"In reporting the failure which the tragedy of Pertinax met with at the hands of the critics, we mentioned that a dispute took place in the centre of the orchestra. M. Alexandre Dumas, one of the actors in this little drama, which was more exciting than the one that had preceded it, has addressed a letter to us on this subject. We hasten to publish it without wishing to constitute ourselves judges of the accompanying accusations which the author of Henri III. brings against the newspapers.
"'Friday, 29 May 1829
'In spite of the fixed resolution I had taken and have adhered to until to-day, of never replying to what the papers say of me, I think it my duty to ask you to insert this letter in your next issue. It is a reply to the short article which forms the complement of the account in your issue of yesterday, in which you give an account of Pertinax. Your article is couched in these terms—
"'"As we were leaving the house, a lively contest arose in the orchestra, between an old white-haired man and a very youthful author, in other words, doubtless, between a 'classic' and a 'romantic.' Let us hope that that altercation will not lead to unpleasant consequences."
"'It is I, monsieur, who have the misfortune to be the very youthful author, to whom it is of great importance, from the very fact of his being young and an author, that he should lay down the facts exactly as they happened. I was in the orchestra of the Français, between M. de Jouy and M. Victor Hugo, during the whole of the performance of Pertinax. Obliged, in a manner, as a student of art and as a student of all that which makes masters to listen, I had listened attentively and in silence to the five acts which had just concluded, when, in the middle of the lively dispute that was going on between some spectators who wished M. Arnault to be called and others who did not, I was impudently apostrophised, whilst sitting quite silent, by a friend of M. Arnault, who stood up and pointed at me with his finger. I will repeat what he said word for word—
"'"It is not surprising that they are hissing in the orchestra when M. Dumas is there. Are you not ashamed, monsieur, to make yourself the ringleader of a cabal?"
"'"And when I replied that I had not said one word, he added—
"'"That does not matter, it is you who direct the whole league!"
"'As some persons may believe this stupid accusation I have appealed to the testimony of MM. de Jouy and Victor Hugo. This testimony is, as it was inevitable that it would be, unanimous.
"'That is enough, I think, to exonerate myself. But, whilst I have the pen in my hand, monsieur, as it is probably the first and, perhaps, the last time that I write to a newspaper.[2] I desire to add a few words relative to the absurd attacks my drama of Henri III. has brought down on me; such a favourable occasion as this one may, perhaps, never present itself again: allow me, therefore, to take advantage of it.
"'I think I understand, and I honestly believe that I accept, true literary criticism as well as anyone. But, seriously, monsieur, are the facts I have just quoted really literary criticism?
"'The day after the reception of my drama Henri III. at the Comédie-Française, the Courrier des Théâtres, which did not know the work, denounced it to the censorship, in the hope, so it was said, that the censor would not suffer the scandal of such a performance. That seems to me rather a matter for the police than for literature. Is it not so, monsieur? I will not speak of a petition which was presented to the king during my rehearsals pleading that the Théâtre-Français should return to the road of the really beautiful.[3]
"'It is stated that the august personage to whom it was addressed replied simply, "What can I do in a question of this nature? I only have a place in the pit, like all other Frenchmen." I have not really the courage to be angered against the signatories of a denunciation which has brought us such a reply. Besides, several of us would have blushed, since, for what they had done, and have said that they thought they were signing quite a different thing. Then came the day of the representation. It will be granted that, on that day alone, the newspapers had the right to speak of the work. They made great use of their privileges; but several of them, as they themselves confessed, were not choice in their style of criticism. The Constitutionnel and the Corsaire said much kinder things the first day than the play deserved. A week later, the Constitutionnel compared the play with the Pie Voleuse, and accused the author of having danced a round dance in the green room of the Comédie-Française with some wild fanatics, about the bust of Racine—which stands with its back against the wall—shouting, "Racine is done for!" This was merely ridicule, and people shrugged their shoulders. The next day, the Corsaire said that the work was a monstrosity, and that the author was a Jesuit and a pensioner. This, it must be admitted, was an excellent joke, addressed to the son of a Republican general whose mother never received the pension which, it seems, was due to her, whether from the government of the Empire or from the king's government. This was more than ridicule, it was contemptible. As for the Gazette de France, I will do it the justice of saying that it has not varied for an instant from the opinion that M. de Martainville expressed in it on the first day. This journal made out that there was a flagrant conspiracy in the play against the throne and the altar; while the journalist expressed the liveliest regret that he had not seen the author appear when he was called for. "People declare," he said, "that his face has a typically romantic air about it." Now, as Romanticism is M. de Martainville's bête noire, I can believe, without being too punctilious, that he had no intention of paying me a compliment. It is not merely impolite on M. de Martainville's part, but, worse still, it is indelicate: M. de Martainville is very well aware that one can make one's reputation but that one cannot make one's own physiognomy. His own physiognomy is extremely respectable. I could go on explaining the causes of these alterations and insults, and make known various sufficiently curious anecdotes concerning certain individuals; still more could I ... But the twelve columns of your newspaper would not suffice. I will therefore conclude my letter, monsieur, by asking advice of you, since you have great experience. What ought an author to do in order to spare himself the quarrels arising out of first performances? I have had three of this nature during the last three months;—three quarrels, that is to say: had it been three representations I should not have survived!
"'One concerning Isabelle de Bavière, with an admirer of M. de Lamothe-Langon, who made out that I had hissed. One at the Élections, with an enemy of M. de Laville, who contended that I had applauded. Lastly, one at Pertinax with a friend of M. Arnault, because I neither clapped nor hissed. I await your kind advice, monsieur, and I give you my word that I will follow it, if it be anyway possible for me to do so.—I have the honour, etc.'"
After the last line of the above, the Journal de Paris attempted a sort of reply—
"As to the advice which M. Alexandre Dumas is kind enough to ask us to give because of our experience concerning the line of conduct he should take to avoid disputes at first-night performances, we will reply to him that a young author, happy in the enjoyment of a real success, and who knows how to conceal his joyous pride beneath suitable modesty; a student of art who, like M. Dumas, gives himself up to the study of the works of masters, including, therein, the author of Pertinax,—does not need to fear insulting provocations. If, in spite of these dispositions, natural, no doubt, to the character of M. Dumas, people persist on picking these Teuton or classic quarrels with him, I should advise him to treat them with contempt, the quarrels, I mean, not the Teutons or the classics. Or, indeed, there is another expedient left him: namely, to abstain from going to first performances."
The advice, it will be admitted, was difficult, if not impossible, to follow. I was too young, and my heart was too near my head, I had, as is vulgarly said, "la tête trop près du bonnet" i.e. I was too hot-headed, to treat quarrels with contempt, whether with Teutons or classics, and I was too inquisitive not to attend first nights regularly. I have since been cured of this latter disease; but it has been for want of time. And yet, it is not so much lack of time which has cured me; it is the first performances themselves.
NOTE
I have an apology to make concerning M. Fulchiron. It seems I was in error, not about the date of the reception of Pizarre; not upon the turn of favour[4] which led to the performance of that piece in 1803; not, finally, upon the darkness of the spaces of Limbo in which it balanced with eyes half shut, between death and life—but about the cause which prevented it from being played in 1803.
First of all, let me say that no one claimed again in respect of M. Fulchiron, not even he himself. If he had claimed again, my pleasantries would have pained him, and then, I confess, I should have been as sad as, and even sadder than, he, to have given occasion for a protest on the part of so honourable a man and, above all, so unexacting an author. This is what happened.
One day, recently, when entering the green room at the Théâtre-Français, where I was having a little comedy called Romulus rehearsed, which, in spite of its title, had nothing to do with the founder of Rome, I was accosted by Régnier, who plays the principal part in the work.
"Ah!" he said, "is that you?... I am delighted to see you!"
"And I to see you ... Have you some good advice to give me about my play?"
I should tell you that, in theatrical matters, Régnier gives the wisest advice I know.
"Not about your play," he replied, "but about yourself."
"Oh come, my dear fellow! I would have shaken hands with you for advice about my play; but for personal advice, I will embrace you."
"You lay great stress on being impartial?"
"Why! You might as well ask me if I am keen on living."
"And when you have been unjust you are very anxious to repair your injustice?"
'Indeed I am!"
"Then, my dear friend, you have been unfair to M. Fulchiron: repair your injustice."
"What! Was his tragedy by chance received in 1804, instead of 1803, as I thought?"
"No."
"Will it be played without my knowing anything about it, as was M. Viennet's Arbogaste?"
"No, but M. Fulchiron has given his turn of favour to a young briefless barrister, who wrote a tragedy in his spare moments. M. Raynouard was the barrister; Les Templiers was the tragedy."
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"I am going to give you proof of it."
"How will you do that?"
"Come upstairs with me to the archives."
"Show me the way."
Régnier walked in front and I followed him as Dante's Barbariceia followed Scarmiglione, but without making so much noise as he.
Five minutes later, we were among the archives, and Régnier asked M. Laugier, the keeper of the records of the Théâtre-Français, for the file of autograph letters from M. Fulchiron. M. Laugier gave them to him. I was going to carry them off, and I stretched out my hand with that intention, when Régnier snatched them back from me as one snatches a bit of pie-crust from a clever dog who does not yet know how to count nine properly.
"Well?" I asked him.
"Wait."
He pressed the palm of his hand on M. Fulchiron's letters, which were encased in their yellow boards. Please note carefully that the epithet is not a reproach; I know people who, after fifty years of age, are yellow in a quite different sense from that of M. Fulchiron's letter-book backs.
"You must know, first of all, my dear friend," continued Régnier, "that formerly, particularly under the Empire, as soon as they produced a new tragedy the receipts decreased."
"I conjecture so; but I am very glad to know it officially."
"The result is that the committee of the Comédie-Française had great difficulty in deciding to play fresh pieces."
"I can imagine so——"
"A turn was therefore a precious possession."
"A thing which had no price!" as said Lagingeole.
"Very well, now read that letter of M. Fulchiron's."
I took the paper from Régnier's hands and read as follows—
"To the Members of the Administrative Committee of the Comédie-Française
"GENTLEMEN,—I have just learnt that the préfect has given his permission to the Templiers. Desiring to do full justice and to pay all respect to that work and to its author, which they deserve, I hasten to tell you that I give up my turn to the tragedy; but, at the same time, I ask that mine shall be taken up immediately after, so that the second tragedy which shall be played, reckoning from this present time, shall be one of mine; if you will have the kindness to give me an actual promise of this in writing, it will confirm my definite abandonment of my turn.—I remain, gentlemen, respectfully yours,
"FULCHIRON, fils"
"Ah! but," said I to Régnier, "allow me to point out to you that the sacrifice was not great and its value was much depreciated owing to the precautions taken by M. Fulchiron to get one of his tragedies played."
"Wait a bit, though," resumed Régnier. "The suggestion made by M. Fulchiron was rejected. They made him see that the injustice which he did not wish done to himself would oppress a third party. If he renounced his turn it would have to be a complete renunciation, and, if M. Fulchiron fell out of rank, he must take his turn again at the end of the file. Now this was a serious matter. Suppose all the chances were favourable it would mean ten years at least! It must be confessed that M. Fulchiron took but little time to reflect, considering the gravity of the subject: then he said, "Well, gentlemen, I know the tragedy of the Templiers; it is much better that it should be performed at once; and that Pizarre should not have its turn for ten years. It was, thanks to this condescension, of which very few authors would be capable towards a colleague, that the tragedy of the Templiers was played; and, as one knows, that tragedy was one of the literary triumphs of the Empire. Les Deux Gendres and the Tyran domestique complete the dramatic trilogy of the period. Almost as much as eighteen hundred years ago they 'rendered to Cæsar the things which were Cæsar's.' Why not render to M. Fulchiron the justice which is his due?" Chateaubriand "I am not the person to refuse this," I said to Régnier, "and I am delighted to have the opportunity to make M. Fulchiron a public apology! M. Fulchiron did better than write a good tragedy: he did a good deed; whilst I, by sneering at him, did a bad action—without even the excuse of having written a good tragedy!"
[1] See note at end of chapter.
[2] Like Buonaparte on 15 Vendémiaire, I was far from being able to see clearly into my future.