"I will, monseigneur," he said; and he sat down and drew a manuscript out of his pocket—think of it! a whole manuscript!—and, in the midst of the general silence, he read the title—
"Gentlemen, the Cid d'Andalousie."
They all stared at him; but there was no way out of it, they were trapped, and M. le Duc d'Orléans most of all. Upon my word, it was a great success. When the reading was over and compliments had been paid, the Duc d'Orléans said to me—
"Dumas, can you tell me what was the reason of the noise I heard by the side of the window, which interrupted M. Lebrun, towards the beginning of the third act?"
"Monseigneur," I replied, "it was A—, who squatted behind the curtains, where he could sleep more comfortably; but it would seem he had a nightmare: he gave a cuff to a small stand, and has smashed a table full of Sèvres china, for which he is excessively sorry."
"He need not be unhappy about it," said the Duc d'Orléans; "tell him he did quite right, and I will bear the cost of the china."
The poor duke was as wise a prince as Solomon, and as good as St. Louis!
In other respects, too, the Théâtre-Français was not very fortunate at this time. After playing the Cid d'Andalousie of M. Lebrun, it put on M. de Comberousse's Judith and Bélisaire, by M. de Jouy. An important change had taken place at the theatre in the rue de Richelieu. Baron Taylor had been appointed royal commissioner in place of M. Choron, upon the recommendation of MM. Lemercier, Viennet and Alexandre Duval.
When Charles X. returned to Paris after the coronation, and the Bishop of Orléans issued orders for prayers to be offered up in thanksgiving for the safe accomplishment of the ceremony just concluded, M. Bergeron, curé of the commune of Saint-Sulpice, canton of Blois, after delivering from his reading-desk the bishop's mandate, added these simple words:—