It was under these conditions that the year 1829 broke upon me—the year in which was to take place the grand duel between my past and my future. My intimate intercourse with the Villenave family had been the means of opening to me several of the salons of the day, and among these that of the Princess de Salm. Here it was that I met Lady Morgan, Cooper and Humboldt.
Meanwhile, Henri III. was causing a great sensation. Nothing was talked of save the revolution which its representation meant. I attended the rehearsals with great assiduity, attracted, so I asserted, by my interest in the work; but, according to Mlle. Mars, the real reason was the interest I took in an exceedingly pretty and charming lady, named Mlle. Virginie Bourbier, who played a trifling part in my drama. Since the month of October I had not put foot inside the office. Now, although I had worked hard for nine months of the year and, consequently, was entitled to three-quarters of my bonus, everyone save myself seemed to have had share in the distribution of funds, and in the munificence of His Royal Highness. It was not a simple oversight, as I might have hoped, although that would have been humiliating enough—no, the fact had been debated, considered and decided, and His Royal Highness had condescended to write beside my name, in his own hand—
"The gratuities of M. Alexandre Dumas are to be withheld, as he is engaged in literary work."
The Administration was divided into two camps over my position. Some had bravely dared to take the side of literature against bureaucracy. Among the number of my partisans was little old Bichet, whose head being turned by M. Pieyre and M. Parseval de Grandmaison maintained that I should do great things ... not so great, of course, as Piron; but still, I should make my name known. The others were Lassagne, Lamy, secretary of Mlle. Adélaïde, the son of the director of the comptabilité Jamet, whose admiration for the English actors, and specially for a charming English actress, had brought him over to the Romantic school, and some others, who were too dependent on their positions to dare to manifest their sympathy with me openly. Oudard remained neutral. M. Deviolaine wavered; all this talk there had been about me had shaken his opinion. Was I right, in spite of the whole world, and, in spite of my education at three francs per month, should I succeed where scores of others had failed? He expressed his doubt, from time to time, nearly always winding up his hesitation by the following words:—
"The —— is crazy enough to do it!"
As is usual in theatrical matters, the production was postponed from day to day but at last it was fixed to take place on 11 February. A grave anxiety, however, hovered over everybody and myself in particular, like a black cloud. The Censor had not yet given his final decision upon the play. A wretched creature occupied the office at that time, who lived on scandal, making capital of others' self-esteem or their weakness, beside whom Geoffroi was honesty itself and a conscientious critic. The following lines on the Folliculaire by Laville might have been written about him:—
"Un vase de vermeil, une bague de prix,
Du vin surtout, voilà ses cadeaux favoris.
On assure—je crois que, sur ce fait probable,
Pour le vrai, la chronique a pris le vraisemblable—
Qu'au jour où nos amis viennent du vieux Nestor
Nous souhaiter les ans, et bien d'autres encor;
Au jour où les filleuls aiment tant leurs marraines;
Jour de munificence où, sous le nom d'étrennes,
Chacun de son voisin attend quelques tributs,
Et d'une honnête aumône accroît ses revenus,
Il revend au rabais, ou plutôt à l'enchère,
Le superflu des vins et de la bonne chère
Dont l'accable le zèle ou l'effroi des acteurs;
Et que Follicula, pour qui les directeurs
De schalls et de chapeaux renouvellent l'emplette,
Se fait, pendant deux mois, marchande à la toilette!"
The entire theatrical world paid tribute to this man. Mademoiselle Mars gave him a pension; he received subsidies from the Théâtre-Français, the Odéon, the Opéra and the Opéra-Comique. They came to him as to the open market: he sold eulogy to one, calumny to others; he sold everything, even his silence.
Mademoiselle Mars, Firmin, the company of the Comédie-Française, and even Taylor himself had urged me to pay this man a call; but I had obstinately refused. So, one morning, someone brought me his paper, which contained the following lines:—