In 1830, after the Revolution of July, Auguste Barbier produced a poem on the same subject, entitled the Curée. When one re-reads those terrible verses and compares them with work by M. de Jouy, the writings of the latter seem a model of that Attic wit which was characteristic of the old school, and Barbier an example of the brutal, fiery, unpremeditated writing I so typical of his Muse.
Meanwhile, at about the period we have reached, whilst Louis XVIII. was hunting down men of letters with that ruthlessness of which we have just cited a few examples, he was laying claim to a place in their midst. Through the foolish advice of his sycophants, the regal author published a little work entitled Voyage de Paris à Bruxelles. I do not know whether it would be possible to-day to procure a single copy of the royal brochure, wherein were to be found not only such errors in French grammar as "J'étais déjà un peu gros, à cette époque, pour monter et descendre de cabriolet," but, worse still, revelations of ingratitude and heartlessness.
A poor widow risks her head to take in fugitives, and sacrifices her last louis to give them a dinner; Monsieur relates this act of devotion as though it were no more than the fugitives' due, and ends the chapter by saying, "The dinner was execrable!"
It was written in kitchen French, as Colonel Morisel observed to M. Arnault.
"That is easily explained," replied the author of Germanicus, "since the work was by a restaurateur".
The Miroir, ordered to review the Voyage de Paris à Bruxelles, contented itself by saying, "If the work is by the august personage to whom it is attributed, it is above the region of criticism; if it is not by him, it is beneath criticism."
Let us revert to Colonel Morisel, one of the most interesting characters of the time. They could not get up the same kind of trial against the author of the Messéniennes, of the Vêpres siciliennes, of the Comédiens and of Paria, as they did against M. de Jouy and Magallon; they could not imprison him in Sainte-Pélagie or send him to Poissy, bound hand to hand and side by side with a filthy convict; but they could reduce him to poverty, and that is what they did.
On 15 April we read in the Liberal papers: "We hear that M. Ancelot, author of Louis IX. and of Maire du Palais, has just received letters patent of nobility, and that M. Casimir Delavigne, author of Vêpres siciliennes, of Paria and of the Messéniennes, has just lost his post in the Library of the Minister of Justice." It was quite true: M. Ancelot had been made a baron, and M. Casimir Delavigne was turned out into the street! It was at this juncture that, on the recommendation of Vatout, who had just published the Histoire de la Fille d'un Roi, the Duc d'Orléans appointed Casimir Delavigne to the post of assistant librarian at the Palais-Royal, where, six years later, I became his colleague.
Vatout was an excellent fellow, a trifle conceited; but even his vanity was useful as a spur which, put in motion by the example of others, goaded him to do the work he would otherwise not have attempted. One of his conceits was to pretend he was a natural son of a prince of the House of Orléans—a very innocent conceit, as it did not harm anyone, and nobody considered it a crime; for he used the influence he acquired by his post at the Palais-Royal in rendering help to his friends, and sometimes even to his enemies.... Just at this moment the information I have been seeking concerning the last act of the Censorship has been brought me.
Ah! my dear Victor Hugo, you who are busy trying to wrest from the jury, before whom you are defending your son, the entire abolition of the death penalty; make an exception in favour of the censor, and stipulate that he shall be executed twice over at the next Revolution, since once is not nearly enough.