Mély-Janin's Louis XI.
Three days after Térésa the Louis XI. of Casimir Delavigne was played. I have spoken of Mély-Janin's drama entitled Louis XI., which had deeply impressed Soulié and me in 1827. It had, no doubt, also impressed Casimir Delavigne, who was most sensitive to such impressions. Casimir seemed to have been created and brought into this world to prove that the system of innate ideas is the falsest of philosophical systems. We are about to devote a few lines to the study of the Louis XI. of 1827 and that of 1832, Mély-Janin's drama and that of Casimir Delavigne. We do not wish to say that these two men were of the same substance; but, having Walter Scott ostensibly as ally, the journalist found himself, one fine night, a match for the dramatic author. We say ostensibly, because Casimir Delavigne did not himself totally scorn alliance with the Scottish bard; only, as Walter Scott was still unpopular in France with many people, because of his History of Napoléon, Casimir, in his capacity of National poet (it was upon that nationality the fragile pyramid of his talent was specially founded), did not want openly to confess that alliance.
Let us begin with Mély-Janin. At the rising of the curtain one sees a landscape, representing the château of Plessis-les-Tours, a hostelry and a smiling countryside, after the fashion of the time. Wherever anything is not copied from Walter Scott we find, as in that smiling countryside, a specimen of the style of the Empire. Isabelle, the rich heiress of Croy, is on the stage with her maid of honour, her attendant, her confidential friend; a theatrical device invented to enable one of the principal characters to confide in another a secret which the teller has known for ten years, and with which the general public now becomes acquainted. In ancient tragedy, when this functionary is a man, he is called Euphorbus (?), Arcas or Corasmin; when a woman, she is called Julia, Œnone or Fatima, and bears the innocent title of confidant. Well, Isabelle confides to the woman who accompanies her in her flight that she has come from the court of Burgundy to the court of France because Duke Charles, fearing to see her dispose of her immense wealth, wished to force her to marry either the Comte de Crèvecœur or the Comte de la Marck, nicknamed the Boar of the Ardennes. She informs her (this same Éléonore, who has not left her side for one moment) that she has found protection, safe although not particularly entertaining, in King Louis XI. The sole anxiety she feels is to know if he, whom she has not had time to forewarn of her flight, will have the perseverance to follow her, and the skill to find her again. This is a point upon which Éléonore, well informed as she is, cannot instruct her; but, as Éléonore has learnt nearly all she knows and the public all it needs to know, one sees advancing from the distance two men dressed like decent citizens, who come forward in their turn and gossip quite naturally of their affairs in the very place in all France least suitable for the conversation to be held. Isabelle turns round, sees them and says—
"I see the king coming this way; he is accompanied by his crony Martigny. The simplicity of his costume shows that he wishes to keep his incognito. Here he is; let us withdraw."
And Isabelle de Croy and her confidant withdraw to the garden side, having seen Louis XI. and his confidant, whom they must see in order that the public may know that Louis XI. and his confidant are about to take part in the scene, whilst Louis XI. and his confidant, who do not need to see Isabelle and her confidant, and who indeed ought not to see them, do not see them.
You may tell me this is not a very accurate reproduction of the habits of Louis XI., who, after the nature of cats, foxes and wolves, can see in the night on all sides of him and behind, too, and is represented as not able to see things that are in front of him; but I can only reply that this was how the thing was done on the French stage in the year of grace 1827, even amongst poets who had the reputation of being innovators. It will be seen that things had not changed much in 1832. The hatred which was entertained against us can easily be imagined, since we had undertaken to change customs as convenient as these. It was enough to add in parentheses, and in another style of typography, when speaking of those who come on—as Mély-Janin does, for instance, when speaking of the king and his crony Martigny—(They come on from the back of the stage, and cannot perceive the comtesse and Éléonore hidden by the trees.) The matter was no more difficult than that! Do not forget, if I do, to remind me of the story of the monologue of Tasso. Louis XI. is also with his confidant, only his confidant is called le compère Martigny. They come forward, chatting and disputing; but do not be anxious, they have kept the most important part of their conversation, that which it is urgent the public should know, until their entrance upon the stage; so, after a few unimportant words, exchanged between Louis XI. and his crony, the king says to Martigny—
"Let us return to the business we have in hand. What news have the secret emissaries you sent to the court of Burgundy brought you? Does Charles know that the Comtesse de Croy has withdrawn into my States? Does he know that I have given her shelter?"
You see that the old fox Louis XI. wants the emissaries of the crony Martigny to have informed their master, in order that it may be repeated to himself, that the Duc de Bourgogne knows that the Comtesse de Croy has withdrawn to his States, and that he has given her shelter! As if Louis XI. had need of the emissaries of others! As if he hadn't his own secret spies, who, at all hours, made their way, under all sorts of disguises, noiseless, into his private cabinet, where they were accustomed to talk of his affairs! You must clearly understand that the two interlocutors would not have come there if the secret emissaries of the crony Martigny had not arrived. As a matter of fact, they have returned, and this is the news they have brought: Charles the Bold knows all; he flew into a violent passion when he learnt it; he sent the Comte de Crèvecoeur immediately to fetch back Isabelle. They have learnt, besides, that a young Scotsman, by name Quentin Durward, has joined the two suitors who aspire to the hand of Isabelle, the Comte de Crèvecoeur and the Boar of Ardennes, and has the advantage over them by being loved in return.
"But where, then, has he seen the countess?"
Wait! Here is a clever rase, which prepares us for the dénoûment—
"That is what I cannot find out," replies Martigny; "it is certain, however, that he has paid her frequent visits at Herbert's tower."
"At Herbert's tower, sayest thou?"
"Yes; you know that the countess, before surrendering herself to the protection of your court, had already made an attempt to escape. The duke, under the first impulse of anger, had her shut up in Herbert's tower; there she was strictly guarded, and yet they say that, by some secret passage, Quentin Durward found means to get to her."