Casimir Delavigne had laid down his own conditions. Expelled from the Théâtre-Français under pretext that his work was badly put together, he had profited by the proscription. His Messéniennes, his Vêpres siciliennes, his Comédiens and the Paria, and perhaps even more than all these, the need felt by the Opposition party for a Liberal poet to set against Lamartine and Hugo, the Royalist poets of the period, had made the author of the École des Vieillards so popular that, with this popularity, all difficulties were cleared away, perhaps even too smoothly; for, like Richelieu in his litter, Casimir Delavigne returned to the Théâtre-Français not through the door, but by means of a gap.
I knew Casimir Delavigne very well as a man, I studied him very much as a poet: I never could get up much admiration for Casimir Delavigne as a poet, but I have always had the greatest respect for him as a man. As an individual, in addition to his uncontested and incontestable literary probity, Casimir Delavigne was a man of pleasant, polite, even affable demeanour. The first sight of him gave one the disagreeable impression that his head was much too big for his small body; but his fine forehead, his intelligent eyes, his good-natured mouth, very soon made one forget this first impression. Although a man of great talent, he was of the number of those who display it only when pen in hand. His conversation, pleasant and affectionate, was colourless and insipid; as he lacked dignity of expression and strength of intonation, so he lacked strength and dignity of actual words. He attracted no notice at a salon: people needed to have Casimir Delavigne pointed out before they paid any attention to him. There are men who bear the stamp of their kingly dignity about with them: wherever these people go they instantly command attention; at the end of an hour's intercourse they reign. Casimir Delavigne was not one of them: he would have declined the power of commanding attention, had it been offered him; had sovereignty been thrust upon him, he would have abdicated. All burdens, even the weight of a crown, were embarrassing in his eyes. He had received an excellent education: he knew everything that could be taught when he left college; but since he left college he had learnt very little by himself, had thought but little, had reflected but little.
One of the chief features of Casimir Delavigne's character—and, in our opinion, one of his most unlucky attributes—was his submission to other people's ideas, a submission that could only arise from want of confidence in his own ideas. Oddly enough, he had created among his friends and in his family a kind of censorship, a sort of committee of repression, commissioned to watch over his imagination and to prevent it from wandering; this was all the more futile since Casimir Delavigne's imagination, enclosed in decidedly narrow limits, needed stimulating much more than restraining. The result was that this Areopagitica, inferior as it was in feeling and, above all, in style to Casimir Delavigne himself, played sad havoc with what little picturesqueness of style and imagination in plot he possessed. This depreciatory cenacle often reminded him that Icarus fell because he flew too near the sun; and I am sure he did not even dream of replying, that if the sun melted Icarus's wings, it must have been because Icarus had false wings fastened on with wax, and that the eagle, which disappears in the flood of fiery rays sent forth by the god of day, never falls back on the earth as the victim of a similar accident.
The result of this abdication of his own will was that just when Casimir Delavigne's talent was at its best and his reputation was at its height, he dared not do anything by himself, or on his own initiative. The ideas that arose in his brain were submitted to this committee before they were worked into proper shape; the plot decided upon, he would again put himself in the hands of this commission, which commented upon it, discussed it, corrected it and returned it to the poet signed examined and found correct. Then, when the plot became a play and was read before (of course) the same assembly, one would take a pencil, another a pair of scissors, a third a compass, a fourth a rule, and set to work to cut all vitality out of the play; to such purpose that, during the sitting, the comedy, drama or tragedy was lopped, trimmed and cut about not according to the notions of the author but as MM. So and So, So and So, So and So thought fit, all conscientious gentlemen after their own fashion, all talented men in their own line, wise professors, worthy savants, able philologists, but indifferent poets who, instead of elevating their friend's efforts by a powerful breath of inspiration, only thought instead of keeping him down on the ground for fear he should soar above them to realms where their short-sighted glance could not follow him.
This habit of Casimir Delavigne, of submitting his will to that of others, gave him, without his being aware of it himself, a false modesty, an assumed humility, that embarrassed his enemies and disarmed those who were jealous of him. How indeed could anyone begrudge a man his success who seemed to be asking everybody's leave to succeed and who appeared surprised when he did succeed; or be envious of a poor poet who, if they would but believe it, had only succeeded through the addition to his feeble intelligence of abilities superior to his own; or be vexed with such a quaking victor, who implored people, in the moment of his triumph, not to desert him, as beseechingly as a vanquished man might pray them to remain true to him under defeat? And people were faithful to Casimir Delavigne even to the verge of fanaticism: they extended hands of flattering devotion in homage to his renown, the diverging rays of which, like the flame of the Holy Spirit, became divided into as many tongues of fire as the Casimirian cult could muster apostles.
We have mentioned the drawbacks, now let us point out the advantages, of his popularity. His plays were praised abroad before they were finished, spoken highly of before they were received, in the three classes of society to which Casimir Delavigne belonged by birth, and I will even go so far as to say above all by his talent. Thus his clientèle comprised: through Fortune Delavigne, who was an advocate, all the law students in Paris; through Gustave de Wailly, professor, all the students of the Latin quarter; through Jules de Wailly, chief clerk in the Home Office, all the Government officials.
This sort of family clientèle was extremely useful for the purpose of doing battle with theatrical managers and publishers.
It knew Casimir and did not allow him to undertake any business arrangements: he was so modest that he would have unconditionally given his plays to the comedians, his manuscripts to the publishers without any agreements. Casimir was aware of his failing in this direction: he referred publishers and managers to his brother Germain, his brother Germain referred them to his brother Fortune, and his brother Fortune managed the affair on a business footing.
And I would point out that all this was done simply, guilelessly, in kindly fashion, out of the admiration and devotion everybody felt towards Casimir; without intrigue, for this assistance never prejudiced anyone who rendered it; and I might even say without there being any coterie; for, in my opinion, where there is conviction coteries do not exist.