It was quite out of the question that these would not move heaven and earth for me. I had three or four letters from Jourdan to my father, which gave token of a friendship equal to that of Damon and Pythias. I had only one letter from Marshal Sébastiani; but this letter proved that when at loggerheads with Bonaparte during the Egyptian campaign, it was through the intercession of my father, who was then on excellent terms with the general-in-chief, that he had obtained a commission in the expedition. Surely such services as these would never be forgotten! At that time, as can be seen, I was very simple, very provincial, very confiding. I am wrong in saying "at that time"; alas! I am just the same now, perhaps more so. Nevertheless, Adolphe's suspicions disturbed me. I decided not to wait for the Duc de Bellune's answer before seeing my other patrons, and I told Adolphe I meant to buy the Almanach des 25,000 adresses in order to find out where they lived.
"Do not put yourself to that expense," said Adolphe. "I believe my father has it: I will lend it you."
The tone in which Adolphe said "Do not put yourself to that expense" annoyed me. It was as clear as day that he believed I should be making a useless expenditure in buying the Directory in question. I was angry with Adolphe for having such a low opinion of men.
To give him the lie, I went next morning to Marshal Jourdan. I announced myself as Alexandre Dumas. My success was surprising. The marshal no doubt imagined that the news he had received fifteen years ago was not true, and that my father was still alive. But when he saw me, his face changed completely: he remembered perfectly that a General Alexandre Dumas had existed in times gone by, with whom he had come in contact, but he had never heard of the existence of a son. In spite of all I could urge to establish my identity, he dismissed me, after ten minutes' interview, still a disbeliever in my existence. This good marshal was stronger than St. Thomas: he saw and did not believe.
It was a sad beginning. I recalled the way in which, advising me not to buy an Almanach des 25,000 adresses, Adolphe had said to me, "Do not put yourself to that expense." Was it possible, perchance, that Adolphe's scepticism might prove correct? These depressing cogitations passed through my mind while I was walking from the faubourg Saint-Germain to the faubourg Saint-Honoré—that is to say, from Marshal Jourdan's to Marshal Sébastiani's. I announced myself, as I had at Marshal Jourdan's; at my name the door opened. I thought, for a moment, that I had inherited Ali Baba's famous "Open, sesame!" The general was in his study. I italicise general, as I was in error previously in calling the famous minister of foreign affairs to Louis-Philippe marshal:—Comte Sébastiani was only a general when I paid my visit to him. So the general was in his study: in the four comers of this study, as at the four corners of a map are the four cardinal points or four winds, were four secretaries. These four secretaries were writing at his dictation. They were three less in number than Cæsar's, but two more than Napoleon's. Each of these secretaries had on his desk, besides his pen, his paper and his penknife, a gold snuff-box which he opened and offered to the general, every time the latter had occasion, when walking round the room, to stop in front of the desk. The general would daintily insert the first finger and thumb of a hand whose whiteness and delicacy had been the envy of his grand-cousin Napoleon, take a voluptuous sniff of the Spanish powder and, like le Malade imaginaire, proceed to measure the length and the breadth of the room..
My visit was short. Whatever consideration I might have for the general, I did not feel inclined to become his snuff-box boy. I returned to my hotel in the rue des Vieux-Augustins, somewhat cast down. The first two men I had turned to had blown upon my golden dreams, and tarnished them. Besides, although a whole day had gone by, although I had given my address as accurately as possible, I had not yet received any answer from the Duc de Bellune.
I picked up my Almanack des 25,000 adresses, and began to congratulate myself on not having wasted five francs in its acquisition. I was quickly disillusioned, as will be seen; my cheerful confidence had gone; I felt that sinking of heart which ever increases in proportion as golden dreams give place to reality. I then turned over the leaves of the book purely and simply at hap-hazard, looking at it mechanically, reading without taking it in, when, all at once, I saw a name that I had often heard my mother pronounce, and, each time, in such eulogistic terms that all my spirits revived. That name was General Verdier's, who had served in Egypt, under my father.
"Come, come," I said; "the number three is a favourite with the gods; perhaps my third unknown and providential protector will do more for me than the other two—which would be no great tax, seeing the others have not done anything at all."
General Verdier lived in the faubourg Montmartre, No. 6. Ten minutes later, I was holding the following terse dialogue with the concierge of his house:—