The editors of the Foudre were Bérard, the two brothers Dartois (who were also comic-opera writers), Théaulon and Ferdinand Langlé, Brisset and de Rancé.
At the opposite pole of Liberal opinion to the Foudre was the Miroir, a newspaper hussar, a delightful skirmisher, overflowing with wit and humour; it was controlled by all the men who were noted for their spirit of opposition to the times, and who, we hasten to say, were really opposed to it. These men were MM. de Jouy, Arnault, Jal, Coste, Castel, Moreau, etc. So the unfortunate Miroir was the object of relentless persecution at the hands of the Government, in whose eyes it was for ever flashing a broken ray of sunlight from the days of the Empire. Suppressed as the Miroir, it reappeared as the Pandore; suppressed as Pandore, it became the Opinion; suppressed finally as Opinion, it rose again under the title of the Reunion; but this was the last of its metamorphoses: Proteus was run to earth, and died in chains.
Do not let us forget the Courrier français, the sentinel of advanced opinion, almost Republican, at a time when no one dared even to pronounce the word republic. It was for the Courrier français, edited by Châtelain, one of the most honest and most enlightened patriots of that period, that, as I have already mentioned, M. de Leuven worked.
But I had really nothing to do with any of these political journals: I only read the literary news. As I had found a dinner which cost me nothing, I decided to spend the price of my dinner on a theatre ticket, a ticket for a play: I hunted through the theatre advertisements in all the newspapers, and, guided by Hiraux in the choice of the literature on which I proposed to spend my evening, I decided to go to the Porte-Saint-Martin.
The play was the Vampire. It was only the third or fourth representation of the revival of this piece. Hiraux advised me to make haste; the piece had caught on and was drawing crowds. It was played by the two actors who were popular at the Porte-Saint-Martin: Philippe and Madame Dorval. I followed Hiraux's advice; but, in spite of all the haste I made, it is a long way from the Café de la Porte-Saint-Honoré to the theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin: I found the approaches to it blocked.
I was quite fresh to Paris. I did not know all the various theatre customs. I went along by the side of an enormous queue enclosed in barriers, not daring even to ask where the entrance-money was taken. One of the habitués in the queue no doubt perceived my confusion, for he called out to me—
"Monsieur! monsieur!"
I turned round, wondering if he were addressing me.
"Yes ... you, monsieur," continued the habitué, "you with the frizzy locks ... do you want a place?"
"Do I want a place?" I repeated.