A strange incident preceded the performance of the Clerc et le Théologien. The play, written in collaboration by MM. Scribe and d'Épagny, and accepted by the Odéon Theatre, had been stopped by the censor of 1830. Good old Censorship! It is the same in all ages! There indeed come moments when it cuts its fingers with its own scissors; but censors are a race of polypii,—their fingers merely grow again. The censor had, then, stopped MM. Scribe and d'Épagny's drama. The vessel which bore their twofold banner, upon which the Minister of the Interior had put his embargo by the medium of his custom officers, was at anchor in the docks of the rue de Grenelle. The Revolution of 1830 set it afloat again.
We have said that Harel received the work in 1829. Becoming possessed of his own work again by the events of the revolution of July, Scribe thought no more of Harel and took his play to the Théâtre-Français. But Scribe, who usually reckoned carefully, had this time reckoned without Harel. Harel had far too good a memory to forget Scribe. He pursued author and play, writ in hand and a sheriff's officer behind him. It need hardly be said that the officer stopped both the play and the author just when they were turning the corner of the rue de Richelieu. Sheriff's officers are very fast runners! A law-suit ensued, and Harel lost. But the trial inspired Scribe's imagination; in that twofold insistence of the Théâtre-Français and the Théâtre-Odéon he saw a means of killing two birds with one stone and of making one play into two. In this way M. Scribe would have his drama, M. d'Épagny his drama; the Théâtre-Français its drama, and the Odéon its drama. The play, consequently, was reduplicated like a photograph: the Théâtre-Français, which was down on its luck, came in for the Clerc et le Théologien by M. d'Épagny; Harel drew Scribe aside by his coat-tails just as the Clerc de la Basoche and he were entering, à reculons, on the second French stage. It is to be understood that I use this rather ambitious locution, the seconde scène française, to avoid putting Odéon so close to reculons. Both the dramas were failures, or pretty nearly so. I did not see either of them, and I shall therefore take good care to refrain from expressing my opinion upon them.
But our true fête days—I hope I may be forgiven for this harmless digression—were when it was the turn of one of the gentlemen from the Institute—Lemercier, Viennet or Arnault—to produce a work. Then there was general hilarity. We would all arrange to meet in the orchestra of the Théâtre-Français to be present at the spectacle of a work falling flat, sometimes with very little assistance, at others gently aided in its fall by a bitter blast of hisses; a spectacle sad enough for the author's friends, but very exhilarating to his enemies, and the gentlemen above mentioned had treated us as enemies.
M. Arnault was the cleverest of the three authors I have just named, a man, as I have said elsewhere, of immense worth and eminent intellect. But everyone has his own hobby-horse, as Tristram Shandy says, and M. Arnault's hobby-horse was tragedy. But his hobby was roaring, broken-winded, foundered, to such an extent that, in spite of its legs being fired by the Constitutionnel, it could rarely get to the last line of a fifth act!
We asked that these gentlemen's pieces should be played with as much fervour as they employed in stating that ours should not. They, on their side, clamoured loudly to be played, and, as they had the government to back them up, specially since the July Revolution, their turn to be represented arrived, in spite of the timid opposition of the Théâtre-Français, in spite, too, of sighs from members of the staff and the groans of the cashier. True, the torture did not last long; it was generally restricted to the three customary performances, even if it attained to three. Often the first performance was not ended; witness Pertinax and Arbogaste. It was very strange, in this case, to see the excuses which these gentlemen made up for their failure. Those made by M. Arnault were delightful, since nobody could possibly have a readier wit than he. For instance, he had made the Théâtre-Français take up again an old piece of his, played, I believe, under the Empire the Proscrit, or les Guelfes et les Gibelins. The piece fell flat. Who did the furious Academician blame for it?—Firmin! Why Firmin? Firmin, delightful, enthusiastic and conscientious player, who enjoyed much lasting favour from the public, although his memory began to fail him,—Firmin played the part of Tébaldo, head of the Ghibellines and brother of Uberti, head of the Guelfs, in the play. The other parts were played by Ligier, Joanny and Duchesnois. So, we see, M. Arnault had nothing to grumble at: the Comédie-Française had lent him of its best; perhaps it had a conviction it would not be for long. Very well, M. Arnault made Firmin's memory, or, rather, want of memory, the excuse for this failure, and he dedicated his play to the prompter. We have this curious dedication before us, and are going to quote it; it will, we hope, have for our readers at least the attraction of a hitherto unpublished fragment. This time we are not afraid of being mistaken in the name of the author du factum as not long since happened to us concerning an article in the Constitutionnel reproduced by us, which, by a copyist's error, we ascribed to M. Étienne, whilst it was only by M. Jay.[1]
And, by the way, as a relation of M. Étienne, a son-in-law or rather, I think, it was a nephew,—protested in the papers, let me be allowed a word of explanation, which will completely re-establish my good faith. I live part of my life in Brussels, part in Paris; the rest of the time I live in the railway between Brussels and Paris, or Paris and Brussels. Besides, I have already said that I am writing my Memoirs without notes. The consequence is that, when I am in Paris, I have my information close at hand; but when I am in Brussels I am obliged to have it sent from Paris. Now, I needed the article that had been published against Antony the very morning of the day it was to have been played at the Théâtre-Français. I wrote to Viellot, my secretary—a delightful fellow who never thought of spreading the report that he was any collaborator,—to unearth the Constitutionnel from the catacombs of 1834, to copy out for me the above-mentioned article and to send it me. Viellot went to the Bibliothèque, that great common grave where journals of all sorts of parties and colours and times are entered. He borrowed the file from the rag-merchant of Pyat who was taking it away, and who, when he learnt what was wanted, would not let it off his hook for love or money until he was told that it was in order to do me a service; then he lent it, and Viellot picked off from its curved point the Constitutionnel for 28 April 1834. Then he returned home and copied out the article. Only, in copying it I do not know what hallucination he was possessed with, whether the style flew to his head, or the wit got into his brain, or the form upset his senses, anyhow, he imagined that the article was by M. Étienne, and signed it with the name of the author of Brueys et Palaprat and of the Deux Gendres. I, seeing the copy of the article, believed,—I was at a distance of seventy leagues from the scene of action, as they say poetically in politics,—the signature to be as authentic as the rest; I therefore fell upon the unfortunate article, and rent it in pieces—I was going to say tooth and nail, but no, I am too cautious for that!—with might and main, both article and signature. My error, though involuntary, was none the less an error on that account, and deserved that I should acknowledge it publicly. Thereupon, reparation be made to M. Étienne, and homage paid to M. Jay! Honour to whom honour is due!
Let us return to M. Arnault and his dedication, which, I remember, at the time made my poor Firmin so unhappy that he wept over it like a child!
"DEDICATORY EPISTLE
TO THE PROMPTER OF THE THÉÂTRE-FRANÇAIS[2]"MONSIEUR,—Authors are by no means all ungrateful beings. I know some who have paid homage for their success to the player to whom they were particularly indebted. I imitate this noble example: I dedicate the Guelfes to you. Mademoiselle Duchesnois, M. Joanny, M. Ligier have, without doubt, contributed to the success of that work by a zeal as great as their talent; but whatever they may have done for me, have they done as much as you, monsieur?
"'To prompt is not to play,' M. Firmin will say, who is even stronger at the game of draughts than at the game of acting.[3] To that I reply with Sganarelle: 'Yes and no!' When the prompter merely gives the word to the actor, when he only jogs the memory of the player, no, certainly, to prompt is not to play! But when the player takes everything from the prompter, everything from the first to the last line of his part; when your voice covers his; when it is yours alone which is heard whilst he gesticulates, certainly this is playing through the prompter! Is it not this, monsieur, which has happened, not only at the first, but even at every performance of the Guelfes? Is it not you who really played M. Firmin's part?
"'His memory,' he says, 'is of the worst.' It is conceivable, according to the system which places the seat of memory in the head.[4] But, under the circumstances, does not M. Firmin blame his memory for the infirmity of his will? And why, you will say to me, is M. Firmin wanting in kindly feeling towards you, who feel kindly disposed to everybody? Towards you, who, from your age, perhaps also from your misfortunes, if not on account of past successes, had a right at least to that consideration which is not refused to the scholar who makes his first appearance? Such are indeed the rights which I knew M. Firmin's good nature would accord you, rights which I thought to strengthen in him by offering one of the most important parts in my tragedy, the part that you have prompted, or that you have played: it is a case of six of one and a half-dozen of another. I was, indeed, far from suspecting that the honour done to M. Firmin's talent was an insult to his expectations. Yet that is what has happened.
"The succession to Talma was open for competition. When the empire of the world came to be vacant, all who laid claim to the empire of Alexander were not heroes: I ought to have remembered this; but does one always profit by the lessons of history? I did not imagine that the heir to the dramatic Alexander would be the one among his survivors who least resembled him. Nature had shown great prodigality towards Talma. His physical gifts corresponded with his moral endowments, a glowing soul dwelt in his graceful body; a vast intellect animated that noble head; his powerful voice, with its pathetic and solemn intonation, served as the medium for his inexhaustible sensitiveness, for his indefatigable energy. Talma possesses everything nature could bestow; besides all that art could acquire. Although M. Firmin has eminent gifts, does he combine in himself all perfections? His somewhat slender personal appearance does not ill-become all youthful parts, but does it accord with the dignity required by parts of leading importance? His voice is not devoid of charm in the expression of sentiments of affection; but has it the strength requisite for serious moods and violent emotions? His intellect is not wanting in breadth; but do his methods of execution expand to that breadth when he wants to exceed the limits with which nature has circumscribed him? The pride of the eagle may be found in the heart of a pigeon, and the courage of a lion in that of a poodle. But, by whatever sentiment it is animated, the rock-pigeon can only coo, the cur can but howl. Now, these accents have not at all the same authority as the cry of the king of the air, or the roar of the king of the forests.
"After these sage reflections, distributing the part of my tragedy to the actors who have abilities that are the most in keeping with the characters of those parts, I gave that of Uberti to M. Ligier, an actor gifted with an imposing figure and voice, and I reserved the part of the tender impassioned Tébaldo for M. Firmin. What the deuce possessed me? Just as every Englishman says whenever he comes across salt water, 'This belongs to us!' so does M. Firmin say whenever he comes across a part made for the physiognomy of Talma, This belongs to me![5] The part of Uberti was intended for Talma, and I did not offer it to M. Firmin! The part of Uberti was claimed by M. Firmin, and I did not take it from M. Ligier! A twofold crime of lèse-majesté. Alas! How the majesty of M. Firmin has punished me for it! He accepted the rôle that I offered him. Knowing the secrets of the Comédie, you know, monsieur, what has been the result of that act of complacency. Put into study in April, Les Guelfes might have been produced in May, under the propitious influence of spring; it was only performed in July, during the heat of the dog-days. Thus had M. Firmin decided. Oh! the power of the force of inertia! When several ships sail in company, the common pace is regulated by that of the poorest sailer. The common pace in this case was regulated by the memory of M. Firmin, which unfortunately was regulated by his good will. Now, this good will thought fit to compromise the interests of my reputation. But everything has to be paid for. At what point, monsieur, did it not serve the interests of your fame? All the newspapers kept faithful to it. Did it not exhume you from the pit, where hitherto you had buried your capacities, and reveal them to the public? Did it not, when raising you to the level of the actors behind whom you had hitherto been hidden, give them a mouthpiece in you?
"Declaiming, whilst M. Firmin gesticulated, you have, it is true, transferred from the boulevards to the Théâtre-Français an imitation of that singular combination of a declamatory orator who does not let himself be seen, and a gesticulator who does not let himself be heard, co-operate in the execution of the same part. People of scrupulous taste are, it is true, offended by it; but what matters that to you? It is not you, monsieur, who, in these scenes, play the buffoon: and what does it matter to me, since, acting thus, you have saved my play? Moreover, is it the first borrowing, and the least honourable borrowing, that your noble theatre has made from those of the boulevards?[6]
"Thanks to that admirable agreement, the Guelfes has had several representations. But why has not the run, suspended by a journey taken by Mademoiselle Duchesnois, been resumed upon her return, as that great actress requested it should be, and as the play-bills announced.[7]
"M. Firmin refused to proceed. The part of Tébaldo, he says, has slipped out of his memory. For that matter, it might as well never have entered it. But, after all, what is it to you or to me whether he knows his part or not? Can he not make the same shift in the future as he has in the past? Need his memory fail him so long as you do not fail him? Is his memory not at the tip of your tongue, which, one knows, is by no means paralysed? But do not these difficulties, monsieur, that are said to come from M. Firmin, come from yourself? Accustomed to working underground, was it not you who stirred them up in secret? You have not the entire part, like M. Firmin; paid for prompting when you take the part of an actor, and of a principal actor, did you not get tired, at the last, of becoming out of breath for glory alone, and did you not behind the scenes oppose the revival of a play during the performance of which you had not time to breathe? Justice, monsieur, justice! No doubt M. Firmin owes you an indemnity: claim it, but do not compromise the interests of the Théâtre-Français by impeding his services in preventing him from doing justice to an author's rights; that may lead to consequences, remember: the number of authors dissatisfied with him on just grounds is already but too great; be careful not to increase it. The second Théâtre-Français, although people are doing their best to kill it, is not yet dead. Would it be impossible to put it on its feet again? Will not the players who have been drawn off to block the first theatre (which pays them less for playing at it than for not playing any part at all) grow tired in the end of a state of things which reduces them from the status of parish priests to that of curates, or, rather, from being the bishops they were degrades them to the rank of millers? In conclusion, is there not a nucleus of a tragedy-playing company still left at the Odéon? And are there no pupils at the school of oratory who could swell the number?
"Think of it, monsieur, the tragedy which they seem to wish to stifle in the rue de Richelieu might find a home in the faubourg Saint-Germain, which was its cradle and that also of the Théâtre-Français. You would not do badly to drop a hint of this to the members of the committee. Further, happen what may, remember, monsieur, the obligations that I owe you will never be erased from my memory, which is not as ungrateful as that of M. Firmin.
"If only I could express my gratitude to you by some homage more worthy your acceptance!—Dedicate a tragedy to you, a tragedy in verse, written at top speed![8] But each must pay in his own coin: monsieur, do not refuse to take mine.
"Remember, monsieur, that Benedict XIV. did not scorn the dedication of Mahomet. I am not a Voltaire, I know; but neither are you a Pope. All things considered, perhaps the relation between us is equivalent to that which existed between those two personages. Meanwhile, take this until something better turns up. Classic by principle and by habit I have not hitherto believed myself possessed of sufficient genius to dispense with both rhyme and reason. But who knows? Perhaps, some day, I shall be in a condition to try my hand at the romantic guerre: if I put myself at a distance from the age when people rave extravagantly I shall draw nearer to that of dotage. Patience then!—I am, with all the consideration which is due to you, monsieur, your very humble and very obedient servant,
"ARNAULT"
[1] See p. 277 and footnote.
[2] Three persons are honoured with this title; they differ, however, in importance, not by reason of the relative importance of their duties, which are always the same, but according to that of the kind of work to which their talents are applied. Given the case of a work of a special nature, a romantic work like Louis IX. or Émilia, the prompter-in-chief takes the manuscript, and not a trace of that noble prose reaches the ears of the players before it has passed through his lips; but if it is a question of a classical work, a work in verse, standing then on his dignity, like the executioner who would only execute gentle folk, he says: you can carry through this bit of business, you fellows, passing the plebeian copy-book to his substitutes. When it is a question of high comedy he delegates his duties to the second prompter, and tragedy is given over to a third, that is to say to the industrious and modest man to whom this letter is dedicated.