"In the play that has just been accepted by the Comédie-Française, the work of an author who, we are told, possesses great merit, there appear characters who had a disgraceful connection with the subject (the Court of Henri III.), whose new appearance on the stage may possibly serve to prove the author's talent, but whose presence, it cannot be denied, create an impropriety impossible to tolerate. History has preserved the names of these miserable heroes, those infamous personages, who took part in a debauch as dissolute as it was inexcusable; we will venture to call them by their true names, and to signify our detestation of the representatives of these rôles of mignons, on account of the scandalous mischief they will do to the masses. If the information we have received upon this subject be correct, the authority which honours the theatre with its guardian vigilance will not permit an innovation of this nature, for it knows that its first duty is only to authorise those plays concerning the representation of which a son or a daughter can be innocently satisfied when they ask of their parents, 'What does that mean?'"
I had expected this and was prepared to meet it. I had hardly read the above paragraph before I had armed myself with a substantial cane and had reappeared at the offices.
"De la Ponce," I said, in scriptural phrase, "take up your cloak and your hat."
I set off in search of the critic with all the more satisfaction in that I knew there were days when he was no coward: if a duel would serve his purpose he would fight one. I sent in my name.
He had been expecting me, he said, when he heard my name; but he probably did not expect me to come to him in the frame of mind in which I presented myself before him.
Was I going to be lucky or unlucky? I could not tell, but the folliculaire was not in one of his brave moods: he beat about the bush, spoke of his influence with the Government, tried to show us his last New Year's presents and ended up, in short, by offering to use his influence on my behalf with M. de Martignac, who was a friend of his and owed him some money.
I quote this sentence especially, as an example of the man's impudence.
I told him I had not come to solicit his influence but to request him to withdraw as quickly as possible and in the fullest manner his article in that day's papers. Next day, his paper contained the following apology:—
"We are exceedingly sorry to find our brief article on Henri III., recently accepted by the Comédie-Français, in yesterday's issue contained imputations which were far from our intention. We had not received the accurate information on the subject which is now in our possession, and we can satisfy our readers concerning the taste, the delicacy and the tact with which the scenes and personages to which we referred are handled. This method of treating romance is too closely akin to classic traditions to admit of objection on our part."
My readers may, perhaps, be surprised that I should have had one moment's uneasiness in connection with such a man, but—I must repeat it to be believed—despicable and despised though this man was, he had his influence. Instead of his expressions of opinion being torn up before his eyes by those to whom they referred, they received due attention in the eyes of critics, and I knew intimately one director of the Beaux-Arts who paid him, for many years, a pension of a thousand francs. For the rest, whether this apology influenced the Commission of Examiners or not, the day after the appearance of the apology the piece was returned less cut about and lacerated and mauled than it would have been to-day! True, M. de Martignac, who had heard much about the play, desired to be its censor, and M. de Martignac, as everyone knew, was so clever a man that, while he was in the Government, even Charles X. showed signs of cleverness.