A week before the first performance I received an anonymous letter informing me that Perrin was trying his very best to get Dumas to change the name of the play. He wished—it goes without saying—to have the piece called La Duchesse de Septmonts.
I rushed off to the theatre to find Perrin at once.
At the entrance door I met Coquelin, who was playing the part of the Duc de Septmonts, which he did marvellously well. I showed him the letter. He shrugged his shoulders. “It is infamous! But why do you take any notice of an anonymous letter? It is not worthy of you!”
We were talking at the foot of the staircase when the manager arrived.
“Here, show the letter to Perrin!” And he took it from my hands in order to show it to him. Perrin blushed slightly.
“I know this writing,” he said. “Some one from the theatre has written this letter.”
I snatched it back from him. “Then it is some one who is well informed, and what he says is perhaps true. Is it not so? Tell me. I have the right to know.”
“I detest anonymous letters.” And he went up the stairs, bowing slightly, but without saying anything further.
“Ah, if it is true,” said Coquelin, “it is too much. Would you like me to go and see Dumas, and I will get to know at once?”
“No, thank you. But you have put an idea into my head. I’ll go there.” And shaking hands with him, I went off to see the younger Dumas. He was just going out.