensational kind, of
which she was probably as fond as the meanest con-
cierge and most romantic milliner-girl.
Nevertheless, provided one did not attempt to
analyze it, the power of fascinating the coldest inter-
locutor was there. To their honour be it said, her
contemporaries, especially the men, rarely made such
an attempt at analysis. They applauded all she said
(ofif and on the stage), they tolerated all she did, albeit
that they paid the cost of many of her so-called
" amiable tricks," which were mainly so many instances
of greed and nothing else. One evening she was
dining at Comte Duchatel's, the minister of Louis-
Philippe. The table was positively laden with flowers,
but Kachel did not care much about them ; what she
wanted was the splendid silver centre-piece. But she
was too clever to unmask her batteries at once, so she
began by admiring the contents, then at last she came
to the principal point. The host was either in one of
bis generous or foolish moods, and made her a present
of it there and then. Bachel knew, though, that even
with a grand seigneur like .Comte Duchatel, there are
" les lendemains de I'enthousiasme," especially when he
is a married man, whose wife does not willingly submit
to have her home stripped of its art-treasures. The
tragedienne came in a hackney cab ; the comte offered
to send her back in his carriage. She struck the iron
while it was hot. "Yes, that will do admirably; there
will be no fear of my being robbed of your present,
which I had better take with me." "Perfectly,
mademoiselle," replied the comte ; ** but you will send
me back my carriage, won't you ? "
186 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Dr. V6ron was despoiled with even less ceremony.
Having taken a fancy to some silver saucers or cups
in which the proprietor of the Constitutionnel offered
ices to his visitors, she began by pocketing one, and
never rested until she had the whole of the set. In
short, everything was fish to her net. She made her
friends give her bibelots and knickknacks of no par-
ticular value, to which she attached some particular
legend — absolute inventions for the greatest part — in
order to sell them for a thousand times their original
cost. One day she noticed a guitar at the studio of
one of her familiars. " Give me that guitar ; people
will think it is the one with which I earned my living
on the Place Eoyale and on the Place de la Bastille."
And as such it was sold by her to M. Achille Fould
for a thousand louis. The great financier nearly fell
into a fit when the truth was told to him at Rachel's
death ; he, in his turn, having wanted to " do a bit
of business." In this instance no Christian suffered,
because buyer and vendor belonged to the same race.
Of course the panegyrists of Rachel, when the story
came to their ears, maintained that the thousand louis
were employed for some charitable purpose, without,
however, revealing the particular quarter whither they
went; but those who judged Rachel dispassionately
could not even aver that her charity began at home,
because, though she never ceased complaining of her
brother's and her sisters' extravagance, both brother
and sisters could have told very curious tales about
the difficulty of making her loosen her purse-strings
for even the smallest sums. As for Rachel's doing
good by stealth and blushing to find it fame, it was
all so much fudge. Contrary to the majority of her
I
HER SUPPOSED CHARITY. 187
fellow-professionals, in the past as well as the present,
she even grudged her services for a concert or a per-
formance in aid of a deserving object, although she
was not above swelling her own hoard by such
entertainments.
The following instance, for the absolute truth of
which I can vouch, is a proof of what I say. One day
the celebrated Baron Taylor, who had been the director
of the Comedie-Franpaise, came to solicit her aid for a
charity concert ; I am not certain of the object, but
believe it was in aid of the Christians in Persia or
China. The tickets were to be a hundred francs each,
Sontag, Alboni, Kosine Stoltz, Mario, Lablache, Vieux-
temps, and I do not know how many more celebrated
artists had promised their services.
It was in 1850 when M. Arsene Houssaye was her
director, and I am particular about giving the year,
because Rachel refused on the pretext that her director
would never give her leave to appear on any other
stage. Now, it so happened that no woman ever had
a more devoted friend and chivalrous champion than
Rachel had in Arsene Houssaye. His friendship for
her was simply idolatry, and I verily believe that if
she had asked him to stand on his head to please her,
he would have done so, at the risk of making himself
supremely ridiculous — he who feared ridicule above
everything, who was one of the most sensible men of
his time, who was and is the incarnation of good-
nature, to whom no one in distress or diflSculties ever
appealed in vain.
Baron Taylor argued all this, but Rachel remained
inflexible. " I am very sorry," he said at last, rising
to go, " because I am positive that your name on the
188 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
bill would have made a difference of several thousand
francs in the receipts."
" Oh, if you only want my name," was the answer,
" you may have it ; you can make an apology at the
eleventh hour for my absence on the score of sudden
indisposition — the public at charity concerts are used
to that sort of thing ; besides, you will have so many
celebrities that it will make very little difference. By-
the-by " — as he was at the door — " I think my name
is worth ten or twenty tickets." Taylor knew Rachel
too well to be in the least surprised at the demand
and left ten tickets on the mantelpiece.
That same afternoon he met Count Walewski, and as
a matter of course asked him to take some tickets.
" Very sorry, cher baron, but I have got ten already.
You see, poor Rachel did not know very well how to
get rid of the two hundred you burdened her with as a
lady patroness ; so she wanted me to have twenty, but
I settled the matter with ten. As it is, it cost me a
thousand francs."
Taylor did not say another word — he probably
could not ; he was struck dumb with astonishment at
the quickness with which Rachel had converted the
tickets into money. But what puzzled him still more
was the fact of her having offered Walewski double
the quantity of tickets he had given her. Where had
she got the others from ? He was coming to the con-
clusion that she had offered twenty in order to place
ten, when he ran against Comte Le Hon, the husband
of the celebrated Mdlle. Musselmans, the erstwhile
Belgian ambassador to the court of Louis-Philippe,
who averred frankly that he was the father of a family,
though he had no children of his own.
HER DISINTERESTEDNESS. 189
Taylor thought he would try another chance, and
was met with the reply, " Cher baron, I am very sorry,
but I have just taken five tickets from Mdlle. Rachel.
It appears that she is a lady patroness, and that they
burdened her with two hundred ; fortunately, she told
me, people were exceedingly anxious to get them, and
these were the last five."
" Then she had two hundred tickets after all," said
Baron Taylor to himself, making np his mind to find
out who had been before him with Rachel. But no
one had been before him. The five tickets sold to
Comte Le Hon were five of the ten she had sold to
Comte Walewski. When the latter had paid her, she
made him give her five tickets for herself and family,
or rather for her four sisters and herself. Of Comte
Le Hon she only took toll of one, which, wonderful to
relate, she did not sell. That was Rachel's way of
bestirring herself in the cause of charity.
'* Look at the presents she made to every one," say
the panegyrists. They forget to mention that an hour
afterwards she regretted her generosity, and from that
moment she never left off scheming how to get the
thing back. Every one knew this. Beauvallet, to
whom she gave a magnificent sword one day, instead
of thanking her, said, " I'll have a chain put to it,
mademoiselle, so as to fasten it to the wall of my
dressing-room. In that way I shall be sure that it
will not disappear during my absence." Alexandre
Dumas the younger, to whom she made a present of a
ring, bowed low and placed it back on her finger at
once. "Allow me to present it to you in my turn,
mademoiselle, so as to prevent you asking for it."
She did not say nay, but carried the matter with one of
190 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
her fascinating smiles. "It is most natural to take
back what one has given, because what one has given
was dear to us," she replied.
Between '46 and *53 I saw a great deal of Rachel,
generally in the green-room of the Comedie-Franpaise,
which was by no means the comfortable or beautiful
apartment people imagine, albeit that even in those
days the Uomedie had a collection of interesting
pictures, busts, and statues worthy of being housed in
a small museum. The chief ornament of the room
was a large glass between the two windows, but if the
apartment had been as bare as a barn, the conversation
of Kachel would have been sufficient to make one
forget all about its want of decoration ; for, with the
exception of the elder Dumas, I have never met any
one, either man or woman, who exercised the personal
charm she did. I have been told since that Bismarck
has th'e same gift. I was never sufficiently intimate
with the great statesman to be able to judge, having
only met him three or four times, and under conditions
that did not admit of fairly testing his powers in that
respect, but I have an idea that the charm of both lay
an their utter indifference to the effect produced, or
else in their absolute confidence of the result of their
simplicity of diction. Rachel's art of telling a story,
if art it was, reminded one of that of the chroniclers of
the Niebdungen; for notwithstanding her familiarity
with Racine and Oorneille, her vocabulary was exceed-
ingly limited, and her syntax, if not her grammar, off
the stage, not always free from reproach.
I do not pretend, after the lapse of so many years,
to give these stories in her own language, or all of
them; there ai<e a few, however, worth the telling.
THE STORY OF A FAILURE. 191
apart from the fascination with which she invested
them.
One evening she said to me, "Do you know
Poirson ? "
I had known Poirson when he was director of the
Gymnase. He afterwards always invited me to his
soirees, one of which, curiously enough, was given on
the (Sunday before the Kevoiutiou ol '48. foo i said,
" Yes, I know Poirson."
"Has he ever told you why he did not re-engage me? "
" Never."
" I'll tell you. People said it was because I did not
succeed in ' La Vendeenne * of Paul Duport ; but that
was not the cause. It was something much more
ridiculous ; and now that I come to think of it, I am
not sure that I ought to tell you, for you are an
Englishman, and you will be shocked."
1 was not shocked, I was simply convulsed with
laughter, for Kachel, not content with telling the
story, got up, and, gradually drawing to the middle
of the room, enacted it. It was one of those ludicrous
incidents that happen sometimes on the stage, which
no amount of foresight on the part of the most skilful
and conscientious manager -or actor can prevent, but
which almost invariably ruins the greatest masterpiece.
There were about eight or nine actors and actresses in
the room — Rdgnier, Samson, Beauvallet, etc. It was
probably the most critical audience in Europe, but
every one shook, and Mdlle. Anais Aubert went into
a dead faint. R^gnier often averred that if Kachel
had been a man, she would have been the greatest
comic actor that ever lived ; and it is not generally
known that she once played Dorine in " Tartuflfe," and
192 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
set the whole of the house into a perfect roar ; but
on that evening I became convinced that Rachel, in
addition to her tragic gifts, was the spirit of Aris-
tophanesque comedy personified. I am afraid, how-
ever, that I cannot tell the story, or even hint at it,
beyond mentioning that Poirson is reported to have
said that Rachel did not want a stage-manager, but a
nurse to take care of her. The criticism was a cruel
one, though justified by appearances. It was Mama
Felix, and not her daughter, who was to blame. The
child — she was scarcely more than that — had hurt
herself severely, and instead of keeping her at home,
she sent her to the theatre, "poulticed all over," as
Rachel expressed it afterwards.
Mama Felix was the only one who was a match for
her famous daughter in money matters. What the
latter did with the enormous sums of money she earned
has always been a mystery. As I have already said,
they were not spent in charity. Nowadays, whatever
other theatres may do, the Comedie-Frangaise dresses
its pensionnaires as well as its societaires from head to
foot; it pays the bootmaker's as well as the wigmaker's
bill, and the laundress's also. Speaking of the begin-
ning of her career, which coincided with the end of
Rachel's, Madeleine Brohan, whose language was often
more forcible than elegant, remarked, "Dans ma
jeunesse, on nous mettait toutes nues sur la scene ;
nous etions assez jolies pour cela." But Rachel's cos-
tumes varied so little throughout her career as to have
required but a small outlay on her part. Nor could
her ordinary dresses and furniture, which I happened
to see in April, 1858, when they were sold by public
auction at her apartments in the Place Royale, have
HER MONETARY AFFAIRS. 193
made a considerable inroad on her earnings. The
furniture was commonplace to a degree ; such pictures
and knickknacks as were of value had been given to her,
or acquired in the manner I have already described ;
the laces and trinkets were, undoubtedly, not purchased
with her own money. It is said that her brother
Raphael was a spendthrift. He may have been, but he
did not spend his celebrated sister's money ; of that I
feel certain. Then what became of it? I am inclined
to think that Mdlle. Rachel dabbled considerably
in stocks, and that, notwithstanding her shrewdness
and sources of information, she was the victim of
people cleverer than she was. At any rate, one thing
is certain — she was nearly always hard up ; and, after
having exhausted the good will of all her male acquaint-
ances and friends, compelled to appeal to her mother,
who had made a considerable hoard for her other four
sisters, and perhaps also for her scapegrace son ; for,
curiously enough, with Mama F^lix every one of her
children was a goddess or god, except the goddess. This
want of appreciation on the mother's part reminds me
of a story told to me by Meisonnier. His grand-
daughter, on her fifteenth or sixteenth birthday, had
a very nice fan given to her. The sticks were ex-
quisitely carved in ivory, and must have cost a pretty
tidy sum, but the fan itself, of black gauze, was abso-
lutely plain. The donor probably intended the grand-
father's art to enhance the value of the present, and
the latter was about to do so, when the young lady
stopped him with the cry, "Voila qu'il va me gater
mon eventail avec ses mannequins ! " The irony of
non-appreciation by one's nearest and dearest could no
further go.
VOL, I. O
194 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Mama Felix, then, was very close-fisted, and would
never lend her daughter any money, except on very
good security, namely, on her jewels. In addition to
this, she made her sign an undertaking that if not
redeemed at a certain date they would be forfeited ;
and forfeited they were, if the loan and interest were
not forthcoming at the stipulated time, notwithstanding
the ravings of Rachel. This would probably account
for the comparatively small quantity of valuable
jewellery found after her death.
Some of the ornaments I have seen her wear had
an artistic value utterly apart from their cost, others
were so commonplace and such evident imitations as
to have been declined by the merest grisette. One
day I noticed round her wrist a peculiar bracelet. It
was composed of a great number of rings, some almost
priceless, others less valuable but still very artistic,
others again possessing no value whatsoever, either
artistically or otherwise. I asked her to take it off,
and found it to be very heavy, so heavy that I re-
marked upon it. " Yes," she replied, " I cannot wear
two of the same weight, so I am obliged to wear the
other in my pocket." And out came the second,
composed of nearly double the number of rings of the
first. I was wondering where all those rings came
from, but I refrained from asking questions. I was
enabled to form my own conclusions a little while
afterwards, in the following way.
While we were still admiring the bracelet, Rachel
took from her finger a plain gold hoop, in the centre
of which was an imperial eagle of the same metal.
" This was given to me by Prince Louis Napoleon,'
she said, "on the occasion of my last journey to London.
A STORY OF LOUIS NAPOLEON. 195
He told me that it was a souvenir from his mother,
and that he would not have parted with it to any one
else but me."
I cannot remember the exact date of this conver-
sation, but it must have been shortly after the Kevo-
lution, when the future emperor had just landed in
France. About three or four weeks afterwards we were
talking to Augustine Brohan, who had just returned
from London, where she bad fulfilled an engagement
of one or two months. Kachel was not there that night,
but some one asked her if she had seen Prince Louis in
London. " Yes," she replied ; '* he was going away, and
he gave me a present before he went." Thereupon she
took from her finger a ring exactly like that of Rachel's.
" He told me it was a souvenir from his mother, and that
he would not have parted with it to any one but me."
We looked at one another and smiled. The prince
had evidently a jeweller who manufactured "souve-
nirs from his mother " by the dozen, and which he, the
prince, distributed at that time, "in remembrance of
certain happy hours." The multiplicity of the rings
on Rachel's wrist was no longer a puzzle to me. I
was thinking of the story ip. the " Arabian Nights,"
where the lady with the ninety-eight rings bewitches
the Sultans Shariar and Shahzenan, in spite of the
jealousy and watchfulness of the monster to whom she
belongs, and so makes the hundred complete.
Among the many stories Rachel told me there is
one not generally known — that of her first appearance
before Nicholas I. Though she was very enthusias-
tically received in London, and though she always
spoke gratefully of the many acts of kindness shown
her there, I am inclined to think that she felt hurt
196 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
at the want of cordiality on the part of the English
aristocracy when they invited her to recite at their
entertainments. This may be a mere surmise of mine ;
I have no better grounds for it than an expression
of hers one day when we were discussing London
society. " Oui, les Anglais, lis sont tres aimables, mats
ils paraissent avoir peur des artistes, corame des betes
sauvages, car ils vous parquent comme elles au Jardin
des Plantes." I found out afterwards that it was a
kind of grudge she bore the English for having
invariably improvised a platform or enclosure by
means of silken ropes. Certain is it that, beyond a
few casual remarks at long intervals upon London,
she seemed reluctant to discuss the subject with me.
Not so with regard to Potsdam after her return
whence in August, '51. In the beginning of July of
that year she told me that she had a special engage-
ment to appear before the court on the 13th of that
month. I did not see her until a few weeks after she
came back, and then she gave me a full account of the
affair. I repeat, after the lapse of so many years, I
cannot reproduce her own words, and I could not, even
half an hour after her narrative, have reproduced the
manner of her telling it; but I can vouch for the
correctness of the facts.
" About six o'clock, Kaphael [her brother], who was
to give me my cues, and I arrived at Potsdam, where
we were met by Schneider, who had made the engage-
ment with me. You know, perhaps, that Schneider had
been an actor himself, that afterwards he had been
promoted to the directorship of the Koyal Opera House,
and that now he is the private reader to the king, with
the title of privy or aulic councillor.
RACHEL AT THE PRUSSIAN COURT. 197
"Schneider is a very nice man, and I have never
heard a German speak our language so perfectly.
Perhaps it was as well, because I dread to contemplate
what would have been the effect upon my nerves and
ears of lamentations in Teutonized French."
" Why lamentations ? " I asked.
" Ah, nous voila ! " she replied. " You remember I
was in mourning. The moment I stepped out of the
carriage, he exclaimed, *But you are all in black,
mademoiselle.* ' Of course I am,' I said, ' seeing that
I am in mourning.' ' G-reat Heaven ! what am I to
do? Black is not admitted at court on such
occasions.' I believe it was the birthday of the
Czarina, but of course I was not bound to know that.
" There was no time to return to Berlin, and least
of all to get a dress from there, so Kaphael and he
put their heads together ; tlie result of which con-
ference was my being bundled rather tlian handed into
a carriage, which drove off at full speed to the Chateau
de Glinicke. I could scarcely catch a glimpse of the
country around Potsdam, which seemed to me very
lovely.
" When we got to Glinicke, which belongs to Prince
Charles, I was handed over to some of the ladies-in-
waiting of the princess. Handed over is the only
word, because I felt more like a prisoner than
anything else, and they tried to make 'little Rachel'
presentable according to their lights. One of them,
after eyeing me critically, suggested my wearing a dress
of hers. In length it would have done very well, only
I happen to be one of the lean kine, and she decidedly
was not, so that idea had to be abandoned. They may
be very worthy women, these German ladies, but their
198 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
inventiveness with regard to dress is absolutely nil.
When the idea suggested by tlie first lady turned out
to be impracticable, they were a bout de ressources. You
may gather from this, mon ami, that the beginning
and the end of their strategie de la toilette are not far
apart. There was one thing that consoled me for this
sudden exhaustion of their limited ingenuity. Be-
tween the half-dozen — for they were half a dozen —
they could not find a single word when the first and
only device proved impossible of realization. Had
there been the same number of French women assem-
bled, it would have been a kind of little madhouse ; in
this instance there was a deep silence for at least ten
minutes, eventually broken by the knocking at the
door of one of the maids, with Herr Schneider's
compliments, and wishing to know what had been
decided upon. The doleful answer brought him to
the room, and what six women could not accomplish,
he, like the true artist, accomplished at once. *Get
Mdlle. Eachel a black lace mantilla, put a rose in
her hair, and give her a pair of white gloves.' In
less than ten minutes I was ready, and in another ten,
Kaphael, Schneider, and I embarked on a pretty little
steam-yacht lying ready at the end of the mag-
nificent garden for 'I'lle des Paons' (Pfauen-Insul,
Peacock Island), where we landed exactly at eight. But
my troubles and surprises were not at an end. I made
sure that there would be at least a tent, an awning,
or a platform for me to stand under or upon. Ah,
oui ! not the smallest sign of either. ' Voila votre
estrade,' said Schneider, pointing to a small lawn,
separated from the rest of the gardens by a gravelled
walk three or four feet wide. I declined at once to
A CURIOUS DRAMATIC RECITAL. 199
act under such conditions, and insisted upon being
taken back immediately to the station, and from thence
to Berlin. Poor Schneider was simply in despair. In
vain did he point out that to any one else the total
absence of scenery and adjuncts might prove a draw-
back, but that to me it would only be an additional
advantage, as it would bring into greater relief my own
talent ; I would not be persuaded. Finding that it
was fruitless to play upon my vanity as an artist, he
appealed to me as a femme du monde. * The very
absence of all preparations,' he said, * proves that their
majesties have not engaged Mdlle. Kachel of the
Comedie-Franpaise to give a recitation, but invited
Mdlle. Kachel Felix to one of their soirees. That
Mdlle. Eachel Felix should be kind enough, after
having partaken of a cup of tea, to recite something,
would only be another proof of her well-known readiness
to oblige ; ' and so forth. Let me tell you, mon cher,
that I have rarely met with a cleverer diplomatist, and
Heaven knows I have seen a lot who imagined them-
selves clever. They could not hold a candle to this
erstwhile actor ; nevertheless I remained as firm as a
rock, though I was sincerely distressed on Schneider's
account."
" What made you give in at last ? " I inquired.
*•' Was it the idea of losing the magnificent fee ? "
" For once you are mistaken," she laughed, " though
Schneider himself brought that argument to bear as a
big piece of artillery. * Remember this, mademoiselle/
he said, when he could think of nothing else; * re-
member this — that this soiree may be the means of
putting three hundred thousand or four hundred
thousand francs into your pocket. You yourself
200 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
told me just now on board the yacht that you were
very anxious for an engagement at St. Petersburg.
I need scarcely tell you that, if you refuse to appear
before their majesties to-night, I shall be compelled
to state the reason, and Russia will be for ever closed
to you. Apart from pecuniary considerations, it will
be said by your enemies — and your very eminence in
your profession causes you to have many — that you
failed to please the Empress. After all, the fact that
all the ordinary surroundings of the actress have been
neglected proves that you are not looked upon as an
actress by them, but as une femme du monde.'"
" That persuaded you ? " I remarked.
" Not at all."
" Then it was the money."
" Of course you would think so, even if I swore the
contrary a hundred times over; but if you were tp
guess from now till to-morrow, you would never hit
upon the real reason that made me stay."
"Well, then, I had better not try, and you had
bettor tell me at once."
" Strange as it may seem to you, it was neither the
gratification of being treated en femme du monde nor
the money that made me stay ; it was the desire to
see what I had been told was the handsomest man in
Europe. I did see him, and for once in a way rumour
had not exaggerated the reality. I had scarcely given
my final consent to Schneider, when the yacht carrying
the imperial and royal families came alongside the
island, and the illustrious passengers landed, amidst an
avalanche of flowers thrown from the other vessels
Schneider presented me to the King, who was also
good-looking, and the latter presented me to the Czar.
IMPROVISED FOOTLIGHTS. 201
** Immediately afterwards the recital began. At the
risk of taxing your credulity still further, I may tell
you that I, Kachel, who never knew what 'stage
fright * meant, felt nervous. That man to me looked
like a very god. Fortunately for my reputation, the
shadows of night were gathering fast ; in another
twenty minutes it would be quite dark, and I felt
almost rejoiced that my audience could scarcely dis-
tinguish my features. On the other hand, Raphael,
who only knew the part of Hippolyte by heart, and
who was obliged to read the others, declared that he
could not see a line, and candles had to be brought in.
It was a glorious evening, but there was a breeze
nevertheless, and as fast as the candles were lighted,
they were extinguished by the wind. To put ordinary
lamps on the lawn at our feet was not to be thought
of for a moment ; luckily one of the functionaries re-
membered that there were some candelabra with globes
inside, and by means of these a kind of * float ' was
improvised. Still the scene was a curious one. Raphael
close to me on the edge of the lawn, with one of these
candelabra in his left hand. Behind, to the left and
right of us, a serried crowd of generals, court digni-
taries in magnificent uniforms. In front, and separated
by the whole width of a gravel walk, the whole group
of sovereigns and their relations, and behind them the
walls of the mansion, against which the tea-table had
been set, and around which stood the ladies-in-waiting
of the Queen of Prussia and the Empress of Russia.
A deep silence around, only broken by the soft soughing
of the wind in the trees and the splashing of a couple
of fountains near, playing a dirge-like accompaniment
to Raphael's and my voice.
202 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
"The recital lasted for nearly an hour; if I had
liked I could have kept them there the whole night,
for never in my career have I had such an attentive,
such a religiously attentive, audience. The King was
the first to notice my fatigue, and he gave the signal
for my leaving off by coming up and thanking me for
my efforts. The Emperor followed his example, and
stood chatting to me for a long while. In a few
minutes I was the centre of a circle which I am not
likely to forget as long as I live. Then came the
question how Raphael and I were to get back to
Berlin. The last train was gone. But Schneider
simply suggested a special, and a mounted messenger
was despatched then and there to order it. After
everything had been arranged for my comfortable
return, the sovereigns departed as they had come, only
this time the yacht, as well as the others on the lake,
were splendidly illuminated. This was my first appear-
ance before Nicholas I."
There was no man to whom Eachel owed more than
to Samson, or even as much ; but for him, and in spite
of her incontestable genius, the Comedie-Franpais
might have remained closed to her for many years,
if not for ever. Frederick Lemaitre and Marie Dorval
were undoubtedly, in their own way, as great as she,
yet the blue riband of their profession never fell to
their lot. And yet, when she had reached the topmost
rung of the ladder of fame, Rachel was very often
not only ungrateful to him, but her ingratitude showed
itself in mean, spiteful tricks. When Legouve's
" Adrienne Lecouvreur " was being cast, Samson,
who had forgiven Rachel over and over again, was
on such cool terms with her that the authors feared
RACHEL AND SAMSON. 203
Jie would not accept the part of the Prince de Bouillon.
Nevertheless, Samson, than whom there was not a
more honourable and conscientious man on or off the
stage, accepted; he would not let his resentment
interfere with what he considered his duty to the
institution of which he was so eminent a member.
This alone ought to have been sufficient to heal the
breach between the tutor and the pupil ; any woman
with the least spark of generosity, in the position
of Rachel towards Samson, would have taken the first
step towards a reconciliation. Kachel, as will be seen
directly, was perfectly conscious of what she ought to
do under the circumstances; she was too great an
actress not to have studied the finer feelings of the
human heart, and yet she did not do it. On the
contrary, she aggravated matters. Every one knows
the fable of "The Two Pigeons" which Adrienne
recites at the soiree of the Princesse de Bouillon.
Now, it so happened that the great barrister and
orator, Berryer, was considered a most charming
reciter of that kind of verse. Berryer, a most simple-
minded man, took special delight in sharing the most
innocent games of young children. He was especially
fond of the game of ** forfeits ; " and so great was his
fame as a diseur, that the penalty generally imposed
upon him was the reciting of a fable. But great diseur
as he was, he himself acknowledged that Samson could
have given him a lesson.
At every new part she undertook, Eachel was in the
habit of consulting with her former tutor; this time she
went to consult Berryer instead, and, what was worse,
took pains that every one should hear of it. "Then
my heart smote me," she said afterwards, when by
204 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
one of those irresistible tricks of hers she had obtained
her tutor's pardon once more. It was as deliberate
a falsehood as she ever uttered in her life, which in
Eachel's case means a good deal. The fact was, the
affair, as I have already said, had been bruited about,
mainly by herself at first; the public showed a dis-
position to take Samson's part, and she felt afraid of
a " warm reception " on the first night.
Under these circumstances she had recourse to one
of her wiles, which, for being theatrical, was not less
effective. At the first rehearsal, when Adrienne has
to turn to Michonnet, saying, " This is my true friend,
to whom I owe everything," she turned, not to Regnier*
who played Michonnet, and to whom the words are
addressed, but to Samson, at the same time holding
out her hand to him. Samson, who, notwithstanding
all their disagreements, felt very proud of his great
pupil, who was, moreover, of a very affectionate dispo-
sition, notwithstanding his habitual reserve, fell into
the trap. He took her proffered hand; then she
flung herself into his arms, and the estrangement
was at an end, for the time being, llachel took
great care to make the reconciliation as public as
possible.
I was never very intimate with Samson, but the
little I knew of him I liked. I repeat, he was
essentially an lionourable and honest man, and very
tolerant with regard to the foibles of the fair sex.
There was need for such tolerance in those days.
Augustine Brohan, Sylvanie Plessy, Eachel, and half
a dozen other women, all very talented, but all very
wayward, made Buloz' life (he was the director of the
Comedie-Franjaise, as well as the editor of the Bevue
A DIRECTOR OF THE COM^DIE. 205
des Deux Mondes) a burden to him. He who could,
and often did, dictate his will to men who already
then were famous throughout Europe, frequently found
himself powerless against women, who, however cele-
brated, were, with the exception of Rachel, nothing
in comparison with the former. He was, it is true,
overbearing to a degree, and disagreeable besides, but
his temper proved of no avail with them ; it only made
matters worse. " Apres tout," he said one day to
Madame Allan, who was the most amenable of all,
"je suis le raaitre ici." " Ca se peut, monsieur," was
the answer, " mais nous sommes les contres maitre." *
In nearly all such troubles Regnier and Samson had
to act as buffers between the two contending parties ;
but, as Augustine Brohan explained once, the two were
utterly different in their mode of casting oil upon the
troubled waters. "Regnier," she said, "c'est le bon
Dieu des Chretiens, qui se fait tres souvent mener
par le nez par des mots. Du reste son nez s'y prete.-}-
Samson c'est le Dieu juste, mais vengeur des Juifs, qui
veut bien pardonner, mais seulement apres soumissiou
complete et entiere. Samson ne vous promet pas le
ciel, il vous offre des compensations solides ici bas."
It would be diflBcult to paint the contrast between
two characters in fewer words. In 1845, when Mdlle.
Sylvanie Plessy seceded from the Comedie-Franpaise,
Regnier wrote a kind epistle, recommending her to
come and explain matters either personally or by
letter. " Let your letter be kind and affectionate, and
* The play upon the word is Bcarcely translatable. " Contre-maitre "
in the singular means foreman ; as it is used here it means against the
master. — Editor.
t Regnier's nose was always a subject of jokes among his fellow-
actors. " It is not because it is large," said Beauvallet, " but because
ii ia his principal organ of speech." — Editob.
206 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
be sure that things will right themselves better than
you expect."
Samson also wrote, but simply to say that if she did
not come back at onee all the terrors of the law
would be invoked against her. Which was done. The
Comedie-Franpaise instituted proceedings, claiming two
hundred thousand francs damages, and twenty tliousand
francs "a titre de provision."* The court cast Mdlle.
Plessy in six thousand francs provision, deferring
judgment on the principal claim. Two years later
Mdlle. Plessy returned and re-entered the fold.
Thanks to Samson, she did not pay a single farthing
of damages, and the Comedie bore the costs of the
whole of the lawsuit.f
Both Samson and Eegnier were very proud of their
profession, but their pride showed itself in different
ways. Eegnier would have willingly made every one
an actor — that is, a good actor ; he was always teaching
a great many amateurs, staging and superintending
their performances. Samson, on the other hand, had
no sympathy whatsoever with that kind of thing, and
could rarely be induced to give it aid, but he was very
anxious that every public speaker should study elo-
cution. "Eloquence and elocution are two different
things," he said ; " and the eloquent man who does not
study elocution, is like an Apollo with a bad tailor,
and who dresses without a looking-glass. I go further
still, and say that every one ought to learn how to
speak, not necessarily with the view of amusing his
* Damages claimed by one of the parties, pending the final verdict. —
Editor.
t Curiously enough, it was Emile Augier's " Aventuri^re " that
caused Mdlle. Plessy's secession, just as it did thirty-five years later,
in the case of Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt. — Editor.
SAMSON. 207
friends and acquaintances, but with the view of not
annoying them. I am a busy man, but should be glad
to devote three hours a week to teach the rising
generation, and especially the humbler ones, how to
speak."
In connection with that wish of Samson, that every
man whose duties compelled him, or who voluntarily
undertook to speak in public, should be a trained
elocutionist, I remember a curious story of which I
was made the recipient quite by accident. It was in
the year '60, one morning in the summer, that I
happened to meet Samson in the Eue Vivienne. We
exchanged a few words, shook hands, and each went his
own way. In the afternoon I was sitting at Tortoni's,
when a gentleman of about thirty-five came up to me.
" Monsieur," he said, " will you allow me to ask you a
question ? " " Certainly, monsieur, if it be one I can
answer," I replied. " I believe," he said, " that I saw
you in the Rue Vivienne this morning talking to some
one whose name I do not know, but to whom I am
under great obligations, I was in a great hurry and
in a cab, and before I could stop the cabman both of
you had disappeared. Will, you mind telling me his
name ? " "I recollect being in the Eue Vivienne and
meeting with M. Samson of the Comedie-Franpaise,"
I answered. " I thought so," remarked my interlocutor.
"Allow me to thank you, monsieur." With this he
lifted his hat and went out.
The incident had slipped my memory altogether,
when I was reminded of it by Samson himself, about
three weeks afterwards, in the green-room of the
Comedie-Franpaise. I had been there but a few
moments when he came in. "You are the man who
208 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
betrayed me," he said with a chuckle. *' I have been
cudgelling my brain for the last three weeks as to
who it could have been, for I spoke to no less than
half a dozen friends and acquaintances in the Eue
Vivienne on the morning I met you, and they all wear
imperials and moustaches. A nice thing you have
done for me; you have burdened me with a grateful
friend for the rest of my life ! "
And then he told me the story, how two years before
he had been at Granville during the end of the summer ;
how he had strolled into the Palais de Justice and heard
the procureur-imperial make a speech for the prosecu-
tion, the delivery of which would have disgraced his
most backward pupil at the Conservatoire. " I was very
angry with the fellow, and felt inclined to write him a
letter, telling him that there was no need to torture the
innocent audience, as well as the prisoner in the dock.
I should have signed it. I do not know why I did
not, but judge of my surprise when, the same evening
at dinner, I found myself seated opposite him. I must
have scowled at him, and he repaid scowl for scowl.
It appears that he was living at the hotel temporarily,
while his wife and child were away. I need not tell
you the high opinion our judges have of themselves,
and I dare say he thought it the height of impertinence
that I, a simple mortal, should stare at him. I soon
came to the conclusion, however, that if I wanted to
spare my fellow-creatures such an infliction as I had
endured that day, I ought not to arouse the man's
anger. So I looked more mild, then entered into con-
versation with him. You should have seen his face
when I began to criticize his tone and gestures. But
he evidently felt that I was somewhat of an authority
t
A LESSON IN ELOCUTION. 209
on the subject, and at last I took him out on the beach
and gave him a lesson in delivering a speech, and left
him there without revealing my name. Next morning
I went away, and never set eyes on him again until
three weeks ago, when he left his card, asking for an
interview. He is a very intelligent man, and has
profited by the first lesson. During the three days he
remained in Paris I gave him three more. He says
that if ever I get into a scrape, he'll do better than
defend me — prosecute me, and I'm sure to get off."
r have never seen Samson give a lesson at the
Conservatoire, but I was present at several of Regnier's,
thanks to Auber, whom I knew very well, and who
was the director, and to Regnier himself, wlio did not
mind a stranger being present, provided he felt certain
that the stranger was not a scoffer. I believe that
Samson would have objected without reference to the
stranger's disposition ; at any rate, Auber hinted as
much, so I did not prefer my request in a direct form.
I doubt, moreover, whether a lesson of Samson to
his pupils would have been as interesting to the out-
sider as one of Regnier's. Of all the gifts that go to the
making of a great actor, Regnier had naturally only
two — taste and intelligence ; the others were replaced
by what, for want of a better term, one might call
the tricks of the actor; their acquisition demanded
constant study. For instance, Regnier's appearance
off the stage was absolutely insignificant ; his voice
was naturally husky and indistinct, and, moreover,
what the French call nasillarde, that is, produced
through the nose. His features were far from mobile ;
the eyes were not without expression, but these never
twinkled with merriment nor shone with passion.
VOL. I. p
210 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Consequently the smallest as well as largest effect
necessary to the interpretation of a character had to
be thought out carefiilly beforehand, and then to be
tried over and over again materially. Each of his
inflections had to be timed to a second ; but when all
this was accomplished, the picture presented by him
was so perfect as to deceive the most experienced
critic, let alone an audience, however intelligent. In
fact, but for his own frank admission of all this, his
contemporaries and posterity would have been never
the wiser, for, to their honour be it said, his fellow-
actors were so interested in watching him " manipu-
late himself," as they termed it, as to never breathe
a word of it to the outside world. They all acknow-
ledged that they had learned something from him
during rehearsal. For instance, in one of his best-
known characters, that of the old servant in Madame
de Girardin's " La Joie fait peur," * there is a scene
which, as played by Regnier and Delaunay, looked
to the spectator absolutely spontaneous. The smallest
detail had been minutely regulated. It is where the
old retainer, while dusting the room, is talking to
himself about his young master, Lieutenant Adrien
Desaubiers, who is reported dead.
" I can see him now," says Noel, who cannot resign
himself to the idea ; " I can see him now, as he used
to come in from his long walks, tired, starving, and
shouting before he was fairly into the house. 'Here
I am, my good Noel ; I am dying with hunger. Quick !
* There are several English versions of the play, and I am under
the impression that the late Tom Robertson was inspired by it when
be adapted " Caste." I allude to that scene in the third act, where
George d'Alroy returns unexpectedly and where Polly Eccles breaks
the news to her sister. — Editok.
E^QNIER AND HIS ART. 211
an omelette.' " At that moment the young lieutenant
enters the room, and having heard Noel's last sentence,
repeats it word for word.
Short as was the sentence, it had been arranged
that Delaunay should virtually cut it into four parts.
At the words, " It is I" Kegnier shivered from
head to foot ; at " Here I am, my good Noel" he lifted
his eyes heavenwards, to make sure that the voice did
not come from there, and that he was not labouring
under a kind of hallucination ; at the words, " I am
dying with hunger" he came to the conclusion that it
was a real human voice after all; and at the final,
** Quick ! an omelette," he turned round quickly, and
fell like a log into the young fellow's arms.
I repeat, the whole of the scene had been timed
to the fraction of a second ; nevertheless, on the first
night, Regnier, nervous as all great actors are on such
occasions, forgot all about his own arrangements, and,
at the first sound of Delaunay's voice, was so overcome
with emotion that he literally tumbled against the
latter, who of course was not prepared to bear him up,
and had all his work to do to keep himself from
falling also. Meanwhile Regnier lay stretclied at
full length on the stage, and the house broke into
tumultuous applause.
"That was magnificent," said Delaunay after the
performance. "Suppose we repeat the thing to-
morrow ? "
But Regnier would not hear of it ; he stuck to his
original conception in four tempi. He preferred
trusting to his art rather than to the frank promptings
of nature.
That is why a lesson of Regnier to his pupils was so
212 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
interesting to the outsider. The latter was, as it were,
initiated into all the resources the great actor has at
his command wherewith to produce his illusion upon
the public. Among Kegnier's pupils those were his
favourites who never allowed themselves to be carried
away by their feelings, and who trusted to these
resources as indicated to them by their tutor. He
was to a certain extent doubtful of the others.
*' Feelings vary ; effects intelligently conceived,
studied, and carried, out ought never to vary," he
said. Consequently it became one of his theories
that those most plentifully endowed with natural gifts
were not likely to become more perfect than those who
had been treated niggardly in that respect, provided
tlie vocation and the perseverance were there. The
reverse of Samson, who was proudest of Eachel,
Kegnier was never half as proud of M. Coquelin
as of others who had given him far more trouble.
Augustine Brohan explained the feeling in her own
inimitable way. " Regnier est comme le grand seigneur
qui s'enamourache d'une paysanne a qui il faut tout
enseigner; si moi j'etais homme, j'aimerais mieux
une demoiselle de bonne famille, qui n'aurait pas
besoin de tant d'enseignement."
Mdlle. Brohan exaggerated a little bit. Eegnier's
pupils were not peasant children, to whom he had
to teach everything ; a great many, like Coquelin,
required very little teaching, and all the others
had the receptive qualities which make teaching a
pleasure. The latter, boys and girls, had to a certain
extent become like Eegnier himself, " bundles of
tricks," and, what is perhaps not so surprising to
students of psychology and physiology, their features
R^GNIER AT THE CONSERVATOIRE. 213
had contracted a certain likeness to his. At the first
blush one mi<];ht have mistaken them for his children.
And they might have been, for the patience he had
with them. It was rarely exhausted, but he now and
then seemed to be waiting for a new supply. At such
times there was a frantic clutch at the shock, grey-
haired head, or else a violent blowing of the perky
nose in a large crimson chequered handkerchief, its
owner standing all the while on one leg ; the attitude
was irresistibly comic, but the pupils were used to it,
and not a muscle of their faces moved.
Those who imagine that Kegnier's courses were
merely so many lessons of elocution and gesticulation
would be altogether mistaken. Regnier, unlike many
of his great fellow-actors of that period, had received
a good education ; he bad been articled to an architect,
he had even dabbled in painting, and there were few
historical personages into whose characters he had not
a thorough insight. He was a fair authority upon
costume and manners of the Middle Ages, and his
acquaintance with Roman and Greek antiquities
would have done credit to many a professor. He was
called " le comedien savant "* and " le savant comedien."
As such, whenever a pupil failed to grasp the social
or political importance of one of the dramatis personee
of Racine's or Corneille's play, there was sure to be a
disquisition, telling the youngster all about him, but
in a way such as to secure the attention of the listener
— a way that might have aroused the envy of a uni-
versity lecturer. The dry bones of history were clothed
by a man with an eye for the picturesque.
" Who do you think Augustus was ? " he said one
day when I was present, to the pupil, who was de-
214 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
claiming some lines of " Cinna." *' Do you think he was
the concierije or le commissionnaire dii coin?" And
forthwith there was a sketch of Augustus. Absolutely
quiverin;:^ with life, he led his listener through the
streets of Rome, entered the palace with him, and once
there, became Augustus himself. After such a scene
he would frequently descend the few steps of the
platform and drop into his armchair, exhausted.
Every now and then, in connection with some
character of Moliere or Regnard, there would be an
anecdote of the great interpreter of the character,
but an anecdote enacted, after which the eyes would
fill with tears, and the ample chequered handkerchief
come into requisition once more.
E^gnier was a great favourite with most of his
fellow-actors and the employes of the Comedie-Fran-
paise, but he was positively worshipped by Giovanni,
the wigmaker of the establishment. They were in
frequent consultation even in the green-room, the
privilege of admission to which had been granted to
the Italian Figaro. The consultations became most
frequent when one of the members undertook a part
new to him. It was often related of Balzac that he
firmly believed in the existence of the characters his
brain had created. The same might be said of Reg-
nier with regard to the characters created by the
great playwrights of his own time and those of the
past. Of course, I am not speaking of those who had
an historical foundation. But Alceste, Harpagon,
Georges Dandin, Sganarelle, and Scapin were as real
to him as Orestes and CEdipus, as Augustus and
Mohammed. He would give not only their biographies,
but describe their appearance, their manners, their
GIOVANNI AND BONIER. 215
gait, and even their complexion. The first time I
heard him do so, I made sure that he was trying to
mystify Giovanni ; but Kachel, who was present, soon
undeceived me. And the Italian would sit listening
reverently, then start up and exclaim, "Ze sais ce
qu'il vous faut, Monsu Kegnier, ze vais faire oune
parruque a etonner Moliere lui-meme." And he kept
his word, because he considered that the wig con-
tributed as much to, or detracted from, the success
of an actor as his diction, and more than his clothes.
When Delaunay became a societaire his first part
was that of the lover in M. Viennet's " Migraine."
" Voila Monsu Delaunay, oune veritable parruque di
societaire. Zouez a present, vous etes sour de votre
affaire."
One day Beauvallet found him standing before the
window of Brandus, the music-publisher in the Rue
de Richelieu. He was contemplating the portrait of
Rossini, and he looked sad.
"What are you standing there for, Giovanni?"
asked Beauvallet.
" Ah, Monsu Bouvallet, I am looking at the por-
trait of Maestro Giovanni Rossini, and when I think
that his name is Giovanni like mine, when I see that
abominable wig which looks like a grass-plot after a
month of drought, I feel ashamed and sad. But I
will go and see him, and make him a wig for love or
money that will take twenty years off his age." He
went, but Rossini would not hear of it, or rather
Madame Rossini put a spoke in his wheel. Giovanni
never mentioned his name again. It was Ligier who
brought Giovanni to Paris, and for a quarter of a century
he worked unremittingly for the glory of the Comedie-
216 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Franpaise, and when one of the great critics happened
to speak favourably of the " make-up " of an actor, as
Paul de St. Victor did when Kegnier " created Noel,"
Giovanni used to leave his card at liis house. It was
Giovanni who made the wigs for M. Ancessy, the
musical director at the Odeon, who, under the manage-
ment of M. Edouard Thierry, occupied the same
position at the Comedie-Franpaise. M. Ancessy was not
only a good chef d'orchestre, but a composer of talent ;
but he had one great weakness — he was as bald as a
billiard-ball and wished to pass for an Absalom. Gio-
vanni helped him to carry out the deception by making
three artistic wigs. The first was of very short hair,
and was worn from the 1st to the 10th of the month ;
from the 11th to the 20th M. Ancessy donned one
with hair that was so visibly growing as to cover his
ears. From the 20th to the last day of the month his
locks were positively flowing, and he never failed to
say on that last evening in the hearing of every one,
" What a terrible nuisance my hair is to me ! I must
have it cut to-morrow."
AUBER. 217
CHAPTER VII.
Two composers, Auber and Felicien David — Auber, the legend of his
youthful appearance — How it arose — His daily rides, his love of
women's society — His mot on Mozart's " Don Juan " — The only
drawback to Auber's enjoyment of women's society — His reluc-
tance to take his hat off — How he managed to keep it on most
of tlie time — His opinion upon Miyerbeer's and Hale'vy's genius
— His opinion upon Gerard de Nerval, who hanged himself with
his hat on — His love of solitude — His fondness of Paris — Hia
grievance against his mother for not having given him birth
there — He refuses tf> leave Paris at the commencement of the
siege — His small appetite — He proposes to write a new opera
when the Prussians are gone — Auber suffers no privations, but
has difficulty in finding fodder for his horse — The Parisians
claim it for food — Anotlier legend about Auber's independence
of pleep — How and where he generally slept — Why Auber snored
in Ve'ron's company, and why he did not in that of other people
— His capacity for work — Auber a brilliant talker — Auber's
gratitude to the artists who interpreted his work, but different
from Meyerbeer's — The reason why, according to Auber —
Jealousy or humility — Auber and the younger Coquelin — " The
verdict on all things in this world may be summed up in the one
phrase, ' It's an injustice ' " — Fe'licien David — The man — The
beginnings of his career — His terrible poverty — He joins the
Saint-Simoniens, and goes with some of them to the East — Their
reception at Constantinople — M. Scribe and the libretto of
"L'Afiicaine" — David in Egj'pt at the court of Mehemet-Ali —
David's description of him — Mehemet's way of testing the edu-
cational progress of his sons — Woe to the fat kine — Mehemet-Ali
suggests a new mode of teaching music to the inmates of the
harem — Felicien David's further wanderings in Egypt — Their
effect upon his musical genius — His return to France — He tells
the story of the fir&t performance of " Le De'sert " — An ambulant
box-office — His success — Fame, but no money — He sells the
score of "Le Desert" — He loses his savings — "La Perle du
Bre'sil" and the (Joup-iJ'Etat— " No luck "—Napoleon III. re-
mains his debtor for eleven years — A mot of Auber, and one of
Alexandre Dumas p^re — The story of "Aida" — Why Felicien
David did not compose the music — The real author of the libretto.
I KNEW Auber from the year '42 or '43 until the day
of his death. He and I were in Paris during: the
218 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
siege and the Commune ; we saw one another fre-
quently, and I am positive that the terrible mis-
fortunes of his country shortened his life by at least
ten years. For though at the beginning of the
campaign he was close upon ninety, he scarcely
looked a twelvemonth older than when I first knew
him, nearly three decades before ; that is, a very
healthy and active old man, but still an old man. So
much nonsense has been written about his perpetual
youth, that it is well to correct the error. But the
ordinary French public, and many journalists besides,
could not understand an octogenarian being on horse-
back almost every day of his life, any more than they
understood later on M. de Lesseps doing the same.
They did not and do not know M. Mackenzie-Grieves,
and half a dozen English residents in Paris of a similar
age, who scarcely ever miss their daily ride. If they
had known them, they might perhaps have been less
loud in their admiration of the fact.
What added, probably, to Auber's reputation of
possessing the secret of perpetual youth was his great
fondness for women's society, his very handsome
appearance, though he was small comparatively, and
his faultless way of dressing. He was most charm-
ing with the fairer sex, and many of the female pupils
of the Conservatoire positively doted on him. Though
polite to a degree with men — and I doubt whether
Auber could have been other than polite with no
matter whom — his smiles, I mean his benevolent ones,
for he could smile very sceptically, were exclusively
reserved for women. When he heard Mozart's "Don
Juan " for the first time, he said, " This is the music
of a lover of twenty, and if a man be not an imbecile,
auber's mania. 219
he may always have in a little corner of his heart the
sentiment or fancy that he is only twenty."
There was but one drawback to Auber's enjoyment
of the society of women — he was obliged to take off
his hat in their presence, and he hated being without
that article of dress. He might have worn a skull-cap
at home, though there was no necessity for it, as far as
his hair was concerned, for up to the last he was far
from bald ; but he wanted his hat. He composed with,
his hat on, he had his meals with his hat on, and though
he would have frequently preferred to take his seat in
the stalls or balcony of a theatre, he invariably had
a box, and generally one on the stage, in order to
keep his hat on. He would often stand for hours
on the balcony of his house in the Rue Saint-Georges
with his hat on. " I never feel as much at home
anywhere, not even in my own apartment, as in the
synagogue," he said one day. He frequently went
there for no earthly reason than because he could
sit among a lot of people with his hat on. In fact,
those frequent visits, coupled with his dislike to be
bareheaded, made people wonder now and then whether
Auber was a Jew. The ^supposition always made
Auber smile. " That would have meant the genius
of a Meyerbeer, a Mendelssohn, or a Halevy," he said.
" No, I have been lucky enough in my life, but such
good fortune as that never fell to my lot." For there
was no man so willing — nay, anxious — to acknowledge
the merit of others as Auber. But Auber was not a
Jew, and his mania for keeping on his hat had nothing
to do with his religion. It was simply a mania, and
nothing more. When, in January, '55, Gerard de
^Nerval was found suspended from a lamp-post in the
220 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Rue de la Vieille-Lanteriie, he had his hat on his
head ; his friends, and even the police, pretended to
argue from this that he had not committed suicide,
but had been murdered. "A man who is going to
hang himself does not keep his hat on," they said.
"Pourquoi pas, mon Dieu ? " asked Auber, simply.
"If I were going to kill myself, I should certainly
keep my hat on." In short, it was the only thing
about Auber which could not be explained.
Auber was exceedingly fond of society, and yet he
was fond of solitude also. Many a time his friends
reported that, returning home late from a party, they
found Auber standing opposite his house in the Rue
Saint-Georges, with apparently no other object than to
contemplate it from below. After bis return to Paris
from London, whither he had been sent by his father,
in order to become conversant with English business
habits, he never left the capital again, though at the
end of his life he regretted not having been to Italy.
It was because Rossini, who was one of his idols, had
said " that a musician should loiter away some of
his time under that sky." I^ut almost immediately
he comforted himself with the thought that Paris,
after all, was the only city worth living in. " I was
very fond of my mother, but I have one grievance
against her memory. What did she want to go to
Caen for just at the moment when I was about to be
born? But for that I should have been a real Parisian."
I do not think it made much difference, for I never
knew such an inveterate Parisian as Auber. When
the investment of Paris had become an absolute
certainty, some of his friends pressed him to leave;
he would not hear of it. They predicted discomfort,
i
auber's independence of sleep. 221
famine, and what-not. "The latter contingency will
not affect me much, seeing that I eat but once a day,
and very little then. As for the sound of the firipg
disturbing me, I do not think it will. It has often
been said that the first part of my overture to * Fra
Diavolo ' was inspired by the retreating tramp of a
regiment; there may be some truth in it. If it be
vouchsafed to me to hear tlie retreating tramp of the
Germans, I will write an overture and an opera,
which will be something different, I promise yon."
I do not suppose that, personally, Auber suffered
any privations during the siege. A man in his position,
who required but one meal a day, and that a very light
one, was sure to find it somewhere ; but he had great
trouble to find suflScient fodder for his old faithful
hack, that had carried him for years, and when, after
several months of scheming and contriving to that
effect, he was forced to give it up as food for others,
his cup of bitterness was full. "lis m'ont pris mon
vieux cheval pour le manger," he repeated, when I
saw him alter the event; "je I'avais depuis vingt ans."
It was really a great blow to him.
There is another legend- about Auber which is not
founded upon facts, namely, that he was pretty well
independent of sleep. It was perfectly true that he
went to bed very late and rose very early, but most
people have overlooked the fact that during the
evening he had had a comfortable doze, of at least an
hour and a half or two hours, at the theatre. He rarely
missed a performance at the Opera or Opera-Comique,
except when his own work was performed. And during
that time he slumbered peacefully, "en homme du
monde," said Nestor Roqueplan, " without snoring."
222 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
"I never knew what it meant to snore," said
Auber, apologetically, "until I took to sleeping in
Veron's box ; and as it is, I do not snore now except
under provocation. But there would be no possibility
of sleeping by the side of Veron without snoring. You
have to drown his, or else it would awaken you."
Auber was a brilliant talker, but he scarcely ever
liked to exert himself except on the subject of music.
It was all in all to him, and the amount of work he
did must have been something tremendous. There
are few students of the history of operatic music, no
matter how excellent their memories, who could give
the complete list of Auber's works by heart. We
tried it once in 1850, when that list was much shorter
than it is now ; there was not a single one who gave
it correctly. The only one who came within a measure-
able distance was Roger, the tenor.
In spite of his world-wide reputation, even at that
time, Auber was as modest about his work as Meyerbeer,
but he had more confidence in himself than the latter.
Auber was by no means ungrateful to the artists who
contributed to his success ; " but I don't * coddle ' them,
and put them in cotton-wool, like Meyerbeer," he
said. " It is perfectly logical that he should do so.
The Nourrits, the Levasseurs, the Viardot-Garcias, and
the Eogers, are not picked up at street-corners; but
bring me the first urchin you meet, who has a decent
voice, and a fair amount of intelligence, and in six
months he'll sing the most difficult part I ever wrote,
with the exception of that of Masaniello. My operas
are a kind of warming-pan for great singers. There is
something in being a good warming-pan."
At the first blush, this sounds something like
AUBER AND COQUELIN CADET. 223
jealousy in the guise of humility, but I am certain
that there was no jealousy in Auber s ciiaracter. Few
men have been so uniformly successful, but he also
had his early struggles, "when perhaps I did better
work than I have done since." The last sentence was
invariably trolled out when a pupil of the Conservatoire
complained to him of having been unjustly dealt with.
I remember Coquelin tlie younger competing for the
" prize of Comedy " in '65 or 'Q6. He did not get it,
and when we came out of Auber's box at the Conser-
vatoire, the young fellow came up to him with tears
in his eyes. 1 fancy they were tears of anger rather
than of sorrow.
"Ah, Monsieur Auber," he exclaimed, "that's an
injustice."
"Perhaps so, my dear lad," replied Auber; "but
remember that the verdict on all things in this world
may be summed up in the words you have just uttered,
* It's an injustice.' Let me give you a bit of advice.
If you mean to become a good Figaro, you must be
the first to laugh at an injustice instead of weeping
over it." Wherewith he turned his back upon the now
celebrated comedian. In tl*e course of these notes I
shall have occasion to speak of Auber again.
Auber need not have generalized to young Coquelin ;
he might have cited one instance of injustice in his
own profession, to which, fortunately, there was no
parallel for at least thirty years. In the forties the
critics refused to recognize the genius of Felicien
David, just as they had refused to recognize the genius
of Hector Berlioz. In the seventies they were morally
guilty of the death of Georges Bizet, the composer of
•• Carmen."
224 AN ENGLISHMA.N IN PARIS.
I knew little or nothing of Hector Berlioz, but 1
frequently met Felicien David at Auber's. It was a
pity to behold the man even after his success — a success
which, however, did not put money in his purse. His
moral sufferings, his material privations, had left their
traces but too plainly on the face as well as on the
mind. David had positively starved in order to buy
the few books and the paper necessary to his studies,
and yet he had the courage to say, " If I had to begin
over ao^ain, I would do the same." The respectability
that drives a gig when incarnated in parents who
refuse to believe in the power of soaring of their off-
spring because they, the parents, cannot see the wings,
has assuredly much to answer for. Flotow's father
stops the supplies after seven years, because his son
has not come up to time like a race-horse. Berlioz'
father does not give him so long a shrift ; he allows
him three months to conquer fame. Felicien David
had no father to help or to thwart him in his ambition.
He was an orphan at the age of five, and left to the
care of a sister, who was too poor to help him ; but he
had an uncle who was well-to-do, and who allowed him
the magnificent sum of fifty francs per month — for a
whole quarter — and then withdrew it, notwithstanding
the assurance of Oherubini that the young fellow had
the making of a great composer in him. And the
worst is that these young fellows suffer in silence,
while there are hundreds of benevolent rich men who
vpould willingly open their purses to them. When
they do reveal their distressed condition, it is generally
to some one as poor as themselves. These rich men
buy the autographs of the deceased genius for small or
large sums which would have provided the struggling
F^LICIEN DAVID. '2'2o
ones with comforts for days and days. I have before
me such a letter which I bought for ten francs. I
would willingly have given ten times the amount not
to have bought it. It is written to a friend of his
youth. " As for money," it says, " seeing that I am
bound to speak of it, things are going from bad to
worse. And it is very certain that in a little while I
shall have to give it up altogether. I have been ill
for three weeks with pains in the back, and fever and
ague everywhere. I dare say that my illness was
brought on by my worries, and by the bad food of the
Paris restaurants, also by the constant damjiness.
Why am I not a little better off? I fancy that the
slight comforts an artist may reasonably expect would
do me a great deal of good. I am not speaking of
the body, though it is a part of ourselves which con-
siderably affects our intellect, but my imagination
would be the better for it, for how can my brain, con-
stantly occupied as it is with the worry of material
wants, act unhampered? Really, I do not hesitate to
say that poverty and privation kill the imagination."
They did not kill the imagination in David's case,
but they undermined his constitution. It was at that
period that he fell in with the Saint-Simoniens, to
the high priest of which, M. Enfantin, who eventually
became the chairman of the Paris, Lyons, and Mediterra-
nean Railway Company, he took me many years later.
After their dispersion, the group to which he belonged
went to the East, and it is to this apparently fortuitous
circumstance that the world owes not only " Le Desert,"
" La Perle du Bresil," and " L'Eden," but probably also
Meyerbeer's " Africaine." Meyerbeer virtually acknow-
ledged that but for David's scores, so replete with the
VOL. I. Q
^2(3 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
poetry of the Orient, he would have never thought ot
such a subject for one of his operas. M. Scribe, on the
other hand, always maintained that the idea emanated
from him, and that it dated from 1847, when the com-
poser was p^iven the choice between " Le Prophete "
and " L'Africaine," and chose the former. One might
almost paraphrase the accusation of the wolf against
the lamb in La Fontaine's fable. " M. Scribe, if you
did not owe your idea to Felicien David, you owed it
to Montigny, the director of the Gymnase, who in the
thirties produced a play with a curious name, and a
more curious plot, at the Ambigu-Comique." * One
thing is certain, that " L'Africaine " was discarded, if
ever it was offered, and would never have been thought
of again but for Meyerbeer's intense and frankly
acknowledged admiration of Felicien David's genius.
To return for a moment to Felicien David, whose
melancholy vanished as if by magic when he related
his wanderings in the East. I do not mean the poetical
side of them, which inspired him with his great com-
positions, but the ludicrous one. I do not remember
tlie dress of the Saint-Simoniens, I was too young at
* I have taken some paine to unearth this play. It was .called
" Amazampo ; or, The Discovery of Quinine." The scene was laid in
Peru in 1636. Amazampo, the chief of a Peruvian tribe, is in love
with Maida, who on iier part is in love with Ferdinand, the son of the
viceroy. Amazampo is heart-broken, and is stricken down with
fever. In his despair and partial delirium he tries to poison himself,
and diinks the water of a pool in which several trunks of a tree called
kina, reported poisonous, have been lying for years. He feels the
effect almost immediately, but not the etlect he espected. He
recovers, and takes advantage of his recovered health to forget his
love passion, and to be avenged upon the oppressors of his country,
many of whom are dying witii fever. Lima becomes a huge cemetery.
Then the wife of tlie viceroy is stricken down. Mai'da wishes to savo
her, but is forestalled by Amazampo, wlio compels Dona Theodori>
to drink the li(juor, and so forth. But Amazampo and Ma'ida die. —
Editor.
k
DAVID AND THE SAINT-SIMON lENS. 227
the time to have noticed it, but am told it consisted
of a blue tunic and trousers to match, a scarlet jersey,
which buttoned at the back, and could not be undone
except with the aid of some one else. It was meant
to symbolize mutual dependence upon one another.
"As far as Marseilles everything went comparatively
well," said David ; " we lived by giving concerts, and
though the receipts were by no means magnificent,
they kept the wolf from the door. Our troubles began
at Constantinople. Whether they did not like our
music, or ourselves, or our dresses, I have never been
able to make out, but we were soon denounced to the
authorities, and marched off to prison, though our
incarceration did not last more than a couple of hours,
thanks to our ambassador. Admiral Eoussin. Our
liberation, however, was conditional ; we had to leave
at once. We made our way to Smyrna, where my
music seemed to meet with a little more favour. I
performed every night, but in the open air, and some
one took the hat round, just as if we had been a
company of ambulant musicians to the manner born.
We were, however, not altogether unhappy, for we had
enough to eat and to drink, which with me, at any
rate, was a paramount consideration. Up till then
suflBcient food had not been a daily item in my pro-
gramme of life. My companions, nevertheless, became
restless ; they said they had not come to eat and drink
and play music, but to convert the most benighted
part of Europe to their doctrines ; so we moved to
Jaffa and Jerusalem, then to Alexandria, and finally
to Cairo. By the time we got there, only three of
us were left ; the rest had gone homeward. Koenig-
Bey had just at that moment undertaken the tuition
228 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
of Mehemet-Ali's children — there were between sixty
and seventy at that time ; it was he who presented me
to their father, with a view of my becoming the pro-
fessor of music to the inmates of the harem. * It is of
no use to try to get you the appointment of professor
of music to the young princes, because Mehemet,
though intelligent enough, would certainly not hear of
it. He would not think it necessary tliat a man-child
should devote himself to so effeminate an accomplish-
ment. I am translating his own thoughts on the
subject, not mine. When I tell you that my monthly
report about their intellectual progress is invariably
waved off with the words, " Tell me how much they
have gained or lost in weight," you will understand
that I am not speaking at random. The viceroy
thinks that hard study should produce a corresponding
decrease in weight, which is not always the case, for
those more or less inclined to obesity make flesh in
virtue of their sitting too much. Consequently the
fat kine have a very bad time of it, and among the
latter is one of the most intelligent boys, Mohamraed-
Said.' "
" Those who would infer from this," said David one
day, referring to the same subject, " that Mehemet-
Ali was lacking in intelligence, would commit a grave
error. I am convinced, from the little I saw of him,
that he was a man of very great natural parts. His
features, though not absolutely handsome, were very
striking and expressive. He was over sixty then, but
looked as if he could bear any amount of fatigue. His
constitution must originally have been an iron one.
Instead of the Oriental repose which I expected, there
was a kind of semi-European, semi-military stiffness
DAVID AND MEHEMET-ALI. 229
about him, which, however, soon wore off in conversa-
tion. I say advisedly conversation, albeit that he did
not understand a word of French, which was the only
language I spoke, and that I could not catch a
word of his. But in spite of Koenig-Bey's acting the
interpreter, it was a conversation between us both. He
seemed to catch the meaning of my words the moment
they left my lips, and every now and then smiled at
my remarks. He as it were read the thoughts that
provoked them, and I do not wonder at his having been
amused, for I myself was never so amused in my life.
Perhaps you will be, when I tell you that I was not
to see the ladies 1 had to teach ; my instruction was
to be given to the eunuchs, who, in their turn, had to
transmit tiiem to the viceroy's wives and daughters.
Of course, I tried to point out the impossibility of such
a system, but Mehemet-Ali shook his head with a
knowing smile. That was the only way he would
have his woraenkind initiated into the beauties of
Mozart and Mendelssohn. I need not tell you that
the arrangement came to nought."
Nearly all these conversations which I have noted
down here, without much, attempt at transition, took
place at different times. One day, when he was
relating some experiences of his wanderings through
the less busy haunts of Egypt, I happened to say,
" After all, Monsieur David, they did you good ; they
inspired you with the themes of your most beautiful
works."
It was a very bitter smile that played on his lips,
but only for a moment ; the next his face resumed its
usual melancholy expression. " Yes, they did me good.
Do you know what occurred on the eve of the first per-
230 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
formance of ' Le Desert,' on the morrow of which I may
say without undue pride that I found myself famous ?
Well, I will tell you. But for Azevedo, I should have
gone supperless that night.* I met him on the
Boulevards, and I almost forced him to take some
tickets, for I was hungry and desperate. I had been
running about that morning to dispose of some tickets
for love or money, for what I feared most was an empty
house. I had sold half a dozen, perhaps, but no one
had paid me. Azevedo said, 'Yes, send me some this
afternoon.' *I can give them to you now,' I replied,
* for I carry my box ofiSce upon me.' Then he under-
stood, and gave me the money. May God bless him
for it, for ever and ever !
" Now would you like to hear what happened after
the performance ? " he continued. " The place was full
and the applause tremendous. Next morning the papers
were full of my name; I was, according to most of
them, ' a revelation in music' But for all that I was
living in an attic on a fifth floor, and had not suffi-
cient money to pay my orchestra, let alone to arrange
for another concert. As for the score of ' Le Desert, '
it went the round of every publisher but one, and was
declined by all these. At last the firm of Escudier
offered me twelve hundred francs for it, which, of
course, I was glad to take. They behaved handsomely
after all, because they arranged for a series of perform-
ances of it, which I was to direct at a fee of a thousand
francs per performance. Those good Saint-Simoniens,
the Pereiras, Enfantin, Michel Chevalier, had not lifted
* Alexis Azevedo, one of the best musical critics of the time, as
enthusiastic in his likes as unreasoning in his dislikes. He became a
fervent admirer of Fe'licien David. — Editor.
DAVID AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. 231
a finger to help me in my netd; nevertheless, I was
not going to condemn good principles on account of
the men who represented them not very worthily. Do
you know what was the result of this determination
not to be unjust if others were ? I embarked my little
savings in a concern presided over by one of them. I
lost every penny of it ; since then I have never been
able to save a penny."
Felicien David was right — he never made money ;
first of all, " because," as Auber said, " he was too great
an artist to be popular ; " secondly, because the era of
cantatas and oratorios had not set in in France;
thirdly, because he composed very slowly ; and fourthly,
" because he had no luck." The performances of his
principal theatrical work were interrupted by the
Coup-d'Etat. I am alluding to " La Perle du Bresil,"
which, though represented at the Opera-Comique in
1850, only ran for a few nights there, divergencies of
opinion having arisen between the composer and M.
Emile Perrin, who was afterwards director of the Grand
Opera, and finally of the Comedie-Fran9aise. When it
was revived, on November 22, 1851, the great event
which was to transform the second republic into the
second empire was looming on the horizon. In 18(32,
Napoleon III. made Felicien David an officer of the
Legion d'Honneur ; Louis-Philippe had bestowed the
knighthood upon him in '46 or '47, after a perform-
ance of his " Christophe Colomb " at the Tuileries.
When Auber was told of the honour conferred, he
said, " Napoleon is worse than the fish with the ring of
Polycrates ; it did not take him eleven years to bring
it back." Alexandre Dumas opined that '*it was a
pearl hid in a dunghill for a decade or more." When,
232 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAKIS.
towards the end of the Empire, a street near the
projected opera buildinp: was named after Auber, and
when he could see his bu^t on the facade of the build-
ing, the scafifolding of which had been removed, Auber
remarked that the Emperor had been good enough to
give him credit. "Now we are quits," he added, *' for
he was David's debtor for eleven years. At any rate,
I'll do my best to square the afcount, so you need not
order any hatbands until 79." When '79 came, he had
been in his tomb for nearly eight years.
I wrote just now that Felicien David composed very
slowly. But for this defect, if it was one, Verdi would
have never put his name to the score of " Aida." The
musical encyclopedias will tell you that Signor Ghis-
lanzoni is the author of the libretto, and that the
khedive applied to Signor Verdi for an opera on an
Egyptian subject. The first part of that statement is
utterly untrue, the other part is but partially true.
Signor Ghislanzoui is at best but the adapter in verse
and translator of the libretto. The original in prose is
by M. €amille du Locle, founded on the scenario sup-
plied by Mariette-Bey, whom Ismail-Pasha had given
carte llanche with regard to the music and words.
Mariette-Bey intended from the very first to apply to
a French playwright, when one night, being belated
at Memphis in the Serapeum, and unable to return
on foot, he all at once remembered an old Egyptian
legend. Next day he committed the scenario of it to
paper, showed it to the khedive, and ten copies of it
were printed in Alexandria. One of these was sent
to M. du Locle, who developed the whole in prose.
M. du Locle had also been authorized to find a
French composer, but it is very certain that Mariette-
THE ORIGIN OF VERDl'S " AIDA." 233
Bey had in his mind's eye the composer of " Le Desert,"
though he may not have expressly said so. At any
rate, M. du Locle applied to David, who refused,
although the " retaining fee " was fifty thousand francs.
It was because he could not comply with the first and
foremost condition, to Have the score ready in six
months at the latest. Then Wagner was thought of.
It is most probable that he would have refused. To
Mariette-Bey belongs the credit furthermore of having
entirely stage-managed the ojiera.
Thu'^ Felicien David, who had revealed "the East in
music " to the Europeans, no more reaped the fruits of
his originality than Decamps, who had revealed it in
painting. Was not Auber right when he said to young
Coquelin that the verdict on all things in this world
might be summed up in the one phrase, "It's an
injustice " ?
234 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTER VIIE.
Three painters, and a school for pifferari — Gabriel Decamps, Eugene
Delacroix, and Horace Vernet — The prices of pictures iu the
forties — Delacroix' find no pnrcliasers at all — Decamps' drawings
fetch a thousand francs each — Decamps not a happy man — The
cause of his nnhappiness — The man and the painter — He finds
no pleasure in being popular — Eugene Delacroix — His contempt
for the bourgeoisie — A parallel between Delacroix and Shake-
speare— "Was Delacroix tailor short? — His love of flowers — His
delicate health — His personal appearance — His indifference to
the love-passinn— George Sand and Delacroix — A miscarried
love-scene — Delacroix' housekeeper, Jenny Leguillou — Delacroix
does not want to pose as a model for one of George Sand's heroes
— Delacroix as a writer — His approval of Carlyle's dictum, " Show
me how a man sings," etc.— His humour tempered by his reve-
rence — His failure as a caricaturist — His practical jokes on would-
be art-critics — Delacroix at home — His dress while at work —
Horace Vernet's, Paul Delaroche's,' Ingres' — Early at work — He
does not waste time over lunch — How he spent his evenings — His
dislike of being reproduced in marble or on canvas after his death
— Horace Vernet — The contrast between the two men and the two
artists — Vernet's appearance — His own account of how he became
a painter — Moral and mental resemblance to Alexandre Dumas
pere — His political opinions — Vernet and Nicholas I. — A bold
answer — His opinion on the mental state of tlie Romanoffs — The
comic side of Vernet's character — He thinks himself a Vauban —
His interviews with M. Thiers — His admiration of everything
military — His worship of Alfred de Vigny — His ineffectual
attempts to paint a scene in connection with the storming of Con-
stantine — Laurent-Jan proposes to write an epic on it — He gives
a synopsis of the cantos — Laurent- Jan lives '*on the fat of the
land " for six months — A son of Napoleon's companion in exile,
General Bertrand — The chaplain of "la Belle-Poule" — The first
French priest who wore the English dress — Horace Vernet and
the veterans of "la grande arme'e" — His studio during their
occupancy of it as models— His budget — His hatred of pifferari —
A professor — The Quartier-Latin revisited.
A FEW weeks ago,* when rummaging among oM
papers, documents, memoranda, etc., I came upon
* Written in 1882.
THE PRICE OF PICTURES IN THE FORTIES. 235
some stray leaves of a catalogue of a picture sale at
the Hotel Bullion * in 1845. I had marked the prices
realized by a score or so of paintings signed by men
who, though living at that time, were already more
or less famous, and many of whom have since then
acquired a world-wide reputation. There was only
one exception to this — that of Herrera the Elder, who
had been dead nearly two centuries, and whose name
was, and is still, a household word among connoisseurs
by reason of his having been the master of Velasquez.
The handiwork of the irascible old man was knocked
down for three francs seventy-five centimes, though no
question was raised as to the genuineness of it in my
hearing. It was a saint — the catalogue said no more, —
and I have been in vain trying to recollect why I
did not buy it. There must have been some cogent
reason for my not having done so, for "the frame
was no doubt worth double the money," to use an
auctioneer's phrase. Was it suspicion, or what ? At
any rate, two years later, I heard that it had been sold
to an American for fourteen thousand francs, though,
after all, that was no guarantee of its value.
In those days it was certainly better to be a live
artist than a dead one, for, a little further on among
these pages, I came upon a marginal note of the prices
fetched by three works of Meissoiiier, '* Le Corps de
Garde," " Une partie de piquet," and " Un jeune
homme regardant des dessins," all of which had been
in the salon of that year,t and each of which fetched
• Tlie Hotel Bullion was formerly the town mansion of the financier
of that name, and situated in the Eue Coquillifere. — Editor.
t The annual salon was held in the Louvre then ; in 1849 it was
transferred to the Tuileries. In 1850, '51, and '52 it was removed to
the galleries of the Falais-Boyal : in 1853 and '51 the salon was held
236 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
3000 francs. I should not like to say what their pur-
chasing price would be to-day, allowing for the differ-
ence in the value of money. Further on still, there
is a note of a picture by Alfred de Dreux, which
realized a similar amount. Allowing for that same
difference in the value of money, that work would
probably not find a buyer now among real connoisseurs
at 200 francs.* At the same time, the original sketch
of David's " Serment du Jeu de Paume " did not find
a purcliaser at 2500 francs, the reserve price. A land-
scape by Jules Andre, a far greater artist than Alfred
de Dreux, went for 300 francs, and Baron's " Oies du
Frere Piiilippe " only realized 200 francs more. There
was not a single " bid " for Eugene Delacroix' " Marc-
Aurele," and when he did sell a picture it was for 500
or 600 francs; nowadays it would fetch 100,000 francs.
On the other hand, the drawings of Decamps' admirable
" Histoire de Samson" realized 1000 francs each.
Yet Gabriel Decamps was a far unhappier man than
Eugene Delacroix. The pictures rejected by the
public became the " apples " of Delacroix' eyes, with
which he would not part, subsequently, at any price,
as in the case of his " Marino Faliero." Decamps,
one day, while he lived in the Faubourg Saint-Denis,
deliberately destroyed one hundred and forty draw-
ings, the like of which were eagerly bought up for a
in the Hotel des Menus-Plaisirs, in the Faubourg Poissonni^re, which
became afterwards the storehouse for tlie scenery of the Grand Ope'ra.
In 1855 the exhibition took place in a special annex of the Palais de
I'Industrie ; after that, it was lodged in the Palais itself. — Editor.
* Alfred de Dreux was not an unknown figure in London society.
He came in 1848. He was a kind of Comte d'Orsay, and painted
chiefly equestrian figures. After the Coup-d'Etat lie returned to
Paris, and was patronized by society, and subsequently by Napoleon
III. himself, whose portrait he painted. He was killed in a duel, the
cause of which has never been revealed. — Editor.
GABRIEL DECAMPS, 237
thousand francs apiece, though at present they would
be worth four times that amount. Delacroix was con-
tent with his God-given genius ; " he saw everything
he had made, and behold it was very good." Decamps
fumed and fretted at the supposed systematic neglect
of the Government, which did not give him a com-
mission. " You paint with a big brush, but you ai e
not a great painter," said Sir Joshua to a would-be
Michael-Augelo. To Gabriel Decamps the idea of
being allowed or invited by the State to cover a
number of yards of canvas or wall or ceiling was so
attractive that he positively lost his sleep and his appe-
tite over it. It was, perhaps, the only bitter drop in
his otherwise tolerably full cup of happiness, but that
one drop very frequently embittered the whole. He
had many good traits in his character, though he was
not uniformly good-tempered. There was an absolute
indifference as to the monetary results of his calling,
and an inherent generosity to those who " had fallen
by the way." But he was soinethiug of a bear and a
recluse> not because he disliked society, but because he
deliberately suppressed his sociable qualities, lest he
should arouse the suspicion of making them the step-
ping-stone to his ambition. No man ever misread the
lesson, " Do well and fear not," so utterly as did De-
camps. He was never tired of well-doing ; and he was
never tired of speculating what the world would think
of it. There is not a single picture from his brush
that does not contain an original thought; he founded
an absolutely new school — no small thing to do. Tlie
world at large acknowledged as much, and yet he would
not enjoy the fruits of that recognition, because it
lacked the " official stamp." When Decamps cou-
238 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
sented to forget his real or fancied grievances he
became a capital companion, provided one had a taste
for bitter and scathing satire. I fancy Jonathan Swift
must have been something like Gabriel Decamps in
his daily intercourse with his familiars. But he rarely
said an ill-natured thing of his fellow-artists. His
strictures were reserved for the political men of his
time, and of the preceding reign. The Bourbons he
despised from the bottom of his heart, and during the
Kestauration his contempt found vent in caricatures
which, at the moment, must have seared like a red-
hot iron. He had kept a good many of these ephe-
meral productions, and, I am bound to say, they struck
one afterwards as unnecessarily severe. " If they "
(meaning the Bourbons) " had continued to reign in
France," he said one day, " I would have applied for
letters of naturalization to the Sultan."
Decamps was killed, like Gericault, by a fall off his
horse, but long before that he had ceased to work.
" I cannot add much to my reputation, and do not care
to add to my store," he said. In 1855, the world
positively rang with his name, but I doubt whether
this universal admiration gave him much satisfaction.
He exhibited more than fifty works at the Exposition
Universelle of that year, a good many of which had
been rejected by the " hanging committees " of previous
salons. True to his system, he rarely, perhaps never
directly, called the past judgment in question, but he
lived and died a dissatisfied man. Unlike Mirabeau,
who had not the courage to be unpopular, Decamps
derived no gratification from popularity.
I knew Eugene Delacroix better than any of the
others in the marvellous constellation of painters of
EUGfeNE DELACROIX. 239
that period, and our friendship lasted till the day of
his death, in December 1863. I was also on very good
terms with Horace Vernet ; but though the latter was
perhaps a more lively companion, the stronger at-
traction was towards the former. I was one of the few
friends whom he tolerated whilst at work. Our friend-
ship lasted for nearly a quarter of a century, and
during that time there was never a single unpleasant-
ness between us, though I am bound to admit that
Delacroix' temper was very uncertain. Among all
those men who had a profound, ineradicable contempt
for the bourgeois, I have only known one who despised
him even to a greater extent than he ; it was Gustave
Flaubert. Though Delacroix' manners were perfect,
he could scarcely be polite to the middle classes.
With the exception of Dante and Shakespeare, Dela-
croix was probably the greatest poet that ever lived ; a
greater poet undoubtedly than Victor Hugo, in that
he was absolutely indifferent to the material results
of his genius. If Shakespeare and the author of the
" Inferno " had painted, they would have painted
like Delacroix ; his " Sardanapale " is the Byronic
poem, condensed and transferred to canvas.
Long as I knew Delacroix, I had never been able to
make out whether he was tall or short, and most of his
friends and acquaintances were equally puzzled. As
we stood around his coffin many were surprised at its
length. His was decidedly a curious face, at times
stony in its immobility, at others quivering from the
tip of chin to the juncture of the eyebrows, and with
a peculiar movement of the nostrils that was almost
pendulum-like in its regularity. It gave one the
impression of their being assailed by some unpleasant
240 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
smell, and, one day, when Delacroix was in a light
mood, I remarked upon it. " You are perfectly right,"
he replied ; " I always fancy there is corruption in the
air, but it is not necessarily of a material kind."
Be this as it may, he liked to surround himself with
flowers, and his studio was often like a hothouse, apart
from the floral decorations. The temperature was
invariably very high, and even then he would shiver
now and again. I have always had an idea that Dela-
croix had Indian blood in his veins, which idea was
justified to a certain extent by his appearance, albeit
that there was no tradition to that efiect in his family.
But it was neither the black hair, the olive skin, nor
the peculiar formation of the features which forced
that conclusion upon me ; it was the character of
Delacroix, which for years and years I endeavoured to
read thoroughly, without succeeding to any appreciable
degree. There was one trait that stood out so distinctly
that the merest child might have perceived it — his
honesty ; but the rest was apparently a mass of contra-
diction. It is difficult to imagine a poet, and especially
a painter-poet, without an absorbing passion for some
woman — not necessarily for the same woman ; to my
knowledge Delacroix had no such passion, for one can
scarcely admit that Jenny Leguillou, his housekeeper,
could have inspired such a feeling. True, when I first
knew Delacroix he was over forty, but those who had
known him at twenty and twenty-five never hinted at
any romantic attachment or even at a sober, homely
affection. And assuredly a man of forty is not in-
vulnerable in that respect. And yet, the woman who
positively bewitched, one after another, so many of
Delacroix' eminent contemporaries, Jules Sandeau,
EUGfeNE DELACROIX AND GEORGE SAND. 241
Alfred de Musset, Michel de Bourges, Chopin, Pierre
Leroux, Cabet, Lammenais, etc., had no power over him.
Paul de Musset, perhaps as a kind of revenge for
the wrongs suffered by his brother, once gave an
amusing description of the miscarried attempt of
George Sand "to net" Eugene Delacroix.
It would appear that the painter had shown signs
of yielding to the charms which few men were able to
withstand, or, at any rate, that George Sand fancied
she could detect such signs. Whether it was from a
wish on George Sand's part to precipitate matters
or to nip the thing in the bud, it would be difiScnlt to
determine, but it is certain that she pursued her usual
tactics — that is, she endeavoured to provoke an ad-
mission of her admirer's feeling. Though I sub-
sequently ascertained that Paul de Musset's story was
substantially true, I am not altogether prepared,
knowing his animosity against her, to accept his
hinted theory of the lady's desire " de brusquer les
fianjailles."
One morning, then, while Delacroix was at work,
George Sand entered his studio. She looked out of
spirits, and almost immediately stated the purpose of
her visit.
"My poor Eugene!" she began; "I am afraid I
have got sad news for you."
" Oh, indeed," said Delacroix, without interrupting
his work, and just giving her one of his cordial smiles
in guise of welcome.
" Yes, my dear friend, I have carefully consulted my
own heart, and the upshot is, I am grieved to tell you,
that I feel I cannot and could never love you."
Delacroix kept on painting. " Is that a fact ? " he said.
VOL. I. B
242 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" Yes, and I ask you once more to pardon me, and to
give me credit for my candour — my poor Delacroix."
Delacroix did not budge from his easel.
" You are angry with me, are you not ? You will
never forgive me ? "
" Certainly I will. Only I want you to keep quiet
for ten minutes ; I have got a bit of sky there which
has caused me a good deal of trouble, it is just coming
right. Go and sit down or else take a little walk, and
come back in ten minutes."
Of course, George Sand did not return ; and equally,
of course, did not tell the story to any one, but some-
how it leaked out. Perhaps Jenny Leguillou had
overheard the scene — she was quite capable of listening
behind a screen or door — and reported it. Delacroix
himself, when "chaffed" about it, never denied it.
There was no need for him to do so, because theoretically
it redounded to the lady's honour ; had she not rejected
his advances r
I have noted it here to prove that the poetry of
Delacroix n'allait pas se faufiler dans les jupons,
because, though we would not take it for granted that
where George Sand failed others would have suc-
ceeded, it is nevertheless an authenticated fact that
only one other man among the many on whom she tried
her wiles remained proof against them. That man
was Prosper Merimee, the author of " Colomba " and
"Carmen," the friend of Panizzi. "Quand je fais un
roman, je choisis mon sujet ; je ne veux pas que Ton
me decoupe pour en faire un. Madame Sand ne met
pas ses amants dans sou coeur, elle les raets dans ses
lirres ; et elle le fait si diablement vite qu'on n'a pas
lo temps de la devancer." Merimee was right, each of
THE ARTIST. 243
George Sand's earlier books had been written with
the heart's blood of one of the victims of her insatiable
passions — for I should not like to prostitute the word
" love " to her liaisons ; and I am glad to think that
Eugene Delacroix was spared that ordeal. It would
have killed him ; and the painter of " Sardanapale "
was more precious to his own art than to hers, which,
with all due deference to eminent critics, left an un-
pleasant sensation to those who were fortunate enough
to be free from incipient hysteria.
A liaison with George Sand would have killed
Eugene Delacroix, I am perfectly certain ; for he
would have staked gold, she would have only played
with counters. It would have been the vitiated
atmosphere in which the candle of his life and of his
genius — which were one, in this instance — would have
been extinguished.
As it was, that candle burned very low at times,
because, during the years I knew Delacroix, he had
nearly always one foot in the grave ; the healthy
breezes of art's unpolluted air made that candle burn
brightly now and again ; hence the difference in quality,
as striking, of some of his pictures.
Perhaps on account of hi& delicate health, Delacroix
was not very fond of society, in which, however, he
was ever welcome, and particularly fitted to shine,
though he rarely attempted to do so. I have said that
Dante and Shakespeare, if they had painted, would
have painted as Delacroix did ; I am almost tempted
to add that if Delacroix' vocation had impelled him
that way, he would have sung as they sang — of course,
I do not mean that he would have soared as hifrh, but
his name would have lived in literature as it does in
244 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
painting, though perhaps not with so brilliant a halo
around it. For, unlike many great painters of his
time, Delacroix was essentially lettre. One has but
to read some of his critical essays in the Bevue des
Deux Monies of tliat period, to be convinced of that at
once. Theophile Gautier said, one evening, that it
■was " the style of a poet in a hurry." The sentences
give one the impression of newly-minted golden coins.
Nearly every one contains a thought, which, if reduced
to small change, would still make an admirnbie para-
graph. He gives to his readers what he expects from
his authors — a sensation, a shock in two or tliree lines.
The sentences are modelled upon his favourite prose
author, who, curious to relate, was none other than
Napoleon I. I often tried to interest him in English
literature. Unfortunately, he knew no English to speak
of, and was obliged to have recourse to translations.
Walter Scott he thought long-winded, and, after a few
attempts at Shakespeare in French, he gave it up.
" Ca ne pent pas etre cela," he said. But he had
several French versions of " Gulliver's Travels," all of
which he read in turn. One day, I quoted to him
a sentence from Carlyle's '* Lectures on Heroes : "
" Show me how a man sings, and I will tell you how
he will fight." ** C'est cela," he said ; " if Shakespeare
had been a general, he would have won his battles like
Napoleon, by thunderclaps " (par des coups de foudre).
Delacroix had what a great many Frenchmen lack
— a keen sense of humour, but it was considerably
tempered by what, for the want of a better term, I
may call the bump of reverence. He could not be
humorous at the expense of those he admired or re-
spected, consequently his attempts at caricature at th
HIS PRACTICAL JOKES. 245
early period of his career in Le Nain Jaune were a
failure ; because Delacroix' admiration and respect
were not necessarily reserved for those with whom he
agreed in art or politics, but for every one who
attempted something great or useful, though he failed.
The man who, at the age of sixty, would enthusiasti-
cally dilate upon his meeting forty years before with
Gros, whose hat he had knocked off by accident, was
not the likely one to hold up to ridicule the celebrity
of the hour or day without malice prepense. And this
malice prepense never uprose within him, except in
the presence of some bumptious, ignorant nobody.
Then it positively boiled over, and he did not mird
what trick he played his interlocutor. The latter
might be a wealthy would-be patron, an influential
Government official, or a well-known picture-dealer; it
was all the same to Delacroix, who had an utter con-
tempt for patronage, nepotism, and money. It was as
good as a clever scene in a comedy to see him rise
and draw himself up to his full height, in order to
impress his victim with a sense Of the importance of
what he was going to say. To get an idea of him
under such circumstances, one must go and see his
portrait in the Louvre, painted by himself, with the
semi-supercilious, semi-benevolent smile playing upon
the parted lips, and showing the magnitlcent regular
set of teeth, of which he was very proud, beneath the
black bushy moustache, which reminds one curiously
of that of Kembrandt. Of course, the victim was
mesmerized, and stood listening with all attention,
promising himself to remember every word of the
spoken essay on art, with the view of reproducing it as
his own at the first favourable opportunity. And he
246 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
generally did, to his own discomfiture and the amuse*-
ment of his hearers, who, if they happened to know
Delacroix, which was the case frequently, invariably
detected the source of the speaker's information. I once
heard a spoken essay on Holbein reproduced in that
way, which would have simply made the fortune of any
comic writer. The human parrot had not even been
parrot-like, for he had muddled the whole in trans-
mission. I took some pains to reproduce his exact
words, and I never saw Delacroix laugh as when I
repeated it to him. For, as a rule, and even when he
was mystifying that kind of numskull in the presence
of half a dozen well-informed friends, Delacroix
remained perfectly serious, though the others had to
bite their lips lest they should explode. In fact, it
would have been difficult at any time to guess or
discover, beneath the well-bred man of the world, with
his charming, courtly, though somewhat distant
manner, the painter who gave us "La Barque de
Dante," and " Les Massacres de Scio ; " still, Delacroix
M'as tiiat man of the world, exceedingly careful of his
appearance, particular to a degree about his nails,
which he wore very long, dressed to perfection, and,
in spite of the episode with George Sand, recorded
above, most ingratiating with women.
Different altogether was he in his studio. Though
he was " at home " from three till five, to visitors of
both sexes, it was distinctly understood that he would
not interrupt his work for them, or play the host as
the popular painter of to-day is supposed to do. The
atelier, encumbered with bric-a-brac and sumptuous
hangings and afternoon tea, had not been invented :
if the host wore a velvet coat, a Byronic collar, and
DELACROIX AT HOME. 247
gorgeous papooshes, it was because he liked these
things himself, not because he intended to impress
his visitors. As a rule, the host, though in his youth
perhaps he had been fond of extravagant costumes,
did not like them : Horace Vernet often worked in his
shirt-sleeves, Paul Delaroche nearly always wore a
blouse, and Ingres, until he became " a society man,"
which was very late in life, donned a dressing-gown.
Delacroix was, if anything, more slovenly than the
rest when at work. An old jacket buttoned up to
the chin, a large muffler round his neck, a cloth cap
pulled over his ears, and a pair of thick felt slippers
made up his usual garb. For he was nearly always
shivering with cold, and had an affection of the throat,
besides, which compelled him to he careful. " But for
my wrapping up, I should have been dead at thirty,'*
he said.
Nevertheless, at the stroke of eight, winter and
summer, he was in his studio, which he did not leave
until dark, during six months of the year, and a little
before, during the other six. Contrary to the French
habit, he never took luncheon, and generally dined at
home a little after six — the fatigue of dining out being
too much for him.
I may safely say that I was one of Delacroix'
friends, with whom he talked without restraint. I
often went to him of an evening when the weather
prevented his going abroad, which, in his state of
health, was very often. He always chafed at such
confinement; for though not fond of society in a
general way, he liked coming to the Boulevards, after
his work was over, and mixing with his familiars.
Delacroix smoked, but, unlike many addicted to
248 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
tobacco, could not sit idle. His hands, as well as his
brain, wanted to be busy; consequently, wlien im-
prisoned by rain or snow, he sat sketching fi^^ures or
groups, talking all the while. By then his name had
become familiar to every art student throughout the
world, and he often received flattering letters from
distant parts. One evening, shortly after the death of
David d'Angers, to an episode in whose life I have
devoted a considerable space in these notes, Delacroix
received an American newspaper, the title of which
I have forgotten, but which contained an exceedingly
able article on the great sculptor, as an artist, and as
a man. It wound up with the question, " And what
kind of monument will be raised to him by the man
who virtually shortened his life by sending him into
exile, because David remained true to the republican
principles which Napoleon only shammed — or, if not
shammed, deliberately trod underfoot to ascend a
tyrant's throne?"
I translated the whole of the article, and, when I
came to the last lines, Delacroix shook his head sadly.
" You remember," he said, " the answer of our friend
Dumas, when they asked him for a subscription towards
a monument to a man whom every one had reviled in
the beginning of his career. 'They had better be
content with the stones they threw at him during his
existence. No monument they can raise will be so
eloquent of their imbecility and his genius.' I may
take it," he went on, "that such a question will be
raised one day after my death, perhaps many years
after I am gone. If you are alive you will, by my will,
raise your voice against the project. I have painted
my own portrait; while I am here, I will take care
HIS DEATH AND LAST WILL. f49
that it be not reproduced ; I will forbid them to do so
after I am at rest. There shall not be a bust on my
tomb."
About a fortnight before his death he made a will
to that effect, and up to tho present hour (1883) its
injunctions have been respected. Delacroix lies in a
somewhat solitary spot in Pere-Lachaise. Neither
emblem, bust, nor statue adorns his tomb, which was
executed according to his own instructions. "They
libelled me so much during my life," he said one day,
"that I do not want them to libel me after my death,
on canvas or in marble. They flattered me so much
afterwards, that I know their flattery to be fulsome,
and, if anything, I am more afraid of it than of their
libels."
It would be difficult to find a greater contrast than
there existed between Eugene Delacroix, both as a man
and an artist, and Horace Vernet. The one loved his
art with the passionate devotion of an intensely poetical
lover for his wayward mistress, whom to cease wooing
for a moment might mean an irreparable breach or, at
least, a long estrangement; the other loved his with
the calm affection of the cherished husband for the
faithful wife who had blessed him with a numerous
ofispring, whom he had known from his very infancy, a
marriage with whom had been decided upon when he
was a mere lad, whom he might even neglect for a
little while without the bond being in any way relaxed.
According to their respective certificates of birth,Vernet
was the senior by ten years of Delacroix. When I
first knew them, about 1840, Vernet looked ten years
younger than Delacroix. If they had chosen to dis-
guise themselves as musketeers of the Louis XIIL
250 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
period, Vernet would have reminded one of both
Aramis and d'Artagnan; Delacroix, of Athos.
Montaigne spoke Latin before he could speak French ;
Vernet drew men and horses before he had mastered
either French or Latin. His playthings were stumpy,
worn-out brushes, discarded palettes, and sticks of
charcoal; his alphabet, the pictures of the Louvre,
where his father occupied a set of apartments, and
where he was born, a month before the outbreak of the
first Revolution. He once said to me, " Je suis peintre
comme il y des horames qui sont rois — parceque ils ne
pen vent pas etre autre chose. H fallait un homme de
genie pour sortir d'un pareil bourbier et malheureuse-
ment je n'ai qne du talent." By the "bourbier "he
meant his great-grandfather, his two grandfathers, and
his father, all of whom were painters and draughtsmen.
Posterity will probably decide whether Horace
Vernet was a genius or merely a painter of great
talent, but it will scarcely convey an approximate idea
of the charm of the man himself. There was only one
other of his contemporaries who exercised the same
spell on his companions — Alexandre Dumas pere.
Though Vernet was a comparative dwarf by the side
of Dumas, the men had the same qualities, physical,
moral, and mental. Neither of them knew what
bodily fatigue meant ; both could work for fourteen or
fifteen hours a day for a fortnight or a month ; both
would often have "a long bout of idleness," as they
called it, which, to others not endowed with their
strength and mental activity, would have meant hard
labour. Both were fond of earning money, fonder still
of spending it ; both created almost without an effort.
Dumas roared with laughter while writing ; Vernet sang
HORACE VERNET. 251
at the top of his voice while painting, or bandied jokes
with his visitors, who might come and go as they liked
at all hours. Dumas, especially in the earlier days of
his career, had to read a great deal before he could
catch the local colour of his novels and plays — he
himself has told us that he was altogether ignorant
of the history of France. But when he had finished
reading up the period in question, he wrote as if he had
been born in it. Vernet was a walking cyclopaedia on
military costume ; he knew, perhaps, not much more
than that, but that he knew thoroughly, and never
had to think twice about the uniforms of his models,
and, as he himself said, "I never studied the thing,
nor did I learn to paint or to draw. According to
many people, 1 do not know how to paint or to draw
now: it may be so; at any rate I have the comfort
of having wasted nobody's time in trying to learn."
Like Dumas, he was very proud of his calling and
of the name he had made for himself in it, which he
would not have changed for the title of emperor — least
of all for that of king ; for, like his great contemporary,
he was a republican at lieart. It did not diminish
either his or Dumas' admiration for Napoleon I. " I
can understand an absolute monarchy, nay, a downright
autocracy, and I can understand a republic," said
Vernet, " but I fail to understand the use of a con-
stitutional king, just because it implies and entails
the principle of succession by inheritance. An
autocracy means one ruler over so many millions of
subjects ; a constitutional mooarchy means between
five and six hundred direct rulers, so many millions
of indirect ones, and one subject who is called king.
Who would leave his child the inheritance of such
252 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
slavery? A la boune heure, give me a republic such
as we understand it in France, all rulers, all natural-
born kings, gods in mortals' disguise who dance to the
piping of the devil. There have been two such since
I was born ; there may be another half-dozen like these
within the next two centuries, because, bifore you can
have an ideal republic, you must have ideal republicans,
and Nature cannot afford to fritter away her most
precious gifts on a lot of down-at-heels lawyers and
hobnail-booted scum. She condescends now and then
to make an ideal tyrant — she will never make a nation
of ideal republicans. You may just as well ask her to
make a nation of Raffaelles or Michael Angelos, or
Shakespeares or Molieres."
Both men, in spite of their republican opinions,
were personally attached to some members of the
Orleans family; both had an almost invincible
objection to the Bourbons. Vernet had less occasion
to be outspoken in his dislike than Dumas, but he
refused to receive the Due de Berri when the latter
offered to come and see the battle-pieces Vernet was
painting for the then Duke of Orleans (Luuis-Phili{)pe).
Vernet had stipulated that his paintings should
illustrate exclusively the campai^^^ns of the first
Eepublic and the Empire, though subsequently he
depicted some episodes of the Algerian wars, in which
the son of the King had distinguished himself. "Tri-
colour cockades or no pictures," he remarked, and
Louis-Philippe good-humouredly acquiesced. Though
courteous to a degree, he never minced matters to
either king or beggar. While in Russia Nicholas took
a great fancy to him. It appears that the painter,
who must have looked even smaller by the side of the
VERNET AND NICHOLAS I. 253
Czar than lie did by that of Dumas, had accompanied
the former, if not on a perilous, at least on a very
uncomfortable journey in the middle of the winter.
He and the Emperor were the only two men who had
borne the hardships and privations without grumbling,
nay, with Mark Tapleyean cheerfulness. That kind
of fortitude was at all times a passport to Nicholas'
heart, doubly so in this instance, by reason of Vernet's
by no means robust appearance. From that moment
Nicliolas became very attached to, and would often
send for, him. They would often converse on subjects
even more serious, and, one day, after the partition of
Poland, Nicholas proposed that Vernet should paint a
picture on the subject.
** 1 am afraid I cannot do it, sire," was the answer.
*' I have never painted a Christ on the cross."
"The moment I had said it," continued Vernet,
when he told me the story, which is scarcely known,
" I thought my last hour had struck. I am positively
certain that a Russian would have paid these words
with his life, or at least with lifelong exile to Siberia.
I shall never forget the look he gave me; there
was a murderous gleam in the eyes : but it was over
in an instant. Nevertheless, I feel convinced that
Nicholas was mad, and, what is more, I feel equally
convinced that there is incipient madness throughout
the whole of the Romanoff family. I saw a good
many of its members during my stay in Russia.
They all did and said things which would have landed
ordinary men and women in a lunatic asylum. At the
same time there was an unmistakable touch of genius
about some of them. I often endeavoured to discuss
the matter with the resident foreign physicians, but,
254 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
as you may imagine, they were very reticent. But
mark my words, one day there will be a terrible flare-
up. Of course, the foreigner, who sees the superstitious
reverence, the slavish respect with which they are
surrounded, scarcely wonders that these men and
women should, in the end, consider themselves above,
and irresponsible to, the millions of grovelling mortals
whom they rule ; in spite of all this, the question can
only be one of time, and when the Russian empire
falls, the cataclysm will be unlike any other that has
preceded it."
There was a comic side to Horace Vernet's character.
By dint of painting battle-pieces lie had come to con-
sider himself an authority on strategy and tactics, and
his criticisms on M. Thiers' system of fortifications
used to set us roaring. I am under the impression —
though I will not strictly vouch for it — that at the
recommendation of one or two of the inveterate jokers
of our set, Laurent-Jan * and Mery, he had a couple of
interviews with M. Thiers, but we never ascertained the
result of them. It is almost certain that the minister
of Louis-Pbilippe, who at one period of his life con-
sidered himself a Napoleon and a Vauban rolled into
one, did not entertain Vernet's suggestions with the
degree of entkusiasm to which he thought thera en-
titled ; at any rate, from that time, the mention of
M. Thiers' name generally provoked a contemptuous
shrug of the shoulders on Vernet's part. " C'est tout
a fait comme Napoleon et Jomini, mon cher Vernet,"
• Laurent-Jan was a witty, though incorrigibly idle journalist. He
is entirely forgotten now save by such men as MM. Arsbne Houssaye
and Roger de Beanvoir, who were his contemporaries. He was the
author of a clever parody on Kotzebue's " Menschenhasz und Reue."
known on the English stage as " The Stranger." — Editor.
A PROJECTED EPIC. 255
said Laurent- Jan ; *' mais, apr^s tout, qu*est que cela
V0U8 fait ? La post^rit^ jugera entre vous deux, elle
saura bien debrouiller la part que vous avez contribute
a ces travaux immortels."
Much as Horace Vernet admired his great contem-
poraries in art and literature, his greatest worship
was reserved for Alfred de Vigny, the soldier-poet,
though the latter was by no means a sympathetic
companion. Next to his society, which was rarely
to be had, he preferred that of Arthur Bertrand, the
son of Napoleon's companion in exile. Arthur Ber-
trand had an elder brother. Napoleon Bertrand, who,
at the storming of Constantino, put on a new pair of
white kid gloves, brought from Paris for the purpose.
Horace Vernet made at least fifty sketches of that
particular incident, but he never painted the picture.
"I could not do it justice," he said, when remonstrated
with for his procrastination. " I should fail to realize
the grandeur of the thing." Thereupon Laurent- Jan,
who had no bump of reverence, proposed a poem, in
80 many cantos, to be illustrated by Vernet. I give
the plan as developed by the would-be author.
1. The kid in its ancestral home among the moun-
tains. A mysterious voice from heaven tells it that
its skin will be required for a pair of gloves. The kid
objects, and inquires why the skin of some other kid
will not do as well. The voice reveals the glorious
purpose of the gloves. The kid consents, and at the
same moment a hunter appears in sight. The kid,
instead of taking to its heels, assumes a favourable
position to be shot. It makes a dying speech.
2. A glove-shop on the Boulevard. Enter Napoleon
Bertrand, asking for a pair of gloves. The girl tells
256 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
him that she has only one pair left, and communicates
the legend connected with it. The price is twenty
francs. Napoleon Bertrand demuT s at it, and tells her,
in his turn, what the gloves are wanted for. The girl
refuses to take the money, and her employer, overhear-
ing the conversation, dismisses her tliere and then. He
keeps the wages due to her as the price of the gloves.
Napoleon Bertrand puts the latter in his pocket, offers
the girl his arm, and invites her to breakfast in a
cabinet jparticulier, " en tout bien, en tout, honueur."
To prove his perfectly honourable intentions, he tells
her the story of Jeanne d'Arc. The girl's imagination
is fired by the recital, and after luncheon she goes in
search of a book on the subject. An unscrupulous,
dishonest second-hand bookseller palms off an edition
of Voltaire's " La Pucelle." The girl writes to Napo-
leon Bertrand to tell him that he has made a fool of
her, that Jeanne d'Arc was no better than she should
be, and that she is going to join the harem of the Bey
of Constantine.
8. Napoleon Bertrand stricken with remorse before
Constantine. Orders given for the assault. Napoleon
Bertrand looks for his gloves, and finds that they are
too small. He can just get them on, but cannot grasp
the handle of the sword. His servant announces a
mysterious stranger, a veiled female stranger. She is
admitted ; she has made her escape from the harem ;
a mysterious voice from heaven — the same that spoke
to the kid — having warned her the night before that
the gloves would be too small, and that she was to let
a piece in. Eeconciliation. Tableau. The bugles are
sounding " boot and saddle." Storming of Constantine.
I have reprodaced the words of Laurent- Jan; I
THE ABB6 COQUEREAU. 257
will not attempt to reproduce his manner, which was
simply inimitable. Horace Vernet and Arthur Ber-
trand shook with laughter, and the latter offered
Laurent-Jan to keep him for a twelvemonth if he
would write the poem. Jau consented, and lived
upon the fat of the land during that time, but the
poem never saw the light.
Arthur Bertrand was one of the most jovial fellows
of his time. He, Eugene Sue, and Latour-Mezerai
were the best customers of the florist on the Boule-
vards. It was he who accompanied the Prince de
Joinville to St. Helena to bring back the remains
of Napoleon. After their return, a new figure joined
our set now and then. It was the Abbe Coquereau,
the chaplain of "La Belle-Poule." The Abbe Coque-
reau was the first French Catholic priest who dis-
carded the gown and the shovel hat, and adopted that
of the English clergy. He was a charming man, and
by no means straight-laced, but he drew the line at
accompanying Arthur in his nightly perambulations.
One evening he, Arthur Bertrand, and Alexandre
Dumas were strolling along the Boulevards when the
latter tried to make the abb^ enter the Varietes. The
abbe held firm, or rather took to his heels.
In those days there were still a great many veterans
of the grande armee about, and a great deal of Horace
Vernet's money went in entertaining them at the
various cafes and restaurants — especially when he was
preparing sketches for a new picture. The ordinary
model, clever and eminently useful as he was at that
period, was willingly discarded for the old and bronzed
warrior of the Empire, some of whom were even then
returning from Africa. " They may just as well earn
VOL. I. s
258 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the money I pay the others," he said; consequently
it was not an unusual thing to see a general, a couple
of colonels, half a dozen captains, and as many ser-
geants and privates, all of whom had served under
Napoleon, in \'ernet's studio at the same time. Of
course the oflBcers were only too pleased to give their
services gratuitously, but Vernet had a curious way
of making up his daily budget. Twenty models at
four francs — for models earned no more then — eighty
francs. Fifteen of them refuse their pay. The eighty
francs to be divided between five. And the five
veterans enjoyed a magnificent income for weeks and
weeks at a time.
Truth compels me to state, however, that during
those weeks " the careful mother could not have taken
her daughter " to Vernet's studio. A couple of live
horses, not unfrequently three, an equal number of
stufied ones, camp kettles, broken limbers, pieces of
artillery, an overturned ammunition waggon, a col-
lection of uniforms, that would have made the fortune
of a costumier, scattered all over the place ; drums,
swords, guns and saddles : and, amidst this confusion,
a score of veterans, some of whom had been comrades-
in-arms and who seemed oblivious, for the time being,
of their hard-earned promotion in the company of
those who had been less lucky than they, every man
smoking his hardest and telling his best garrison story :
all these made up a scene worthy of Vernet himself,
but somewhat appalling to the civilian who happened
to come upon it unawares.
Vernet was never happier than when at work under
such circumstances. Perched on a movable scaffolding
or on a high ladder, he reminded one much more of
A PROFESSOR OF STREET MUSIC. 259
an acrobat than of a painter. Like Dumas, he could
work amidst a very Babel of conversation, but the
sound of music, however good, disturbed him. In
those days, itinerant Italian musicians and pifferari,
who have disappeared from the streets of Paris
altogether since the decree of expulsion of '81, were
numerous, and grew more numerous year by year. I,
for one, feel sorry for their disappearance, for I
remember having spent half a dozen most delightful
evenings listening to them.
The thing happened in this way. Though my
regular visits to the Quartier-Latin had ceased long
ago, I returned now and then to my old haunts during
the years '63 and '64, in company of a young English-
man who was finishing his medical studies in Paris,
who had taken up his quarters on the left bank of the
Seine, and who has since become a physician in very
good practice in the French capital He had been
specially recommended to me, and I was not too old
to enjoy an evening once a week or a fortnight among
my juniors. At a cafe, which has been demolished
since to make room for a much more gorgeous
establishment at the corners of the Boulevards Saint-
Michel and Saint-Germain, we used to notice an
elderly gentleman, scrupulously neat and exquisitely
clean, though his clothes were very threadbare. He
always sat at the same table to the right of the
counter. His cup of coffee was eked out by frequent
supplements of water, and meanwhile he was always
busy copying music — at least, so it seemed to us at
first. We soon came to a different conclusion, though,
because every now and then he would put down his
pen, lean back against the cushioned seat, look up at
260 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the ceiling and smile to himself — such a sweet smile ;
the smile of a poet or an artist, seeking inspiration
from the spirits supposed to be hovering now and
then about such.
That man was no copyist, but an obscure, un-
appreciated genius perhaps, biding his chance, hoping
against hope, meanwhile living a life of jealously
concealed dreams and hardship. For he looked sad
enough at the best of times, with a kind of settled
melancholy which apparently only one thing could
dispel — the advent of a couple or trio of pifferari.
Then his face would light up all of a sudden, he would
gently push his music away, speak to them in Italian,
asking them to play certain pieces, beating time with
an air of contentment which was absolutely touching
to behold. On the other hand, the young pifferari
appeared to treat him with greater deference than
they did the other customers; the little girl who
accompanied them was particularly eager for his
approval.
In a little while we became very friendly with the
old gentleman, and, one evening, he said, "If you
will be here next Wednesday, the pifferari will give
us something new."
On the evening in question he looked quite smart ;
he had evidently " fait des frais de toilette," as our
neighbours have it ; he wore a different coat, and his
big white neckcloth was somewhat more starched than
usual. He seemed quite excited. The pifferari, on
the other hand, seemed anxious and subdued. The
cafe was very full, for all the habitues liked the old
gentleman, and had made it a point of responding to
-his quasi-invitation. They were well rewarded, for I
A PARIS SAFFRON -HILL. 261
have rarely heard sweeter music. It was unlike any-
thing we were accustomed to hear from such musicians;
there was an old-world sound about it that went straight
to the heart, and when we looked at the old gentleman
amidst the genuine applause after the termination of
the first piece, there were two big tears coursing down
his wrinkled cheeks.
The piflferari came again and again, and though
they never appealed to him directly, we instinctively
guessed that there existed some connection between
them. All our efforts to get at the truth of the
matter were, however, in vain, for the old gentleman
was very reticent.
Meanwhile my young friend had passed his exami-
natioDS, and shifted his quarters to ray side of the
river. He did not abandon the Quartier-Latin alto-
gether, but my inquiries about the old musician met
with no satisfactory response. He had disappeared.
Nearly two years went by, when, one afternoon, he
called. "Come with me," he said; "I am going to
show you a curious nook of Paris which you do not
know, and take you to an old acquaintance whom you
will be pleased to see againj'
The " curious nook " of Paris still exists to a certain
extent, only the pifferari have disappeared from it. It
is situated behind the Pantheon, and is more original
than its London counterpart — Saffron Hill. It is like
a corner of old Eome, Florence, or Naples, without
the glorious Italian sun shining above it to lend
picturesqueness to the rags and tatters of its popu-
lation; swarthy desperadoes with golden rings in
their ears and on tlieir grimy fingers, their greasy,
soft felt hats cocked jauntily on their heads, or drawn
262 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
over the flashing dark eyes, before which their
womankind cower and shake ; old men who but for
the stubble on their chins would look like ancient
cameos ; girls with shapely limbs and handsome faces ;
middle-aged women who remind one of the witches
in Macbeth ; women younger still, who have neither
shape nor make ; urchins and little lassies who remind
one of the pictures of Murillo : in short, a population
of wood-carvers and modellers, vendors of plaster casts,
artist-models, sugar-bakers and mosaic-workers, living
in the streets the greater part of the day, retiring to
their wretched attics at night, sober and peaceful
generally, but desperate and unmanageable when in
their cups.
The cab stopped before a six-storied house which
had seen better days, in a dark, narrow street, into
which the light of day scarcely penetrated. The
moment we alighted we heard a charivari of string
instruments and voices, and as we ascended the steep,
slimy, rickety staircase the sound grew more distinct.
When we reached the topmost landing, my friend
knocked at one of the three or four doors, and, without
waiting for an answer, we entered. It was a scantily
furnished room with a bare brick floor, an old bedstead
in one corner, a few rush-bottomed chairs, and a deal
table; but everything was scrupulously clean. Behind
the table, a cotton nightcap on his head, his tall thin
frame wrapt in an old overcoat, stood our old friend,
the composer ; in front, half a dozen urchins, in cos-
tumes vaguely resembling those of the Calabrian
peasantry, grimy like coalheavers, their black hair
standing on end with attention, were rehearsing a
new piece of music. Then I understood it all. He
THE professor's DEATH. 263
was the professor of pifferari, an artist for all that,
an unappreciated genius, perhaps, who, rather thau
not be heard at all, introduced a composition of his
own into their hackneyed programme, and tasted the
sweets of popularity, without the accompanying
rewards which, nowadays, popularity invariably brings.
This one had known Paisiello and Eossini, had been
in the thick of the excitement on the first night of
the " Barbiere," and had dreamt of similar triumphs.
Perhaps his genius was as much entitled to them as
that of the others, but he had loved not wisely, but
too well, and when he awoke from the love-dream, he
was too ruined in body and mind to be able to work
for the realization of the artistic one. He would
accept no aid. Three years later, we carried him to
his grave. A simple stone marks the place in the
cemetery of Montparnasse.
264 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTER IX.
Louis-Philippe and his family — An unpublished theatrical skit on his
mania for shaking hands with every one — ^His art of governing,
according to the same skit — Louis-Philippe not the ardent
admirer of the bourgeoisie he professed to be — The Faubourg
Saint-Germain deserts the Tuileries — The English in too great a
majority — Lord 's opinion of the dinners at the Tuileries —
The attitude of the bourgeoisie towards Louis-Philippe, accord-
ing to the King himself— Louis-Philippe's wit — His final words
on the death of Talleyrand — His love of money — He could be
generous at times — A story of the Palais-Koyal — Louis-Philippe
and the Marseillaise — Two curious stories connected with
tlie Marseillaise — Who was the composer of it ? — Louis-
Philippe's opinion of the throne, the crown, and the sceptre of
France as additions to one's comfort — His children, and espe-
cially his sons, take things more easily — Even the Bonapartists
admired some of the latter — A mot of an Imperialist — How the
boys were brought up - Their nocturnal rambles later on — The
King himself does not seem to mind those escapades, but is
frightened at M. Guizot hearing of them — Louis-Philippe did
not understand Guizot — The recollection of his former misery
frequently haunts the King — He worries Queen Victoria with his
fear of becoming poor — Louis-Philippe an excellent husband and
father — He wants to write the libretto of an opera on an English
subject — His religion — The court receptions ridiculous — Even the
proletariat sneer at them — The entree of the Duchesse d'Orleans
into Paris — The scene in the Tuileries gardens — A mot of Prin-
cesse Ole'mentine on her father's too paternal solicitude — A prac-
tical joke of the Prince de Joinville — His caricatures and drawings
— The children inherited their talent for drawing and modelling
from their mother — The Due de Nemours as a miniature and water-
colour painter — Suspected of being a Legitimist — All Louis-
Philippe's children great patrons of art — How the bourgeoisie
looked upon their intercourse with artists — The Due de Nemours'
marvellous memory — The studio of Eugfene Larai — His neigh-
bours, Paul Delaroche and Honor^ de Balzac — The Due de
Nemours* bravery called in question — The Due d'Aumale's ex-
ploits in Algeria considered mere skirmishes — A curious story of
spiritism — The Due d'Aumale a greater favourite with the world
than any of the other sons of Louis-Philippe — His wit — The Due
d'Orleans also a great favourite — His visits to Decamps* studio
AN UNPUBLISHED PLAY. 265
— An indifferent classical scholar — A curious kind of black-mail
— His indifference to money — There is no money in a Kepublio —
His death — A witty reply to the Legitimists.
As will appear by-and-by, I was an eye-witness of a
good many incidents of the Eevolulion of '48, and
a great many more have been related to me by friends,
whose veracity was and still is beyond suspicion.
Neither they nor I have ever been able to establish a
sufficiently valid political cause for that upheaval.
Perhaps it was because we were free from the preju-
dices engendered by what, for want of a better term,
I must call " dynastic sentiment." We were not
blind to the faults of Louis-Philippe, but we refused
to look at them through the spectacles supplied in
turns by the Legitimists, the Imperialists, and Re-
publicans. How far these spectacles were calculated
to improve people's vision, the following specimen
will show.
I have lying before me a few sheets of quarto paper,
sewn together in a primitive way. It is a manuscript
skit, in the form of a theatrical duologue, professing
to deal with the king's well-known habit of shaking
hands with every one with, whom he came in contact.
The dramatis personas are King Fip I., Eoi des
Epiciers-read, King of the Philistines or Shopkeepers,
and his son and heir, Grand Poulot (Big Spooney).
The monarch is giving the heir-apparent a lesson in
the art of governing. " Do not be misled," he says,
*' by a parcel of theorists, who will tell you that the
citizen-monarchy is based upon the sovereign will of
the people, or upon the strict observance of the
Charter ; this is merely so much drivel from the poli-
tical Rights or Lefts. In reality, it does not signify a
266 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
jot whether France be free at home and feared and
respected abroad, whether the throne be hedged round
with republican institutions or supported by an heredi-
tary peerage, whether the language of her statesmen
be weighty and the deeds of her soldiers heroic. The
citizen-monarchy and the art of governing consist of
but one thing — the capacity of the principal ruler for
shaking hands with any and every ragamuffin and
out-of-elbows brute he meets." Thereupon King Fip
shows his son how to shake hands in every conceivable
position — on foot, on horseback, at a gallop, at a trot,
leaning out of a carriage, and so forth. Grand Poulot
is not only eager to learn, but ambitious to improve
upon his sire's method. " How would it do, dad," he
asks, " if, in addition to shaking hands with them, one
inquired after their health, in the second person
singular — ' Comment vas tu, mon vieux cochon ? ' or,
better still, * Comment vas tu, mon vieux citoyen ? ' "
" It would do admirably," says papa ; " but it does
not matter whether you say cochon or citoyen, the
terms are synonymous."
I am inclined to think that beneath this rather
clever banter there was a certain measure of truth.
Louis-Philippe was by no means the ardent admirer
of the bourgeoisie he professed to be. He did not
foster any illusions with regard to their intellectual
worth, and in his inmost heart he resented their
so-called admiration of him, which he knew to be
would-be patronage under another name. They had
formed a hedge round him which prevented any
attempt on his part at conciliating his own caste, the
old noblesse. It is doubtful whether he would have
been successful, especially in the earlier years of his
louis-philippe's court. 267
reign ; but their ostracism of him and his family
rankled in his mind, and found vent now and again in
an epigram that stung the author as much as the
party against which it was directed. " There is more
difficulty in getting people to my court entertain-
ments from across the Seine than from across the
Channel," he said.
The fact is, that the whole of the Faubourg St.-
Germain was conspicuous by its absence from the
Tuileries in those days, and that the English were in
rather too great a majority. They were not always a
distinguished company. I was little more than a lad
at this time, but I remember Lord *s invariable
answer when his friends asked him what the dinner
had been like, and whether he had enjoyed himself :
" The dinner was like that at a good table-d'hote, and I
enjoyed myself as I would enjoy myself at a good
hotel in Switzerland or at Wiesbaden, where the pro-
prietor knew me personally, and had given orders to
the head waiter to look after my comforts. But," he
added, " it is, after all, more pleasant dining there,
when the English are present. At any rate, there is
no want of respect. When the French sit round the
table, it is not like a king dining with his subjects,
but like half a hundred kings dining with one subject."
Allowing for a certain amount of exaggeration, there
was a good deal of truth in the remarks, as I found
out afterwards. " The bourgeoisie in their attitude
towards me," said Louis-Philippe, one day, to the
English nobleman I have just quoted, " are always
reminding me of Adalberon of Bheims with Hugues
Capet : * Qui t'as fait roi ? * asked the bishop. * Qui
t'as fait due ? ' retorted the king. I have made
268 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
them dukes to a p^reater extent, though, than they
have made me king,"
For Louis-Philippe was a witty king — wittier, per-
haps, than any that had sat on the throne of France
since Henri IV. Some of his mots have become his-
torical, and even his most persistent detractors have
been unable to convict him of plagiarism with regard
to them. What he specially excelled in was the " mot
de la fin " anglice — the clenching of an argument, such
as, for instance, his final remark on the death of
Talleyrand. He had paid him a visit the day before.
When the news of the prince's death was brought to
him, he said, "Are you sure he is dead?"
" Very sure, sire," was the answer. " Why, did not
your majesty himself notice yesterday that he was
dying?"
"I did, but there is no judging from appearances
with Talleyrand, and I have been asking myself for
the last four and twenty hours what interest he could
possibly have in departing at this particular moment."
To those who knew Louis-Philippe personally, it
was very patent that he disliked those who had been
instrumental in setting hira on the throne, and who,
under the cloak of " liberty, fraternity, and equality,"
were seeking their own interest only, namely, the
bourgeoisie. He knew their quasi-goodwill to him to
be so much sheer hypocrisy, and perhaps he and they
were too much alike in some respects, in their love of
money for the sake of hoarding it. It was, perhaps,
the only serious failing that could be laid to the
charge of the family, because none of its members,
with the exception of the Due d'Orleans, were entirely
free from it. It must not be inferred, though, that
louis-philippe's charity. 269
Louis-Philippe kept his purse closed to really
deserving cases of distress. Far from it. I have the
following story from my old tutor, to whom I am, more-
over, indebted for a great many notes, dealing with
events of which I could not possibly have had any
knowledge but for him.
In 1829 the greater part of the Galerie d'Orl^ans
in the Palais-Koyal was completed. The unsightly
wooden booths had been taken down, and the timber
must have been decidedly worth a small fortune.
Several contractors made very handsome offers for it,
but Louis-Philippe (then Due d'Orleans) refused to
sell it. It was to be distributed among the poor of
the neighbourhood for fuel for the ensuing winter,
which threatened to be a severe one. One day, when
the duke was inspecting the works in company of his
steward, an individual, who was standing a couple of
yards away, began to shout at the top of his voice,
" Vive Louis-Philippe ! " " Go and see what the
fellow wants, for assuredly he wants something," said
the duke, who was a Voltairean in his way, and had
interpreted the man's enthusiasm aright. Papa
Sournois was one of those nondescripts for whom even
now there appear to be more resources in the French
capital than elsewhere. At the period in question he
mainly got his living by selling contre-marques
(checks) at the doors of the theatre. He had heard
of the duke's intention with regard to the wood, hence
his enthusiastic cry of " Vive Louis-Philippe ! " A
cartload of wood was sent to his place ; papa Sournois
converted it into money, and got drunk with the
proceeds for a fortnight. When the steward, horribly
scandalized, told the duke of the results of his bene-
270 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
volence, the latter merely laughed, and sent for the
wife, who made her appearance accompanied by a young
brood of five. The duke gave her a five-franc piece,
and told her to apply to the concierge of the Palais-
Koyal for a similar sum every day during the winter
months. Of course, five francs a day was not as much
as a drop of water out of the sea when we consider
Louis-Philippe*s stupendous income, and yet, when
the Tuileries were sacked in 1848, documents upon
documents were found, compiled with the sole view of
saving a few francs per diem out of the young princes'
" keep."
'* I am so sick of the word * fraternity,' " said Prince
Metternich, after his return from France, "that, if I had
a brother, I should call him cousin." Though it was
to the strains of the Marseillaise that Louis-Philippe
had been conducted to the H6tel-de-Ville on the day
when Lafayette pointed to him as "the best of all
republics," a time came when Louis-Philippe got
utterly sick of the Marseillaise.
But what was he to do, seeing that his attempt at
introducing a new national hymn had utterly failed ?
The mob refused to sing " La Parisienne," composed
by Casimir de la Vigne, after Alexandre Dumas had
refused to write a national hymn ; and they, moreover,
insisted on the King joining in the chorus of the old
hymn, as he had hitherto done on all public occasions.*
They had grumblingly resigned themselves to his
* When there was no public occasion, his political antagonists or
merely practical jokers who knew of his dislike invented one, like
Edouard d'Ourliac, a well-known journalist and the author of several
novels, who, whenever he had nothing better to do, recruited a band
of street arabs to go and sing the Marseillaise under the king's
windows. They kept on singing until Louis-Philippe, in sheer self-
defence, was obliged to come out and join in the song. — Editor.
LOUIS-PHILIPPE AND THE MARSEILLAISE. 271
beating time no longer, but any further refnsal of bis
co-operation might have been resented in a less
peaceful fashion. On the other hand, there was the
bourgeoisie who were of opinion that, now that the
monarchy had entered upon a more conservative
period, the intoning of the hymn, at any rate on the
sovereign's part, was out of place, and savoured too
much of a republican manifestation. ** It was Guizot
who told him so," said Lord , who had been stand-
ing on the balcony of the Tuileries on the occasion of
the king's " saint's day," * and had heard the minister
make the remark.
" And what did the king reply ? " was the question.
" Do not worry yourself, monsieur le ministre ; I am
only moving my lips ; I have ceased to pronounce the
words for many a day."
These were the expedients to which Louis-Philippe
was reduced before he had been on the throne half
a dozen years. "I am like the fool between two
stools," observed the king in English, afterwards, when
speaking to Lord , " only I happen to be between
the comfortably stuffed easy-chair of the bourgeois
drawing-room and the piece of furniture seated on
which Louis XIV. is said to have received the Dutch
ambassadors."
While speaking of the Marseillaise, here are two
stories in connection with it which are not known to
the general reader. The first was told to me by the
old tutor already mentioned ; the second aroused a
great deal of literary curiosity in the year 1860, and
bears the stamp of truth on the face of it. It was,
* In France it is the Patron Saint's day, not the birthday, that is
kept.
272 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
however, never fully investigated, or, at any rate, the
results of the investigation were never published.*
" We were aU more or less aware," said my infor-
mant, " that Eouget de I'lsle was not the author of the
whole of the words of the Marseillaise. But none of
us in Lyons, where I was born, knew who had written
the last strophe, commonly called the 'strophe of
the children,' and I doubt whether they were any
wiser in Paris. Some of my fellow-students — for I
■was nearly eighteen at that time — credited Andre
Chenier with the authorship of the last strophe, others
ascribed it to Louis-Franpois Dubois, the poetf
All this was, however, so much guess-work, when, one
day during the Keign of Terror, the report spread
that a ci-devant priest, or rather a priest who had
refused to take the oath to the Eepublic, had been
caught solemnizing a religious marriage, and that he
was to be brought before the Kevolutionary Tribunal
that same afternoon. Though you may not think so,
merely going by what you have read, the appearance
of a priest before the Tribunal always aroused more
than common interest, nor have you any idea what
more than common interest meant in those days. A
priest to the Revolutionaries and to the Terrorists,
they might hector and bully as they liked, was not
an ordinary being. They looked upon him either as
something better than a man or worse than a devil.
They had thrown the religious compass they had
* I have inserted them here in order not to fall into repetitions on
the same subject. — Editor.
t Louis-Francois Dubois, the author of several heroic poems,
" Ankarstrom," " Genevieve et Siegfried," etc., which are utterly
forgotten. His main title to the recollection of posterity consists in
his having saved, during the Revolution, a great many literary works
of value, which he returned to the State afterwards. — Editob.
A STORY OF THE MARSEILLAISE. 273
brought from home with them overboard, and they had
not the philosophical one to take its place. You may
work out the thing for yourself; at any rate, the place
was crammed to suflfocation when we arrived at the
Hotel de Ville. It was a large room, at the upper end
of which stood an oblong table, covered with a black
cloth. Seated around it were seven self-constituted
judges. Besides their tricolour scarfs round their
waists, they wore, suspended by a ribbon from their
necks, a small silver axe.
"As a rule there was very little speechifying, *La
mort sans phrase,' which had become the fashion
since Louis XVI.'s execution, was strictly adhered to.
Half a dozen prisoners were brought in and taken
away without arousing the slightest excitement,
either in the way of commiseration or hatred. After
having listened, the judges either extended their hands
on the table or put them to their foreheads. The first
movement meant acquittal and liberation, the second
death; not always by the guillotine though, for the
instrument was not perfect as yet, and did not work
sufficiently quickly to please them. All at once the
priest was brought in, and a dead silence prevailed.
He was not a very old man, though his hair was snow-
white.
" * Who art thou ? ' asked the president.
" The prisoner drew himself up to his full height. ' I
am the Abbe Pessoneaux, a former tutor at the college
at Vienne, and the author of the last strophe of the
Marseillaise,' he said quietly.
" I cannot convey to you the impression produced
by those simple words. The silence became positively
oppressive ; you could hear the people breatiie. The
VOIi. I. T
274! AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
president did not say another word ; the priest's reply
had apparently stunned him also : he merely turned
round to his fellow-judges. Soldiers and gaolers stood
as if turned into stone ; every eye was directed towards
the table, watching for the movement of the judges'
hands. Slowly and deliberately they stretched them
forth, and then a deafening cheer rang through the
room. The Abbe Pessoneaux owed his life to his
strophe, for, though his story was not questioned then,
it was proved true in every particular. On their way
to Paris to be present at the taking of the Tuileries on
the 10th of August, the Marseillais had stopped at
Vienne to celebrate the Fete of the Federation. On
the eve of their arrival the Abbe Pessoneaux had
composed the strophe, and but for his seizure the
authorship would have always remained a matter of
conjecture, for Eouget de I'lsle would have never
had the honesty to acknowledge it."
My tutor was right, and I owe him this tardy
apology ; it appears that, after all, Kouget de I'lsle had
not the honesty to acknowledge openly his indebted-
ness to those who made his name immortal, and that
his share in the Marseillaise amounts to the first
six strophes. He did not write a single note of
the music. The latter was composed by Alexandre
Boucher, the celebrated violinist, in 1790, in the
drawing-room of Madame de Mortaigne, at the request
of a colonel whom the musician had never met before,
whom he never saw again. The soldier was starting
next morning with his regiment for IMarseilles, and
pressed Boucher to write him a march there and then.
Rouget de I'lsle, an officer of engineers, having been
imprisoned in 1791, for having refused to take a
WHO WROTE THE MUSIC? 275
second oath to the Constitution, heard the march from
his cell, and, at the instance of his gaoler, adapted
the words of a patriotic hymn he was then writing
to it.
One may fancy the surprise of Alexandre Boucher,
when he heard it sung everywhere and recognized it
as his own composition, though it had been somewhat
altered to suit the words. But the pith of the story
is to come. I give it in the very words of Boucher
himself, as he told it to a Paris journalist whom I
knew well.
" A good many years afterwards, I was seated next
to Rouget de I'lsle at a dinner-party in Paris. We
had never met before, and, as you may easily imagine,
I was rather interested in the gentleman, whom, with
many others at the same board, I complimented on
his production ; only I confined myself to compliment-
ing him on his poem.
" * You don't say a word about the music,' he replied ;
* and yet, being a celebrated musician, that ought to
interest you. Do not you like it ? '
"'Very much indeed,' I said, in a somewhat
significant tone.
" * Well, let me be frank with you. The music is
not mine. It was that of a march which came.
Heaven knows whence, and which they kept on
playing at Marseilles during the Terror, when I was
a prisoner at the fortress of St. Jean. I made a few
alterations necessitated by the words, and there it is.'
"Thereupon, to his great surprise, I hummed the
march as I had originally written it.
" * Wonderful ! ' he exclaimed ; ' how did you come
by it ? ' he asked.
276 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
"When I told him, he threw himself round my
neck. But the next moment he said —
" ' I am very sorry, my dear Boucher, but I am afraid
that you will be despoiled for ever, do what you will ;
for your music and my words go so well together, that
they seem to have sprung simultaneously from the
same brain, and the world, even if I proclaimed my
indebtedness to you, would never believe it.'
"' Keep the loan,' I said, moved, in spite of myself, by
his candour. ' Without your genius, my march would
be forgotten by now. You have given it a patent of
nobility. It is yours for ever.' "
I return to Louis-Philippe, who, at the time of my
tutor's story, and for some years afterwards, I only
knew from the reports that were brought home to us.
Of course, I saw him several times at a distance, at
reviews and on popular holidays, and I was surprised
that a king of whom every one spoke so well in private,
who seemed to have so much cause for joy and happi-
ness in his own family, should look so careworn and
depressed in public. For, young as I was, I did not
fail to see that, beneath the calm and smiling exterior,
there was a great deal of hidden grief. But I was
too young to understand the deep irony of his reply
to one of my relatives, a few months before his
accession to the throne : " The crown of France is too
cold in winter, too warm in summer ; the sceptre is too
blunt as a weapon of defence or attack, it is too short
as a stick to lean upon : a good felt hat and a strong
umbrella are at all times more useful." Above all,
I was too young to understand the temper of the
French where their rulers were concerned, and though,
at the time of my writing these notes, I have lived for
lotjis-philippe's children. 277
fifty years amongst them, I doubt whether I could
give a succinct psychological account of their mental
attitude towards their succeeding regimes, except by
borrowing the words of one of their cleverest country-
women, Madame Emile de Girardin : " When Mar-
shal Soult is in the Opposition, he is acknowledged
to have won the battle of Toulouse ; when he belongs
to the Government, he is accused of having lost it."
Since then the Americans have coined a word for that
state of mind — " cussedness."
Louis-Philippe's children, and especially his sono,
some of whom I knew personally before I had my first
invitation to the Tuileries, seemed to take matters
more cheerfully. Save the partisans of the elder
branch, no one had a word to say against them. On
the contrary, even the Bonapartists admired their
manly and straightforward bearing. I remember
being at Tortoni's one afternoon when the Due
d'Orleans and his brother, the Due de Nemours, rode
by. Two of my neighbours, unmistakable Imperialists,
and old soldiers by their looks, stared very hard at
them ; then one said, " Si le petit au lieu de filer
le parfait amour partout, avait mis tons ses ceufs dans
le meme panier, il aurait eu des grands comme cela et
nous ne serious pas dans Tim passe ou nous sommes."
" Mon cher,'* replied the other, " des grands comme
cela ne se font qu'a loisir, pas entre deux campagnes." *
The admiration of these two veterans was perfectly
♦ It reminde one of the answer of the younger Dumas to a gentleman
whose wife had been notorious for her conjugal faithlessness, and
whose sons were all weaklings. " Ah, Monsieur Dumas, c'est un fila
comme voub qu'il me fallait," he exclaimed. "Mon cher monsieur,"
came the reply, " quand on yeut aroir un file comme moi, 11 faut le
faire 8oi-m6me." — JBditob.
278 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
justified : they were very handsome young men, the
sons of Louis- Philippe, and notably the two elder ones,
thougfh the Due d'Orleans was somewhat more delicate-
looking than his brother, De Nemours. The boys had
all been brought up very sensibly, perhaps somewhat
too strict for their position. They all went to a public
scliool, to the College Henri IV., and I remember
well, about the year '38, when I had occasion of a
morning to cross the Pont-Neuf, where there were
still stalls and all sorts of booths, seeing the blue-and-
yellow carriage with the royal livery. It contained
the Dues d'Aumale and de Montpensier, who had not
finished their studies at that time.
But though strictly brought up, they were by no
means milksops, and what, for want of a better term,
I may call " mother's babies : " quite the reverse. It
was never known how they managed it, but at night,
when they were supposed to be at home, if not in bed,
they were to be met with at all kinds of public places,
notably at the smaller theatres, such as the Vaude-
ville, the Varietes, and the Palais-Royal, one of which,
at any rate, was a goodly distance from the Tuileries.
It was always understood that the King knew nothing
about these little escapades, but I am inclined to
doubt this : I fancy he connived at them ; because,
when Lord told him casually one day that he had
met his sons the night before, Louis-Philippe seemed
not in the least surprised, he only anxiously asked,
"Where?"
" At the C&U de Paris, your majesty."
The king seemed relieved. " That's all right," he
said, laughing. " As long as they do not go into places
where they are likely to meet with Guizot, I don't
louis-philippe's dread of poverty. 279
mind ; for if he saw them out in the evening, it might
cost me my throne. Guizot is so terribly respectable.
I am afraid there is a mistake either about his
nationality or about his respectability; they are badly
matched."
The fact is, that though Louis-Philippe admired and
respected Guizot, he failed to understand him. To the
most respectable of modern kings — not even Charles I.
and William III. excepted — if by respectability we
mean an unblemisiied private life — Guizot's respect-
ability was an enigma. The man who, in spite of his
advice to others, " Enrichissez vous, enrichissez vous,"
was as poor at the end of his ministerial career
as at the beginning, must have necessarily been a
puzzle to a sovereign who, with a civil list of
£750,000, was haunted by the fear of poverty, and
haunted to such a degree as to harass his friends and
counsellors with his apprehensions. " My dear
minister," he said one day to Guizot, after he had
recited a long list of his domestic charges — " My dear
minister, I am telling you that my children will be
wanting for bread." The recollection of his former
misery uprose too frequently before him like a horrible
nightmare, and made him the first bourgeois instead of
the first gentilhomme of the kingdom, as his prede-
cessors had been. When a tradesman drops a shilling
and does not stoop to pick it up, his neglect becomes
almost culpable improvidence; when a prince drops a
sovereign and looks for it, the deed may be justly
qualified as mean. The leitmotif of Louis-Philippe's
conversation, witty and charming as it was, par-
took of the avaricious spirit of a Thomas Guy and
a John Overs rather than of that of the great adven-
280 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
turer John Law. The chinking of the money-bags is
audible through both, but in the one case the orches-
tration is strident, disagreeable, depressing; in the
other, it is generous, overflowing with noble impulses,
and cheering. I recollect that during my stay at
Treport and Eu, in 1843, when Queen Victoria paid
her visit to Louis-Phih'ppe, the following story was
told to me. Lord and I were quartered in a
little hostelry on the Place du Chateau. One morn-
ing Lord came home laughing till he could
laugh no longer. '* What do you think the King has
done now ? " he asked. I professed my inability to
guess. " About an hour ago, he and Queen Victoria
were walking in the garden, when, with true French
politeness, he offered her a peach. The Queen seemed
rather embarrassed how to skin it, when Louis-Philippe
took a large clasp-knife from his pocket. 'When a
man has been a poor devil like myself, obliged to live
upon forty sous a day, he always carries a knife. I
miglit have dispensed with it for the last few years ;
still, I do not wish to lose the habit — one does not
know what may happen,' he said. Of course, the tears
stood in the Queen's eyes. He really ought to know
better than to obtrude his money worries upon every
one."
I must confess that I was not as much surprised
as my interlocutor, who, however, had known Louis-
Philippe much longer than L Not his worst enemies
could have accused the son of Philippe Egalite of being
a coward : the bulletins of Valmy, Jemmappes, and
Neerwinden would have proved the contrary. But the
contempt of physical danger on the battle-field does not
necessarily constitute heroism in the most elevated sense
louis-philippe's religion. 281
of tbe term, although the world in general frequently
accepts it as such. A man can die but once, and the
semi-positivism, semi-Voltaireanism of Louis-Philippe
had undoubtedly steeled him against the fear of death.
His religion, throughout life, was not even skin-deep ;
and when he accepted the last rites of the Church on
his death-bed, he only did so in deference to his wife.
" Ma femme, es-tu contente de moi ? " were his words
the moment the priests were gone.
Nevertheless, he was too good a husband to grieve
his wife, who was deeply religious, by any needless
display of unbelief He always endeavoured, as far as
possible, to find an excuse for staying away from
churcli. He, as well as the female members of his
family, were very fond of music ; and Adam, the com-
poser, was frequently invited to come and play for them
in the private apartments. In fact, after his abdica-
tion, he seriously intended to write, in conjunction with
Scribe, the libretto of an opera on an English historical
subject, the music of whidh should be composed by
Halevy. The composer of " La Juive " and the author
of " Les Hugenots " came over once to consult with the
King, whose death/ a few mjonths later, put an end to
the scheme.
On the occasion of Adam's visits the princesses
worked at their embroidery, while the King often stood
by the side of the performer. Just about that period
the chamber organ was introduced, and, on the recom-
mendation of Adam, one was ordered for the Tuileries.
The first time Louis-Philippe heard it played he was
delighted : " This will be a distinct gain to our rural
congregations," he said. " There must be a great many
people who, like myself, stay away from church on
282 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
account of their objection to tliat horrible instrument,
the serpent. Is it not so, my wife ? "
The ideal purpose of life, if ever he possessed it, had
been crushed out of him — first, by his governess,
Madame de Genlis'; secondly, by the dire poverty he
suffered during his exile : and, notwithstanding all that
has been said to the contrary, France wanted at that
moment an ideal ruler, not the rational father of a
large family who looked upon his monarchy as a suit-
able means of providing for them. He was an usurper
without the daring, the grandeur, the lawlessness of
the usurper. The lesson of Napoleon I.'s method
had been thrown away upon him, as the lesson of
Napoleon III.'s has been thrown away upon his grand-
son. When I said France, I made a mistake, — I
should have said Paris ; for since 1789 there was no
longer a King of France, there was only a King of
Paris. Such a thing as a Manchester movement, as a
Manchester school of politics, would have been and is
still an impossibility in France.
And, unfortunately, Paris, which had applauded the
glorious mise-en-scene of the First Empire, which had
even looked on approvingly at some of the pomp and
state of Louis XVIII. and Charles X., jeered at Louis-
Philippe and his court with its ridiculous gatherings
of tailors, drapers, and bootmakers, " ces gardes nation-
aux d'un pays oii il n'y a plus rien de national a
garder," and their pretentious spouses " qui," according
to the Duchesse de la Tremoille, "ontplus de chemises
que nos aieules avaient des robes." * She and the
* She had unconsciously borrowed the words from the Duchesse de
Coislin, who, under similar circumstances a few years before, said to
Madame de Chateaubriand, " Oela sent la parvenue ; nous autres,
femmes de la cour, nous n'avions que deux chemises ; on les renou-
LOUIS-PHILIPPE AND THE NOBLESSE. 283
Princesse Bap;ration were tlie only female representa-
tives of the Faubourg St. Germain who attended these
gatherings ; for the Countess Le Hon, of whom I may-
have occasion to speak again, and who was the only
other woman at these receptions that could lay claim
to any distinction, was by no means an aristocrat.
And be it remembered that in those days ridicule had
still the power to kill.
Nor was the weapon wielded exclusively by the
aristocracy ; the lower classes could be just as satirical
against the new court element. I was in the Tuileries
gardens on that first Sunday in June, 1837, when the
Duchesse d'Orleans made her entree into Paris. The
weather was magnificent, and the set scene — as distin-
guished from some of the properties, to use a theatrical
expression — in keeping with the weather. The crowd
itself was a pleasure to look at, as it stood in serried
masses behind the National Guards and the regular
infantry lining the route of the procession from the
Arc de Triomphe to the entrance of the Chateau. All
at once an outrider passes, covered with dust, and the
crowd presses forward to get a better view. A woman
of the people, in her nice white cap, comes into some-
what violent contact with an elegantly dressed elderly
lady, accompanied by her daughter. The woman,
instead of apologizing, says aloud that she wishes to
see the princess : " You will have the opportunity of
seeing her at court, mesdames," she adds. The
elegant lady vouclisafes no reply, but turns to her
daughter : " The good woman," says the latter, shrug-
velait quand elles ^taient us^es ; nous ^tions vetuea de robes de soie et
nous n'avioDs pas I'air de grisettes comme ces demoiselles de mainte-
naat." — Editob.
284 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
ging her shoulders, " is evidently not aware that she
has got a much greater chance of going to that court
than we have. She has only got to marry some grocer
or other tradesman, and she will be considered a grande
dame at once." Then the procession passes — first the
National Guards on horseback, then the king and M".
de Montalivet, followed by Princesse Helene, with her
young husband riding by the side of the carriage. So
far so good : the first three or four carriages were more
or less handsome, but Heaven save us from the rest, as
well as from their occupants ! They positively looked
like some of those wardrobe-dealers so admirably
described by Balzac.
When all is over, the woman of the people turns to
the elegant lady: "I ask your pardon, ipadame ; it
was really not worth while hurting you. If these are
grandes dames, I prefer les petites whom I see in my
neighbourhood, the Eue Notre-Dame de Lorette.
Comme elles etaient attifees ! " — Angliee, '* What a lot
of frumps they looked ! "
In fact, Louis-Philippe and his queen sinned most
grievously by overlooking the craving of the Parisians
for pomp and display. No one was better aware of
this than his children, notably the Duo d'Orleans,
Princess Clementine,* and the Due de Nemours. They
* The mother of Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, the present niler
of Bulgaria. She was a particular favourite of Queen Victoria, and
Louis-Philippe himself not only considered her the cleverest of his
three daughters, but the most likely successor to his sister Adelaide,
as his private adviser. That the estimate of her abilities was by no
means exaggerated, subsequent events have proved. The last time I
saw the princess was at the garden party at Sheen-House, on the
occasion of the silver wedding of the Count and Countess de Paris. I
did not remember her for the moment, for a score of years had made a
difference. I asked an Austrian attache who she was. The answer
came pat, "Alexander III.'S nightmare, Francis-Joseph's bogy, and
Bismarck's sleeping draught ; one of the three clever women in Europe;
Bulgaria's mother." — Editob.
THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE AND HIS SISTER. 285
called him familiarly "le pere." "II est trop pere," said
the princess in private ; " il fait concurrence au Pere
Eternel." She was a very clever girl — perhaps a
great deal cleverer than any of her brothers, the Solon
of the family, the Due de Nemours, included — but
very fond of mischief and pnictical joking. She found
her match, though, in her brother, the Prince de
Joinville, the son of Louis-Philippe of whom France
heard most and saw least, for he was a sailor. One day,
his sister asked him to bring her a complete dress of a
Red-Skin chieftain's wife. His absence was shorter
than usual, and, a few days before his return, he told
her in a letter that he had the costume she wanted.
" Here, Clementine, this is for you," he said, at his
arrival, putting a string of glass beads on the table.
" Very pretty," said Clementine, " but you promised
me a complete dress."
" This is the complete dress. I never saw them
wear any other."
I did not see the Prince de Joinville very often,
perhaps two or three times in all ; once on the occasion
of his marriage with Princess Fran9oise de Bourbon,
the daughter of Dom Pedro I. of Brazil, and sister of
the present emperor, when tlie prince brought his
young bride to Paris. He was a clever draughtsman
and capital caricaturist ; but if the first of these talents
proved an unfailing source of delight to his parents,
the second frequently inspired them with terror,
especially his father, who never knew which of his
ministers might become the next butt for his tliird son's
pencil. I have seen innumerable sketches, ostensibly
done to delight his young wife and brothers, which,
had they been published, would have been much more
286 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
telling against his father's pictorial satirists than any-
thing they produced against the sovereign. For in
those days, whatever wisdom or caution they may have
learnt afterwards, the sons of Louis-Philippe were by
no means disposed to sit down tamely under the insults
levelled at the head of their house. In fact, nearly
the whole of Louis-Philippe's children had graphic
talents of no mean order. The trait came to them
from their mother, who was a very successful pupil of
Angelica Kauffman. Princesse Marie, who died so
young, executed a statue of Jeanne d'Arc, which was
considered by competent judges, not at all likely to
be influenced by the fact of the artist's birth, a very
creditable piece of work indeed. I never saw it, so I
cannot say, but I have seen some miniatures by the
Due de Nemours, which might fairly rank with per-
formances by the best masters of that art, short of
genius.
It is a curious, but nevertheless admitted fact that
the world has never done justice to the second son
of Louis-Philippe. He was not half as great a
favourite with the Parisians as his elder brother,
although, in virtue of his remarkable likeness to Henri
IV., whom the Parisians still worship — probably be-
cause he is dead, — he ought to have commanded their
sympathies. This lukewarraness towards the Due de
Nemours has generally been ascribed by the partisans
of the Orleanist dynasty to his somewhat reticent dis-
position, which by many people was mistaken for
hauteur. I rather fancy it was because he was suspected
of being his father's adviser, and, what was worse,
his father's adviser in a reactionary sense. He was
accused of being an anti-parliamentarian, and he never
THE DUG DE NEMOUES. 287
took the trouble to refute the charge, probably because
he was too honest to tell a lie.* I met the Due de
Nemours for the first time in the studio of a painter,
Eugene Lami, just as I met his elder brother in that
of Decamps. In fact, all these young princes were
sincere admirers and patrons of art, and, if they had
had their will, the soirees at the Tuileries would have
been graced by the presence of artists more frequently
than they were ; but, preposterous and scarcely credible
as it may seem, the bourgeoisie looked upon this
familiar intercourse of the king's sons with artists,
literary men, and the like, as so much condescension,
if not worse, of which they, the bourgeoisie, would not
be guilty if they could help it. It behoves me, how-
ever, to be careful in this instance, for the English
aristocracy at home was not much more liberal in those
days.
The first thing that struck one in the Due de
Nemours was the vast extent of his general information
and the marvellous power of memory. Eugene Lami
had just returned from London, and, in the exercise of
his profession, had come in contact with some members
of the oldest families. T^he mere mention of the
name sufficed as the introduction to the general and
anecdotal history of such a family, and I doubt whether
the best oflScial at Herald's College could have dissected
a pedigree as did the Due de Nemours. Eugene
* There was a similar divergence of dynastic opinion during tlio
Second Empire between the sovereign and those placed very near him
on the throne. When Alphonse Daudet came to Paris to make a
name in literature, the Duo de Morny offered him a position as
secretary. " Before I accept it, monsieur le due, I had better tell you
that I am a Legitimist," replied the future novelist. " Don't let that
trouble you," laughed De Morny ; " so am I to a certain extent, and the
Empress is even more of a Legitimist than I am." — Editob.
288 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Lami was at that time engaged upon designing some
new uniforms for the army, many of which disappeared
only after the war of 1870. He lived in the Eue des
Marais, the greater part of which was subsequently
demolished to make room for the Boulevard de
Magenta, and in the same house with two men whose
names have become immortal, Honore de Balzac and
Paul Delaroche. I have already spoken of both, but
I did not mention the incident that led to the painter's
acquaintance with the novelist, an incident so utterly
fanciful that the boldest farce-writer would think twice
before utilizing it in a play. It was told to me by
Lami himself. One morning, as he and Paul Dela-
roche were working, there was a knock at the door,
and a stout individual, dressed in a kind of monastic
garb, appeared on tha threshold. Delaroche remem-
bered that he had met him on the staircase, but neither
knew who he was, albeit that Balzac's' fame was not
altogether unknown to them. " Gentlemen," said the
visitor, " I am Honore Balzac, a neighbour and a con-
frere to boot. My chattels are about to be seized,
and I would ask you to save a remnant of my library."
Of course, the request was granted. The books were
stowed away behind tlie pictures ; and, after that, Balzac
often dropped in to have a chat with them, but neither
Delaroche nor Lami, the latter least of all, ever con-
ceived a sincere liking for the great novelist. Their
characters were altogether dissimilar. I have seen a
good many men whose names have become household
words among the refined, the educated, and the art-
loving all the world over; I have seen them at the
commencement, in the middle, and at the zenith of
their career ; I have seen none more indififerent to the
THE Duc d'aumale. 289
material benefits of their art than Eugene Lamf and Paul
Delaroche, not even Eugene Delacroix and Decamps.
Balzac was the very reverse. To make a fortune was
the sole ambition of hia life.
To return for a moment to Louis-Philippe's sons.
I have said that the Duc de Nemours was essentially
the grand seigneur of the family ; truth compels me to
add, however, that there was a certain want of pliability
about him which his social inferiors could not liave
relished. It was Henri IV. minus the bonhomie, also
perhaps minus tliat indiscriminate galanterie which
endeared Ravaillac's victim to all classes, even when
he was no longer young. In the days of which I am
treating just now, the Duc de Nemours was very young.
As for his courage, it was simply above suspicion;
albeit that it was called in question after the revolution
of '48, to his lather's intense sorrow. No after-dinner
encomium was ever as absolutely true as that of Sir
Robert Peel on the sons and daughters of the last
King of France, when he described them as respectively
brave and chaste. Nevertheless, had the Duc de
Nemours and his brothers been a thousand times as
brave as they were, party 8j)irit, than which there
is nothing more contemptible in France, would have
found the opportunity of denying that bravery.
If these notes are ever publi>hed. Englishmen will
smile at what I am about to write now, unless their
disgust takes another form of expression. The ex-
ploits of the Duc d'Aumale in Algeria are quoted by
independent military authorities as so many separate
deeds of signal heroism. They belong to history,
and not a single historian has endeavoured to impair
their value. Will it be believed that the Opposition
VOL. I. u
290 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
journals of those days spoke of them with ill-disguised
contempt as mere skirmishes with a lot of semi-savages ?
And, during the Second Republic, many of these papers
returned to the charge because the Due d'Aumale,
being the constitutionally-minded son of a constitu-
tionally-minded king, resigned the command of his
army instead ot bringing it to France to coerce a nation
into retaining a ruler whom, ostensibly at least, she
had voluntarily accepted, and whom, therefore, she was
as free to reject.
In connection with these Algerian campaigns of
the Duo d'Aumale, I had a story told to me by his
biother, De Montpensier, which becomes particularly
interesting nowadays, when spiritualism or spiritism
is so much discussed. He had it from two unim-
peachable soiirces, namely, from his brother D'Aumale
and from General Cousin - Montauban, afterwards
Comte de Palikao, the same who was so terribly afraid,
after the expedition in China, that the emperor
Mould create him Comte de Pekin, and who sent an
aide-de-camp in advance to beg the sovereign not to
do so.*
It was to General Montauban that Abdel-Kader
surrendered after the battles of Isly and Djemma-
Gazhouat. It was in the latter engagement that a
Captain de Gereaux fell, and when the news of his
death reached his family tbey seemed almost pre-
pared for it. It transpired that, on the very day of
the engagement, and at the very hour in which Cap-
tain de Gereaux was struck down, his sister, a young
* In order to understand this dread on Montauban's part, tlie
Englisli reader should be told that tlie term p^kin is the contemp-
tuous nickname for the civilian, with the French soldier. — Editor.
A SPIRITUALIST STORY.' 291
and handsome but very impressionable girl, started all
of a sudden from her chair, exclaiming that she had
seen her brother, surrounded by Arabs, who were
felling hitn to the ground. Then she dropped to the
floor in a dead swoon.
A few years elapsed, when General Montauban, who
had become the military Governor of the province of
Oran, received a letter from the De Gereaux family,
requesting him to make some further inquiries re-
specting tlie particulars of the captain's death. Tlie
letter was written at the urgent prayer of Mdlle. de
Gereaux, who had never ceased to think and speak of
her brother, and who, on one occasion, a month or so
before the despatch of the petition, had risen again
from her chair, though in a more composed manner
than before, insisting that she had once more seen her
brother. This time he was dressed in the native garb,
he seemed very poor, and was delving the soil. These
visions recurred at frequent intervals, to the intense
distress of the family, who could not but ascribe them
to the overstrung imagination of Mdlle. de Gereaux.
A little while after, she maintained having seen her
brother in a white robe ai^d turban, and intoning
hymns that sounded to her like Arabic. She im-
plored her parents to institute inquiries, and
General Montauban was communicated with to that
effect. He did all he could ; the country was at
peace, and, after a few months, tidings came that there
was a Frenchman held prisoner in one of the villages
on the Morocco frontier, who for the last two or three
years had entirely lost his reason, but that, previous
to that calamity, he had been converted to Islamism.
His mental derangement being altogether harmless.
292 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
he was an attendant at the Mosque. As a matter of
course, the information had been greatly embellished
in having passed through so many channels, nor was
it of 80 definite a character as I have noted it down,
but that was the gist of it.
Meanwhile, Montauban had been transferred to
another command, and for a twelvemonth after his
successor's arrival the inquiry was allowed to fall
in abeyance. When it was finally resumed, the
French prisoner had died, but, from a document
written in his native language found upon him and
brought to Oian, there remained little doubt that he
was Captain de Geieaux.
To return for a moment to the Due d'Aumale, who,
curiously enough, exercised a greater influence on
the outside world in general than any of his other
brethren — an influence due probably to his enormous
wealth rather than to his personal qualities, though
the latter may, to some people, have seemed remark-
able. I met him but seldom during his father's
lifetime. He was the beau-ideal of the preux
chevalier, according to the French notion of the
modern Bayard — that is, handsome, brave to a fault,
irresistibly fascinating with women, good-natured in
his way, and, above all, very witty. It was he who,
after the confiscation of the d' Orleans' property by
Napoleon III., replied to the French Ambassador at
Turin, who inquired after his health, " I am all right ;
health is one of the things that cannot be confiscated."
Nevertheless, upon closer acquaintance, I failed to
see the justifying cause for the preference manifested
by public opinion, and, upon more minute inquiry, I
found that a great many people shared my views. I
THE Duc d'orl^ans. 293
am at this moment convinced that, but for his having
been the heir of that ill-fated Prince de Conde, and
consequently the real defender in the various suits
resulting from the assassination of that prince by
Madame de Feucheres, he would have been in no way
distinguished socially from the rest of the D'Orleans.
The popularity of his eldest brother, the Duc
d'Orleans, was, on the contrary, due directly to the
man himself. As far as one can judge of him, he was
the reverse of Charles II., in that he never said a wise
thing and never did a foolish one. He was probably
not half so clever as his father, nor, brave as he may
have been, would he have ever made so dashing a
soldier as his brother D'Aumale, or so rollicking a
sailor as his brother De Joinville. He did not pre-
tend to the wisdom of his brother De Nemours, nor to
the mystic tendencies of his youngest sister, nor to
the 8[)rightly wit of Princesse Clementine, and yet
withal he understood the French nation better than
any of them. Even his prenuptial escapades, secrets
to no one, were those of the grand seigneur, though by
no means aflSchees; they endeared him to the ma-
jority of the people. " Chacun colon-ise k sa fapon,"
was the lenient verdict on his admiration for Jenny
Colon, at a moment when colonization in Algeria was
the topic of the day. On the whole he liked artists
better, perhaps, than art itself, yet it did not prevent
him from buying masterpieces as far as his means
would allow him. Though still young, in the latter
end of the thirties, I was already a frequent visitor to
the studios of the great French painters, and it was
in that of Decamps' that I became alive to his
character fur the tirst time. I was talking to the
294 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAHlS.
great painter when the duke came in. We had met
before, and shook hands, as lie had been taught to do
by his father when he met with an Englishman. But
I could not make out why he was carrying a pair of
trousers over his arm. After we had been chatting
for about ten minutes, I wondering all the while what
he was going to do with the nether garment, he
caught one of my side glances, and burst out laughing.
" I forgot," he said ; " here. Decamps, here are your
breeches." Then he turned to me to explain. "I
always bring them up with me when I come in the
morning. The concierge is very old, and it saves her
trudging up four flights of stairs." The fact was, that
the concierge, before she knew who he was, had once
asked him to take up the painter's clothes and boots.
From that day forth he never failed to ask for them
when passing her lodge.
I can but repeat, the Due d'Orleans was one of the
most charming men I have known. I always couple
him in my mind with Benjamin Disraeli, and Alex-
andre Dumas the elder. I knew the English states-
man almost as well during part of my life as the
French novelist. Though intellectually wide apart
from them, the duke had one, if not two traits in
common with both ; his utter contempt for money
affairs and the personal charm he wielded. I doubt
whether this personal charm in the other two men
was due to their intellectual attainments; with the
Due d'Orleans it was certainly not the case. He
rarely, if ever, said anything worth remembering ; in
fact, he frankly acknowledged his very modest scholar-
ship, and his inability either to remember the epi-
grams of others or to condense his thoughts into one
HIS INDIFFERENCE WITH REGARD TO MONEY. 295
of his own. " I should not like to admit as much to
my father, who, it appears, is a very fine Greek and
Latin scholar," he said — " that is, if I am to believe
my brotliers, De Nemours and D'Aumale, who ouo;ht to
know ; for, notwithstanding the prizes tiiey took at
college, I believe they are very clever. Ah, you may
well look surprised at my saying, 'notwithstanding
the prizes they took,' because I took ever so many,
although, for the life of me, I could not construe a
Greek sentence, and scarcely a Latin one. I have
paid very handsomely, however, for my ignorance."
And then he told us an amusing story of his having
had to invent a secretaryship to the duchess for an
old schoolfellow. " You see, he came upon me una-
wares with a slip of paper I had written him while
at college, asking him to explain to me a Greek
passage. There was no denying it, I had signed it.
What is worse still, he is supposed to translate and to
reply to the duchess's German correspondence, and,
wiien I gave him the appointment, he did not know a
single word of Schiller's language, so I had to pay a
Geiman tutor and him too."
I have said that the Due d'Orleans was absolutely
indifferent with regard to money, but he would not
be fleeced with impunity. What he disliked more
than anything else, was the greed of the shop-keeping
bourgeois. One day, while travelling in Lorraine,
he stopped at the posting-house to have his breakfast,
consisting of a couple of eggs, a few slices of bread
and butter, and a cup of coffee. Just before proceeding
on his journey, his valet came to tell him that mine
host wanted to charge him two hundred francs for the
repast. The duke merely sent for the mayor, handed
296 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
him a thousand-franc note, gave him the particulars
of his bill of fare, told him to pay the landlord
according to the tariff, and to distribute the remainder
of the money among the poor. It is more than
probable that mine host was among the first, in '48,
to hail the republic: princes and kings, according
to him, were made to be fleeced ; if they objected, what
was the good of having a monarchy ?
The popular idol in France must distribute largesse,
and distribute it individually, or be profitable in some
other way. G-reed, personal interest, underlies most
of the political strife in France. During one of the
riots, so common in the reign of Louis-Philippe, Mimi-
Lepreuil, a well-known clever pickpocket, was shouting
with all his might, " Vive Louis-Philippe ! a bas la
Kepublique ! " As a rule, gentlemen of his profession
are found on the plebeian side, and one of the super-
intendents of police on duty, who had closely watched
him, inquired into the reason of his apostasy. *' I am
sick of your Republicans," was the answer. " I come
here morning after morning" — it happened on the
Place de la Bourse, — " and dip my hands into a score
of pockets without finding a red cent. Daring the
Kevolution of July, at the funeral of General La-
marque, I did not make my expenses. Give me a royal
procession to make money." These were his politics.
It would be difficult to say what the Due d'Orleans
would have done, had he lived to ascend the throne.
One thing is certain, however, that, on the day of
his death, genuine tears stood in the eyes of all
classes, except the Legitimists. As I have already
said, they ascribed the fatal accident to God's
vengeance for the usurpation of his father. " If this
"PROVIDENCE IN A FIX." 297
be the case," said an irreverent but witty journalist,
"it argues but very little providence on the part of
1/our Providence, ior now He will have to keep the peace
between the Due de Berri, the Due de Reicbstadt, and
the Due d'Orl^ans."
298 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTER X.
The Revolution of '48 — The beginning of it — The National Guards in
all their glory — The Cafe Gre'goire on the Place du Caire — The
price of a good breakfast in '48 — The palmy days of the Cuisine
Bourgeoise — The excitement on the Boulevards on Sunday,
February 20th, *48 — The theatres — ^Aball at Poirson's, the erst-
while director of the Gymnase — A lull in the storm — Tuesday,
February 22iid — Another visit to the Cafe Gregoire — On my way
thitlier — The Coraedie-Fran9ai8e closes its doors — What it means,
according to my old tutor— We are waited upon by a sergeant
and corporal — We are no longer " messieurs," but " citoyens " —
An eye to the main ch nee — The patriots do a bit of business in
tricolour cockades — The company marches away — Casualties —
"Le patriotisme" means the difference between the louis d'or
and the ecu of three francs — The company bivouacs on the
Boulevard Saint-Martin— A tyrant's victim "malgre lui" —
Wednesday, February 23rd — The Cafe Gregoire once more — The
National Guards en neglige — A novel mode of settling accounts —
The National Guards fortify the inner man — A bivouac on the
Boulevard du Temple — A camp scene from an opera — I leave—
My companion's account — TheNational Guards protect the regulars
• — The author of these notes goes to the theatre — The Gymnase
and the Varie'te'son the eve of the Revolution- Bonffe'and Dejazet
—Thursday, February 24th, '48 — The Boulevards at 9.30 a.m. —
No milk — The Revolutionaries do without it — The Place du
Carrousel — The sovereign people fire from tlie roofs on the troops
— The troops do not dislodge tiiem — The King reviews the troops —
The apparent inactivity of Louis-Philippe's sons — A theory about
the difference in bloodshed — One of the three ugliest men in
France comes to see the King — Seditious cries — The King
abdicates — Chaos — The sacking of the Tuileries — Receptions and
feasting in the Galerie de Diane — "Du cafe pour nous, des
cigarettes pour les dames " — The dresses of the princesses — The
bourgeois fe.ist the gamins who guard the barricades — The
Republic proclaimed — The riff-raff insist upon illuminations — An
actor promoted to tlie Governor«hip of the Hotel de Ville — Some
members of the *' provisional Government " at work — M^ry on
Lamartine — Why the latter proclaimed the Republic.
I Was returning home earlier than usual on Saturday
night, the 19lh of February, '48, when, at the corner of
THE BEGINNING OF THE REVOLUTION OF '48. 299
the Rue Lafitte, I happened to run against a young
Englishman who had been established for some years
in Paris as the representative of his father, a wealthy
cotton-spinner in the north. We had frequently met
before, and a cordial feeling had sprung up between us,
based at first — I am bound to say — on our common
contempt for the vanity of the French.
*• Come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning,"
he said ; *' I fancy you will enjoy yourself. We will
breakfast in my quarter, and you will see the National
Guards in all their glory. They will muster very
strong to-morrow, if it be fine."
"But why to-morrow?" I replied. "I was under
the impression that the idea of the Reformist banquet
in the Ciiamps-Elysees had been abandoned, so there
will be no occasion for them to parade ? Besides, that
would be on Tuesday only."
" It has been abandoned, but if you think that it
will prevent them from turning out, you are very
much mistaken; at any rate, come and listen to the
preliminaries."
I promised him to come, but I had not the slightest
idea that I was going to witness a kind of mild prologue
to a revolution.
Next morning turned out very fine — balmy spring
weather — and as I sauntered along the Boulevards
Montmartre and Poissoniere to the place of appoint-
ment the streets were already crowded with people
in their Sun<iay clothes. The place where I was to
meet my English friend was situated in the midst of a
busy quarter, scarcely anything but warehouses where
they sold laces, and flowers, and silks ; something like
the neighbourhood at the back of Cheapside. The
300 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
wealthy tradesmen of those days did not live in the
outskirts of Paris, as they did later on ; and when my
friend and I reached the principal cafe and restaurant
on the Place du Caire — I think it was called the Cafe
Gregoire — there was scarcely a table vacant. The
habitues were, almost to a man, National Gruards,
prosperous business men, considerably more anxious,
as I found out in a short time, to play a political part
than to maintain public tranquillity. If I remember
rightly, one of them, a chemist and druggist, who was
pointed out to me then, became a deputy after the
fall of the Second Empire ; and I may notice en passant
that this same spot was the political hothouse which
produced, afterwards. Monsieur Tirard, who started
life as a small manufacturer of imitation jewellery,
and who rose to be Minister of Finances under the
Third Kepublic.
The breakfast was simply excellent, the wine genuine
throughout, the coffee and cognac all that could be
wished; and, when I asked my friend to let me look
at the bill, out of simple curiosity, or, rather, for the
sake of comparing prices with those of the Cafes de
Paris and Riche, I found that he had spent something
less than eleven francs. At the Cafe Eiche it would
have been twenty-five francs, and, at the present time,
one would be charged double that sum. These were
the palmy days of the Cuisine Fran9aise, or, to call
it by another name, the Cuisine Bourgeoise, for which,
a few years later, a stranger in Paris would have almost
sought in vain. Luckily, however, for my enjoyment
and digestive organs, I was no stranger to Paris and
to the French ; if I had been, both the former would
have been spoilt, the excitement of those around me
THE NATIONAL GUARDS. 301
being such as to lead the alien to believe that there
would be an instantaneous departure for the Tuileries,
and a revival of the bloody scenes of the first revo-
lution. It has been my lot, in after-years, to hear a
great deal of political drivel in French and English,
but it was sound philosophy compared to what I
heard that morning. I have spoken before of the
Hotel des Haricots, where men like Hugo, Balzac,
Beranger, and Alfred de Musset chose to be im-
prisoned rather than perform their duties as National
Guards. After that, I could fully appreciate their
reluctance to be confounded with such a set of pompous
wiudbags.
It came to nothing that day, but I had become
interested, and made an appointment with my friend
for the Tuesday, unless something should happen in
the interval Still, I did not think that the monarchy
of July was doomed, though, on returning to the
Boulevards, I could not help noticing that the excite-
ment had considerably increased during the time I
had been at breakfast. By twelve o'clock that night
I was convinced that I had been mistaken, and that
the dynasty of the D'Orleans had not a week to live.
All the theatres were still open, but I had an invitation
to a ball, given by Poirson, the then late director
of the Gymnase Theatre, at his house in the Faubourg
Poissonniere. "Nous ne danserons plus jamais sous
Louis-Philippe ! " was the general cry, which did
not prevent the guests from thoroughly enjoying
themselves.
Next morning, Monday, there seemed to be a lull
in the storm, but on the Tuesday the signs of the
coming hurricane were plainly visible on the horizon.
302 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
The Ministry of Marine was guarded by a company of
linesmen. I had some business in the Kue de Rivoli,
which at that time ended almost abruptly at the
Louvre ; and, on my way to the Cafe Gregoire, I met
patrol upon patrol of National Guards beating the " as-
sembly." I had occasion to pass before the Comedie-
Franjaise. The ominous black-lettered slip of yellow
paper, with the word JRelache, was pa-^ted across the
evening's bill. That was enough for me. I remem-
bered the words of my old tutor : " When the Cometiie-
Franpaise shuts its doors in perilous times, it is like
the battening down of the hatches in dirty weather.
There is mischief brewing." When I got to the Place
du Caire, I was virtually in the thick of it. With the
exception of my friend and I, there was not a man in
mufti. Even the proprietor had donned his uniform.
Our fillet of beef was brought to us by a corporal, and
our coffee poured out by a sergeant. Whether these
warrior- waiters meant to strike one blow for freedom
and to leave the place to take care of itself, we were
unable to make out ; but their patrons were no longer
" messieurs," but had already become " citoyens." I
was tempted to say, in the words of Dupin — the one
who was President of the Chamber on the day of the
Coup d'Etat, and who was Louis-Philippe's personal
friend, " Soyons citoyens, mais restons messieurs," but
I thought it better not. My friend had given up all
idea of attending to business. " It will not be of the
least use," he said. "If I had ribbons to sell instead
of cottons, I might make a lot of money, though ; for
I am open to wager that some of our patriotic neigh-
bours, while they are going to bell the cat outside,
have given orders to their workpeople to manufacture
A STROKE OF BUSINESS. 303
tricolour cockadea and rosettes with the magic R. F.
(Republique Franpaise) in the centre.
" You do not mean that they would think of such
a thing at such a critical moment, even if the
republic were a greater probability than it appears
to be ? " 1 remonstrated.
" I do mean to say so," he replied, beckoning at the
same time to a sleek, corpulent lieutenant, standing
a few paces away. "Can you do with a nice lot
of narrow silk ribbon?" he asked, as the individual
walked up to our table.
*' What colour ? " inquired the lieutenant.
My friend gave me a significant look, and named
all the hues of the rainbow except white, red, and
blue.
" Won't do," said the lieutenant, shaking his head.
** If it had been red, white, and blue I would have
bought as much as you like, because I am manu-
facturing rosettes for the good cause." After this ho
■walked away.
On the Thursday afternoon the Boulevards and
principal thoroughfares swarmed with peripatetic
vendors of the republican insignia, and some of my
friends expressed their surprise as to where they had
come from in so short a time. Seeing that they were
Frenchmen, I held my tongue, even when one pro-
fessed to explain, " They have come from England ;
they are always speculating upon our misfortunes,
though they do it cleverly enough. They got scent
of what was coming, and sent them over as quickly as
they could. Truly they are a great nation — of shop-
keepers I " I was reminded of Beranger's sca[iegrace,
when he wa'^ accused of being drunk.
304 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" Qu'est que cela me fait, a moi ?
Que Ton m'appelle ivrogne ? "
he sings.
As the afternoon wore on, the excitement increased ;
the news from the Boulevards became alarming, and
at about three o'clock the company marched away.
As a matter of course we followed, and equally, as a
matter of course, did not leave them until 2.30 next
morning. Casualties to report. A large scratch in
one of the drummer's cheeks, made by an oyster-
shell, flung at the company as it turned round the
corner of the Kue de Clery. No battles, no skir-
mishes, a great deal of fraternizing with "le peuple
souverain," whom, in their own employ, the well-to-do
tradesmen would have ordered about like so many
mangy curs.
From that day forth I have never dipped into any
history of modern France, professing to deal with the
political causes and effects of the various upheavals
during the nineteenth century in France. They may
be worth reading ; I do not say that they are not. I
have preferred to look at the men who instigated those
disorders, and have come to the conclusion that, had
each of them been born with five or ten thousand a
year, their names would have been absolutely wanting
in connection with them. This does not mean that the
disorders would not have taken place, but they would
have always been led by men in want of five or ten
thousand a year. On the other hand, if the D'Orleans
family had been less wealthy than they are there would
have been no firmly settled third republic ; if Louis-
Napoleon had been less poor, there would, in all
probability, have been no second empire ; if the latter
had lasted another year, we should have found Gam-
A MILITARY SPECTACLE. 305
betta among the ministers of Napoleon III., just like
Emile Ollivier, of the " light heart." " Les con-
victions politiques en France sent basees sur le fait
que le louis d'or vaut sept fois plus que I'ecu de trois
francs." This is the dictum of a man who never wished
to be anything, who steadfastly refused all offers to
enter the arena of public life.
My friend and I had been baulked of the drama
we expected — for we frankly confessed to one another
that the utter annihilation of that company of National
Guards would have left us perfectly unmoved, — and
got instead, a kind of first act of a military spectacular
play, such as we were in the habit of seeing at Fran-
coni's. The civic warriors were ostensibly bivouacking
on the Boulevard St. Martin ; they stacked their
muskets and fraternized with the crowd ; it would not
have surprised us in the least to see a troupe of ballet
dancers advance into our midst and give us the enter-
tainment de rigueur — the intermede. It was the only
thing wanting to complete the picture, from which
even the low comedy incident was not wanting. An
old woebegone creature, evidently the worse for liquor,
had fallen down while a patrol of regulars was passing.
He was not a bit hurt ; but there and then the rabble
proposed to carry him to the Hotel de Ville, and to
give him an apotheosis as a martyr to the cause.
They had already fetched a stretcher, and were, not-
withstanding his violent struggles, hoisting him on
it, when prevented by the captain of the National
Guards.
Still, we returned next day to the Caf^ Gregoire.
In the middle of the place there lay an old man — that
one, stark dead, who had been fired upon without
VOL. I. X
£06 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
rhyme or reason by a picket of the National Guards.
It was only about eleven o'clock, and those valiant
defenders of public order were still resting from their
fatigue — at any rate, there were few of them about.
There was a discussion going on whether they should
go out or not — a discussion confined to the captain,
two lieutenants, and as many sub-lieutenants. They
appeared not to have the least idea of the necessity
to refer for orders to the colonel or the head-quarters
of the regiment or the legion, as it was called. They
meant to settle the matter among themselves. The
great argument in favour of calling out the men was
that one of them, while standing at his window that
very morning, was fired at by a passing ragamuffin,
who, instead of hitting him, shattered his window-
panes.
" Well," said one of the lieutenants, who had been
opposed to the calling out of the men, *' then we are
quits after all; for look at the old fellow lying out
there."
" No, we are not," retorts the captain ; " for he was
shot by a mistake, so he doesn't count."
"L'esprit ne perd jamais ses droits en France ; " so,
in another moment or two, the bugle sounded lustily
throughout the quarter. We followed the buglers for
a little while, it being still too early for our breakfast,
and consequently enjoyed the felicity of seeing a good
many of the warriors " in their habit as they lived "
indoors — namely, in dressing-gown and slippers and
smoking-caps. For most of them opened their windows
on the first, second, and third floors, to inquire whether
the call was urgent. The buglers entered into expla-
nations. No, the call was not urgent, but the captain
THE CIVIC WARRIOR IN HIS GLORY. 307
haii decided on a military promenade, just to reassure
the neighbourhood, and to stimulate the martial spirit
of the lagging members of the company. The expla-
nation invariably provoked the same answer, and in a
voice not that of the citizen-warrior : " Que le capitaine
attende jusqu'apres le dejeuner."
Davoust has said that the first condition of the
fitness of an army is its commissariat. In that respect
every one of these National Guards was fit to be a
Davoust, for their fortifying of the inner man was
not accomplished until close upon two o'clock. By
that time they marched out, saluted by the cries of
" Vive la Keforme ! " of all the ragtag and bobtail from
the Faubourgs du Temple and St. Antoine, who had
invaded the principal thoroughfares. The " Marseil-
laise," the " Chant des Girondins," " La Republique
nous appelle " resounded through the air ; and I was
wondering whether they were packing their trunks at
the Tuileries, also what these National Guards had
come out for. They only seemed to impede the
efficient patrolling of the streets by the regulars, and,
instead of dispersing the rabble, they attracted them.
They were evidently under the impression that they
made a very goodly show, and at every word of com-
mand I expected to see the captain burst asunder.
When we got to the Boulevard St. Martin, the latter
was told that the sixth legion was stationed on the
Boulevard du Temple. A move was made in that
direction.
Now "Kichard is himself again;" he is among the
crowd he likes best — the crowd of the Boulevard du
Crime, with its theatres, large and small, its raree and
puppet shows, its open-air entertainments, its cafes
308 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
and mountebanks; and, what is more, he is there in
his uniform, distinguished from the rest, and conse-
quently the cynosure of all the little actresses and
■pretty figurantes who have just left the rehearsal — for
by this time it is after three — and who are but too
willing to be entertained. Appointments are made to
dine or to sup together, without the slightest reference
as to what may happen in the interval. All at once
there is an outcry and a rush towards the Porte Saint-
Martin ; our warriors are obliged to leave their inamo-
ratas, and when they come to look for their muskets,
which they have placed in a corner for convenience'
sake, they find that a good many have disappeared.
The customers belonging to the sovereign people have
slunk off with them. Nevertheless they join the
ranks, for the bugle has sounded. At the corner of
the Faubourg Saint-Martin, whence the noise proceeded,
they are met by three or four score of the sovereign
people, ragged, unkempt, who are pushing in front of
them two of the students of the Ecole Polytechnique.
The two young fellows are very pale, and can scarcely
speak. Still they manage to explain that the Municipal
Guard at the Saint-Martin barracks have fired upon the
people : then they go their way. Whither ? Heaven
only knows. But our captain, in the most stentorian
of voices, gives the word of command, " To the right,
wheel ! " and we are striding up the faubourg, which
is absolutely deserted as far as the Eue des Marais.
A collision seems pretty inevitable now, the more that
the Municipal Gruards are already taking aim, when
all at once our captain and one of the lieutenants rush
forward, and fling themselves into the arms of the
officers of the Municipal Guards. Tableau ; and I am
HE PROTECTS THE REGULARS. 300
baulked once more of a good fight. I leave my friend
to see the rest of this ridiculous comedy, and take my
departure there and then.
The following is my companion's account of what
happened after I left. I am as certain that every
word of it is true as if I had been there myself,
though it seems almost incredible that French officers,
whose worst enemies have never accused them of
being deficient in courage, sliould have acted so
inconsiderately.
" The officers of the National Guards appear to have
assumed at once the office of protectors of the regulars
against the violence of the crowd. Wiiy the regulars
should have submitted to this, seeing that they were
far better armed than their would-be guardians, I am
unable to say. Be this as it may, the regulars con-
sented, the Hag floating above the principal door of
the barracks was taken down, and I really believed
that the Municipal Guards stacked their arms and
virtually handed them over to the others. But I will
not vouch for it. At any rate, a few hours afterwards,
while the company had gone to dinner, the barracks
were assailed, the men and officers knocked down by
the people, and the building set on fire. When the
fifth legion returned about eleven o'clock to the Fau-
bourg Saint-Martin, the flames were leaping up to the
sky, so they turned their heels contentedly in the
direction of the Boulevard du Temple, where they
bivouacked between the Theatre de la Gaite and the
Ambigu-Comique, while those who had made appoint-
ments with the little actresses went round by the stage
doors to keep them. That, as far as I could judge,
was the part of the fifth legion in the day's proceediugs-
310 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
I left them in all their glory, thinking themselves, no
doubt, very fine fellows.
"On the Thursday morning" — my companion told
me all this on Saturday evening, the 26th of February
— " I was up betimes, simply because the drumming
and bugling prevented my sleeping. At eight, the Cafe
Gregoire was already very full, the heroes of the
previous night had returned to perform their ablutions,
and also, I suppose, to reassure their anxious spouses ;
but they had no longer that conquering air I noticed
when I left thetn the night before. Whether they
had come to the conclusion that both in love and war
they had reaped but barren victories, I cannot say,
but their republican ardour, it seemed to me, had
considerably cooled down. I am convinced that, not-
withstanding the events of AVednesday night in the
Faubourg Saint-Martin, they were under the impression
that neither the people nor the military would resort
to further extremities. I cannot help thinking that,
after I left, not a single man could have remained at
his post, because not one amongst them seemed to
have an idea of the horrible slaughter on the Boulevard
des Capucines.* They were not left very long in
* The author, as will be seen directly, saw nothing of that massacre,
though he must have passed within a few hundred yards of the spot
immediately before it began. It would have been the same if he had ;
he could not Lave explained the cause, seeing that the most pains-
taking historians who have consulted the most trustworthy eye-
witnesses have failed to do so. It will always remain a mystery
whence the first shot came, whether from the military who were
drawn up across the Boulevard des Capucines, on the spot where now
stands the Grand Cafe, or from the crowd that wanted to pass, in
order to proceed to Odilon-Barrot's to serenade him, because, not-
withstanding the opposition of the king, he was to be included in
the new ministry, which Mol^ had been instructed to form. It may
safely be sai(l, however, that, but for that shot and the slaughter con-
sequent upon it, the revolution might have been averted then — after
all, perhaps, only temporarily. — Editob.
THE EVE OF THE REVOLUTION. 311
ignorance of the real state of affairs, and then they
saw at once that they had roused a spectre they would
be unable to lay. From that moment, it is my opinion,
they would have willingly drawn back, but it was too
late. While they were still debating, an individual
rushed in, telling them that one or two regiments,
commanded by a general (who turned out to be General
Bedeau), had drawn up in front of the barricade which
had been thrown up during the night in the Boulevard
Bonne-Nouvelle, and was being defended by a detach-
ment of the fifth legion. They all ran out, and I ran
with them. When we got to the boulevard, matters
had already been arranged, and they were just in time
to join the escort General Bedeau had accepted, after
having consented not to execute the orders with which
he had been entrusted. By that time I began to per-
ceive which way the wind was blowing : the canaille
had unceremoniously linked their arms in those of the
National Guards, and insisted, courteously but firmly,
on carrying their firearms. When we got to the Rue
Montmartre, they took the horses out of the gun-
carriages, and the soldiers looked tamely on, notwith-
standing the commands of -their officers. When the
latter endeavoured to enforce their orders by hitting
them with the flat of their swords, they simply left the
ranks and joined the rabble. I had had enough of it,
and made my way home by the back streets. I had
had enough of it, and kept indoors until this afternoon."
Thus far my informant. As for myself, I saw little
on the Wednesday night of what was going on. It was
my own fault : I was too optimistic. I had scarcely
gone a few steps, after my dinner, when, just in front
of the Gymnase, they began shouting, "La Pairie,
312 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Journal du soir ; achetez La Patrie. Yoyez le nouveau
ministere de Monsieur Mole." I remember giving
the fellow half a franc, at which he grumbled, though
it was three times the ordinary price. On opening
the paper, I rashly concluded from what I read that
the revolution was virtually at an end, and I was the
more confirmed in my opinion by the almost instanta-
neous lighting up of the Boulevards. It was like a
fairy scene : people were illuminating — a little bit too
soon, as it turned out. Being tired of wandering,
and feeling no inclination for bed, I turned into the
Gymnase. There were Bressant and Eose Cheri and
Arnal ; I would surely be able to spend a few pleasant
hours. But alack and alas! the house presented
a very doleful appearance — dead-heads, to a man ;
and very few of these, people who, if they could not
fiddle themselves, like Nero while Rome was burning,
would go to hear fiddling under no matter what
circumstances, provided they were not asked to pay.
I did not stay long, but whea I came out into
the streets the noise was too deafening for me.
The " Marseillaise " has always had a particularly
jarring effect upon my nerves. There are days when
I could be cruel enough to prefer " the yells of those
ferocious soldiers, as they murder in cold blood the
sons and the companions " of one section of defenceless
patriots, to the stirring strains of the other section as
they figuratively rush to the rescue; and on that
particular evening I felt in that mood. So, when I
got to the Boulevard Montmartre, I turned into the
Theatre des Yarietes. I remember the programme up
to this day. They were playing " Le Suisse de Marly,"
"Le Marquis de Lauzun," "Les Extremes se touchent,"
THE 24th FEBRUARY, 1848. 313
and " Les Vieux Peches." I had seen the second and
the last piece at least a dozen times, but I was always
ready to see them again for the sake of Virginie Dejazet
in the one, of Bouffe in the other. The lessee at that
time was an Englishman. Bouffe and I had always
kept up our friendship ; so I made up my mind to go
and have a chat with him, hoping that Dejazet, whose
conversation affected one like a bottle of cham-
pagne, would join us. The house, like the Gymnase,
was almost empty, but I made my way behind the
scenes, and in about half an hour forgot all about the
events outside. Bouffe was telling me anecdotes about
his London performances, and Dejazet was imitating
the French of some of the bigwigs of King Leopold's
court ; so the time passed pleasantly enough. At the
end of the performance we proposed taking supper,
and turned down the Rue Montmartre. It was late
when I returned home, consequently I saw nothing of
the slaughter on the Boulevard des Capucines.
Though I had gone to bed late, I was up betimes
on the Thursday morning. A glance at the Boule-
vards, as I turned the corner of my street about half-
past nine, convinced me that* the illuminations of the
previous night had been premature, and that before
the day was out there would be an end of the
monarchy of July. A slight mist was still hanging
over the city as I strolled in the direction of the
Madeleine, and the weather was damp and raw, but
in about half an hour the sun broke through. A shot
was heard now and then, but I myself saw no collision
then between the troops and the people. On the
contrary, it looked to me as if the former would have
been glad to be left alone. As I had been obliged
314 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
to leave home without my usual cup of tea for want
of milk — the servant had told me there was none —
I went back a little way to Tortoni's, where I was
greeted with the same answer. I could have tea or
coifee or chocolate made with water, but milk there
was none on that side of Paris, and, unless things took
a turn, there would be no butter. The sovereign
people had thrown up barricades during the night
round all the northern and north-western issues, and
would not let the milk-carts pass. They, no doubt,
had some more potent fluids to fall back upon, for a
good many, even at that early hour, were by no
means steady in their gait. The Boulevards were
swarming with them. Since then, I have seen these
sovereign people getting the upper hand twice, viz.
on the 4th of September, 70, and on the 18th of March,
'71. I have seen them during the siege of Paris, and I
have no hesitation in saying that, for cold-blooded,
apish, monkeyish, tigerish cruelty, there is nothing on
the face of God's earth to match them, and that no
concessions wrung from society on their behalf will
ever make them anything else but the fiends in human
shape they are.
After my fruitless attempt to get my accustomed
breakfast, I resumed my perambulations, this time
taking the Rue Vivienne as far as the Palais-Royal.
It must have been between half-past ten and eleven
when I reached the Place du Carrousel, which, at a
rough guess, was occupied by about five thousand
regular infantry and horse and National Guards. The
Place du Carrousel was not then, what it became later
on, a large open space. Part of it was encumbered
with narrow streets of very tall houses, and from their
THE SOLDIERS AND THE PEOPLE. 315
windows and roofs the sovereign people — according to
an officer who had been on duty from early mom —
had been amusing themselves by firing on the troops,
— not in downright volleys, but with isolated shots,
picking out a man here and there. " But," I remon-
strated, "half a dozen pompiers and a score of lines-
men could dislodge them in less than ten minutes,
instead of returning their shots one by one." " So
they could," was the reply, "but orders came from
the Chateau not to do so, and here we are. Besides,"
added my informant, " I doubt very much, if I gave
my men the word of command to storm the place,
whether they would do so; they are thoroughly
demoralized. On our way hither I had the greatest
difficulty in keeping them together. Without a roll-
call I could not exactly tell you how many are miss-
ing, but as we came along I noticed several falling out
and going into the wine-shops with the rabble. They
did not come back again. I had to shut my eyes to
it. If I had attempted to prevent it, there would have
been a more horrible slaughter than there was last
night on the Boulevards, and, what is worse, the men
who remained staunch would- have been in a minority,
and not able to stand their ground. The mob have
got hold of the muskets of the National Guards. I
dare say, as you came along, you noticed on many
doors, written up in chalk, * Arms given up,' and on
some the words *with pleasure' added to the state-
ment." It was perfectly true ; I had noticed it.
I was still talking to the captain when the drums
began to beat and the buglers sounded the salute.
At the same moment I saw the King, in the uniform
of a general of the National Guards, cross the court-
316 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
yard on horseback. I noticed a great many ladies
at the ground-floor windows of the palace, but could
not distinguish their faces. I was told afterwards that
they were the Queen and the princesses, endeavouring
to encourage the septuagenarian monarch. Louis-
Philippe was seventy-five then.
I have often heard and seen it stated by historians
of the revolution of '48, that the Duke d'Aumale and
the Prince de Joinville, had they been in Paris, would
have saved their father's crown. This is an assumption
which it is difficult to disprove, seeing how popular
these young princes were then. But if the assumption
is meant to convey that the mob at the sight of these
brave young fellows would have laid down their arms
without fighting, I can unhesitatingly contradict it.
What the National Guard might have done it is im-
possible to say. The regulars, no doubt, would have
followed the princes into battle, as they would have
followed their brother, De Nemours, notwithstanding
the latter's unpopularity. There would have been a
great deal of bloodshed, but the last word would have
remained with • the Government. Louis - Philippe's
greatest title to glory is that of having prevented
such bloodshed. But to show how little such abne-
gation of self is understood by even the most educated
Frenchmen, I must relate a story which was told to
me many years afterwards by a French officer who,
at that time, had just returned from the Pontifical
States, where he had helped to defeat the small army
of Garibaldi. He was describing the battle-field of
Mentana to Napoleon III., and mentioned a prisoner
he had made who turned out to be an old acquaint-
ance from the Boulevards. " He was furious against
EXIT LOUIS-PHILIPPE. 317
Garibaldi, sire,'* said the officer, "because the latter
had placed him in the necessity, as it were, of firing
upon his own countrymen in a strange land. Said
the prisoner, * I am not an emigr^ ; I would not have
gone to Coblenz ; I am a Frenchman from the crown
of my head to the sole of my foot. If it came to
fighting my countrymen in the streets of Paris, that
would be a. different thing. I should not have the
slightest scruple of firing upon the Imperial Guards
or upon the rabble, as the case might be, for that
would be civil war.' That's what he said, sire."
Napoleon nodded his head, and with his wonderful,
sphinx-like smile, replied, "Your prisoner was right;
it makes all the difference." The Orleans princes,
save perhaps one, never knew these distinctions; if
they had known them, the Comte de Paris might be
King of France to-day.
To return for a moment to Louis-Philippe as I saw
him at the last moments of his reign. He felt evi-
dently disappointed at the lukewarm reception he
received, for though there was a faint cry among the
regulars of " Vive le Koi ! " it was immediately drowned
by the stentorian one of the rabble of *' Vive Ja Ke-
forme ! " in which a good many of the National Guards
joined. He was evidently in a hurry to get back to
the Tuileries, and, when he disappeared in the door-
way, I had looked upon him for the last time in my
life. An hour and a half later, he had left Paris for
ever.
• » • • »
Personally I saw nothing of the fliglit of the King,
nor of the inside of the Tuileries, until the royal
family were gone. The story of that flight was told
3 IS AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
to me several years later by the Due de Montpensier.
What is worse, in those days it never entered my
mind that a time would come when I should feel
desirous of committing my reminiscences to paper,
consequently I kept no count of the hours that went
by, and cannot, therefore, give the exact sequence of
events, i do not know how long I stood among the
soldiers and the crowd, scarcely divided from one
another even by an imaginary line. It was not a
pleasant crowd, though to my great surprise there
were a great many more decently dressed persons in
it than I could have expected, so I stayed on. About
half an hour after the King re-entered the Tuileries,
I noticed two gentlemen elbow their way through the
serried masses. I had no difficulty in recognizing the
one in civilian's clothes. Though he was by no means
so famous as he became afterwards, there was hardly
a Parisian who would not have recognized him on the
spot. His portrait had been drawn over and over
again, at least as many times as that of the King, and
it is a positive fact that nurses frightened their babies
with it. He was the ugliest man of the century.
It was M. Adolphe Cremieux.* His companion was
in uniform. I learnt afterwards that it was General
Gourgaud, but I did not know him then except by
name, and in connection with his polemics with the
Duke of Wellington, in which the latter did not
altogether behave with the generosity one expects
from an English gentleman towards a fallen foe. As
they passed, the old soldier must have been recog-
* The author is slightly mistaken. The two ugliest men in France
in the nineteenth century were Andrieux, Who wrote " Les Etourdis,"
and Littre; but Cremieux ran them very hard. — Editob.
\
SCENES AT THE TUILERIES. 319
nized, because not one, but at least a hundred cries
resounded, "Vive la grande armee! Vive TEmpereur!"
In after years I thought that these cries sounded
almost prophetic, though I am pretty sure that those
who uttered them had not the slightest hope of, and
perhaps not even a desire for, a Napoleonic restora-
tion; at any rate, not the majority. There is one
thing, however, which could not have failed to strike
the impartial observer during the next twenty years.
I have seen a good many riots, small and large, during
the Second Republic and the Second Empire. "Sedi-
tious cries," as a matter of course, were freely shouted.
I have never heard a single one of " Vivent les D'Or-
leans ! " or " Vivent les Bourbons ! " I have already
spoken more than once about the powerful influence
of the Napoleonic legend in those days ; I shall have
occasion to refer to it again and again when speaking
about the nephew of the first Napoleon.
Cremieux and Gourgaud could not have been inside
the Tuileries more than a quarter of an hour when
they rushed out again. They evidently made a com-
munication to the troops, because I beheld the latter
waving their arms, but, of Qourse, I did not catch a
word of what they said ; I was too far away. It was,
I learnt afterwards, the announcement of the advent
of a new ministry, and the appointment of a new
commander of the National Guards. When I saw
hats and caps flung into the air, and heard the people
shouting, I made certain that the revolution was at
an end. I was mistaken. It was not Cremieux's
communication at all that had provoked the enthu-
siasm ; it was a second communication, made by some
one from the doorway of the Tuileries immediately
320 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
after the eminent barrister had disappeared among
the crowd, to the eflect that the King had abdicated
in favour of the Comte de Paris, with the Duchesse
d'Orleans as regent. Between the first and second
announcements there could not have elapsed more
than five or six minutes, ten at the utmost, because,
before I had time to recover from my surprise, I saw
Cremieux and Gourgaud battle through the tightly
wedged masses once more, and re-enter the Tuileries
to verify the news. I am writing this note especially
by the light of subsequent information, for, I repeat,
it was impossible to understand events succinctly by
the quickly succeeding efiects they produced at the
time. Another ten minutes elapsed — ten minutes
which I shall never forget, because every one of the
thousands present on the Place du Carrousel was in
momentary danger of having the life crushed out of
him. It was no one's fault ; there was, if I recollect
rightly, but one narrow issue on the river-side, and
there was a dense seething mass standing on the
banks, notwithstanding the danger of that position,
for the insurgents were firing freely and recklessly
across the stream. Egress on the opposite side of the
Place du Carrousel, that of the Place du Palais-Koyal,
had become absolutely impossible, for at that moment
a fierce battle was raging there between the people
and the National Guards for the possession of the
military post of the Chateau d'Eau ; * and those of the
non-combatants who did not think it necessary to pay
for the fall or the maintenance of the monarchy of
* So called after a large ornamental fountain ; the same, I believe,
which subsequently was transferred to what is now called the Place
de la Ke'publique, and which finally found its way to the Avenue
Daumeenil, where it stands at present. — Editob.
THE PLACE DU CARROUSEL. <88t
July with life or limb, tried to get out of the bullets*
reach. There was but one way of doing so, by a
stampede in a southerly direction ; the Kue de Rivoli,
at any rate that part which existed, was entirely
blocked to the west, the congeries of streets that have
been pulled down since to make room for its pro-
longation to the east were bristling with barricades;
hence the terrible, suflfocating crush, in which several
persons lost their lives. The most curious incident
connected with these awful ten minutes was that of
a woman and her baby. When Cremieux issued for
the second time from the Tuileries, it was to confirm
the news of the King's abdication. Almost imme-
diately afterwards, the masses on the quay were
making for the Place de la Concorde and the Palais-
Bourbon, whither, it was rumoured, the Diichesse
D'Orleans and her two sons were going; and gradually
the wedged-in mass on the Place du Carrousel found
breathing space. Then the woman was seen to fall
down like a ninepin that has been toppled over; she
was dead, but her baby, which she iiad held above the
crowd, and which they had, as it were, to wrench from
her grasp, was alive and well.
I stood for a little while longer on the Place du
Carrousel, trying to make up my mind whether to
proceed to the Place de la Concorde or to the Place
de I'Hotel de Ville. I knew that the newly-elected
powers, whosoever they might be, would make their
appearance at the latter spot, but how long it would
be before they came, I had not the least idea. I was
determined, however, to see at any rate one act of the
drama or the farce; for even then there was no knowing
in what guise events would present themselves. I
VOL. I. Y
J322 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
could hear the reports of firearms on both sides of me,
though why there should be firing when the King had
thrown up the sponge, I could not make out for the
life of me. I did not know France so well then as,
I know her now. I did not know then that there is
no man or, for that matter, no woman on tlie civilized
«arth so heedlessly and obdurately bloodthirsty when
he or she works himself into a fury as the professedly
debonnaire Parisian proletarian. Nevertheless, I de-
cided to go to the Hotel de Ville, and had carefully
worked my way as far as the site of the present
Place du Chatelet, when I was compelled to retrace
my steps. The elite of the Paris scum was going to
dictate its will to the new Government ; it was march-
ing to the Chamber of Deputies with banners flying.
One of the latter was a red-and-white striped flaimel
petticoat, fastened to a tremendously long pole. 1
had no choice, and if at that moment my friends had
seen me they might have easily imagined that 1 had
become one of the leaders of the revolutionary mob.
We took by the Quai de la Megisserie, and just before
the Pont d<^s Arts there was a momentary halt. The
vanguard, which I was apparently leading, had de-
cided to turn to the right ; in other words, to visit the
abode of the hated tyrant. Had I belonged to the
main division, I should have witnessed a really more
important scene, from the historical point of view ; as
it was, I witnessed —
The Sacking of the Tuileries.
The idea that "there is a divinity that hedgeth
round a king " seemed, I admit, preposterous enough
at that moment ; but I could not help being struck
THE SACKING OF THE TUILERIES. 323
with its partial truth on seeing the rabble inva/Ie tim
palace. When I say the rabble, I mean the rabl)le,
though there were a great many persons whom it
would bean insult to class as 8U(!h, and who from sheer
curiosity, or because they could not help themselves,
had gone in with them. The doors proved too narrow,
and those who could not enter by that way, entered by
the windows. The whole contingent of the riflf-raff,
male and female, weltering in the adjacent streets —
and such streets I — was there. Well, for the first ten
minutes they stood positively motionless, not daring
to touch anything. It was not the fear of being
caught pilfering and punished summarily that pre-
vented them. The minority which might have pro-
tested was so utterly insignificant in numbers, as to
make action on their part impossible. No, it was
neither fear nor shame that stayed the rabble's hands ;
it was a sentiment for which I can find no name. It
was the consciousness that these objects had belonged
to a king, to a royal family, which made them gaze
upon them in a kind of superstitious wonder. It did
not last long. We were on the ground floor, which
mainly consisted of the private apartments of the
household of Louis-Philippe. We were wandering, or
rather squeezing, through the study and bedroom of the
King himself, through the sitting-rooms of the prinres
and princesses. I do not think that a single thing was
taken from there at that particular time. But as if
the atmosphere their rulers had breathed but so very
recently became too oppres^sive, the crowd swayed
towards the vestibule, and ascended the grand staircase.
Then the spell was broken. The second batch that
entered through the windows, when we had made ruum
324 AN englishman' in PARIS.
for them, were apparently not affected by wonder
and respect, for, half an hour later, when I came down
again, every cupboard, every wardrobe, had been
forced, though it is but fair to say that very little
seems to have been taken ; the contents, books, cloth-
ing, linen, etc., were scattered on the floors ; but the
cellars, containing over four thousand bottles of wine,
were positively empty. Two hours later, however, the
clothing, especially that of the princesses, had totally
disappeared. It had disappeared on the backs of the
inmates of St. Lazare, the doors of which had been
thrown open, and who had rushed to the Tuileries to
deck themselves with these fine feathers which, in
this instance, did not make fine birds. I saw some
of them that same evening on the Boulevards, and a
more heart-rending spectacle I have rarely beheld.
The three hours I spent at the Tuileries were so
crowded with events as to make a succinct account of
them altogether impossible. I can only give frag-
ments, because, though at first the wearers of broad-
cloth were not molested, this tolerance did not last
long on the part of the new possessors of the Tuileries ;
and consequently the former gradually dropped off,
and those of them who remained had to be very
circumspect, and, above all, not to linger long in the
same spot. This growing hostility might have been
nipped in the bud by our following the example
of the National Gruards, and taking off our coats and
fraternizing with the rabble; but I frankly confess
that I had neither the courage nor the stomach to do
so. I have read descriptions of mutinous sailors
stowing in casks of rum and gorging themselves with
victuals; revolting as such scenes must be to those
THE SOVEREIGN PEOPLE AT TABLE. 325
who take no active part in them, I doubt whether they
could be as revolting as the one I witnessed in the
Gallerie de Diane.
The Gallerie de Diane was one of the large recep-
tion rooms on the first floor, but it generally served as
the dining and breakfast room of the royal family
The table had been laid for about three dozen persons,
because, as a rule, Louis-Philippe invited the prin-
cipal members of his military and civil households to
take their repasts with him. The breakfast had been
interrupted, and not been cleared away. When I
entered the apartment some sixty or seventy ruffians
of both sexes were seated at the board, while a score
or so were engaged in waiting upon them. They were
endeavouring to accomplish what the Highest Authority
has declared impossible of accomplishment, namely,
the making of silken purses out of sows* ears. They
were " putting on " what they considered " company
manners," and, under any other circumstances but
these, the attempt would have proved irresistibly
comic to the educated spectator ; as it was, it brought
tears to one's eyes. I have already hinted elsewhere
that the cuisine at the .Tuileries during Louis-
Philippe's reign was execrable, though the wine was
generally good. Bad as was the fare on that aban-
doned breakfast-table, it must, nevertheless, have
been superior to that usually partaken of by the
convives who had taken the place of the fugitive king
and princes. They, the convives, however, did not
think so; they criticized the food, and ordered the
improvised attendants "to give them something
different ; " then they turned to their female com-
panions, filling their glasses and paying them compli-
VOL. I. Y 3
326 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
ments. But for the fact of another batch eagerly
claiming their turn, the repast would have been
indefinitely prolonged ; as it was, the provisions in
the palace were running short, and the deficiency had
to be made up by supplies from outside. The inner
man being refreshed, the ladies were invited to take a
stroll through the apartments, pending the serving of
the cafe and liqueurs. The preparation of the mocha
was somewhat difficult, seeing the utensils necessary
for the supply of so large a company were probably
not at hand, and the ingredients themselves in the
store-rooms of the palace. Nothing daunted, one of
the self-invited guests rose and said, in a loud voice,
^' Permettez moi d'offrir le cafe a la compagnie,"
which offer was received with tumultuous applause.
Suiting the action to the word, he pulled out a small
canvas bag, and took from it two five-franc pieces.
"Qu'on aille chercher du cafe et du meilleur," he
said to one of the guests who had stepped forward to
execute his orders, for they sounded almost like it ;
and I was wondering why those professed champions
of equality did not tell him to fetch the coffee himself.
Then he added, "Et pendant que tu y es, citoyen,
apporte des cigarres pour nous et des cigarettes pour
les dames." The " citoyen " was already starting on
his errand, when the other " citoyen " called him back.
*' Ecoute," he said ; " tu n'acheteras rien a moins d'y
etre force. Je crois que tu n'auras qu'a demander a
la premiere epicerie venue ce qu'il te faut, et ainsi au
premier bureau de tabac. lis ont si peur, ces sales
bourgeois qu'ils n'oseront pas te refuser. En tout cas
prends un fusil ; on ne sait pas ce qui peut arriver ;
mais ne t'en sers pas qu'en cas de necessite : " — which
SOCUL AMENITIES. 327
meant plainly enough, " If they refuse to give you the
coffee and the tobacco, shoot them down."
Of course, I am unable to say how these two com-
modities were eventually procured ; but I have every
reason to believe that this messenger had only " to ask
and have," without as much as showing his musket.
There is no greater cur at troublous times than the
Paris shopkeeper. The merest urchin will terrify
him. Even on the previous day I had seen bands of
gamins who had constituted themselves the guardians
of the barricades — and there was one in nearly every
street — levy toll without the slightest resistance,
when a few well-administered cuffs would have sent
them flying, so I have not the slightest doubt
that our friend had all the credit of his generosity
without disbursing a penny — unless his delegate
fleeced him also, on the theory that a man who could
*' fork out " ten francs at a moment's notice was
nothing more or less than a bourgeois. However,
when I returned after about forty minutes* absence, it
was very evident that both the coflfee and the tobacco
had arrived, because the Galerie de Diane, large as it
was, was full of smoke, and three saucepans, filled with
water, were standing on the fire, while two or three
smaller ones were arranged on the almost priceless
marble mantelpiece. Another batch of ravenous re-
publicans had taken their seats at the board, their
predecessors whiling the time away in sweet converse
with the " ladies." Some of the latter were more use-
fully engaged ; they were rifling the cabinets of the
most rare and valuable Sevres, and arranging the
cups, saucers, platters on their tops to be ready for
the beverage that was being brewed. I was wondering
328 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAEIS.
how they had got at these art- treasures, having noticed
an hour before that their receptacles were locked and
the keys taken away. The doors had simply been
battered in with the hammer of the great clock of the
Tuileries.
It was of a piece with the wanton destruction I had
witnessed elsewhere, during my absence from the
Galerie de Diane. Before I returned thither, I had
seen the portrait of General Bugeaud in the Salle des
Marechaux, literally stabbed with bayonets ; the throne
treated to a similar fate, and carried off to the Place
de la Bastille to be burned publicly ; the papers of the
royal family mercilessly flung to the winds; the dresses
of the princesses torn to ribbons or else put on the
backs of the vilest of the vile.
There was only one comic incident to relieve the
horror of the whole. In one of the private apartment*
the rabble had come upon an aged parrot screeching
at the top of its voice, " A bas Guizot ! " The bird
became a hero there and then, and was absolutely
crammed with sweets and sugar. That one comic note
was not enough to dispel my disgust, and after the
scene in the Galerie de Diane which I have just
described, I made my way into the street.
I had scarcely proceeded a few steps, when I heard
the not very startling news that the republic had
been formally proclaimed in the Chamber by M. de
Lamartine, who had afterwards repaired to the Hotel
de Ville. At the same time, people were shouting that
the King had died suddenly. I endeavoured to get as
far, but, though the distance was certainly not more
than half a mile, it took me more than an hour. At
THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT. 329
every few yards my progress was interrupted by
barricades, the self-elected custodians of which were
particularly anxious to show their authority to a man
like myself, dressed in a coat. At last I managed to
get to the corner of the Rues des Lombards and
Saint-Martin, and just in time to enjoy a sight than
which I have witnessed nothing more comic during
the succeeding popular uprisings in subsequent years.
I w^ just crossing, when a procession hove in sight,
composed mainly of ragged urchins, dishevelled
women, and riff-raff of both sexes. In their midst was
an individual on horseback, dressed in the uniform of
a general of the First Republic, whom they were
cheering loudly. The stationary crowd made way for
them, and mingled with the escort. The moment I
had thrown in my lot with the latter, retreat was no
longer possible, and in a very short time I found
myself in the courtyard of the Hotel de Ville, and, in
another minute or so, in the principal gallery on the
lirst floor, where, it appears, some members of the
Provisional Government were already at work. I had
not the remotest notion who they were, nor did I care
to inquire, having merely come to look on. The work
of the members of the Provisional Government seemed
mainly to consist in consuming enormous quantities
of charcuterie and washing them down with copious
libations of cheap wine. The place was positively
reeking with the smell of both, not to mention the
fumes of tobacco. Every one was smoking his hardest.
The entrance of the individual in uniform caused
somewhat of a sensation ; a member — whom I had never
seen before and whom I have never beheld since —
330 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
stepped forward to ask his business. The new-comer
did not appear to know himself; at any rate, he
stammered and stuttered, but his escort left him no
time to betray his confusion more plainly. "C'est le
citoyen gouverneur de I'Hotel de Ville," they shouted
as with one voice ; and there and then the new
governor was installed, though I am perfectly sure that
not a soul of all those present knew as much as his
name.
Subsequent inquiries elicited the fact that the man
was a fourth or fifth-rate singer, named Chateaurenaud,
and engaged at the Opera National (formerly the
Cirque Olympique) on the Boulevard du Temple.
On that day they were having a dress rehearsal of a
new piece in which Chateaurenaud was playing a
military part. He had just donned his costume when,
hearing a noise on the Boulevards, he put his head out
of the window. The mob caught sight of him. " A
general, a general ! " cried several urchins ; and in less
time than it takes to tell, the theatre was invaded,
and notwithstanding his struggles, Chateaurenaud was
carried off, placed on horseback, and conducted to
the Hotel de Ville, where, for the next fortnight, he
throned as governor. For, curious to relate, M. de
Lamartine ratified his appointment (?) on the morning
of the 25th of February. Chateaurenaud became an
official of the secret police during the Second Empire.
I often saw him on horseback in the Bois de Boulogne,
when the Emperor drove in that direction.
I did not stay long in the Hotel de Ville, but made
my way back to the Boulevards as best I could ; for by
that time darkness had set in, and the mob uas shouting
WHY LAMARTINB MADE A REPUBMC. 381
for illuminations, and obstructing the thoroughfares
everywhere. Every now and then one came upon a
body which had been lying there since the morning,
but they took no notice of it. Tlieir principal concern
seemed the suitable acknowledgment of the advent of
the Second Kepublic by the bourgeoisie by means of
coloured devices, or, in default of such, by coloured
lamps or even candles. Woe to the houses, the
inhabitants of which remained deaf to their summons
to that effect. In a very few minutes every window
was smashed to atoms, until at last a timid hand was
seen to arrange a few bottles with candles stuck into
them on the sill, and light them. Then they departed,
to impose their will elsewhere.
That night, after dinner, the first person of my
acquaintance I met was Mery. He liad been in the
Chamber of Deputies from the very beginning of the
proceedings; it was he who solemnly assured me that
the first cry of *' Vive la Republique ! " had been uttered
by M. de Lamartine. I was surprised at this, because
I had been told that early in the morning the poet
had paid a visit to the Duchesse d'Orleans to assure
her of his devotion to her cause. " That may be so,"
said Mei-y, to whom I repeated what I had heard ;
" but you must remember that Lamartine is always
hard up, and closely pursued by duns. A revolution
with the prospect of becoming president of the
republic was the only means of staving off his
creditors. He clutched at it as a last resouice."
Alexander Dumas was there also, but I have an
idea that he would liave willingly passed the sponge
over that incident of his life, for 1 never could get
332 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
him to talk frankly on the subject. This does not
mean that he would have recanted his republican
principles, but that he was ashamed at having lent
his countenance to such a republic as that. I fancy
there were a great many like him.
END OP VOL. I.
<
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1892
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Vandam, Albert Dresden
An Englishman in Paris
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