I went to the Ministry and found that my play was in the hands of M. Briffaut, author of Ninus II. The history of Ninus II. might surely make M. Briffaut indulgent to others. But forgive me, perhaps you do not know the history of Ninus II. I will tell it you.
M. Briffaut had, in 1809 or 1810, written a play under some title or other, the scene of which was laid in Spain. But it was stopped by the Censorship. A friend of M. Briffaut appealed to Napoleon against the decision of the Censors. Napoleon read the play and found it contained some lines in praise of Spaniards.
"The Censorship was right to forbid it," he said. "It does not at all suit me to have a people praised with whom I am at war!"
"But, sire, what is to become of the author?" the friend asked humbly and sympathetically. "He has composed but this one play and may never write another all his life long; he was counting upon this as an opening to many ambitions—sire, you will ruin his career!"
"Very well, then; if he puts his action, say, in Assyria, instead of in Spain, I will raise no objection; and, instead of calling his hero Pélage, he calls him Ninus I. or Ninus II, I will authorise it."
Now M. Briffaut was not going to be stopped by such conditions as these, so he called his play Ninus II.; then, wherever the word Spaniards came in, he altered it into Assyrians, and Burgos into Babylon: it made it awkward in altering the rhymes, but that was all;—and the play was authorised and played; it was, no doubt, on account of this herculean feat, that they made M. Briffaut a member of the Academy. He was, on the whole, a very good fellow, and not unduly proud of having done nothing—a superiority which renders many of my colleagues insolent.
We discussed at length, not the literary, but the political, defects of the unhappy Christine. It seemed she bristled with them; and the poor Censor, whose touch was very delicate, did not really know where to lay his hands on them. There was in particular this line which Christine recites in allusion to her crown—
"C'est un hochet royal trouvé dans mon berceau!"
which was looked upon as a crime. In that line, I was attacking the legitimacy, the divine right, the succession! I cannot tell you the number of things I was attacking in it! For the moment I fancy I must, without knowing it, have written my play in that fine Turkish tongue of which Molière gives us a specimen in Le Bourgeois gentilhomme, which is capable of expressing a great deal in very few words. Then there was the sending of the crown to Cromwell—a very dangerous suggestion for the Monarchy! It was in vain I protested that the incident was true to history; that Christine had really sent the crown to the Protector, who had had it melted down. To recall to humanity, which seemed to have forgotten the episode, that it had really taken place, was looked upon as a revolutionary and inflammatory act. Indeed, from M. Briffaut's manner of dealing with history in Ninus II., it was obvious he did not trouble himself much about historical facts. But, in spite of my discussions with M. Briffaut, pleasant as they were rendered by his affability, no progress was made, and thus, as Harel was pressed for time, I was prevailed on to try and engage the good offices of M. de Lourdoueix, the head of the Censorial staff.
I had been advised to get an introduction to M. de Lourdoueix by a lady of high repute who was one of his friends; I do not know what her name was, but I was given to understand that this was the only channel by which he could be got at; like Raoul, however, in the Huguenots, I was full of confidence in the justness of my cause; so, without any introduction whatever, I made an expedition to the South Side, where M. de Lourdoueix was to be found. I do not know whether M. de Lourdoueix had composed a Ninus III. or Ninus IV., whether he belonged to the Academy, or simply to the Caveau Club; but he was far from being as courteous in his manner as M. Briffaut. Our interview was a brief one; after five minutes' conversation, decidedly bitter on both sides, he said—