:
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 MAY TREAT MORRISON 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 ALEXANDER F MORRISON 
 
 J
 
 B.UAURIATCOJ 
 d SouHT-Bosto^-

 
 MY LITERARY LIFE
 
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 Copyright, 1904, by 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED AT THE APPLETON PRESS 
 NEW YORK, U. S. A. 
 
 
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 ft t 4 l^t
 
 3C 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 I, 
 
 
 II, 
 
 
 III. 
 
 
 IV, 
 V. 
 
 
 VI, 
 
 
 VII, 
 
 
 VIII, 
 
 
 IX, 
 X, 
 
 uT 
 
 XI, 
 
 
 XII, 
 
 
 XIII, 
 
 o 
 
 XIV.- 
 XV, 
 
 o 
 
 XVI.- 
 
 
 XVII, 
 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 
 XIX, 
 
 -My early literary pursuits 
 
 -I go to Paris 
 
 -My further life in Paris 
 
 -My contact with politics 
 
 -I publish my book 
 
 -i make a valuable friend 
 
 -With the scientists . 
 
 -More friends 
 
 -Other drawing-rooms and Italian liberty 
 
 -i make more friends — and enemies. 
 
 -Literary acquaintances, and musical . 
 
 -Wagner, Berlioz, and Edmond Adam 
 
 -A crisis in my life . 
 
 -Politics — art — music . 
 
 -My health fails 
 
 -I return to my old friends 
 
 -The South and the sea again 
 
 -i build a house by the sea 
 
 -i tell of many things, and found my salon 
 
 PARE 
 
 1 
 
 15 
 
 29 
 
 52 
 
 76 
 
 99 
 
 115 
 
 138 
 
 162 
 
 185 
 
 217 
 
 252 
 
 288 
 
 327 
 
 376 
 
 412 
 
 450 
 
 472 
 
 498 
 
 ,^9|( 

 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 MME. EdMOND ADAM . . Frontispiece 
 
 From au etching by H. E. Lessore. 
 
 George Sand 68 
 
 From an engraving by Nargeot. 
 
 Daniel Stern (Mme. d'Agoult) . . . 100 
 
 From an engraving by Leopold Flameng. 
 
 Edmond About 202 
 
 From a painting by Paul Baudry. 
 
 Hector Berlioz 246 
 
 From an engraving by Guillermot, tils. 
 
 Gustave Flaubert 318 
 
 From an etching by H. Toussaint. 
 
 Jules Simon 378 
 
 From an engraving by L. Le Main. 
 
 Prosper Merimee 412 
 
 From a lithograph by de Deveria. 
 
 Charles Augustin Ste. Beuve . . . 468 
 
 From an etching by H. E. Lessore.
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 1 
 
 HE house in which I was condemned to live 
 through my unfortunate marriage was a 
 most gloomy one. Its principal frontage looked 
 as though it were pushed back to the end of a 
 narrow court-yard by a building two stories higher. 
 Behind the house was an immense and threatening 
 wall that cast its shade over our very small garden. 
 
 How often I thought, while living there, of my 
 father's small house, so prettily framed in verdure, 
 and of my grandmother's comfortable and spacious 
 residence. 
 
 I was to pass three years here, my husband 
 having agreed to put in order the very litigious 
 affairs of an aunt who had recently become a widow 
 and who had left him some of her property. I 
 knew no one in Soissons but this very small aunt, 
 who had lost a very large husband. Everything 
 
 [1]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 he had left behind him was in accordance with his 
 own size — horses, carriages, furniture, were all co- 
 lossal — and Aunt Vatrin remained crushed even by 
 the ghost of a disproportionate husband. 
 
 Now, what could one do in such a house except 
 to make dreams? I dreamed, I read, I tried to 
 write. Fifteen months after my marriage I had 
 the greatest joy of my life, when I became a 
 mother. 
 
 My father and husband became reconciled when 
 my daughter was born. I nursed my little Alice, 
 who was, alas! very delicate. I worked with her 
 beside me or else I took her walks, in all kinds of 
 weather, in little Aunt Vatrin's garden. The latter 
 had rented a portion of her house and garden to 
 Monsieur Riballier, the organist of the cathedral, 
 and a composer of talent. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Riballier, who had no 
 children, took a great fancy to my young daugh- 
 ter and to me. He finished my musical education, 
 and she amused my little Alice with toys that were 
 constantly renewed. 
 
 One day I took Monsieur Riballier some poetry 
 I had written: Myosotis. He found it pretty, and 
 composed a charming air to the words — tying, as 
 it were, a ribbon of harmony around my little bou- 
 quet of Forget-me-nots. 
 
 [2]
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 He had it published by Hengel,* at Paris. Really 
 at Paris! I was wild with delight. I can still see 
 myself as I sang it, holding the published music 
 and poetry of Myosotis in my hands and feasting 
 my eyes on the published words, although I knew 
 them by heart. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Riballier often enter- 
 tained at their house during the summer the owners 
 of the chateaux in the environs of Soissons. He 
 was called " the marvellous organist," and he gave 
 lessons to the young sons and daughters of the 
 notable families round about. They had a recep- 
 tion every week, at which five or six of his pupils 
 would sing, and play on the organ and piano. One 
 day the authoress of Myosotis sang the song, ac- 
 companied by the composer. It was a great suc- 
 cess, and they were encored twice. 
 
 Among those present was Monsieur de Courval, 
 who inquired about my " work," and said to me, 
 " that a Comtesse de Courval had also been a wri- 
 ter." Ah ! that " also," how much I was flattered 
 by it. 
 
 Monsieur de Courval invited me and Monsieur 
 and Madame Riballier to spend a day at the Cha- 
 teau de Courval, together with several of his 
 
 * The principal musical publisher of Paris — Translator's note. 
 
 [3]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 friends who were present at the Riballiers' on that 
 occasion. It was at Courval that I first heard the 
 legend of Blanche de Coucy, about which I wrote 
 my first work of length — about fifteen pages.. 
 
 My father thought my Myosotis and my Blanche 
 de Coucy rather good, but he advised me not to 
 let them turn my head, " as they could not pass," 
 he said, " as having been inspired by the age of 
 Pericles." This jeering humiliated, but did not 
 discourage me. On the contrary. 
 
 I took up at that time some serious reading, 
 which my father had reproached me for neglect- 
 ing. For a year I had taken no interest in any- 
 thing except poetry. 
 
 I have said before * that my husband was a Posi- 
 tivist. I was scarcely married before he began to 
 fall upon me with his doctrines. I could not say 
 a word without bringing upon myself some epithet, 
 the sense of which I did not quite understand, 
 through ignorance, but whose contempt I felt. 
 
 It is difficult, now, to imagine the infatuation 
 that Auguste Comte's partisans felt for him at that 
 time. 
 
 A Positivist held in his hands — and no one was 
 allowed to question it — the past, the present, and 
 
 * The Romance of my Childhood and Youth. 
 [4]
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 the future. Science and philosophy, governed by 
 the Positivist mind, bowed beneath the Master's 
 ferule, the " one alone," who, amid all the great 
 reformers of humanity, had understood " entire 
 universality." All that the human mind thought 
 it possessed, outside of positivism, must necessarily 
 be dissolved in it: religion, knowledge, social prob- 
 lems, etc. When Monsieur Lamessine pronounced 
 the word humanity you felt crushed beneath it, 
 because you were obliged to evoke at this word 
 all that man had ever been since the first created 
 one, all that he was at the present moment, all 
 that he would be " world without end." 
 
 To this he could not make me say " Amen." I 
 listened, for a time, to these imposing affirmations, 
 but finally they exasperated me to such a degree 
 that I plunged headlong into the reading of Au- 
 guste Comte's very ponderous and very numerous 
 volumes. 
 
 Oh, what wearisome length of phrases, how 
 many oft-repeated adverbs weighed them down! 
 How much easier to digest was Proudhon, whose 
 works my father had made me read, and how much 
 less overwhelming were the pamphleteer's demoli- 
 tions than Auguste Comte's massive constructions. 
 
 One can fancy what manner of distraction such 
 daily reading was for a young woman. I was 
 
 [5]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 obliged to prove that I understood the " one Mas- 
 ter." I was forced to discuss the double tendencies 
 of egotism and self-interest, or those of altruists 
 or unselfish persons, on the historical developments 
 of these inclinations, the groundwork of humanity 
 and the future basis of true justice, on the great 
 classification of humanitarian periods, on the con- 
 formation between Positivist philosophy and Re- 
 publican ideas. 
 
 Ah, no, no! Being a sincere Republican, I pro- 
 tested strongly against this last theory, declaring 
 with proofs in hand, that the political philosophy 
 of Comtism was made up of authoritative ideas, 
 and that it barred all the roads through which 
 Democracy could pass. 
 
 Positivism had already established this singular 
 rule in the minds of its initiated: that they should 
 not admit the discussion of any of its texts, but 
 that by the example of their lives, guided by these 
 texts, they might accommodate themselves, how- 
 ever, to all manner of circumstances. 
 
 On the one hand, my husband was enthusiastic 
 in speaking of Clothilde de Vaux, and put on airs 
 of mystical compunction, while on the other hand, 
 he denied the power of love and of idealism. 
 
 "The Master," converted by Clothilde, declared 
 that life should be led by feeling, the disciple 
 
 [6]
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 affirmed " that love was an emotion that tended 
 to disappear." But it should not be adduced from 
 this that the " Master " and disciple were not in 
 perfect accord. 
 
 I cannot describe with what disdain Monsieur 
 Lamessine treated me, nor how many accusations 
 of childishness he showered upon me when I spoke 
 of my Homeric gods. 
 
 "You are belated, in the metaphysical phase, in 
 the search for the absolute — that is to say, in ab- 
 surd ' primal and final causes,' " my husband said 
 to me. 
 
 I took Positivism in utter abhorrence at that 
 time. " The Humanitarian doctrine," Monsieur 
 Lamessine went on preaching, " is tangible. We 
 know what it is, from whence it comes, and whither 
 it is going. Immanent justice is a different thing 
 from the partial, capricious justice of a Jehovah, 
 a Jupiter, or an incomprehensible Threefold God; 
 yes, quite a different thing from hypothetical eter- 
 nal justice! To believe that the future will live 
 from us, as we live from the past, to know that 
 our bodies will go to fecundate Nature, as she has 
 fecundated us, that is something certain, positive." 
 
 "Phew ! all that is very illusive," I replied. 
 " You drown yourself, your thoughts, your con- 
 science, your morality, your responsibilities, in the 
 
 [7]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ' universal ' because you are not upheld or bound 
 by anything. You Positivists are fluctuating, you 
 are infirm persons with weak eyelids, who only half 
 raise them, and who only see what is beneath and 
 around you, without ever looking upward. The 
 humanity of your Auguste Comte is a half-blind 
 humanity. It only conceives what it accepts. It 
 legitimizes the law of the strongest, of the most 
 audacious, even of the most contemptible. To 
 arrest the search for the unknown, for what is in- 
 comprehensible, and for all truths except those we 
 can spell out ; to accept that everything ends, where 
 interrogation becomes mysterious — ah! no; I will 
 never accept that." 
 
 " You intoxicate yourself with words whose sense 
 you do not understand," Monsieur Lamessine said 
 to me in a fit of anger. "All your ideas about 
 research, the unknown, are very well known and 
 already classed in their ancestral rank. The idea 
 that morality is received from Heaven, that love 
 of country comes from a circumscribed corner of 
 the earth, ah ! that is thoroughly false. The fool- 
 ish absurdities about religion and country have 
 been discarded, and rejected into the past, and the 
 clear minds of Positivists are forever delivered from 
 them." 
 
 I should have become idiotic had I continued to 
 
 [8]
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 read Auguste Comte's works exclusively, and to 
 discuss them. Happily, I had an adviser, a very 
 intelligent man, the librarian of the town library, 
 with whom I had become on friendly terms, and 
 who guided my studies a little. 
 
 Having found Auguste Comte's works in our 
 library, I did not speak to him about them; but 
 one day, being specially bored by my husband's 
 oft-repeated conversation on this theme, I ques- 
 tioned him about the " great Master " of Positiv- 
 ism. 
 
 " Oh ! as to that man," he said, " I have an espe- 
 cial aversion to him. He ought to be shut up in 
 a mad-house. To tell the truth, he was really 
 crazy from 1826 to 1828. Saint-Simonism had 
 already turned his brain, and he delivered popular 
 lectures on astronomy that completely upset it. 
 The calculation of probabilities has always been 
 beyond his power. His religion of Humanity has 
 but one object : to make himself a pope. His letters 
 are written like pontifical briefs. In the Rue Mon- 
 sieur-le-Prince, where he resides, he has an altar 
 in his apartment, and he lives from it. He sup- 
 ports himself by the religion he has invented. It 
 is really amusing to see a man who has disowned 
 all religions, ancient and modern, take one he has 
 founded out of his pocket at the proper moment, 
 
 [9]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 for his own personal benefit. And then, besides, 
 this materialist and positivist has become mystical, 
 and is platonically in love with Clothilde de Vaux. 
 He is simply a fraud." 
 
 Some exceedingly bitter discussions between my 
 husband and myself followed my librarian's revela- 
 tions. 
 
 When the house became no longer bearable, by 
 reason of these disputes, I would go to pass a few 
 days with my beloved aunts, Chivres being only a 
 few leagues from Soissons. My daughter improved 
 in health and took much pleasure there, on ac- 
 count of the donkey, Rousset, the hens and rabbits. 
 
 Aunt Sophie always felt the greatest interest in 
 all that occupied my mind. I spoke to her of 
 Auguste Comte, of my conjugal quarrels apropos 
 of Positivism. She advised me not to reply by a 
 single word to my husband on this subject. I fol- 
 lowed her advice, and soon no more great discus- 
 sions about Auguste Comte took place, except be- 
 tween Monsieur Lamessine and my father when 
 they met. Both being very violent, they waged 
 veritable battles against each other. 
 
 Every family, at this time, had some " system " 
 to which it was devoted. My father, who was a 
 phalansterian, desired the happiness of the major- 
 ity. My husband, a Comtist, declared that a select 
 
 [10]
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 few alone should govern the masses, with this prin- 
 ciple : " Regulate the present by balancing the past 
 against the future." On the theory, " No God, 
 no King," they were both agreed ; but when my 
 husband spoke of certain ideas of Auguste Comte's, 
 which he had designated under the name of " revo- 
 lutionary maladies," they had endless disputes. 
 
 My father admired Littre, who refused to bow 
 down to the " pontiff," and he made many jokes 
 about Auguste Comte's love-affairs. Firstly, about 
 his matrimonial misfortunes, and his choice of an 
 extremely light woman as wife, and then on the 
 passion of the old " Hindu priest " for the blond 
 and langourous Clothilde de Vaux. 
 
 My husband replied, "that what Auguste Comte 
 felt for Clothilde was not passion, but the Positivist 
 sympathy for a superior mind." And he related 
 endless stories about the Master's chastity. 
 
 " Involuntary chastity," replied my father, 
 " idealism suffered with regret, a sorrowful conti- 
 nency, with which he often bitterly reproached his 
 lady-love, but which was imposed on him by this 
 clever and romantic woman, who had had a legend 
 invented about herself by an old corrupt man." 
 
 My father discovered a book which he brought 
 to me, and which, he said, would wash my mind 
 clean of all the too positive insanities of Comtism. 
 2 [11]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 It was Leconte de Lisle's Poemes Antiques. We 
 could not praise the work enough, whose elevated 
 inspiration was derived from pure Homeric 
 sources. 
 
 I wished Aunt Sophie to admire them also, but 
 she had read somewhere that this " young author " 
 had called Virgil " a Byzantine," and had written 
 " that in their civilisation the Romans were not 
 superior to the Dacians," and she refused to read 
 a single page of it. 
 
 " This gentleman," she said, " pretends that 
 there has been no true poetry written since that 
 of Sophocles, until his own. Lamartine, Victor 
 Hugo, de Musset, not to speak of the present 
 poets, count for nothing, it seems, according to 
 this conceited young man. Don't speak of him 
 to me, dear niece, don't speak of him ! " 
 
 When, having returned to Soissons, I went to 
 Aunt Vatrin's with my daughter and her nurse, I 
 passed through a small street in which the Revenue 
 Office was situated, the manager of which was Mon- 
 sieur Ratisbonne, who was very intimate with the 
 Under Prefect, Monsieur Papillon de la Ferte, the 
 son of the author of a book on the Vie des Peintres, 
 and who had been guillotined in 1794. The Under 
 Prefect of Soissons said that one should make 
 merry while one had the chance, as no one knew 
 
 [12]
 
 MY EARLY LITERARY PURSUITS 
 
 what might happen, in proof of which was his 
 grandfather's unfortunate fate. 
 
 These two men alarmed me very much by their 
 haste to rush to the windows as I passed, and by 
 their impressive bows. People did not flirt in the 
 provinces in those days, and I would have been 
 severely criticised had I merely smiled at these two 
 gay bachelors, already past their prime. 
 
 I became acquainted at that time with two of my 
 best and most faithful friends — Monsieur de Mar- 
 cere, then a very young barrister, who became later 
 in life a minister of state, and with Lieutenant 
 Guioth, who rose to the rank of a general and the 
 commander of the 12th Army Corps. After the 
 War of 1870 he became the aide-de-camp of the 
 Duke d'Aumale, and was made officer of the Legion 
 of Honour at Metz, for a brilliant feat of arms. 
 He was born in Lorraine, and having always sus- 
 pected Bazaine of treachery, he was able to en- 
 lighten his commander-in-chief, the Duke d'Au- 
 male, at the time of the dramatic court-martial. 
 Guioth wrote out all the reports, we can imagine 
 with what sorrow, for he had lost by the traitor's 
 crime his province, his small country. 
 
 Many years after, one day when the Duke d'Au- 
 male was talking to me of the Bazaine court-mar- 
 tial, and of Guioth, whom the Prince called " our 
 
 [13]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 friend," he repeated to me the words he had said 
 at the time of the court-martial. 
 
 " Guioth's conscience and mine are both full of 
 indignation," and he added, " because the desper- 
 ately ambitious man whom we were trying was per- 
 fectly conscious of his acts, and of the harm that 
 might result from them." 
 
 " Do you believe, Prince, that this man realized 
 that the fate of France was imperilled by what he 
 was doing? " 
 
 " Yes, and he preferred the most dastardly, dis- 
 honourable personal intrigues to it." 
 
 But we have wandered far from 1855. 
 
 mi 
 
 [14]
 
 mmffimm^ 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 NE of my cousins, Madame Fischer, of Laon, 
 came to see me as she was passing through 
 Soissons, and as we were talking of literature, she 
 spoke indignantly of a book, whose author was the 
 son of the head editor of the Journal de l'Aisne. 
 
 " This young fellow," she said, " has made our 
 city, Laon, ridiculous forever. It is odious of him. 
 In our own family we have had several of its mem- 
 bers victimized by this Champflcury in his Bour- 
 geois de Molinchard." 
 
 As soon as my cousin had left, I ran to the 
 library and found the dreadful book. As I knew 
 the greater part of the persons caricatured in it, 
 I was greatly amused. It is a chef-d'oeuvre of its 
 kind. 
 
 The greatest public event of that time, besides 
 the Crimean War, which we of the opposition party 
 continued to blame, and whose slow action we criti- 
 cised, attributing it to the carelessness in the orders 
 given, and to the insufficiency of the English army, 
 the greatest event, as I have said, was the Uni- 
 versal Exhibition. 
 
 [15]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 My husband advised me to wean my daughter, 
 to leave her with my parents, and to go and join 
 him in Paris, where he proposed at first to remain 
 some months before taking up our final residence 
 there. 
 
 I was really to know Paris ! The thought alone 
 terrified me. I felt my fate was to be decided there. 
 My grandmother's spirit seemed to take possession 
 of me as soon as Paris assumed a fateful place in 
 my life. 
 
 " Bah ! don't be afraid of it," my father said to 
 me. " Step into it bravely. Look Paris in the 
 face. One of two things will happen : either you 
 will become somebody, as your unhappy grand- 
 mother hoped and desired, and, in that case, the 
 trials of your unfortunate marriage will not have 
 been unnecessary, or you will break the chains of 
 your moral servitude and will return to your father, 
 with whom you will have, if not a happy life, at 
 least one freed from your matrimonial responsibili- 
 ties, which make me anxious for the future." 
 
 My father only said anxious; but being aware 
 of many things of which I was ignorant, he was 
 already frightened. I knew this a long time after- 
 ward by the zeal which Monsieur Lamessine evinced 
 in putting into practice one of his favourite for- 
 mulas : " We must aid social corruption, in order 
 
 [16]
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 that a new vegetation may spring all the sooner 
 from it." 
 
 Paris ! " the height that you must climb," as my 
 grandmother so often repeated to me. " Paris ! the 
 Minotaur, that devours its victims without a cry 
 escaping from the labyrinth," as grandfather said. 
 
 Paris ! I was really in Paris, where the Univer- 
 sal Exhibition was at its height. Twenty thou- 
 sand exhibitors from thirty-six nations were gath- 
 ered within a few hundred square feet at the Palais 
 de l'Industrie, where they displayed the wonders of 
 their productions, the riches of their countries, and 
 their practical art under all its forms. 
 
 I said over to myself the figures that were talked 
 of, and the impressions that overcame me when, 
 as a child, I first saw the sea, could alone compare 
 with what I felt. It would be impossible to im- 
 agine the bewilderment that a provincial woman 
 experienced on coming to Paris for the first time 
 at the sight of all the quantities of hitherto un- 
 known things that rose before her eyes. 
 
 One of our friends, who had been present at the 
 opening of the Exhibition, had told me, on his 
 return, of the overwhelming sensation he had felt; 
 but, being a Republican, like my father, he saw 
 many disadvantageous sides to it. It would de- 
 
 [17]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 liver up to ^strangers the secrets of our manufac- 
 tures and would ruin trade in the provinces, for all 
 those who were attracted by novelties would empty 
 their woollen stockings to buy Parisian or foreign 
 articles, and then the grotesque inauguration would 
 make other nations laugh. " Had not Plon-Plon 
 put on the uniform of a general of division brought 
 back intact from the Crimea? " The smile with 
 which the word intact was accentuated was sug- 
 gestive. Those who lived at that time could alone 
 understand the allusions to " bullets " and to 
 " fright " which this word implied. " And then," 
 added my friend, " the Emperor's famous speech 
 to the said Prince, his cousin, which ended with 
 these words: 'I rejoice to open this Temple of 
 Peace, which invites all nations to concord.' ' Ah, 
 no ! ' said sensible persons like ourselves, ' that is 
 carrying things rather too far, to dare to speak 
 thus during this interminable Crimean War, when 
 they are killing Russians to please the Turks, and 
 are getting killed themselves, for the sole benefit 
 of English interests. To speak of peace at this 
 time is a manner of challenge thrown out to public 
 opinion. And the proof of this is, that Napoleon 
 III is impatient at not being able to proclaim some 
 brilliant feats of war, for Alma and Inkermann 
 already date some time back. The splendid attack 
 
 [18]
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 on the Mamelon Vert does not compensate in his 
 eyes for the check the Franco-English forces have 
 suffered. The Emperor,' they said, ' wished to re- 
 lieve Pelissier of his command, but MacMahon, 
 with his blunt frankness, prevented him.' " 
 
 I repeated and wrote all the political gossip to 
 my father, but I did not take part in the Parisians' 
 jokes about the Palais de l'Industrie and its ugli- 
 ness. 
 
 " Paris is smothered since they have shut off her 
 perspective view from the Champs-Elysees," was 
 the current reproach ; " the provincials are encum- 
 bering us ; the strangers are ruining us, putting 
 up all the prices," they added, etc. 
 
 What dominated my thoughts was wonderment. 
 Two weeks had scarcely initiated me to the hun- 
 dredth part of all I wished to know, and then there 
 w.. ^e museums, a whole world in themselves! 
 
 We lived at an hotel on the Place Louvois. As 
 soon as I had a spare moment, I ran, alone, to the 
 Museum of Antiquities. My gods were there, liv- 
 ing, palpitating under the marble. I saw Grecian 
 beauty, triumphant, made divine in the Venus of 
 Milo. 
 
 From that moment I was pursued by the desire 
 to live in an apartment on the Rue de Rivoli, near 
 the Court of the Louvre. What comfort I could 
 
 [19]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 find there, on the threshold of my temple! But 
 my enthusiasm was dampened and crushed as soon 
 as I crossed the Boulevards, or when I was hemmed 
 in by the crowd, for I said to myself that never, 
 never could I make the smallest place for myself 
 in this multitude, in all this tumult, in the capital's 
 immensity, where everything seemed to me full to 
 overflowing and crowded to excess. 
 
 I went to the Imperial Library. What urged 
 me to go there when I knew I was of no account? 
 Would a book conceived by the mind that my Aunt 
 Sophie and my father had so strangely educated 
 and formed ever find a special pigeon-hole amid so 
 many chefs-dceuvres? The more I wandered about 
 Paris, the more I became conscious of the impossi- 
 bility for me to become somebody. 
 
 The only thing which distinguished me from 
 other people, and which I was obliged to recognise 
 because it was so often said to me, was that my 
 youthful presence was attractive. Madame Reca- 
 mier's famous little chimney-sweeps became known 
 to me. People looked at me and murmured a com- 
 plimentary word ; but this manner of success would 
 suddenly frighten me in this Paris, of whose dan- 
 gers and allurements I was aware. 
 
 I ask myself now, how we could have been pretty 
 with our hair worn in flat bands and in knots at 
 
 [20]
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 our necks, with ungraceful curls falling from them, 
 and our frightful bonnets with strings and ruffles 
 at the back? 
 
 My husband took great pleasure in telling me 
 of the daily scandals of Parisian life. I knew them 
 all, perhaps exaggerated, and they terrified me, so 
 that the smallest compliment seemed offensive to 
 me. Those who addressed them to me certainly 
 had their minds filled with the stories I knew my- 
 self, and, at a first glance, thought me, no doubt, 
 belonging to the class of " cocodettes." Brought 
 up, as I had been, by my grandmother, mother and 
 my aunts, all of whom were savagely punctilious 
 where there was question of light conduct or of 
 honour, I was fairly shamed when these compli- 
 ments were made to me. 
 
 The theatre was the one taste in common shared 
 by my husband and myself; I laughed, I cried, I 
 was enthusiastic when I went to one. I saw Fre- 
 deric Lemaitre, of whom my father had spoken to 
 me as the greatest actor of the century, at a bene- 
 ficiary representation. He played an act of Les 
 Trente ans, ou la vie d'un Jouer. The gambler 
 came on the stage, his features drawn and deeply 
 lined by suffering and by vice, a repulsive and heart- 
 rending face at once; his clothes betrayed great 
 poverty, although the arrangement of the rags he 
 
 [21]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 wore gave evidence that he tried to hide it. His 
 hair was all dishevelled from sleeping in wretched 
 hovels. His hand trembled and rested weakly on 
 a stick, which from its form alone, and its worn- 
 out appearance, revealed the aimless wanderings 
 of a homeless man. All this was suggested, one 
 felt it, and it inspired pity and disgust together. 
 
 Frederic Lemaitre had no longer any teeth, he 
 could hardly speak, but what expression in his face, 
 what gestures ! All his acting showed such grief 
 in degradation that it made you feel absolute an- 
 guish to see him play this part. They said Fre- 
 deric Lemaitre was finished. But such an artist 
 never is. 
 
 I saw Rachel at the Theatre Francais in all her 
 tragic beauty, when she played Andromaque, at 
 her last but one representation, on the 23d of July. 
 She left a few days after for America. 
 
 Eetion's daughter, Hector's wife, appeared be- 
 fore me, as she is described by Homer, by Virgil, 
 Euripides, Racine, and all those who have sung the 
 praises of Astyanax's mother, the legitimized slave 
 of Pyrrhus and Helenus. Never was virtue, sor- 
 row, revolt, the latter dominated by the knowledge 
 of fatality and felt by a modern heart, so vividly 
 portrayed as by Rachel. Never was the woman of 
 antiquity dressed in more noble folds, never was a 
 
 [22]
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 Frenchwoman more elegantly draped. Rachel's 
 charm and art were to personify Greece itself, and 
 at the same time all the epochs in which Greece has 
 been comprised. She is still present in my memory, 
 as she has never ceased to be since I saw and heard 
 her, whenever I have read of a daughter of Athens 
 or of Troy. 
 
 When Rachel had gone, the public rushed to see 
 Ristori, who was splendidly supported by Rossi, 
 then very young and unknown. He played Paolo 
 to her Francesca da Rimini, and his success was 
 almost equal to Ristori's. Those representations 
 at the Salle Ventadour delighted me beyond words. 
 Some persons with narrow minds, incapable of 
 feeling a two-fold admiration, were determined to 
 call Ristori a rival to Rachel. The two great tra- 
 gediennes resembled each other in nothing. They 
 could only be criticised by contrasting them. 
 
 Madame Ristori in Myrrha, in Marie Stuart, in 
 Alfieri's Antigone, was sublime, but everything was 
 different in her and in Rachel: their acting, their 
 comprehension of the character of a role, and their 
 attitudes. Alfieri suppresses action; there are no 
 confidants, no lovers, whom he deems useless. He 
 creates situations by dialogues alone. Madame 
 Ristori delineated the effects of passion externally, 
 so to speak, by expressing its cruelties. Rachel 
 
 [23]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 graduated passion by increasing, restrained effects. 
 Her idea of intensity was that it must be profound, 
 and depicted half inwardly. Rachel personified 
 tragedy, Ristori the tragic. 
 
 Monsieur de Lamartine, Theophile Gautier, and 
 Alexandre Dumas were loud in their admiration of 
 Ristori. Legouve, Scribe, Jules Janin, all three, 
 extolled her, a little the less for her talent, it was 
 said, than to revenge themselves on Rachel. 
 
 Monsieur Fould went to Ristori in the Emperor's 
 name, begging her not to leave Paris, and endeav- 
 ouring to persuade her that she would make a 
 greater reputation for herself at the Theatre Fran- 
 cais than anywhere else, above all, than in Italy. 
 
 Madame Ristori quickly unravelled the various 
 reasons which, outside of sincere admiration for 
 her, influenced some of her friends to be exagger- 
 atedly fanatical about her. Legouve and Scribe 
 could not forgive Rachel, the first for the non- 
 success of his Medee and both of them for her 
 caprices about Adrienne Lecouvreur. Jules Janin 
 still felt hurt about certain things she had said 
 of him. 
 
 Madame Ristori answered : " I am an Italian 
 woman. I have the temperament of my race, its 
 spontaneity, an accent that would be shocking in 
 the house of Moliere. My education would need 
 
 [24]
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 to be remade, for it is far from classical. I desire 
 nothing more than what has been given to me in 
 France. The kindness with which they have over- 
 whelmed me, and which is expressed for my coun- 
 try's art, for my nation's welfare, and for myself, 
 makes me deeply grateful. How could I take a 
 Frenchwoman's place, when it is as an Italian 
 woman that I am specially happy at being ap- 
 plauded?" 
 
 Madame Ristori was one of the first to make 
 oppressed Italy loved in France. Cavour wrote to 
 her : " Brava ! in the name of Italy unified, which 
 you serve by your success." The majority of the 
 Imperialists were enthusiastic over Italy's struggles 
 for liberty, and Victor Emmanuel won a place, even 
 in our Republican admiration. 
 
 Madame Ristori became a great friend of Le- 
 gouve during her first sojourn in Paris. She had 
 played his Adrienne Lecouvreur in Italy, and the 
 following year his Medee, translated by Monta- 
 nelli, with immense success in France. 
 
 A few days before our departure from Paris, in 
 the early part of September, we heard the news 
 of the attack on Malakoff, the Russians' defeat, 
 and of the taking of Sebastopol. The joy at the 
 success of our army was great in all parties, but 
 we were grieved at the thought that our victories 
 
 [25]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 were shared by the English. At the table d'hote, 
 where we had become acquainted with several per- 
 sons, a retired officer exclaimed, to every one's de- 
 light : " At last we can become again friends with 
 the Cossack's and Albion's enemy." 
 
 Towards the end of our stay in Paris, my hus- 
 band wished to take me to see Auguste Comte. He 
 spoke to me about an " initiation," a " Comtist 
 marriage," " a blessing on our union," which he 
 desired me to accept, or undergo. I was so carried 
 away with indignation that he did not press the 
 subject. 
 
 After I returned to Soissons, I took no interest 
 save in things concerning Paris. What was taking 
 place in literature, new philosophical ideas, and 
 politics alone occupied my mind. I wrote long 
 letters to my father about the " events." 
 
 I cannot describe what highly important con- 
 versations I had with my friend Pauline Barbereux, 
 my daughter's godmother, whose father, a bar- 
 rister, was my husband's companion in pleasures 
 and in hunting, and who gave his wife the same 
 cares, sorrows, and anxieties as those I had myself. 
 Madame Barbereux shut herself up and wept. I 
 occupied my mind and exchanged ideas with her 
 daughter, who adored my little girl, whom we 
 brought up together. Pauline Barbereux and my- 
 
 [26]
 
 I GO TO PARIS 
 
 self were enormously interested in the Treaty of 
 Peace with Russia. As soon as we could sum up 
 forty years between us, we considered our " ma- 
 turity " complete, and, in our conversations to- 
 gether, we recognised that we each held surprising 
 views on European affairs. 
 
 My father, to whom I communicated our supe- 
 rior appreciation of things in general, did not seem 
 to think them of much account. He was absorbed 
 in the movement of public opinion. He had long 
 since forgiven his " dear exiles," Ledru-Rollin and 
 Louis Blanc, and was impatiently awaiting their 
 return. The failure of Edmond About's Guillery, 
 at the Theatre Francais, had delighted him. 
 " When the students hissed the joker who made 
 sport of contemporaneous Greece they also hissed 
 the so-called son of Voltaire and the prop of Plon- 
 Plon's anteroom. The too trifling writer, and Vol- 
 taire's plagiarist, had learned at his own expense 
 that popularity is not solely acquired by courting 
 power, or by disrespect shown to a people just 
 freed from the bloody clutches of a conqueror. 
 The non-success of Guillery is entirely political," 
 my father added, " and is also a protestation di- 
 rected against the author's personality, for the play 
 itself, it seems, is good, and Got is marvellous 
 in it." 
 
 3 [27]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 The opposition journals cried out loudly against 
 Guillery, its immorality, and against the influence 
 of Imperial corruption, " which was filtering 
 through everything more and more. There were 
 such scandalous things in Edmond About's play," 
 they wrote, " that they could not be repeated ex- 
 cept with veiled faces." Every one wished to hear 
 them, but proper-minded persons did not dare to 
 smile at them. 
 
 [28]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 1 
 
 EBRUARY had come, and Pauline Barbe- 
 reux and I continued to read and talk to- 
 gether. My daughter, who was eighteen months 
 old, would play with our journals, which we would 
 give her, and would accompany our conversations 
 with a sort of monotonous chant that delighted us. 
 Alphonse Karr was publishing at this time week- 
 ly papers in the Siecle which recalled his Guepes, 
 under the title of Bourdonnements. He criticised 
 crinoline with a great deal of wit and common sense 
 at once. I had courageously resisted the " steel 
 circle," the amplitude of starched petticoats seem- 
 ing preferable to me, not because men loudly ap- 
 plauded my resistance, for I was not bent on pleas- 
 ing them, but because I found the fashion gro- 
 tesque. In one of his articles, Alphonse Karr de- 
 clared " that there was not a single young or pretty 
 woman in France who did not wear crinoline," 
 whose indiscreet inconveniences he set forth, as 
 shown in stairways, in descending from or getting 
 into a carriage, or when a woman sat down in a 
 too narrow chair. 
 
 [29]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Pauline Barbereux used to bring me the Siecle, 
 her father being a subscriber to it. She envied 
 me my starched petticoats and detested crinoline, 
 which her mother made her wear as being " more 
 proper." We read Alphonse Karr's article in 
 turn, out loud. At the passage, " there is not a 
 single young or pretty woman in France who does 
 not wear crinoline," I said to my friend : " I sup- 
 pose I should write to Alphonse Karr that there 
 is myself?" "Yes, yes, do!" she cried, and I 
 had soon finished my letter. Of course, I did not 
 intend to sign it, so I expatiated complacently on 
 my good looks in the note that accompanied my 
 Reflections. " Yes, Monsieur, there is a pretty 
 woman, twenty years old, who does not wear, and 
 who has never worn, crinoline. There is one in 
 France, in the provinces, and it is myself — Ju- 
 liette." 
 
 I took the liberty of writing a number of re- 
 flections on woman's role in our epoch. I imitated 
 Alphonse Karr's style as much as I possibly could, 
 and I read my rough copy to Pauline. 
 
 " Ah, ah, ah ! " cried my little Alice. 
 
 Pauline declared the letter superb; she took it 
 from me and dictated it to me solemnly, while I 
 copied it on some gorgeous paper. Having read 
 " the article," as Pauline baptized it, a second time, 
 
 [30]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 I placed it tenderly in a large envelope, sealed it 
 with a beautiful seal bearing the name of Juliette, 
 and we carried our missive to the post-office. 
 
 How Pauline and I counted the very hours of 
 the next eight days cannot be described. Would 
 Alphonse Karr speak of my answer? All the week 
 such discussions as we had on the possibilities of 
 this or that! 
 
 I had dreamed of Myosotis the night preceding 
 the day on which the Bourdonnements would ap- 
 pear. I thought it a good sign. Would Paris 
 read, on awakening on the 20th of February, 1856, 
 some prose by "Juliette"? But on that day, 
 Pauline entered my room, pale, scarcely able to 
 hold herself up. The Siecle trembled in her 
 hand. 
 
 " It is in it, Juliette ! The whole of it is in it! " 
 
 The whole of it? 
 
 We stood, looking at one another, each one hold- 
 ing an end of the paper. We took two chairs, 
 which we placed close together; we unfolded the 
 Siecle. My entire letter was in it. I read it, Pau- 
 line reread it. Not a word had been changed ! 
 
 I burst into tears. Pauline wept. My little 
 Alice, who was playing on the floor, cried at seeing 
 our tears ; but her godmother sang to her and con- 
 soled her, I thought of my beloved grandmother, 
 
 [31]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 who was dead, for it was in this very room that 
 
 she had appeared to me, and I cried out: 
 " Grandmother, I will be a writer ! " 
 I sent the article to my father, and explained 
 
 to him the reason for my writing it. 
 
 " At last," he replied, " I see in this, for the 
 
 first time, a promise of talent." 
 
 The birth of the Prince Imperial, with the Pope 
 as his godfather, made my father furious. " There 
 was an heir to the Empire, and he was vowed to 
 papacy from his birth! Was it not all abomi- 
 nable?" 
 
 The time for us to leave Soissons drew near. 
 In a few months my fate would be decided ; we were 
 going to live in Paris. 
 
 I read with feverish haste all that I could lay 
 my hands on, knowing that I should not have the 
 same leisure at Paris. 
 
 The year sped by rapidly. While my husband 
 was looking about in Paris for an apartment, 
 which he wished, like myself, near the Louvre, 
 " astride the two banks," as he said, I went with 
 my daughter to pass three months at Chauny. I 
 heard there, with many unknown details, of the 
 assassination of the Archbishop of Paris by Verger. 
 This Verger was a protege of one of my father's 
 
 [32]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 companions at the Seminary of Beauvais, with 
 whom he had remained friendly. This companion, 
 who belonged to the " Missions," and who died 
 later in China, frightfully martyrized, wrote a long 
 letter to my father, in which he pleaded extenua- 
 ting circumstances for Verger. My father had his 
 own ideas about it, and indignantly condemned the 
 act. 
 
 When I left Chauny with my daughter, to join 
 my husband in Paris, I travelled with Madame 
 Ugalde in the same railway carriage. She talked 
 to me of my daughter, of her own, then of her 
 happy home, and of Fiammina, by Mario Uchard, 
 which had just been played at the Theatre Fran- 
 cais, and about which all Paris was wild. 
 
 The celebrated Galatee and I, a bourgeoise, 
 were both agreed on this point: that no matter 
 how many passions an actress might feel, no matter 
 what her love for celebrity might be, she was emi- 
 nently culpable when she abandoned her child, as 
 Fiammina did. It is well known that Mario Uchard 
 wrote his own story in this play, and that Fiam- 
 mina was Madeleine Brohan. 
 
 At last I was living in Paris, Rue de Rivoli, 
 opposite to the Louvre. If my grandmother had 
 been still living, she would have inspired me with 
 some of the confidence she felt in myself. 
 
 [33]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 During the first days, I had but two sensations: 
 that of being isolated in this immense city, and of 
 being oppressed by the noise made by others. I 
 knew no one. Those of my husband's friends whom 
 he presented to me I thought odious. They talked 
 of nothing but business, of easy or difficult money- 
 making. I ought, however, to have been satisfied. 
 One of my dearest desires was realized: I was very 
 near to the Museum of Antiquities, to the temple 
 of my gods. 
 
 We had a balcony, and as soon as I would re- 
 turn from my visit to the Tuileries with my daugh- 
 ter, I took up my abode on it, in order to grow 
 accustomed to the noises of Paris, that resounded 
 in my brain as though in a metal vase. I suffered 
 from dreadful neuralgia, which a physician in the 
 quarter finally cured. In talking with Doctor de 
 Bonnard, I discovered that he was in correspond- 
 ence with my father apropos of a pamphlet of the 
 latter's concerning typhoid fever, of which he had 
 made marvellous cures. This pamphlet he had sent 
 to every doctor in France. 
 
 Doctor de Bonnard became my friend. He ad- 
 vised me, as I wrote poetry, to become a member 
 of the Union des Poetes. He was very intimate 
 with Emile Richebourg, a member, who introduced 
 me to the society. Richebourg wrote poetry in a 
 
 [34]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 light vein and was, they said, a protege of old 
 Beranger. He took me one day to see the author 
 of the songs my grandfather sang, up to the very 
 time of his death, and whom he called, lisping sol- 
 emnly, " the Emperor's poet," and whom my fa- 
 ther named " the poet of liberty and of the peo- 
 ple." I never met a more charming, fatherly, or 
 simple old man, or one kinder, although in a sar- 
 castic way. I took him what I considered my 
 " finest inspiration." After reading it, he clasped 
 my hands and said : " My child, you will never be 
 a poet, but you may be a writer." 
 
 The future hope did not mitigate the criticism. 
 But just as Richebourg had smiled at Beranger's 
 severity to me, and at my unhappy air, so did I 
 smile at him in return, when Beranger added : " It 
 is just like my dear Richebourg, who sincerely 
 thinks himself a poet, a charming poet of light 
 verses! Now, I predict that he will be an ultra- 
 dramatic novel writer, since I heard him relate the 
 story of an assassination he had seen." 
 
 Beranger was a prophet. Emile Richebourg 
 wrote many dramatic plays and novels, and is 
 spoken of as " the author of L'Enfant du Fau- 
 bourg, which appeared in Le Petit Journal, where 
 it had great success. The popular song-maker 
 had divined the popular novel-writer. 
 
 [35]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Beranger said to me, when I left him : " Good- 
 bye, my child. You will not be offended with me 
 long." I asked him, sadly, why " good-bye " and 
 not " till we meet again "? Had I displeased him? 
 
 Shrugging his shoulders, and looking out of the 
 open window, he replied : " I think I shall go be- 
 fore long to see ' the God of good people.' " 
 
 He died soon after. 
 
 I wrote no more poetry, and gradually gave up 
 going to the Union des Poetes. Richebourg, 
 also, withdrew from it, and soon after he told me, 
 one day, that he had begun to write a novel — 
 Lucienne. 
 
 I became acquainted at this time, again through 
 Doctor de Bonnard, with Charles Fauvety, the 
 founder and editor of La Revue Philosophique. 
 There was a gathering once a week at his house, 
 in the Rue de la Michodiere, where they talked 
 and discussed philosophy and social science. These 
 questions had always interested me. Madame 
 Jenny d'Hericourt, who had acquired deserved 
 authority in this circle from her serious studies, 
 could not bear that I should take part in debates 
 in which " the most serious questions were proposed 
 and which," she said, " demanded mature knowl- 
 edge with which to answer them." Both Monsieur 
 Renouvier and Monsieur Fauvety were much 
 
 [36]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 amused at this rivalry, that existed only in Ma- 
 dame d'Hericourt's mind, whose superiority I 
 frankly admitted, but as she became more and 
 more bitter every week, sometimes I lost patience. 
 There was a word in these discussions of which 
 Madame d'Hericourt made too frequent use, which 
 was the word antinomy. 
 
 Monsieur Renouvier often spoke of " synthesis, 
 of contrary things, of the different attributes that 
 could be observed at one and the same time, in one 
 human being." Madame d'Hericourt's " antino- 
 mies," as can be supposed, easily found a place in 
 these discussions. 
 
 Monsieur Renouvier had contributed largely to 
 the Encyclopedic Nouvelle, founded by Pierre Le- 
 roux and Jean Reynaud. He had been writing 
 for three years on his great work, Essais de Cri- 
 tique Generale, which he did not finish until many 
 years later, and he also wrote for Monsieur Fau- 
 vety's Revue Philosophique, of which he was the 
 most important collaborator. Renouvier was con- 
 sidered the most erudite of all the philosophers of 
 that epoch. He was pronounced superior to Victor 
 Cousin, from whose theories he had separated him- 
 self by attacking eclecticism as a doctrine which 
 led to the abasement of man's character. Renouvier 
 was the first to establish, in most admirable deduc- 
 
 [37] 
 
 atvi
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tions, the connection of the philosophic doctrines of 
 each epoch with the state of science of their times. 
 His ambition was to reform Kantism, and to replace 
 philosophy by criticism. Although admitting, with 
 Kant, that our knowledge cannot go beyond phe- 
 nomena, he was not a Kantist ; although recog- 
 nising with Auguste Comte that the search for the 
 absolute led to an abyss of error, he was not a 
 Positivist. He condemned the materialism of posi- 
 tivism severely. He affirmed the idea, of course, 
 which Kant and Auguste Comte did not accept, 
 and he separated from them both by a very haught- 
 ily expressed opinion, " I establish," he said, " be- 
 tween certitude and faith, between belief and will, 
 an immense connection." 
 
 I felt great admiration for Monsieur Renouvier. 
 He had a noble, liberal mind, eager for truth; he 
 possessed strong opinions, but without sectarian- 
 ism of any kind, which was the besetting sin of 
 the writers in the Revue Philosophique, and espe- 
 cially of Madame Jenny d'Hericourt. One of her 
 bugbears was Proudhon, of whom she could never 
 speak without growing angry. She was the au- 
 thor of a valuable work on the theories of the 
 great dialectician, which I had read, and she was 
 inexpressibly irritated with me because I had had 
 the audacity to speak to her of this book. All 
 
 [38]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 my early youth had been passed in battling with 
 my father about Proudhon. I knew all the phases 
 of his mind, but this Madame d'Hericourt would 
 never admit. " Do you see that silly jade who 
 pretends to explain Proudhon to me," she said to 
 Monsieur Fauvety, who repeated the conversation 
 to me. 
 
 " She does not mean to explain him to you, she 
 is only proving to you that she knows him and can 
 pass judgment on your book," replied Monsieur 
 Fauvety. 
 
 " A woman of her age know Proudhon ! Oh, 
 come now ; you have been prompting her ! " 
 
 Madame Fauvety was an intelligent, intellectual 
 woman. She had received a first prize for tragedy 
 at the Conservatoire, and some persons had endeav- 
 oured, a few years before, to rank her as a rival 
 to Rachel. A success she had obtained, and which 
 was brought about especially by a party of friends, 
 induced her to believe that she was, in truth, if 
 not superior to Rachel, at least equal to "Phedre." 
 But Rachel soon put aside this so-called rival. 
 Madame Fauvety thought it was the Empire and 
 Monsieur de Morny, who had sacrificed her to 
 Rachel, and was consequently one of the most ar- 
 dent among us to take up arms against " the reign 
 of pleasure." 
 
 [39]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 The Fauvetys had a country house at Asnieres, 
 where they lived during the summer, and where 
 they went in winter, when the weather permitted, 
 to pass Sundays and to exercise their " children." 
 The " children " were two handsome dogs, one very 
 small, the other very large. One day I received 
 the following note from Madame Fauvety : " Come 
 to me as soon as you possibly can; we have lost 
 one of our ' children.' " 
 
 I went to the Rue de la Michodiere. " Zozo," 
 Madame Fauvety said to me, " has disappeared 
 since yesterday morning. You must help me to 
 find him by going to a fortune-teller. I am afraid 
 of sorcerers ; Fauvety is strong-minded, and laughs 
 at me about this plan, but, nevertheless, he will 
 be glad, I know, if some one will consult a clair- 
 voyant for us. Go to Edmond, Rue Fontaine, 
 about poor Zozo, I beseech you. Will you go? " 
 
 " Very willingly," I replied. 
 
 I said to myself, as I was walking to see Ed- 
 mond, these persons are all shameful charlatans. 
 They have accomplices in the anterooms. I will 
 not answer a word, not even a yes or a no, if any 
 one speaks to me. 
 
 I arrived at Edmond's residence, and was ushered 
 into a very dark room. I sat down. Three per- 
 sons were to go in to consult him before me, and 
 
 [40]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 several others arrived after me. They all seemed 
 much impressed and asked each other many ques- 
 tions. At the end of a quarter of an hour I could 
 have told them all their fortunes. At last my turn 
 came. The drapery over the door was raised for 
 the fourth time, and I went where the three other 
 persons had gone, and whom I did not see again. 
 I entered a rather large drawing-room, sombre in 
 spite of its coloured-glass windows. Edmond was 
 tall and very handsome in his black velvet tunic. 
 His eyes had an earnest and enveloping gaze. 
 After motioning me to sit down, he did likewise, 
 and began playing with some cards, to show, I 
 thought, his beautiful hands. An hour-glass, sev- 
 eral stuffed owls, and the symbolical chain Edmond 
 wore over his tunic attracted my attention. We 
 looked attentively at each other. Silence still 
 reigned between us. 
 
 " Cut," he said, presenting me the cards. I cut 
 them, and then, holding his cards in his hands: 
 
 " You have come," he said at length, slowly, 
 " about a dog." 
 
 I started. 
 
 " The dog is not lost," he continued. " He has 
 gone back to the country, whither he went to see 
 one of his friends. A lady met him, caught him 
 by the collar, and wishes to keep him. He is now 
 
 [41]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tied up, but after six weeks she will think he has 
 grown accustomed to the place, and will let him 
 loose. He will escape and go back to the gate of 
 his master's garden. They must be warned, so 
 that he can be let in." 
 
 I rose and thanked him. 
 
 " But, madame, I have not finished." Edmond 
 added : " I must tell you your fortune." 
 
 " My fortune will not be a good one to tell." 
 
 " It will be good, as you will hear." 
 
 " Ah, no ! " I replied, moving toward the door. 
 
 Edmond did not move. 
 
 " You are fond of formulas," he said. " This 
 is one of yours : ' We are charlatans.' " 
 
 " I have not said so to you." 
 
 " Yes, charlatans, when we endeavour to disen- 
 tangle the destiny of a star from out the mazes of 
 the Milky Way." 
 
 I approached him. 
 
 " But when we have a star visible to the naked 
 eye " 
 
 "What! am I a visible star?" 
 
 I sat down. 
 
 " You see, I was right," said Edmond, smiling, 
 and then he made me draw cards from out his 
 pack, and told me that in a year I would suddenly 
 become well known from a book I would write, in 
 
 [42]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 answer to one that was being written at that very 
 moment, and then, almost year by year, he pre- 
 dicted to me the life I have since led. 
 
 Madame Fauvety was delighted at the news I 
 took her, and even the sceptical Fauvety declared 
 they would search no longer for the dog, but would 
 wait for the six weeks to expire, in order to prove 
 the truth of the sorcerer's predictions. We swore 
 to each other to keep all this a secret. When I 
 returned home I found my mother had arrived to 
 see about a loan my husband had asked my father 
 to make him. Edmond had spoken to me of this, 
 and had said : " Never lend money except to those 
 who can give you guarantees; on no account to 
 any others." 
 
 I told my mother, who believed strongly in pre- 
 dictions, all that Edmond had said to me, and she 
 wrote it down and took it to my father, who 
 laughed at my credulity in such a quizzing way 
 that I finally lost patience. I made a bet with 
 him that the dog would be found, leaving each one 
 of us free to choose what the forfeit would be, and 
 my choice was that he should pay for the publica- 
 tion of my famous first book, for I then supposed 
 that I would be obliged to pay for the cost of 
 publishing it. 
 
 One fine day the dog went and barked at Ma- 
 4 [43]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 dame Fauvety's garden gate. She had counted 
 the days, and had gone there the day before the 
 six weeks had expired. I was at once informed 
 of Zozo's having been found, and I confess I felt 
 some emotion on learning the news. Did it not 
 make it possible that the other predictions might 
 come true? 
 
 When I went, the day after, to my friends' 
 evening reception, Zozo recognised me. His large 
 eyes seemed more expressive than ever, and some- 
 what tinged with sorcery. 
 
 That evening, Messrs. Fauvety and Renouvier 
 talked of Taine, who had just published his Essais 
 de Critique et d'Histoire. Only a year had elapsed 
 between this volume, a veritable monument of 
 knowledge, and the preceding sensational appear- 
 ance of Les Philosophes Francais. In speaking of 
 the Essais, Monsieur Renouvier again expressed his 
 admiration for the Philosophes. " The young 
 writers are admirable, most admirable," he said, 
 and their precursors, such as myself, rarely have 
 the happiness I feel in being able to count on 
 their disciples. I had something to do with hatch- 
 ing Taine, but as a hen hatches a duck. He was 
 really too severe on Cousin." 
 
 " Yes, almost cruel," added Monsieur Fauvety, 
 " and you yourself were not too tender toward 
 
 [44]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 him ; but his definition of eclecticism, ' a system 
 of philosophy which consists in having none,' is a 
 stroke of wit, and a proof of French common sense, 
 that will never be surpassed. These simple words 
 became the ' Shut Sesame ' of the temple erected 
 to Cousin by University adulation." 
 
 " What I reproach Taine with," answered Mon- 
 sieur Renouvier, " and which is apparent in every- 
 thing he writes, is his hatred of the French Revo- 
 lution, of democracy, and of the masses. He be- 
 comes in this wise a champion of positivism. The 
 theory that a government should be formed of a 
 chosen few will enlist him among the disciples of 
 Auguste Comte. It will be a pity, for see how 
 much time Littre has lost in getting rid of Comt- 
 ist ideas." 
 
 " No, no," Monsieur Fauvety replied ; " Taine 
 will never be enlisted in that party. The Essais 
 de Critique are a fresh proof of it. What inde- 
 pendence, what individuality of ideas in his criti- 
 cisms and in his style! Taine will ever be a hope 
 and a dread to all philosophical systems. He has 
 taken a whip in hand and will make himself the 
 executioner, and during the next half century he 
 will flagellate all ideas that have deteriorated by 
 usage. I, who am a philosopher, fear only him, 
 and have confidence but in him alone." 
 
 [45]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Madame Fauvety, naturally, liked to discuss the 
 theatre. She knew every play that was produced, 
 but, with a taste peculiar to herself, she always 
 waited until the last performances were announced 
 before she went to see them. After she had read all 
 the reviews about them, " and felt," as she said, 
 " that the actors, from having played their parts 
 for a long time, had become thoroughly identified 
 with their roles," she went to see the play, and then 
 felt she could criticise its merits in a proper way. 
 The first time she took me to the Theatre Francais 
 we saw Fiammina, of which Madame Ugalde had 
 spoken to me. The younger Dumas was her fa- 
 vourite author. She talked of nothing else but of 
 him during the entre actes and of Fiammina. She 
 was enthusiastic over the Dame aux Camelias, Diane 
 de Lys, and, above all, over the Question d' Argent, 
 which had been played at the beginning of the 
 year. " The younger Dumas's work," she said, 
 " has a particular signification. It is social." 
 
 Living among philosophers, and taking part in 
 their discussions, she delighted in argument. 
 
 " As Catholicism," she said, " grows more mate- 
 rial, the spirit of Christianity will enlighten us the 
 more. Pity felt for sins emanates from Jesus. 
 The younger Dumas is a true Christian, for he is 
 merciful to Magdalen." 
 
 [46]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 One of my friends belonging to the " Union des 
 Poetes " presented a young artist to me, a pupil 
 of Ary Scheffer's, who was sometimes given to 
 writing poetry, who had thought of becoming a 
 member of the " Union " and wished to know why 
 I was about to leave it. His name was Claudius 
 Popelin, and he had already painted several pic- 
 tures that had been much remarked : a Dante read- 
 ing his poems to Giotto, etc. Son of a rich manu- 
 facturer, handsome, elegant, very artistic, he was 
 destined to rise to a high Parisian reputation. He 
 delighted to ridicule the dress we were then doomed 
 to wear, and I made him read my letter to Al- 
 phonse Karr, which greatly pleased him. 
 
 I was a little less rotund than my contempora- 
 ries, but Claudius Popelin thought I was not yet 
 enough " like a true woman," as he said, and he 
 declared I ought to put myself at the head of a 
 league of " Gaulish " protestation against crino- 
 line, as having Velleda's type, my mission was 
 clearly indicated. 
 
 " Certainly," he added, " you are less rotund 
 than the others, but you still resemble a beetle, with 
 a small head and an enormous paunch." 
 
 I can still remember how delighted I was to re- 
 ceive from Alexandre Weill an invitation to an 
 " travestied ball," as they said in those days. 
 
 [47]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Richebourg had procured it for me. I had never 
 worn a costume. My husband consented to take 
 me only on condition that he might go in ordinary 
 evening dress. Monsieur Weill refused the per- 
 mission to Richebourg, but he confided to him that 
 there would be coloured silk blouses and belts pro- 
 vided for the recalcitrant guests, and that he would 
 array them in them when they arrived. I took 
 good care not to mention this to Monsieur Lames- 
 sine. 
 
 I at first wished to go to the ball as Nausicaa, 
 my father having so advised me; but Claudius 
 Popelin, who was also invited, told me that he was 
 going as Vercingetorix, as he resembled him, and 
 that I must go as Velleda, and he drew me such a 
 pretty and simple costume that I finally selected it. 
 
 All artistic and literary Paris was to be present 
 at Alexandre Weill's ball; the journals all spoke of 
 it, and I was very proud at having been invited. 
 Monsieur Alexandre Weill lived in the Faubourg 
 St. Honore. He was an Alsatian, and, having been 
 educated in Germany, he had at first remained in 
 that country, whence he wrote for the jour- 
 nals and Socialist reviews, of Leipsic, Cologne and 
 Stuttgart, Francophiles at that time! Alexandre 
 Dumas having met him in Frankfort, during one 
 of his numerous travels, had persuaded him to live 
 
 [48]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 in Paris, where he soon made himself a position in 
 Parisian journalism. He wrote for the Gazette 
 de France, then very eclectic, and, being rich by 
 his wife, one of the most fashionable milliners in 
 Paris, he entertained a great deal and very hand- 
 somely. 
 
 I wore Velleda's long white robe, and, as my 
 father had never allowed me to wear corsets, I was 
 quite at my ease in a garment whose folds were 
 simply held about the waist by a narrow gold belt, 
 from which hung a gilded sickle. My hair, of dark 
 chestnut colour, tinged with red, fell down un- 
 bound, and I wore a crown of mistletoe. My arms, 
 for the first time in my life, were bare up to the 
 shoulder, for, at that time, even at balls, they wore 
 small sleeves. My husband consented to wear a 
 blouse, Monsieur Weill kindly dressing him in it. 
 But I was very much confused when the master 
 of the house, taking me by the hand, fairly 
 dragged me into the middle of the drawing-room, 
 crying out: 
 
 " Velleda ! " 
 
 Vercingetorix was already there, and he and a 
 number of artists, whom he presented to me, gath- 
 ered round me, and complimented me very warmly 
 for having chosen a costume so well suited to my 
 type. 
 
 [49]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 I looked for Madame Weill, to whom I had yet 
 not been able to speak, and whom I only knew 
 slightly from having once made her a short visit, 
 and I was, besides, impatient to get free from the 
 circle that surrounded me, and where I received too 
 many compliments about my arms. Thanks to 
 Vercingetorix, whose help I claimed, I escaped from 
 the serried crowd of painters. I first found Alex- 
 andre Weill, who pointed me out to a little old 
 man, to whom he said, as I approached them, leav- 
 ing Vercingetorix's arm: 
 
 " Shall I introduce you? " 
 
 " No, no," replied the old gentleman, " I am 
 afraid of her ! " 
 
 " Afraid of me, Monsieur," I said, laughing. 
 "Why?" 
 
 And then Monsieur Weill introduced . . . Mey- 
 erbeer to me! 
 
 I was an enthusiastic admirer of Meyerbeer, and 
 I told him so. He was embarrassed by his accent, 
 and was both timid and reserved, and he said to 
 me, hesitatingly, that I should not say such things 
 to him. They were too complimentary, coming 
 from me. Alexandre Weill laughed and exclaimed : 
 " Love at first sight ! Love at first sight ! " Mey- 
 erbeer hurried away. 
 
 " You see," Alexandre Weill said to me, " when 
 
 [50]
 
 MY FURTHER LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 you entered the room, he was thunderstruck, for 
 he is even a greater poet than he is a great musi- 
 cian, and he has thought for a long time of crea- 
 ting the role of Velleda, and when he saw you, he 
 came and said to me, as though frightened : 
 
 " ' She will make me forget my Seleka ! I am 
 too old to fall in love with a new face, even in Art. 
 I never wish to see that woman again.' " 
 
 " Let us find him," I said. " He must resusci- 
 tate Velleda." 
 
 Meyerbeer had disappeared. 
 
 Every morning after the ball, I received, during 
 many months, a little bouquet of violets, and with 
 the first one these simple words : 
 
 a 
 
 A tender souvenir to Velleda. 
 
 " Meyerbeer." 
 
 Later he sent me a box for the first performance 
 of the Pardon de Ploermel, but I never saw him 
 again. 
 
 [51]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 HOLITICS were a burning question between 
 those who took the oath of allegiance to 
 the Empire and those who refused to take it. In 
 June, when the elections were to take place, a com- 
 mittee of old Republicans decided to make an ap- 
 peal to the Parisians with regard to the oath- 
 taking, and drew up a list of nine candidates faith- 
 ful to the principle of not taking the oath. 
 
 Monsieur Nefftzer, editor of la Presse, and Mon- 
 sieur Havin, manager of Le Siecle, offered a seat 
 to Emile Ollivier, son of Demosthene Ollivier, the 
 old Republican and exile of 1848. This excited us 
 immensely. Emile Ollivier, through his father's 
 influence, who enjoyed great popularity in the 
 South, had been made commissary of the Govern- 
 ment at Marseilles by Ledru-Rollin. Although, 
 since those days, Emile Ollivier had endeavoured 
 to make a high position for himself, he was, at 
 that time, at very low mark. All parties com- 
 plained of him, and he only escaped from the ef- 
 fects of his conduct by the most precocious du- 
 plicity. Held in disgrace as prefect, he did not 
 
 [52]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 leave his position until ruined by Louis Napoleon. 
 The compromise he accepted in 1857, though in 
 contradiction to his birth, was not so as regarded 
 his character. Darinion, Proudhon's secretary, and 
 a contributor to La Presse, was chosen by Nefftzer 
 as twin candidate with Emile Ollivier. 
 
 The great electoral committee, composed of vet- 
 erans of 1848, advocated the non-taking of the 
 oath, declaring that no one could condemn Louis 
 Napoleon for the violation of his oath, except on 
 condition of not admitting that his own could be 
 violated. Cavaignac, Hippolyte Carnot, Garnier- 
 Pages, Arnaud d'Ariege, Carbon, Charton, Goud- 
 chaux, Laurent-Pichat, Eugene Pelletau, Jean 
 Reynaud, Jules Simon, and Vacherot signed the 
 manifestation to the Parisians. 
 
 Darimon and, naturally, Emile Ollivier, used as 
 their defence the volume Proudhon had published 
 after the Second of December — La Revolution So- 
 ciale demontree par le Coup-d'Etat — in which the 
 great polemist declared " that the partisans of Le- 
 gitimacy could refuse to take the oath, because, in 
 their case, the Feudal Oath bound with a unilateral 
 and personal bond the one who took the oath to 
 the one who accepted it." 
 
 In 1857, Proudhon continued his demoralizing 
 campaign. " I confess," he said, " that I do not 
 
 [53]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 understand that a Republican should have so many 
 scruples, and Messrs. Cavaignac's and Carnot's ar- 
 guments have not convinced me. The oath, for a 
 Republican, is merely the recognition of the peo- 
 ple's sovereignty in the person of the Head of 
 State, and consequently a synallagmatic contract." 
 Proudhon decided that Republicans could perfect- 
 ly well take the oath. 
 
 However, no one, not even himself, dared to be 
 the first to assume the shame of this oath. Mes- 
 sieurs Emile Ollivier and Darimon, under Proud- 
 hon's orders, did not have a moment's hesitation. 
 
 Monsieur Emile Ollivier's father, who had been 
 dragged from prison to prison at the time of the 
 " Second of December," and designated to be de- 
 ported, was still in exile at Florence, after having 
 been expelled from Nice, before its annexation, at 
 the demand of the French Government. But Emile 
 Ollivier felt so little indignation at the Coup-d'Etat 
 and its crimes, that he one day called it " an event 
 of providential significance." 
 
 The oath-taker surrounded himself with young 
 men, ambitious like himself, and impatient to play 
 a role. As soon as he was a Deputy he became their 
 head; all of them had not his duplicity, but they 
 all suffered from his dangerous influence. People 
 commenced to talk of these young men, new up- 
 
 [54]'
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 starts of political life, and to call them " the little 
 Olliviers." By a second polling, Emile Ollivier 
 became the first oath-taking Deputy of Paris. 
 Messrs. Darimon and Henon, of Lyons, alone kept 
 him company. 
 
 General Cavaignac, Hippolyte Carnot, and 
 Goudchaux, also elected, refused to take the oath. 
 Monsieur Emile Ollivier, promised already, bear- 
 ing " a light heart,"* to uphold the Empire in the 
 discussions that would take place during the 
 elections. 
 
 Proudhon took it upon himself to do all the 
 arguing in favour of the oath, and apropos of the 
 indignation roused against those who took it. 
 " He has made perjury pardonable," we said 
 among our party. 
 
 The small circle of philosophers, writers, and 
 poets in which I lived were in despair at the state 
 of moral decay into which we had fallen. Those 
 in exile wrote to their friends : " What are you 
 doing? Take care! It is criminal to absolve, by 
 an identical act, lies and perjury." 
 
 Monsieur Thiers said: 
 
 * Referring to Emile Ollivier's famous speech in 1870, when 
 he said he began the war with Germany " with a light heart." 
 — Translator's note. 
 
 [55]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " It is impossible to submit to the oath imposed 
 upon us by the Empire. It is a vexatious measure 
 thrust on the vanquished by the perjurer." 
 
 My father wrote to me : " There is gangrene in 
 the hearts of the Republicans, and it will destroy 
 them. No one thinks of the Republic and its prin- 
 ciples. Was George Sand right when she said, 
 disillusioned, ' Will the Republic, after all, be only 
 a party ? ' " 
 
 One of the foremost among the corrupters of 
 the Republic was Monsieur de Morny, who for a 
 short time left the Presidency of the Corps Legis- 
 latif, but who soon resumed the position. Scepti- 
 cal, eclectic, a lettered Parisian, witty, elegant, and 
 a fascinating man, feigning discontent and pre- 
 tending to be a lover of liberty, he accused the 
 " reactionary " party and the " clericals " of de- 
 ceiving the Emperor, kl whose instincts were lib- 
 eral." He hypnotized consciences and, when neces- 
 sary, corrupted men's hearts. 
 
 One evening, after Beranger's death, I went to 
 a meeting of the " Union des Poetes," where Emile 
 Richebourg was to eulogize the great song-writer. 
 In spite of Beranger's severe criticism of my po- 
 etry, I much regretted his death, for I thought that 
 should I have, in the future, need of sincere advice, 
 
 [56]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 I could have gone to him to seek it, had he 
 lived. 
 
 Richebourg spoke of Beranger with such feel- 
 ing, dwelling on his good nature in such touching 
 terms that he made an indelible impression on our 
 hearts; especially when he revealed to us his ex- 
 traordinary kindness. The multiplicity of his 
 charitable acts when compared with his meagre re- 
 sources was almost miraculous. He deprived him- 
 self even of food in order to give to others, and 
 Richebourg inspired us with such an affection for 
 the dear, old man that the memory of it still abides 
 with me. 
 
 There was a great difference in the tone of the 
 meetings of the " Union des Poetes." Another, the 
 last one to which I went, towards the end of the 
 year, was curiously interesting. They discussed at 
 length two volumes of poems that created great 
 excitement, for very contrary reasons: Les Fleurs 
 du Mai and Denise. 
 
 Aurelien Scholl, generally so full of banter in 
 his articles and in his books, had written in Denise 
 the most simple, the most real work possible to 
 imagine, although he pretended not to believe that 
 it was a success. Denise was most warmly wel- 
 comed by high-minded persons, glad to be re- 
 freshed " by something healthy." 
 
 [57]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 How often, and at how many different periods, 
 have I heard my contemporaries sum up their im- 
 pressions, when some high-toned book appeared, in 
 these words : "It is, indeed, quite time that intel- 
 lectual morality should be aroused, when we look 
 at what is taking place around us." Which has 
 made me ask myself sometimes : " Does not about 
 the same thing always take place? " Denise, it is 
 true, was unfaithful to her husband, but she had 
 been abandoned, and her unfaithfulness was told 
 in such noble verse, so full of sentiment and of 
 ideality ! 
 
 As to Baudelaire, the poems quoted by his de- 
 fenders, eminently beautiful though they were, 
 could not, in our eyes, wash away the filth of cer- 
 tain others. The six poems which, it will be re- 
 membered, were forbidden to appear in the future 
 editions inspired us with great disgust, for he 
 braved our uprightness, indeed, too much in certain 
 French words, and aroused strong and praisewor- 
 thy indignation. 
 
 What was taking place that year was curi- 
 ous. Here were we, who talked so much about 
 " Imperial corruption," approving the proceedings 
 against Les Fleurs du Mai, and disapproving the 
 prudery of Napoleon Ill's magistrates. It is true 
 that it was on account of the accusations brought 
 
 [58]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 against Madame Bovary, and because Gustave 
 Flaubert, belonging to the lineage of Rabelais and 
 of Montaigne, should be called before the courts, 
 like Baudelaire, for immorality! My father, who 
 had read Madame Bovary in the Revue de Paris, 
 wrote me the most amusing letters, after Monsieur 
 Pinard's, the Imperial lawyer's, summing up, who 
 grew grandiloquently indignant at the " lascivi- 
 ous " passages in Madame Bovary. The " where- 
 as " so often repeated in this celebrated verdict 
 inspired my father with writing verses, where the 
 words " lascifs " and " poncifs " were repeated in 
 the most amusing fashion. I will recall one 
 " whereas " : 
 
 " Whereas it is not permitted to reproduce the 
 facts, words, and gestures of people's misconduct, 
 etc., 
 
 " Because it would lead to a realism that would 
 be a negation of all that is beautiful and good ; 
 but, however, as the book of which Flaubert is the 
 author is a work which appears to have been seri- 
 ously compiled from a literary point of view, and, 
 as the said Flaubert declares his respect for good 
 conduct, and all that is connected with religious 
 morality, etc. 
 
 " We acquit him of the accusation brought 
 against him." 
 
 5 [59]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 My father was not the only one who thought 
 this " whereas " most laughable, and he predicted 
 the highest destiny to the mediocrity and preten- 
 tion of Monsieur Pinard, Imperial lawyer. He be- 
 come a Minister! 
 
 The new Louvre, inaugurated that year, was a 
 fairy palace to my little Alice. Going to and 
 coming from the Tuileries, I always passed through 
 the inside courts, and all the queens, all the fairies 
 of my stories, inhabited their special pavilion, 
 about which my little Alice never made a mistake. 
 " Good-morning, pretty fairy ; good-morning, 
 good queen; good-morning, Grecian lady." Each 
 one received her daily salutation. 
 
 I heard Bismarck's name for the first time at a 
 dinner given by Alexandre Weill, who had known 
 him in Frankfort. He spoke warmly of him, but 
 described him as a manner of unlicked cub in ap- 
 pearance, although possessing extraordinary polit- 
 ical artfulness, and as using his grossness as a 
 means and end to his cleverness. 
 
 " He is a gentleman farmer in the most brutal 
 sense of the word," said Weill, " born to live in 
 forests." His father had destined him to a Gov- 
 ernmental position, in order to add to the chance 
 revenues of agriculture the certainty of a fixed 
 
 [60]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 salary. He is a clannish chief and he would never 
 have been a good administrator, for he is " incapa- 
 ble of obedience." Made Deputy in 1847, he 
 strongly blamed the King for having yielded to 
 the people's threats by granting them a Constitu- 
 tion. He was, moreover, among the first to help 
 him in taking it back. " I have seen Bismarck," 
 added Weill, " mount the tribune as though it 
 were a cavalry horse ready for a charge. He thun- 
 dered out his rabid Conservator's insults with ex- 
 traordinary violence, speaking of sabre-cutting 
 politics, of absolute authority, of the gallows! 
 When the dream of German unity was evoked be- 
 fore him, he replied, ' that the whole of Germany 
 was not worth Prussian nationality.' 
 
 " When the Parliament of Frankfort," contin- 
 ued Weill, " offered the Imperial Crown to Fred- 
 erick William, Bismarck implored the King not to 
 accept a proposal made by an assembly of mad 
 rebels," in recognition of which Frederick William 
 appointed him, in 1851, as his representative at 
 the Diet of Frankfort, renovated and placed on 
 a more solid basis. There he ostensibly defended 
 Austria, the nation he hated the most intensely," 
 Weill confided to us. " He wishes," continued our 
 host, " an alliance with France." And he read a 
 memoir to us, after dinner, that treated of politics 
 
 [61]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 in general, copied from an autograph manuscript 
 of Monsieur de Bismarck, and in which there were 
 several sentences, the exact words of which I can 
 not guarantee, but I can certainly certify to the 
 sense of what was therein expressed: 
 
 " France should keep open for herself every pos- 
 sibility of an alliance with Russia, and with that 
 in view, should maintain amicable relations with 
 Prussia. France has no interest to ally herself with 
 Austria, old, even to decrepitude, nor with any of 
 the small German states, which latter fact would 
 make Prussia her bitterest enemy. A friendship 
 with Prussia, a growing and strong state, would 
 give France Continental support, would force Aus- 
 tria to prudence, and would greatly facilitate an 
 alliance with Russia." 
 
 " I like Bismarck," said Weill, finally. " We 
 have become quite intimate through a common 
 friend, but I love France, and I always remember 
 with pain something said by that terrible man, 
 whom one must fear, and which was repeated to 
 me by my friend : ' Before France, which is Revo- 
 lution incarnate, destroys herself with her own 
 revolutions, she will, perhaps, have to do with Ger- 
 many.' Bismarck is such a selfish partisan that 
 one cannot sufficiently beware of him in everything 
 and always. He would betray any contract, any 
 
 [62]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 promise, any alliance, for Prussia, his sole passion! 
 At present he desires German unity, being certain 
 now that Prussia will absorb it." 
 
 Books poured in at the office of La Revue Philo- 
 sophique. Madame Fauvety and I took our share, 
 and after reading them, wrote in return short criti- 
 cisms about them for Monsieur Fauvety, the editor. 
 One day, when I brought my short tribute on the 
 Memoires de Sophie Arnould, by the de Goncourts, 
 my enemy, Madame d'Hericourt, who was never 
 disarmed in my favour, addressed me in these 
 terms : 
 
 " I will bet that you believe in the Memoires de 
 Sophie Arnould. Well, I can tell you, simple child, 
 that they are apocryphal from first to last." 
 
 She had a wonderful story to relate on the sub- 
 ject, which only made people smile, knowing the 
 particular aversion in which she held Jules de Gon- 
 court on account of a malicious speech he once 
 made on the rather thick mustache that shaded her 
 lip : " Her style has the strength of a bearded 
 man's," he had said to a friend who was praising 
 one of Madame Jenny d'Hericourt's articles, a 
 really remarkable article on " antinomies." 
 
 Theodore de Bouville's most amusing Odes Fu- 
 nambulesques had delighted me. Madame Fau- 
 
 [63]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 vety, who gave me lessons in diction, made me read 
 some of it to the " Philosophers," one evening, " to 
 see if they knew how to laugh," as she said, and 
 I had quite a triumph. The " Philosophers " did 
 know how to laugh. What a discovery, to be sure! 
 " A real antinomy ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 From that time the whole tone of these little 
 meetings changed. They were just as interesting 
 as ever, but with occasional glimpses of gaiety, 
 which Madame Fauvety cleverly brought about, 
 aided by myself and others. Madame d'Hericourt 
 grew more and more irritated, accusing me of the 
 strange things that took place at La Revue Philo- 
 sophique. 
 
 " Auguste Comte has just died," my husband 
 announced to me one evening. " He looks majestic 
 in death. I have just seen him. Pierre Lafitte 
 is his executor. He has left some debts, which we, 
 his disciples, will pay, and his apartment in the 
 Rue Monsieur-le-Prince is to be kept sacredly as 
 our place of meeting." 
 
 " Sacredly ? " I repeated. 
 
 " Well, yes, sacredly is what I meant to say, 
 it seems to me." 
 
 " Not fitted to your mouth and concerning Au- 
 guste Comte." 
 
 Madame d'Hericourt arrived one evening at the 
 
 [64]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 " Philosophers," very proud to be able to give us 
 some unknown details on Blandine Liszt's mar- 
 riage, about which all Paris had talked so much. 
 Monsieur Jules Grevy, whom she knew, and who 
 was a great friend of the Comtesse d'Agoult's 
 (Daniel Stern), the " unknown " mother of Blan- 
 dine, had told her all about it. 
 
 " Their meeting," Madame d'Hericourt told us, 
 " took place in the most original and romantic man- 
 ner, during some travels of Madame d'Agoult and 
 her daughter in Italy. Emile Ollivier, being made 
 Deputy, went to explain to his father, exiled at 
 Florence, why he had taken oath to the Empire, 
 and Monsieur Grevy says that Demosthene Ollivier, 
 the exile, the old Republican of the " Montagne " 
 of 1848, had approved it. But to return to our 
 romance," Madame d'Hericourt continued. 
 
 " One day, in a museum, some common friends 
 of Ollivier and of Madame d'Agoult introduced 
 Ollivier to Blandine, accompanied there by a maid. 
 As Ollivier had pleased the young girl at once," 
 added the gossip, " by his fascinating conversation 
 and by his practical ideas of life, a contrast that 
 would naturally charm Liszt's and Madame 
 d'Agoult's daughter, Blandine, under different 
 pretexts, delayed his introduction to her mother, 
 and met Emile Ollivier several times as though by 
 
 [65]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 chance. To be brief, Ollivier having heard that 
 Madame d'Agoult would give her daughter a 
 dowry of one hundred thousand francs, offered 
 himself, and the two young people were betrothed 
 before the new oath-taking Deputy had made Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult's acquaintance. 
 
 " Daniel Stern, the authoress of La Revolution 
 de 1848, was only half pleased at the match. She 
 was on very good terms with all the exiles and 
 was the friend of many of those who had refused 
 to take the oath, including Grevy and Hippolyte 
 Carnot." 
 
 This union greatly annoyed all the intimate 
 friends of the salon of the Rue de Presbourg from 
 every point of view. " Blandine Liszt, who is very 
 handsome and very intelligent, will be a great ad- 
 dition to the sudden fortune and self -infatuation 
 of this ambitious man," Grevy had said to Madame 
 d'Hericourt. Monsieur Jules Grevy, a Republican 
 loyally attached to his principles, was distressed 
 at seeing so many rising young political men ready 
 to embrace all compromises with an easy-going con- 
 science that revolted him. 
 
 All the old stories about Liszt and the Comtesse 
 d'Agoult, of George Sand, and the revelations con- 
 tained in Horace and Nelida, were revived apropos 
 of Blandine Liszt's and Emile Ollivier's marriage,
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 as were, at the time of de Musset's death, George 
 Sand's adventures and the gossip anent the jour- 
 ney to Venice. 
 
 Madame d'Hericourt, naturally spiteful and 
 fond of gossip, spared us none that evening. She 
 embellished and amplified, knew all about things 
 from a surer source than any one else. Fiercely 
 virtuous, having suffered few temptations, the 
 strong-minded Jenny grew retrospectively indig- 
 nant. 
 
 " Superior women should be virtuous," said Ma- 
 dame d'Hericourt, " or else hide their weaknesses 
 jealously, while on the contrary they display them, 
 and force other superior women to defend them 
 against their own convictions, for the honour of 
 the sex, or else to condemn them, for the greater 
 amusement of men." 
 
 " I find the little that George Sand has written 
 apropos of de Musset most admirable, and I hope 
 that soon she will tell us the whole story," said 
 Madame Fauvety. " Accused as she has been, and 
 as she is, she has the right to plead her own cause. 
 In her Venice adventure I can really only see the 
 extreme goodness of a generous heart, devoting 
 itself to saving a man from being ruined by vice. 
 We Parisians all know with what contempt de Mus- 
 set treated women, the great Rachel included! 
 
 [67]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Madame Sand literally tried to wrest him from the 
 very lowest haunts. She has an absolute right, 
 nay, even a womanly duty, to prove she did not 
 ' torture de Musset.' When one thinks of the 
 cruelty shown to George Sand nowadays," Ma- 
 dame Fauvety continued, " and of the indulgence 
 with which Madame de Stael was treated, who was 
 unfaithful to Benjamin-Constant with Camille 
 Jordan, and to the latter with her son's tutor, it is 
 enough to make one aghast. In the seventeenth 
 and eighteenth centuries the gallantries of women 
 of nobility were easily pardoned. Is not Maurice 
 de Saxe's granddaughter a woman of rank? She 
 is doubly so by birth and by letters. Moreover, I 
 think that women like Madame de Stael, George 
 Sand, and the Comtesse d'Agoult, should be re- 
 garded as belonging to a superior sex, which has 
 the right to assume certain liberties of conduct 
 that men so easily allow themselves," Madame Fau- 
 vety added, putting Madame d'Hericourt quite be- 
 side herself, which was, perhaps, her aim. 
 
 Madame Fauvety first heard of Rachel's death 
 from me. 
 
 " May Jehovah receive her soul," she said, " and 
 may all her jealousies and bitterness be forgiven! " 
 
 We have taken Canton, with the English, as we 
 took Sebastopol. 
 
 [68]
 
 GEORGE SAND. 
 
 From an engraving by Nargeot.
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 On the evening of the 14th of January we left 
 home, after dinner, to make some purchases in the 
 galleries of the Palais-Royal, with one of my hus- 
 band's Sicilian friends, who called himself a rela- 
 tion. We were crossing the square of the Palais- 
 Royal a little before half past eight o'clock, when 
 I was struck by the agitation that reigned at 
 Prince Napoleon's residence. 
 
 He was holding a reception, it was true; but 
 men in full-dress uniforms drove up in cabs, others 
 without their overcoats hailed the first passing vehi- 
 cle. Mounted guards galloped into the court-yard. 
 A crowd gathered on the Square. We caught the 
 echo of some words : " An attempt against the Sov- 
 ereigns' lives ! Bombs thrown at the Emperor and 
 Empress at the opera." Everybody said they had 
 heard the explosion of the bombs. 
 
 Greater excitement arose when Prince Napoleon 
 left his guests, got into a carriage, escorted by cav- 
 alry, and went to the opera. 
 
 The report soon spread that the Imperial car- 
 riage was completely shattered to bits, but that 
 neither the Emperor nor Empress were injured. 
 The aide-de-camp, the coachman, and footman were 
 wounded, and a horse killed. We were exchang- 
 ing in a whisper some rather anti-Imperialist re- 
 marks, when we felt ourselves looked at suspicious- 
 
 [69]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ly, and suddenly two policemen seized our relation 
 by his coat collar. 
 
 " The attempt was made by Italians," they cried, 
 " and here is one whose accent betrays him ; come 
 along with us to the police station !" 
 
 Monsieur Lamessine slipped quickly away 
 through the crowd, leaving his friend and rela- 
 tion unceremoniously, who called to him to help 
 him by his name. Separated from them both, by 
 a movement of the crowd, I decided to return 
 home. 
 
 The next morning the police searched our apart- 
 ment, but my husband easily proved that his rela- 
 tion, who had arrived that morning from Sicily, 
 had come to be present at a wedding that was to 
 take place the next day, and apropos of which we 
 had gone to make some purchases at the Palais- 
 Royal. They set our cousin at liberty and left us 
 in peace. 
 
 The four authors of the attempt — Orsini, Ru- 
 dio, Pieri, and Gomez — were arrested; all Paris 
 was wild for details. It was said that Felix Orsini, 
 the instigator of the plot, was a former friend of 
 Mazzini, and that he had escaped from the Aus- 
 trian prisons in an extraordinary way. His one 
 thought was to kill Napoleon III, whom he be- 
 lieved responsible for all his country's misfortunes. 
 
 [70]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 Masscl, the great singer, was giving his last 
 performance, for his own benefit, at the opera, that 
 night. The Parisians, after the manner of Pari- 
 sians, commented upon the aptness of the pro- 
 gramme at the Palais-Royal Theatre, when Ma- 
 dame Arnould-Plessis was to play de Musset's 
 Quitte pour la Peur, just when the news of the 
 attempt on the Emperor's life was heard, and Du- 
 prey, who had not sung for a long time, except at 
 his own house, was also to have sung Beranger's 
 songs in praise of the Emperor that evening. 
 
 Perquisitions and arrests were made everywhere. 
 My husband kept quietly at home and advised his 
 friend to leave for Sicily as soon as the wedding 
 was over, which he did. 
 
 La Revue de Paris was suppressed, other jour- 
 nals were threatened and suspended. 
 
 The opening of the Session, when the first oath- 
 takers appeared, excited public opinion in a con- 
 trary way. The entrance of Messrs. Emile Olli- 
 vier, Darimon, and Henon to the Corps Legislatif 
 gave birth to a new programme, and confirmed the 
 scission of the Republican party. Monsieur de 
 Girardin, with his habitual precision, formulated 
 this programme in an article entitled The Consti- 
 tutional Press. 
 
 Our indignation on reading this article cannot 
 
 [71]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 be described. When people met, they accosted one 
 another with angry gestures. " Have you read 
 it? " And when they wrote to each other, they 
 underlined and put enormous interrogation points 
 after the question: "What do you think of it?" 
 
 Monsieur de Girardin ended his article with these 
 words : " Constitutional opposition forms the pro- 
 gramme of a new political endeavour, which will 
 discard all the old passions, together with all the 
 old bitter feeling, in order to battle solely against 
 new ideas and prejudices." 
 
 " It is your terrible Proudhon," I wrote my 
 father, " who has made such a monstrous thing 
 possible. What do you think of this rallying 
 motto of perjurers, the very words of which clash 
 together : * The Empire with Liberty ' ? " A line 
 of interrogation marks followed my question. 
 
 My father was overwhelmed. " Were there 
 really Republicans ready to accept and to defend 
 the Imperial Constitution? It was the climax of 
 things ! The finishing touch, that the man who 
 has violated his own oath should exact that others 
 must make oath to him. It is true that the butcher 
 of the Second of December grants us, as a primal 
 liberty, the right to butchery." 
 
 Soon the half-sincere ones, who had taken the 
 first steps towards the cowardly concessions to the 
 
 [72]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 Empire, were taught a bitter lesson. A Senatus- 
 Consulta exacted a preliminary oath from all can- 
 didates! To be dishonoured without the certainty 
 of being elected, blackballed although an oath- 
 taker, was the last stroke ! We thought the trick 
 well played. Those who hesitated would, at least, 
 hesitate a little more. 
 
 The Emperor received an admirable letter from 
 Orsini, condemned to death, that produced an enor- 
 mous sensation. Orsini implored him, the ruler of 
 France, to liberate his country. He explained to 
 him the end pursued by himself, and which 
 would be pursued by many Italians, who would 
 try to kill him unless he freed Italy from her 
 bondage, and he thereby exonerated French de- 
 mocracy from any suspicion of having had part 
 in the conspiracy or the attempt against the Em- 
 peror's life. 
 
 After Orsini's letter, after this cry for pity 
 towards his country, uttered by a man going to 
 the scaffold — a cry that Napoleon III had heard 
 and which he answered the following year — the 
 Emperor would have shown foresight had he re- 
 pealed the law of Public Security, which Monsieur 
 de Morny unwillingly proposed. This law, de- 
 clared " pitiable " by those even who upheld it, and 
 " baleful " by those who fought against it, was 
 
 [73]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 certainly one of the greatest errors of the Em- 
 pire. 
 
 Monsieur Baroche gave the true version of the 
 situation, after the reading of Monsieur de Mor- 
 ny's report : " We are well aware that the Repub- 
 lican party is not conspiring, but it is growing 
 in importance, and that is sufficient to make us 
 feel obliged to attack it." 
 
 One Senator alone, the Marechal de MacMahon, 
 voted against the law of " Public Security " ; but, 
 as the sittings of the Senate were held in secret, 
 we only heard portions of his speech, and what 
 some Senators repeated of it. MacMahon accused 
 the Emperor's advisers of urging him to his ruin. 
 Something he had said, and which could not be 
 published in the papers, was much talked about: 
 " It will be necessary to have many wars with for- 
 eign countries to make this internal war forgotten." 
 
 More than a thousand persons were arrested in 
 February and March, after the law was voted. 
 
 Partial elections took place on the 27th of April 
 and 10th of May. Those who refused to take the 
 oath could not stand as candidates on account of 
 the obligatory preliminary oath of allegiance to 
 the Empire. Ollivier made the campaign in favour 
 of Jules Favre, who pleaded Orsini's case, and of 
 Marie, ex-member of the Provisionary Govern- 
 
 [74]
 
 MY CONTACT WITH POLITICS 
 
 ment, but the workmen strongly protested against 
 this last candidate, remembering how severe Marie 
 had shown himself towards them in 1848, at the 
 time of the closing of the National Workshops. 
 Jules Favre, who consented to take the oath, was 
 elected. After many names had been eliminated, 
 Ernest Picard, Lionville's son-in-law, who had 
 pleaded the firemen's cause, on the 15th of May, 
 was elected after polling. The " Five " were thus 
 in league. 
 
 [75]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 m 
 
 ADAME FAUVETY and myself were much 
 interested, almost at the same time, in two 
 plays that were being given at the theatres, and 
 which we saw a few days apart, one at the end of 
 its season, the other when it had just begun: Le 
 Fils Naturel, by the younger Dumas, and Les 
 Meres Repenties, by Felicien Mallefille. In spite of 
 her love for the younger Dumas's plays, Madame 
 Fauvety agreed with me, that Le Fils Naturel was 
 too much influenced by personal feeling, and was 
 also at once revolting and obscure. It had, more- 
 over, but a partial success, while Mallefille's drama, 
 which was very bold in conception, was pronounced, 
 in spite of cabals roused against it, a powerful 
 work and one of high-toned morality. 
 
 A friend of Mallefille's whom we met at the 
 theatre told us a curious fact about him. He said 
 Mallefille would be one of the geniuses of the cen- 
 tury were he not blind in one eye. That he de- 
 scribed superbly all that he could see from the 
 radius of one eye, but as soon as the circle was en- 
 larged and he could not see beyond it he could 
 
 [76]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 write nothing. Mallefille was the author of one 
 volume on Don Juan, a chef-d'oeuvre, but the pro- 
 posed succeeding volumes were never written. 
 
 On the 22d of April, 1858, three large volumes 
 by Proudhon were published, which, it was said, 
 would prove the grandest work he had written since 
 1854: La Justice dans la Revolution. My father 
 wrote me to send them to him, one by one, as soon 
 as I had finished reading them. It was fortunate 
 I had procured these at once, for, on the very night 
 of the day they appeared, orders were given to the 
 police to seize the three volumes. Proudhon en- 
 deavoured in vain, in all the courts, to have the 
 prohibition raised, but he did not succeed, and all 
 that he obtained was to be sentenced to three years' 
 imprisonment, from which he escaped by taking 
 refuge with our neighbours, the Belgians. 
 
 I would have been the first to have acknowl- 
 edged the master qualities of which Proudhon gave 
 evidence in his La Justice dans la Revolution — his 
 great power of argument, an incomparable style — 
 had it not been for the brutal, the most vulgar in- 
 sults he showered upon two women whom I ad- 
 mired above all others : George Sand, the author of 
 so many chefs-d'oeuvre, and the Comtesse d'Agoult 
 (Daniel Stern), the universally admired writer of 
 the Revolution of 1848. 
 
 [77]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 I dined at the Fauvetys one evening, after I 
 had read these books, and expressed my indigna- 
 tion. Madame d'Hericourt was one of the guests. 
 
 " You should," I said to her, " defend these 
 women who are so grossly insulted, as you use your 
 pen so admirably against the terrible Proudhon. 
 To leave such attacks unanswered would really be 
 abominable and odious." 
 
 " George Sand and Daniel Stern have re- 
 ceived just what they deserved," Madame d'Heri- 
 court replied, with the hatred of those who think 
 they possess as much, if not more merit, than 
 persons who are superior to them. " I exact virtue. 
 I practise it myself, and Proudhon has not, I am 
 sure, dared to attack me on this score in these 
 books, which I have not yet read." 
 
 " Well," I replied, " I, who am but of small ac- 
 count, but, however, quite as virtuous as yourself, 
 will defend them. Being women they must be up- 
 held by a woman ! " 
 
 " Why, that is the book Edmund predicted you 
 would write," cried Madame Fauvety. " Quick ! 
 go to work ! " 
 
 Zozo, who was on his mistress's knees, seeing 
 her excitement, began to bark. 
 
 " You see, Zozo approves," she continued. 
 " That is certainly the book Edmund predicted 
 
 [78]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 would suddenly make you well known. You must 
 shut yourself up now, to-night, and see no one 
 until your answer to Proudhon is written." 
 
 I returned home much excited, and also with 
 the firm determination to write the book. Some 
 scruples I at first felt about Proudhon's book hav- 
 ing been seized, soon vanished, La Justice dans la 
 Revolution not having been prohibited, nor Proud- 
 hon condemned, for that part about which I in- 
 tended to reply. 
 
 I wrote for two months. I recopied, rear- 
 ranged my little volume, working at night secretly, 
 shut up in my room where I was alone with my 
 child, my husband being more occupied with one 
 of our servant maids than with myself. Both 
 Monsieur Renouvier and Fauvety took great in- 
 terest in my book and constantly asked me about 
 it. One day Madame d'Hericourt said to me: 
 
 " Well ! is your defence of your celebrated 
 elders getting on? If you succeed in finishing it, 
 Heaven grant that those ' great ladies ' will be 
 grateful to you for all the trouble you seem to be 
 taking." 
 
 " Yes, Madame," I replied, " I am certainly 
 taking a great deal of trouble. Remember, I am 
 only a recruit, and, at my age, have not a veteran's 
 experience." 
 
 [79]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Veteran ! veteran ! you mean me, doubtless," 
 replied Madame d'Hericourt in a fury. " If you 
 defend some of them, you are certainly very im- 
 pertinent to others." 
 
 Monsieur Renouvier, who had at that time ob- 
 tained a great literary success, was very happy at 
 the fact and wished me to succeed also. His pub- 
 lisher had just brought out a revised edition of 
 his Essais de Critique Generale, which was warmly 
 received, notably in foreign countries, where a 
 special public awaited and discussed his works with 
 an ever-increasing interest. When one of Mon- 
 sieur Renouvier's books was announced to appear, 
 or when he was quoted, apropos of one of his arti- 
 cles, his admirable prospect for the organization of 
 the Republic — Le Gouvernment Direct, in which 
 he had attacked Louis Napoleon's conduct after the 
 Coup d'Etat with great logical power — was often 
 cited. 
 
 " The Empire is beginning to be visibly under- 
 mined in the cities," Monsieur Renouvier said to 
 us one evening, " and is no longer upheld except in 
 the provinces which continue to grow rich by it." 
 
 The violent animosity towards the Empire of 
 Jules Favre, who used his great oratorical power 
 to bring to light all the Government's faults, by al- 
 
 [80]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 lusions full of double meanings, made a great ef- 
 fect on many minds, already weary of submission 
 to it. Ernest Picard, with his free-and-easy man- 
 ners and his outbursts of wit, amused the majority. 
 
 " Please admire," the oath-takers said to us, 
 " our summing up of ' The Three ' : Jules Favre 
 completes Ollivier, Picard ranks with Darinion, 
 and as to Henon, who does not obey Ollivier, he 
 follows Jules Favre blindly." 
 
 " * The Five ' are absolutely necessary to draw 
 the country's attention to the foolish and danger- 
 ous line of politics the Empire forces us to follow 
 with foreign countries. Who else will enlighten 
 it, with the press muzzled as it is? " the oath-takers 
 added. 
 
 Some persons quoted the words spoken by Mon- 
 sieur Thiers, who, since the institution of the Parlia- 
 mentary group of " The Five " found, perhaps, 
 that there was a chance of his having a place in 
 the Legislative Assembly, and was therefore less 
 severe apropos of the oath-taking. 
 
 " They do not wish for liberty yet," he said, 
 " just as they did not wish it after the Great Revo- 
 lution. When anarchy and social disorder have 
 triumphed in a country people prefer servitude, 
 but when servitude has kept their minds under a 
 bushel too long, and has too entirely deprived them 
 
 [81]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 of light, then they feel the need of a liberal reac- 
 tion, a new dawn, no matter from whence it may 
 come, and I see the first glimpse of this new aurora 
 now." 
 
 At Paris even ail of us who refused to take the 
 oath followed with the greatest interest everything 
 that took place at the Legislative Assembly, and 
 the five oath-takers, whose entrance into Parlia- 
 ment we so much blamed, were attacked by us more 
 violently than by others at any manifestation of 
 weakness, which did not, however, prevent us from 
 saying that one compromised one's self very use- 
 lessly by taking the oath, considering the small 
 benefit obtained thereby. Ah ! what a rare thing 
 for political parties to be logical ! The " little 
 Olliviers " called us " the prudes," the " home ex- 
 iles," and laughed at Jules Simon's " bitterness," 
 at Emmanuel Arago's " thundering opposition," 
 at Jules Grevy's " long-silent hopes," and at Goud- 
 chaux's " Orestes-like fury." Not all the young 
 men, however, belonged to the society of the Rue 
 Saint-Guillaume, " the general disparaging and 
 mutual-pushing society," as we called them. If 
 the " little Olliviers " worshipped their master in 
 rather an aggravating fashion, if when he made a 
 speech at the Legislative Assembly Jules Ferry, 
 Floquet, Dreo, the son-in-law of Garnier-Pages, 
 
 [82]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 Herald, and Dclprat, who were always informed 
 when it was to take place, and were all present, to 
 manifest their approbation and escort him to the 
 door, expressing between themselves and around 
 him most enthusiastic praise, that deceived the 
 curious listeners, on the other hand, Jules Valles, 
 Arthur Arnoult, and their group made much fun 
 of " the Mutual Aid line of politics." 
 
 What passionate interest was taken in politics 
 at that time! The smallest event was discussed, 
 newspapers read between the lines. Every article 
 was noted and criticised, and its allusions spread 
 broadcast around. The feeling in political life 
 was intense; the state was worth the fight. The 
 Opposition party under its two forms of oath-tak- 
 ers and those who refused to take it, gathered in its 
 circle an equal number of old combatants who had 
 given proof of their valour as of young, energetic 
 men impatient to do the same. 
 
 I finished my book — Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes 
 — and read it to Monsieur Fauvety, who admired it, 
 and who gave me some valuable advice concerning 
 it. But Proudhon was such a fierce polemist, such 
 a cruel, dreaded adversary, and so spiteful, that 
 when Monsieur Fauvety had finished reading it, 
 he said to me: 
 
 [83]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " You will never find any one to publish it ! " 
 
 I had not thought of that for a moment. 
 
 "What! my poor book, that has devoured all 
 my nights, will never see the light of day? " I ex- 
 claimed, sadly. 
 
 " Try to beguile some well-known publisher. 
 Do not write to him. Take your manuscript to 
 him yourself. Who knows what may happen? But 
 I doubt whether you will succeed, after he has 
 read it." 
 
 Could it be possible that I could not have my 
 book published at once? Was I not to become sud- 
 denly well known, as Edmond had predicted? 
 Much good had it done me to believe in his predic- 
 tion, to have lived in a state of fever, in a dream, 
 for two months, and to have said to myself every 
 time I thought of a great artist, a great writer, a 
 great savant: " Will he be my friend some day? " 
 
 I hastened to Chauny ; told my father I had 
 written a book, reminded him of his lost bet, and 
 how he had promised to pay for its publication. 
 
 "But what is this book?" 
 
 I refused to tell him either the subject or the 
 title. I was afraid of his love and admiration for 
 Proudhon. However, in the course of conversation 
 he spoke to me about Proudhon's work La Justice 
 dans la Revolution," and said: 
 
 [84]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 " In spite of its admirable pages, written in 
 such a superior manner, I found such gross, vulgar 
 things said about George Sand, the great Repub- 
 lican woman and the close friend of my friends 
 Pierre Leroux and Ledru-Rollin, and also about 
 Daniel Stern, the loyal and impartial author of 
 La Revolution de 1848, that I was disgusted, and 
 you must have been scandalized, I hope? " 
 
 " Yes, scandalized ! outraged ! " 
 
 My father thought I should require a thousand 
 francs to have my book published and gave me a 
 bank-bill for that amount, saying : " Above all, if 
 you wish to keep these thousand francs don't speak 
 to your husband about them." 
 
 I went first to Michel Levy with my manu- 
 script beautifully rolled up and a small pocketbook 
 containing my thousand-franc bank-bill. I entered 
 and asked to speak to Monsieur Michel Levy. 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " About a book I wish published." 
 
 The clerk eyed me from head to foot. 
 
 At that moment, Monsieur Michel Levy came 
 out of his office to give an order, and, as he was 
 about to return to it, the employee said, with a de- 
 riding tone of voice: 
 
 " Here is a young lady who wishes to have a 
 book she has written published by our house." 
 
 [85]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Monsieur Michel Levy looked at me, smiling, 
 and asked: 
 
 " What is the subject of your book? " 
 
 " It is a reply to Proudhon against his attack 
 on George Sand and Daniel Stern." 
 
 "And you have written this reply, Mademoi- 
 selle? " 
 
 " Madame, if you please, sir." 
 
 " And you propose to have that published by 
 the house of Michel Levy ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur ; but I understand, of course, 
 that I must pay the expense of having my first 
 book published, and if you will read it " 
 
 " It would be useless, Madame." 
 
 " What, do you decide in this way without 
 knowing my book ? " 
 
 " Oh! I can judge very well what your work 
 will be by looking at you. What do you think of 
 it, my dear Scholl ? " he added, speaking to a man 
 who had just entered the room, and telling him 
 about my request. 
 
 " It would really be a pity that Madame should 
 become a blue-stocking. You are right to dis- 
 courage her, my dear Levy. She has something 
 better to do." 
 
 " Monsieur Aurelien Scholl," I said to him, 
 haughtily, " at Monsieur EngePs, next door, a 
 
 [86]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 poem of mine has been published, which certainly 
 is not worth three stanzas of Denisc, but my prose 
 might equal your own." 
 
 And I left Michel Levy's shop in a rage, my 
 heart bursting and my literary hopes much cast 
 down. 
 
 Scholl has often since reminded me of the scene. 
 It seems, after my reply to him, he advised Michel 
 Levy to call me back. 
 
 I went from publisher to publisher, to eight, 
 among the most prominent ones, and was every- 
 where refused. I even applied to Gamier, Proud- 
 hon's editor, who was more polite to me than the 
 others had been, but he said to me : 
 
 " You must understand that I could not do it." 
 
 I wrote to Hetzel, then in exile in Brussels, and 
 he replied: 
 
 " Either your book is very poor, or else you use 
 checked handkerchiefs and probably take snuff. 
 I do not think that a woman, doubtless ugly and 
 very old, has any right to take up arms regarding 
 George Sand's and Daniel Stern's youth or their 
 present position against Proudhon, thereby expo- 
 sing them to ridicule, at which they would be mor- 
 tally offended, for Proudhon will certainly answer 
 you." 
 
 I was in despair, and Monsieur Fauvety, to 
 
 [87]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 whom I related my experiences, did not console me 
 by saying : " We are living in an age of universal 
 cowardice." 
 
 " It is not from cowardice that they refuse me," 
 I replied, " but from contempt of what they think 
 me capable. They refuse even to read what I have 
 written, some because they think me pretty, others 
 because they suppose I am ugly ! " 
 
 I have never forgotten those days when every- 
 thing seemed hopeless to me. I had had the cour- 
 rage to suffer my private life only through the 
 hope of making a successful literary career for my- 
 self, and now this hope fell from me, not through 
 my own fault, but from ill-luck. 
 
 I had left my little girl with my parents in 
 order to be more free to attend to this undertaking, 
 and I was thinking of returning to live with them. 
 I spoke to my husband of the advisability of our 
 separating amicably. 
 
 " I will never consent to a separation," he re- 
 plied. " You are the handsomest ornament of my 
 house, and if I should be in financial trouble, your 
 people would help me, I am sure. Let there be no 
 further question of this absurd idea between us, 
 not recognisable, moreover, by law. You know, I 
 have already told you, that in all my acts, / keep 
 within the pale of the Law." 
 
 [88]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 On the ground floor of our house, opposite to 
 the Magasins du Louvre, there was a small book- 
 shop, where I frequently bought books for my 
 father. The owner's name was Tarride. Can it 
 be the present well-known publisher of that name? 
 
 I went to him and said : 
 
 " Monsieur Tarride, I have written a book, 
 which I think is clever, and I cannot find a pub- 
 lisher. I will pay the expenses, will you publish 
 it?" 
 
 " Why not, Madame, we are both unknown, I, 
 as publisher, you as a writer, we therefore can run 
 the risk of a failure, as no one will hear of it." 
 
 " I will go and get my manuscript and we will 
 take it together to some small printing-house. We 
 will settle the price and have it printed." 
 
 I was promised five hundred volumes for seven 
 hundred francs. Tarride advised me to spend an- 
 other hundred francs to have the type kept, " For, 
 if by chance," he said, " it should sell, we can have 
 the other editions printed faster." 
 
 No one, at that time, had ever thought of hav- 
 ing a book published during the summer. Tarride 
 advised me to wait until the autumn. 
 
 I repeated his words to him : 
 
 " What risk will we run ? " 
 
 My Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes, ornamented 
 
 [89]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 with a band around the volumes, announcing, 
 "Just appeared," stood out in Tarride's window, on 
 the day before the Imperial festival of the 15th of 
 August, which Napoleon III desired should be ex- 
 tremely brilliant because he had granted an am- 
 nesty for the occasion. There was not at that 
 moment " a cat in Paris," as the Parisians said, and 
 as they continue to say now. 
 
 I settled myself in the back room of Tarride's 
 shop on the 19th, where after having sought out, 
 with " my editor," the names of the most important 
 writers and journalists to whom I was to present 
 them, I wrote flattering dedications in fifty volumes, 
 and the next day I took a cab, and, with my list in 
 my hand, went and distributed my books at news- 
 paper officers, while Tarride's small clerk carried 
 others to the " celebrities." Hoping it would bring 
 me good luck, I began with Le Siecle, which had 
 published my letter to Alphonse Karr. 
 
 My friend Doctor de Bonnard was to present 
 my Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes to Toussenel and to 
 the persons who had formed the group of writers 
 on Toussenel's former Democratie Pacifique: 
 Daniel Stern, George Sand, Pere Enfantin, Neff- 
 tzer, Littre, Emile de Girardin, Louis Jourdan, 
 Peyrat, Gueroult, Monsieur de la Gueronniere, Cas- 
 sagnac, Prosper Merimee, Edmond About, notwith- 
 
 [90]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 standing his Roi des Montagncs, Octave Feuillet, 
 Hippolyte Carnot, Jules Grevy, among the polit- 
 ical men, etc. All received a volume the first day it 
 appeared, with an appropriate address written 
 therein, which I hoped would interest them. 
 
 I sent a volume to Hetzel and Proudhon, and I 
 wrote in Hetzel's copy : " A pretty woman to a 
 coarse boar." The fifty volumes had all reached 
 their destination on the second day after their pub- 
 lication. 
 
 My husband was passing a week with his family 
 at Courville, and I took advantage of his absence 
 to bring my book, of which he did not know a 
 single word, before the public. Then I flew to 
 Chauny to take my Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes to 
 my father. What would take place between 
 us? 
 
 He took the little volume, gave a start as he 
 read the title, turned it over and over in his hands, 
 as much excited as myself. 
 
 " If it is poor " he began. 
 
 " But if it should prove good? " 
 
 " Then, perhaps, your fortune-teller will have 
 been right, for, at your age, even should it be only 
 half successful, you will have stepped out of the 
 ranks." 
 
 After dinner, my father finding me feverish, 
 7 [91]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 sang to me laughingly : " Go to bed, Basile," and 
 said : " I will read your book to-night, and to-mor- 
 row at breakfast I will give you my opinion about 
 it." 
 
 At three o'clock in the morning my father came 
 into my room and awoke me, saying : " It is good, it 
 is good, but you owe it to me ! I alone sowed the 
 germ of these Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes in your 
 mind. Oh, my beloved daughter, it means success, 
 it means your freedom, it will make powerful and 
 influential friends for you. It is your grand- 
 mother's great hope realized ! Why is she not 
 here? " My father sat down beside my bed, and 
 the night was passed in prolonged conversation 
 between us. 
 
 " But, who knows, papa, whether others will 
 think as you do, of this little book ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, they will. How can it be otherwise, 
 written at once with such a feminine hand and with 
 such strong argument? It will, at least, interest 
 them, and will give you some well-known literary 
 chaperon, George Sand or Daniel Stern, and then 
 you will work, you will develop ; your foot is al- 
 ready in the stirrup, I feel sure of it." 
 
 How many hopes we cherished, how many plans 
 for the future we laid out ! At breakfast even my 
 mother was happy, although she said : " The agi- 
 
 [92]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 tated and laborious life you will lead makes me 
 tremble for you ! " 
 
 The next day my father came in waving Le 
 Siecle, as Pauline Barbaroux had done ten months 
 before, and read me the following paragraph : 
 
 " ' A book destined to make a great sensation 
 was sent to us yesterday. It is an answer to Proud- 
 hon and to the insults contained in his last work 
 about George Sand and Daniel Stern. They say 
 it is written by a very young but very clever 
 woman. It is signed Juliette Lamessine.' ' 
 
 " You must return to Paris this very day," my 
 father said to me, " to receive all the people who 
 will doubtless wish to see and talk with you." 
 
 I returned to Paris, and every day brought me 
 fresh proofs of the interest taken in my book and 
 in its author. Eugene Pelleton wrote a review 
 about it in La Presse that made me very proud ; I 
 think his article quite turned my head. I thanked 
 him, and the next day he came to see me, and from 
 that moment until his death he was one of my most 
 devoted friends. 
 
 Mario Proth spoke of my book in very flatter- 
 ing terms. La Gazette de France gave me three 
 long reviews, and La Revue des deux Mondes, at 
 George Sand's request, I was told, highly approved 
 my Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes." 
 
 [93]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 My father, my friends the Fauvetys, Renou- 
 vier, and Doctor de Bonnard, were enchanted. 
 
 Monsieur Lamessine agreed that, for a begin- 
 ning, it was really quite good, and that he should 
 take pleasure in signing his own name to the future 
 editions. 
 
 " Your joke is not a pleasant one," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Not for you, perhaps, but it is for me. The 
 law authorizes me to appropriate to my own use all 
 that is joint property. A wife's work belongs to 
 her husband." And he signed with his name the 
 second edition, published by Dentu, for there 
 existed no clause in the French law to prevent 
 him from so doing. It is even so to-day. Tarride 
 was disgusted and gave up all interest in the 
 book. Nothing was said about " this joke " in 
 the press. 
 
 A very handsome young woman, who was en- 
 thusiastic over my book, came to see me, and claimed 
 to be my cousin. She was a Belgian, and her 
 family was allied to that of my great uncle, the 
 Conventional Seron. Her name was Madame Vil- 
 bort. Her husband was the correspondent of the 
 Precurseur d'Anvers, the author of highly 
 esteemed dramatic works, and foreign corre- 
 spondent for Le Sieele. She invited me to dine with 
 
 [94]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 her the following week and I became acquainted 
 at her house with Charles Edmond, a Pole, one 
 of the Slavonic revolutionists of 1848, a distin- 
 guished dramatic writer, and belonging to the staff 
 of La Presse. His last book, Un Voyage dans 
 les Mers du Nord, had been very successful. He 
 had fought against Russia in the Crimean War. 
 Through Charles Edmond's kindness, I made a 
 friend of Dall' Ongaro, a Florentine exile, who had 
 been much celebrated. He had read my Idees 
 Anti-Proudhoniennes, and gallantly declared him- 
 self their champion. 
 
 The Union des Poetes celebrated my Idees 
 Anti-Proudhoniennes, which they much praised 
 in a poem written by Monsieur Balahu. 
 
 The Comtesse d'Agoult (Daniel Stern) wrote 
 to me after having read my book: 
 
 " Monsieur, it is astonishing that you should 
 have taken a woman's name, when we women choose 
 a man's name as pseudonym." 
 
 I answered her that I was really a woman. 
 
 George Sand thanked me in a most charming 
 letter, full of gratitude. She was leaving for a 
 short journey, but would see me, she said, on her 
 return to Paris. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult answered my letter in which 
 I announced myself a woman by another most flat- 
 
 [95]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tering one, in which she expressed her desire to 
 know me, and said that one of her best friends, 
 Monsieur de Ronchaud, would bring me an invi- 
 tation from her for one of her evenings, and would 
 accompany me to the Rue de Presbourg, at what- 
 ever hour I named. 
 
 Louis de Ronchaud was as devoted an Athenian 
 in his tastes as I was myself, and our first conver- 
 sation was simply a hymn to Greece. 
 
 He told me he wished me to know one of his 
 friends, Louis Menard, the last of the Grecian 
 heathens, and Paul de Saint Victor. 
 
 " We four together," he added, " can certainly 
 create a new Renaissance." 
 
 He talked to me of Madame d'Agoult for a long 
 while. He had been her confidant during the time 
 when she lived with Liszt, and had remained their 
 common friend after their rupture. 
 
 " Passionate love between superior persons can- 
 not be durable," Monsieur de Ronchaud said to 
 me, " for there is a perpetual struggle for domina- 
 tion between them." 
 
 He spoke to me of Madame d'Agoult's daugh- 
 ters, so exceptionally beautiful and intelligent, 
 Cosima von Billow and Blandine Ollivier, and said 
 their two husbands, Hans von Bulow and Emile 
 Ollivier, were exceptional men. 
 
 [96]
 
 I PUBLISH MY BOOK 
 
 " But, I replied, " you must be rather anxious 
 about the durability of their reciprocal affection, 
 with your theory about the fragility of passion be- 
 tween superior persons." 
 
 " None of the four," he answered, " can ap- 
 proach Liszt's and Madame d'Agoult's superiority. 
 Their son, Daniel Liszt, will perhaps equal them ; 
 he has prodigious capability for work. He is 
 already irresistible, like his father." 
 
 " Is Liszt, really as fascinating as he has been 
 so often described? " I asked. 
 
 " When you know the Comtesse d'Agoult," 
 Monsieur de Ronchaud answered, " when you will 
 have been able to judge of her serious, thoughtful, 
 intelligent mind, so much given to analysis and 
 criticism, you will understand the fascination 
 Liszt must exercise over women, for her, holding the 
 social position she owned, to have run away with 
 him one night from a ball. Just think, she broke 
 with her family, her society ; she sacrificed honour, 
 her child, a respected husband, for a mad impulse 
 of passion ! Have you never heard how a great, 
 noble Russian lady always had the floor of her 
 drawing-room strewn with flowers whenever she 
 expected a visit from Liszt? I could tell you of a 
 hundred wild passions he has inspired." 
 
 A serious bronchial attack from which my 
 
 [97]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 daughter was suffering kept me at Chauny for 
 three weeks. A few days after my return to Paris 
 I recalled to Daniel Stern's memory the invitation 
 she had given me. 
 
 [98]
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND. 
 
 fflONSIEUR DE RONCHAUD came to take 
 lkl\ me to Madame d'Agoult's, where I found, 
 among others, Nefftzer, former head editor of La 
 Presse, who had brought about Emile Ollivier's 
 election and who was strongly opposed to those 
 who would not take the oath. I heard foreign 
 politics discussed clearly for the first time by him, 
 and then and there began my great interest in them 
 forever. An exciting discussion between us on 
 Grecian politics made us fast friends in an amusing 
 and durable manner. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult saw a great deal of Monsieur 
 de Girardin, with whom she was always on very 
 friendly terms, Madame de Girardin having been 
 the first person to receive her after her return to 
 Paris and her rupture with Liszt, her escapade 
 having, of course, shut her out from aristocratic 
 drawing-rooms. 
 
 Hippolyte Carnot, Littre and Jules Grevy 
 cared but little for society, and were rarely met ex- 
 cept in Madame d'Agoult's salon. They often 
 formed a group together, into which I would steal, 
 
 [99]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 and listen with great respect and with much intel- 
 lectual profit to the discussions that would take 
 place between them, discussions that were always 
 provoked by one of the most remarkable suggesters 
 of ideas that I have ever know, Dupont-White, 
 the father of the future Madame Sadi Carnot. 
 
 The Comtesse d'Agoult had a particular affec- 
 tion and esteem for those whom she called her 
 " Jurassiens " — her men from the Jura — Jules 
 Grevy, her lawyer, and Louis de Ronchaud, one 
 of her most devoted friends, who lived, in summer, 
 on his inherited estate, not far from Mont-sous- 
 Vaudrey, at St. Lucipin-par-St. Claude, and who 
 Madame d'Agoult always laughingly called " Lu- 
 cipin-by-Claude." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult spoke several languages, an 
 unusual thing in those days. Her mind, which was 
 high-toned, much matured and very individual, 
 was extremely cultivated, and although she was 
 most curious about other people, she was very 
 reserved concerning herself. Firm and resolute, 
 even to obstinacy, in her own opinions, no one was 
 more tolerant to others. At first sight Madame 
 d'Agoult struck one as somewhat virile and mascu- 
 line, without losing the effect of womanliness, and 
 was wont to say, " I have attained the age of man- 
 hood." She was tall and extremely elegant in 
 
 [100]
 
 .*■■■•' 
 
 •C&A- 
 
 
 ■ a 
 
 
 ". 
 
 DANIEL STERN (Mme. d'Agoult). 
 From au engraving by Leopold Flaraeng.
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 appearance, and was the perfect type of a high- 
 bred woman. She called herself a Democrat, and 
 she was one in all sincerity, but the word in her 
 mouth seemed such a contrast to herself, if not an 
 anomaly, that one could not help smiling. 
 
 Everything about Madame d'Agoult was high- 
 bred; her appearance, her features, the manner in 
 which she carried her head with its crown of snow- 
 white hair, over which she wore a black chantilly 
 lace veil, and all her gestures were aristocratic. 
 
 Dignity was her prominent trait, even in her 
 rare moments of effusion, and one was astonished 
 that she never betrayed the passionate note in her 
 character that had brought about the stormy 
 event in her life, whose struggles she describes in 
 Nelida's confession. Any breach of good- 
 breeding, any want of education, so frequently 
 found among Democrats, caused her real pain, but 
 on the other hand, she, herself, had one defect: as 
 a result of living outside of her own sphere, she 
 had lost the exact notion and the proportionate 
 measure of social positions acquired by talent. We 
 were all greatly scandalized, for we also had our 
 political and philosophical prejudices, when one 
 day she invited Pasdeloup, the fashionable orches- 
 tra leader, Littre, Carnot, and Grevy, to dine 
 together. On another occasion she asked Paul de 
 
 [101]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 St. Victor, the refined man of letters, to luncheon 
 with an operetta singer. She meant no disdain by 
 such actions. Talent, without a title, for which 
 she cared no longer, seemed to her, under no matter 
 what form, to possess its own intrinsic value. 
 
 In politics she was most liberal and well- 
 balanced, and her opinion of the men of 1848 was 
 definitely accepted for a long while. Daniel Stern's 
 language was pure and free from pretension. A 
 very clear perception of facts gave to her style an 
 admirable imagery, the beauty of which marvel- 
 lously concealed, as was desired, any possible redun- 
 dancy of colouring in the phraseology. Madame 
 d'Agoult was a serious writer, who desired to be 
 taken more as a mind that one admires than as a 
 heart that is beloved. 
 
 Nevertheless, in her great work on the Revolu- 
 tion of 1848, one finds certain pages where she, as 
 it were, abandons herself to inspiration. Some of 
 these pages devoted to Jules Grevy approach 
 prophecy. She first describes him as the type of 
 a Republican of high principles and then speaks 
 enthusiastically of his foresight. 
 
 " Monsieur Grevy's role," she says, " had the 
 merit of being preponderate in the Constituent 
 Assembly." His celebrated amendment was, ac- 
 cording to Daniel Stern, " nothing less than pre- 
 
 [102]
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 science. He desired," she wrote, " that the Presi- 
 dent of the Republic, instead of being elected such, 
 by universal suffrage, should be President of a 
 Council, elected for an unlimited period, and 
 always revocable." In October, 1848, Monsieur 
 Grevy strongly protested against the idea of a 
 President who, from the fact of being invested 
 with popular sovereignty, " should be more for- 
 midable than a King." Madame d'Agoult often 
 said, as all her friends can remember : " Our next 
 Republic will be presided over by Grevy." 
 
 Les Esquisses Morales, one of the books which 
 gives the best idea of Daniel Stern's great knowl- 
 edge of philosophy, made such a sensation in the 
 literary world that she subsequently became better 
 known as the author of Les Esquisses Morales 
 than of La Revolution de 1848. 
 
 Having been brought up in Germany, Madame 
 d'Agoult was not fond of light, jocular conver- 
 sation, and would often throw cold water on it by 
 feigning not to understand it. The general tone 
 of her drawing-room was serious ; conversation ran 
 principally on politics, art. especially on music, 
 but touched seldom on novels and the theatre. Ed- 
 mond Texier, one of the wittiest men in Paris, was 
 a frequent visitor, but he kept his sallies for other 
 places and was merely an observer of this circle, 
 
 [ 103]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 which became more interesting every day. He 
 was on the staff of Le Siecle, and wrote for a great 
 many journals under various pseudonyms, but 
 signed his weekly articles in the Siecle with his own 
 name. He was very caustic and his sayings were 
 often quoted, and seemed all the more bitter when 
 read apart from his articles, which were clear, elo- 
 quent compositions, written in finished, elegant and 
 noble style. Distinguished looking in his appear- 
 ance, devoted to his friends, steadfast to his prin- 
 ciples, he was loved and esteemed by many and 
 feared by some. He had pubished several polit- 
 ical portraits which had obtained very great 
 success. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult numbered among her best 
 friends Edouard Grenier, a charming poet, a 
 stanch Republican and Lamartine's most intimate 
 friend. He was called " the living Gazette " ; he 
 knew everything, he had seen and read everything, 
 he could converse admirably, and would give his 
 hearers the exact sense of small facts and of great 
 events. Edmond Texier used to say " that any 
 criticism or the relation of any fact that had not 
 passed Edouard Grenier's lips, had not acquired 
 its proper significance or its Parisian notoriety." 
 Edouard Grenier, although intimate with all 
 the men of 1848, was eclectic, and was at the same 
 
 [ 104]
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 time the friend of the Imperialist Merimee, and of 
 Auguste Barbier, the author of Les Jambes, a 
 terrible satire on "the flat-haired Corsican." I 
 know of no one who, in speaking of Grenier, did 
 not say that " he was charming, delightful, the 
 most loyal and most noble of men." As Madame 
 d'Agoult once said : " Our dear Ronchaud, our dear 
 Grenier." 
 
 Grenier, de Ronchaud and Tribert, when the 
 latter was not away travelling, were the three pil- 
 lars of Madame d'Agoult's drawing-room and 
 gave it a tone of moral solidity, which contrasted 
 singularly with the then fashionable drawing- 
 rooms of the Empire, which were most frivolous, 
 and where anything serious was voted " a bore " 
 (embetant), this slang term being at that time 
 much in use. 
 
 Vacherot and Renan were also constant visitors 
 at Madame d'Agoult's, where Renan displayed as 
 much art in his conversation as he did in his writ- 
 ings. 
 
 Edmond Texier used to say " that one could 
 lean against the mantelpiece in Madame d'Agoult's 
 drawing-room, and start a conversation or a dis- 
 cussion, which soon becoming general, as a veri- 
 table lecture on politics or literature." None of my 
 then young contemporaries, nor myself, can ever 
 
 [ 105 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 forget what we learned and gathered from Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult's drawing-room. 
 
 Vacherot, when head lecturer and director of 
 studies at the Ecole Normale, and who was the 
 author of L'Histoire Critique de l'Ecole d'Alex- 
 andrie, had refused to take the oath of allegiance 
 to the Empire in 1852. He was a man of great 
 learning, very liberal-minded, with a keen nature; 
 his train of thought was bitter and pessimistic, but 
 in all discussions between superior minds at Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult's his reflections were always indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult would often read to us some 
 letter of one of the great foreign revolutionists, 
 Mazzini or Kossuth. At other times, either Louis 
 Blanc, Ledru-Rollin, Schoecher, Edgar Quinet or 
 Challemel-Lacour would send her a report on the 
 political questions of the day, destined to be com- 
 municated to her intimate circle of friends. Each 
 reunion was thus made most interesting, and espe- 
 cially so because her circle was not closed to what 
 was newly called "the Constitutional Opposition," 
 nor even to the young " little Olliviers," who 
 thought, although being Republicans, they might 
 some time possibly be rallied to a liberal Empire, 
 as was their chief, Madame d'Agoult's son-in-law. 
 People, however, would have had great difficulty 
 
 [106]
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 in making some of them confess that they would 
 ever consent to be upholders of it in the future. 
 
 I shall never forget the time when Floquet was 
 introduced to Madame d'Agoult by Adalbert 
 Philis. Monsieur Charles Floquet at that time 
 gave himself great airs and was the most wonder- 
 ful prig under heaven. When we, her intimate 
 friends, would arrive early, Madame d'Agoult 
 would inform us of " the surprises," as she called 
 them, that she had in store for us. That evening, 
 with feigned gravity, she said to us: 
 
 " We shall have Floquet to-night, but, alas ! 
 without wearing his legendary hat." As every one 
 knows, Floquet's hat was celebrated. At the ap- 
 pointed hour he entered the drawing-room pre- 
 ceded by Adalbert Philis, who introduced him to 
 Madame d'Agoult, seated, as was her wont, on the 
 right of the fireplace. At the end of five minutes 
 Floquet began to talk loudly. He prated, asked 
 questions and answered them, and holding his right 
 hand in the armhole of his waistcoat, apprised 
 us, that like Madame d'Agoult, he was very inti- 
 mate with the Peruzzis at Florence. He rolled 
 the " r " of the name and pronounced it after the 
 Italian manner, and assured us that they were full 
 of hope at Florence, since Orsini's letter, and that 
 Napoleon III gave constant pledges of good-will 
 8 [ 107 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 towards the Italian cause ; " that admirable cause," 
 Monsieur Floquet added, in a thundering voice, 
 " that unites a traditional sovereign of the oldest 
 ducal house in Europe, Victor Emmanuel, a guer- 
 rilla chieftain, Garibaldi, an audacious revolution- 
 ist, Mazzini, and a statesman who is the greatest 
 diplomat of the universe, Cavour ! " 
 
 Nefftzer and Texier were beside me, and we ex- 
 changed some almost apparent jokes about him. 
 Hippolyte Carnot, Littre and Dupont-White 
 looked at each other with surprised eyes and 
 seemed to say : " What are we coming to, if all the 
 ' little Olliviers ' should be equally bold? " 
 
 Floquet, at that time, proclaimed himself " the 
 son of Robespierre." Whenever any mention of 
 the Revolution of 1793 was made before him, he 
 instantly became its defender. He stood in front 
 of an imaginary bar, and, in a loud, clarion-like 
 voice, which he had long practised, he discoursed 
 as eloquently and as noisily for a few hearers as for 
 a crowd. He was the dramatic defender of the 
 September massacres. This was Floquet's public 
 character. In private he would have been taken 
 for an uneducated upstart and a newly converted 
 Republican, trying in turn to make proselytes in 
 an exaggerated manner. 
 
 Adalbert Philis, with whom we later in the even- 
 
 [ 108 ]
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 ing laughingly discussed his friend, and who had 
 so much tact and delicacy himself, said: " Floquet 
 is the best educated man I know. He comes of an 
 old distinguished Basque family. He is naturally 
 gentle in manner, a very good fellow, witty, amiable 
 and nothing loath to enjoy himself. But as soon as 
 he says to himself, ' I am destined to play a great 
 role in the Revolutionary events of the future,' 
 he becomes as you have seen him, solemn, severe, 
 stiff and aggressive ; but all this will soften down, 
 and, mark me, you will see he will become a volatile 
 personage." 
 
 On a succeeding day, Monsieur Ernest Hamel, 
 a young man overflowing with " Montaguisme," 
 was introduced. He was known later as being the 
 author of L'Histoire de Saint-Just, which the 
 Imperial government had seized and confiscated. 
 His manners displeased those whom we called " the 
 old ones " as much as Floquet's had done. 
 
 In the course of a conversation I had with Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult, after a small breakfast to which she 
 had invited only myself and Monsieur de Ron- 
 chaud, I amused her exceedingly by my enthusi- 
 astic praise of CEdipe-Roi, translated by Jules 
 Lacroix, which I had seen a few weeks previously 
 at the Theatre-Francais ; the simplicity of the 
 
 [109]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 translation, the admirable comprehension of the 
 characters in the Grecian masterpiece, Edmond 
 Membree's accompanying antique chants, and 
 Madame Favart's wonderful acting, made me speak 
 of Greece in passionate terms. De Ronchaud 
 shared my enthusiasm for Jules Lacroix's 
 GEdipe-Roi, and Madame d'Agoult said im- 
 patiently that her friend " of Lucipin-by-Claude," 
 already an exaggerated Hellenist, " would now, 
 with such an ally as myself, become thoroughly 
 insupportable." 
 
 As was usual, Madame Fauvety and myself saw 
 (Edipe-Roi after it had been playing for some 
 time, and my conversation with Madame d'Agoult 
 coincided with the first representations of Orphee- 
 aux-Enfers, over which all Paris was wild, and 
 singing its popular airs. 
 
 " My dear child," said Madame d'Agoult, " I 
 will take you to the Bouffes. It will modernize 
 you a little. You are too young to be so antique. 
 It will warp your judgment forever. Leave an- 
 tiquity to de Ronchaud, to Menard, to Saint- 
 Victor. It will do them no harm, but is not good 
 for you." 
 
 " Madame," I replied, " antique tragedy alone 
 helps me to bear the drama of my present life." 
 Modern drama will distract you more, my 
 [110] 
 
 a
 
 I MAKK A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 child. Instead of going to see CEdipc-Roi, go to 
 the Ambigu to sec Lc Marchand de Coco and 
 Fanfan la Tulipe. They are less solemn and 
 just as exciting. Follow my advice, dear little 
 one ; be of your day." 
 
 " For the love of Greece, remain Grecian," de 
 Ronchaud added. 
 
 I heard that George Sand was in Paris. I had 
 the greatest desire to know her. She had sent me 
 word by Charles Edmond that she wished to thank 
 me in person for the pleasure my Idees-Anti- 
 Proudhoniennes had given her. One day I re- 
 ceived the following letter: 
 
 " Madame : Would } r ou be kind enough to re- 
 ceive me next Thursday at two o'clock? I know it 
 is not your day at home, and that is why I have 
 chosen it. George Sand has begged me to call and 
 thank you for the book which you sent to her and 
 which, as you will hear from me, she has found 
 most interesting. If you send me no answer I shall 
 conclude that my visit will be acceptable to you. 
 " Believe me, Madame, etc., 
 
 " Capitaine d'Arpentigny." 
 
 On the day, and at the hour mentioned, the Cap- 
 tain was announced. It struck me that he came 
 
 [111]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 more as an inspector than as a bearer of compli- 
 ments. 
 
 I felt at first exceeding vexed with him for 
 the cross-questioning to which he subj ected me, and 
 vaguely grateful to her, who took sufficient interest 
 in me to submit me to such an examination. 
 
 "Who are you? Where do you come from?" 
 asked the Captain. " Do you love your husband? 
 What does he do? " 
 
 I answered all these indiscreet inquiries. 
 
 " Have you any children ? Monsieur d'Arpen- 
 tigny added. 
 
 " A daughter." 
 
 "Very good! Are you a devoted mother? " 
 Of course I am ! But I beg of you " 
 
 a 
 
 " I have not finished. I have still half a dozen 
 questions to ask you, and, my dear child, you must 
 answer them. I esteem George Sand's friendship 
 so highly that when I am authorized by her to 
 superintend the beginning of a new friendship, I 
 do my duty conscientiously. So pray answer me. 
 Do you write for the pleasure of it, or to gain 
 celebrity, or to extend the circle of your admirers, 
 for, dear lady, you are adorable ! " 
 
 I felt the tears rise to my eyes; the compliment 
 was so curt, so impertinent. 
 
 My answer, however, pleased the blunt Captain, 
 for he replied, half smiling: 
 
 [112]
 
 I MAKE A VALUABLE FRIEND 
 
 " Excellent ! Now show me your hand." 
 
 I gave it to him. He turned it over and over as 
 though it were some article on a shop stall. He 
 looked at the palm to read the lines. His face sud- 
 denly lit up good-naturedly and his expression 
 changed completely. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! " he exclaimed. " Here is a loyal 
 hand, and we will seal our compact." 
 
 He went on examining my hand, uttering ex- 
 clamations, sometimes amusing, sometimes serious, 
 short or long reflections. It was all so droll that 
 my usual gaiety returned to me. When he had 
 finished examining my left hand, the Captain 
 seized my right. 
 
 " Good ! good ! very good ! Now I feel quite sure, 
 dear lady, that you can be a friend of George Sand. 
 I am ready to sanction the friendship." 
 
 " Then, Captain," I cried, overjoyed, " I can 
 see and know George Sand." 
 
 " Most certainly not ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I asked, hurt and much 
 surprised. 
 
 " It is very easy to explain, my child. I have 
 heard that you are a very intimate friend of Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult, of Daniel Stern. Now George Sand 
 quarrelled with her a long time ago; every one 
 knows the reasons why. All the details and motives 
 of their friendship and of its subsequent ending 
 
 [113]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 have been made public in two books: Horace, by 
 George Sand, and Nelida, by Madame d'Agoult; 
 so you will understand how impossible it would be 
 for you to see and know George Sand without her 
 deeming it necessary to warn you against the person 
 whose influence, she thinks, will be bad for you. 
 Now, George Sand's character is opposed to run- 
 ning the risk of separating you from a friend whom 
 you love. She will wait ! When the day comes 
 when you will no longer be friends with Madame 
 d'Agoult, you will know that Madame Sand is 
 ready to be your friend, and that you can go to 
 see her. Until then, write to her when you so de- 
 sire ; she will always answer you." 
 
 The Captain rose, and seeing how distressed I 
 was, said, what seemed to me a strange consolation : 
 
 " It will happen, I am sure, before long. Daniel 
 Stern has a remarkable mind, and one that seems 
 unusually well-balanced. Some time ago I exam- 
 ined her hand. She has moments when she is un- 
 reliable, from which you will suffer some day, and 
 your friendship will be broken up." 
 
 So it came to this : that it was impossible for me 
 to see George Sand, or to have the pleasure of 
 knowing her, until the day when I should be so 
 unfortunate as to quarrel with Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 [114]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 reiEFFTZKR, Girardin, the Constitutional 
 tM opposers, were daily gaining ground in 
 Madame d'Agoult's drawing-room, which until 
 the election of " the Five " had been entirely ruled 
 by the non-oath-taking party. 
 
 After 1852, the refusal to take the oath was the 
 sole form of protestation. The men of 1848 were 
 imprisoned, exiled, sent to Cayenne or Lombessa, 
 their principles were held up to ridicule, and after 
 the insurrection of June, they were hated by the 
 people. They suffered from calumny, as no fallen 
 party ever did before. They were crushed after 
 their defeat, and they thought only of redeeming 
 their individual honour, and of forcing their 
 enemies' esteem, by their writings and by their acts. 
 
 The fight against what they called " Imperialist 
 corruption " was won solely by repeated proofs of 
 their high-toned character, and by a stubborn re- 
 sistance against all conciliation. There was a 
 great deal of sincere disinterestedness among those 
 who refused to take the oath. If some of them were 
 accused of possessing these qualities on the surface 
 
 [115]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 only, they at least considered it necessary to appear 
 as though possessing them, but the majority of the 
 party of " home exiles," comprising such men as 
 Cavaignac, Carnot, Lionville, Goudchaux, Grevy, 
 and extending from the old writers on the Na- 
 tional, from Thiers to Duclerc, from Littre to Bar- 
 thelemy Saint-Hilaire, from old Thomas to Hau- 
 reau and Edmond Adam, inspired such respect that 
 even the resources of the official press and of the 
 " Law of General Security " could not damage it. 
 
 It was therefore necessary, at all costs, that the 
 Empire should realize Monsieur de Morny's deter- 
 mined idea to disaggregate this " block " of honest 
 consciences, in order to draw public opinion away 
 from such honourable example, and it was through 
 Monsieur Emile Ollivier's aid that Monsieur de 
 Morny succeeded in injuring the political morals 
 of the Republican party. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult, who never took part in gen- 
 eral conversation, and who almost always conversed 
 with some chosen person, gave no indication of her 
 opinions, past or present. Although she continued 
 to evince great friendliness towards those who re- 
 fused to take the oath, one was led to think that 
 perhaps while approving the act, she would have 
 followed the rising sun, had she not feared to be 
 taken in tow by her son-in-law, Emile Ollivier, and 
 
 [116]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 of being made part of the noisy cohort of the 
 " little Olliviers." 
 
 She was, however, soon forced to choose between 
 her old and her new friends, those who had refused 
 to take the oath withdrawing themselves from her 
 circle in proportion as the oath-takers frequented 
 it the more. Since Cavaignac's death, partly 
 caused, his intimate friends averred, by his sorrow 
 at seeing, what was to him the despairing compro- 
 mises accepted by the young Republicans, who thus 
 made the older ones powerless to act, the Repub- 
 lican party was, so to speak, decapitated. 
 
 Not only did the young men unite with the oath- 
 takers, conquerors of those who refused to take it, 
 but they began to blame those in exile, whom, until 
 then, they had revered. 
 
 They had begun this revolt when Edgard 
 Quinet's book L'Histoire de mes Idees had 
 appeared, and of which they said : " There is a 
 point where sincerity becomes senility. No young 
 brain would have written such a book." Splendid 
 pages, however, of great eloquence and rare high 
 moral thought abounded in this work. 
 
 Laurent Pichat, whose house was open to the 
 young members, perceived that " the old beards," 
 as they began to call them, fell off by degrees in 
 their attendance. Madame d'Agoult was anxious 
 
 [117]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 to know all the " little Olliviers," so they were intro- 
 duced to her one by one, and soon became obnoxious 
 on account of their number. Their want of respect 
 for the " ancestors," a term they considered more 
 polite than " the old beards," seemed to us, myself 
 and our older friends, much too apparent. They 
 might have been taken for the spokesmen of our 
 enemies. They went further than Proudhon, or 
 Girardin, or even Emile Ollivier himself, in their 
 contempt of those whom they called " the dupes of 
 Napoleon III." Jules Ferry said one day, at 
 Madame d'Agoult's, " that to violate an oath given 
 to the Emperor, was a duty." In our eyes, this 
 declaration completely absolved Napoleon III. 
 
 These young members were stiff, cold and un- 
 enthusiastic ; they said that the time for dreaming 
 was over ; that one must be practical, and struggle 
 only for results. They were antipathetic to me 
 beyond words. Although I was younger than 
 themselves, they seemed older to me than the oldest 
 men. Their compliments annoyed me, and, in spite 
 of a growing friendship between Laurent Pichat 
 and myself, he could never enrol me among the 
 young politicians of his party. 
 
 The society in Madame d'Agoult's drawing- 
 room changed, so to speak, every week. Sometimes 
 its atmosphere was greatly excited by the conver- 
 
 [118]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 sation of the elder men ; sometimes it was rendered 
 apathetic by the younger ones. One day she said 
 to de Ronchaud, Grenier, Tribert and myself: 
 
 " A political drawing-room can only exist on 
 condition that those who frequent it are bound to- 
 gether by similar opinions, feeling collectively the 
 same interest in the past through the men who 
 have survived it, in the present through those who 
 are doing active service, and in the future in those 
 men whom the past and present have formed and 
 are educating in view of future action; but when 
 the unfledged birds undertake to lecture their 
 fathers and grandfathers, everything is upside 
 down." 
 
 " The young recruits wish to assume command," 
 Tribert continued. " They think only of taking 
 possession of the citadel, of assaulting its positions 
 and of its destruction, without giving thought 
 to the rebuilding of the fortress for future 
 defence." 
 
 " The heroic epoch of our party seems to have 
 come to an end," de Ronchaud said. " Our foes 
 have become more lenient through their enjoyment 
 of power, but this tranquil enjoyment gives birth 
 to many envious enemies." 
 
 " The young politicians," I added, " think much 
 more of overthrowing the Empire, in order to take 
 
 [119]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 its place, than of devoting themselves to the good 
 of France." 
 
 In spite of all of Monsieur de Ronchaud's oppo- 
 sition, who even went so far as to accuse Madame 
 d'Agoult of doing something quite wrong, she in- 
 sisted on taking me, with Monsieur de Girardin, to 
 see Orphee aux Enfers. We went first to dine 
 at a " cabaret ' (a restaurant), as my famous 
 friend laughingly said, and, after we had all three 
 talked a great deal, I went to the Bouffes in excel- 
 lent spirits, ready to be amused at what was amus- 
 ing all Paris. 
 
 But after the first scenes, I felt an insurmount- 
 able disgust at its idiotic foolishness. Was it pos- 
 sible that my gods should be given over to silly 
 puns, grotesquely caricatured in the lowest and 
 vilest manner? They were ridiculed in such a way 
 that it was a veritable nightmare to refined minds. 
 Was this what a believer in Jehovah made of our 
 Homeric legends, and was there no one to answer 
 him joke for joke by insulting his Jewish tradi- 
 tions? I expressed my disgust strongly. I evoked 
 our French traditions, revolted at what seemed to 
 me a treasonable action against my country. I 
 enumerated one by one the names of all the poet 
 Orpheus's sons, while silly laughter resounded 
 
 [ 120]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 around me, and the actors continued to play the 
 imbecile parts. 
 
 My painful emotion was so great that Madame 
 d'Agoult and Monsieur de Girardin ceased to 
 smile. 
 
 " Do you know," said the latter, " that this 
 young Anti-Prudhonian speaks as Toussenel does 
 of this play, and that he also sees political treason 
 in it? The author of Les Juifs Rois de l'Epoque 
 wrote to me a few days ago, begging me to take up 
 arms against Orphee aux Enfers. ' We must not 
 allow our filial instincts to be thus compromised,' 
 he said. ' Thracia, Orpheus's mother, is our 
 mother also. Offenbach, who ridicules Greece, 
 whence comes the inspiration of our artistic tra- 
 ditions, continues Halevy's work, who strove to 
 elevate his race in La Juive. They are the would- 
 be destroyers of our ideals, for which they wish 
 to substitute their own, among them The Golden 
 Calf.' " Toussenel also added : " They are the 
 children of the earth's bowels, whose malevolent 
 riches they cultivate, and we the children of light, 
 who cultivate the beneficent riches of the surface 
 of the soil." 
 
 " That is an idea to be developed," added Girar- 
 din ; " for it is true that an agricultural people 
 are less dangerous than English miners. It might 
 
 [121]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 be interesting to study a nation's proclivities, from 
 the point of view of its mining or agricultural 
 industry." 
 
 All that is taking place to-day in France was 
 prepared a long time ago, and how few there were 
 who, like Toussenel, perceived, understood and 
 feared what has come to pass. Offenbach was born 
 in Cologne. He was a clever precursor of the task 
 the German Jews set themselves to accomplish in 
 France, in order to make her defeat the easier. 
 
 Their aim was to destroy by degrees all that we 
 admire in elevated and holy things; to sap the 
 sources of our inspiration, and of that which makes 
 France truly French; to turn the Grecian gods, 
 our literary and artistic imitators, into ridicule; in 
 a word, to write Orphee aux Enfers, and later to 
 make our military men grotesque in La Grande 
 Duchesse de Gerolstein, while at Berlin they were 
 reviving all their legends and were rejoicing that 
 they had avenged the Palatinate War and Jena. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult was vexed with me that I did 
 not take the pleasure she wished me to take in the 
 anti-Grecian play, but de Ronchaud pleaded my 
 cause, and came one day and advised me to go and 
 surprise her at her hour for her drive in the Avenue 
 des Bois de Boulogne. I went and found her with 
 
 [122]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 Tribcrt, just returned from a journey to Italy, of 
 which country he was passionately fond, and which 
 he visited at least once every year. Madame 
 d'Agoult shared Tribert's love for Italy, but 
 found it too exclusive. She was constantly re- 
 proaching him for what she called " his anti-Ger- 
 man tomfoolery." 
 
 " Prepare yourselves for invasion," Tribert said 
 again that day. " The Empire will bring it about. 
 It will soon be too late for you to escape it. France 
 must be sincerely and entirely Italy's ally. She 
 should feel sympathy for her alone, for she is ver- 
 itably her sister by race. A complete understand- 
 ing with Italy would draw Spain also into the com- 
 pact, and then the Latin race would be able to 
 defend itself and have nothing further to fear from 
 Germanic invasion." 
 
 " You are very tiresome, Tribert, with your con- 
 tinual, self-same repetitions, and worthy to join in 
 chorus with my young friend," and she then related 
 to him our " adventure " at Orphee aux Enfers, 
 my disgust, and Toussenel's conviction that the 
 German Jews were working to destroy national 
 character in us. 
 
 " Toussenel is perfectly right," exclaimed Tri- 
 bert ; " and I could tell you a great deal about what 
 has been conspiring against us in Germany for 
 9 [ 123 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 more than a quarter of a century, of what they 
 teach the young Prussians at school, of what — 
 
 " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Tribert," interrupted Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult. 
 
 Those of my generation can well remember the 
 great scandal caused by the publication of a book 
 by Jacquot, called De Mirecourt, La Maison 
 Alexandre Dumas et Cie, in which he asserted that 
 although the books of the elder Alexandre Dumas 
 were signed with his name, they were in reality 
 written by young and unknown men, who were paid 
 by the day for their work. Dumas brought him 
 before the courts, and Jacquot de Mirecourt was 
 condemned to six months' imprisonment. 
 
 But the success of this odious pamphlet sug- 
 gested to a certain publisher the idea of asking 
 Jacquot de Mirecourt, when he came out of prison, 
 to write for him a series of biographies under the 
 title of Galerie de Contemporains. Mirecourt's 
 habit was to write to an author for information 
 about himself; were it given, he distorted it; were 
 it refused, he dragged the author into the mire. 
 This malicious man was a good writer ; he was wily 
 and spiteful, and his little volumes, each one con- 
 taining a biography, were much read. However, 
 numerous lawsuits concerning these publications 
 ruined his editor, and he gave them up. 
 
 [ 124]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 I received a letter from dc Mirecourt in which he 
 called me " his dear colleague," and said he had 
 published some letters to Proudhon, and that such 
 a bond of sympathy would naturally oblige me to 
 receive him, or else send him " some information 
 for my biography." 
 
 I spoke to Monsieur Fauvety about it, who ad- 
 vised me not to hesitate " to give satisfaction to the 
 venomous beast." 
 
 Having seen Madame d'Agoult that same day, 
 I asked her advice on the Mirecourt question, 
 knowing she liked to help me by her counsel. 
 
 " Be sure," she said, " my child, not to answer 
 that disreputable man. It would compromise you. 
 The life of Paris is full of snares. Whenever you 
 are in doubt about anything, tell me. I will take 
 pleasure in giving you the benefit of my knowl- 
 edge of men, and of my experience, sometimes 
 dearly bought." 
 
 Gratitude was mingled with my affection for 
 Madame d'Agoult, for she took great pains to 
 make a Parisian lady out of the little country girl 
 I was. I always remember gratefully the lessons 
 she gave me, which she summed up in a simple for- 
 mula. 
 
 " Any customs," she said, " which are not quite 
 refined and polite, are not to be questioned. For 
 
 [125]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 instance — to give a simple example — to be too ex- 
 acting before others at table, when servants are 
 negligent in their duty." 
 
 One day, Madame d'Agoult took me to the studio 
 of the sculptor Adam-Salomon, who was just then 
 greatly interested in photography, and had begun 
 to make an " album of Daniel Stern's Friends," 
 which contained later on the photographs of Jules 
 Grevy, Littre, Carnot, Girardin, Renan, Nefftzer, 
 Dupont-White, Edouard Grenier, Scherer, Alfred 
 Mezieres, Tribert, de Ronchaud, Guerolt, Prince 
 Napoleon, Vacherot, Madame Coignet, Challemel- 
 Lacour and Mademoiselle Clemence Royer, who sat 
 for their portraits after the amnesty and their re- 
 turn from exile. The others, such as Madame 
 Ackermann, were taken when they became Madame 
 d'Agoult's friends. Those of all the celebrated 
 Italians, great Hungarians and Germans, as they 
 in turn visited Paris, completed Daniel Stern's 
 album. 
 
 Adam-Salomon made a very handsome photo- 
 graph of me, which so pleased Leopold Flameng 
 that he engraved it. He had just finished a medal- 
 lion portrait of Madame d'Agoult that had been 
 universally admired, and he often said, speaking 
 of this medallion and of the engraving of myself: 
 " They are my two masterpieces." 
 
 [126]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 " I have asked to dinner next week, Littre, Hip- 
 polyte Carnot, Dupont-White, Tribert, de Ron- 
 chaud, and you must come, my child," Madame 
 d'Agoult said to me. " I know that each of you will 
 be delighted to meet the others, so do not fail me." 
 
 Miss such a dinner ! Not for anything in the 
 world. I almost worshipped Littre; and he pro- 
 fessed to feel great affection for me. We talked 
 of Greece, and my passion for that land amused 
 him. How many new things he revealed to me 
 about the Iliad, which neither my father nor my- 
 self had understood or imagined. Littre, besides 
 being editor of the Revue Positiviste, was contin- 
 uing his translation of Hippocrates's works, which 
 he only finished in 1861. He was very fond of 
 Madame d'Agoult; he admired her clearness of 
 mind, her great comprehension of the most abstract 
 ideas, and her intimate circle also pleased him, 
 with the exception of Monsieur de Girardin. Like 
 all the former writers on the National, he could 
 not forget Carrel's death. 
 
 Littre's character was the most superior I ever 
 knew. I have never met a more logical and loyal 
 mind, a nobler conscience, a more simply devoted 
 heart, nor any one with more tolerant, though 
 strong opinions. Littre possessed, moreover, all 
 that philosophical opinions, a true sense of justice, 
 
 [127]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 and entire uprightness can bestow on a man who is 
 desirous of reaching perfection. His political 
 opinions were in perfect accord with his philosoph- 
 ical doctrines; but all his knowledge and all his 
 virtues did not inspire him with, or even suggest to 
 him, the most fugitive notion of idealism. He 
 surpassed his master in materialism ; where Stuart 
 Mill, who was as fervent a disciple of Auguste 
 Comte as himself, said : " Positivism is not neces- 
 sarily a negation of the supernatural ; it simply 
 relegates the question to the origin of things ; " — 
 where the founder of positivism endeavoured to 
 extract a manner of religious idealism from it, 
 Littre took his stand in absolute materialism. 
 Auguste Comte left one free to have his own opin- 
 ions, declaring that there was " no more argument 
 in favour of the Hereafter than against it." 
 Littre did not hesitate to deny its existence. 
 
 When one knew him, one loved and honoured him 
 in spite of seeing the narrow views of such a vast 
 intelligence. It is true it compromised the whole of 
 humanity, and that was sufficient for him. The 
 history of all nations, science in all its branches, 
 the language of all countries, what the human mind 
 had achieved in all ages, all this, Littre knew as no 
 one ever knew it before him. His knowledge of all 
 things was colossal ; he cared not whence he 
 
 [128]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 gathered it, nor what use could be made of it. 
 His load of knowledge being heavy, he was satis- 
 fied simply to bear it alone. A believer in his own 
 unbelief, he respected other persons' faith, no 
 matter what form it assumed. Many of Auguste 
 Comte's disciples followed Littre in his evolution, 
 or rather, detached themselves, as he had done from 
 a system diametrically opposed to its premises. 
 
 At the beginning of the dinner, Madame 
 d'Agoult drew Hippolyte Carnot to talk of the 
 subject nearest his heart, his two sons, Sadi and 
 Adolphe ; Sadi, the elder, who was still at the Poly- 
 technic School, shared, to his great joy, all his 
 opinions, and he placed his hopes of political com- 
 pensation in him. 
 
 Dupont-White, on his side, answered Madame 
 d'Agoult's questions concerning his eldest daugh- 
 ter, who, although scarcely fifteen years old, aided 
 him in all his studies and was ambitious to take his 
 secretary's place. She was intensely interested in 
 her father's work on the Middle Ages, which were 
 also a revelation to us. The Middle Ages, as seen 
 under the sombre colours of Romanticism, became 
 illumined under Dupont- White's pen. " That 
 epoch," he said, " bristled with liberty ; the Royal 
 Power was exercised under the leading-strings of 
 the General States, and found impossible limits, in 
 
 [129]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the rights of the nobility, of the communes and cor- 
 porations." He was the author of a work of great 
 competency, L'Individu et l'Etat. 
 
 Whenever he published an article, his paradoxes, 
 as they were called, aroused fiery discussions. He 
 possessed in supreme degree, Norman " sapience," 
 a mixture of wisdom and knowledge joined with 
 common sense. 
 
 I could but remember many years afterward 
 how Hippolyte Carnot had praised his eldest 
 son, and Dupont-White his eldest daughter, when 
 they announced to us that they were to be married, 
 and no union was ever happier than that of Mon- 
 sieur Sadi Carnot and Mademoiselle Dupont- 
 White, for it united two superior minds admirably 
 educated, two souls abundant in patriotism and 
 two hearts that had remained ineffably pure. 
 
 Littre seemed sad while listening to these happy 
 fathers speaking of their favourite children. Did 
 he not see and foresee a similar happiness possible 
 in his own household? 
 
 Dupont-White was very intimate with Stuart 
 Mill, and lost no opportunity of speaking in his 
 praise. Whenever he and Littre would meet he 
 would always attack the latter's materialism, which 
 brought about endless discussions between them. 
 
 Carnot, who was a former Saint-Simonian, and 
 
 [ 130]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 who also took great interest in philosophical dis- 
 cussions, soon set fire to the powder, by asking a 
 question concerning Pierre Lafitte, Auguste Com- 
 te's testamentary executor. I naturally pricked 
 up my ears at the first words, and as Littre and 
 Dupont-White both questioned me apropos of a 
 remark I had made, and which proved that I had 
 read at least a part of Auguste Comte's " heavy 
 volumes," I bravely replied: 
 
 " I do not feel either Monsieur Littre's circum- 
 scribed admiration for Auguste Comte, or Mon- 
 sieur Dupont- White's benevolence when he follows 
 Stuart Mill's interpretation of his doctrines. I 
 think that materialistic positivism disaggregates 
 our traditional ideas of morality and that Com- 
 tism is simple ideology." 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Dupont-White, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 "No, but my other griefs against him are per- 
 sonal ones, and I do not include them. They are 
 griefs of my married life." 
 
 "If I had found anything better than positiv- 
 ism," Littre said to me with his habitual gentleness, 
 in such strong contrast with the hardness of his 
 features, "if I knew of another doctrine that pos- 
 sessed the philosophical, scientific and historical 
 tenure that positivism does and that had less dis- 
 
 [131]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 continuity in it, I would adopt it. I am never 
 obstinate. Come, Madame, let us hear your sys- 
 tem, if you have one." 
 
 " I am seekng one," I replied, " but if I find it, I 
 would not try to convert you to it, Monsieur Littre. 
 We would never meet where I am endeavouring to 
 climb above humanity, in the country of the gods." 
 
 " What one can reproach you with the most, my 
 dear Littre," Dupont- White added, " is that you 
 reason about science as though its questions were 
 definitely decided. Cannot the discovery to-morrow 
 of an impalpable atom of a spark upset your classi- 
 fications from top to bottom? " 
 
 " How truly you speak, Dupont- White ! " Tri- 
 bert then said. " As for me, I am so full of curi- 
 osity that I am not satisfied with what science has 
 already discovered, and I will not leave my hope 
 for further developments at the doors of labora- 
 tories." 
 
 " You all hunger for fantasy, for instability, for 
 the unknown, for dreams and for the infinite," said 
 Littre. "I do not feel so at all. I have a positive 
 and settled mind." 
 
 " That is why Taine already surpasses you and 
 will leave you in the background, my dear Littre," 
 said Dupont-White, half seriously. " His mind is 
 so thirsting for evolution that he contradicts him- 
 
 [ 132]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 self. He thinks he only draws geometrical figures, 
 and he creates acting entities. This scientific man 
 has great imagination; and, although he is an 
 analyst and critic, he has a most affirmative mind. 
 In all his researches, and in no matter what he is 
 seeking, he always returns to his own opinions, and 
 he revivifies a hundred times over what he has 
 dissected once." 
 
 " I admire Taine," said Littre. " Ah, how badly 
 he cut Cousin to pieces ! He knows how to use his 
 arms. A mailed knight, he strikes and thrusts, 
 without ever being touched by his adversaries' 
 weaker swords. One of his most glorious victories 
 is to have won over Renouvier from eclecticism." 
 
 " He will convince many others, you, first of all, 
 Littre. At all events, he will not permit you to 
 muzzle science, for you are inclined to do so. Only, 
 I confess, all your deficiencies are compensated for 
 by a most superior quality, your conscience. When 
 anything is proved to you, even if it upsets all your 
 ideas, you admit it. Taine will shower proofs upon 
 you." 
 
 Littre laughed heartily. 
 
 " My dear Dupont-White, with your impetuos- 
 ity and your mind, your nature is absolutely con- 
 trary to mine. I have taken from positivism all 
 that is most positive. I only wonder that as you 
 
 [133]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 go beyond Stuart Mill, you have not taken from 
 Comtism its most imaginative part — its religion." 
 
 " Why, Comte's religion is as destitute of true 
 spirituality, of any aspiration towards the Here- 
 after, as your most materialized laws. You know, 
 Littre, you could not make me believe that all that 
 escapes human reason can be shut up in the apart- 
 ment of the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince, even though 
 it were aired by Pierre Lafitte." 
 
 " My dear friend," Littre replied calmly, " you 
 are trying to be witty ; that is to say, you are talk- 
 ing for talk's sake ; you are imitating one of your 
 models. Now, you are copying Stendhal." 
 
 " Littre ! how do you dare to say that ? " cried 
 Dupont-White, angrily. 
 
 " Believe me, Monsieur Littre," said Tribert, to 
 calm the little storm about to break, for Dupont- 
 White was quick-tempered, and although fond of 
 bantering others, did not like them to tease him, 
 " believe me, your immutable law, which, according 
 to you, contains all the manifestations of life, is 
 too fixed, too circumscribed for our French imag- 
 ination." 
 
 " Your immutable and perfect law," I said in 
 my turn, " might be accepted, in an extreme case, 
 for the body, but how is it that 30U have no allot- 
 ment for the manifestations of intelligence? " 
 
 [ 134]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 " Because there is no unmixed intelligence," re- 
 plied Littre, warmly ; " duality exists. The phe- 
 nomena of the mind emanate from the body and 
 are subject to the absolute laws that govern nature. 
 There is no light apart from a luminous body, no 
 life without organs, no mind without matter." 
 
 " Mediums arc not essences," I replied. " The 
 Homeric past, Monsieur Littre, has given us such 
 an idea of the poetry of things that we have a 
 right to believe that the future will show us some- 
 thing better than your absolute law with its brutal 
 characteristics." 
 
 " Yes, I agree, absolute law is brutal in its par- 
 tial manifestations," Littre answered, " but in its 
 complete action, based on unchangeable conditions 
 of proportionality and of order, it gives us the 
 conception of absolute justice." 
 
 I protested, saying: 
 
 " If I am only a particle of dust that can be 
 swept away by the wind, and not a mind that can 
 dominate matter, why struggle at all ? r 
 
 " Because the law that governs man is action." 
 
 " According to me, man must be governed by 
 mind and by nature, and by the gods." 
 
 " My poor child, you will not open the theolog- 
 ical circle, even with your Homer; it is closed for- 
 
 ever ! " 
 
 [135]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Encouraged by Madame d'Agoult, Dupont- 
 White, Tribert and de Ronchaud, who applauded 
 noiselessly, I replied: 
 
 "Your methodically irresponsible nature exas- 
 perates me. I wish that life should be conscient in 
 everything, everywhere. What you say and what 
 you write are only words. Why should not mine 
 be worth as much as yours ? Why is noise silence to 
 you? Why does what we see convey more truth to 
 your mind than what we do not see? Just as you 
 cannot perceive with your eyes what is infinites- 
 imally small, so you do not perceive what is infi- 
 nitely large. You conceive the universe from a 
 mathematical point of view. I conceive it from 
 one divine. I am, at all events, your superior in 
 point of view of beauty." 
 
 " I agree to that," Littre gallantly replied. 
 
 " Your Positivism is worth nothing for thought, 
 which it stultifies ; for art, whose images it breaks ; 
 for social progress, which it immobilises; for moral 
 progress, which it renders useless. There ! " 
 
 " This young person is full of life," said Du- 
 pont-White. " What do you think of her, 
 Littre?" 
 
 " I think she is not commonplace. She will, I 
 am certain, from the speed at which she is going in 
 her evolutions, pass through all the cycles, through 
 
 [136]
 
 WITH THE SCIENTISTS 
 
 which humanity itself has passed. As you say, my 
 dear Dupont-White, she has great aspirations 
 towards the Hereafter. We will certainly see this 
 heathen become a Christian." 
 
 " Which would not displease me," joined in Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult, " were it only to enrage de Ron- 
 chaud, the Hellenist of Lucipin-by-Claude." 
 
 [137]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 HNE fine day who should come to see me but 
 Arles-Dufour and Lambert-Bey, delegated 
 by the Pere Enfantin, to ask me to preside at a 
 banquet which the heads of the Saint-Simonian 
 School proposed to give in my honour. 
 
 I hesitated to accept it in spite of the sponta- 
 neous sympathy with which Arles-Dufour inspired 
 me. I have never met any one for whom I felt such 
 a sudden filial inclination. The first time he called 
 me " my child," I wished to answer him " Father." 
 He had a noble and beautiful face. Very simple 
 in his speech and manner, he impressed one as pos- 
 sessing great kindness and much dignity. This 
 came, perhaps, from the fact that he had always 
 thought and acted with perfect freedom. His 
 dominant passion, he said, " was liberty under all 
 its forms, even eccentric ones." 
 
 Arles-Dufour was one of the rare Saint-Simo- 
 nians who had remained convinced of the integral 
 truth of the school's principles. All his life he had 
 felt an intense desire to raise woman from the state 
 of inferiority in which he found her in France. It 
 
 [138]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 was through him, at Lyons, that the first woman 
 was made a Bachelor of Letters ; he took great in- 
 terest in governesses and women doctors. He was 
 very generous. He devoted a certain portion of 
 his earnings to gifts under the form of loans. It 
 was the bank that lent, not himself. When a debtor 
 reimbursed his loan, it went to the bank. When 
 there were good returns, it lent a great deal; when 
 the bank was exhausted, nothing was given. 
 
 Arles-Dufour insisted upon my accepting his 
 " brothers' " and friends' banquet. Lambert-Bey 
 invited me especially in the Pere Enfantin's name, 
 who saw in me, as Saint-Simon had seen in Madame 
 de Stael — fancy, how flattering it was ! — the wom- 
 an hoped for since the school's foundation, the 
 legislative woman, the feminine Messiah, the male 
 Messiah having been incarnated in Enfantin. 
 
 But they met me rather too late to help the 
 " Pere " to some humanity, notwithstanding that 
 I thought it rather too early for me. I did not feel 
 myself sufficiently matured for such a high mission. 
 Can you imagine with what treasure the world was 
 to be endowed ? Nothing less than the golden age ! 
 The Saint-Simonian's motto being : " The golden 
 age, which until now tradition has placed in the 
 past, is at hand." 
 
 The school was formed after Saint-Simon's 
 10 [ 139 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 death. Enfantin, who had been introduced to its 
 founder, by Olinde Rodrigues, went preaching 
 " the golden age of the future " in all the cities, 
 when he was barely catechised. He possessed the 
 faculty of drawing crowds. All the young superior 
 men, or those who were simply above, belonged to 
 the school of which Enfantin was " the Father." 
 Auguste Comte, Armand Carrel, Blanqui, Pierre 
 Leroux, Jean Reynaud, Charton, Arles-Dufour, 
 Guerault, Bazard, Hippolyte Carnot, Michel Chev- 
 alier, Felicien David, Salabot, D'Eichtal, Emile 
 Pereire, Duveyrier, Buchez, Louis Jourdan, Jules 
 Simon and many others. 
 
 After the Revolution of July, the weekly lectures 
 of the Rue Taitbout made many converts. The 
 " Pere " and his sons set forth in these lectures the 
 principle that all social institutions should have as 
 their object the moral, intellectual and physical 
 amelioration of the most numerous and poorest 
 class. 
 
 A great metaphysical current fed by the inher- 
 itance of Christianity, made useless at that epoch 
 by Voltairian France, found its outlet in Saint- 
 Simonism, and brought to its fold all the generous 
 and Utopian souls in France, who aspired, as such 
 souls always do, and at all epochs, to lend their 
 aid to social evolutions. As long as the Saint-Si- 
 
 [140]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 monians preached their doctrines in a theoretical 
 state, Louis Philippe's government tolerated them 
 and their newspaper, Le Globe. But when the 
 school became a church, and it was necessary to es- 
 tablish its dogmas, there were violent discussions, 
 even among "the brothers," who were not all in 
 perfect accord regarding the general abolition of 
 the privileges of birth, the total transformation of 
 property, the necessity of suppressing the lower 
 classes, and above all, Enfantin's new social con- 
 ception of woman's condition, which he wished to 
 make solely an object of pleasure. 
 
 Olinde Rodrigues, Jean Reynaud, Bazard and 
 Hippolyte Carnot, whose sense of morality was 
 revolted, were the first to abandon the school, re- 
 fusing to accept the idea of the promiscuity of 
 woman, as Enfantin desired his disciples to accept 
 it. When the schism was made, there only remained 
 forty sons who submitted to the "Pere's" personal 
 interpretation of the doctrine, all of whom fol- 
 lowed him to Menilmontant, and consented to de- 
 vote themselves to manual labour, while singing 
 songs, the greater part of which were composed by 
 Felicien David. Rosa Bonheur's father, Raymond 
 Bonheur, designed the costume of these extraordi- 
 nary " workmen." Wearing a Southern peasant's 
 cap, they were dressed in a light-blue cassock, and 
 
 [141]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 each one had his name embroidered on his robe, 
 so that he was unmistakably known to the 
 others. 
 
 Enfantin wore a scarlet vestment gathered about 
 his waist with a violet-coloured belt, with the word 
 " Father " written on his breast. A large chain, 
 made of metal rings, hung round " the Father's " 
 neck, each ring representing symbolically one of 
 his sons. When Jean Reynaud, Carnot, Bazard 
 and Olinde Rodrigues left him definitely Enfantin 
 broke four rings of his chain. 
 
 The gallery in which the brothers met to work 
 at Menilmontant was on a level with a garden, full 
 of grand old trees. A long table and benches were 
 the sole furniture of this room, where forty young 
 men, the larger part laureates of great schools, did 
 manual labour. 
 
 The platform of the Saint-Simonian's doctrine 
 is known : " Education for all ; equality of the 
 sexes; each individual to receive his share of the 
 common goods according to his capacity and his 
 work ; enfranchisement of woman ; suppression of 
 inheritance; community of property; destruction 
 of family." 
 
 On the day Lambert-Bey and Arles-Dufour in- 
 vited me to their banquet, I remembered the irrup- 
 tion of a woman Messiah one day at Menilmontant, 
 
 [ 142]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 " She entered," say the Saint-Simonian Chronicles, 
 " veiled with a blue veil, young, pretty, mysterious, 
 and pronounced these simple words : ' I wait.' 
 
 " They brought her an old man. She refused 
 him, saying he had no passion. A young man, 
 whom she thought had not sufficient faith. Her 
 mother rushed into the room in a rage, and carried 
 off her daughter, beating her." 
 
 If I had accepted the banquet would they have 
 presented the old man and the young man to me? 
 
 The end of Enfantin's experiment has been re- 
 lated. The press openly attacked the " forty," de- 
 nouncing them and accusing them of all possible 
 vices. Pere Enfantin and his sons were forced, 
 one day, to defend themselves before the courts, 
 against the crimes of which they were accused. The 
 " forty " marched through the streets, clad in their 
 costume and singing Felicien David's chants. 
 They were hooted, but, as they were apostles, ridi- 
 cule did not touch them. Enfantin passed some 
 months in prison, and then was pardoned. The 
 school being dispersed, " the Father " and his sons 
 left for Egypt, and there studied a system to dam 
 the Nile and to pierce the Isthmus of Suez. 
 
 Enfantin and his disciples were marvellously 
 endowed with the capacity for undertaking great 
 enterprises. Later they were to be found laying 
 
 [ 143]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 out roads, digging canals, building railroads. Ben- 
 jamin Constant called Saint-Simonism " industrial 
 Papacy." 
 
 It was the Saint-Simonians who founded public 
 credit societies, all the great shops exploited by 
 capitalists, and gave an irresistible impulsion to 
 monopolies and trusts. Did they bestow econom- 
 ical benefit on the society of their day? 
 
 When I arrived in Paris, the Phalansterians 
 were about answering the question in this wise: 
 " We have added," they said, " to capital, partici- 
 pation by work. The Pereires, who were Saint- 
 Simonians, founded the Magasins du Louvre; we 
 have founded the Bon Marche. Their principle is 
 summed up in the word ' exploitation,' ours in 
 * participation.' ' To each one according to his 
 work,' was the Saint-Simonian formula, as well as 
 it was our own, but theirs was aristocratic. Those 
 who rose, among the Saint-Simonians, did not draw 
 up with them the initial group of labourers, and 
 the Saint-Simonian apportionment, and its labour- 
 ers' participation in profits, are not as general as 
 ours, nor do they possess the greatness of the Pha- 
 lansterian apportionment and participation." 
 
 If I have recounted the facts I have here men- 
 tioned, it is because we were obliged to be cognizant 
 of them, for they still interested those with whom 
 
 [ 144 ]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 we conversed every day and who were our 
 friends. 
 
 I did not accept the banquet, but I went one 
 evening with Arles-Dufour to see Pere Enfantin 
 and thanked him for the honour of his invitation, 
 of which I felt myself unworthy. A very hand- 
 some and rather stout woman received us with him. 
 Pere Enfantin evidently retained his ideas on the 
 complete enfranchisement of woman. 
 
 Although Arles-Dufour lived at Lyons, he fre- 
 quently came to Paris. He adopted me little by 
 little, as he said, and my affection for him increased 
 whenever I saw him during his sojourns at Paris. 
 He spoke of me to Madame Arles-Dufour and to 
 his children, thus preparing for me their incom- 
 parable maternal and fraternal affection, which 
 proved one of the greatest happinesses of my life. 
 Arles-Dufour's friendship — I soon called him 
 " Father " according to his desire — found a hun- 
 dred ways of being kind and of use to me. I felt 
 such real affection for him that I soon confided all 
 my sorrows to him. He wrote to my father, and 
 they soon took common care of me, and I felt that 
 my father, who was afraid of my husband's threats, 
 would protect me in a firmer manner, now that he 
 felt himself supported in his defence of me, by 
 good, influential and courageous Arles-Dufour. 
 
 [145]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 The only thing in which Arles-Dufour and I 
 did not agree was amusing. He would not admit 
 that the Saint-Simonian doctrine could be con- 
 demned on a single point, not even on that of the 
 excessive emancipation of woman. Now, in his 
 private life, he was the most perfect husband, the 
 most devoted father, and the most faithful man 
 possible in his veneration of family ties. He would 
 have been very severe to me had he found me co- 
 quettish, or in any degree light in conduct, and 
 then, on the contrary, he would proudly quote his 
 friend Stuart Mill's opinions, " the greatest of 
 English philosophers," he said, and who, having 
 been a Saint-Simonian for a short time and then a 
 renegade, did not cease, however, to admire the 
 courage with which the School confronted the ques- 
 tion of family, and its boldness in proclaiming the 
 absolute equality of man and woman. 
 
 " My dear friend," I said, " my venerated 
 father, the Saint-Simonians were absurd, because 
 they wished to reform manners, not by virtue, but 
 by license. Corruption has never made anything 
 wholesome. You have tried to turn the grandeur 
 of woman's affection towards the satisfaction of 
 present enjoyment, as certain of Christ's disciples 
 wish to turn this feeling towards future happiness. 
 What is absolute for the soul, or what is absolute 
 
 [146]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 for the body may satisfy the individual. But from 
 a social point of view it is wrong. Instead of 
 teaching woman how she may find great comfort 
 in her devotion to others, you have thrown her, for 
 food, the disorder of her passions, free love. There 
 are certain obligations necessary to preserve a 
 woman's dignity, which she cannot find outside of 
 social duties, nor in unbridled love. She can 
 satisfy these obligations by associating herself with 
 man's work, and by sharing his cares. She can 
 make the companion of her life recognize that her 
 worth is equal to his own, not in identical things, 
 but in things equivalent. Woman must be re- 
 spected to hold power over her children, and to 
 retain her social position." 
 
 " You are repeating your letter to Alphonse 
 
 Karr to " I had given it to him to read — 
 
 " and your Anti-Proudhonian ideas. I know them 
 all," Arles-Dufour answered, " and I tell you once 
 for all, and declare it again, that woman's beauty 
 is what gives her her superiority. Flesh must be 
 rehabilitated, passion is divine. God, who is all- 
 powerful, has given the dominating power of 
 beauty to woman to establish the equilibrium of 
 power in man." 
 
 " Always the abominable aristocratic principle 
 of Saint-Simonism," I replied; "the majority 
 
 [147]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 slaves for life to the superiority of beauty or cap- 
 ital. A royalty that only benefits a small number. 
 I will never admit that. I am a Democrat." 
 
 " And you are beautiful. That is why you 
 judge a principle from a personal point of view. 
 A principle is not necessarily an application." 
 
 " Then it is no longer a principle if it cannot 
 be applied necessarily." 
 
 "Yes, it can." 
 
 " No, it cannot." 
 
 Hippolyte Carnot, who had announced that he 
 was coming to see me, entered just as I was answer- 
 ing Arles-Dufour rather angrily. We told him of 
 the question about which we were quarrelling. 
 
 " Egad ! " he said, " it is a reminiscence of the 
 Rue Taitbout lectures, and of the sitting of the 
 court when Enfantin was condemned. Do you re- 
 member my deposition, Aries? I was a Saint-Si- 
 monian as long as the doctrine preserved a philo- 
 sophical character, but I separated from my 
 brothers when the doctrine bifurcated. What you 
 are upholding against Madame Juliette Lamber 
 is the bifurcation, and she is perfectly right." 
 
 " Well, I bifurcate, that's all," said good Arles- 
 Dufour ; " but you two together would get the bet- 
 ter of me too easily. I leave you to your old 
 prejudices." 
 
 [148]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 When known intimately, Hippolyte Carnot was 
 one of the most interesting and charming talkers 
 to whom one could listen. Small in stature, not 
 striking in appearance, his features, however, 
 greatly resembled those of Victor Hugo, but with 
 quite a different expression, for his was a sad one. 
 He had never been consoled for the death of his 
 brother Sadi. He had named his eldest son after 
 him, and it was said that this brother, whom he 
 so sincerely mourned, was a man of exceptional 
 worth. 
 
 I liked to talk with Hippolyte Carnot of the 
 great Carnot, and he answered with a sort of touch- 
 ing gratitude the questions one asked about his 
 father. He had written in an almost sacred manner 
 concerning him, who had been as much loved as 
 admired. 
 
 Our conversation again turned that day on the 
 " Organizer of our Victories," and on his first inter- 
 view with Bonaparte. 
 
 " My father," he said, " was the very first person 
 who discovered Napoleon's military genius. He 
 often related to me the scenes of his first interviews 
 with him, and told me how much he was struck 
 with Napoleon's powers of persuasion when dis- 
 closing any of his plans, and that he was obliged 
 to call up all his strength of mind to escape his fas- 
 
 [149]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 cination, and not to yield to a sort of magnetic 
 influence and suggestion exercised when he wished 
 to enforce one of his ideas, rendered thus so difficult 
 of discussion, calmly and coldly. 
 
 Hippolyte Carnot had followed his father to 
 Magdeburg and had there married the daughter 
 of Colonel Dupont, aide-de-camp to the great 
 exile. Madame Hippolyte Carnot could have been 
 given as an admirable example of wife and mother. 
 She was a woman of high moral and intellectual 
 standing and no one was more honoured in the 
 Republican party than herself. She was spoken of 
 as a model of all private and civic virtues. " She 
 is a soldier," her husband said, and we Republicans 
 esteemed her as the Romans did Cornelia. Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult felt great respect for her, and sym- 
 pathy with her, which in her case was rare, for she 
 was not lavish in such feelings towards the wives of 
 Republican households, such as Monsieur Grevy's 
 and many others. She had remained unconsciously 
 an aristocrat. 
 
 " Madame Carnot was heroic in 1851," Daniel 
 Stern, reassuming her role of historian, said to 
 me. " She encouraged her husband to take up arms 
 against Louis Napoleon, saying to him : ' If you 
 die, you will leave your sons the example you your- 
 self received from your father.' " Were those 
 
 [150]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 not admirable words," added Madame d'Agoult, 
 " worthy of the heroines of all ages? " 
 
 On the 1st of January, 1859, there was great 
 commotion in France, and great agitation among 
 us, who were at once enemies of the Empire and 
 partisans of Italian unity, on reading the official 
 words spoken by Napoleon III to the Austrian 
 Ambassador : " I regret that our relations are not as 
 amicable as they have formerly been." 
 
 Prince Napoleon's marriage to the Princesse 
 Clothilde, daughter of Victor Emmanuel, officially 
 announced to take place on the 30th, indorsed the 
 proof that the Imperial government was about 
 to realize Orsini's supreme wish. The oath-takers 
 triumphed, saying that " the Five's " opposition 
 had alone obliged the Emperor to enter into the 
 liberal pathway, a conversion that would certainly 
 force him to take a step towards internal liberal- 
 ism. 
 
 We held important meetings in our circle. " Was 
 this man, the oppressor of France, about to become 
 the dispenser of national liberty in other countries ? 
 Much was said about the mysterious ways of Provi- 
 dence, or the superior logic of facts, according as 
 persons were believers or free-thinkers. " At all 
 events," they said, " tyranny had received a slight 
 blow." [ 151 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 I had learned my political a, b, c, very young 
 in the Democratic Pacifique, and Toussenel had 
 always held the place of initiator to me. I was 
 grieved that he had never replied to me when I 
 sent him my Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes ; but, one 
 day, Doctor de Bonnard, when speaking of my 
 book to him, saw him strike his forehead, look dis- 
 tressed and run to a drawer, from which he took 
 out a letter addressed to me, and dated October 7, 
 1858. On his departure for a hunting expedition 
 he had forgotten to send the letter to me. 
 
 Toussenel complimented me warmly. " I real- 
 ized," he said, " the formula of the falcon." The 
 author of L'Esprit des Betes, as is known, judged 
 of men's minds by their likeness to the minds of ani- 
 mals, which brought down upon him much ridicule 
 or indignant protestation. The falcon, being a 
 bird superior to all others, furnished Toussenel this 
 reflection : that " the rank of a species corresponds 
 to the female's intelligence." His formula of the 
 falcon was thus resumed : " Individual happiness 
 is commensurate with the woman's superiority. 
 And," he added, " woman, in the future, will lead to 
 man's reconciliation with the Universe." 
 
 Notwithstanding the blow suffered by the Fou- 
 rierite sect through Victor Considerant's failure in 
 Texas, it was still the most vital of all. This check, 
 
 [ 152]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 caused by an almost childish want of thought, had 
 crushed out all hope of a new life, all enthusiasm 
 towards complete social regeneration. 
 
 At the time when Victor Considerant made a 
 campaign in the Democratic Pacifique, in favour 
 of a " commune in partnership," which was to be 
 founded in Texas, near the Red River, and was to 
 be called the " Reunion," subscriptions poured in 
 from all parts of the globe. One of the subscribers 
 for a very large sum was an American, Albert 
 Brisbane. At last one of Fourier's conceptions 
 was to be realized ! 
 
 But Victor Considerant, who had resigned his 
 promising military career, and had suddenly be- 
 come a journalist, and the successful founder of 
 La Democratic Pacifique, did not possess either the 
 faculty necessary for an organizer or a legislator. 
 He was an apostle, nothing more, but an irresist- 
 ible one, alas ! People went to him from all corners 
 of the world, and the affluence was so great in 
 Texas that the funds soon began to give out; and 
 material and moral disorder became so great that 
 the " Reunion " was universally shipwrecked. 
 
 The Paris central seat of the " Phalansterian 
 sect " was its library in the Rue de Beaune, man- 
 aged by an old maid, Mademoiselle Aimee Beuque, 
 who, having known Fourier at Lyons, was one of 
 
 [ 153]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 his first disciples when he was only a commercial 
 traveller, and lived in a sphere but little favourable 
 to the developments of his ideas. Mademoiselle 
 Beuque used her influence over one of her intimate 
 friends, a certain Captain Gouthier, officer of en- 
 gineers, to bring him into the pale of Fourierism, 
 who, in turn, converted a great number of his 
 brother officers to the Phalansterian doctrine. She 
 was the moving spirit of the library of the 
 " School." In a poor little puny body lived a 
 great soul, marvellously idealistic, and overflowing 
 with the love for social harmony. " Aunt 
 Beuque," as they called her, with a large wine- 
 stain on her face, clad in a coarse black woollen 
 dress, and wearing a black poke bonnet with 
 wide strings, which she never laid aside, was at 
 first sight but little attractive. She never went 
 out without carrying a bag, half hand-basket, 
 half reticule. But if one talked with her, grew 
 to know this very small person, of whom scarce 
 anything remained, so much had she spent and ex- 
 hausted herself for her cause, one grew fond of her, 
 and to portray this superior soul, whose personal 
 appearance was that of an ugly little creature, one 
 could only use the words, " She is adorable ! " The 
 Phalansterians loved her with all their hearts. 
 Kindness, faith, the perpetual sacrifice of herself 
 
 [ 154]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 to Fourier's ideas, gave character to her phys- 
 iognomy, shone in her eyes and lent to her smile 
 the supreme contentment of a pure conscience to 
 such a degree that it cannot be described, and 
 which, after so many years, I have never forgotten. 
 
 When I returned from a visit to Mademoiselle 
 Beuque with Doctor de Bonnard, who had taken me 
 to the Phalansterian library, I felt I would be a 
 life-long friend to dear little old Beuque. No one 
 talked of Fourier as she did, no one believed, as she 
 did, that his doctrines were about to be realized. 
 Ah! how far we were then from this present day, 
 when " Apaches " are extolled ! All that was noble, 
 generous and kind in man was developed. Progress 
 began to be made in the sense desired by Fourier. 
 Attempts at co-operation commenced to blossom 
 everywhere. The Lectere Company, an associa- 
 tion of workmen, based on the principles of Pha- 
 lansterian co-operation, distributed profits to its 
 members; the Guise establishment, into which my 
 father wished to enter, was in a prosperous con- 
 dition. 
 
 Mademoiselle Beuque worked with all her might, 
 which was not little, in spreading practical Fourier- 
 ite ideas, and she pondered over in her heart all her 
 master's dreams of the laws of perfectibility and of 
 universal harmony. She would talk in secret to me 
 11 [ 155 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 as a believer does, who wishes to inspire a friend with 
 her own belief, repeating Fourier's words : " The 
 motion of the planets co-operate in harmony ; cat- 
 aclysms, the chaos of ideas, evil, under all its forms, 
 are only passing accidents, common to the universe 
 and to man. Let us work, therefore, to assure per- 
 fect equilibrium and definite goodness." 
 
 " Fourier is the greatest of all founders of sects," 
 said dear little old Beuque, " and from his doc- 
 trine will spring in the future the largest sum of 
 social good." 
 
 Have not co-operative societies for articles of 
 food, and associations, formed on the plan con- 
 ceived by Fourier, multiplied everywhere? The 
 Utopian idea of Phalanstery has, of course, died 
 out. It is probable that men will never associate 
 to discover the three factors of harmony — " the 
 Composite, the Cabalistic and the Papilionaceous " 
 — but the association of men of the same trade, the 
 division of the produce of the association between 
 capital, labour and talent, are ideas which have 
 never ceased to grow and to be developed. Capital, 
 labour, intelligence, these three little words con- 
 tain the whole meaning of the evolutions of modern 
 society. 
 
 I often went to the Rue de Beaune to see my old 
 friend, Beuque. Whenever I felt sick at heart at 
 
 [156]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 all the mean, base things which the most optimistic 
 among us daily discover in life, I found extraor- 
 dinary peace and comfort in her society. How 
 could one help believing in goodness, its power, its 
 final victory, when under the influence of one whose 
 faith was so admirable? 
 
 Toussenel had returned from a hunting expedi- 
 tion. Without the least exaggeration, Toussenel's 
 portrait could be painted in the most attractive 
 colours as that of an upright, honourable man, 
 devoted, even to the extent of sacrificing his own 
 physical and intellectual being, to a doctrine which 
 combined in a strange manner, Utopian ideas and 
 common sense. He was both a profound observer 
 and an idealist, logical and far-seeing, and as a 
 conversationalist spontaneous, paradoxical and 
 precise. No Parisian was more full of wit, and his 
 presence transformed the shabby little library into 
 a brilliant and attractive abode. His descriptive 
 conversation embraced a variety of subjects: won- 
 ders of nature and their unsuspected secrets ; the 
 animal mind, with its rules, its memory and its 
 stratagems ; art, philosophy, pure, classical tradi- 
 tion; the worship of beauty, and a fanciful and 
 new idea of the future state. 
 
 Although the expression was not as much in use 
 then as now, Toussenel was what might be called 
 
 [157]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " a sporting man." His face was bronzed by con- 
 stant exposure to the air. He was well built, and 
 his active life had made him supple. A daily coun- 
 try walk of thirty miles was nothing to him. He 
 felt himself penned up in the Rue de Beaune, and 
 he came and went at will. His frequent absences 
 were a source of grief to his many friends, and his 
 return was always hailed with joy. His acquaint- 
 ances meeting in the streets would say : " You know, 
 Toussenel is in Paris." His friends would then 
 hasten to the little shop to welcome back " the dear 
 home-comer," as we called him, and whom Aunt 
 Beuque accused of too much gadding. 
 
 When Toussenel and his old friend began talk- 
 ing of " the School," their two hearts beat as one, 
 and their lives were illumined with a light visible 
 to all. And yet neither of them had tasted of life's 
 pleasures, even to the extent of those which may be 
 had at moderate cost. Both were poor, and often 
 " old Beuque," at the cost of personal privations, 
 would amplify, in the library accounts, the sale of 
 Toussenel's books. They were so patient in their 
 daily struggle for life. Their simplicity and their 
 cheerful good-humour were so admirable. They 
 were so evidently conscious of their moral supe- 
 riority, of the uselessness of a complexity of wants, 
 of the fancies and desires that wealth brings, and 
 
 [158]
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 were so happy in their dream-life that one almost 
 envied them. 
 
 One thing alone had power to ruffle Toussenel's 
 customary serenity. He was as a rule gentle and 
 conciliatory, but whenever mention was made of 
 " the spectre of the 2d of December " he became 
 loud and violent in his conversation. He accused 
 the Empire of having put an end to the develop- 
 ment of Fourier's ideas and of having rendered 
 France barren, just at the moment when she was 
 ready for a new social birth. 
 
 " And who can tell," he added, " whether this 
 moment will ever return, and whether the social 
 evil, which is now only accidental in France, is not 
 destined to become chronic? Tyrannical industry 
 and Jewish capital, protected and supported just 
 at the very time when they should have been forced 
 to succumb to the laws of association, with labour 
 and intelligence combined, create an abnormal 
 state of things which some day may drive the 
 country wild." 
 
 His book Les Jeufs, Rois de l'Epoque, dated 
 from 1844. Even then he described them as de- 
 vouring France. When I first knew him, he 
 ascribed the moral depression which at that time 
 reigned in France to the Empire and to the Jews. 
 He ridiculed in the most scathing manner Millaud 
 
 [159]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 and Mires, " for their issuing of stocks which began 
 by assuring profit to money before an hour's work 
 had been done." 
 
 Stock -jobbing was Toussenel's pet aversion. 
 
 " The French conscience and French honour," 
 he said, " the most fastidious in the world, would 
 certainly succumb in the moral storm raised by the 
 troubled elements of speculation. Credit and 
 brains will soon be in the hands of the Jews," he 
 continued. " They have already exercised their 
 fatal influence on the press. There will come a day 
 when all things can be bought in France, and we 
 will then have the German invasion, patronized by 
 Jewish feudalism." 
 
 Toussenel's L'Esprit des Betes and his Monde 
 des Oiseaux are two masterpieces ; written in a 
 clear language, and full of colour, his descriptions 
 of nature and his portraits of animal life are emi- 
 nently lifelike. He makes animals take part in 
 the poetry of living and inanimate things. When 
 you had read or listened to him, you looked at 
 animals through changed eyes, and felt, if such an 
 expression can be used without bringing up smiles, 
 in relationship with them. Yet, by a singular con- 
 tradiction, in spite of his tender feeling for birds 
 and his brotherly love for animals, Toussenel was 
 passionately fond of hunting. In character, he was 
 
 [160]
 
 mm: rjat-r 
 
 MORE FRIENDS 
 
 a true Gaul. It was in seeking combat that he 
 found poetry. All things spoke a language to him ; 
 nature, the entire world, " talked to him," as he 
 said. The planets, the air, water and the wind, 
 trees and flowers conversed with him, as did animals. 
 Warrior and bard at once, he would count with 
 pride the heads of the game he had killed, and then, 
 as poet, would write a sonnet to all living things. 
 
 [161]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 OTHER DRAWING-ROOMS AND ITALIAN LIBERTY 
 
 HNE evening at the house of Doctor Ivan and 
 of Madame Reybaud, the only authoress 
 who could be in a certain degree compared to 
 George Sand, Toussenel spoke rather cruelly of 
 Michelet. 
 
 I had been taken to this very literary drawing- 
 room by Arles-Dufour, Doctor Ivan having con- 
 tinued to be a Saint-Simonian, like my old friend. 
 I met the Pere Enfantin there again with the hand- 
 some woman who accompanied him everywhere; 
 Charles Didier, the author of Rome Souterraine, 
 was also present, already unhappy at his wife's 
 intimacy with Monsieur Rey. Being an austere 
 Protestant, he did not wish to challenge his rival 
 to a duel, but when he was convinced that his wife 
 was unfaithful to him, he blew out his own brains. 
 Father Hue, who was also one of the guests that 
 evening, interested us greatly with his vivid 
 descriptions of the Chinese. He made us see with 
 our own eyes, as it were, what he had really seen 
 with his. His stories about the intelligence of the 
 
 [162]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 Chinese gave me the first idea of writing my book 
 Mandarin. 
 
 Toussencl, led to answer a question asked by 
 Doctor Ivan, apropos of Michelet's Oiseaux, 
 which answer the master of the house thought 
 inexact, replied: 
 
 " How can you expect that a man who takes his 
 observations only in a room or library can know 
 anything about birds? The best things in Miche- 
 let's two books on birds and insects are what he 
 has borrowed from me. I only reproach him with 
 one thing : not to have copied me entirely, while he 
 was at it. If I were to read you certain of Miche- 
 let's pages and certain of mine, you would see 
 that the way in which he has taken the mark off my 
 linen is either cynical or artless, at your choice. 
 No, I cannot admit that this city-bred man, blinded 
 by gas-lamps, should pretend to paint the star-lit 
 heavens shining over vast plains, nor that this 
 frequenter of the Luxembourg gardens should talk 
 to us about limitless horizons. I assure you, all 
 that he does know well are the sparrows, badly 
 trained by small boys of the Place Saint-Sulpice, 
 and the mosquitoes of the Seine. 
 
 As he was leaving, Toussenel asked me if I were 
 going the next day to the Rue de Beaune. It was 
 the day on which our old Beuque's friends ahvays 
 went to see her. 
 
 [163]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Yes," I said, " and I will meet you there, but 
 don't go off hunting." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! For once I will play the role 
 of a lark and let myself be taken by " 
 
 " The mirror of my eyes, will you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, as you say." 
 
 When I arrived at the Rue de Beaune, Tous- 
 senel was very angry, although they were not talk- 
 ing of the 2d of December. He was having a dis- 
 cussion with Courbet. Loving, as I myself did, 
 everything that was Grecian, he worshipped 
 Beauty in Art, and Courbet was making stupid fun 
 of the " Beautyites," as he called them, " perched 
 between heaven and earth, and who had lost view 
 of real life." 
 
 " That is the stupid remark my friend Courbet 
 has given birth to," said Toussenel, repeating 
 the phrase to me. 
 
 " I meant to say," added Courbet, addressing 
 himself to me, " that the Greeks bore me, because 
 they always wish to give divine attributes to man. 
 Now, man is man ; and he must be left as such." 
 
 " You, whom I find worthy of the name of artist, 
 not when you choose your models from what is the 
 most coarse in some village, or when you make 
 ugliness realistic," said Toussenel, " and not when 
 you copy it as ugly as it is, and furnish pages of 
 
 [164]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 bad socialism to your friend and brother Proudhon 
 by your fat peasant women, but when you give a 
 soul to your animals. You know them, as Michelet 
 does not. You have lived among them. How is it 
 that you cannot understand that when man paints 
 man he should spiritualize him by beauty? You 
 give to animals something superior to that which 
 you see in them. Your roes, your squirrels, your 
 stags, even your landscapes have souls, because you 
 have not determined to paint them ugly. At the 
 rate you, the master of realism, are going, you will 
 soon only seek as your human models, those who 
 have some physical defect. Ugliness will not sat- 
 isfy you. I, you see, like my young Athenian 
 friend, here present, have but one creed in Art : the 
 search for eternal Beauty." 
 
 " Beauty," replied Courbet, " is an accident in 
 life, and is only relative in the universe. Both 
 Chinese and Japanese art is art, and yet they do 
 not express either your ideas of soul or of beauty. 
 I give my animals soul? What are you talking 
 about? I put desire in their bellies and in their 
 eyes, and hunger in their jaws. I make them live. 
 That's all ! " 
 
 Eugene Nus, Victor Hennequin and Leconte de 
 Lisle came in, one after the other, and listened to 
 Toussenel. 
 
 [ 165]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Of what use is your mad love of beauty in 
 such an ugly, horribly ugly world? " continued 
 Courbet. " You, Hennequin and Nus, will say it 
 is a foretaste of heaven. The soul, a future life; 
 that's all humbug ! That which dies, dies. Death 
 is a strangling sensation that makes us draw an 
 ugly grimace. That is all I know." 
 
 " You brute ! " cried out Toussenel, who treated 
 Courbet as one would treat a wild beast ; " I will tell 
 you what I think of death. I have described it 
 many times, but you never read. Death is the giver 
 of freedom, to whose breast we should fly with the 
 joy of a captive released from his prison. You 
 may believe me, or not, as you choose. But I felt 
 death once, and was only recalled to life by a 
 miracle. I caught a glimpse of the luminous circles 
 through which the soul passes that has lived an 
 irreproachable life on earth. After death I am 
 certain comes a most delicious state of immaterial 
 beatitude, a rapturous sensation of happiness, 
 an expanding of the soul floating in the ether, and 
 freed at last from its fleshy envelope, which was 
 changeable and corrupt." 
 
 " What a jargon of bombastic words," replied 
 Courbet, " which will not serve you much when you 
 talk to me of your Greece, of your flesh and blood 
 Olympian gods, of your celebrated old men of 
 
 [166]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 Rome and Athens who promenade their ponderous 
 shades through your Elysian Fields." 
 
 " It is you who are talking jargon. You con- 
 found mythological figurations with models of 
 eternal art and of religious belief. Besides which, 
 you cannot understand, I see, anything about the 
 soul, because you deny its existence, and that 
 proves that you are without one." 
 
 Courbet could not live without Toussenel. They 
 always took their meals together at a cafe in the 
 Rue de Bac, when they were in Paris. 
 
 Toussenel proclaimed everywhere that he had 
 a Greek and a Gaul. I used to call him " my ad- 
 mirer." He wrote me delightful letters, sometimes 
 a little cold, because people told him maliciously 
 that I laughed at his rather mature adoration. I 
 select the first that comes to my hand from many 
 among his letters, which begins thus : 
 
 " I cannot write to you without telling you how 
 much I love you, and I am unable to say I love you, 
 without exposing myself afresh to some cruel in- 
 discretion on your part. My affection for you is, 
 however, so pure and disinterested that it should 
 not be mocked. Those who love for love's sake, 
 and ask nothing from the object of their affection, 
 should at least be protected from the disfavour 
 
 r 167 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 which very justly falls on those who are selfish 
 and ambitious. But a truce to reproaches. It 
 is not your fault that you hold such a large place 
 in my life, and I such a small one in yours. I am 
 not writing to seek pity, but to tell you that when- 
 ever any happiness comes to you, you may know 
 that a wish of mine has been fulfilled. 
 
 " Yours in heart, mind and soul, 
 
 " Toussenel." 
 
 I had not been to a fancy-dress ball since the one 
 given by Alexandre Weill. Madame O'Connell, 
 the artist, had sent out invitations for one to which 
 I was invited. 
 
 Adam-Salomon, whom I saw frequently after 
 he had taken m} r photograph for Madame 
 d'Agoult's album, and to whom I was beginning 
 to sit for a bust, was to accompany me to it. Ma- 
 dame Adam-Salomon and myself had become very 
 intimate friends. 
 
 Adam-Salomon and his wife saw Monsieur de 
 Lamartine every day, whom they warmly admired 
 and upheld. The great poet, much calumniated 
 and abandoned, ruined his material position more 
 and more, because he did not take the possibilities 
 of life into sufficient consideration. I was aston- 
 ished at hearing him one day at my friend's house 
 
 [168]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 counting up the profits of the Cours familier de 
 Litterature, the subscriptions to which, after 
 having been very numerous, were then beginning 
 to decline. This publication should have made 
 him rich; it would have brought in enormous sum 
 if 
 
 Those ifs of the great poet were childish. 
 What a noble and beautiful face he had, and how 
 it would light up when he spoke, alas ! very rarely, 
 of letters, art or politics, but if he reverted to his 
 " business affairs," his face would become sombre 
 and contracted, and he would then talk of nothing 
 but figures, and such absurd figures ! 
 
 I really suffered when I met Monsieur de Lamar- 
 tine at Adam-Salomon's, and I confess that I 
 avoided him, wishing to keep his image intact in 
 my mind, as I remembered it from his books, his 
 great poetical dreams, and from some of his delight- 
 ful conversation to which I had listened. He had 
 asked Madame Adam-Salomon to allow him to 
 write the preface of a small book of hers, which 
 was very highly spoken of, L'Education, from 
 Hoei-Pan. 
 
 I met at my friends, the Adam-Salomons', one 
 of Monsieur de Lamartine's nieces, the Comtesse 
 de Pierreclos, whom I often saw afterward at 
 Madame d'Agoult's, and who was certainly the 
 
 [169]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 most extraordinary woman of our circle. She was 
 very tall and masculine in appearance, but per- 
 fectly lady-like in manner. She spent part of the 
 year in the country, and she was the living type of 
 an eighteenth century wit. Whenever she left 
 Paris, we simply devoured the letters she sent to 
 us, which were the wittiest and often the most 
 audacious one could read. There was no word too 
 daring for her use, but when written by the Com- 
 tesse de Pierreclos, the word wore a certain air of 
 having been written by authors of a former age, 
 and shocked no one. She was an exquisite talker, 
 and never discoursed, and she told a story in a 
 manner that made her hearers think that not only 
 had they taken part in it, but that they were almost 
 telling it themselves. 
 
 To give you an example of her way of relating, 
 I choose one story from a thousand others. 
 
 " Would you believe that I had inspired Mon- 
 sieur de Rambuteau with a passion for me? " 
 
 " But Monsieur de Rambuteau died quite old, 
 some years ago." 
 
 " Well, it was just about that time that he enter- 
 tained quite a mad love for me." 
 
 "Tell us about it." 
 
 " Oh ! his avowal of love ! How do men generally 
 tell their love? " 
 
 [ 170]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIMvRTY 
 
 " In sweet and loving words." 
 
 " And in what position ? " 
 
 " On their knees." 
 
 " Exactly so. Well, Monsieur de Rambuteau, 
 with much trouble, got down on his knees to tell me 
 of Ins love; he used the most charming language, 
 such as : 
 
 " ' Fair lady, my heart is torn asunder, and can 
 only be sewed together by your hands.' Isn't that 
 pretty ? " 
 
 " Oh ! charming ! " 
 
 " My admirer was leaning with clasped hands 
 against my knees. He talked and talked and be- 
 came more and more excited. Guess what my 
 answer was? " 
 
 " I too love you? " 
 
 « No ! " 
 
 " My flame reciprocates your own ? " 
 
 " That would have been too weak." 
 
 "Mercy! What then? " 
 
 " I am yours." 
 
 " I threw myself back in my chair, thus taking 
 away from him the support of my knees. Monsieur 
 de Rambuteau fell forward, and groaned; I rang 
 for my maid to pick him up, which was not an easy 
 matter." 
 
 " That was one of the most dangerous adven- 
 12 [ 171 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tures of my life," added Madame de Pierreclos, 
 gravely. 
 
 You can imagine the success her story had. 
 
 Madame de Pierreclos's younger sister, Mile. 
 Valentine de Cessiat, another of Monsieur de La- 
 martine's nieces, who lived with him and became 
 his secretary, was most indignant at Madame de 
 Pierreclos's free manner of speaking. 
 
 "I say much, but do little," was the answer this 
 haughty lady gave to a rather severe speech her 
 sister once made to her. 
 
 Madame de Lamartine shut her ears to Madame 
 de Pierreclos's free conversation, or else did not 
 understand it. Monsieur de Lamartine said with 
 a smile: 
 
 " We have always had some one like her in our 
 family. In former days it was a less unusual event. 
 Coarse things alone shock me, but I rather like to 
 listen to what has a little Gaulish salt in it." But 
 it was seldom that Monsieur de Lamartine ever 
 listened. 
 
 Madame de Pierreclos once, when angry with 
 her sister, told me herself of this scene. She had 
 great confidence in me, and I was very fond of her, 
 and she amused me immensely. After her death, 
 we wished to publish her letters, but her daughter, 
 Madame de Parceval, objected. It may seem cu- 
 
 [172]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 rious, but the actual interest in Madame de Picrre- 
 clos's stories having come to an end with her 
 death, there remained but little in her letters that 
 would have interested the public. 
 
 But to return to the O'Connell ball. Adam- 
 Salomon had earned his reputation by a superb 
 medallion he had made of Charlotte Corday. He 
 selected for himself the costume of Marat, and 
 begged me to wear the one of Charlotte Corday. 
 Madame Adam-Salomon helped me to make the cap 
 and the kerchief, but Adam-Salomon, with his 
 fingers black with collodion took my cap, in spite 
 of our protestations, and twisting it into shape, 
 gave it its proper character. He made a photo- 
 graph of me as Charlotte Corday, which was most 
 successful. 
 
 Madame O'Connell's large studio was situated 
 in the Place Vintimille. The night of the ball, 
 Adam-Salomon and myself made our entrance arm 
 in arm. Marat carried a basketful of candies 
 and I held one full of small rolls, with a cold chicken 
 in the middle of them. The ball was a picnic, and 
 every one was to bring his or her contribution. 
 
 Charlotte soon disposed of her rolls, as did Marat 
 of his candies, and I carried my chicken to the sup- 
 per table. 
 
 Edmond Texier, as Charles I, proposed to make 
 a speech. [ 173 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Before my head is cut off," he said, " I wish, 
 O ! French nation, to prophesy your future ! The 
 Jacobites of coming times will give you your can- 
 dies, and the administrators of justice your daily 
 rolls." The end of his speech was spoken in Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 Then the fun began. Everybody spoke at once, 
 and questions were asked, the answers to which 
 seemed all the more absurd owing to the costumes 
 of the speakers. A niece of Monsieur de Calonne, 
 the beautiful Madame Feydeau, who later became 
 Madame Henry Fouquier, was superbly handsome 
 as a bacchante. Madame Tessier du Mottet 
 looked proud of her young daughter, of whom we 
 shall speak again in these pages, where we shall 
 find her as pretty as ever in the various transfor- 
 mations through which she has passed. First, as 
 Madame Armengand, a puritanically virtuous wife 
 and mother, then as the very romantic companion 
 of Monsieur Bai'haut. Madame and Mademoiselle 
 de la Fizeliere, both fair and very pretty, were sur- 
 rounded with admirers. All literary and artistic 
 Paris was there. 
 
 O'Connell looked superb in a Louis XIII cos- 
 tume. Tall and slight, with a turned-up blond 
 mustache, his hand on his dagger, he had but one 
 thought, to be admired by his wife, before whom 
 
 [ 1M ]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 he kept strutting, despite the harmless jokes show- 
 ered upon him. She was costumed as a lady of 
 the Rubens period, and, being rather stout and 
 with a rubicund complexion, looked the part well, 
 and enjoyed herself mightily. She was sincerely 
 beloved by her very numerous friends. 
 
 Madame O'Connell was about forty, but looked 
 younger. She was German by birth, and had lived 
 much in Brussels, where, after a long and patient 
 study of the Dutch masters, she had learned to 
 paint well. It was in Brussels that she had met the 
 hot-headed O'Connell, a Belgian nobleman of Irish 
 extraction, and had inspired him with a love that 
 nothing could change. O'Connell's fortune was 
 small, but still large enough to enable his ambitious 
 wife to wait patiently for fame. 
 
 O'Connell, who, in the fencing hall was a lion, 
 became a lamb in the presence of his wife. This 
 great creature's worship for his wife, whom he 
 called " the presiding genius of his household," 
 was, in truth, most touching to see. O'Connell was 
 witness to every duel fought in Paris at that time. 
 
 Madame O'Connell's merit as an artist was un- 
 contested. " A palette half begun by Rubens has 
 fallen into her hands," was Rousseau's flattering 
 criticism of her, which I heard him give one 
 day. Her portraits of Doctor Cabarrus and of 
 
 [ 175 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 O'Connell in his Louis XIII costume, were reck- 
 oned by the great artists of that time as two excel- 
 lent works. She was equally clever with pastels. 
 
 The one she made of me was, according to her- 
 self, the least good of all. 
 
 We heard one day that some low fellow who de- 
 voted his time to mathematics and spirit-rapping 
 had dragged Madame O'Connell from her painting 
 and had converted her to algebra and table-turn- 
 ing. His name was Landure, and his manners those 
 of a tailor apprentice. He took up his abode with 
 her, and, one by one, her pupils left her or she left 
 them. O'Connell, in despair, and not having suc- 
 ceeded in fighting a duel with the table-mover, 
 came to say good-bye to us all, and returned to Bel- 
 gium. 
 
 Soon after the Commune, an artist who had 
 known Madame O'Connell discovered by the 
 merest chance where she was living. His house 
 portress spoke to him of a poor lady who dwelt in 
 the same house and who had not been seen for five 
 days. She was afraid to go into her room for fear 
 of finding her dead. The artist consented to go 
 up-stairs with the portress and see the " poor lady," 
 whose door was not even fastened. There, in a 
 wretched apartment on the fifth story, was Ma- 
 dame O'Connell, scarcely a vestige of her former 
 
 [176]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 self left, writing busily. All over the room were 
 strewn pages covered with a large handwriting. 
 The window was open. On the entrance of the 
 portress and the artist, she looked up with insanity 
 in her eyes, rose, and tried to collect the scattered 
 sheets, and fainted away. 
 
 She was taken to Sainte-Anne, and from there to 
 Villa Evrard. She suffered more from a disordered 
 mind than from real madness, and fancied herself 
 either dying or as coming to life again in some 
 great ancient city that had been destroyed and then 
 rebuilt. 
 
 My bust did not make much progress. Adam- 
 Salomon moulded block after block of clay. One 
 afternoon when I was sitting, two very beautiful 
 young girls came into the studio, one fair and the 
 other dark. They were the Misses Lafitte, one of 
 whom became the Marquise de Gallifet, the other 
 Madame d'Erlanger. They had come to be photo- 
 graphed. I asked Adam-Salomon to allow me to 
 remain, as I wished to see more of them. He intro- 
 duced me " as the lady who helped him in his pho- 
 tography," and I did this so effectually that he pro- 
 posed my becoming his aid in posing. He, how- 
 ever, gave up that year all idea of making my bust, 
 but later on, when he lived in the Rue de la Fai- 
 
 [177]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 sanderie, he induced me to let him make a plaster 
 cast of my face. This was dreadfully painful. 
 I thought I should suffocate. The weight of the 
 plaster nearly broke my neck. My eyebrows and 
 eyelashes were almost torn off. For months after 
 I could not forget the pain I felt during the few 
 seconds while Adam-Salomon made the holes for 
 my nostrils and opened my lips, and during which 
 I could scarcely breathe. 
 
 I can quite understand why it is customary to 
 wait until people are dead before casting their 
 faces in plaster. 
 
 Adam-Salomon made me swear not to say, until 
 after his death, that he had made my bust from the 
 cast, and I gave him my promise. 
 
 A propaganda in favour of Italian unity was 
 made in all circles of society. " Italy one and un- 
 divided " had become a dogma, both for those 
 who had taken the oath and those who had refused 
 to do so, and also for the " Palais Royal set," where 
 Prince Napoleon, who had married Victor Emman- 
 uel's daughter, reigned. Any manifestation was 
 popular that was hostile to Austria and favourable 
 to our Latin sister. 
 
 Ristori, the Countess Castiglione, and Princess 
 Belgiojoso, who had known Prince Louis Napo- 
 
 [178]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 Icon in exile, and still kept a certain influence over 
 him, unceasingly instilled into the minds of their 
 friends and admirers the efficacy of the interven- 
 tion of France for the purpose of freeing Milan 
 and Venice. At each of her appearances in Paris 
 Ristori increased the number of partisans for Ital- 
 ian unity by her talent and by her ardent lan- 
 guage. The beautiful Countess Castiglione exer- 
 cised her charms over the Sovereign. The Princess 
 Belgiojoso had bewitched Buloz, and was publish- 
 ing persuasive articles in the Revue des Deux 
 Mondes. 
 
 Christine de Belgiojoso, so celebrated for her 
 beauty, for her wit and for the passions she had 
 inspired, among others, in Alfred de Musset, had 
 herself but one passion, her country, as Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult, who knew and loved her, has told 
 me. 
 
 Her friend Dall' Ongaro always spoke of her 
 to me with the greatest warmth. She was, how- 
 ever, advancing in years, and people began to make 
 jokes about her. Caricatures were made of her 
 with this legend : " I am consumed with more flame 
 for Italy than I light in others." As Edmond 
 Texier said of her, she was now a lamp without oil, 
 and he often quoted the street arab's appreciation 
 of her : " Oh ! look at that lady who has forgotten 
 
 [ 179 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 to have herself buried ! " The lines de Musset 
 wrote on her were repeated: 
 
 " Elle est morte et n'a point vecu; 
 Elle faisait semblant de vivre, 
 De ses mains est tombe le livre 
 Dans lequel elle n'a rien lu." 
 
 Man takes cruel revenge on a woman who has 
 felt more passion for an idea than for himself. It 
 deprives him of his due. Dall' Ongaro took me to 
 see the Princess Belgiojoso, whom I have always 
 held in great admiration. Until the day of her 
 death she loved Italy faithfully and ardently. She 
 lived for Italy alone, and devoted her beauty, her 
 intelligence and her fortune to her cause. Chris- 
 tine Trivulzio had the supreme happiness of seeing 
 her country set free. She did not die until her work 
 was accomplished. Princess Belgiojoso was one of 
 the finest feminine figures in European history of 
 the last century. From 1848 to I860 she proved 
 herself an incomparable heroine. 
 
 French hearts were touched by all the beautiful, 
 imploring eyes, the burning words, the songs of 
 hope and prayer, and were moved to pity for a 
 national woe so poetically expressed. Generous 
 France felt compassionately towards the kingdom 
 
 [180]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 of Italy, " so mutilated and brutally occupied by 
 cruel enemies." In all fashionable gatherings, in 
 all our theatres, in comedy, tragedy, in music, 
 either light or dramatic, the art, the literature or 
 the patriotism of Italy was extolled. At Venice 
 and Milan, from the highest lady in the land to 
 the poorest beggar woman, from the most noble 
 lord to the meanest facchino, all were ready to die 
 rather than to have anything to do with il stra- 
 niero. During the whole period of the Austrian 
 occupation, not one single Italian, in spite of his 
 intense love for music, was ever once seen to listen 
 to any air played by the " foreign " military bands. 
 The mouthpiece of Monsieur de Cavour, near 
 Napoleon III, and through Prosper Merimee, his 
 intimate friend, near the Empress, was Alexandre 
 Bixio. He made little noise, but did good and serv- 
 iceable work. He was a Genoese, therefore clever. 
 His influence over our party of non-oath-takers 
 became daily of greater importance. In June, 
 1848, he had helped to maintain order. He and 
 Edmond Adam, both unarmed, had attempted the 
 assault of the Saint-Antoine barricade. Bixio fell 
 with a bullet wound in his breast, and was left for 
 dead. He was deeply mourned, a funeral service 
 for the repose of his soul was ordered, his family 
 had put on mourning for him, when, a week later, 
 
 [ 181 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 he woke out of a delirious fever, in the house of a 
 woman who had picked him up in the street. He 
 wrote to Hetzel, his most intimate friend, and 
 begged him to break the news of his resurrection, 
 as gently as possible, to his people. 
 
 The Italian exiles, together with the Hungarians 
 belonging to the party for independence, achieved 
 in our circle the work that de Nigra was accom- 
 plishing in smart society, and many of the non- 
 oath-takers were ready to march as volunteers to 
 aid Italy against Austria. The Court of Turin 
 took advantage of every influence, even of that of 
 the medium, Daniel Douglas Hume, to serve the 
 Italian cause. At all the tables that rapped out 
 answers at the Empress's receptions but one mes- 
 sage was given : " Declare war to Austria." The 
 Empress was so influenced by this Hume, and his 
 cabalistic talent, that she allowed him to treat her 
 with compromising familiarity. Hume certainly 
 did then make some startling prophecies. Mon- 
 sieur de Girardin told me of one, which I at once 
 classed in my notes. Feeling himself out of favour, 
 he predicted in a brutal way to the Empress that 
 her son would never come to the throne, and that 
 the Napoleonic dynasty would be continued by 
 Prince Napoleon and by his descendants. 
 
 Bixio spent much of his time going and coming 
 
 [ 182 ]
 
 DRAWING-ROOMS AND LIBERTY 
 
 from Paris to Turin. On one occasion Madame 
 d'Agoult travelled with him, on her way to super- 
 intend the bringing out of one of her plays in Italy. 
 She was received by Victor Emmanuel, and met 
 Cavour, and her account of the visit greatly in- 
 creased our passionate interest for Italy undivided. 
 
 The address to Monsieur de Hiibncr was bearing 
 fruit. Great bitterness prevailed in the relations 
 between Italy and Austria. The exterior situation 
 of France was more strained than ever. Internally, 
 the supporters of the Law for Public Safety, in 
 spite of their triumph since the death of Orsini, 
 were daily losing ground. Napoleon's own min- 
 isters felt uneasy about what he might mean to do, 
 and publicly reproached him with losing sight of 
 the political point in view, by reason of his en- 
 deavours to break some of the links in the chain 
 which they had riveted. 
 
 The idea of a popular war, sanctioned by the 
 Opposition, and which " the Five " declared would 
 raise the prestige of France, became more and more 
 attractive to Napoleon III. Our party gave its 
 unreserved sympathy to Italy. Monsieur Thiers 
 alone held out against the politics of nationalities, 
 which he considered calamitous. 
 
 " Piedmont will fall to the English and we shall 
 see the ingratitude of the United States renewed." 
 
 [183]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Discussion was busy with Monsieur Thiers's pre- 
 dictions, and the smiling conclusion was : " He is 
 failing ! " 
 
 Monsieur Thiers publicly advised Napoleon III 
 to defer the Italian question, and to unite with 
 Austria. His never varying opinion was: 
 
 " The unity of Italy will engender the unity of 
 Germany, to the advantage of Prussia, and will 
 some day provoke a coalition against France." 
 
 The smile grew into a laugh. NefFtzer alone 
 agreed with this opinion, and said one day at Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult's: 
 
 " You who laugh now will one day remember in 
 tears that Monsieur Thiers was right." 
 
 I was an ardent Italophile, and occupied myself 
 gathering notes to write a study on Garibaldi, the 
 hero of republican Rome. My pamphlet appeared 
 at the right time and was successful. 
 
 [184]
 
 r' M 
 
 iiLi 
 
 tSi 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 I MAKE MORE FRIENDS AND ENEMIES 
 
 fflADAME UGALDE, whom I frequently met, 
 [443 had .i 1,s| Deen ( '" < ^' ; W , ' a * the Theatre Ly- 
 rique. I had often applauded her in her role of 
 Cherubin. One evening as I was complimenting 
 her in the greenroom, Madame Carvalho joined 
 in the conversation, and I told her also how much 
 I admired her in Les Noces de Figaro. From that 
 time we became great friends, and many of my 
 protegees owe the success of their career to her. 
 In after-years I was the means of being of great 
 use to Monsieur Carvalho, after his failure, and 
 was glad to thus give proof to Madame Carvalho 
 of my long-standing affection, and of my grati- 
 tude for the good she had helped me to do. 
 
 She and Madame Ugalde sent me together a box 
 for the second representation of Gounod's Faust. 
 I invited Monsieur and Madame Vilbort to accom- 
 pany me. Charles Edmond, who was present 
 when I went to my cousin's to invite them, asked 
 me if I could give him a seat also. He had seen 
 the opera the night before and was enthusiastic 
 about it, in spite of its little success. 
 
 [185]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Charles Edmond told me a few days afterward, 
 that Gounod, much discouraged at the manner in 
 which his Faust had been received, had sold the 
 score to Choudens for a song — only ten thousand 
 francs. It is well known that Choudens has made 
 nearly three millions by it. 
 
 Madame Vilbort liked nothing but German 
 music, and on hearing Faust, with which I was as 
 equally delighted as Charles Edmond, said to us : 
 
 " French music has had its day, and Italian 
 music only retains its place because it has become 
 in these days the thrilling expression of a national 
 
 cause." 
 
 Charles Edmond agreed with me that Faust was 
 an exquisite and beautiful work, and that it would 
 some day reach its hundredth representation. To 
 tell the truth, although we did not say it, we 
 thought then that this criticism was exaggerated. 
 But time has proved it was not, for Madame Car- 
 valho alone has sung the role of Marguerite at 
 the opera more than four hundred times. 
 
 About a fortnight later Alexandre Weill came 
 to see me, bearing a small bunch of violets. He 
 came to offer me, from Meyerbeer, the traditional 
 bouquet and the half of a box at the Opera 
 Comique — Madame Weill was to occupy the other 
 half — for the first representation of Le Pardon de 
 
 [186]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 Ploermel. The libretto was written by my friend 
 Jules Barbier, who had also written that of Faust. 
 
 Le Pardon de Ploermel struck me as having 
 been written with studied simplicity, which lent 
 great purity to the composition. Meyerbeer's 
 great vivifying flame can be distinguished in it, 
 but reduced to the proper limit required for an 
 opcra-comique. The air: Oh! Puissante Magie, 
 written for the baritone role, La Valse de POmbre, 
 Enchasse, the final trio, were rapturously ap- 
 plauded by an enthusiastic house. 
 
 Alexandre Weill, who had seen how delighted I 
 was, told Meyerbeer about it, and, a few days after, 
 informed me that the Maestro was very much 
 pleased by my praise, and had said he had thought 
 of my golden sickle when he composed his Reaper's 
 Song. 
 
 " Tell Velleda," Meyerbeer added, " that I hope 
 she will soon hear my Africaine. After Sophie 
 Cruvelli's retirement from the stage, Meyerbeer re- 
 fused to allow L'Africaine to be produced, and, at 
 that time, after several rehearsals had taken place, 
 he found that the Selika they had proposed to him 
 for the role was not qualified for it. 
 
 The news was shortly spread that Austria had 
 invaded the Piedmontese territory. Great excite- 
 ment traversed the country from north to south. 
 13 [ 187 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 France did not think of herself, but of the danger 
 to her Latin sister, her former ally in the Crimea. 
 The French army had seen the Piedmontese sol- 
 diers at work. She knew how brave they were. 
 But what could Victor Emmanuel's forces achieve 
 against the armies of Austria? Latin France felt 
 bitter anguish for Italy and seemed to hear thou- 
 sands of pitiful voices imploring help. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult took me to the opening of 
 the Salon. She was immensely interested in ex- 
 hibitions of painting, and had often contributed 
 articles on art to several of the large magazines. 
 All literary and artistic Paris was at the Salon; 
 de Ronchaud accompanied us, and he pointed out 
 and named to me many of the artistic celebrities 
 who went to speak with Daniel Stern. Many of 
 them asked de Ronchaud who I was and begged to 
 be introduced to me. 
 
 I wore a very simple gown of black taffetas silk, 
 without any trimming, and made with pagoda 
 sleeves of white lace, and a fichu of black 
 Chantilly. A Leghorn straw hat, with black-velvet 
 strings, ornamented with a bunch of blue corn- 
 flowers, completed my modest toilet, which I re- 
 member was not unbecoming to me, being a blonde. 
 
 Daniel Stern, with her snow-white hair, was still 
 
 [188]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 a beautiful woman. We were both much remarked, 
 and Maxime du Camp left Madame Delessert's 
 side, for a moment, to come and ask Madame 
 d'Agoult who I was. 
 
 An admiring crowd surrounded Gerome's pic- 
 ture the Death of Caesar, about which, how- 
 ever, opinions differed, some persons finding it de- 
 void of dramatic passion and harsh in colouring. 
 A smaller work, A Combat of Gladiators, ob- 
 tained unreserved praise. It was treated with such 
 archaeological skill that in spite of its faint colour- 
 ing it was full of life. 
 
 All at once, Madame d'Agoult drew me to one 
 corner of the room to look at a picture, and I can 
 even now recall it in its smallest details, and how the 
 extraordinary impression it created in my friend 
 surprised me, for Madame d'Agoult was not fond 
 of peasants, nor of country life, and she surely 
 was much fascinated to thus admire a woman lead- 
 ing a cow to pasture. 
 
 " How simple, how true to life ! how superbly 
 painted ! Heavens ! how beautiful it is ! " she said 
 to de Ronchaud and myself. " It is not like Cour- 
 bet's realism, it is Nature itself ! Look at the wom- 
 an's attitude ! " It was signed, " Millet," a name 
 unknown to Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 " For some years past he has been known to 
 
 [189]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 artists and appreciative amateurs," said de Ron- 
 chaud. 
 
 " It is the finest thing in the whole Salon," added 
 Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 My dear friend was fond of walking, and it was 
 owing to this exercise that she had kept her beauti- 
 ful figure. Monsieur de Ronchaud having left us, 
 she asked me to walk up the Champs Elysees with 
 her. People were returning from their drive in 
 the Bois. The fashionable imperial world, the 
 " cocodes " and " cocodettes," as they were called, 
 indifferent as they alwa}^ were about the affairs 
 of the country, had been driving, as was their cus- 
 tom, around the Lake. A great number of for- 
 eigners of both sexes were mingled in that set of 
 society that was devoted to fast life. They had 
 come from — no one knew where — from London, 
 New York, and the South American Republics, and 
 provided they had money, were received with 
 greater favour than many well-known Frenchmen 
 of smaller means. Serious-minded persons, like 
 ourselves, criticised these foreigners constantly, 
 and our attacks, I must admit, frequently sprang 
 from what we heard through vulgar gossip. Ma- 
 bille, Bullier, and the Cafe Anglais furnished 
 enough to keep our indignation alive. 
 
 " War is at hand," Madame d'Agoult said to 
 
 [190]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 me. " It may be declared to-morrow. God grant 
 that we may see France victorious and Italy set 
 free." 
 
 My friend and myself had now reached the Arc 
 de l'Etoile, and we stood watching the fashionable 
 fast crowd. 
 
 " Look, Madame, how beautifully the arc is 
 illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. Is not 
 this apotheosis a good omen ? " 
 
 " How superstitious you are," she said, smiling. 
 
 " Not superstitious, but prophetic," I replied. 
 
 " I hope so, dear child." 
 
 As I was taking leave of her at the Rue de Pres- 
 bourg, she said to me: 
 
 " Ronchaud has arranged his pagan dinner to 
 take place at my house. You Greeks will be three 
 in number: Louis Menard, yourself, and Ron- 
 chaud. It is settled for the day after to-morrow. 
 I shall be the only ' barbarian ' present. I wanted 
 to ask Chenavard, who believes in the indefinite 
 progress of humanity, and who would have pro- 
 tected me against you three, who assume that all 
 artistic and literary progress, etc., came to an end 
 in the age of Pericles. But Chenavard is unfor- 
 tunately engaged, so I have asked Paul de Saint- 
 Victor, who is rather more of a Latin than a Greek. 
 That will be better than nothing." 
 
 [191]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 I returned home alone on foot, forgetting my 
 fatigue in the enjoyment of the lovely spring day. 
 If the smart people, who were returning from the 
 Bois, cared, according to Madame d'Agoult, but 
 little about the great coming events, on the other 
 hand, the modest people on foot, among whom I 
 was walking, talked of nothing but the coming 
 war. Whatever opinion they held on the facts that 
 had preceded its approach, war seemed inevitable 
 to them all. Anything that could serve as a pre- 
 text for public demonstrations or excitement, al- 
 though frequently contradictory, was instantly 
 seized on. A short two-act play by Auguste Vac- 
 querie, neither better nor worse than many others, 
 Souvent Homme Varie, had an enormous success 
 at the Theatre Francais. A number of young men 
 seized the play as a pretext for making a mani- 
 festation in favour of Victor Hugo, and went wild 
 over certain lines, such as these: 
 
 L' Amour . 
 Ce sont les deux moities d'un cceur qui se retrouvent. 
 
 Emotion and excitement were the permanent 
 feelings in all hearts. . . . 
 
 War was declared by France to Austria. 
 Loud cheers saluted the departing army. Before 
 
 (" 192]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 the first of May came the news of successive vic- 
 tories: Palestro, Magenta, Solferino, filled us with 
 pride. France was victorious, and the army, 
 our army, added fresh laurels to our former 
 glory. 
 
 I went to Madame d'Agoult's on the appointed 
 day to the " pagan " dinner. I did not know either 
 Louis Menard or Paul de Saint-Victor, but de 
 Ronchaud had so often talked to Menard about me 
 that by the end of an hour we were old friends, as 
 we said ; " old accomplices," added Madame 
 d'Agoult. 
 
 Paul de Saint- Victor, who was generally silent 
 with strangers — he detested people whom he did 
 not know, he said — was full of animation during 
 this small dinner. He was a whimsical creature, 
 and would frequently treat as perfect strangers 
 those who considered themselves his friends. If, 
 on the other hand, persons were distant to him, he 
 would fall on their necks. De Ronchaud, who was 
 very fond of him and paid no attention to his 
 caprices, called him " the Klepht," or " the new 
 Sophocles." Louis Menard, who admired him as 
 a son of the land of light, accused him sometimes 
 of putting on " Normalian airs." But on this 
 particular evening he was his true self, and as such 
 he showed himself as a writer, a fastidious scholar, 
 
 [193]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 an artist, conversing as would an Athenian, with- 
 out a shadow of pedantry, in spite of his incom- 
 parable learning. 
 
 Louis Menard was half a dozen men in one, and 
 each one distinct from the other. First and fore- 
 most, he was a lyric poet, a poet of divine sublim- 
 ity, an explorer of those inaccessible heights which 
 pierce the clouds and reach the astral empyrean 
 sphere. He was also a chemist, an inventor, a 
 politician, a chronic rebel, ever ready to take part 
 in a riot, a lover of antique anarchy, which he be- 
 lieved had produced Art in the past. He was ex- 
 iled after June, 1848, and only returned to France 
 from England when the Empire was declared. He 
 was besides a painter, a pupil of Rousseau and 
 Troyon, and his paintings were much remarked at 
 all the exhibitions. Finally, to enumerate several 
 of his talents, Menard was a philosopher, a critic, 
 an historian, and — a pagan. He told us that even- 
 ing that he was working hard for his degree as 
 Master of Arts, and that he then intended to study 
 for the bar. 
 
 When we were at the " Salon," de Ronchaud had 
 shown Madame d'Agoult and myself Menard's 
 " Chataigniers," " Cerfs et Biches," all much ad- 
 mired, and we complimented him on his success. 
 Courbet's work looked coarse compared to Me- 
 
 [194]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 nard's, although he did not equal him as a painter, 
 but his work was more pleasing to the eye. 
 
 Being Hellenists, our conversation ran naturally 
 on the vulgarity of the present day. Each one 
 of us demonstrated our individual theory on Art, 
 and Saint-Victor as well as Menard, de Ronchaud, 
 and myself, drew our theories from our worship of 
 Greece, " rich in immortal works from which we 
 have inherited the definite forms of Beauty." 
 
 " Oh ! what infatuated people ! " cried Madame 
 d'Agoult. 
 
 Menard was a pagan from the teachings of tra- 
 dition and Orphic at the same time, because he be- 
 lieved in the priority of Orpheus. Ronchaud was 
 a free-thinker, Saint-Victor a Catholic, and I was 
 a pagan inspired by Nature, believing that in 
 nature was the divine. All four of us were con- 
 vinced that by classical education alone could we 
 possess elevated sentiments of justice and valour, 
 which are traditional and not individual ideas, and 
 which, when they have penetrated the heart of a 
 people for long years, will have done much to for- 
 tify it. Menard proved by examples that the deca- 
 dent epochs of a nation corresponded with its 
 mechanical progress, which engenders despotism. 
 
 " You are right, my dear Menard," said Saint- 
 Victor. " From the so-called progress which is ob- 
 
 [195]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tained by means of mechanism spring revolutions 
 and the politics of groups, which means the poli- 
 tics of those who deceive and mislead the people, 
 by 6ome nominal fictitious improvement. To me 
 liberty seems possible only through the predomi- 
 nance of superiority, not of equality, by progress 
 in science and the sacred arts, as the Greeks would 
 express it, and I add that liberty is only possible 
 through the aid of evangelical teaching. I wish 
 that some one would make an active campaign in 
 our Voltairian and sceptical country, alas ! whose 
 soul is being destroyed, whose classical ideas and 
 whose spirit of caste is daily losing ground, in 
 favour of our two religions, mine for the soul and 
 Menard's pagan worship for the mind." 
 
 " How far we are from all that, my dear Saint- 
 Victor," said Menard. " The worst enemies of our 
 dear France make mockery of our gods, as did the 
 Athenians in their latter days ; they are striving to 
 destroy our intellectual ideals and all that pro- 
 duces our artistic supremacy over the whole world." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult smiled and glanced at me. 
 
 " After a German Jew has dared to make 
 grotesque realities of my Greek gods," Menard 
 continued, " you will find, Saint-Victor, that they 
 will treat your humanised God, Jesus of Nazareth, 
 in some similar way, so as to find favour with the 
 
 [196]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 destroyers of all tradition. Sec, dear friends, how, 
 in this country, the purveyors of internationalism 
 strive daily to destroy some divinity. The only 
 divinity left, and respected is the Golden Calf." 
 
 " You must be pleased beyond expression, little 
 Juliette," said Madame d'Agoult to me. 
 
 " Instead of going to see that horrible Orphee- 
 aux-Enfers, I would have preferred to have visited 
 the Castalian fountain and drank of its Delphic 
 waters." 
 
 " Don't be spiteful." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear friend, you cannot think how I 
 suffer to bear in my memory the grotesque image 
 of my gods. I have only thought of them repre- 
 sented in marble, so still, so pure " 
 
 " You have seen the Orphee-aux-Enfers and I 
 feel for you. Nothing would induce me to see it. 
 The enemies of the Beautiful are clever and lay 
 their snares with devilish cunning. Among some 
 typical observations that I made the other day, I 
 discovered that at the very time, when in Athens, 
 they were endeavouring to deny the priority of 
 Orphic poems, and to modernise Orpheus at any 
 price, the shrill Jewish clarion was introduced into 
 the harmonious music of Greece. Since that time 
 we have witnessed the continual struggle between 
 the lyre that elevated the inspiration of the Muses 
 
 [197]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 of Amphion, and the trumpet of Israel that threw 
 down the walls of Jericho. I am certain that the 
 Orphic poems are anterior to Homer and Hesiod," 
 added Menard. " Some of them have been lost, 
 others have been modified, but the spirit of Orpheus 
 was born with Greece." 
 
 " Prove that, Monsieur Menard, and I will be- 
 come Orphaic," I cried. " If I am a Homerist, 
 it is because I find Homer superior to those who 
 come after him." 
 
 " We are both right," said Menard. "I am pre- 
 pared at this moment to demonstrate that the first 
 ideas of morality, which came to us from the poets, 
 are of a more elevated nature than that which came 
 from philosophy, and I am writing a book on the 
 subject, La Morale avant les Philosophes. The 
 great objection made to the priority of Orpheus 
 is, that if he had lived earlier he could not have 
 conceived the Orpine morality. I will prove the 
 contrary." 
 
 " It is logical," said Ronchaud warmly, " that 
 the destroyers of French morality should attack 
 Orpheus, for their formula is, ' The aim of life is 
 pleasure,' and Orpheus admitted solely among his 
 followers those who were willing to renounce en- 
 joyment." 
 
 " True ! my dear Ronchaud," replied Saint-Vic- 
 
 [198]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 tor, " your argument is striking. Instead of im- 
 itating the fauns and bacchantes, the disciples 
 of Orpheus, as soon as they became initiated, gave 
 up all good living, all sensual pleasures, and drank 
 no wine. In Offenbach's Orphec we are shown the 
 gods feasting, and Eurydice singing that fatal 
 Evohe, which may lead us to our ruin." 
 
 Strange to say, the woman who held the primal 
 place in Saint-Victor's life was a Jewess, Lea Felix, 
 Rachel's sister. This may in a manner explain 
 what was abnormal in his character. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult had listened to us with a most 
 indulgent and smiling expression, but Menard's 
 affirmation concerning Orpheus's priority vexed 
 her. 
 
 " Come, Monsieur Menard," she said, " you 
 know that Herodotus does not speak of Orpheus, 
 that Plato scarcely mentions him in his Banquet, 
 that Cicero denies his prior existence, and he is 
 quite right, for the Orphic hymns — and this puts 
 them in their proper class — speak of a single god, 
 a conception unknown to antiquity." 
 
 " Pardon me, pardon me ! " exclaimed Menard. 
 " All the secret doctrine of Eleusis is not known. 
 I deny that Clement of Alexandria and Eusebius 
 revealed a ucav Orpheus ; they resuscitated the an- 
 cient one in portions, and this resuscitated Orpheus 
 
 [199]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 says himself : ' All the beings and all the things that 
 Zeus made disappear from the earth he brought to 
 life again through the power of his divine heart 
 into bewildering light.' " 
 
 The discussion continued ardent on our side, 
 calm and logical on Madame d'Agoult's, who was 
 amused at the exuberance and vitality of our love 
 for the past, which she considered dead. 
 
 The effect of the success of our arms in Italy 
 was to bring about more harmonious relations be- 
 tween the non-oath-taking party of the Opposition 
 and the Empire. Much less was said about the 
 " Second of December," and a better feeling was en- 
 gendered. The exiles were becoming nervous, and 
 were writing to us that " we were betraying the 
 republican idea." France was once again becoming 
 a military country. The words fighting and glory 
 were on every one's lips. MacMahon, the Zouaves, 
 Victor Emmanuel, became the sole topics of con- 
 versation, and a host of glorious deeds were men- 
 tioned, shedding lustre on the national character. 
 
 I recollect that from a list of some twenty gen- 
 erals the name of one was often quoted. He had 
 already won his spurs in the Crimea, and at Mele- 
 gnano and at Solferino had given extraordinary 
 proofs of an indomitable courage and audacity. 
 
 [200]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 A day was to come when France should pronounce 
 this name with despair and shame — it was that of 
 Bazaine. 
 
 The peace of Villafranca converted the general 
 enthusiasm into a feeling of delusion. Italy had 
 not won her freedom " from the Alps to the Adri- 
 atic," according to the promise m^de and Napoleon 
 III brought hostilities to a speedy termination. 
 
 " You see " became the shibboleth of all those 
 who had not laid down their arms, and more than 
 once was heard " This man has no conception of 
 what is right." Parliamentary government, it was 
 urged, either would never have sanctioned a be- 
 ginning of hostilities at all or would never have 
 allowed so brutal a termination to a war. 
 
 " Now," said Monsieur Thiers, " France has 
 gained the enmity of Austria, and by her deception 
 has lost the friendship of Italy. We shall pres- 
 ently see England and Prussia reaping the fruit 
 of our spilt blood." 
 
 The time of genial smiling was now at an end. 
 The return of the troops from Italy for a brief 
 moment aroused general sympathy towards one 
 who, at any rate, as the jingoes declared, had led 
 the French arms in a field of honour. 
 
 That return I viewed from the house of my 
 friend and relative, Madame Vilbort, Boulevard 
 
 [201]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Poissoniere. The Army from Italy ! I can see 
 it defiling past me. With what feelings of emo- 
 tion did I applaud our bronzed and sunburned 
 troops, swashbucklers in tattered uniforms, carry- 
 ing rifles that had barely been discharged. We 
 applauded, " Vive l'Armee ! vive la France ! " We 
 showered flowers on officers and men, amid a scene 
 of unparalleled enthusiasm. The troops came from 
 the direction of the Bastille towards the Place Ven- 
 dome, where they were to march past the Emperor. 
 The standards taken from the enemy were carried 
 by those who had won them. The Austrian can- 
 non rolled along. The marshals filed past and were 
 greeted with shouts of deafening applause: Mar- 
 shal Regnault Saint-Jean d'Angely at the head of 
 the Imperial Guard ; then Baraguey d'Hilliers, 
 Niel, Canrobert, MacMahon, leading their respect- 
 ive divisions, the last two welcomed with accla- 
 mation. 
 
 From the beginning of the war my glorious 
 humanitarian principles were kept in check by my 
 passion for the heroic, and I shouted with all my 
 strength " Vive l'Armee ! " 
 
 Who is it that standing next to me is moved 
 with the same enthusiasm? Why, it is Edmond 
 About ! A feoffee of the Empire, the only young 
 man of talent who has placed his pen at the service 
 
 [ 202 ]
 
 EDMOND ABOUT. 
 
 From a paiutiug by Paul Baudry.
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 of the Imperial Government. It is About himself ! 
 Before the campaign of Italy I should certainly 
 have left any house where I might have met About. 
 Had he not denied the principles of personal 
 liberty and independence, the negation of which 
 robs from a modern author all respect for his char- 
 acter? Was he not the author of La Grece Con- 
 temporaine and Le Roi des Montagnes? Both 
 of these were abominable pamphlets against my 
 Greeks, against a people whom scarcely a quarter 
 of a century separated from four hundred years 
 of slavery, and whose morals, habits, and customs 
 could not in a single day cease from being those 
 of a revolutionary people, divided by partisanship 
 and oppressed by the most cruel foe a vanquished 
 people ever had. 
 
 Madame Vilbort, who was very intimate with 
 About, judging that our mutual admiration for 
 the returned Italian army would effectually pre- 
 vent our devouring one another, without giving us 
 the slightest warning, placed us side by side. 
 
 As soon as the conversation became at all gen- 
 eral, About and myself began to bristle with differ- 
 ences. Charles Edmond and the other friends of 
 Madame Vilbort, among whom was Louis Jour- 
 dan, the editor of Siecle, whose daily attacks 
 on Louis Veuillot were so brilliant, were highly 
 14 [ 203 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 entertained at this skilful fencing match of 
 repartee between About and myself, in which a 
 good deal of wit was exchanged. 
 
 " What is the opinion of the son-in-law of the 
 Zouaves' Corporal as to the peace of Villaf ranca ? " 
 I asked About. 
 
 " He is simply in despair ; but he blames the 
 ministers more than the Emperor. Just think, O 
 fair Republican, whose artlessness has led her to 
 put her faith in tyrants, that the Minister for War 
 has refused to supply the Head of the State with 
 either troops, ammunition, or provisions, and that 
 the Minister for Foreign Affairs has been tamper- 
 ing with despatches to curry favour with his sov- 
 ereign. Besides you all know why peace was con- 
 cluded. The Emperor stated the reason at a 
 reception of the Diplomatic Corps, when he com- 
 plained of the ingratitude of Europe, but said 
 " that he wished to prove to this very Europe that 
 he had no intention of setting her house in con- 
 fusion." 
 
 " Timid men make bad rulers," replied Charles 
 Edmond, who was on the point of adding some- 
 thing more, when Edmond Texier burst into the 
 room like a hurricane. 
 
 Texier had taken part in the Italian campaign 
 as war correspondent for the Siecle. This was 
 
 [204]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 the first time we had seen him since his return. He 
 had been decorated, and we were all unanimous 
 that his Cross was well earned, both by his admira- 
 ble literary work and by real service rendered to 
 the staff. 
 
 With extraordinary rapture he told us of the 
 endurance and of the courage of our soldiers, of 
 the splendid soldierlike conduct and native-born 
 energy of our officers, of the personal bravery of 
 the generals, but his strictures did not spare the 
 Emperor in spite of About's protestations. 
 
 " He has been vacillating, eclipsed, and even 
 nervous," said Texier. " I think," he added, 
 " that the secret of the termination of the cam- 
 paign is the lack of management in the camps of 
 Napoleon . . . the third. I think he is rather the 
 author of the Reveues politiques than the nephew 
 of the first Napoleon." 
 
 About made no reply to this attack. He pre- 
 tended to be in busy conversation about Proudhon, 
 whom he hated, and congratulated me on my reply 
 to his abuse of two clever women. 
 
 " He is a social criminal and a personal insulter," 
 About said to me ; " and if he would take up a 
 challenge, I would strike him on the spot. But a 
 man like Proudhon casts dirt and aspersions about 
 .and then refuses all satisfaction." 
 
 [205 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 I then chatted with Louis Jourdan, whom I knew 
 to be very intimate with Alphonse Karr, and told 
 him that my birth into literature took place at the 
 Siecle. He said he perfectly well recollected the 
 letter of a pretty provincial woman who carried 
 no crinoline, and that the letter was thought to be 
 the composition of the author of the Bourdonne- 
 ments. He gracefully alluded to his long wish 
 to make my acquaintance. Aries Dufour, a most 
 intimate Saint-Simonian brother, had often spoken 
 about me to him. 
 
 It was quite impossible to resist the charm of 
 acquaintance and friendship with Jourdan, since 
 he himself was desirous of knowing me. He had 
 a poetic soul, a tender and trusting heart, and 
 what is more remarkable still, was a writer of ex- 
 traordinary energy. His daily newspaper polem- 
 ics with Louis Veuillot, carried on in a spirit of 
 chivalrous fair play, gave him an unquestioned 
 mastery in the use of the weapons of literary war- 
 fare. Skilful beyond measure were the pen thrusts 
 of the two " Louis." The debates between Jour- 
 dan and Veuillot were followed by everybody, and 
 on both sides they reflected the greatest credit on 
 French literature. 
 
 My friendship with Louis Jourdan began from 
 that day, and he became one of my most in- 
 
 [206]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 timate friends. To know him was in truth to 
 love him. 
 
 Just as Echnond About was leaving for the Place 
 Vendome, Madame Vilbort invited us all to spend 
 a day at Neuilly, where she had a most charming 
 country house. 
 
 The Act of Amnesty was widely discussed, but 
 all who could forget their wrongs and their 
 grudges, beheld with feelings of joy the end of 
 tyranny and the possibility of a return to parlia- 
 mentary government. Girardin left us with the 
 words that Napoleon III was the first liberal in 
 France, nay more, he was a revolutionary even! 
 The Italian campaign clearly proved this. Many 
 Deputies hitherto quite subservient to the authority 
 of the Empire now declared that the moment had 
 arrived " to reckon with the Democracy." Emile 
 Ollivier, " the little Ollivier," solemnly protested 
 that now was the time if ever to exert " the liberal 
 pressure." Prince Napoleon set himself in opposi- 
 tion to " the Imperial reaction," and a new paper 
 was announced under the direction of his mouth- 
 piece, Ad. Gueroult. The name of the journal was 
 even given out as L'Opinion Nationale. Vil- 
 bort, Edmond About, Sarcey de Suttieres, Charles 
 Edmand, were to contribute to it. Its tendency 
 was to be " distinctly Italian," and Madame Vil- 
 
 [207]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 bort tried to persuade me to write for its columns 
 a new appreciation of Garibaldi. I declined this 
 amiable suggestion, which, I afterward learned, 
 was inspired by Gueroult. 
 
 "The little Olliviers," the friends of Jules 
 Simon, raved about his work on Liberty, in which 
 he made the announcement that freedom was bound 
 to no particular form of government. We used 
 to say among ourselves that had Ollivier never ex- 
 isted, Jules Simon would have invented him in his 
 proper person. Louis Blanc, Schoelcher, Quinet, 
 Charras, Clement Thomas, all refused the general 
 amnesty in terms insulting to Napoleon. 
 
 " He has no more right to include us in an 
 amnesty," they wrote, " than he had to seize 
 France." 
 
 Victor Hugo hurled at " Napoleon the Small " 
 this short but lapidary sentence, " When Liberty 
 returns, I shall return." The friends of the author 
 of Les Chatiments declared that he could accept 
 no favour at the hands of one whom he had 
 dragged to the shambles. Chained in exile to an 
 English rock, like the first Napoleon, he was set 
 in an heroic framework. From the dizzy height 
 of this rock he could pass judgment on the mean- 
 ness of soul of him who was the inheritor of Water- 
 loo, and he set his vision to a magnificent strain. 
 
 [208]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 Had he not attained the highest sphere of poetic 
 genius and fancy in La Legende des Siecles? 
 
 " He made a far grander figure in Guernsey 
 than when he returned to France. Dabbling in 
 politics, he reduces himself to mere human pro- 
 portion," wrote Vacquerie, who was lingering 
 on in Paris after the success of Souvent homme 
 varie. 
 
 The publication of the first part of La Legende 
 des Siecles was a great literary event. All the 
 criticisms hurled against the head of the romantic 
 school — criticisms indeed arising far less from his 
 personal opponents than resulting from the eccen- 
 tricities of his latest disciples, whose exaggerations 
 bordered on the grotesque — came to a sudden and 
 full stop, as if by miracle. The volumes that fol- 
 lowed converted the most hypercritical classics, 
 like myself, into unconditional admirers. All my 
 prejudices against one whose whole genius tended 
 to emancipate us from our Hellenic traditions, and 
 who had in reality turned aside the current of 
 French letters from this channel, fell powerless at 
 one swoop before this overwhelming masterpiece 
 that was now beginning and was to find its end in 
 an apotheosis. 
 
 Emile Deschanel returned from exile. His 
 friends gave him a warm greeting. He was liked 
 
 [209]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 and admired, as a writer, as an orator, and as a 
 man of strong purpose. 
 
 Challemel-Lacour also came back and made his 
 first appearance in Paris at Madame d'Agoult's 
 salon. He received a genuine and hearty welcome. 
 
 The return of the exiles modified by degrees the 
 salon of Madame d'Agoult. They brought succor 
 to the war-at-no-price party. Their hatred of the 
 Second of December was preserved inviolate and 
 had even added strength to itself during their 
 enforced absence abroad. 
 
 During the four weeks that Challemel-Lacour 
 spent in France, he seemed heart-broken at the com- 
 promise he witnessed between those who had taken 
 the oath of allegiance and the Empire. 
 
 " I thought I should walk on a dunghill in 
 Paris," he wrote, " but I discover here is liquid 
 putrefaction. How can one possibly render such 
 a place wholesome, what good would be achieved by 
 my paltry personal disinfectant? " 
 
 This first impression was forgotten by Challemel- 
 Lacour, when, after his resignation from the pro- 
 fessional chair at the Ecole Polytechnic School 
 at Zurich had been accepted not without consider- 
 able difficulty, he returned to Paris and learned 
 what refinement the mind can attain in a struggle 
 against political servitude. 
 
 [210]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 " Thought soars high, when it with difficulty 
 breaks from its fetters, as it has then greater 
 spring," he wrote a few months later. 
 
 The Second of December found Challemel-La- 
 cour a Professor of Philosophy in the provinces. 
 On leaving the Ecole Normale he lectured first at 
 Pau, and next at Limoges, where he endeavoured 
 to stir up the peasantry of the neighbourhood 
 against " the Napoleonic tyranny." Imprisoned, 
 then exiled, he devoted himself to increasing by 
 study his knowledge, already vast, and by lecturing 
 in Germany, in Belgium, and in Switzerland he 
 endeavoured to develop his oratorical powers. It 
 was in Switzerland he delivered those eloquent lec- 
 tures, the fame of which reached us at home. 
 
 As soon as my book came out I sent a copy to 
 Challemel-Lacour at Zurich. Meeting me at Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult's when he called upon her after his 
 return, he thanked me for my attention in such 
 flattering terms that it needed but two or three 
 meetings at the house of our mutual friend, and 
 one visit to me, to make us firm friends. 
 
 The very cultivated and refined mind of Chal- 
 lemel, his elegant polish of style and of conversa- 
 tion, his extreme delicacy towards women joined 
 to great integrity of soul and strength of char- 
 acter, excited towards him, first, a feeling of 
 
 [211]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 esteem, and if he but lay claim to it, one of affec- 
 tion. For instance, so soon as he took part in a 
 discussion he became intolerant, fierce in his con- 
 victions, often aggressive and hard, nay, even dis- 
 respectful, but so cultured was he that his brutality 
 took the form rather of denunciation than of 
 affront. 
 
 On his return to Switzerland he one day sent me 
 a friend of his, requesting me to speak in his 
 favour to Monsieur Fauvety about some contribu- 
 tion to the Revue Philosophique. I was able to 
 render the service that Challemel's friend required, 
 and as this gentleman happened also to be a friend 
 of Proudhon, he showed me a letter " on my ad- 
 versary," written to him by Challemel-Lacour, 
 in which Proudhon was not exactly spared. I 
 accepted the interesting autograph, which ran as 
 follows : 
 
 " At last, my dear friend, I saw Proudhon yes- 
 terday, not without some difficulty, as much cere- 
 mony is necessary to penetrate into the lion's den. 
 After chatting about you and your letter, wc 
 naturally touched on the subject of his book, which 
 is coming out in a few days. ' It will make all 
 Europe tremble,' he said. In truth, these words 
 struck me as somewhat childish as coming from 
 
 [212]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 such a veteran in letters. Surely, it is best left to 
 youth alone to speak of a book in such terms. It 
 is evident that Proudhon likes to give one a start, 
 and he will be much disappointed if the book does 
 not produce the effect he anticipates. I thought 
 it might give him courage if I told him he had 
 " his privileges." These harmless words almost 
 put him beside himself. He replied with a warmth 
 that bordered on anger, and in such a way, that 
 I perceived he was not made for friendly dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 " I have come to the conclusion that the indul- 
 gence extended to La Revolution Sociale demontree 
 par le Coup d'Etat called up recollections he pre- 
 ferred not to remember. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Challemel-Lacour." 
 
 Another friend of Madame d'Agoult was Ma- 
 demoiselle Clemence Royer, who had voluntarily 
 elected to follow Pascal Duprat into exile. She 
 had opened her Course of Philosophy at Lausanne. 
 Her first lecture, Introduction to Philosophy, 
 had a great success. The most erudite professors 
 in that science pronounced her able and well quali- 
 fied in her turn to occupy the professorial chair 
 in that department of human knowledge. She had 
 
 [213]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 a rather masculine appearance. She went but little 
 into general society, but her delivery was made in 
 a clear high pitch with considerable authority. 
 Mademoiselle Clemence Royer had read Les Idees 
 Anti-Proudhoniennes. I shall never forget with 
 what contempt she took the measure of my physical 
 self, when presented to her by Edmond Texier, 
 who anticipated no inconsiderable entertainment 
 from this introduction. 
 
 Mademoiselle Clemence Royer subjected me to 
 a kind of examination in a corner of the drawing- 
 room, into which she had, so to speak, driven me. 
 Texier, pretending to be terror-struck, as if I 
 were running some considerable danger, gave me 
 an irresistible desire to laugh. I had just been 
 having a conversation with him in which wit played 
 a larger share than knowledge, and I was still in 
 a lively mood from its effect. Mademoiselle 
 Clemence Royer struck me as a trifle too pedantic, 
 but I must confess I indulged in too much frivolity 
 in my replies to her. 
 
 She stood up, after one of my repartees, which 
 Texier considered extremely witty, and said in her 
 high-pitched manner: 
 
 " You are lacking in criteria, Madame." 
 These words, under the circumstances, made me 
 more frivolous than ever, and as Mademoiselle 
 
 [214]
 
 I MAKE FRIENDS— AND ENEMIES 
 
 Clemence Royer held a university diploma, I, like- 
 wise rising, retorted : 
 
 " My university baggage, Mademoiselle," put- 
 ting an emphasis on both words, " has hitherto 
 been, I must confess, far inferior to yours ; but if 
 it lacks weight, it has at any rate not had the dis- 
 advantage of causing any one to sink." 
 
 The cut was unkind. The intimacy of Made- 
 moiselle Clemence Royer with Pascal Duprat had 
 been the cause of much unhappiness to the deserted 
 wife, who openly complained, and whose grief in- 
 spired general interest. 
 
 Edmond Texier alone heard the words. He re- 
 peated what had passed between Mademoiselle 
 Clemence Royer and myself. The fair philosopher 
 never forgave me this indiscretion, that I in no 
 way had provoked. Mademoiselle Clemence Royer, 
 Monsieur Pascal Duprat, joined with Madame 
 d'Hericourt and with several stanch friends of 
 Proudhon, became my most formidable enemies. I 
 have to thank them for some trifling wounds re- 
 peatedly made fresh again. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult, who heard of this passage of 
 arms from Mademoiselle Clemence Royer, repri- 
 manded me most severely and told me I deserved 
 all that might ensue from the malice of the fair 
 philosopher. I assured her I had not breathed a 
 
 [215]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 word to any one of the occurrence. She also put 
 searching questions to Texier, who, in his turn, 
 had to confess that he had been telling his friends 
 all about it. 
 
 " You have made implacable enemies for our 
 young friend, who in no way needs them," said 
 Madame d'Agoult to Texier. 
 
 [216]
 
 ^i^fefeaL^a^] 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES, AND MUSICAL 
 
 SFTER so many postponements that we were 
 well on to the end of September, a day was 
 finally settled for the projected visit to Madame 
 Vilbort at Neuilly. No one failed to answer their 
 names at the muster. I went down with Jourdan, 
 and we both endured some teasing, as they all said 
 we had agreed to meet beforehand. About was 
 already there with his bosom friend, Sarcey de 
 Suttieres, for whom he had begged an invitation, 
 and for whom he had just procured the post of 
 dramatic critic for the Opinion Nationale. Sar- 
 cey was already writing his first Monday criticisms 
 with no small amount of success. 
 
 It is difficult to realize adequately the contrast 
 that existed between About and Sarcey at this 
 period. Sarcey was just as provincial and correct 
 in habits and in manner of speaking as About was 
 out and out " Second Empire " — Parisian. Com- 
 ing together very young their minds were in pre- 
 cise juxtaposition one to the other, and especially 
 in the spirit of contradiction. Neither of them had 
 the slightest conception of self, but each desired 
 
 [217]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 to make his friend shine. The tender admiration 
 of Sarcey for About made him promptly sympa- 
 thetic. His countenance would brighten up when 
 his " old friend," one of his favourite expressions 
 at this time, threw into the conversation some un- 
 expected and brilliant sally, to which we could not 
 but give its due praise, either by an involuntary 
 exclamation or by an open compliment. It looked 
 as if Sarcey had himself provoked that phrase of 
 Germaine, in his favourite book by About : " We 
 return inward thanks to the person who compels 
 us to deliver our best speech or to tell our favourite 
 story." 
 
 Vilbort, like a good and worthy foreigner, loved 
 to ask questions, to which would come a torrent of 
 replies from About, in his most playful and scep- 
 tical manner, but Sarcey, in all seriousness, in the 
 midstream of his friend's raillery, would compel 
 him to direct his mind into his channel of thought. 
 
 About and Sarcey had never been separated; 
 during their school-days they were together at 
 Massin's Academy, then at Charlemagne, and 
 finally at the Ecole Normale, where they were con- 
 temporary with Taine, Weiss, Assolant, Prevost- 
 Paradol, and others. 
 
 One of About's books, La Question Romaine, 
 much preoccupied Vilbort, for during breakfast 
 
 [218]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 he repeatedly returned to the subject. Meline, his 
 friend, the Brussels publisher, he had vainly plied 
 with questions. Meline knew nothing. Our host 
 probably had running in his mind some scheme of 
 " correspondence," for the later-day " interview " 
 had not yet become fashionable. 
 
 La Question Romaine was printed in Belgium, 
 and it can easily be imagined that gossip and com- 
 mentaries had ample room for conjecture. About 
 was highly delighted with the numberless inter- 
 rogatories to which he was subjected with regard 
 to this book. He usually went full speed ahead 
 from the first words. 
 
 " Oh ! you also want to know if the Emperor 
 sketched the portrait of Pius IX. I am graciously 
 allowed the sole merit of drawing that of Anto- 
 nelli." In truth, one can scarcely imagine Napo- 
 leon, whose humour could hardly be called gay, 
 writing of the Cardinal, that " he pronounces his 
 blessing with unction, but forgives with difficulty ; 
 that rumour credits him with telling fortunes, and 
 that one kneels down before him. I must confess 
 I here recognise with difficulty the style of the 
 author of L'Extinction du Pauperisme." 
 
 The credit of one of the most poignant strokes 
 in the character of Antonelli belongs to Sarcey: 
 
 " He was born in a den. Sonnino is better 
 15 [ 219 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 known in the ' Annals of Crime ' than ever Arcadia 
 was in ' Nature.' " 
 
 " But really," began Vilbort, for the third time 
 of asking, while About seemed not to catch the pre- 
 cise question put to him, " has the Emperor, yes or 
 no, commanded you, as is said, to write this book? " 
 
 " No, the Cat commanded me." 
 
 " Come, About, the whole world is perfectly well 
 aware that with reference to Italian affairs the 
 Emperor is never in agreement with his ministers. 
 He is always ahead of them. Now, is there any- 
 thing extraordinary, if, through the intermediary 
 of your friend Prince Napoleon, with whom at all 
 times the Emperor has held, as near as can be, sim- 
 ilar views on Italian affairs, his Majesty should re- 
 quest you to handle the Italian question with your 
 recognised talent and specious appearance of in- 
 dependence? " 
 
 " I say, Vilbort, are you seeking a challenge? 
 Have I been enticed into an ambush here? If you 
 tell me again, my Belgian friend, I have a sort of 
 specious appearance of independence, not even 
 your good and succulent breakfast will prevent my 
 impaling you, unless you at once eat your words." 
 
 " Well, I retract them in utter confusion." 
 
 " That's right. What would Jourdan of the 
 Siecle say, if in the very first numbers of the 
 
 [220]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 Opinion Nationale, the editors were busy exchang- 
 ing dishonouring insults? " 
 
 " I should say," retorted the kindly Jourdan, 
 " that Vilbort did not give to his words the same 
 connotation as you attributed to them." 
 
 " That is perfectly true," chimed in Vilbort. 
 " I simply meant " 
 
 About raised his arm. 
 
 " The cause has been heard ! " 
 
 " True, the cause has been heard, but only on 
 one point as to the question of insult," added Ma- 
 dame Vilbort, with her winsome smile. " The main 
 question still remains open. Did the Emperor sug- 
 gest? " 
 
 " Please do not press me, fair lady," answered 
 About gallantly. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I want you to say that he did prompt 
 the suggestion," exclaimed Madame Vilbort. 
 
 Vilbort could hardly restrain his exuberance. 
 
 " Well played ! my wife, well played ! " he re- 
 peated. 
 
 Sarcey looked anxious, but About replied with 
 a smile: 
 
 " Well, yes. It was the Emperor himself who 
 suggested I should write La Question Romaine, 
 in the spirit my independence fancied. Do you 
 understand, Vilbort, independence? ' There can 
 
 [221 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 never be too much discussion on this subject,' 
 Napoleon III said to me. ' Every Frenchman,' he 
 added, ' must hold his personal opinion on this 
 question.' The Emperor read the proof of my 
 book, approved of it, but stopped its publication. 
 Now there is the mystery unveiled. You may take 
 it, but subject to the condition that Jourdan, who is 
 honour personified, gives me his word not to breathe 
 a single word of it in the columns of the Siecle." 
 
 " I readily give you such assurance," came the 
 reply. 
 
 " And that you, Vilbort, only communicate such 
 information abroad, as a mere supposition, based 
 on some random and indiscreet words from my 
 friend Sarcey." 
 
 " No ! no ! " interrupted Sarcey, " I cannot agree 
 to such a jest." 
 
 " Then Vilbort must say that this story is being 
 circulated far and wide by the inflexible Juliette 
 Lamber ; and as she can prove her words, she defies 
 me to deny it." 
 
 " This is strictly true," I replied. "I can prove 
 my words, as I have heard the story from the very 
 lips of the Emperor himself. No one can possibly 
 deny this." 
 
 There was no danger to be apprehended from 
 Vilbort compromising About, as he was both dis- 
 
 [222]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 creet and clever. He had copy for his " corre- 
 spondence," and that was all he needed. The con- 
 versation turned on other topics. We discussed 
 literature, and the two nurslings of the Normalc 
 delivered the most interesting lecture on literature 
 that it had ever been my good fortune to listen to. 
 About said that " good writing was produced 
 rather under the influence of speech than of 
 thought. That good description must have the 
 movement and life of the mind speaking, rather 
 than that of the mind composing. Ornament was 
 added on a second reading, and was not to be 
 despised, but should be simple and unadorned, and 
 that such embellishment was best attained by the 
 choice of graceful and elegant words, which im- 
 parted to the narration a genial and kindly tone." 
 
 " This is all very well," replied Sarcey, " for 
 you who have the unique facility of writing with 
 perspicacity even on the most complicated and 
 abstruse subjects. As for me, I can only attain 
 embellishment by the adoption of the common- 
 place, nay, even of the hackneyed. In truth, when 
 I am unable to produce ornament by native inspira- 
 tion I seek to gain it by quoting others." 
 
 At that time we liberally indulged in quotation. 
 Deftly placed, a quotation serves to demonstrate 
 that the mind is either learned or daintily appar- 
 
 [ 223 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 elled. It lends grace or weight, as the case may 
 be, to the subject-matter of discourse or style. The 
 dullards and the mediocre quickly find their level 
 in the selection of quotation, which they choose 
 and place inappositely and unseasonably. Clever 
 people read, at the time I am speaking of, 
 both for the pleasure of reading and also because 
 it added graceful ornament to their conversation 
 and writings. 
 
 Sarcey told me he much admired my spirited 
 attack on Proudhon, as it had shown that this re- 
 doubtable debater, whom no one dared challenge, 
 was not completely invulnerable. 
 
 " Yes, he has fissures," then said About, " into 
 which one can insert a wedge, but what exquisite 
 form is his, what language, how skilfully beaten 
 out and worked in ! " 
 
 " A murrain to these people with their form ; 
 they are just like Veuillot, isn't it so, Jourdan? I 
 grant, if you like, they have cleverness and talent, 
 but value they have none, because value depends 
 on sincerity; they are mere humbugs whose sole 
 aim is to dazzle ; they are like impotent people who 
 destroy for destroying's sake." 
 
 Vilbort left us during the afternoon on urgent 
 business and only returned for dinner. 
 
 The day was spent most agreeably in a beautiful 
 
 [224]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 garden, with perfect weather. About and Sarccy 
 engaged in interesting conversation, attentively 
 listened to by a clever man like Jourdan, whose 
 kindness, almost paternal, was freely vouchsafed to 
 both, and by two young, and — why hesitate over 
 the word — pretty women, with whom their bril- 
 liant wit, as it were, coquetted. Sarcey let drop a 
 phrase in his semiinnocent, semibantering way, 
 which, appearing in the conversation at an unex- 
 pected turn, produced in About one of those bursts 
 of hearty laughter that only friends indulge in 
 at the narration of a good and well-known story. 
 The phrase was : " I prefer Boileau ! " With what 
 delicate wit did Sarcey repeat the phrase. 
 
 We talked of the stage. About sang the praises 
 of the dramatic critic of the Opinion Nationale 
 in a manner not easily forgotten. I have never 
 read or listened to anything of Sarcey' s from that 
 day forth without calling to mind the brotherly 
 and perspicuous criticisms pronounced by About 
 upon his friend. 
 
 " That fellow is a first-class critic," About used 
 to say. " He is of noble lineage. He is bound to 
 influence his generation either in forming or de- 
 forming its dramatic spirit. He will not be busy 
 stalking innumerable small fowl, like so many 
 others. He is easy-going, not seeking to provoke 
 
 [ 225 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 his adversaries, but is tenacious of purpose. While 
 other men are in hot pursuit of the unattainable, 
 he will just be found quietly going on the even 
 tenor of his own way." 
 
 " Well, you have a ready method to compel my 
 destiny to follow your prophetic predictions," said 
 Sarcey, " and that is by just continuing to me the 
 support of your shoulders." 
 
 Sarcey, in spite of our smiles, took up the cudgels 
 in defence of Scribe. No man, in his opinion, 
 understood so thoroughly the drama. Emile 
 Augier he worshipped, and he used to say, with 
 irresistible logic, " that Augier was without rival, 
 because he concentrated himself on dramatic 
 writing." 
 
 The Chapeau de Paille d'ltalie, analyzed by 
 Sarcey, became a masterpiece. He admired Mari- 
 vaux, as a master and charmer in the art of dainty 
 writing. On Corneille he was quite fanatic, know- 
 ing whole passages of him by heart, and had never 
 missed a classical representation of the master 
 since his coming to Paris. 
 
 " Critics, like actors, are only made perfect by 
 repertory," was Sarcey's dictum. 
 
 He was bold enough to confess in the face of 
 About's remonstrances, he could not understand 
 Shakespeare. To him, Musset, in spite of our 
 
 [ 226]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 united loud protests, was but a triflcr, whose dra- 
 matic effusions wearied people with the stage; the 
 younger Dumas was a distinguished philosopher, 
 but a barbarian in matters dramatic. He became 
 quite warm at the mention of the Fils Naturel. 
 
 " You are a little narrow-minded," interrupted 
 About. " You are a member of that well-balanced 
 and exclusive caste that is dying out in France but 
 all too rapidly. A caste essentially judicious, 
 proud of its learned traditions, jealous to receive 
 a command, and which numbers in its ranks such 
 distinguished masters as Rabelais, Voltaire, Mon- 
 taigne, Racine, and Moliere." 
 
 " Excuse me. I must add Boileau," cried Sar- 
 cey. " And — Corneille." 
 
 " Boileau is your staff of life," gaily put in 
 About. " Corneille is the castellan whom you are 
 proud to salute, but he is far too ceremonious for 
 your taste." 
 
 " Impudent fellow ! " 
 
 " Do you really mean you prefer Les Lionnes 
 pauvres to the Fils Naturel? " asked Jourdan. 
 
 " I emphatically do ; even in collaboration. Au- 
 gier is a king of kings of dramatic writers. Dumas 
 is dazzling, is as witty as About, but in his moral- 
 ity, in his sensibility, in his affection, he is im- 
 moral, fantastic, personal, and dry." 
 
 [227]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Sarcey de Suttieres," said About, " you are 
 logical but unfair; you are obstinate but enthusias- 
 tic; you will go further than the Janins, the Gau- 
 tiers, the Saint-Victors." 
 
 About was now making a good deal of money, 
 and was not a little vain of this. Only a few years 
 previously he was in great pecuniary embarrass- 
 ment. But his liberality increased directly with his 
 fortune. Hailing from Lorraine, he was devoted 
 to his province, and he befriended all his country- 
 men. He mentioned two of them to us with en- 
 thusiasm. I heard their names for the first time, 
 Erckmann and Chatrian. About promised to send 
 me Le Docteur Matheus. " Though living 
 apart, their collaboration is most harmonious ; 
 but," he added, " they have that ' inner agreement ' 
 which every Lorrainian has for every other Lor- 
 rainian." 
 
 After these words, pronounced very slowly, 
 About remained silent for a moment, as if gather- 
 ing his thoughts. I looked at Sarcey, who seemed 
 to say to me, " This is serious." 
 
 " Erckmann and Chatrian," continued About, 
 with visible emotion, " will teach France what she 
 knows not yet of the first Empire, of the Revolu- 
 tion, of the courage of our beloved eastern prov- 
 inces. I am aware of their aim, which is to 
 
 [228]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 make every Frenchman love the frontier prov- 
 inces, and especially those which touch Germany. 
 For Germany, mark you, means to take them 
 from us." 
 
 We were now in presence of another About, 
 whom I found again later an ardent and anxious 
 patriot, because he always feared and always re- 
 alized the Germanic danger. 
 
 With their names hardly yet " made," as we say 
 to-day, About loudly extolled Erckmann and Cha- 
 trian, just as he extolled Sarcey. Literary com- 
 radeship at this period was active and real. There 
 was an element of pleasure in performing an act 
 of sacrifice for a friend. Normalians were ever 
 ready to help one another, each trying to 
 do for his friend what in his power lay. 
 The spirit of competition did not engender the 
 base feelings of jealousy and envy. In all the 
 rungs of the ascending ladder of place, whether of 
 art, or literature, or scholarship, a remnant of 
 Christian education had taught each man to do to 
 his fellow as he would be done by, and this noble 
 sentiment greatly mitigated the asperities of the 
 social struggle. 
 
 The English spirit of a Darwin had not yet 
 crushed in the souls of our sons that noble gener- 
 osity of their race, and that generation did not sum 
 
 [229]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 up its faith in the doctrine that life consists in 
 the mere brutal and ferocious struggle for ex- 
 istence. 
 
 The elders who had reached the top of the tree 
 helped the young ones to climb the traditional 
 stages reached by them. Brotherhood even yet 
 had its intrinsic value. The claims of free thought, 
 in spite of its pretensions, like every other right 
 to be vindicated, still preserved undefiled the sacred 
 duty of obligation to one's neighbour. Once these 
 claims were made good, we all know what it has 
 made of duty. 
 
 Youth, confident in the help of its elders, was 
 actuated at tins period by a kindly and fraternal 
 spirit, which was called philosophy, because it made 
 them realize that they were not isolated atoms. 
 Those who are possessed by the frenzy to be quick- 
 ly, quickly famous, tearing on madly in the pur- 
 suit of position, did not at this time block up the 
 highways and cause those shocks which threaten 
 to crush down utterly every other wayfarer of life. 
 The feverish haste to be first in the race of success 
 did not leave behind it those ghastly traces of the 
 mangled multitude. One could reasonably hope 
 to be successful in letters or in art, by talents, in- 
 dustry, gifts, attainments, the help of friends, and 
 by the encouragement of those who had " arrived." 
 
 [230]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 Everything depended on a man's worth, and not 
 on speed. 
 
 The new battalions accepted from their fore- 
 fathers the idea of superiors without favouritism. 
 Socialism, even communism, flowed freely from the 
 great schools of Saint-Simon, of Fourier, of Pierre 
 Leroux; the principles of union of association 
 meant for them the greatest good of the greatest 
 number rather than that of the individual. To-day 
 the words signify to us who have grown older the 
 exact opposite of their original meaning: social- 
 ism spells disintegration ; communism, a brutal 
 trampling down ; association, exploitation ; philoso- 
 phy, negation; value, brutal strength. 
 
 I pretty nearly knew by heart the whole of Elle 
 et Lui, so much had I heard of it since the beginning 
 of the year. I did not read it in the Revue des deux 
 Mondes, and the volume had been lying unopened 
 on my table for some months. I no more dared 
 begin the book than read Horace or Nelida. That 
 I might not appear too innocent and naive in my 
 own circle, I talked of " love, lovers, mistresses, 
 attachments," like the rest; but I still preserved 
 inviolate certain prejudices, which my provincial 
 bringing-up had deeply rooted within me. I ad- 
 mired George Sand, I loved Madame d'Agoult, 
 as natures of a higher order, but nothing gave 
 
 [231 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 me greater pain than to hear their adventures dis- 
 cussed. I was ever prompt to defend them, and 
 to establish their right to act like the man whose 
 name they bore. I did not wish to judge them as 
 women. 
 
 One day, as we were walking in the Avenue de 
 l'Imperatrice, Madame d'Agoult spoke to me of 
 George Sand. She had an old grudge against her 
 dating back from the early days of Horace, and 
 she was actuated with a similar spirit of envy 
 against Balzac, on account of Beatrice ou les 
 Amours Forcees. She could not find in herself to 
 forgive either of them, and her usual generous and 
 liberal indulgence to so many persons and things 
 came to a sudden stop at the mere mention of the 
 name of either Balzac or Madame Sand, when she 
 became most aggressive and bitter. 
 
 " Have you read Elle et Lui? " Madame 
 d'Agoult abruptly asked me. 
 
 " No, Madame, I have not, but it lies on my 
 table to read." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you would like to hear Sainte- 
 Beuve's private opinion of this ' novel.' Only 
 last night, after many pressing interrogations, I 
 at last managed to extract from him his candid 
 opinion of Elle et Lui. ' To my mind,' he said, 
 ' it was a happy inspiration of Madame Sand to 
 
 [232 ]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 throw what she had to say into the form of a 
 novel rather than in that of an autobiography or 
 memoirs. I am bound to say, however, I am ex- 
 ceedingly averse to this kind of very personal and 
 intimate revelation.' " 
 
 Sainte-Beuve at this time was betraying George 
 Sand to please Madame d'Agoult, as he was on 
 terms of great intimacy with her, and scarcely ever 
 appeared at her receptions. 
 
 " Truth to tell, when one has had such a number 
 of lovers," said Daniel Stern, and she cruelly reck- 
 oned them up one by one on her fingers, " it seems 
 to me almost ridiculous to affect such extreme and 
 precise sensibility to one more or less set down to 
 one's account. If he was not her lover at 
 that time, at any rate he was ' after.' For that 
 doctor from Venice has his place in the series, 
 you know ! " 
 
 It is difficult to express what I was suffering 
 during this conversation. 
 
 I hesitated to reply. If only I had read the 
 book, I perhaps might have hit on some argument. 
 
 " Here is a sentence of hers which she has often 
 repeated," rejoined Mad 'me d'Agoult, " and 
 which gives you the key to the whole character of 
 the woman : ' Many fancies flit through my brain, 
 but my heart has never worn itself out.' " 
 
 [233]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 I timidly remarked that as George Sand always 
 affected rather strong masculine tendencies and 
 that as her genius placed her eminently in the order 
 of intellectual men, we should not perhaps judge of 
 her as a woman. 
 
 My beloved friend fixed on me her deep fathom- 
 ing eyes. I stood her gaze; her gestures and ex- 
 pression betokened some impatience, but she re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 " Everybody recognises you," I continued quiet- 
 ly, " in the Arabella of Les Lettres d'un Voyageur, 
 where George Sand has portrayed you with so 
 much poetry." 
 
 " Yes, you defended us both against Proudhon, 
 and you do not wish — " said Madame d'Agoult, 
 slowly ; and then angrily proceeded : " My dear 
 child, let me give you some good advice. Never 
 become intimate with Madame Sand. You will lose 
 all your illusions about her. As a woman, pardon 
 me, I mean as a man, she is beneath contempt. She 
 has no conversation. She lives in a dream. She 
 confesses this herself. She has all the appearance 
 of not being awake. If it were not for the inces- 
 sant rolling and smoV.ing of her cigarette, you 
 would readily believe she was asleep with her eyes 
 open." 
 
 Then Madame d'Agoult found fault with one of 
 
 [ 234 ]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 George Sand's most beautiful qualities, her kind- 
 heartedness. 
 
 " She gives away pretty nearly all she earns and 
 is often in difficulties, but she will never appeal to 
 those whom she has obliged with a hundred favours 
 and who would be glad to help her. She appears 
 to have a sort of contempt for those whom she has 
 benefited." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult had known more than one of 
 the heroes of George Sand's books, and among 
 others one of the Mauprats. And she repeated to 
 me what he said about George Sand. 
 
 " Her lovers are to her a piece of chalk, where- 
 with she scratches on the blackboard. When she 
 has finished she crushes the chalk under her foot, 
 and there remains but the dust, which is quickly 
 blown away." 
 
 "How is it, my esteemed and beloved friend, you 
 have never forgiven? " I asked, with sadness. 
 
 " Because the wound inflicted has not healed 
 yet. Conscious that I had put my whole life and 
 soul into my love for Liszt, she tried to take him 
 away from me. . . ." 
 
 " Did he tell you so? " 
 
 " He spent his whole time in concealing from 
 me the declarations of other women." 
 
 " How distressing it is for the sake of the more 
 16 [ 235 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 * diminutive ones ' that two such giantesses as 
 Daniel Stern and George Sand cannot be recon- 
 ciled." 
 
 " This will never come about." 
 
 I mentioned our conversation to de Ronchaud, 
 who added: 
 
 " This is one of my regrets. Madame Sand, I 
 believe, would have contemplated a reconciliation ; 
 in fact, I am certain she would. If people only 
 knew what a very treasury of kindness she is ! She 
 but barely, even if at all, defended herself in Elle 
 et Lui. And then if she had but said all there ! She 
 is stanch, she is truth personified. I have said so 
 a hundred times over, and I will say so all my life. 
 You are quite right to judge her by the standard 
 of a man. She has none of the irresolution and 
 vanities of her sex. Her soul has caused her much 
 suffering. She is more of an idealist than a sensa- 
 tionalist. She always wants to love a man at once 
 with a loving friendship, with a friendly love and 
 a natural tenderness. She puts her whole soul into 
 her love, and her soul is large. Her disillusions are 
 so unspeakably distressing that she is inconsolable 
 until the native vigour of her psychical vitality 
 brings new life to her lost illusions. We should 
 both of us use our utmost efforts to effect a recon- 
 ciliation between Daniel Stern and George Sand." 
 
 [236]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 " Nothing would give me greater pleasure." 
 
 As soon as it came out, de Ronchaud brought 
 me the preface of Jean de la Roche, in which 
 George Sand answered her accusers. " Here is 
 the woman herself," he said. " Let her enemies 
 attack her now. She has supplied us with the 
 elements of her defence." 
 
 The Pere Prodigue of the younger Dumas found 
 favour in the eyes of Sarcey. To be sure, his 
 criticism was reserved, but yet he was disarmed, 
 one might almost say, seduced. I saw him the first 
 night at the Gymnase. I was in the Vilborts' box, 
 where he came to greet us. 
 
 " I am not overfond of that everlasting story 
 of Dumas the elder dished up to us by Dumas 
 the younger," remarked Sarcey ; " but, neverthe- 
 less, some of his sayings are real gems of strength," 
 and with that honest smile of his he quoted the 
 words we had just heard: 
 
 " ' I have given you my qualities and my faults 
 pellmell. I have always looked for your affection 
 rather than your obedience. Economy I have not 
 taught you, as I myself am ignorant of this 
 virtue.' " 
 
 I met Paul de Saint-Victor again at this repre- 
 sentation, who called me his " Greek friend." The 
 Vilborts presented Auguste Villemot to me, and 
 
 [237]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Aurelien Scholl, whom I reminded of the episode 
 at the Michel Levy library. 
 
 Jules Janin, Theophile Gautier, and all the host 
 of critics came round to our box to pay their re- 
 spects to us. They were all indebted to Vilbort for 
 the measure and esteem with which he mentioned 
 them abroad. It was in this way I came to know 
 them. In fact, each day was now adding to my 
 literary acquaintance. 
 
 In a letter to George Sand about L'Homme de 
 Neige, I told her I had just been rereading the 
 series of her rural novels. I said nothing to her 
 about the motive which prompted me; for having 
 finished Elle et Lui I felt a need to dip into her 
 healthier works. I added that I myself was much 
 more countrified than Parisian, and that I looked 
 back to those days spent in my native village of 
 Blerancourt as the happiest in my life. George 
 Sand wrote in reply : 
 
 " Why do you not write the impressions of 
 that time now that they are fresh in your 
 memory? You have already got a title in Mon 
 Village." 
 
 I thought it over and began Mon Village, but 
 the reflection that my next book which I was to 
 write must be brought out by a leading publisher 
 worried me not a little. 
 
 [238]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 It was at Madame Vilbort's that I met Hetzel, 
 who had returned from exile. I had told her of 
 my painful journey with the book to the various 
 publishers, and she knew Hetzel's answer, written 
 from Brussels, where he then was staying: 
 
 " You probably use a checked handkerchief and 
 take snuff." 
 
 Madame Vilbort, knowing she was to receive an 
 afternoon call from Hetzel, wrote to me : " Come 
 and amuse us." 
 
 Of course I arrived first. I took off my hat to 
 give me the appearance of belonging to the house. 
 It was agreed we were to call each other " cousin." 
 Hetzel entered. As Madame Vilbort was from 
 Brussels, he brought her news of her family. I was 
 quite silent, and Hetzel stared at me. 
 
 " My cousin and myself," Madame Vilbort ob- 
 served, as if an introduction were an altogether 
 superfluous ceremony. 
 
 "Will you kindly introduce me to this lady?" 
 suddenly asked Hetzel. 
 
 " Monsieur Hetzel, Madame Juliette Lamessine, 
 authoress of Les Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes." 
 
 Hetzel bounded so ludicrously out of his chair 
 that Madame Vilbort and I could not restrain our 
 laughter. And in addition, he brought out his 
 party-coloured handkerchief and took a pinch of 
 
 [239]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 snuff ! ! ! We could now contain ourselves no 
 longer. 
 
 " It is quite plain," said Hetzel, who had finished 
 by laughing also, " that I am a fool ; but," he 
 gallantly added, " I did not think I was quite so 
 bad as this. As such blunders with clever women 
 are not habitual with me, I intend to make up for 
 this one. I therefore beg of you, Madame, to be 
 so good as to let me have your next book, unless, of 
 course, it is already pledged. If it is a novel, or 
 something approaching, I have an edition in joint 
 account with Michel Levy, and I place it at your 
 disposal." 
 
 I then mentioned to him George Sand's advice, 
 and told him I was following it. 
 
 " I will publish Mon Village," said Hetzel in 
 conclusion. 
 
 I then told him of the difficulty with my husband, 
 who, to damage my literary career, had put his 
 name to an edition of my Idees Anti-Proudhon- 
 iennes, and would allow me to publish only under 
 my own name with Dentu after endless discussions 
 and agreements, the details of which are irrelevant 
 here. 
 
 " He has no right to do this, has he, my 
 dear friend? " indignantly asked Madame Vil- 
 bort. 
 
 [ 24 '° ]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 " His right is absolute if the marriage took place 
 under the Joint Property Act. The reward of the 
 wife's labour becomes the absolute property of the 
 husband; even the very wages of the factory girl 
 abandoned with her children by the workman can 
 be legally claimed by the wretch to be wasted in 
 debauchery." 
 
 " It is simply shameful ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is shameful. You must change your 
 name, Madame," Hetzel said to me. 
 
 " Mine is already so small that the crumbs will 
 be of no value." 
 
 " On the contrary, now is the time you will feel 
 it less." 
 
 " What name shall I take? " 
 
 " Will you accept me as your sponsor? " 
 
 " I am delighted." 
 
 " What is your maiden name? " 
 
 " Juliette Lambert." 
 
 " With a t?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " As we must make some alteration, let us take 
 away the t and we shall then have a name against 
 which the Joint Property Act can have no ground 
 for action." 
 
 " Is that so? " 
 " It is so. I shall expect Mon Village, and I 
 
 [241 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 am certain Michel Levy will be as glad as I am to 
 atone for his rudeness." 
 
 Hetzel was not only a publisher, resourceful in 
 ideas, kind and paternal to budding authors, but 
 was also a politician of respected character and a 
 writer of eminence under the name of P. J. Stahl. 
 Editor of the National, in 1848, he was nominated 
 Chief Secretary to the Minister for Foreign 
 Affairs; then Secretary-General to the Executive, 
 under Cavaignac, whose devoted friend he became. 
 Hetzel was destined on his return from exile no 
 longer to find him whom he had ever called his 
 chief. General Cavaignac passed away in 1857, 
 succumbing while out shooting to the bursting of 
 an arterial tumour. 
 
 Hetzel took his place among the most brilliant 
 conversationalists of the day in the same company 
 with Henri Rochefort, Edmond About, Aurelien 
 Scholl, Edmond Texier, and d'Ennery. As a 
 writer, his talents were superior to his reputation. 
 Sainte-Beuve often repeated in his Causeries du 
 Lundi that he classed Hetzel as one of the most 
 powerful story-tellers of his time. Merimee unhesi- 
 tatingly declared that in humorous description 
 P. J. Stahl outdid Dickens. His sayings went all 
 round Paris. As soon as heard they came to one's 
 lips with such fitness that their timely repetition 
 
 [ 212 ]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 insured their fame. " As Hetzel says," was fre- 
 quently heard in our circle after the amnesty. 
 
 He himself read the manuscripts sent him, and 
 in his long editorial career had learned to sum up 
 so many books with one word that he judged a man 
 like a book, and with a bold definitive stroke gave 
 you his character and his life. A Republican from 
 conviction, impartial in his judgment, an ardent 
 champion of liberty, unhesitating in his creed, he 
 was inflexible in the strictness of his principles. 
 One found in the books of P. J. Stahl German 
 sentimentality, English humour, French wit, and 
 the whole was welded together in pure and unde- 
 fined French by a touch that was at once personal 
 and original. 
 
 Hetzel, an Alsatian himself, adored Alsace. He 
 never shrank from reprimanding his authors, if 
 need arose, but his native Alsatian good-nature 
 always mitigated his castigation by giving them 
 good advice. As a publisher he was a perfect 
 magician. He made the reputation of Jules Verne, 
 of the Erckmann-Chatrians, and of many others, 
 although he was indifferent to his own. The whole 
 movement of illustrated literature for children is 
 due to his initiative. Mademoiselle Lili is his own 
 daughter. On the subject of children he became 
 inspired and wrote many admirable books for them. 
 
 [243]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 On the 1st of January he always bewitched their 
 little hearts and minds, and parents were grateful 
 to him for the useful lessons inculcated in such a 
 pleasant way. 
 
 It was Hetzel who told me the story, three or 
 four years later, of a young author who had once 
 brought him a manuscript, the first two parts of 
 which had given him infinite delight for the artistic 
 merit, both of the subject-matter and composition, 
 but to his utter amazement and sorrow the third 
 part was so obscene, nay, even nauseatingly pruri- 
 ent, that he turned away from it in positive dis- 
 gust. On the appointed day, when the author 
 came to learn some news of his book, Hetzel said 
 
 to him: 
 
 " When your talent is such, sir, that you are 
 capable of writing the first two parts of a book 
 like yours, how can you find it in you to dishonour 
 your pen by what you have deposited in the third 
 part? What mental aberration can have induced 
 you to become guilty of so foul a reproach as a 
 criminal in letters? " 
 
 " Sir," replied the young author, " the first two 
 parts were written to seduce literary people who 
 make reputations; the last part was written for 
 those who are to buy the book." 
 
 " How dare you make such a cynical confes- 
 sion!" [244-]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 u 
 
 My object is to teach the French reader to 
 have a taste for the depicting of vices which sur- 
 round him. Truth chastises hypocrites, but in- 
 structs those who pretend to virtue." 
 
 "A pretty object of ambition this is! Please 
 Heaven, it may not be granted to you to corrupt 
 our readers, and to destroy all the good we, and 
 those who have gone before us, have tried to do. 
 You are young and you are clever. I sincerely trust 
 you will not persevere in your unhealthy wager. 
 Believe me, clean and healthy books alone have 
 continuous sales, and are the only ones acceptable 
 to posterity. You have a foreign name. May you, 
 as you become more French, grow in wisdom." 
 
 The young author was Emile Zola. 
 
 Unhappily his work has but too completely 
 realized his early vows. He has cozened his read- 
 ers even to the point of demoralization. Vice has 
 been described and portrayed to satiety, until it 
 has made his admirers, and especially foreigners, 
 believe that corruption reigns supreme in all classes 
 in France. 
 
 There was great fluttering in the " pagan " 
 dovecots. De Ronchaud related to us the delight 
 of Berlioz at the coming revival of Gliick's Or- 
 pheus, wluch, with Madame Viardot, he was pre- 
 paring for the Theatre Lyrique. Pauline Garcia, 
 
 [245]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the sister of Malibran, was said to be simply mag- 
 nificent. 
 
 We, the pagans, were to be there on the first 
 night. De Ronchaud and I took a box with a place 
 for Menard. Saint-Victor's orchestra chair was 
 quite close to us. At last we were going to have 
 our revenge on Orphee aux Enfers. 
 
 The great night arrived. We devoutly listened 
 to Madame Viardot, supported by Berlioz, and ap- 
 proved by Carvalho. She had suppressed all the 
 concessions made by Gliick to Legros, which added 
 a charm, perhaps foreign to the original intention, 
 to a character so soberly pathetic, so Greek in the 
 real tragic sense of the term, at any rate, as the 
 three of us comprehended it. 
 
 Madame Viardot was simply sublime. We 
 seemed to hear the voice of the divine Orpheus him- 
 self. All her gestures, her expressions, magnifi- 
 cently and adequately rendered the poignant and 
 distracted grief of antiquity. She was a suppliant 
 without the slightest shadow or idea of revolt 
 against the decree of Zeus. The intense power of 
 harmony in Gliick's music gives to the second act 
 of Orpheus such an impression of reality, such a 
 sense of anguish and admiration blended, that it 
 took my breath away. 
 
 At the point where Orpheus sings, " I have lost 
 
 [246]
 
 HECTOR BERLIOZ. 
 From au engraving by Guillermot, fils.
 
 / 
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 my Eurydicc," and the whole audience, with en- 
 thusiastic applause, cried for a repetition, and Ma- 
 dame Viardot, with yet more pathos, divinely sang 
 " I have lost. ..." I who have never known 
 hysteria fairly broke down and fainted. On 
 recovering I found that Menard was holding 
 my hand. 
 
 " This is emotion with a vengeance," he said to 
 me. " You have quite frightened me. Your pulse 
 stopped beating." 
 
 Since Orpheus I have but once in my life had 
 a similar experience. It was at St. Petersburg, 
 when I was listening to a choir of several hundred 
 court singers chanting a mass of Palestrina, un- 
 accompanied by any instrument, but the harmony 
 of the voices seemed to produce an effect similar 
 to the sonorous and increasing resonances of an 
 orchestra. My ecstatic raptures — I cannot find a 
 more suitable expression — on tins occasion were 
 such that I fainted quite away. The friends sur- 
 rounding me were greatly alarmed. We were only 
 some twenty listeners. When I regained conscious- 
 ness I heard in that delightful intonation with 
 which a Russian pronounces French: 
 
 " For a success, this is a success, to admire to 
 the point of dying ! " 
 
 Berlioz and Saint-Victor, leaning over our box, 
 
 [247]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 said a few words to us as the people were leaving 
 the theatre. Menard told them of the fright I had 
 given him. Berlioz pressed my hand, and kept it 
 within his. 
 
 " Yes," he remarked, " it is beautiful enough, 
 it is true enough, the torture of misfortune has 
 been sufficiently endured, Orpheus is Orpheus 
 enough, that the expression, rendered as it has 
 been, should annihilate all the senses." 
 
 And he left us repeating: 
 
 " I am going to tell Orpheus." 
 
 I asked my friends to take me back on foot to 
 the Rue de Rivoli. 
 
 On the way Saint-Victor told us that Madame 
 Viardot was studying the Alcestis, hoping to sing 
 it at the opera, and that Berlioz was advising her, 
 as he had advised her for Orpheus. " Poor Ber- 
 lioz," he added, " is thinking of her for his Tro- 
 jans, his melancholy Trojans!" 
 
 The conversation ran on many topics. A book 
 had just reached us from the south. Monsieur de 
 Lamartine pronounced it very beautiful, and 
 Menard was enthusiastic over it. Menard men- 
 tioned to us Mistral, the author of Mireille, and 
 he had learned many particulars about Mistral 
 from Aubanel, a mutual friend of both. 
 
 Aubanel ! This was the first time I heard the 
 
 [248]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 name of this poet. Menard told me his verse was 
 steeped to the hilt in the spirit of Greece. He 
 himself was following the revival of the Provencal 
 tongue with passionate interest. It can easily be 
 imagined that my curiosity was fired at this in- 
 telligence, and I plied Menard with numberless 
 questions. I still had very vague notions about 
 this Provencal poet, or " felibrigist," as he is called, 
 in spite of the sensation caused by his having 
 crossed the Rhone and his success at Nimes, where 
 his brother felibrigists had improvised in prose 
 and verse. 
 
 " Greece has come to life again in the gardens 
 of Saint-Remy. The Hellenic spirit has had a 
 new birth beneath the Phocian sky. Just watch 
 that movement," Menard went on, " and you will 
 then understand to what degree the poetic soul 
 of azure-coloured Provence is Attic. I consider 
 Provencal a superb language. It readily lends 
 itself to the expression of poetic and transcendental 
 ideas, to tragic narrative, and at the same time 
 it is exquisitely mischievous, witty, and warm, by 
 which I mean sunny. It is eminently healthy, 
 turgid, and pompous, or simple and limpid, in 
 turn, just as the writer pleases. Nature is painted, 
 as in Homer's language, pictorially and imagina- 
 tively by the use of a single word. I am certain 
 
 [249]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 you would like the heroine of Mistral, his country, 
 his language, and the man himself." 
 
 " But how can one judge of him by a transla- 
 tion? " I asked Menard. 
 
 " You can very easily read the original. With 
 the old French of your native Picardy, a little 
 Latin, and Italian, in which you are steeped, you 
 have quite sufficient to allow you to read Provencal 
 with ease. To-morrow I will recite you a chapter, 
 and you can then sing: 
 
 " Magali, ma tant amado, 
 Mestez la teste au fenestroun." 
 
 " Is it not more difficult than that ? " I exclaimed. 
 " Why, it is simply an antiquated French ! " 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " For my part," said Saint- Victor, who was be- 
 coming impatient at Menard's monologues, " I am 
 convinced that we understand absolutely nothing 
 of a language unless we live with it, as it were, for 
 many years, as we do with Latin and Greek. 
 Words are but the outward expression of things, 
 and we must read deeply into things if we wish 
 to read into words. To my mind, ' amado ' instead 
 of ' aimee,' and ' fenestroun ' instead of ' fenetre,' 
 seem simply bucolic French; or, in other words, 
 French badly pronounced. It seems to me that 
 
 [250]
 
 LITERARY ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 the French language, imbued from time to time 
 with an admixture of Latin and Greek, is more 
 than sufficient for all practical purposes; nay, is 
 even what is best. Why go out of our way to seek 
 something new in France? Mistral, Aubanel, Rou- 
 manille, who are, I admit, real poets, would do far 
 better to write their verse in good and pure French 
 for us in the first place, and then, if they like, 
 translate that French into Provencal for the edifi- 
 cation of their peasantry." 
 
 " Saint-Victor," exclaimed Menard, " you are a 
 Bceotian." 
 
 " Not at all, the very reverse. I wish to remain 
 an Athenian." 
 
 17 
 
 [ 251 ]
 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ, AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 n 
 
 WAS invited one evening by the Comtesse 
 de Charnace, daughter of the Comte and 
 Comtesse d'Agoult, to hear Hans von Biilow, the 
 incomparable pianist. Billow was the son-in-law 
 of Liszt and of Madame d'Agoult, having married 
 their daughter Cosima. 
 
 I knew Monsieur von Biilow, having frequently 
 met him at Madame d'Agoult's. He was 
 an artist of rare talent, and ranked first after 
 Liszt. He always spoke of himself as a very happy 
 man, possessing, as he did, a most clever wife and 
 four daughters, whom he adored. 
 
 We were also to hear the famous composer, of 
 whom they talked so much at Madame Vilbort's, 
 and whom Liszt and Hans von Biilow both consid- 
 ered so full of prolific talent. His operas, Rienzi, 
 The Flying Dutchman, Lohengrin, Tannhauser, 
 were sung with success throughout Germany, espe- 
 cially at Weimar and at Berlin. His partisans con- 
 sidered him a precursor of new musical ideas as we 
 considered Berlioz. They were frequently con- 
 trasted, but Berlioz was really the precursor, the 
 
 [252]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 very foremost of all, although he allowed the wor- 
 shippers of Wagner to spread the report that 
 Wagner alone had endowed the world with " the 
 music of the future." Some persons used this 
 phrase as uncomplimentary criticism, others as an 
 expression of praise. 
 
 Hans von Biilow represented Wagner to us as a 
 victim of Saxon tyranny, as a Democrat and a Rev- 
 olutionist. With the exception of our host, Mon- 
 sieur de Charnace, who, they said, was a Legitimist, 
 but who held a high position in the worlds of art 
 and letters, we formed a Republican majority of 
 about twenty-five persons. Monsieur von Biilow 
 was very diplomatic when he represented Wagner 
 to us as a Revolutionist. " To my mind," he said 
 with tact, " he is too far advanced. When you, 
 yourselves, shall have progressed in that trend of 
 thought, you will still find him outstepping you. 
 He resembles Bakounine and . . . Marat ! " 
 
 A few days afterward I met Berlioz in the Court 
 of the Louvre, and spoke to him of Wagner. 
 
 " He has a satanical soul," he said. " His pride 
 is limitless. He fancies himself the overtopping 
 tree in the musical forest. But that is not so. He 
 belongs to the Mandragora species. Woe to him 
 who sleeps under its shade ! It means death. Poor 
 Biilow ! Wagner bitterly hates every one who has 
 
 [253 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 humiliated him by rendering him a service. I know 
 something about it myself." 
 
 I felt that evening at Monsieur de Charnace's 
 unbounded admiration for Hans von Biilow's ever- 
 developing talent. He was past master in his art. 
 No one gave in his playing such power to Bee- 
 thoven as he did, such grandeur to Mozart, such 
 profound sentimentality to Schumann, or inter- 
 preted Rameau with such simplicity and ease of 
 execution, or gave such scientific fantasy to 
 Bach. I have never since heard any one play a 
 fugue of Bach's as he did. His memory was so 
 prodigious that during a concert that lasted two or 
 three hours he could play throughout it without a 
 single written note. Not being obliged to read 
 music, he seemed to improvise. The more excited 
 he grew the nearer he seemed to reach a perfectly 
 masterful interpretation. 
 
 It was interesting to watch him listening to 
 Wagner. One would have thought he was hearing 
 for the first time the piece composed by his favour- 
 ite master. 
 
 Wagner having just finished playing the pre- 
 lude to Lohengrin with an orchestral power that 
 was simply marvellous, Hans von Bulow ap- 
 proached Madame d'Agoult and said : 
 
 " Never has anything been written before to 
 
 [254]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMUND ADAM 
 
 compare with that. The inspiration in Lohengrin 
 is both clear and ecstatic, easily retained and de- 
 liciously immaterial. And what art displayed in 
 the concerted parts as well as in the solos ! The 
 entrance of the knights in the first act is the finest 
 musical page ever written." 
 
 Wagner had heard these last words, and smiled 
 a strange smile. His enormous head possessed a 
 certain amount of character, in the upper part, at 
 least ; his forehead was broad, elevated, and full 
 of intelligence ; he had questioning eyes, at times 
 very soft and then again very hard ; but his mouth 
 was ugly and threw out the cheeks, while a sar- 
 castic movement brought the domineering chin 
 close to the haughty nose. He had a singular face, 
 as antipathetic in proportion as Hans von Billow's 
 physiognomy was attractive. Wagner struck me 
 as being caustic, witty, and able to converse on all 
 subjects, because he was versed in them all. At 
 times he would suddenly become vulgar, personal, 
 and overbearing. 
 
 " I, alone," he said, answering some argument 
 of Billow's on a musical theory, " can do that. 
 No one else in the world would dare to attempt it. 
 Do you hear, Biilow? " 
 
 " I hear," said the latter submissively. " But 
 what a strong head it must require to close such a 
 
 [255]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 cycle after having opened it. Any other brain but 
 yours would burst under the effort." 
 
 " Well," said Wagner, laughing and with his 
 German accent, " no one has yet discovered whether 
 I am hydrocephalic or a man of genius." 
 
 " A little of the first," I said to Madame 
 d'Agoult in a low tone. 
 
 " More of the second," she added, somewhat 
 severely. Wagner's hearing was very acute. He 
 had evidently listened to what we had been saying, 
 as we saw by the different manner in which he 
 spoke to us both afterward. 
 
 He then began to talk of Parisians with 
 much wit, and of their way of treating all 
 things with banter. He expressed his disappoint- 
 ment at not being understood in France, and 
 of his feelings at having such a powerful rival in 
 Berlioz. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult, who liked Berlioz in spite of 
 his embittered character, and who knew the state 
 of his relations with Wagner, replied : 
 
 " You are neither of you made ever to live at 
 peace with each other." 
 
 Although a composer of talent, Hans von Biilow 
 had produced nothing since he had lived under 
 Wagner's shadow, and even Liszt, the author of 
 the Rhapsodies and many other beautiful compo- 
 
 [256]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 sitions, wrote nothing more. At Weimar he had 
 Wagner played over and over again. The only 
 thing that preserved him from the poison of the 
 Mandragora was that he had Berlioz played as 
 well, and no influence would have prevented 
 him from placing him on as high a level as 
 Wagner. 
 
 " The precursory genius of Berlioz," said Liszt, 
 " compensates for other more powerful qualities in 
 Wagner." 
 
 Twenty years later I saw Liszt at Budapest, and 
 spoke to him of Wagner. He replied with bitter- 
 ness: 
 
 " Von Biilow and I were his first admirers and 
 his first slaves. Nevertheless, if any one out of the 
 cortege of his admirers had been won over either 
 to my son-in-law or myself, Wagner would have 
 seized the fact as a pretext to break our friend- 
 ship. One must sacrifice everything to him, even 
 one's own happiness. Von Bulow has sacrificed his 
 heroically. 
 
 "Berlioz has renovated the French school of 
 music to the advantage of all other schools. Wag- 
 ner has continued the teachings of the German 
 school, of which all the traditions have been pre- 
 served. Berlioz preceded Wagner, and, having 
 rendered music free from the chains that bound 
 
 [257]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 it, Wagner was therefore left unhampered. Ber- 
 lioz is obscure at times, because his path was sur- 
 rounded by darkness, whereas Wagner entered, 
 without hindrance, the broad road trodden by Ger- 
 man knights. 
 
 " No tradition of the musical inspiration of Ger- 
 many was broken or changed by Wagner's influ- 
 ence, while, on the other hand, Berlioz seemed per- 
 force obliged to make innovations, and the more he 
 was enabled to prove that these were correct, the 
 more people protested and rebelled against his 
 ideas. 
 
 " But see how unlike one another men's char- 
 acters can be. The only revenge that Berlioz took 
 of his non-success was to make the Parisians admire 
 the old masters, such as Gliick, from whose genius 
 he drew his inspiration, whereas Wagner, amid his 
 greatest triumphs, was jealous of the smallest suc- 
 cess of others." 
 
 Liszt admired the Damnation de Faust, Romeo 
 et Juliette, and the Troyens immensely, and pre- 
 dicted to me in 1844 that " sooner or later Berlioz's 
 music would have its day of renown." Alas ! poor, 
 great Berlioz ! when we were listening to Wagner 
 at Madame de Charnace's that day was still far 
 off. 
 
 It was at this musical reception given for Wag- 
 
 [258]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 ncr that I saw, for the first time, Edmond Adam, 
 who was destined to take such a great place in my 
 life. He stood all that evening near a large mir- 
 ror, to which I sat opposite, and I saw, without our 
 eyes meeting, his look constantly fixed on me. He 
 wore an eyeglass, which made his examination of 
 my person all the more embarrassing and unbear- 
 able. I did not even know his name, but he annoyed 
 me exceedingly. 
 
 De Ronchaud, in the course of the evening, went 
 and whispered something to Madame d'Agoult, 
 who replied out loud: 
 
 " It seems most unlike that usually timid man." 
 
 Her reply made me feel sure that these words 
 referred to the man leaning against the mirror. 
 
 " He is a friend of Proudhon's," de Ronchaud 
 said, " and that explains his curiosity." 
 
 " Very well, presently I will speak to the person 
 about it." 
 
 I understood from this that Proudhon's friend 
 wished to be introduced to me. 
 
 " Who is that tall gentleman near the mirror, 
 Madame? " 
 
 " Edmond Adam. We are very intimate friends, 
 but you never see him at my house on my reception 
 days on account of Girardin, with whom he wishes 
 to fight a duel, for the slightest thing suffices him 
 
 [259]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 as a pretext to send a challenge. After Carrel's 
 death, when he was chief editor of a journal at 
 Angers, Armand Marrost placed him on the staff 
 of the National. His friends who are not in exile, 
 Duclerc, Grevy, Carnot, all the non-oath-takers, 
 to which party he belongs himself, are devoted to 
 him, as are the exiles, Ledru-Rollin, Schoelcher, 
 and Louis Blanc, etc. 
 
 " While Councilor of State he refused to serve 
 the Empire after the Second of December. He is, 
 at the present time, one of the pillars of the Comp- 
 toir d'Escompte, which was founded by his Re- 
 publican friends, Bixio, Pagnerre, and Garnier- 
 Pages. I do not know a man more highly esteemed, 
 and I like him exceedingly. He is as capable of 
 true friendship as Trihert and de Ronchaud. He 
 is devotedness and loyalty personified. One action 
 of his will show you the man. After his heroic con- 
 duct in June with Bixio, who was thought to have 
 been killed at the Barricades, Armand Marrost, 
 who was at that time President of the National As- 
 sembly, proposed to the House to give Edmond 
 Adam the Great Cross of the Legion of Honour. 
 The vote passed. Edmond Adam refused it, say- 
 ing he could never accept a cross won in a civil war, 
 and that besides, he had done no more than his 
 duty. Ronchaud has just told me that he has 
 
 [260]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 read your book and that he wishes me to introduce 
 him to you." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, my dear friend, I beg you not to 
 do it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I do not like him at all," and I slipped 
 out of the drawing-room. 
 
 I had given my book, Mon Village, some weeks 
 before to Hetzel. 
 
 " We will publish it as soon as the Christmas 
 book season is over," he said. " Work away quick- 
 ly at something else." 
 
 I began my Mandarin. Madame d'Agoult left 
 Paris. What a void her absence made ! I seemed 
 to have lost my guide and support, and when she 
 saw my grief she was much touched by it. 
 
 " A few months will soon be over," she had said, 
 " and I will write often to you." 
 
 I asked her permission to dedicate Mon Village 
 to her. I had told her of my adventure with Hetzel 
 concerning it. I did not, however, tell her that I 
 had written this book at George Sand's advice. She 
 might have thought it disloyal, and that was why 
 I wished this volume to be placed under her patron- 
 age. I therefore wrote to George Sand and told 
 her the feeling that prompted me to do it. In re- 
 
 [261 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ply she sent me a most motherly letter, saying that 
 ' the first duty of friendship was not to cause 
 grief to those we believed to be our friends." 
 
 In the latter part of December the malevolent 
 book, Lui et Elle, was published — a low diatribe, a 
 tissue of accusations, which will remain the shame 
 of the man who wrote it. I would have run the risk 
 of offending Madame d'Agoult in order to dedi- 
 cate Mon Village to George Sand if this book 
 had appeared before I had spoken of the dedica- 
 tion to Madame d'Agoult, who did not write me 
 a single word about Lui et Elle, and I discovered, 
 alas ! that she was not in any wise indignant 
 about it. 
 
 The new year brought with it some bright, new 
 hopes and renewed a few old ones. The love of 
 liberty, which had been lying dormant, was daily 
 growing stronger among the higher classes. Those 
 who had praised the Government of the Second of 
 December, the return to order and security, seemed 
 to be less satisfied with these two supposed improve- 
 ments, and had come to think that after all they 
 were not quite sure of them. It must be confessed 
 that the anti-authority party was progressing in 
 splendid form. In each, and in all, of the opposi- 
 tion parties the very choicest intellects were en- 
 
 [262]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 listed in favour of liberal ideas, and were strongly 
 opposed to personal power. 
 
 The Courricr du Dimanche, in a short time, pos- 
 sessed the whole pleiad. It extended from Mon- 
 sieur de Montalembert to Prevost-Paradol, from 
 Eugene Pelletan to the Comte d'Haussonville, from 
 Vilmatha to J. J. Weiss. The Imperialists de- 
 clared that " it was the Orleanists who led and in- 
 spired the Opposition." This was not true; the 
 Orleanists who sided with the Republicans went out 
 of their way to defend liberal ideas. 
 
 Monsieur de Girardin was not pleased. He said, 
 resuming the opinions of the Palais Royal (the 
 general name given to anything touching Prince 
 Napoleon), that " the Emperor's vacillating game 
 between the Ultramontanes and the Italian Revo- 
 lutionists was filling his path with the greatest 
 danger." Some persons accused him of making 
 common cause with Garibaldi, others of betraying 
 the Italian cause. 
 
 Monsieur Thiers, through Prevost-Paradol, ex- 
 plained the true state of liberal opinion. His salon 
 was the meeting-place of all the Opposition party, 
 of all colours. " A friend of liberty " was the all- 
 sufficient password at the Place Saint-George. 
 
 The pamphlet, Le Pape et le Congres, supposed 
 to be the joint work of the Emperor and Monsieur 
 
 [263]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 de la Guerronniere, and which stated that France 
 had no longer any right to interfere in Italian 
 affairs, occasioned much discussion. About the 
 middle of January a letter from the Minister of 
 State appeared in the Moniteur ratifying the 
 pamphlet and affirming that France must busy 
 herself with her own affairs, and stating that a 
 great economical reform was about to be made. 
 Europe was also informed that a new spirit was to 
 rule the politics of Napoleon III. High-sounding 
 words, such as commerce, agriculture, and manu- 
 facture, appeared anew in all the official speeches. 
 We were far enough away from last year's allocu- 
 tion to the Austrian Ambassador. England, 
 calmed and appeased, came forward with a treaty 
 of commerce in her hand. 
 
 " Well ! was it possible we were going to abandon 
 the Pope to the intrigues of the House of Savoy ? " 
 
 The great manufacturing houses, opposed to the 
 Treaty of Commerce with perfidious Albion, joined 
 hands with the Clerical party and protested loudly 
 against " the Imperial changes of mind." 
 
 Monsieur Cousin declared in resounding tones, 
 " All right-minded persons are for the Pope." 
 Others among the Conservatives added : " The Em- 
 peror is distracted and is seeking a popularity 
 which will be his end." The ministers and the 
 
 [264]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 bishops were at daggers drawn. On the first of 
 January, Pius IX had stigmatized the pamphlet 
 Le Pape ct le Congres by these words : " It is an 
 evident motion of hypocrisy and an ignoble tissue 
 of contradictions." 
 
 We Republicans were overjoyed. We were fast 
 becoming anti-Clerical, without in any wise grow- 
 ing less anti-Imperialist. The days when the Re- 
 publicans of 1848 called for blessings on the 
 " Trees of Liberty," and recognised Jesus and the 
 Gospel as the inspiration of their formula, " Liber- 
 ty, Equality, Fraternity," were growing more and 
 more remote. We begged loudly for the dissolu- 
 tion of the Society of Saint-Vincent de Paul, which 
 we felt certain was eminently dangerous for 
 France. 
 
 Littre's Positivism, to a greater degree even than 
 that of Auguste Comte's, had severed freemasons 
 from the Great Architect of the World. The Em- 
 pire introduced Clerical agitation into the lodges, 
 and extracted from the depths of men's souls the 
 suspicions against the priesthood which the Wan- 
 dering Jew had by degrees instilled into them. 
 The Siecle, winch had a circulation of thirty thou- 
 sand copies, a considerable number in those days, 
 was, through its editor, Monsieur Havin, secretly 
 given over to Monsieur de Morny, and cultivated 
 
 [265]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 in its readers, who were, for the most part, waifs 
 of the provincial Republican party of 1848, old 
 Voltairian ideas. Flaubert, at that time, spoke of 
 Voltaire as " a saint, a tender soul." Peyrat, long 
 before Gambetta, declared that " Clericalism is our 
 enemy ! " 
 
 Gueroult, prompted by Prince Napoleon, led a 
 noisy and active campaign against the priests 
 in his paper, L'Opinion Nationale, which had 
 been started, people thought, for that very 
 purpose. 
 
 Monsieur de Moray, Prince Napoleon, the free- 
 masons, the Positivists, the Voltairian bourgeois, 
 and the Republicans of all shades were accomplish- 
 ing in France the same task that Cavour's clever- 
 ness, Mazzini's ardent propaganda, and Garibaldi 
 were doing for Italy. The Courrier du Dimanche 
 was the only paper that protested against the anti- 
 religious madness in prophetic words. 
 
 In the immediate circle around Napoleon III, 
 alarm seized his intimate and devoted friends, for, 
 on the one side, he was involuntarily involved in 
 the attacks against the priesthood, while on the 
 other hand, the epithets of " Nero and persecutor 
 of the Church " were hurled at him from the pulpit 
 by the priests. 
 
 Two years later Merimee described, one day be- 
 
 [266]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 fore me, the surprise felt by the Emperor at being 
 thus exposed to attacks coming from such opposite 
 directions, and how the Empress, who told the cir- 
 cumstances to Merimee herself, had copied out a 
 paragraph from one of Montalembert's articles to 
 read it to Napoleon III, who was much struck by 
 it : "A Government may commit any number of 
 crimes without being overthrown, but if it joins 
 hands with those who attack the belief of its nation, 
 it undermines its own foundation. Any Govern- 
 ment, whatsoever it may be, can only rule on earth 
 by clinging to the clouds over which God rules in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Arles-Dufour, who was still in town, invited 
 Madame Charles Reybaud, Doctor Ivan, Louis 
 Jourdan, Lambert-Bey, Girardin, and myself to 
 dine with him at a restaurant. 
 
 Arles-Dufour had had much to do with the ne- 
 gotiations of the Treaty of Commerce. The Em- 
 peror had sent for him almost every day. He was 
 as great an advocate for the Treaty of Commerce 
 for France as were his friends, Cobden and John 
 Bright, for England. All three held the opinion 
 that " it assured half a century of prosperity to 
 the two countries." 
 
 During the dinner Arles-Dufour told us of some 
 conversation he had had with the Emperor. Napo- 
 18 [ 267 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 leon III held him in high esteem because he was 
 sincere and disinterested, and because such men 
 were growing fewer around him every day. The 
 Emperor having asked him some few questions, 
 Arles-Duf our had begun to talk of Saint-Simonism 
 and of the dreams the school cherished, and which 
 he still retained inviolate in his innermost thoughts, 
 believing that some day they would be realized, 
 when suddenly Napoleon III said to him: 
 
 " Do you not think that people may be, after 
 all, somewhat right when they call you daft ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire, I am daft," answered Arles-Duf our ; 
 " but your Ma j esty knows very well that it is only 
 daft persons who succeed." 
 
 The Emperor burst out laughing, and rose, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " Leave the room, impertinent fellow, and don't 
 come back until to-morrow at two o'clock." 
 
 This story amused Arles-Duf our immensely, who 
 said he was happy to tell it to us fresh from the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 Madame Charles Reybaud, who was a Proven- 
 cale, was conversing with Arles-Dufour about 
 Provence. She loved it, as did Louis Jourdan, also 
 a Provencale. They spoke of Marseilles, and this 
 led them to a discussion on the Canal of Suez, 
 where work had already been begun. A storm 
 
 [268]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 of argument then burst forth. With the excep- 
 tion of de Girardin and myself all were Saint- 
 Simonians, and what made matters worse was that 
 Monsieur de Girardin gloried in being Monsieur 
 de Lesseps's most intimate friend. 
 
 " It is abominable of de Lesseps," Lambert-Bey 
 said, " to have turned to his own advantage the 
 Saint-Simonians' work. I took part in the mission, 
 and I know how Enfantin and our engineers toiled 
 together. Everything in the de Lesseps scheme 
 was our property, and in taking it from us he has 
 done a wicked deed which will bring him misfor^ 
 tune." 
 
 Girardin had the reputation of being most 
 courageous in defending his friends. 
 
 " The Saint-Simonians," he said, " like many 
 others before them, did certainly study plans for a 
 canal at Suez, and made surveys, but de Lesseps 
 is the only man who was able to realize their dream, 
 and I will tell you the true version of it, for you are 
 all just men, Madame Reybaud and Madame La- 
 messine included, and you ought to know the 
 truth. 
 
 " No one can deny that it was de Lesseps's father 
 who discovered Mehemet-Ali. He was then consul 
 in Egypt, when Monsieur de Talleyrand begged 
 of him to select out of the Egyptian army a man 
 
 [269]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 sufficiently energetic to put a stop to all the trouble 
 in the Delta. Monsieur de Lesseps immediately 
 selected Mehemet-Ali. 
 
 " When Mehemet-Ali, then at the zenith of 
 power, heard of the arrival in Egypt of his pro- 
 tector's son he welcomed him with open arms, and 
 was pleased at the growing friendship between 
 Ferdinand de Lesseps and his own son Said. After 
 his father's death, when Said came into power, he 
 determined to make a journey into the Libyan 
 Desert, followed by his army. He hastened to in- 
 vite his friend de Lesseps to accompany him, and 
 it was during the intimacy of this journey that 
 Ferdinand spoke, for the first time, to Said of his 
 plan of opening the Isthmus of Suez. 
 
 " Said was carried away by the idea, and, on his 
 return, he communicated officially to the foreign 
 consuls his intention of making the Canal of Suez, 
 and of intrusting the execution of it solely to his 
 friend de Lesseps. Then began the struggle with 
 England. 
 
 " You, Aries, are well aware of all the obstacles 
 placed in the way, and of all the ill-will shown by 
 Palmerston to every French undertaking. Cobden 
 and Michel Chevalier have suffered enough from 
 them. The campaign made by Palmerston against 
 Suez should make you all uphold de Lesseps instead 
 
 [270]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 of attacking him. You know, my dear fellow, that 
 Palmerston has repeatedly said that ' the canal 
 shall not be made as long as he lives, and that it is 
 a theft.' When de Lesseps is next in Paris, Aries, 
 I will take you to see him, and you are too good a 
 Frenchman not to say to him, ' Succeed, and you 
 will deserve the thanks of the Saint-Simonian 
 School and of France.' In three months' time % the 
 Suez Canal Company will be formed, and you will 
 rejoice, I am sure." 
 
 You could turn Aries round your finger with 
 such words as these. " He will go to see de Lesseps, 
 I am sure," I said to myself ; only the Saint-Simo- 
 nian bankers will never forgive him. 
 
 " I can understand," continued de Girardin, 
 " how the Saint-Simonians, who knew so well how to 
 undertake great enterprises, must regret not being 
 able to count this among their number ; but, believe 
 me, de Lesseps is the only man who could have bat- 
 tled, and who will continue to battle, against Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " No man can gather such hatred around him 
 with impunity," answered Lambert-Bey, " and we 
 must wait to see how it will turn out. If the canal 
 should fail, France will bear the brunt ; if it should 
 succeed, the English will buy it, as they buy up 
 everything worth having." 
 
 [271 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said de Girardin and Arles-Du- 
 four in the same breath. 
 
 " You, Aries, believe in Cobden," said Jourdan. 
 " True, he is less English than most of them, but 
 do you really think that Gladstone and Palmerston 
 would allow him to negotiate his Treaty of Com- 
 merce if they did not feel that it was in some degree 
 unfavourable to France? I repeat what you have 
 just said, ' Nonsense ! ' " 
 
 A few days after our dinner the Treaty of Com- 
 merce with England was signed. It had still to 
 pass through the Chambers, but neither Arles- 
 Dufour nor Michel Chevalier ever doubted the re- 
 sult. 
 
 Mon Village was now published. Both Hetzel 
 and Michel Levy were most gracious towards this 
 little book. Juliette Lamber made her entrance 
 into the literary world. 
 
 " The trick has been well played," said my hus- 
 band to me. " But I shall find means to pay you 
 back." 
 
 I received from Littre " a 'patent of nobility" 
 the title he put at the head of the precious letter 
 he wrote to me. My book interested him, because 
 I made my peasants speak as they really do speak, 
 and yet in such a manner as to be understood by a 
 
 [272]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 Parisian reader. In Mon Village I developed for 
 the first time an idea which no one had held up to 
 that moment, namely, workmen's trains, which 
 were to bring, at reduced prices, Belgian harvesters 
 who come every year into France. The press warm- 
 ly took up the idea. 
 
 Littre found in Mon Village a number of old 
 French words, and, in questioning me about cer- 
 tain Picardy patois words, told me that his 
 great desire was to make a grand French dic- 
 tionary. 
 
 Among the numerous letters I received about 
 Mon Village was a most flattering one from Ed- 
 mond Adam. I answered him rather coldly, but 
 my reply, far from discouraging him, seemed 
 to prompt him to write again under various 
 pretexts, and, moreover, to come one night and talk 
 to me when I was at the theatre with Madame 
 Fauvety, whom, it is true, he knew. He even asked 
 at what hour he could come to see me. I did not 
 answer him. 
 
 " Adam is one of the Republicans whom Fauvety 
 and myself esteem the most," said Madame 
 Fauvety. " If you speak to Renouvier about him, 
 he will tell you that since Cavaignac's death, and 
 apart from the great exiles, Hippolyte Carnot, 
 Jean Reynaud, and Edmond Adam are the men 
 
 [273]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 whom he esteems in the highest manner, and whom 
 he calls ' the moral trio.' " 
 
 Although Edmond Adam still continued to be 
 unsympathetic to me, and to annoy me by his per- 
 sistence, I could not, however, really feel hurt at 
 the flattering sympathy shown me by a man whose 
 character ranked so highly. Whenever I went 
 home to my father, he was always curious to hear 
 about the new people I had met. I spoke to him 
 of Edmond Adam. 
 
 " He is as good as gold," said my father. " Do 
 you know that he led the assault of the Saint- 
 Antoine barricade without arms of any kind, and 
 that he refused the great cross of the Legion of 
 Honour, which the Assembly had voted for him, 
 saying " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know all that, papa, and much 
 more besides ; but will you believe it, he does not 
 please me at all." 
 
 " Well, the next time you see him, you may tell 
 him from me that your father would be most happy, 
 should the opportunity occur, to shake hands with 
 him, for he is one of the rare few of whom an old 
 Republican may be proud." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult wrote me short letters from 
 Nice, full of the delight she felt in basking in the 
 sunshine, in being surrounded with light and blue 
 
 [274]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 skies, and in living in the midst of flowers. She 
 promised to write me a long letter and to tell me 
 about an extraordinary poetess she had discovered. 
 
 Wagner, at the suggestion of Hans von Biilow 
 and of Madame de Charnace, whose indifference 
 towards him was only assumed, and who really ad- 
 mired him, as did Monsieur Charnace, who was a 
 great favourite in influential fashionable society 
 and in literary and artistic circles — Wagner, I re- 
 peat, was about to give three concerts, and had 
 hired the Italian Opera-House for the purpose. He 
 was warmly supported by all the Germans living 
 in Paris and by some of his fervent admirers, such 
 as the Vilborts. Although he was in no wise sym- 
 pathetic to me, still, considering the circle of friends 
 in which I lived, I would have thought myself dis- 
 loyal to them had I not tried to sell as many tickets 
 as I possibly could for the Wagner concerts. 
 Michel Levy helped me somewhat in so doing. Ed- 
 mond Adam wrote to ask for twenty tickets, and 
 when he appeared forty-eight hours later to pay 
 his debt, I was obliged to receive him. 
 
 " So soon ? " I cried. 
 
 " I confess, Madame," he replied, " that I have 
 been at some pains, for if I had not jokingly told 
 my friends that we ought to know ' the music of 
 
 [275]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the future,' I do not think I could have sold a single 
 ticket." 
 
 During all the time of Edmond Adam's visit I 
 felt in dread of his making some too tender speech 
 to me, but he did not. All that he did say was to 
 ask me the number of my seat at these concerts. 
 How could I help telling it? 
 
 I sold such a number of tickets that Wagner sent 
 de Ronchaud to present me " the Hydrocephalic's 
 profuse thanks." 
 
 In spite of what has been since said, these con- 
 certs attracted a number of persons, especially the 
 first two. Curiosity and interest made them really 
 successful. 
 
 Wagner was too infatuated with himself for our 
 Parisian taste. He displeased a great number of 
 persons by his exaggeratedly solemn manner in 
 leading the orchestra; but certain parts of Rienzi, 
 Lohengrin, Tristan et Yseult, and the Vaisseau 
 Phantom were, however, much liked and applauded. 
 Many of his hearers suffered, as I did, from the 
 superabundance of brass instruments. The ma- 
 jority of them expressed their opinion freely. I 
 acknowledged mine only outside of Madame de 
 Charnace's and Madame Vilbort's circles. Fioren- 
 tino and Theophile Gautier criticised Wagner's 
 talents somewhat harshly. In his article of the 
 
 [276]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 9th of February, Berlioz was very severe on " the 
 music of the future." Being entirely devoted to 
 the " music of the past," he confessed he preferred 
 Alceste to the Vaisseau Phantom. 
 
 Nothing irritated Wagner more than to have 
 the term " music of the future " applied to his 
 works. " If you place a man in a category in that 
 way," he said, " you condemn him to be summarily 
 judged by the ignorant. And to think it is Ber- 
 lioz, a musical genius, who tries to throw me in the 
 background in France with their ridiculous words." 
 
 Fiorentino called Wagner " a murderer of mel- 
 ody," and yet selections from Lohengrin were the 
 music that had been most played. 
 
 I was seated between Challemel-Lacour and Ma- 
 dame Vilbort ; Edmond Adam's chair came next to 
 that of his friend Challemel. Challemel-Lacour 
 and Wagner having met in Zurich, had become 
 intimate friends from that time, and saw much of 
 each other in Paris. At the second concert Challe- 
 mel, at a certain moment, pointed out to me Ber- 
 lioz, who was applauding. 
 
 " He is carried away in spite of himself," he 
 said. " I can understand his being annoyed by 
 Wagner's partisans, who are wrong in believing it 
 necessary to depreciate what is old in order to ad- 
 mire what is new, and thus to make a system out 
 
 [277]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 of an evolution, for people then imagine they are 
 placed face to face in a lawsuit and must take 
 sides for or against it." 
 
 " True musicians take sides now with Wagner 
 and against all other present or future composers," 
 Madame Vilbort replied. 
 
 " See ! That is how they all talk," answered 
 Challemel, laughing. 
 
 While in Zurich Challemel had translated Tris- 
 tan et Yseult, and his friend Herwegh said wittily : 
 
 " Contrary to all other translators who are 
 treacherous, Challemel-Lacour will be a benefactor, 
 no matter at what cost, for he will unravel the ob- 
 scurities of Tristan, and we shall finally know what 
 Wagner really meant to say." 
 
 Hans von Bulow could not forgive Berlioz for 
 his severity towards Wagner, the more especially 
 because Liszt was about to bring out in Weimar 
 L'Enfance du Christ and La Damnation de Faust. 
 I do not know if it is true, but it was said that 
 Biilow endeavoured to prevent the representation 
 from taking place. But no one had power to influ- 
 ence either Liszt or the Princess Caroline Sayn- 
 Wittgenstein where Berlioz was concerned. 
 
 When his Damnation de Faust was played with 
 great success at Weimar, Berlioz was deeply 
 touched by the pleasure shown by his friends, and 
 
 [278]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 I remember Charles Edmond telling us of Gounod's 
 real " happiness " at the news of this success. 
 
 " At last," said Gounod, " our master is appre- 
 ciated by every one. He will talk no longer now, 
 like a martyr, of the horrible * execution ' of his 
 Damnation de Faust at the Opera-Comique." 
 Gounod's Philemon et Baucis had just been given 
 and had been well received by the public, which 
 thus tried to make him forget the little success of 
 the first representations of Faust. 
 
 Discussed, upheld, and torn to pieces in turn, 
 Wagner had nevertheless taken his place in Paris, 
 and, as it was in a Republican and liberal circle, 
 and in the literary and artistic world, all of which 
 were anti-Imperialist, they were ready to welcome 
 the coming works of " the musician of the future," 
 on condition that they should contain more melody 
 and less noise. 
 
 Challemel-Lacour had heard from de Ronchaud 
 of Edmond Adam's love for me, and would often 
 tease me and ask if I had lost my heart whenever 
 he met me. I could only make him cease his jest- 
 ing by saying to him : " Challemel, you are kind 
 and yet you hurt me. My sorrows can only be con- 
 soled by the utmost respect of my friends." 
 
 Nice and Savoy were ceded to France by Victor 
 
 [279]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Emmanuel. Charles Renouvier was dining at Ma- 
 dame Fauvety's one night when I dined there also 
 before going with her to the Theatre Francais to 
 see Mademoiselle Plessis as Dona Clorinde in 
 L'Aventuriere and he read us a letter from Jean 
 Reynaud, who, for several years past, had spent 
 his winters at Cannes. Although an enemy of the 
 Empire and as stanch in his opinions as one could 
 be, Reynaud wrote that " France, by the acquisi- 
 tion of the county of Nice, had added a superb 
 jewel to her crown." The only thing that dis- 
 turbed Reynaud was the question of our new fron- 
 tier. He feared that Victor Emmanuel, in order 
 to preserve his coverts for hunting chamois, would 
 keep his forests for himself as far as Saspel, and 
 added that it would be " a great danger if the 
 Col de Tende which commands that part of France 
 should remain Piedmontese." Jean Reynaud also 
 wrote that Renouvier should speak about it to Car- 
 not, and make a campaign in the press in favour 
 of a better outlined frontier. 
 
 " We cannot be contented with a small stream," 
 Jean Reynaud added, " which would be folly, be- 
 cause Piedmont nourishes ardent ambitions, which, 
 according to Monsieur Thiers's prophetic opinion, 
 may one day make us her enemy." 
 
 We strained every effort in vain. A year later 
 
 [ 280 ]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 the Piedmontcse frontier extended as far as Sos- 
 pel. 
 
 A few days after we had been to see L'Aventu- 
 riere, Madame Fauvety and I returned to the 
 Theatre Francais to hear Madame Ristori play 
 Phedre in Italian and recite some poetry by 
 Legouve with an accent which made us under- 
 stand her refusal to play the role in our tongue. 
 Madame Fauvety, whose greatest success had been 
 in Phedre, taught me to admire comprehensively 
 the great tragedian's passionate and individual 
 rendering of the part and her perfect understand- 
 ing of Phedre's character. 
 
 Edouard Grenier came to see me and told me 
 the news of Garibaldi's invasion into Sicily, which 
 had been confided to him by Bixio, who had author- 
 ized him to tell me of it as a secret, my pamphlet 
 on Garibaldi having placed me, in his mind, among 
 his faithful friends. Now, Nino Bixio, Alexan- 
 dre's brother, whom I came to know later, told me 
 
 * 
 
 one day the whole adventure. 
 
 " At Genoa, at the time of the expedition of the 
 Mille, I was commissioned by Garibaldi," he said, 
 " to select a ship that was to transport the arms. 
 I negotiated with the manager of a company, who 
 authorized me to take one of his vessels. I selected 
 the Milanais. I went myself with forty men, about 
 
 [ 281 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 eleven o'clock at night, to take possession of the 
 vessel, and thought it more prudent to keep the 
 sailors prisoners. But in order to get out of the 
 port of Genoa we were obliged to raise steam and 
 to put the pumps in motion to fill the boiler. This 
 made some noise, and as the vessel was not regis- 
 tered to sail, the noise attracted the attention of 
 the police, who boarded us. There was great ex- 
 citement among the Garibaldians. Informed that 
 the police had come, I went up to them, determined 
 to brazen it out. 
 
 " ' If you do not let me leave,' I said, ' I have 
 forty men on board and I will have you thrown into 
 the hold.' 
 
 " I had not, however," said Nino, interrupting 
 his story, " any idea of shedding blood," and he 
 continued : " The police said they would leave the 
 ship, but would return with a larger force. 
 
 " We hastened our departure. The arms and 
 ammunition had been confided to some smugglers, 
 men on whom we could rely, who were to keep them 
 safe in a gorge not far from the sea. Just then 
 a smuggler arrived very frightened, saying they 
 had been surprised and that all the stores had been 
 seized. 
 
 " At this news my men grew nervous, hesitated, 
 and wished to be put ashore. 
 
 [ 282 ]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 " I suddenly remembered," Nino continued, 
 " that some little forts on the route had lately 
 been stocked with arms. I told my volunteers about 
 it and proposed to plunder one. They yielded to 
 my persuasion and I hurried them off. I found 
 the ammunition and the arms in a little fort guard- 
 ed by a small detachment. I took possession of 
 them." 
 
 " Without much fear of being blamed by Mon- 
 sieur de Cavour," I added, laughing. 
 
 " And feeling very happy," continued Nino, 
 without answering me, " we set sail again. 
 
 " The route traced for us by Garibaldi was a 
 marvellous one, for it kept us between the line fol- 
 lowed by large navigating vessels and by that taken 
 by small brigs. We could not, therefore, be dis- 
 covered. Garibaldi," added Nino, " proved him- 
 self in this the greatest admiral of modern times. 
 
 " But something else still more terrible and en- 
 tirely unforeseen happened. Garibaldi had ordered 
 me not to make use of ordinary signals and to 
 show no lights. 
 
 " The Milanais was steaming two miles behind 
 the vessel commanded by Garibaldi, who had set 
 sail from a different port from ourselves. 
 
 " Garibaldi had gone to sleep and had forgotten 
 to give orders that there should be no lights, or 
 19 [ 283 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 bells rung. The man who had assumed the place 
 of captain during Garibaldi's slumber had the 
 lights lit and the bells rung. . . . 
 
 " We suddenly found ourselves near to another 
 vessel sailing in our line, and which, of course, we 
 took for an enemy's ship. I instantly determined 
 to board it. I harangued my mates, stimulated 
 their courage, made them believe we were pursued, 
 and prepared them for a fight. During this time 
 the captain of Garibaldi's vessel perceived that a 
 ship without lights or bells was sailing in his wake, 
 and believing himself followed, decided to wake the 
 General. 
 
 " Garibaldi, much disturbed, went up hurriedly 
 on the bridge and called out through the speaking- 
 trumpet: 'Is it you, Nino?' I couldn't reply. 
 I was so overcome at the thought that I might, in 
 my haste and quick temper, have made everything 
 fail, perhaps even have killed Garibaldi and sunk 
 his ship. 
 
 " During the passage I lost Garibaldi twice be- 
 fore reaching Sicily. 
 
 " One day, as I was eating my soup on deck, 
 and thought that my volunteers had some also, one 
 of them passing said to me: 
 
 " ' You are eating soup, and we have nothing 
 but bread.' 
 
 [284]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 " Carried away by my temper, which I never 
 knew how to master, I threw my plate at his head 
 and wounded him. This caused much indignation ; 
 and a revolt broke out on board. The sea was 
 stormy. We had lost Garibaldi for the second 
 time. They made me prisoner and wished to 
 kill me. 
 
 " * Wait,' I said ' I am the only sailor on board 
 and you have need of me. I swore I would set you 
 ashore at a certain point, and I will do it. You 
 can't do without me. When we reach land you 
 will find enough trees where you can hang me, if 
 you wish to do so.' The revolt calmed down." 
 
 At Marsala, in order to put the men he had 
 picked up on his passage more quickly ashore, 
 Nino Bixio stranded the Milanais, for it would 
 have taken him forty-eight hours to land them by 
 a boat. 
 
 One day during the expedition he attacked a 
 post with his volunteers. Garibaldi had sent him 
 word : " You must carry that position or the day 
 will be lost." 
 
 Nino's horse was wounded and vomited blood 
 through his nostrils. It was impossible to find an- 
 other horse. Nino was short in stature; his voice 
 was tired out; he could never have made himself 
 heard on foot. The volunteers, seeing him hesitate, 
 
 [285 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 hesitated also. Nino set his horse on a furious gal- 
 lop. It did not fall. The volunteers followed him 
 and the position was carried. 
 
 Another day Nino was wounded in his breast. 
 He searched for the ball with his fingers, and, find- 
 ing it, threw it away, saying to his men : " You 
 see, those things are not dangerous." 
 
 On another occasion, during a panic, his gun- 
 ners took flight, abandoning their cannon, because 
 the Swiss sharpshooters picked them off one by one. 
 Nino sat down on a cannon for a few minutes and 
 his gunners returned to their posts. 
 
 He never doubted the success of the expedition. 
 Whenever it was reported to Garibaldi, there is 
 this obstacle or that peril, Nino would always add : 
 
 " We will overcome it, General." 
 
 Nino Bixio said to me : " Garibaldi is a grand 
 sailor, a great general. He knows all about war 
 and its tactics, and he knows all about the sea. 
 He never yields to any influence, which is a great 
 arm for a leader. He lives alone with his own 
 thoughts, is always gentle and calm, and never," 
 continued Bixio, " at any moment does he lose his 
 temper. He orders an officer to be degraded in the 
 same tone as though he were saying, ' Make up 
 that account.' Garibaldi has a sort of supernatural 
 influence over people. I have experienced it, and 
 
 f286]
 
 WAGNER, BERLIOZ AND EDMOND ADAM 
 
 what I feel for him is not admiration, I absolutely 
 worship him. You cannot think what gentleness, 
 what patience is required to deal with men such as 
 I am, who are passionate and violent — to com- 
 mand volunteers, men always ready to fight, but 
 who think they can leave you at any minute, and 
 who refuse to mount guard and expose you to 
 danger. 
 
 " People think me barbarous, cruel sometimes," 
 continued Nino Bixio ; " but I am not bloodthirsty 
 by nature, though I often went nearly mad en- 
 deavouring to prevent my men from deserting, 
 nd in trying to furnish them with arms and 
 
 a 
 
 clothes and food." 
 
 During the fighting at Palermo, Nino Bixio's 
 bravery was so prodigious that Garibaldi made him 
 ma j or- general. 
 
 One day, when I was talking of Nino's courage 
 to his brother, Alexandre Bixio, he said to me 
 calmly : 
 
 " I brought him up to have no fear. When he 
 was a little child I would hold him over our bal- 
 cony suspended by one leg above a street in Genoa." 
 
 [287]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 BUFFERING from a cold I could not throw 
 off, and from an irritation of the throat 
 which made articulation painful, at the urgent ad- 
 vice of de Ronchaud I consulted Doctor Cabarrus, 
 a friend of Madame d'Agoult, of Girardin, brother- 
 in-law of Madame de Lesseps and son of Madame 
 Tallien. I already knew him, having met him at 
 different places, and he was so sympathetic and 
 kind to me that I never hesitated at the first symp- 
 tom of the most trifling ailment to go and consult 
 him. Certain fads of my friend, Doctor de Bon- 
 nard, on the treatment of throat affections, inspired 
 me with only a relative confidence in his diagnosis. 
 
 The great Cabarrus having prescribed absolute 
 rest, I determined to spend a few weeks at Chauny, 
 and the fact that my daughter supported with 
 difficulty being shut up in Paris, was but an addi- 
 tional and imperative reason for this step. 
 
 My home life was becoming each day more pain- 
 ful to endure. Already, before this brief retreat 
 to my father's house, I had proposed to my hus- 
 band a definitive and friendly separation. 
 
 " Never," he said. " You are the proudest orna- 
 
 [288]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 ment of my home, and I may need your relations 
 in the future. We must never even think of separa- 
 tion." 
 
 It would serve no useful purpose to detail at 
 length the story of my sufferings and struggles. 
 To make them the subject-matter of a novel would 
 form a strange sequel to my book on Mon Enfance 
 et Jeunesse (The Romance of my Childhood and 
 Youth). The development of Positivist ideas in 
 a false direction, the moral deterioration of cer- 
 tain Parisians, might possibly afford a logical ex- 
 planation of the cruelties I had to endure for a 
 long time. I may say, however, that the nature 
 and character of friends like Madame d'Agoult, 
 Jules Grevy, Arles-Dufour, Jean Reynaud, Ed- 
 mond Adam, George Sand, who guarded, protected, 
 and guided me in my troubles, did but grow, if pos- 
 sible, brighter still, from the reflected rays of all 
 the kindness, all the friendship, fatherly protection 
 and love I received from these dear friends. But to 
 bring forward a proof of their moral support, of 
 their many deeds of devoted affection, to repeat 
 once again all that my father was to me, in spite 
 of his great and long-lasting fear of my husband, 
 would necessitate the disclosure of confidences 
 which, I think, should ever remain secret within the 
 domain of sealed intimacy. 
 
 [289]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Madame d'Agoult returned from Nice the day 
 before my departure for Chauny. I was ignorant 
 of this, and felt sorry I could not see her, especially 
 as I should not be able to return to Paris. My 
 father, in agreement with Doctor Cabarrus, to 
 whom he had written, ordered me to take the waters 
 at Pierrefonds. 
 
 Daniel Stern had the great kindness to promise 
 to come and join me there. 
 
 I was so touched by this, so grateful for this 
 proof of affection on the part of so influential a 
 friend to one so insignificant as myself, that I wrote 
 her a letter, into which I threw all my heart. To 
 this she replied : 
 
 " My little Juliette, you return a hundredfold 
 all that has been done for you. I shall be at 
 Pierrefonds in three days." 
 
 As soon as we came together I made it my en- 
 deavour, by innumerable attentions, to show my 
 deep sense of gratitude to my powerful friend. 
 
 In the morning I gathered on the edge of the 
 woods the flowers she loved so much, and my first 
 greeting to her was accompanied by a posy of 
 flowers. To her great delight I repeated this each 
 day with an ever-varying selection. I then hastily 
 ran over the papers, and for her entertainment told 
 her the latest news. 
 
 [290]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 It was quite sufficient for her to say, " My little 
 Juliette, you are spoiling me," and I felt my day 
 was a success. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult told me of the literary dis- 
 covery she had made at Nice. She had unearthed 
 a woman of genius, but so strange and so whimsical 
 that all that had ever been said on the originality 
 of poets was now cast deep into Cimmerian shade. 
 Her name was Madame Ackermann. The constitu- 
 tion of her mind is best described as infernal. Her 
 atheism was so provokingly tantalizing that, as she 
 herself would say, she would speak her mind to the 
 Almighty, if she thought fit. Her conversation 
 was bewildering in its very unexpectedness, and, as 
 Madame d'Agoult said, was as terse as the tersest 
 of epistles. 
 
 Equally at home with the dead languages as with 
 the modern, Madame Ackermann possessed vast 
 knowledge. She laughed scornfully and with fero- 
 cious irony at all feminine claims. 
 
 " Without ceasing to be a woman and to darn 
 my stockings, I am yet the freest and the most 
 latitudinarian thinker of my generation." 
 
 " Madame Ackermann," remarked Madame 
 d'Agoult, " although regretting her husband, has 
 a horror of love, ' that disease of the temperament,' 
 as she terms it, which makes her appear cruel to 
 
 [291]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 all other women who might defend or feel this 
 passion. You cannot imagine her apostrophes to 
 me," said Madame d'Agoult, in confession to me. 
 
 In our walks Madame d'Agoult often returned 
 to the subject of George Sand. 
 
 " What I reproach her with," she remarked, " is 
 that strange mixture of the conventional with 
 moral eccentricity. She seems to be continually 
 reducing her wildest passions to their lowest terms. 
 She is everlastingly talking of herself and of her 
 adventures, as if the bubbling waters of her im- 
 pressions, once having left the source of her mind, 
 found no other course but to return whence 
 they sprang. But what I cannot forgive is her 
 awkward and ungainly appearance. She has no 
 idea of dress; her practical joking, and, at her 
 age, her somewhat Bohemian habits, are little 
 to my taste. Such a want of dignity, to my 
 mind, compromises the whole tribe of women 
 who write." 
 
 " But, in your opinion, my dear friend," I re- 
 plied, " Madame Ackermann no more pursues ele- 
 gance and good taste than a gardener's wife might 
 do." 
 
 " It is not quite the same thing," came the reply. 
 " Madame Ackermann, as she herself admits, does 
 
 [292]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 not go into society. Madame Sand is a society 
 woman. She has birth, and no valid excuse for 
 remaining childish as she grows older." 
 
 I changed the subject as soon as I could. 
 
 " Madame Ackermann declares herself the foe 
 of circumstances ; that is to say, of all those idiotic 
 phenomena which appear without sufficient reason. 
 Science is her god. The thirst to know, ' to unveil 
 the mystery,' is ever calling her. She is ever strug- 
 gling against this mystery, and becomes intoxi- 
 cated with her own imprecations, but she utters 
 them in superb defiance. 
 
 " Ever in revolt, Madame Ackermann finds peace 
 nowhere. She does not believe in friendship ; even 
 perched high up on the mountains, dominating the 
 splendid panorama of Nice, she lives alone, sur- 
 rounded by her peasants, who cultivate vegetables 
 and fruit, in equal shares, for her and for them- 
 selves. Once or twice a week she goes down into 
 Nice to stuff her necessary provisions into a long 
 and large basket, and to pay a few calls. At times 
 the odour of these provisions is somewhat embar- 
 rassing." 
 
 Daniel Stern climbed up to the solitudes of Ma- 
 dame Ackermann, her motto* impelling her, and as 
 she expressed astonishment not to find the prospect 
 * In alta solitudinem. 
 
 [293]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 enlivened by a few flowers, Madame Ackermann 
 replied : 
 
 " I hate flowers. Smiles and the perfumes of 
 nature are lies; brightness and light are cruel de- 
 ceptions." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult perceived her opinion of 
 George Sand had not the slightest influence on 
 mine. However, she asked me one day : 
 
 " I suppose you still have your weakness for 
 her? " 
 
 " Yes, in the precise measure of my strong affec- 
 tion for you." 
 
 " But what is it that especially attracts you in 
 Madame Sand? " 
 
 " Her whole work, her marvellous productiveness, 
 which fascinates me, and then her affection for the 
 peasant, whom she loves as I love him." 
 
 " For my part, I cannot abide a peasant," said 
 Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 " I realize this but too well, my dear friend, as 
 you did not even deign to write me a single word 
 on the subject of Mon Village." 
 
 " The book interested me, not on account of the 
 type depicted, as I have found in my experience the 
 peasant, cunning, greedy, and coarse, but I was 
 perfectly charmed with the composition and style. 
 I hope to discuss the whole book with you at length, 
 
 [294.]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 but all my sympathies go to the townsman and 
 citizen. In workmen and artisans I find elevated 
 sentiments, perspicacity, and a generosity of nature 
 unapproached by your peasant." 
 
 " You do not know our French peasants. Their 
 equals cannot be found in any other country. The 
 man of earth is fashioned by the earth as much as 
 he fashions it, and we must love both at the same 
 time." 
 
 " I have no patience with you, my little Juliette." 
 
 " You must forgive me for having vile tastes 
 and the tastes of a villain, please, Countess." 
 
 I always received a gentle castigation with an 
 umbrella or some such scourge whenever I indulged 
 in any spirited quibbling. But Madame d'Agoult, 
 who was never really displeased by any semblance 
 of independence of mind, as she was by nature 
 genuinely liberal and tolerant, only smiled, and it 
 was over — but to begin again. 
 
 De Ronchaud had to break his holiday at Lu- 
 picin par Claude on account of some urgent busi- 
 ness. Spending a few days in Paris, he found time 
 to save forty-eight hours, and brought Madame 
 d'Agoult the latest news. 
 
 Prevost-Paradol had left the Debats. 
 
 His success had become more pronounced than 
 
 [295]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ever on La Presse. People raved about his articles. 
 The Government and the Imperialists were furious. 
 
 Baron de Heckeren, meeting de Ronchaud, 
 whom he had known a considerable time, said to 
 him on the subject of Paradol: 
 
 " At the first opportunity they will crush him." 
 
 De Ronchaud told us that in his conversation 
 with Heckeren he had taken a keen pleasure in 
 arousing his anxiety by remarking: 
 
 " Take care, take very good care. Your Empire 
 is beginning to totter." 
 
 Baron Heckeren retorted : 
 
 " Let fate decide ; but of this we can be sure, 
 we have had a real good time ! " 
 
 At this period Prevost-Paradol was being prose- 
 cuted on account of his pamphlet on Les Anciens 
 Partis, and he was condemned to three months' im- 
 prisonment. 
 
 " Prevost-Paradol," said Madame d'Agoult, 
 " whom I greatly admire, and whose style is per- 
 fectly delightful, is, in my opinion, wrong to write 
 for La Presse. By his persistence in this direction 
 he will acquire a style quite foreign to natural 
 genius. I already think he is less himself than 
 when he was at the Debats. Our friend Vacherot, 
 who has had a paternal affection for Paradol from 
 the day that, in spite of his weakness in Latin, he 
 
 [296]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 admitted him to the Ecolc Normale, wrote me yes- 
 terday, suggesting that I should join my forces to 
 his in urging our young friend to sever his connec- 
 tion by degrees from La Presse, where he is expos- 
 ing himself to a utilitarian influence which will 
 undermine his noble virtues of independence." 
 
 It was a favourite theme to compare the genius 
 of About and that of Paradol. In spite of the sum 
 of unquestionable talent displayed by About in 
 what we termed his " works to order," such as his 
 last pamphlet on Prussia, he was read far less than 
 Paradol. 
 
 The whole of young France, at least we believed 
 this to be the case, was anti-Imperialist. The com- 
 parison winch young France was pleased to insti- 
 tute between the " writers at the Tuileries " and the 
 independent writers was hardly in favour of the 
 former. 
 
 Mademoiselle Clemence Royer wrote to Madame 
 d'Agoult on the subject of a Swiss competition on 
 The Theory of Taxation; or, The Social Tithe, 
 and informed her she had entered the lists along 
 with Proudhon. She had beaten him, or expected 
 to beat him, I cannot quite remember which it was, 
 but I perfectly well remember the postscript which 
 Madame d'Agoult read me: 
 
 " Kindly impart this information to your young 
 
 [297]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 friend, Madame La Niessine. She will certainly be 
 glad to hear this news, if not for my sake, at any 
 rate, as against Proudhon." 
 
 Mademoiselle Clemence Royer was in the habit 
 of writing to Madame d'Agoult long and learned 
 epistles crammed with all sorts of quotations from 
 her past and present works. My friend, whose ad- 
 miration for her was very sincere, often made me 
 read out these letters, and my delight was to tease 
 her by asking her to explain certain passages. 
 
 One day I exclaimed triumphantly: 
 
 " Ah, this time I can understand all by myself, 
 thanks to certain prints of the celebrated works of 
 Monsieur de la Palice ! " 
 
 The quotation ran as follows : " The fatal im- 
 perfection of all language perpetuates human dis- 
 putes ; nobody ever understands a speaker or a 
 writer as he understands himself." 
 
 I had read Mademoiselle Clemence Royer, and 
 had meditated over " the penetration of mind by 
 matter and of matter by mind." I admired her 
 balanced and antithetical arrangement of words, 
 as in the following formula : 
 
 " All mind is body, and all body is mind, ani- 
 mating a single entity by its essence, and multiple 
 in number." 
 
 This great philosopher affirmed that Descartes 
 
 [298]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 was mistaken, that he had stated the question badly, 
 and that matter no more exists than mind. Mate- 
 rialism appeared a boorish doctrine to Mademoiselle 
 Clemence Royer, Positivism was a stage towards a 
 higher evolution, which she defined. She herself 
 had reached this stage and termed it " monism." 
 
 On my asking Madame d'Agoult if she was a 
 " monist," she replied with a sort of " Well, well," 
 which seemed to imply, " Well, perhaps I am." 
 
 Mademoiselle Clemence Royer was an admirable 
 interpreter. Outside this faculty her capacities 
 were rather destructive than creative; very much, 
 in fact, like her rival, Proudhon. 
 
 During our stay at Pierrefonds we received a 
 mass of letters about the " scandal of the Vaude- 
 ville." A w r ild play in three acts, called Ce qui 
 Plait aux Femmes, was being played at this theatre 
 at the end of July. It was a medley of many styles. 
 They first declaimed in prose and then in verse. 
 There was dancing and singing, and each act was 
 complete in itself. Truth to tell, there was no 
 meaning to be discovered in this disconnected ex- 
 travaganza. The author was Ponsard, classic 
 Ponsard, who wanted "to know just once" what 
 it felt like to be fancy free. 
 
 The Censor of Plays coming to the conclusion 
 that what could not be understood must be danger- 
 30 [ 299 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ous, interdicted the piece, and the author was exiled 
 for — four days ! 
 
 Somebody at table who had seen Ce qui Plait 
 aux Femmes declared that it was a hundred times 
 inferior to Les Exploits de Rocambole. 
 
 De Ronchaud had left us a few days before. I 
 was soon to lose Madame d'Agoult, who was re- 
 turning to Paris to be present at the first night of 
 Charles Edmond's new play, L'Africain, at the 
 Francais. Charles Edmond and Madame Vilbort 
 had both written me to come up, and that my seat 
 was reserved. But I wished more than ever at this 
 moment not to return to my husband. Besides, the 
 Pierrefonds doctor told me I must undergo another 
 week's treatment. I wrote to my father to come 
 over and decide for me. Pierrefonds was so near 
 Chauny ! 
 
 I also asked him to thank Madame d'Agoult for 
 her motherly kindness to me. 
 
 My father came over, and knew how to express 
 to Madame d'Agoult, in terms which greatly 
 touched her, his gratitude and my mother's for the 
 protection she extended to their beloved daughter. 
 
 Soon I was left alone at Pierrefonds, but I was 
 not long in discovering that this isolation em- 
 boldened gallant gentlemen to somewhat overt acts 
 of indiscretion. I received presents of flowers, 
 
 [300]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 which I, in due course, presented to the manageress 
 of the hotel. Notes also were addressed to me, 
 which I tore up unread. But what annoyed me 
 most was that I was unable to take my accustomed 
 walks in the forest or move about without meeting 
 people I did not wish to see. I therefore left Pierre- 
 fonds and returned to Chauny. 
 
 At home with my parents, alternating rest with 
 solid hard work on my Mandarin, I spent several 
 very delightful weeks, not quite unclouded by dis- 
 tress, it is true, as my good mother in her dramatic 
 way often lamented my unhappy marriage. 
 
 My little Alice, passing most of her time at 
 Chauny in the open air, was in excellent health, and 
 my father begged me to let her remain with them 
 some time longer. 
 
 I now returned to Paris. My friends were slowly 
 coming back. Madame d'Agoult had remained in 
 town. Arles-Dufour was up for a few days. He 
 told me and gave proof of his desire to be useful to 
 me. Toussenel " crossed the Rue de Beaune," as 
 my old Beuque used to say. The Fauvetys never 
 ceased showing their devotion to me. Here were 
 all my dearest friends, and great was my delight 
 to be among them again. 
 
 I often pilgrimaged to Neuilly to see my cousin 
 Vilbort. Here I frequently met Charles Edmond, 
 
 [301 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Sarcey, About, Louis Jourdan. Discussion was now 
 no longer in fashion as formerly. Everbody was 
 busy at games in the garden. The men played at 
 skittles and the women at graces. I missed the 
 brilliant intellectual tournaments of a former time 
 between About and Sarcey. Our games, while 
 pleasantly diverting, afforded but little instruction. 
 
 A deluge of rain, accompanied by a terrific 
 storm, compelled us after breakfast one day, in 
 spite of our heroic resistance beneath umbrellas, to 
 take shelter within doors. 
 
 My cousin and myself both felt the same desire 
 to bring About and Sarcey together once again. 
 I asked Jourdan to assist us in this endeavour, but 
 Sarcey was far less eager than in the old days to 
 " let himself loose " on About. 
 
 A marked change had come over Sarcey. He 
 seemed to have conquered his whole personality. 
 It is true he still loved his old friend, but he cate- 
 gorically and frankly imposed certain restrictions 
 on his habit of jesting, and to-day he solemnly pro- 
 tested against About's mania of " passing every- 
 thing through the sieve of words." 
 
 The expression struck home and won its com- 
 mendation, and Jourdan, the sincerest believer in 
 right, in good, and in justice, added: 
 
 " The truth is, the mind, whose sole aim is to be 
 
 [302]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 brilliant, becomes in this process a wild iconoclast, 
 and succeeds only in breaking the heads of the 
 puppets erected with so much difficulty." 
 
 " And yet this breaking of heads is so delightful 
 in itself," retorted About. " Bang, bang, well 
 thrown; another unhappy puppet put out of 
 action." 
 
 " And what happens next? " queried Sarcey. 
 
 " Why, then recourse is had to Taine to prop 
 the slaughtered innocents up again. You who ad- 
 mire him so much must admit he performs passing 
 well this office of restoration." 
 
 " I must perforce confess he works serious havoc, 
 but he does not wantonly destroy and devastate in 
 anything like the same measure as you do. Just 
 consider what scrupulous care and method he uses 
 in analyzing a fact before he transforms it into 
 ammunition for his battle." 
 
 " I grant he never tosses his slaughtered foes to 
 the winds with the same indifference that I do. He 
 gathers them carefully into heaps. But for the 
 rest, my opinion is he leaves intact considerably 
 fewer beliefs and enthusiasms than I do." 
 
 " At any rate, Taine always leaves us some 
 hope that one day or other he will start recon- 
 structing, while you just destroy for destruc- 
 tion's sake." 
 
 [303]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " No ! this is too strong. How can you say I 
 am a mere iconoclast, when I am the only Nor- 
 malian, the only Conservative, who accepts the es- 
 tablished government? " 
 
 " Why, you are demolishing this Empire of 
 yours more light-heartedly than any one. Have 
 you ever resisted this temptation by one single 
 word? You will die a revolutionary yet." 
 
 " Unhappy man ! you wrong me outrageously. 
 I am a very pillar of the Empire — which will soon 
 be democratic. Have I ever said, with Taine, that 
 I submit to the present order of things as to ' a 
 necessary evil ' ? I am sincerely attached to the 
 ivy which binds the Empire to Prince Napoleon. 
 And what an ivy it is ! He has strength and power, 
 he has knowledge, fore-knowledge, and talent. Do 
 you know what Renan said to me the other day at 
 the Palais Royal? He said, ' He is a genius.' " 
 
 " For my part," replied Sarcey, " I am not to 
 be convinced of this or that by mere exaggerations. 
 On the contrary, I should like to see in the younger 
 generation of Normalians, in men like Paradol, 
 Assolant, yourself, and even in that last one of 
 the older set, like Challemel, another kind of spirit. 
 I should like to perceive them not forever in the 
 vanguard of words, but rather in the rearguard 
 of thought, like your Cousins, your Guizots, your 
 
 [304]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 Villemains. My ideal Normalian is thoughtful and 
 collected." 
 
 " Well, you have Taine, but he differs from us 
 only in form. He does not fight or destroy in the 
 same way as we do. But with his positivism, his 
 dogmatism, his scientificism, his Spinozism, his par- 
 ticularism, his observationism, his criticism, he 
 would turn us into a generation of experimental- 
 ists, realists, analysts, exacticians, fatalists, anti- 
 idealists, anti-artists, in a word, all anti-French 
 and anti-Gallic. I wish to remain imaginative and 
 spiritual at least. The only thing which concerns 
 Taine is his constant preoccupation not to stray 
 from the beaten track of common sense. He casts 
 a spell over you by his very weaknesses. He makes 
 La Fontaine the first of educators, and to please 
 you would extol Boileau ! " 
 
 " All that you say," rejoined Sarcey, " in spite 
 of its witty flavour, is not without a certain element 
 of truth. What a pity it is you do not dig the 
 sand deep instead of playing at scattering the sur- 
 face dust in our faces. I think you would save us, 
 because your penetrating and clear mind perceives 
 many things. I also deplore and become anxious 
 at all those systems which tend to make every 
 Frenchman a methodical registrar and a mere 
 classifier of nothings. We shall soon be in the 
 
 [305]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 position of having more learned fools than ignorant 
 fools. We have all gone verification mad. I should 
 like to see a seed planted which might grow into 
 something." 
 
 " Why, this is the most damaging criticism of 
 Taine's method. Your beloved favourite is much 
 more anxious to prove the existence of tares in the 
 gathered harvest than to sow the good seed for a 
 future one. My aim is above all to sow good seed." 
 
 " Look here, About, do you know why I like 
 you. Because in the very midst of all your raillery, 
 and all your cynicism, you suddenly speak words 
 which come straight from your heart. You are 
 many times better than you wish to appear." 
 
 " Well said ! well said ! " repeated Jourdan. " I 
 love you both. You are good and clever fellows. 
 We want more men of your stamp in the France of 
 to-day. You have both of you voiced sentiments 
 which ought to be spoken and heard. Just go on, 
 my children, fighting and hoping. Moral equi- 
 librium is always restored, but this does not prevent 
 our crushing those who attempt to destroy our 
 equilibrium. For my part, I can never forgive 
 Taine his statement that virtue and vice are simple 
 products, like sugar and coffee. I agree with 
 About; we are surfeited with systems, and Sarcey 
 shares our opinion. We are ingurgitating too 
 
 [306]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 much science. The reaction of the banished imagi- 
 nation will be terrible. She will return to us ac- 
 companied by a retinue of the wildest dreams and 
 most fantastic superstitions. You younger men 
 will witness the truth of this." 
 
 " Ah," said Vilbort, " how these discussions 
 show up the emptiness of political tittle-tattle. 
 This very night I shall write down the impressions 
 of this conversation and re-read them in a quarter 
 of a century." 
 
 I, like Vilbort, the same evening wrote down what 
 I had just heard. One day, in 1878, when Gam- 
 betta, Challemel-Lacour, Spuller, and About were 
 discussing Zola at my house, I produced my notes 
 and read them. About perfectly well recollected 
 the general sense of his conversation on Taine with 
 Sarcey, and it appeared interesting to all of us at 
 that time, and would be still more so to-day, be- 
 cause at this period Gambetta, Challemel-Lacour, 
 and About himself were dabbling in Positivism 
 and science. 
 
 The talk then turned on the convention between 
 England and France, to put an end to the massa- 
 cres in Syria, on the landing of our troops, on the 
 Chinese war, the occupation of the forts of the 
 Pei-Ho. We all bitterly deplored that our foreign 
 policy was at the mercy of the English, to be 
 
 [ 307 J
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 turned to their own and sole advantage. My 
 father, who, like all true Picardians, was fervidly 
 anti-British, wrote me letters in which his intensity 
 of feeling on the subject evidently disconcerted his 
 logical faculty. 
 
 At Madame d'Agoult's and in Opposition circles 
 opinion was unanimous that in China the French 
 were sacrificing themselves for British advantage 
 and prestige. One day as Littre and I were dis- 
 cussing politics at our mutual friend's house, and 
 on my quoting to him some words of my father of 
 extreme violence against the Chinese war, he made 
 this reply, which I have not forgotten: 
 
 " The politics of the men of 1848 will never be 
 dissolved, because each one of them is forced to 
 confess that the Empire has only become possible 
 by accepting all their faults, all their divisions, 
 all their hatreds." 
 
 The entry of the French troops into Pekin, fol- 
 lowed by the looting of the Summer Palace, ex- 
 cited indignation in some and rejoicing in others. 
 We of the Opposition were by no means exagger- 
 ating when we said that in the Chinese war France 
 was the dupe of England. I had a proof of this 
 from a confidential statement of Count IgnatiefF 
 many years later. He told me the English were 
 making use of and supplanting the French every- 
 
 [308]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 where. The English so managed that in the eyes 
 of the Chinese the French appeared mere mercena- 
 ries. The English wished to prevent them march- 
 ing through Pekin, but he (Count Ignatieff) 
 warned General Cousin-Montauban of what was 
 going on. " March through," Ignatieff advised 
 him, " with flags unfurled and drums beating. You 
 will meet with no resistance." 
 
 Our delight can be imagined at the defeat of 
 Castelfidardo. But Edmond Adam, who had now 
 become most assiduous in attendance at Madame 
 d'Agoult's, was alone depressed by the news ; not, 
 of course, on account of the blow given to the 
 cause defended by Lamoriciere — for Adam was, 
 like all the rest of us, anti-Clerical — but he sympa- 
 thized with the general himself. It was in com- 
 pany with Lamoriciere that in June he had gone 
 to the assault of the Saint- Antoine barricade, and 
 he found it sad to see him now defeated. 
 
 I saw Toussenel, who was furious at Michelet's 
 last book of La Femme, which he had finally made 
 up his mind to read. 
 
 " What has he done with our Velleda ? " he asked 
 me. " Because he first marries a cold and unsym- 
 pathetic girl, and second an emotional and sensi- 
 tive woman, he makes claim to have discovered 
 woman, the real woman. What does he morally 
 
 [309]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 know of the question, whose sole title to the knowl- 
 edge of women is derived second-hand through 
 studying the history of the ambitious mistresses of 
 our kings? Woman," continued Toussenel, clasp- 
 ing his hands, " I have described her, I, who 
 believe I know her, as the being adorably per- 
 fectible, almost touching the divine from the 
 double point of view of physical beauty and in- 
 tellectual splendour. Let us compare a woman 
 of, let us say, the period of the lake-dwellers, when 
 she was a sort of monster, with what she is 
 to-day! What is she not capable of becoming? 
 What was she already in Athens, in Gaul? What 
 will she be in a hundred years' time, when peace 
 and harmony shall reign on earth? " 
 
 On leaving Toussenel I went and joined Madame 
 d'Agoult in her walk. She was fond of having 
 two or three friends with her at such times. I 
 found her accompanied by one of her relatives from 
 Nice, whom she had often mentioned to me, a 
 young diplomat of great promise, who begged us 
 not to mention his name should we ever happen to 
 transcribe that day's conversation. 
 
 Aware that Madame d'Agoult was thinking of 
 Michelet's Femme, I told the story of Toussenel's 
 revolt. 
 
 " That conception of a sick woman, that settled 
 
 [310]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 opinion of belittling a whole sex forever, which is 
 daily proving its worth, makes me also indignant," 
 said Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 Our diplomat seemed to be quite at home with 
 the manners, ways, and character of Madame 
 Michelet. 
 
 " This young wife," he said to us, " is clever- 
 ness personified. She makes her husband turn out 
 bad books, but furnishes him with the opportunity 
 of writing beautiful pages on the sentiments of an 
 old man rejuvenated by love." 
 
 " This book," continued Madame d'Agoult, 
 " inspires me with a sort of revulsion. Already 
 Michelet, the historian, torments me by the magic 
 and the passion of his style, and by that diligent 
 search for small causes which seems to me an insult 
 to the majesty of history; such, at any rate, as I 
 comprehend it. To prove woman sick and feeble 
 is an indignity offered to every young girl in good 
 health, to the strong wife, to the buxom matron, 
 to all women who work in field or town, and such 
 statements are made for the benefit of a useless and 
 narrow-minded class to do honour to some weak 
 and feeble lady who would have acquired robust 
 health by mating with a lusty young fellow 
 and becoming the mother of half a dozen 
 children." 
 
 [311]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " I have a horror of Michelet," abruptly chimed 
 in our young diplomat. 
 
 " Why a horror? " asked Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 " I will give you my reasons. What I hold 
 dearer than anything else is liberty of conscience." 
 
 " But we all of us hold to that," replied Madame 
 d'Agoult. " To us Republicans, and by conse- 
 quence Liberals, toleration is our necessary and in- 
 dispensable formula." 
 
 " Yet there is such a thing as a tyrannical 
 Republican." 
 
 " Well, then, such a one needs a qualifying con- 
 dition to his title of Republican." 
 
 " But the real and genuine Republican is by 
 necessary inference a Liberal." 
 
 " I am aware, Madame, of the existence in your 
 ranks of a large number of anti-Clericals, and 
 therefore I have considerable misgivings for your 
 coming Republic." 
 
 " Well — touching your horror of Michelet? " 
 
 " This sentiment, Madame, dates its origin back 
 to my old Strasburg days, at which time I was in- 
 timate with Michelet's son. He was a very nice 
 young fellow, honourable and affectionate, modest 
 and of average intelligence. He possessed not in- 
 deed those attainments and abilities which single 
 out a man pre-eminently for future greatness, but 
 
 [312]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 his qualities were rather such as win esteem in pri- 
 vate life. Some years subsequent to the death of 
 their mother, both he and his sister — who was the 
 elder of the two and the wife of Monsieur de La- 
 martine's secretary — surrendered their maternal in- 
 heritance to Michelet. They did this at the request 
 of their father, who pleaded his very embarrassed 
 circumstances owing to the loss of post and salary 
 consequent on the Second of December. At the 
 period of my intimacy with Michelet's son, that is 
 to say, in 1833, his income was derived from a 
 small clerical salary earned in the office of the Re- 
 ceiver-General of Taxes for the Bas-Rhin. His 
 father was ashamed and impatient at the mediocrity 
 of such a situation, but rarely sent him any money. 
 In the meantime, as soon as the maternal legacy, 
 which belonged by right to the children, had been 
 made over to him, Michelet married again a woman 
 younger than his son, and above all, younger than 
 his daughter, and incurred all the additional ex- 
 pense of setting up a second household. He doubt- 
 less comforted himself with the reflection that this 
 renunciation on the part of his children was right 
 for them to make and right for him to accept. Un- 
 fortunately, he did not stop there. One fine day 
 the thought seems to have occurred to him that his 
 son, being in the service of a Receiver-General 
 
 [313]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 for Taxation, would be considered a supporter of 
 tyranny, and that this would seriously compromise 
 Michelet himself. He therefore set himself to 
 bombard the son with letters, urging him in forcible 
 terms to find other employment. 
 
 " Weary of this dreary war, the unhappy fellow 
 yielded to the importunate father, and went and 
 buried himself in a post of Superintendent of Rail- 
 ways, where his emoluments were just sufficient to 
 keep body and soul together. His new duties com- 
 pelling him to spend many of his nights out be- 
 yond the fortifications— the unhealthiest of local- 
 ities, perhaps — he soon contracted a fever. His 
 father, on being informed of his son's illness, took 
 matters so leisurely that on arriving at his son's 
 bedside he found him dead. He doubtless soon 
 consoled himself for this loss, but, scandalous to 
 relate, he witnessed the body surrounded with 
 tapers and holding a crucifix in its hand. This 
 appalling spectacle was too much for his sensitive 
 nature. 
 
 " The friends of the dead man and myself were 
 standing in the room, when Michelet addressed us 
 in an excited tone, exclaiming : * They are insulting 
 me; it is all a plot and a cabal. Let these trum- 
 peries be removed forthwith.' 
 
 " ' Excuse me, sir,' I said, politely, but firmly, 
 
 [314]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 ' we are the friends of your unhappy son. We 
 each nursed him in turn during his illness, not with- 
 out considerable risk to ourselves of contracting 
 the malady. Conscious that his end was approach- 
 ing, your son, of his own free will, requested the 
 administration of Extreme Unction and of the last 
 sacraments. We strenuously oppose any removal 
 of the symbols of religion from the dead man's 
 chamber. If such tokens inconvenience you, then 
 you must make your appeal before the President 
 of the Tribunal.' 
 
 " ' You are mocking me,' replied Michelet, an- 
 grily. ' You surely must know that under the 
 Empire there is no justice for a man like me. I 
 insist on your leaving here and claim my rights as 
 a father.' 
 
 " ' Sir,' I replied, ' your son was of age. He 
 expressed the wish to be buried as a Christian. 
 This shall be done. While he was alive I was his 
 intimate friend, and am not ignorant of the fact 
 that during his life you performed your duties as 
 a father in a very shameful way. This, therefore, 
 is hardly the time to claim your rights of a father.' 
 
 " ' You are an impudent rascal.' 
 
 " ' You are a sectary and a criminal to boot. 
 With your son lying dead you show neither rever- 
 ence nor fitness in indulging in vulgar vitupera- 
 21 [ 315 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tions. Let me speak most plainly to you. I hold 
 you responsible for the death of your son.' 
 
 " At this juncture Monsieur Michelet made an 
 unhappy movement, which seemed to threaten in- 
 sult. Four arms immediately seized him and caused 
 him to turn on his heel, while one of our friends 
 pushed him in the direction of the door. 
 
 " The landlady, who was the proprietress of the 
 Kleber Baths, happening to open the door, Mon- 
 sieur Michelet seized the opportunity to make good 
 his escape. A minor detail has escaped my mem- 
 ory, Who paid for the funeral? I no longer quite 
 recollect. A report was bruited in Strasburg that 
 the liabilty was discharged by the Jesuits, but the 
 Fathers denied it. However, I am inclined to be- 
 lieve that the necessary expenses were defrayed 
 by one of the reverend gentlemen, Father Francois, 
 who had attended young Michelet in his last mo- 
 ments." 
 
 " Michelet had a double nature," remarked Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult. " I have known such characters. 
 Pen in hand, he no doubt felt truly enough the 
 sentiments he describes. It is not conceivable that 
 he could have played at comedy all through his 
 life. Such really genuine and sincere chords can- 
 not be set vibrating by a mere effort of sustained 
 rhetoric. On the other hand, can we allow that it 
 
 [316]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 is possible for a man to possess a purely cerebral 
 conception of the emotions of kindness, generosity, 
 and magnanimity? " 
 
 " Michelet was a bad father all his life," added 
 our diplomat. " How can such astute spoliation 
 of his children with a view to a second marriage 
 be reconciled with the devoted love of the human 
 race? Such love must be mere pose. Vanity, 
 egoism, dominate in Michelet, and for this reason 
 I, the friend of the son whom he abandoned and 
 sacrificed, detest him." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult had just received a book 
 which she lent me, Merlin l'Enchanteur, by Edgar 
 Quinet, with a dedication dated " from Veytaux, 
 near the old Castle of Chillon." This book gave 
 me great delight. It was a work of amazing 
 audacity, and interesting as a medley of legend, 
 folk-lore, and actual realism. The style was good 
 and limpid, somewhat emphatic perhaps, but, as 
 was fitting, bringing into harmonious and delicate 
 setting the different epochs, ideas, and nations of 
 history. Merlin l'Enchanteur is so essentially a 
 book inspired by its epoch and period that it must 
 be quite impossible to understand it to-day. 
 Jacques Bonhomme is surely out of date. 
 
 The Princesse Belgiojoso conferred on me the 
 
 [317]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 great honour of sending me by our mutual friend, 
 Dall' Ongaro, her last book, La Maison de Savoie, 
 in which the breath of her ardent love for Italy 
 animates every page. 
 
 The list of books published at this date would 
 be far too extensive to draw up. Bad books were 
 rare. Of course one had moments of despair when 
 such a worthless book appeared as the Lui of Ma- 
 dame Louise Collet. It was repugnant. Musset 
 was disgracefully described, and Flaubert was rid- 
 iculed as an eccentric, disliking the country and 
 not liking town, anxious and tormented, incapable 
 of a sustained effort, taking five hours to write five 
 lines, which he touched up or destroyed the next 
 day. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult had more control over her 
 patience than I had with all this malicious nonsense 
 about Flaubert dished up by Madame Collet. Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult had no great admiration for Flau- 
 bert as a writer. She found fault with his morbid 
 craving for touching up. " That excessive hank- 
 ering after perfection," as she termed it, " was 
 as harmful to the flow of the thought as it 
 was baneful to the life and movement of the 
 style." 
 
 Here again we judged according to different 
 standards. I had read Madame Bovary, not in- 
 
 [318]
 
 GUSTAVE FLAUBERT. 
 From au etching by H. Toussaint.
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 deed for the sake of the intrigue, the realism of 
 which shocked me, but for the delicate chiselling 
 of the form, which quite charmed me. 
 
 At Madame de Pierreclos's, who had just arrived 
 from Macon, and who was resuming again her "At 
 Homes " from four to six, I one day met Louis Ul- 
 bach, the author of Monsieur et Madame Fernel, a 
 delightful romance and quite the success of the 
 year. Louis Ulbach was a man of real talent and 
 good-natured. He led a hard and tempestuous life, 
 which must often have been difficult financially. 
 But his animation was such that he was often in 
 request even by those from whom he borrowed too 
 frequently. Madame de Pierreclos, with whom he 
 was a favourite, used to say of him : " Every day 
 he needs three thousand francs before three o'clock ; 
 but as this sum is only forthcoming three, or at 
 most four, times a year, the rest of the time . . . 
 he manages to do without money." 
 
 It was delightful to listen to Madame de Pierre- 
 clos dilating on Le Voyage de Monsieur Perrichon, 
 still fresh on the posters and known but to very 
 few people. As for me, I told Madame Fauvety 
 I would not go and see it, being convinced that it 
 would be inferior to the merits discovered by Ma- 
 dame de Pierreclos. 
 
 On the same day as Madame de Pierreclos, with 
 
 [319]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 such real humour, described to us Le Voyage de 
 Monsieur Perrichon, she gave us some most inter- 
 esting details of the first love-affair of Berlioz, the 
 married heroine of which, Madame Estelle Fornier, 
 she knew at Lyons. It was a pure love-affair, an 
 idyll of delicate freshness, and a sentiment of such 
 ethereal idealism that it was difficult to realize the 
 same man could become the impetuous lover of Miss 
 Harriet Smithson, whom he married. Poor wom- 
 an ! — his wife indeed she was — but, guilty of con- 
 ventionality and narrow-mindedness, she was soon 
 abandoned and died of grief. Madame de Pierre- 
 clos had in her possession a letter of Berlioz to the 
 young girl he loved, and at the end of her story 
 she read it for us so touchingly and sympathet- 
 ically that all eyes were moistened with tears. 
 
 Of a truth, the niece of Monsieur de Lamartine 
 possessed all the graces of the mind and all the 
 sensibilities of the heart. 
 
 The next day I went round to all my friends, 
 telling them, " Get Madame de Pierreclos to de- 
 scribe you Le Voyage de Monsieur Perrichon and 
 Berlioz's first ' love-affair.' " 
 
 Madame d'Agoult left Paris again for Nice, and 
 her departure in the midst of my conjugal troubles 
 gave me greater pain than I had felt even the pre- 
 ceding year, although she left me Jules Grevy to 
 
 [320]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 support me in my difficulties. Arles-Dufour, in 
 the absence of Madame d'Agoult, was my great 
 solace. Jules Grevy prevailed on him to try and 
 win my father over, who opposed my request for 
 separation, declaring with a stubbornness alto- 
 gether inexplicable, if one judged him by his 
 advanced opinions, and not by his antiquated 
 provincial ideas, that he would never admit " a 
 scandal " in the life of his daughter. 
 
 On the point of leaving for Chauny with this 
 object, Arles-Dufour said to me: 
 
 " Your father is, then, a believer in association, 
 a phalansterian, in short? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The disciples of Fourier have ideas as liberal 
 as ours respecting marriage with an unworthy 
 partner." 
 
 " My father believes in all the social ideas of 
 Fourierism, but accepts none of its formulas, which, 
 in his dread, he classes together under the general 
 heading of ' inordinate love of change.' Each 
 time I take leave of him to go to Paris he never 
 fails to give me this parting advice : ' Mind you do 
 not allow yourself to be tempted by the dishonour- 
 able lies of this butterfly " passion for change," 
 by which he means the desertion of home, whatever 
 that home may be." 
 
 [321]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " But what if society accepted the phalanste- 
 rian idea? " 
 
 " My father says that society dips into all sys- 
 tems, whether philosophic or moral, and never ac- 
 cepts any one creed in its entirety, but only ex- 
 tracts from each what it can assimilate, which is 
 invariably in the direction of all the most moral in 
 the ethics of the system." 
 
 " Well, there is some truth in this." 
 
 " Then, again, my good father is ever haunted 
 by the idea that any departure from the established 
 conventions of conjugal life becomes at once 
 the subject-matter for some ' novel.' This word 
 ' novel,' recalling to his mind the ideas and errors 
 of judgment of my grandmother, puts him beside 
 himself." 
 
 " Well, we shall see whether the ' eccentric fel- 
 low ' will succeed in this as in other enterprises." 
 
 Arles-Dufour described to my father all the 
 sorrow and trouble I had kept secret from him 
 for so long. He told him the struggle was telling 
 on my health, and pointed out the imminent danger 
 of a young and pretty woman in Paris, unhappily 
 married, becoming the subject-matter for some 
 romantic story. He then outlined for my father 
 what ought to be " his future line of conduct," as 
 he termed it, with regard to his child. He im- 
 
 [322]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 pressed upon him the necessity of devoting his life 
 to her in the measure required by the serious situa- 
 tion created. 
 
 " If you have not courage enough to become the 
 real father you ought to be, if your love for her 
 is not sufficiently strong to champion her cause, 
 then," said Arles-Dufour, " I myself will take 
 charge of her. My wife shall be a mother to her, 
 and my children shall look upon her as their sister." 
 
 Once again the " eccentric one " succeeded by 
 his kindness, and by his summary method of up- 
 setting all specious arguments, and by his way of 
 assuming a personal responsibility in the event of 
 the cause being in jeopardy. My father inter- 
 preted in the right spirit this form of paternal 
 devotion. He was quite prepared after a few 
 hours of contact with the best of men, the kindest 
 of friends, to unite himself with me in defending 
 my rights and to follow me wherever it became 
 necessary to champion my cause. My mother also, 
 conscious of the wrong she had done me, thanks 
 to a short lecture from Arles-Dufour, felt happy 
 in being relieved from that powerlessness to act. 
 
 The " father " had worked a miracle. At my 
 advent at Chauny I found courage and serenity 
 in my relatives. For the first time in their lives 
 they were perfectly in harmony as to the end to 
 
 [323]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 be attained. Even my little Alice, whose mind 
 was alert from the many scenes she had witnessed, 
 appeared to understand what every one endeav- 
 oured to conceal from her, for she said to me: 
 
 " The old gentleman with white hair came to 
 see us. He is a ' good genius.' " 
 
 How often in our conversation did my parents 
 and myself repeat these words ! 
 
 Madame d'Agoult, to whom I wrote the good 
 news of the wonderful change wrought by my dear 
 friend Aries, answered how much she rejoiced to 
 hear such tidings, and she added : " Work away, 
 little Juliette. Send me the proofs of your Man- 
 darin to look over, and as soon as it is finished start 
 something new. To place it will be easy, and it 
 will enable you to earn a little money. Your dig- 
 nity demands you should not be entirely dependent 
 on your family." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult then mentioned Madame 
 Ackermann again. " From her loftily perched 
 house," she wrote me, " the view is superb. But 
 whenever the moon casts its pale harmony over the 
 agitated deep, or whenever daylight envelops in- 
 finity with its azure mantle, then she breaks out 
 into a spirit of blasphemy and bewails the isolation 
 of man. And yet this woman is a great artist. 
 She has drunk deep of the secrets of rhythm from 
 
 [324]
 
 A CRISIS IN MY LIFE 
 
 the traditional sources. Her verse has all the ele- 
 gance of form and of beauty resulting from words 
 in perfect harmony with the image depicted. But 
 at the same time one is conscious that she feels 
 nothing but anger. Neither love nor motherhood 
 has ever dissolved into joy or into pain this heart 
 of adamant eternally irritated. The divine has 
 never cast its benign influence on this agitated soul. 
 I often find myself telling her : ' You are a monster 
 of ingratitude. You are the exponent of an art. 
 You live in the midst of the most beautiful scenery 
 in the world, and yet you never cease finding fault 
 with life.' 
 
 " It is true she is common and even ugly in 
 appearance. Her forehead is too broad, and her 
 face, all right angles and, as it were, masculinized 
 by thought which is ever combative, is not exactly 
 attractive at first sight. Abrupt, peremptory in 
 her speech, she can be rude if she is displeased, and 
 does not hesitate to give immediate expression to 
 her irritation. With unfeigned contempt she wit- 
 nesses two women in conversation, and her disgust 
 is intense should they embrace. She puts up with 
 me because I can speak German, and to Madame 
 Ackermann the only art, the only science, the only 
 literature, the only letters, the only philosophy, is 
 the German. Her curiosity is only aroused by 
 young brains and their evolution. She takes 
 
 [ 325 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 greater pride in provoking admiration from young 
 people on account of her knowledge than in aston- 
 ishing them on account of her revolts." 
 
 As Chauny was on the road to Brussels, my 
 cousin Vilbort paid me a flying visit as she was 
 passing through on her way there the very next 
 day after my arrival home. I could not see her 
 at the time of my departure, and she was anxious 
 about me. I told her all I could of my semi- 
 reconquered liberty. She was perfectly charming 
 to me and to my circle. 
 
 My father wrote to Grevy and thanked him 
 warmly for having championed the cause of his 
 unhappy daughter. He was thankful, he added, 
 " to find her case in the hands of the most honoured 
 among Republicans." My father concluded by 
 saying he had no doubt that " a counsel of the 
 great reputation of Monsieur Grevy, in possession 
 of the proofs mentioned to him by Arles-Dufour, 
 would find no difficulty in removing as soon as 
 possible out of my life a man who had made it so 
 hopelessly wretched." 
 
 So the days passed. I continued my work. My 
 great distraction was to be present at the lessons 
 given by father to my little girl. He was a won- 
 derful educator, but he was not so exacting with 
 her as he had been with me in my early lessons. 
 
 [326]
 
 SJJJ. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 POLITICS ART MUSIC 
 
 riilHAT disturbed the balance of my father- — 
 lAl and, truth to tell, this was not difficult to 
 do — was what was termed the " constitutional 
 Opposition," the Liberal Empire. 
 
 " These words, which howl to be placed to- 
 gether," he said, " make me see all in red." 
 
 It requires but little imagination to picture how 
 he received the decrees which accorded to the Sen- 
 ate and to the Legislature the vote of an address, 
 and the publication of the debates in extenso, 
 briefly what is called the Decree of the 24th 
 November. 
 
 " This Liberal comedy," he said, " exasperates 
 me far more than the Imperial tyranny." 
 
 In writing to de Ronchaud, who frequently met 
 Hippolyte Carnot, I requested him to repeat to 
 Carnot what had been said about him by Renouvier. 
 " I know no man more endowed with real sapience 
 — the product of knowledge and wisdom — than 
 Hippolyte Carnot. Never have I heard him give 
 expression to a single trite or commonplace 
 thought." 
 
 [327]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " My dear friend," wrote de Ronchaud in reply 
 to me, " I am not sending you a letter, but a 
 volume. I am convinced you will read it without 
 complaining of its inordinate length. I was last 
 night at that mysterious agape at Girardin's which 
 we call the dinner to Madame d'Agoult. Nobody 
 is invited but Tribert, Littre, Carnot and myself. 
 We assemble in the absence of our dear and noble 
 friend and talk about her. I forward to her the 
 report of the evening's proceedings. .This time 
 the honours of the evening were for you, and 
 Madame d'Agoult will gently pardon the trans- 
 gression. We were but three the evening before 
 last, Girardin, Carnot and myself. 
 
 " I first began by telling Carnot the words you 
 had heard from Renouvier, and that you charged 
 me to report them to him ; but I added : 
 
 " ' I really find Renouvier a vile flatterer. To 
 possess your qualities, my dear Carnot, you had 
 only to be born and to inherit all that your father 
 had in superabundance. Could the son of the 
 Organizer of Victory possibly be different from 
 what he is? Or better still, as you cannot assim- 
 ilate into yourself all your father has bequeathed 
 you, there must remain a goodly portion for your 
 eldest son, Sadi, who, I make bold to say, will one 
 day be right worthy to carry the name of his 
 
 [328]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 grandfather and to perpetuate his father's noble- 
 ness of heart. " All beautiful things are arranged 
 in triads," said the Greeks.' " 
 
 (At a later date I read to Sadi Carnot, when 
 Minister of Finance, these words from de Ron- 
 chaud's letter. He knew of the prediction; his 
 father had repeated the words to him when he 
 passed out first from the Ecole Poly technique. ) 
 
 De Ronchaud continued: 
 
 " I asked Carnot where he had first met Renou- 
 vier, and he answered : ' When I was minister in 
 1848 I was so ingenuous as to be capable of believ- 
 ing that it was my duty to improve and ameliorate, 
 to reform and even to revolutionize a little, and 
 that we ought to give every possible opportunity 
 to the men of progress, assuring ourselves, of 
 course, that such men are properly balanced. I 
 made a study of the administrative machine piece 
 by piece, and the forcible and logical conclusion I 
 arrived at was the absolute necessity of revising 
 the educational programme, suppressing what was 
 out of date, in fine, trying new experiments and 
 considering the best means to form the civic char- 
 acter of the rising generation, so as to bring such 
 character into harmony with the instincts of our 
 race, our history, and patriotic ideal, without 
 losing touch with the modern requirements for 
 
 [329]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 action and with the necessity of practical knowl- 
 edge for life's battle. I asked Renouvier, who was 
 at this time a ministerial secretary and had given 
 signs of exceptional ability, to draw me up a man- 
 ual of education embodying the leading principles 
 just enumerated. A few weeks later he handed 
 me a perfect masterpiece. My desire was to scatter 
 immediately far and wide this useful manual; but, 
 would you believe it, I discovered in my colleagues 
 and in the National Assembly a spirit of official 
 red-tapeism and a narrowness of vision well-nigh 
 inconceivable? My best friends forsook me, de- 
 claring me too daring. Nobody reading to-day 
 Renouvier's Manual could believe that the men of 
 184-8 refused to make its principles the moral 
 basis of Republican education.' 
 
 " My dear friend," continued de Ronchaud, " as 
 it was your compliment of Renouvier respecting 
 Carnot that started this conversation, and as I 
 am sure the sequel will interest you, I send you 
 the full report. The unhappy exile at Chauny 
 can imagine she is still in the midst of her friends, 
 listening to them discoursing: 
 
 " * Revolutionaries have never carried great re- 
 forms,' said Girardin. * Look in England. The 
 Whigs propose and the Tories dispose. Could 
 you, Carnot, President of the Council, have pro- 
 
 [330]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 posed in 1848 a reform of the magnitude and im- 
 portance of Sir Robert Peel's, the abolition of par- 
 liamentary disqualifications; in other words, the 
 vote of commercial liberty ? Could any one of your 
 party under a Republican Government have signed 
 a Commercial Treaty with England and decreed 
 free trade, as the Emperor has done ? ' 
 
 " ' Well, there are some compensations, at any 
 rate,' said Carnot. ' The Republic would never 
 have declared war on China, nor have allowed the 
 soldiers to be complimented for looting the Sum- 
 mer Palace.' 
 
 " ' Well, you know " imperial corruption " must 
 filter away somewhere,' said Girardin. ' We are 
 all rotten, that we are agreed upon. I have my- 
 self written to Admiral Couperent-Desbois to bring 
 me back my small share of the loot.' 
 
 " ' You, Girardin, are one of the guiltiest, with 
 your alternatives of opposition and rallying,' 
 continued Carnot. ' You have a taste for elegant 
 and high seasoning that Morny delights in. You 
 have a weakness for the somewhat shady intriguers 
 of public opinion, and are not averse to those who 
 pull the strings of financial operations. Imperial 
 corruption and the morals it engenders have alone 
 enabled Jewish financiers to buy up your news- 
 papers, and, like Millaud, to marry their daughters 
 22 [ 331 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 to princes, to have streets named after them, like 
 Mires. Can we not grasp the fact that their 
 exceptional and particular merit is to dupe? ' 
 
 " ' Then they will go to prison, just like others.' 
 
 " ' Because richer and more powerful men than 
 they will insist upon it.' 
 
 "'What, are you not satisfied?' exclaimed 
 Girardin. ' You are really not rating at its 
 proper value " brazen-face corruption." All the 
 satirists are on your side. The stage is replete 
 with pieces dealing with the successful theme of 
 money and its influence, and the stock-jobbing cal- 
 culators and business generally are feeling the 
 effect of the spirit abroad. 
 
 " ' Everything went wrong up till now for the 
 want of a safety-valve. Each volume of steam 
 became concentrated and threatened everywhere to 
 blow the vessel to atoms. But here are your de- 
 crees. We shall now be able to hear the hissing 
 of the rushing steam through its proper outlet. 
 You were speaking of de Morny just now with 
 contempt, my dear Carnot. Yes, I am aware he 
 is responsible for the Second of December, which 
 drove me and my friends into exile. But de 
 Morny to-day clearly recognises that we need a 
 liberal government. He is forever repeating to 
 us, the wise and the prescient ones, that we must 
 
 [332]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 win liberty by pacific means, without struggles and 
 without a fatal reaction. " Liberty," he says, 
 " acquired through a revolution, is always abused 
 and then restricted." 
 
 " ' I tell you in all truth and sincerity,' added 
 Girardin, ' liberty conceded by tyranny is the best 
 of all.' 
 
 " ' Since you instance de Morny, the freest of 
 Imperialists,' replied Carnot, ' I will cite you 
 Challemel-Lacour, the broadest of Republicans. 
 " In all sincerity," he says, " I admire these assas- 
 sins who mean to acquire profit by the resurrection 
 of the murdered. The Empire can never give us 
 liberty, but it will give us a senseless and constant 
 warfare, ending in final invasion." And to these 
 imprecations of Challemel,' said Carnot, * I will 
 add that the Empire implies that utter demoraliza- 
 tion will be the heritage of the succeeding Govern- 
 ment, for from a fallen foe we can even inherit, 
 were it but the ground on which we have just 
 fought.' 
 
 " ' Are you strong enough to overthrow the Em- 
 pire by yourself, Carnot, or even in alliance with 
 Ronchaud and with the remnant of Republicans 
 but a thousand strong? You cannot hope to do 
 so, can you? For my own part, I would rather 
 rot away than grow mouldy. To enjoy this 
 
 [333]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 liberty I follow the example set by Ollivier, I am 
 in complete agreement with de Morny, who alone 
 is strong enough to wrench this liberty from the 
 Emperor. He is the cleverest, the most valiant, 
 and the most politic of all those who surround the 
 Imperial throne.' 
 
 " ' Why, of course,' said Carnot, ' Napoleon III 
 is in a tight corner, both as regards home and 
 foreign politics and finance. He now sees the abso- 
 lute necessity of making the Chambers share his 
 responsibility with him, and to palliate his misdeeds 
 by compromising the most honest and upright 
 party that has ever existed, the party of 1848. 
 Thanks to Ollivier, we are to bear the brunt of the 
 attack. Is it not a standing disgrace to hear the 
 son of one of the proscribed patriots of the Second 
 of December inviting Napoleon III to become 
 " the initiator of French liberties " — he who has 
 drowned these liberties in a sea of blood? Is it 
 not revolting to witness one of our noble party 
 decreeing to the man of Strasburg and of Bou- 
 logne the title of " Legendary Hero," and to 
 praise him publicly for his " generosity " ? The 
 humiliation for the party to which Emile Ollivier 
 belongs is far too cruel. " The initiator of liber- 
 ties," a Napoleon III, a de Morny, a Prince Napo- 
 leon are angling in troubled waters. Is the rumour 
 
 [334]
 
 rOLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 to be trusted, Girardin, which asserts that your 
 Prince is about to start a new paper with the title 
 of Humanity? Nothing less comprehensive than 
 this. It seems that Ollivier cozens your Emperor 
 into the belief that the dawn of reconciliation of 
 all parties is just beginning and that peace is to 
 reign in France. . . .' 
 
 " ' And don't you find it quite natural,' replied 
 Girardin, half in earnest, ' that Emile Ollivier 
 should be predestined to make the presentation of 
 the olive-branch the symbol of peace? However 
 you may deplore the fact, he is the man of the 
 hour, and youthful talents group themselves about 
 him in gay procession. . . .' 
 
 " ' Except, of course, those who keep away. To 
 me Ollivier lias outrageous ambition but mediocre 
 attainments. Your Emperor is mediocre; your 
 Prince Napoleon is mediocre.' 
 
 " ' I take exception to the last-mentioned,' cried 
 Girardin. ' To him it is owing that France has 
 shaken off her dumbness. " We must have initia- 
 tive, initiative," says Prince Napoleon every day. 
 " There is nothing like it, and we must develop it 
 by all possible means. Initiative is the safety- 
 valve." He is like me in his insistence on a safety- 
 valve. Initiative is the solid foundation of all polit- 
 ical systems for the aggrandizement of a country. 
 
 [335]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Are such words those of your average mediocre 
 man? As to Emile Ollivier, he is a splendid diplo- 
 mat, as he was splendid in courage in 1848 at Mar- 
 seilles. Your Edmond Adam, your Bixio, assault- 
 ing barricades, cane in hand, are raw recruits in 
 comparison with Ollivier driving a revolted crowd 
 into the Town Hall and alone haranguing them 
 and breaking them up.' 
 
 " ' What is this story ? ' queried Carnot. ' Why, 
 he ran away from the crowd like a hunted hare.' 
 
 " ' At all events, you, the active spirits of 1848, 
 considered yourselves powerless, since you only 
 dared to face . . . abstention.' 
 
 " This document," interrupted de Ronchaud, 
 " is the best offering I can make you at the ap- 
 proaching festive season. Girardin and Carnot 
 have revised the text, as you can verify by looking 
 at the words they have either deleted or altered. 
 
 " They are quite aware that in your eyes this 
 document represents a ' turning-point ' in Im- 
 perial history. My opinion is that a discussion 
 between the two men who represent the two oppo- 
 site and extreme currents of public opinion should 
 find a pigeon-hole in your archives. You are the 
 youngest of us all. You therefore may derive the 
 most benefit in the future from the exposition of 
 these ideas. May my wish be realized. 
 
 [336]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 " As you know, you are a favourite with all of 
 us. Girardin calls you ' the universally beloved.' 
 
 " I kiss your hand in respectful homage. 
 
 (Signed) " De Ronchaud." 
 
 This " memoir " has preserved for me, and per- 
 haps also for those who may chance to read it, an 
 interest of living actuality. 
 
 All the letters I received at this period were in- 
 teresting as manifestations of opinion, although 
 they somewhat disconcerted my father. However, 
 little by little, he was growing accustomed to my 
 manner of life. I realized that by detaching him 
 from his rather narrow and circumscribed sphere 
 of ideas he would suffer less. 
 
 Carnot mentioned to Eugene Pelletan his long 
 discussion with Girardin, and told him of the " re- 
 port " forwarded me by de Ronchaud. 
 
 " A better Liberal than I am does not exist," 
 Pelletan wrote me ; " but I must confess I am on 
 my guard against what I term the ' pluralities ' 
 of liberty. Liberty to do this, liberty to do that, 
 are implied by connotation in real liberty wherever 
 it may thrive. The Empire can only give us 
 liberties. Ollivier has begun at the wrong end ; he 
 believes, or pretends to believe, that he can glide 
 himself into power with the help of this shibboleth, 
 and that liberties added to liberties will yield a 
 
 [337]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 grand total of actual liberty. I deny this. Such 
 process of addition can only create a political con- 
 dition best defined under the name of imperial liber- 
 alism. You understand what I say — Imperial. The 
 liberal Empire would be quite another thing, and 
 would imply the Empire becoming liberal, and not 
 liberty becoming Imperial. I should welcome such 
 a state of things, because it would mean a forward 
 march, which sooner or later, one fine day, would 
 drag the Empire down into the bottomless pit. 
 
 " The actual state of politics, my dear friend, 
 with its imperceptible bright spot, bids us fight 
 on the harder, using as our weapons the press, 
 books, and free speech, and especially the latter, 
 which demands from the speaker loyalty, convic- 
 tion, and faith in the good to be achieved." 
 
 On his way to Brussels Hetzel brought me the 
 first copy of my Mandarin. He told me he had 
 given it a good send-off, and that it was certain of 
 success on account of its anonymous characters, 
 whose personalities and names were easily dis- 
 tinguishable. 
 
 He brought me much news. The first repre- 
 sentation of Emile Augier's Effrontes had been a 
 great success. He had met Sarcey at the theatre, 
 who begged to be kindly remembered to me. He 
 commissioned Hetzel to bid me to look out for his 
 
 [338]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 next criticism, which would be " extremely good " 
 and would give me a very complete idea of the play, 
 " just as if I had been there myself." 
 
 The day before Hetzel had breakfasted with 
 Toussenel at the restaurant at the corner of the 
 Rue du Bac. Toussenel had charged him to 
 kiss — my hand. Coubet was present at the break- 
 fast, and they had fought. Toussenel had begged 
 Hetzel to repeat to me a phrase of Mires which 
 was going round: 
 
 " If France is so slow in blotting out the action 
 of the Rothschilds, in fifty years' time she will have 
 no more rope left with which to hang herself." 
 
 Toussenel would certainly come and pay me 
 his respects, said Hetzel, if my father invited him. 
 
 " I will do so this very day," said my father. 
 
 Hetzel brought for my little Alice all the imag- 
 inable Mademoiselles Lilis. She advised him to go 
 on publishing many such books, and that she would 
 be always pleased to accept them as presents. 
 
 " Little rosebud," Hetzel said, " you will be very 
 pretty in ten years' time. I predict it." 
 
 In one morning Hetzel had made the conquest 
 of my father and mother, which was no slight task, 
 and had completely won my little Alice by the easy 
 help of Mademoiselle Lili. 
 
 Hetzel had an especial and particular communi- 
 
 [339]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 cation to make me, which greatly moved me. It 
 was a communication from George Sand in a letter 
 addressed by her to Hetzel. She knew he was 
 coming to see me, and wished him to read me the 
 letter. George Sand " was anxious that the kind 
 heart which had taken up her defence should not 
 be left under the impression created by the mali- 
 cious and venomous things said about her since the 
 publication of Elle et Lui." The letter was a 
 splendid piece of sincere revolt. She spoke of the 
 necessity of publishing Musset's letters, and she 
 terminated a long defence with these words : " The 
 letters of Alfred will prove what I have said a 
 hundred times over, that I never encouraged a 
 nascent love in a dying man. I have never deceived 
 any one in my life. Cruel I may have been, but 
 never hypocritical, treacherous, or wicked. I abso- 
 lutely refuse to believe that, even when utterly 
 demoralized by vice, he could ever have said what 
 my enemies make him say." 
 
 " I can bear witness," said Hetzel, " that de 
 Musset never lied about her as they make him lie. 
 We were very old friends. I often used to ques- 
 tion him about Madame Sand; I wanted to find 
 out what he thought about her, to read right into 
 the depths of his soul. Twenty times I must have 
 mentioned the subject to him, and often when he 
 
 [340]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 was in his cups, and at such times in the company 
 of men it is but natural to boast in confidence of 
 one's conquests. ' No, no, not a word about 
 George; drop the subject,' was his constant reply. 
 On one occasion, at one in the morning, Rue de 
 Grammont, I came across de Musset overcome by 
 drink and sitting on the step of a house. He was 
 pitying himself. 'What are you doing here?' I 
 asked him, attempting to raise him. 
 
 " ' They have ejected me, ejected me,' he re- 
 peated, with the maudlin whine of the drunken 
 man. 
 
 " ' It is always women, my poor fellow ! ' I said, 
 dragging him along the boulevard, where I hailed 
 a cab. 
 
 " ' I want some supper. I am hungry and 
 thirsty,' he exclaimed, when barely seated in the 
 cab. He then set up such a howl that I was com- 
 pelled to stop the cab at the first restaurant. 
 
 " ' I will give you supper and wine,' I said, 
 pushing him into a private room, ' on the sole con- 
 dition you talk about Venice.' 
 
 " ' I will tell you everything, but give me some- 
 thing to drink.' While he was drinking I put 
 some abrupt and searching questions to him. 
 
 " ' It is all a hoax, George never loved you. At 
 Venice she dropped you at once.' 
 
 [341 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 u i 
 
 I tell you she did love me,' he replied, in a 
 raucous voice. I felt positive shame in hearing 
 him mention the name of Madame Sand in such a 
 condition. * But,' he added, ' it was her head that 
 fell in love with my head, do you understand ? ' 
 He laughed an idiotic and drunken laugh. 
 
 " * But she also loved you with her heart, un- 
 fortunate man.' 
 
 " ' With her head ; with her heart, no, it was 
 not this. She did not want me to look upon her 
 with such desires as I might entertain towards an- 
 other class of her sex. I upbraided her, I accused 
 her of not loving me. Her reply came back in 
 gentle and soothing words which only maddened 
 me the more. I could have killed her; do you 
 understand? The next day she would tell me I 
 was unworthy the love of a good woman, and that 
 my proper place was in the abandoned society of 
 the meretricious. I could not help acknowledging 
 the justice of her reproaches, and then we would 
 both fall a-weeping at my shame. Now you know 
 all, Hetzel ; you know all ! ' 
 
 " As I was de Musset's friend I mentioned these 
 confidential confessions only to Madame Sand, but 
 since the appearance of Elle et Lui I feel justified 
 in openly discussing this delicate question with 
 any one who seeks for information respecting their 
 
 [342]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 intimacy. Those who accuse her are despicable, 
 for she bravely concealed by her love what I for 
 many years concealed by my friendship, the degra- 
 dation of his genius through vice." 
 
 " Hctzel, please repeat this again, and repeat 
 it incessantly," I exclaimed. " They may blame 
 Madame Sand, but they must not cast aspersions 
 upon her. I feel the consciousness of her thorough 
 loyalty, and, if I may use the term, her thorough 
 manliness. Please inform her that I have never 
 once suffered her to be accused in my presence of 
 any dishonouring or unworthy act, however 
 slight." 
 
 " Write this yourself to her, my dear child." 
 I wrote to George Sand what I had said to 
 Hetzel. 
 
 A new book from Proudhon's pen, La Guerre 
 et la Paix, suggested to me the idea of bringing 
 out a new edition of my Idees Anti-Proudhon- 
 iennes, which Dentu was pressing me to do. He 
 had now withdrawn the title-page of the last edi- 
 tion bearing the name of Monsieur La Messine, and 
 in its place substituted my name. For this new 
 impression I wrote an important preface, justify- 
 ing my attack on the fallacious principles postu- 
 lated in Proudhon's book, that the law of nations 
 
 [343]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 was summed up in the doctrine that " might is 
 right," and as a necessary inference from such 
 conclusion the denial of intelligence to weak 
 women. 
 
 My energetic and indignant refutation found 
 much favour. 
 
 My good friends, Louis Jourdan, Charles 
 Fauvety, Vilbort, Clement Caraguel, Eugene 
 Pelletan, Laurent Pichat, not only congratulated 
 me, but in the papers and in the reviews eulogized 
 my preface in most flattering terms. My second 
 " father," Arles-Dufour, sent me an exhaustive 
 and enthusiastic memoir. A letter from Challemel- 
 Lacour, with some trifling reservations, was 
 equally commendatory and made me feel very 
 proud. Challemel's approbation was rare. His 
 reputation fell far short of his merit. At this 
 period he made no attempt to curry favour, and 
 yet he was writing in all the leading reviews, Les 
 Deux-Mondes, Nationale, Germanique, and had 
 bestowed on each one extracts from his beautiful 
 translation of Ritter's Philosophy, which he now 
 was collecting into volumes. Every one of Challe- 
 mel's articles was much admired, but, strange to 
 say, this admiration did not appear to be cumula- 
 tive. How often I have heard, " Read Challemel's 
 article; it is simply wonderful, superb." But how 
 
 [344]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 much less frequently did they add, " Challemel is 
 a writer of the front rank." He was praised in 
 detail only. 
 
 The case was not the same with Prevost-Paradol, 
 who was a familiar figure in society, much courted 
 and lionized. His winsome and charming person- 
 ality doubly increased the admiration felt for his 
 writings. Those who mentioned an article by 
 Paradol never failed to add, " How clever ; he is 
 perfectly unique and inimitable ! " His letters in 
 the Courrier du Dimanche were marvellous per- 
 formances in their suggestive appositeness, 
 their balanced exuberance, their deftly disguised 
 irony, and their cruelty withal so imperceptible in 
 the word, but which corroded, as it were, into the 
 very marrow of the Imperial Government like a 
 powerful and colourless acid. To understand him 
 it was necessary to collaborate with him, for the 
 more one read the more numerous became the deli- 
 cate and oblique inuendos. One could not mistake 
 what he wished to say, or misunderstand the sub- 
 ject of his allusion or of his invective. To read 
 Paradol was to set out on a long voyage of explo- 
 ration, and how great were the discoveries made ! 
 
 When in the August of 1858 Monsieur de 
 Cesena transformed the Semaine Politique into 
 the Courrier du Dimanche, he little foresaw that 
 
 [345 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 his paper was to become a great Liberal tri- 
 bunal. 
 
 Edmond Texier, his daughters, Louis Jourdan, 
 de Ronchaud, Madame de Pierreclos, the Adam- 
 Salomons, whose little daughter, a friend of my 
 Alice, they intrusted to my care, and several other 
 of my intimate friends, came and spent a whole 
 Sunday at Chauny. It was a most enjoyable day 
 in spite of the weather, which prevented our going 
 out ; but the drawing-room was very spacious ; the 
 conversation was spirited and clever, and they aU 
 relished the " fat delicacies of the provincial table," 
 as Madame de Pierreclos called them, and it was 
 evident that dulness found no place in our pleasant 
 and intellectual circle. Texier started the ball of 
 conversation rolling with some interesting anec- 
 dotes about Wagner's base and black ingratitude 
 to Monsieur and Madame Charnace, and, in fact, 
 even to all of us, who had taken such infinite 
 trouble in placing his concert tickets. Wagner 
 had visited none of his old friends in Republican 
 quarters. He had returned to Paris under the 
 protecting asgis of Madame de Metternich, and his 
 Tannhauser was being given at the Opera by 
 order of the Emperor. 
 
 " It is notorious," continued Texier, " that the 
 wife of the Austrian Ambassador holds in commis- 
 
 [346]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 sion from her Imperial Highness Eugenie the office 
 of Grand Mistress c2 Court Functions and Cere- 
 monies, but we still have to learn that she is also 
 Adviser in Art to Napoleon III. This grand and 
 noble lady, whose proud boast it is to belong to a 
 Court, admittance to which requires at least eight 
 quarters on the aspirant's escutcheon, considers it 
 consonant with her dignity to set to our Court 
 of France the tone of a music-hall. When people 
 of her own set remonstrate with her, asking whether 
 she permits these ' Imperial ' manners and license 
 in Austria, she blandly replies : 
 
 " ' There is the same distance between the Hof- 
 burg and the Tuileries as there is between the Em- 
 press Elizabeth and Mademoiselle de Monti jo.' 
 
 " Madame de Metternich has two and widely 
 different tones," continued Texier ; " one for Paris 
 and one for Vienna. In Paris she is not above sing- 
 ing light and comic ditties, and decrees that at her 
 house ' rigid formality ' is but for ' form's sake.' 
 In Vienna, Princess Metternich only allows German 
 classical music, and under this heading that of 
 Wagner of course. It may be asked why in the 
 world she is so keen to foist these compositions upon 
 us. Has she grown weary of amusing herself in 
 France? Has it dawned upon her that our gaiety 
 is the outward sign of superiority ? " 
 23 [ 347 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Avoid the Rue le Pelletier on the first night 
 of Tannhauser. Some miscMef is brewing," said 
 Louis Jourdan. 
 
 " Berlioz is furious," added de Ronchaud, " as 
 he had written to the Emperor, for which I blame 
 him, asking permission to produce the Troyens for 
 him, a Frenchman of Frenchmen." 
 
 " Under the Lower Empire the Lower Em- 
 peror," solemnly continued Madame de Pierreclos, 
 " pampered and favoured the foreigners who flat- 
 tered them in order to ruin them. I make you a 
 present of this historical discovery, gentlemen of 
 the press ; please examine it and apply it." 
 
 Again it was Madame de Pierreclos who in- 
 formed me I had just had the honour to be some- 
 what roughly handled by Monsieur Barbey d'Aure- 
 villy, a second Proudhon, when it becomes a ques- 
 tion of women writers. 
 
 " Who can tell me anything about Barbey 
 d'Aurevilly ? " I asked. 
 
 " I can," cried Edmond Texier, from the far 
 end of the refreshment table. But this " I can " 
 of his, in its vibrating energy, squashed a pufF- 
 cake, and the contained cream inundated his 
 moustache. 
 
 We thoroughly relished his predicament. But 
 Texier was quite equal to the occasion. He drank 
 
 [348]
 
 rOLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 a glass of water, applied a tea-napkin to the point 
 in distress, folded it nimbly, and appeared before 
 us relieved of his creamy deluge. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," he began, " Monsieur 
 Barbey d'Aurevilly is the enemy of womankind. 
 Some say he is a priest. What ? No ! you say. Well, 
 then, if he is not, his brother must be a priest. Yes, 
 just listen to this tender sentence of the scourge 
 of the fair sex: 
 
 " ' Women are still in quest of their souls.' " 
 
 " Well, there is some truth in this," we all pro- 
 tested in chorus. 
 
 " Here is another phrase of Monsieur Barbey 
 d'Aurevilly : 
 
 " ' Our fathers were wise to massacre the Hu- 
 guenots, and most imprudent not to do the same to 
 Luther.' " 
 
 " I echo this sentiment also," said Madame de 
 Pierreclos. 
 
 We once more protested. 
 
 " Barbey's style is picturesque and imaginative, 
 if any style possesses these qualities. There is not 
 the slightest suspicion of dulness. His book, Les 
 CEuvres et les Hommes, is not the production of 
 the first comer. He lashes your free-thinking tribe 
 with no light flail. Good Catholic as he is, he yet 
 never spares Catholics ; and Jourdan, who keeps 
 
 [349]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 silent, has often been heard to quote Barbey 
 against Veuillot. He is an arch sectary, both as 
 writer and Catholic, and in attacking you, Ma- 
 dame, he has paid you a very high compliment 
 indeed. He must have smelled the pagan in you." 
 
 I was really glad to see some of my old friends 
 again. 
 
 I received a short note in Italian from Madame 
 la Princesse Belgiojoso: 
 
 " Dear friend of my beloved country, rejoice 
 with me that the Senate of Turin have given us a 
 King. Victor Emmanuel is to-day King of our 
 Italy. When will he be so at Rome? To-morrow, 
 if France so wished it. 
 
 " Remembrances, 
 
 " Christine de Belgiojoso." 
 
 Texier had promised me a full account of the 
 first representation of Tannhauser. Here is his 
 letter : 
 
 " On the great night, my dear friend, what a 
 crush ! First there were the intimates of Madame 
 de Metternich dispersed with intelligence and pro- 
 fusion all over the house. I am unable to men- 
 tion all the names of those present, but among 
 others were conspicuous the Countess de Pourtales, 
 
 [ 350 ]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 the Princesses Poniatowski, De Sagan and Solms, 
 Countess Waleska, and the Marquise de Gallifet. 
 Then came Madame Lehon and de Morny, to all 
 appearance ever faithful; Princesse de Beauveau 
 and Laurent Pichat, still discreetly smitten ; Mad- 
 emoiselle Erazzu, the lovely Mexican; Beyens, 
 the Marquis de Caux, the Rothschilds, the Agua- 
 dos, the brothers Lambertye, the melancholy Mont- 
 joy eux, General Fleury, Gallifet, Massa, Gram- 
 mont-Caderousse, d'Althon Shee, the Emperor, the 
 Empress, and the Court. Have I left out any ? I 
 must not omit to mention the whole world of fair 
 Aspasias present in full force. 
 
 " You now know who is here and how the house 
 is arranged. The spirit in the ascendant is some- 
 what demoralizing for the Philistines, like our- 
 selves, who mean to protest. We take courage, 
 however, for the stalls are on our side. Just think 
 of it, they have suppressed the ballet! 
 
 " Madame de Metternich takes her seat in the 
 front of her box, with fan in hand. She is to lead 
 the plaudits, attention ! 
 
 " Niemann-Tannhauser makes his entry with a 
 lyre hung on his arm . ' Why, this is Orpheus in 
 Hades,' exclaims a wit. We Philistines take ad- 
 vantage of this ridiculous comparison heard all 
 over the house to raise a loud and unseemly laugh. 
 
 [351] 
 
 \
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Niemann bears all the evidence of being ludicrous- 
 ly embarrassed by his lyre, not knowing what in 
 the world to do with it. A shepherd with his pipe 
 now enters. Tu ! tu ! tu ! But where has the lyre 
 gone to? Oh, here it is. Then comes a duet of 
 lyre and pipe, the divine and the bucolic in strange 
 medley. At this juncture a hautboy chimes in at 
 a distance. The whole situation is delightfully 
 amusing, and we have now reached the stage of 
 utter frivolity. 
 
 " But suddenly clashes out the bang, bang of 
 the orchestra, who have struck up the march. Here 
 is no laughing matter. The beautiful is always 
 beautiful. The applause is universal, and I must 
 needs follow suit. This march absolutely gets hold 
 of you. I am still humming it as I write, ta-ta-ta- 
 ta-ta. 
 
 " It is a triumph for Madame de Metternich, 
 and we are furious. 
 
 " The harps now made their appearance. We 
 then witness a kind of march past of various instru- 
 ments. Where is my lyre? Where is my shep- 
 herd's reed and the hautboy? At this moment 
 Niemann-Tannhauser enters with his precious 
 lyre. It was consoling to be assured the sacred 
 instrument was safe! A gentle cachinnation is 
 audible. 
 
 [352]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 " A single word whistles through the house like 
 the crack of a whip, s Fools ! ' 
 
 " The qualification is Madame de Metternich's 
 protest at our levity, and we wince at the insult. 
 Pent-up emotion was strained to bursting point, 
 and the elegant epithet sounded the death-knell to 
 all order. Shouts of applause or of disapproba- 
 tion ring from boxes to orchestra stalls, and are 
 re-echoed back lustily from stalls to amphitheatre. 
 Fragments of a broken fan fall on my head. Ma- 
 dame de Metternich has crumpled hers into ruins 
 in a movement of anger. 
 
 " ' This is a pretty jest,' said Jules Janin. 
 
 " ' She is a pretty thorough woman, at any 
 rate,' added Scholl, ' in spite of her not being 
 pretty.' 
 
 " During the interval my remark found much 
 favour in the green-room : ' The words bore me, 
 and the music wearies me.' 
 
 " We return. This time marches may come, and 
 marches may go, but the hullaballoo has set in for 
 good, and there is no stopping it. The young 
 ones whistle, and the old ones growl, each to his 
 heart's content. 
 
 " We fought for Berlioz, and you were not in 
 the firing-line. 
 
 " As for him, he is delighted. 
 
 [353]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Wagner has done better work than this ; why 
 in the world did he choose Tannhauser? The 
 orchestra is perfectly absurd and the staging gro- 
 tesque to a degree ! 
 
 " Saint- Victor shouts to him : 
 
 " ' Well, Berlioz, at any rate, you are avenged. 
 And besides,' he adds, ' can a German appreciate 
 Venus? One must be a Greek or a Latin for this. 
 Can we on our part appreciate the Niebelun- 
 gen? And Saint- Victor pronounces this word in 
 the French fashion. 
 
 " I have seen all the criticisms, and I do not 
 believe there is a single favourable one. 
 
 " It was a great evening, my dear friend, and 
 proves conclusively a foreign lady and the Em- 
 peror cannot decree a success in our Paris. 
 
 " Greetings from all to all. 
 
 " Edmond Texier." 
 
 Challemel, on his side, also wrote me that " Paris 
 has been horrid and unfair towards Tannhauser." 
 He is not inconsolable, however, because politics 
 have gained by Wagner's failure. It has shown 
 Napoleon III that opinion can still be passionate, 
 and that it but needs a legitimate excuse to cause 
 ebullition. Opinion was unanimous that Madame 
 de Metternich bore her defeat in a proud and 
 haughty spirit. The daughter of Count Sandor, 
 
 [354]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 a Hungarian magnate, whose courage and temerity 
 were legendary, she faced the music of opinion as 
 befitted one so nobly sprung. The day after the 
 Tannhauser defeat only Wagner was played at 
 her reception. 
 
 De Ronchaud sent me a note with these simple 
 words only : " The Hydrocephalic one bears a 
 hatred for France, which his pride will render as 
 venomous as possible." 
 
 The Tannhauser was an Imperial defeat, the 
 Funerailles de l'Honneur was a Republican one. 
 If Souvent Homme Varie had been inordinately 
 and out of all proportion applauded in order to 
 laud Victor Hugo over the head of Vacquerie, on 
 the other hand, the Funerailles de l'Honneur was 
 in the same way unduly and exaggeratedly cried 
 down. As in the Tannhauser, certain scenes of 
 Vacquerie's play afforded fair opportunity for 
 mocking and noisy demonstration, which the Im- 
 perialist Philistines were but too eager to turn to 
 advantage. 
 
 The letter of Madame de Pierreclos on the 
 Funerailles de l'Honneur began thus: 
 
 " These presents will render an account to Mis- 
 tress Juliette Lamber of the unique performance 
 of a play in seven acts, to all appearance dealing 
 with death, though in reality not so, and treating 
 
 [355]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 of the story of seven bastard brothers, each duller 
 than his neighbour. 
 
 " Of the seven brothers of Dom Pedro (please 
 don't forget the e with an accent, so that some 
 importance may be given to a personage who is 
 quite deficient in this qualification ) , if you do not 
 mind, we shall say nothing about them. To de- 
 scribe these gentlemen seems to me a work of 
 supererogation, as the only apparent interest in 
 them lies in their being at once dramatically use- 
 less and obstruent. In this play we are in the very 
 thick of romanticism, but a romanticism in the 
 superlative degree, which alone the verse and mel- 
 ody of Hugo could have made endurable. At a 
 given moment Don Yorge — and why not the more 
 natural and prosaic Gorge? — through a series of 
 events I will not trouble to relate, as they cover 
 the inordinate extent of seven acts, bids the Court 
 be present at his obsequies on the morrow in the 
 cemetery of the Capuchin Friars of Saint Barthol- 
 omew. 
 
 " Here we are in the next day and at the ceme- 
 tery. A man is digging a grave in the ground, 
 while a funeral procession defiles past in melancholy 
 array, chanting the office for the burial of the 
 dead and promenading a bier about covered with 
 a blood-stained pall, which, to my mind, is but a 
 
 [356]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 relative sign of mourning, but which I must per- 
 force confess to be emblematic of crime. 
 
 " Enter the King, lover of Don Yorge's mother. 
 He seems in marvellous spirits. Already father 
 of seven bastards, he is about to unite himself in 
 unholy wedlock and to become the father of more. 
 
 " Don Yorge uncovers the bier. It is empty. 
 
 " ' Where is the body ? ' naturally queries the 
 King. 
 
 " ' I will tell you,' replies Don Yorge. ' You 
 forgave me. I am disarmed before you. But the 
 insult is indelible. My honour is dead, and the 
 dead are buried.' 
 
 " My dear friend, it seems that when the cur- 
 tain fell in Tannhauser the Philistines, hypnotized 
 by the march, applauded vociferously in spite of 
 themselves, and we Republicans, who had come to 
 applaud in Vacquerie, the great exile and legend- 
 ary hero, were all seized with a fit of uncontrolla- 
 ble laughter at the obsequies of Yorge's honour, 
 and not of Gorge." 
 
 Summoned by Monsieur Grevy, I spent a few 
 days in Paris at an hotel, near my cousin Vilbort. 
 
 The two great events of which everybody was 
 speaking were, to begin with, the first numbers of 
 the Temps, under our friend NefFtzer. From the 
 time he left (he then came back, and then again left 
 
 [357]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the Prcsse), Nefftzer always meant to set up for 
 himself. He first of all founded the Revue Ger- 
 manique with Charles Dolfus, and now here he is 
 the supreme power at the Temps. We may rest 
 assured he will fashion his paper in the likeness of 
 Ins own image. If God grants life to the paper, 
 come what may, Nefftzer will be no other than man- 
 aging editor of the Temps. He does not under- 
 stand or tolerate cumulative professions and will 
 never allow a journalist to be a member of Parlia- 
 ment. To Nefftzer the tribune of the press is 
 superior to the parliamentary one. Nefftzer is a 
 liberal, or rather a free-thinking philosopher, and 
 he means to be free to remain such. He protests 
 against all restriction of free-thinking, whatever 
 form it may assume, and he becomes fierce when 
 the independence of personal life is called into 
 question. I have often listened to his discussions 
 with Littre. Nefftzer is an Hegelian, and he will- 
 ingly repeats, " Every Hegelian is a Positivist, 
 but a Positivist who has appointed limits to his 
 thought cannot be an Hegelian." 
 
 The second great event is the publication of the 
 Due d'Aumale's pamphlet, entitled Lettre sur 
 l'Histoire de France. In spite of the insistence of 
 Prince Napoleon, whom the pamphlet attacks most 
 virulently and who is shrieking from the house- 
 
 [358]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 tops that Orlcanism is receiving a gigantic propa- 
 ganda, the Lettre sur l'Histoire de France has got 
 to answer for itself in the law courts. 
 
 De Rheims, a friend of the Due d'Aumale, 
 brought me the unprocurable pamphlet. He con- 
 firms that Prince Napoleon had exerted every 
 effort, first to remove the interdiction and then to 
 prevent its seizure, and he repeated Prince Napo- 
 leon's words : " This so-called lesson from history 
 is nothing but an Orleanist manifesto. Take good 
 care not to furnish it with the halo of a seizure, 
 the more so as the Legitimists themselves declare 
 against this manifesto and disclaim its principles, 
 which, they say, are antagonistic to those of 
 Legitimacy." 
 
 " The princes," added de Rheims, " are de- 
 lighted at the seizure, which just trebles the im- 
 portance of the publication. I have received this 
 very morning," he told me, " a letter from the 
 Due d'Aumale, who blesses the Imperial Govern- 
 ment, and is astonished to find it so ingenuous. 
 We have two thousand copies of the pamphlet in 
 reserve," de Rheims told me in confidence. " Just 
 ask me for as many as you want. I am sending 
 those for the ladies wrapped up in chocolate 
 boxes." I gave him the names of all my lady 
 friends and warned them by letter. 
 
 [359]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 The style of the Lettre sur l'Histoire de France 
 has not the classic form of seventeenth-century 
 French. The thoughts are noble and the judgment 
 at once elevated, realistic, very combative, and 
 very living. The historian remains a historian, 
 but he does not despise the passion and rhetorical 
 arts of the controversialist. 
 
 What will Nefftzer have to say (and I shall be 
 compelled to ask him) on the coincidence of the 
 appearance of his paper and the publication of the 
 Due d'Aumale's pamphlet? " Our fat friend," as 
 we call him, who distinguishes himself under the 
 rubric of " the stranger to all parties," is 
 secretly an Orleanist. His ideal world seems to 
 be a good-natured King with a tincture of the 
 Voltairian spirit and as conventional as Louis 
 Philippe. Nobody suspects him of being a Mon- 
 archist. All his life he will be considered a Re- 
 publican. 
 
 However, the Temps will be no greater enemy 
 to the liberal Empire than the Presse under the 
 guidance of Nefftzer was to the first of oath-takers, 
 to Emile Ollivier. Albert Nefftzer would not at 
 this hour go so far as to exclaim, like his protege, 
 Ollivier : " For myself, who am a Republican, I 
 shall support to the full extent of my power, and 
 my support will be the more efficacious in propor- 
 
 [360]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 tion as it is disinterested, and I shall admire the 
 liberal initiative of the Emperor." 
 
 The pleiad of leader-writers on the Temps is 
 well known. By degrees all my friends, ancient 
 and modern, became contributors to its columns. 
 
 In our circle they say of NefFtzer : " He is as 
 honest a man as possible. Somewhat dull of imag- 
 ination, he possesses above all strong common sense ; 
 he will never become, whatever betide, a thunder- 
 bolt of Opposition." Moderate and well-balanced, 
 he is tenacious of one thing only — his own opinion. 
 When once his mind is made up on a subject, it is 
 not to be shaken, and therefore he means and in- 
 tends to put his belief into action. He is pro- 
 foundly liberal and tolerant because he would bear 
 it ill if others were not thus disposed towards him. 
 
 The only subject on which Nefftzer grew elo- 
 quent was religious discussion. I have it from 
 Challemel-Lacour that Peyrat and Nefftzer often 
 engaged in heated argument on this vexed and 
 debatable question at the Cafe Kusler. The tables 
 shook with the violence of their emphatic fists, and 
 glasses trembled and wobbled, while the doughty 
 champions were busy hurling opposing texts at 
 each other's heads. 
 
 In the early part of the month I went with the 
 Vilborts to a first performance of La Statue at 
 
 [361]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the Lyric Theatre. The composer was Reyer, a 
 young man who, as Madame Vilbort said, " had 
 a future in spite of his being a Frenchman." Can 
 one conceive the impudence of these Wagnerians? 
 It really gives one a clean bill to hate them cor- 
 dially. Saint-Victor was in the audience with Lea 
 Felix. He did not stir from his seat, although he 
 had caught sight of me. Gautier sat between his 
 two lovely daughters, Judith, a wonder of beauty, 
 and the other charming. Berlioz, who conde- 
 scended to come and pay his respects to me, was 
 more tragic than ever. He was so unlucky as to 
 say to me, in the presence of Madame Vilbort: 
 
 " Do you feel proud now you have placed 
 so many tickets for the concert of the Tannhauser 
 gentleman ? " 
 
 Madame Vilbort was on the point of making a 
 reply, but with my eyes I begged her to refrain. 
 When Berlioz left the box she said to me : 
 
 " You were wrong in not letting me tell such 
 a partial musician that I am a devoted lover of 
 Weimar, and that I can with the same breath ad- 
 mire the great Berlioz and the great Wagner ; and 
 I must add, cousin, Berlioz can only be really great 
 for the crowd, when Wagner is great for the same 
 crowd." 
 
 " With Berlioz's character, my dear friend, I 
 
 [362]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 can easily anticipate the reply and the sneer; and 
 for my part I would prefer not to be either cause 
 or witness of such unpleasantness." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult had now returned to Paris, 
 and once again we found ourselves all grouped 
 round her. How much she must have been missed 
 by all those who had not had the good fortune, like 
 myself, to be absent from Paris; how empty town 
 must have felt without her! 
 
 Among my musical acquaintances Berlioz was 
 not the only one who was so unfortunate as to be 
 misunderstood. I had known Louis Lacombe now 
 for some years, having been introduced to him by 
 my friends, the Adam-Salomons. Louis Lacombe 
 was a writer, poet, and composer. As enthusiastic 
 as he was timid, he altogether lacked the power of 
 pushing himself forward. His wife, a woman of 
 rare intelligence and devotion, might have supplied 
 this quality wanting in his composition, but she 
 was a martyr to a mortal disease. One would have 
 thought at one moment, when the great patriotic 
 hymn of the Cimbri and Teutones was being 
 chanted by five thousand voices with enormous suc- 
 cess, that the portals of fame and renown stood wide 
 open to Louis Lacombe. But one of his sympho- 
 nies, accepted by the Conservatoire, gave occasion 
 24 [ 363 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 for violent protestations on the part of all the 
 musical critics. Lacombe also was a precursor. 
 The daring and bold audacity in the instrumental 
 portion of his symphony was pronounced revolu- 
 tionary and altogether inadmissible. In revenge, 
 another of his great symphonies, Sappho, found 
 none but perfervid admirers. 
 
 Lacombe wrote exquisitely about music. His 
 conversation on this theme was captivating and 
 enthralling to a degree, and to those whose good 
 fortune it was to be present never to be forgotten. 
 His theory was that melody blends itself imper- 
 ceptibly into harmony in such a way that inex- 
 tricably penetrated and permeated the one with 
 the other, they become, as it were, one ; and melody 
 resulting from harmonious union may be compared 
 to that delicious perfume of woods in springtime, 
 when the gentle zephyrs waft in their train count- 
 less exhalations of sweet and delicate odours. 
 
 To Louis Lacombe music was but the voice which 
 expresses the ideas and sentiments of man in uni- 
 versal language. In his opinion music was not the 
 fortuitous combination of sounds strung together 
 by art; his constant aim was to bring out and 
 emphasize the philosophic thought and the dra- 
 matic sentiment underlying all musical expression. 
 His lyric epic on the progress of human thought 
 
 [364]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 may be compared to what Chenavard was striving 
 to express in the sister art of painting, humanity- 
 hood, if I may be allowed the word, and universal- 
 ity. The ideas of Auguste Comte and of Littre 
 were influencing art in a most curious way. Altru- 
 ism, association, synthesis, humanity, were every- 
 body's watchwords and stock in trade. At this 
 period the infinitely great claimed the universal 
 preoccupation, as later on the infinitely small en- 
 gaged the general attention. The limits of in- 
 clusion and comprehension were too vast to allow 
 a clear conception to be formed of any one thing. 
 
 Poor Louis Lacombe had lately suffered a most 
 painful and bitter experience. The representation 
 of his Madone was a complete and tragic failure. 
 From this moment all recognition was denied him. 
 Yet his name was not unknown, and some of his 
 works, notably Chants de la Patrie, and his re- 
 ligious melodies, like Au Pied d'un Crucifix, Le 
 Sorge de Jeanne d'Arc, were mentioned with ap- 
 probation and approval. His operas, like Vinkel- 
 ried, which subsequently received such frenzied 
 applause at Geneva, and his Reine des Eaux, were 
 works of high value, composed to perpetuate and 
 consecrate for all time the name of a great artist. 
 
 We formed a small and select band of faithful 
 admirers, who loved to listen to Louis Lacombe, 
 
 [365]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 and applaud him. It was our custom, whenever he 
 gave a musical evening, to go over to the Saint- 
 George quarter, and none of the faithful ever failed 
 at the roll-call. We were happy to show our 
 appreciation and admiration for him, and to soften 
 a little of the bitterness of his disappointment. 
 The Kestner family, who were extremely musical, 
 were always present at these gatherings. Madame 
 Floquet, still quite a young girl, was, like all 
 Lacombe's pupils, a worshipper at the shrine of 
 the gentle and unfortunate master, and this 
 afforded him much consolation for the public in- 
 difference. Louis Enault, a devoted admirer, 
 brought over many of his literary friends, and the 
 universal exclamation, after listening to the music, 
 was always : " How is it possible for such talent 
 to be misunderstood?" And yet was not Berlioz 
 equally misunderstood? 
 
 Neither Madame d'Agoult nor I had been able 
 to be present at the opening day of the Salon, 
 and we were now constantly deferring our visit. 
 But one day Castagnary, one of our first art 
 critics, proposed to meet us there. He had but 
 lately joined the staff of the Courrier du Dimanche, 
 or was just on the point of doing so, I forget which. 
 Along with him we had to admire, first, Daubigny's 
 Pare aux Moutons, then another picture of natural 
 
 [366]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 life, then a landscape by Corot, and finally three 
 pictures by Millet, which led to an earnest and inter- 
 esting discussion between Madame d'Agoult and 
 Castagnary on the subject of Millet. Madame 
 d'Agoult mentioned the great impression produced 
 on her three years before by the Woman Grazing a 
 Cow. Castagnary was in raptures, for he claimed 
 to be among the first to " discover " Millet — and 
 how skilfully he analyzed him ! With what dexter- 
 ous art did he unfold and point out the truths and 
 beauties in that masterpiece, La Tondeuse de 
 Moutons ! Of the three paintings exhibited by 
 Millet, the one I should have preferred to possess 
 was L'Attente. 
 
 I now began writing my Recits d'une Paysanne, 
 and did my best to saturate myself with the spirit 
 of research after simple and unadorned truth, after 
 nature both eclectic and respected, but such a na- 
 ture seen through the eyes of a great artist should 
 remain unaltered and identically the same in es- 
 sence, notwithstanding its different manifestations 
 and expressions. 
 
 " Millet also loves peasants," I remarked to Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult. 
 
 I received a reprimand. 
 
 Castagnary had defended Courbet at the mo- 
 ment he was most bitterly attacked. I told him of 
 
 [367]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the scene in the Rue de Beaune between Courbet 
 and Toussenel; it gave him much amusement. 
 
 The Charlotte Corday of Paul Baudry produced 
 a deep impression on me, and as I had given Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult one of my photographs in the cos- 
 tume of Charlotte Corday by Adam-Salomon, my 
 dear friend, although she herself admired Baudry, 
 gently ridiculed me, saying: 
 
 " Come, little Juliette, you have admired your- 
 self quite long enough." 
 
 The Battle of Solferino, by Ivan, interested 
 both Madame d'Agoult and myself; but these 
 "clumsy affairs " were not to Castagnary's taste, 
 who piloted us hither and thither, to show us here 
 and there his preferences. By degrees he got us 
 into a corner where was hanging my portrait by 
 Charpentier, who had also painted the portrait of 
 George Sand with the Carnation, and one of 
 Rachel. Charpentier had painted this portrait 
 the year before, and had exhibited it without my 
 knowledge. Castagnary admired it very much on 
 account of the expression, which he found " poet- 
 ical and sorrowful." Madame d'Agoult thought 
 his criticism was just. 
 
 " Sorrowful, yes," I repeated after Castagnary. 
 Poetical, well, perhaps, for while I was sitting 
 Charpentier, who is passionately fond of Italian 
 
 [368]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 art, was telling me of Italy's great painters, of the 
 different landscapes which each one had had before 
 his eyes, of the places in which they lived, and 
 which landscapes, as seen by them, made it easy to 
 define and classify their different styles. 
 
 I went to Charpentier and abused him for hav- 
 ing exhibited my portrait without my knowledge. 
 He only laughed at my anger, and said: 
 
 " You will be delighted to see the number of the 
 exhibition on the frame of your portrait, and it 
 will also prove to you and your friends that the 
 painter was not a dabbler." 
 
 I thought that his reasoning was more clever than 
 complimentary to our knowledge of art, but I gave 
 him, however, permission to keep the portrait in 
 his studio for some little time after its return from 
 the exhibition. 
 
 We all agreed to meet at Challemel-Lacour's 
 lectures in the Rue de Provence. What a treat it 
 was to hear such beautiful language delivered! 
 What great knowledge did these lectures show, 
 what original and personal views, and what lucidity ! 
 We, his friends, were delighted at his success, and 
 we warmly and enthusiastically sounded his praise. 
 Madame d'Agoult gave the final verdict : " It is 
 of the first quality ! " Madame de Pierreclos was 
 most amusing, saying: " Such a divinely intel- 
 
 [369]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 lectual feast made me think I was drinking am- 
 brosia, and that I was at last tasting for myself, 
 and not for my uncle, a little immortality." 
 Clemence Royer deigned to write to my dear friend 
 that " in Challemel-Lacour the criteria super- 
 abounded." Edmond Texier said : " Nothing can 
 describe that fellow's dry humour. He could easily 
 knock us all off our perch if he so wished." 
 
 Nefftzer wanted Challemel-Lacour on his staff, 
 and de Ronchaud was overjoyed, as he always was, 
 when praise was given to any one of whom he was 
 fond. Monsieur de Girardin grew impatient when- 
 ever any one spoke to him of Challemel-Lacour, 
 and asserted that his lectures teemed with political 
 allusions. It is to be supposed that the Minister 
 of the Interior entertained the same views, for he 
 stopped the lectures and deprived us of our 
 " treat." 
 
 " I felt certain," said Madame de Pierreclos, 
 " that our rulers would cut off my ambrosia. Baked 
 apples are what those people like best." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult received sad news from a 
 friend in Turin. Cavour was at the point of 
 death ; the Italian doctors were killing him. They 
 were barbers, and had bled him fourteen times. 
 Alas ! they bled him three times more, and he died. 
 
 " His death is a great and irreparable disaster," 
 
 [370]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 said Madame d'Agoult, when the news of it reached 
 us. " Of course, the Italian harvests will be 
 gathered in, for they are ripe, but no one will reap 
 and preserve their fruit with his cleverness and 
 foresight." 
 
 " And, just see," added Madame d'Agoult as a 
 sequel to this conversation, about a month later, 
 " France recognises the Kingdom of Italy too 
 quickly, and without guarantees ; the negotiations 
 with Cavour would have been made on a different 
 footing." 
 
 At one of Daniel Stern's evening receptions 
 every one was talking of the evacuation of Syria 
 by the French troops, but none of the anti-Cler- 
 icals — not even Peyrat — cast blame on the expedi- 
 tion. Both Littre — who openly expressed his 
 mind — and Carnot were of opinion that France 
 could not admit any forfeiture of her traditions 
 in the East. We all approved Dupont-White, 
 without one dissenting voice, who said that " where 
 influence was traditional, politics should be left 
 out." 
 
 " Go and persuade the Syrians," he said, joking- 
 ly, " of the importance of Monsieur Dupont- 
 White's books on Centralization, and the State. 
 They will think you are talking Chinese to them. 
 Any Government that feels the importance of our 
 
 [371]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 protecting Christians in the East is entitled to our 
 support," continued Dupont-White, " and it 
 would seem that the present solution of control by 
 the Powers was the best of all for the prevention 
 of the renewal of periodical massacres." 
 
 Just then Renan came in and Dupont-White 
 called out to him: 
 
 " I say, Renan, you have been twice to Syria ; do 
 you consider the present decision a good one? ' : 
 
 " A very good one. It will certainly stop the 
 massacres." 
 
 " Were you sent there to stir up religious fanat- 
 icism ? " asked Dupont-White, laughingly. " I 
 know that your second mission was obtained for 
 you by Prince Napoleon, so I fancy that you went 
 there rather to join hands with the infidels. Both 
 you and your Prince are two of the finest specimens 
 of unbelievers in the world." 
 
 " But Prince Napoleon is a Deist," answered 
 Renan. 
 
 " All the better ; I am glad of it ; and you ? " 
 
 "I?" ... he hesitated. 
 
 " You, Renan," said Tribert, " you are a seeker 
 of divine . . . literary inspirations ! " 
 
 " I often say, ' My God ! ' " returned Renan. 
 " But between that and opening my eyes to be- 
 lieve " 
 
 [372]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 " Oh, dreadful sceptic ! The answer is worthy 
 of you," Dupont-White added. 
 
 " And the astonishment worthy of you, Dupont- 
 White, the Catholic." 
 
 " Excuse me, the Christian ! " 
 
 Littre, who had seemed to be musing, said, 
 smiling kindly: 
 
 " I cannot fancy Renan preaching a crusade in 
 Syria or anywhere else." 
 
 " There is no danger of it," concluded Tribert, 
 who never lost an opportunity of introducing a 
 popular saying. 
 
 What a friend I had in de Ronchaud ! He was 
 constantly sending Madame d'Agoult to invite me 
 here or there, to that or this. His friendship was 
 continuous, unchanging, sure. He had just finished 
 his fine work, Phidias, La Vie et Les 03uvres, and 
 he brought it to me. 
 
 " Ronchaud, I shall not only read your Phidias, 
 I shall devour it! Setting aside the passionate 
 interest I take in the Master of Masters, think what 
 pleasure I shall have in discovering new views about 
 him, knowing, as I do, the respect and affection 
 that has guided their search. I must tell you, 
 Ronchaud, of a dream I had about Phidias. I was 
 talking to a priest of Eleusis, whom my imagina- 
 tion had conjured up, and who had come to life 
 
 [ S73 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 at my call, and I asked him if he thought that 
 Zeus had taken interest in the work of the immortal 
 Phidias. ' Never doubt it,' he replied. ' But now, 
 being risen to life again,' said the priest, ' I see in 
 times to come Phidias preparing, unawares, other 
 gods than ours. In giving to man a perfect and 
 divine form, he has tempted a God to become 
 human. Plato, in his turn, will so spiritualize 
 man's mind that it will suggest to a God to in- 
 carnate himself in man. Shall I ever be able to 
 rest again after such strange visions ? ' added the 
 priest of Eleusis, and disappeared." 
 
 " The idea of Phidias preparing the way for 
 Jesus is a beautiful one," said de Ronchaud. " I 
 am going now at once to repeat it to Saint-Victor, 
 who is often unhappy at not being able to reconcile 
 his Catholicism with his passion for Greece." 
 
 We were only four persons at Madame 
 d'Agoult's one evening. I had gone to bid her 
 good-bye. She was leaving with de Ronchaud for 
 Lucipin-par-Claude, and I was returning to 
 Chauny. Edouard Grenier was praising Phidias 
 in most eulogistic terms. He declared he had 
 made Monsieur de Lamartine listen while he de- 
 scribed the book, and as everybody knew that Mon- 
 sieur de Lamartine never listened to anything, it 
 was therefore Grenier's greatest success, to which 
 
 [374]
 
 POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 
 
 any future successes he might have would be 
 nothing in comparison. 
 
 Grenier had two passions : the first was Monsieur 
 de Lamartine; the second, Madame d'Agoult. De 
 Ronchaud said : " I feel the same, only I begin by 
 adoring Madame d'Agoult, and then Monsieur de 
 Lamartine after." 
 
 I had written to Menard to say good-bye and 
 he came to see me, and I was delighted to hear him 
 praise Phidias also. 
 
 " It is a fine, a very fine book," he repeated ; 
 " and, a propos of renown," Menard added, " I 
 fancy that Mireille will receive a prize from the 
 Academy. Several of the ' Immortals ' are think- 
 ing of giving it. The Academy will honour itself 
 in honouring this work, which is an offspring of 
 Greece. It is time that France should acquire re- 
 nown through her provinces." 
 
 " How extraordinary, Menard ! You talk like 
 Littre, who regrets that the small French provinces 
 which elaborated the grandeur of France should 
 not have received their part in her greatness." 
 
 [375]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 n COULD work well nowhere but at Chauny. 
 Paris absorbed me and used me up, in a 
 few weeks, more than would a year in my quiet 
 province. I felt in my heart I could never live 
 continuously in Paris. 
 
 I began to work, and soon had written three 
 short stories of my Recits d'une Paysanne. My 
 father thought that these tales showed great prog- 
 ress over my preceding books. This gave me fresh 
 courage. I sent one of my stories to Madame 
 d'Agoult, who kept it, and wrote me that on her 
 return from Lucipin she would give it to John 
 Lemoine, who, she remembered, had spoken very 
 kindly of Mon Village, and who, she thought, 
 would certainly accept it for the Debats. My 
 dear friend added: 
 
 " We have also La Presse, Le Temps, Le Siecle, 
 the Revue Germanique, and the Revue Nationale, 
 where our friend, Arthur Arnould, is sure to ask 
 for a story. When once you have these published, 
 the others will soon follow suit. Hetzel, moreover, 
 
 [376]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 can undertake to propose them, if by chance they 
 should not ask you for them." 
 
 I found time, at last, to read La Decadence de 
 la Monarchie Francaise, by Pelletan. 
 
 My father enjoyed it fully. Fancy! Louis 
 XIV and Louis XV considered as " factors " of 
 the Great Revolution ! This had been my father's 
 opinion ever since I had known him. The princi- 
 ple, " God alone is great ! " was changed by Pelletan 
 to " The people alone is great ! " Nothing that I 
 could write on the Decadence de la Monarchie 
 Francaise would ever describe the state of my 
 father's feelings. I began this letter to Pelletan: 
 
 " My dear Friend : I pass my pen on to my 
 father. He will tell you far better than I can, 
 who am less radical than he, how much his sym- 
 pathy for you has increased since his discovery that 
 you both think alike on every point. He never 
 imagined that his innermost thoughts could be put 
 into such magnificent language." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult, who had just returned from 
 Lucipin, wrote me that she was longing to see 
 her young friend, and she invited me at once to 
 go with her, at the end of October, to see Alceste 
 at the Opera. Doctor Cabarrus was also to be 
 asked, in case I should faint away. Ronchaud had 
 
 [377]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 told her of all the emotion we had felt when we 
 heard Orphee, and of my having fainted. 
 
 " I owe it you, dear child, to take you to hear 
 Alceste," said Madame d'Agoult, " so that you 
 shall no longer remember or reproach me with 
 Orphee- aux-En fers . " 
 
 Was I really to hear Alceste sung by Madame 
 Viardot? Being at the world's end would alone 
 have prevented me from going. I determined to 
 spend but a week in Paris, as I wished to finish my 
 Recits d'une Paysanne, so that, as Hetzel desired, 
 they might be published in the papers and reviews 
 in the early part of the year. 
 
 One happy evening accordingly found me at the 
 Opera, in a box close to the entrance to the stalls. 
 All the men, as they passed, bowed to Madame 
 d'Agoult. Jules Simon, Challemel-Lacour, and 
 Edmond Adam sat near to us. Madame d'Agoult 
 pointed out Chenavard to me, whom I had never 
 seen. Berlioz also was there. Madame Viardot 
 called him " her adviser." 
 
 Was it Berlioz who had so wonderfully imbued 
 Madame Viardot's soul with the character of a 
 love over which fatalism predominated, and which 
 still imagined that struggle was possible? What 
 incomparable artists were Gliick and Madame Viar- 
 dot to add to my intense admiration of Euripides ! 
 
 [378]
 
 JULES SIMON. 
 From an eugraviug by L. Le Main.
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 The tragic grandeur of Alceste's feelings touched 
 me to such a degree that my tears flowed. 
 
 As the curtain fell Chenavard asked Madame 
 d'Agoult, in scarcely audible tones, and before me, 
 who was the young person who wept at Alceste. 
 
 " A pagan," replied Madame d'Agoult. 
 
 Chenavard was a philosophic artist. " The 
 painter of thoughts," as he was called, who had 
 summarized in forty celebrated cartoons, " the his- 
 tory of man from his first sorrows to the French 
 Revolution." In 1848 Ledru-Rollin commissioned 
 him to decorate the Pantheon with his forty car- 
 toons. He began to paint them, and although the 
 rather sectarian spirit of his conceptions might 
 admit of discussion, no one could contest their 
 artistic value. 
 
 The Second of December wrested the artist 
 from his work without so much as allowing him to 
 finish any of the pictures he had begun. 
 
 All the artists took his part, and the " Chena- 
 vard question " was debated in every studio and 
 cafe. He did his utmost trying to defend it. He 
 received a First Medal for his cartoons, which were 
 exhibited in 1855. 
 
 Chenavard asked me to go and see his cartoons. 
 I went the next day, and, in spite of my dislike for 
 universality, I was delighted. 
 25 [ 379 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Alceste had but little success with the sub- 
 scribers at the Opera, which was another source of 
 chagrin to Berlioz. He came to shake hands with 
 Madame d'Agoult and myself, and both he and I 
 talked in raptures of Alceste. My eyes were 
 still full of tears. " The music that moves 
 you to tears makes others yawn," he said, with a 
 sweeping gesture that took in the whole audi- 
 ence. 
 
 Jules Simon came into our box, sat down and 
 chatted with Madame d'Agoult about various 
 things, while Berlioz stood outside and talked to 
 me of Puccini and Gliick. Puccini, he thought, 
 had power to move sensitive souls, while Gliick 
 seized, took possession of, and racked the stronger 
 ones with pain. 
 
 Jules Simon was enumerating his grievances 
 against the Empire ; the war with China was over, 
 but he felt certain that a fresh one was about to 
 begin in Mexico. On the other hand, the United 
 States remained neutral, and Jules Simon sighed. 
 We often, among ourselves, called him " the 
 weeper." 
 
 He was a writer of great worth, and L'Histoire 
 de l'Ecole d'Alexandrie, his Platon et Aristote, 
 are works which I highly esteem. I think he was 
 a sincere Liberal, and the last book I read of his, 
 
 [ 380]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 La Liberte de Conscience, I consider as an act of 
 courage. Although Jules Simon — I cannot tell why 
 — claimed a certain literary relationship with me, I 
 never liked him, and we have never been intimate 
 friends. His character did not inspire me with any 
 confidence. At certain moments one could agree 
 with him, for he was sometimes caught in his own 
 trap. But which one of us would have pledged 
 himself to follow him always, or be assured of 
 being always followed by him? 
 
 I was talking one day of Jules Simon to Ed- 
 mond Adam, and he related this incident to me: 
 " In 1851 the theatres still reserved our places for 
 us, as being contributors to the Nationale, and 
 one evening I found myself next to Jules Simon 
 at the Theatre Francais. He had resigned his 
 position of professor, as I had resigned mine of 
 State Councillor. I had contracted 20,000 francs 
 of debts at the Paris City Hall, where we received 
 no salary, and all I possessed was 300 francs. On 
 leaving the theatre Jules Simon and I walked home 
 by the Boulevards. We complained together of 
 the hard times, and he excited my pity to such a 
 degree by his descriptions of his home, his wife 
 and children, that I offered him the half of what 
 I possessed. Now, I heard from a friend of his, 
 whom I accidentally met on leaving him, that he 
 
 [381 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 had at the very least ten thousand francs a year 
 by his wife, which sum, in those days, was thought 
 to be ample means." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult kept Jules Simon in the box, 
 and no sooner had the curtain fallen than he began 
 disparaging Paradol, and said " that were the 
 Press free he would be found to have no talent 
 whatever. Oh! how much he preferred Eugene 
 Forcade. There was a man whose prose did not 
 beat around the bush; he attacked subjects at 
 once." 
 
 Jules Simon could not make out how a warning 
 had been given to La Revue des Deux Mondes. 
 The warning was eminently severe. Forcade was 
 accused of endeavouring by the most mendacious 
 accusations to spread alarm in the land. And 
 Jules Simon, having demolished Paradol to For- 
 cade's advantage, said that he thought the latter 
 had, perhaps, " misunderstood the information, 
 and at times was really a little out of his mind." 
 Jules Simon was, in truth, kind-hearted. 
 
 Girardin, just then, came in for a moment to 
 speak to us. He had learned what had brought the 
 King of Prussia to Compeigne. There was com- 
 plete accord about the unity of Italy. Prussia, 
 too, was working for the unity of Germany, and 
 would therefore aid the unity of Italy, and the 
 
 [382]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 system of compensation which had already 
 given us Nice and Savoy was very likely to 
 spread. 
 
 Girardin found this line of politics remarkable, 
 that in acquiescing to the Italian current of opin- 
 ion they should create a corresponding German 
 one. 
 
 Jean Mace, the author of La Bouchee de Pain, 
 was greatly in favour of an alliance between 
 France and Germany, the Germans being so good 
 and so fond of us! 
 
 I recalled Hetzel's words and About's prophecy, 
 and I said to Monsieur de Girardin that Hetzel and 
 About — one coming from Alsatia and the other 
 from Lorraine — perhaps knew the Germans better 
 than he and Mace, who were both Parisians. 
 
 Laurent Pichat came to speak to us. Was the 
 Princess there, too? Should we imitate our friend 
 Jules Simon and become censorious also? But the 
 author of Sybille had no enemies ; all that he could 
 have feared would have been a little gossip. He 
 had a large heart and a superior mind. His 
 Chroniques Rimees were written ten years before 
 the first volume of La Legende des Siecles, and are 
 not unworthy of being compared to them. He 
 founded La Revue de Paris, and the sacrifices he 
 made for it have ranked him with the great 
 
 [383]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Mecaenas. His kindness was proverbial. His 
 greatest luxury was to give. 
 
 Edmond Adam and Challemel-Lacour took us 
 after the opera to Tortoni's for ices. 
 
 I returned to Chauny, after having spoken to 
 Madame d'Agoult concerning my short stories, 
 and she busied herself about them. Challemel, who 
 was General Secretary of La Revue Germanique, 
 took one, and the Debats accepted another she had 
 proposed to them. Arthur Arnould asked for two. 
 I was to bring them completely finished when I 
 returned to Paris in December. Thank Heaven, 
 my dear friend was not going to leave Paris that 
 year! 
 
 I had been only a short time at Chauny when, in 
 the first fortnight of November, Monsieur Fould's 
 nomination to the Ministry of Finances gave rise 
 to reports which greatly stirred public feeling. 
 The financial situation was considered very critical. 
 
 On the 24th of November the Moniteur came 
 out with a leader, which was a Memoir addressed 
 to Napoleon III by Monsieur Fould. He disclosed 
 the financial situation, which until then had 
 been kept from public knowledge. A catastrophe 
 seemed imminent, unless preventive measures were 
 at once taken. The time for dissimulation and 
 
 [384]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 untruth was over. The national debt was over a 
 thousand million francs. All the letters I received 
 were full of these facts. The Opposition had un- 
 ceasingly cried danger, but had had no proofs to 
 show ; now the figures stood out plain. 
 
 Pelletan wrote me that " the man of the Second 
 of December " had been obliged to restore to the 
 Legislative Assembly its right of controlling ex- 
 penses, and related to me the famous scene between 
 Fould and de Persigny, when the first cried out to 
 the latter : " We have had enough of bric-a-brac 
 politics ! " and railed at the Minister whose sole 
 aim was to restore the old Napoleonic Empire. The 
 return of Monsieur Fould to the Ministry was 
 hailed with joy by the financiers. It meant defeat 
 to the Conservatives. Napoleon III placed the 
 matter in the hands of the man who had pointed 
 out the danger. 
 
 Pelletan was condemned to three months' im- 
 prisonment for an article that appeared in the 
 Courrier du Dimanche — Liberty as it is Exercised 
 in Austria. As soon as he was under lock and key 
 we all wished to fly to see him. I came at once to 
 Paris to pass forty-eight hours, in order to make 
 him a visit at Sainte-Pelagie. I asked for permis- 
 sion and obtained it. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult gave me her Histoire de la 
 
 [385 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Revolution de 1848, which she begged me to 
 present to Blanqui, who was a prisoner in the same 
 pavilion as Pelletan. 
 
 Ronchaud accompanied me. Sainte-Pelagie is 
 a gloomy place. It was the first time that I had 
 ever been in a prison. I heard some one screaming 
 lamentably, and Pelletan told me it was a prisoner 
 who had gone mad in his cell. 
 
 Scheurer-Kestner was to arrive in a few days. 
 He was then undergoing imprisonment for a month 
 elsewhere. His crime had been that he had circu- 
 lated the publication of Le Leon du Quartier Latin. 
 
 II veut manger du Bonaparte 
 Le Leon du Quartier Latin. 
 
 And, moreover, Scheurer-Kestner was a Republi- 
 can ; he had opened a subscription in Alsatia to 
 found a journal for Vermorel, Le Mouvement et le 
 Travail. The " Black Cabinet " opened one of 
 Scheurer-Kestner's letters in which he had sent 
 Vermorel eight hundred francs and had written: 
 " Strong men like yourself are destined to break 
 idols and to re-establish the worship of the true 
 God." The penalty of these little indiscretions was 
 three months' imprisonment. 
 
 Prisoners received their friends in the " Poli- 
 tician's Pavilion." Monsieur de Montalembert had 
 
 [386]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 called the day before, and the Comte d'Hausson- 
 ville on the morning when I was there. Was a 
 Liberal union in course of formation, or was it only 
 the friendly visiting of writers on the Courrier du 
 Dimanche? 
 
 I told de Ronchaud to wait for me, and asked 
 Pelletan to take me to see Blanqui. I intended to 
 present him, first, with Mon Village. I felt some 
 emotion, for I looked upon Blanqui as a martyr to 
 Republican faith, but a martyr who did not hesitate 
 to give his enemies blow for blow. 
 
 I did not know whether I was going to see an 
 embittered man giving utterance to curses, or the 
 hypocrite who had played, in a satanical way, the 
 role of a persecuted victim, in order the better to 
 betray the opinions he had pretended to defend, 
 and the men, his brothers, who had confided in him. 
 I entered his room, which was large, damp, and 
 cold, with a barred window high up on the wall. 
 Blanqui was in bed, at the foot of which were his 
 sabots. He fixed his eyes, burning with fever and 
 intensely black, on me. I could scarcely support 
 his gaze. His thin face, his dolorous physiognomy, 
 pained me, for I had never seen before such an 
 expression of hopelessness and of suffering en- 
 graved on any human face. You could guess the 
 bitter lines of his mouth under his white beard. 
 
 [387]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 The effects of solitude, of his imprisonments at 
 Fontevrault, Mont Saint-Michel, and Doullens 
 were written on Ins pallid brow, that had so seldom 
 been caressed by sunlight. A troop of sparrows 
 flew about the room. 
 
 " Here," said Pelletan, " is Madame Juliette 
 Lamber, a Republican writer, who has come to give 
 you her last book. You, who are a Southern man, 
 will find the poetry of the North in it, and perhaps 
 it will interest you for an hour or two." 
 
 " Unless — and I have only just thought of it " 
 — I added, " it may be cruel to bring a prisoner 
 the perfume of the open fields." 
 
 Blanqui took the book from my hands and placed 
 it on his bed. 
 
 " And then," I continued, " I am commissioned 
 by Daniel Stern " 
 
 " Daniel Stern ! " His eyes gleamed like fire. 
 
 " To present you with her Histoire de la Revolu- 
 tion de 1848." 
 
 " Has she dared to do it? " 
 
 I handed him the volumes, which he let fall from 
 his hands on to the bed. 
 
 " Who has authorized her to insult me in my 
 prison? " he cried angrily. 
 
 " Blanqui, be calm, be calm," repeated Pelletan. 
 
 " I can assure you that " 
 
 [388]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 Blanqui seized the volumes and threw them with 
 all his might at my feet. 
 
 I picked them up slowly and laid them one above 
 the other in my left hand. Then fixing my eyes on 
 his, I approached the bed calmly and took up Mon 
 Village, and when I was very near to him said : 
 
 " You are not a Frenchman." 
 
 Monsieur Thiers described Blanqui as " the 
 cleverest man and the greatest scoundrel one could 
 meet." No! That man, with that face, could 
 never be a scoundrel. He was a rebel, and he had 
 every right to be one, and he was an extremely 
 proud man who could not master his wrath. 
 
 When I related the scene to Madame d'Agoult, 
 she was at first most indignant, and then calmed 
 down and said: 
 
 " He would not have done that if he had read 
 my book." 
 
 This little trip in the severe winter did me much 
 harm. I caught an exceedingly bad cold and 
 passed my New Year's day in a miserable manner, 
 in spite of my delight at being with my father 
 and daughter. 
 
 I worked with difficulty at that time. I was not 
 ill, but had an annoying cough that no medicine 
 would calm, and I felt so languid I had courage 
 for nothing. I spit a little blood, but I did not 
 
 [389]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tell my father of it for fear of frightening him. 
 But I determined that when I should feel a little 
 stronger I would go and see my dear Doctor 
 Cabarrus. 
 
 My cousin, Madame Vilbort, wrote me that she 
 thought the French were really idiots ! She was 
 in despair. They had hissed Wagner, but that 
 might be excused, for he was a foreigner, and 
 explained on the ground of Parisian incompre- 
 hensibility. But had they not also prevented 
 About's play from being given at the Odeon — 
 About, who was the quintessence of Boulevard wit 
 and originality ? " Now Gaetana was simply per- 
 fect," wrote Madame Vilbort ; " witty, clever, and 
 fantastic, and combined at once drama, tragedy, 
 and comedy, with a little tinge of scepticism and 
 of the unexpected; in a word, all that in which 
 Paris delights. But people had hooted and would 
 listen to nothing. The young Clericals had hissed 
 the anti-Clericalism of the Palais-Royal in the per- 
 son of Prince Napoleon's friend, and the enemy of 
 temporal power in About himself ; and, on the other 
 side, the young Republicans had hissed the editor 
 of the Moniteur, the friend of the promoter of a 
 Liberal Empire." 
 
 The war with Mexico excited public opinion to 
 the most intense degree. The landing of the 
 
 [390]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 French troops at Vera Cruz set all manner of wild 
 stories afloat regarding dishonest financial ar- 
 rangements, which this expedition secretly fa- 
 voured. My friends wrote me so many different 
 versions about it that my series of various opinions 
 was complete. 
 
 I felt myself growing constantly worse. I had 
 a fever every night, and the blood-spitting in- 
 creased. How should I ever have the courage to 
 pain my father by telling him how I felt? I con- 
 cluded that I must, indeed, be very ill. 
 
 I could think of nothing better to do than to 
 write to my old friend Arles-Dufour, who was ever 
 ready to prove himself the " best of fathers." I 
 begged him to write me as quickly as possible a 
 pressing letter which I could show to my family, 
 calling me to Paris a propos of my separation from 
 my husband. I asked him to name a day when 
 it might be feasible for him to come to Paris, to 
 meet me at the station, and to take me to see Cabar- 
 rus, so that I might know whether my illness was a 
 serious one or not, and I added : 
 
 " Father, I fear I am dangerously ill." 
 
 I received by return mail from my fatherly and 
 devoted friend a favourable answer to all I had 
 asked. 
 
 I needed great courage not to betray my'emo- 
 
 [391]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 tion when I bade my father and daughter good-bye. 
 In what state of mind should I be on my return if 
 Cabarrus told me the truth, and supposing there 
 was some hopeless truth to tell? 
 
 I started, and had great difficulty in the icy-cold 
 station to hide from my father my handkerchief 
 stained with blood. My daughter saw it, and was 
 about to speak, when I made her a sign which the 
 poor little thing understood, and with tears in her 
 eyes kept silence. As I got into the railway-car- 
 riage I whispered in her ear: 
 
 " I am going to Paris to try to get well." The 
 train had scarcely started when I was choked with 
 blood and had a real haemorrhage. I should have 
 stopped at Noyon and gone back to my father, 
 but I felt I was more and more in danger, and I 
 said to myself that I would find a cool-headed doc- 
 tor at Paris, whereas at Chauny my father would 
 be out of his senses, my mother's lamentations 
 would add to my nervousness, and that I would be 
 too unhappy at seeing my little Alice suffer, as 
 she always suffered when any of us was ill. 
 
 I found at the station my second " father," 
 who was very anxious when he saw me look so ill. 
 He had already given notice to Cabarrus of our 
 coming visit, and he received us at once. 
 
 " My poor friend," he said, " go home at once, 
 
 [392]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 lie down, do not talk, and I will come and ex- 
 amine you more thoroughly. Where are you stay- 
 ing? " 
 
 I gave him my address in the Boulevard Pois- 
 soniere. 
 
 " That is fortunate," he replied. " It is central, 
 and will make everything easy." 
 
 " Everything ? What ? " 
 
 " Your instant departure for the South." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " There must be no * buts,' " said my " second 
 father." " You must do what Cabarrus orders." 
 
 " Dear Doctor, I want to know if I am danger- 
 ously ill? Tell me the truth, I beg of you ! " 
 
 " Do I look as though I had given up hope of 
 curing you? You are ill; you must take care of 
 yourself, and, above all, stop talking." 
 
 My old friend took me to an hotel, left a maid 
 to take care of me, and went off to seek help from 
 my friends. 
 
 He went to Madame Vilbort, who lived near to 
 me, and then to the Siecle for Louis Jourdan, and 
 to the Comptoir d'Escompte for Edmond Adam. 
 
 Madame Vilbort came and would not leave me. 
 Jourdan promised to write a pressing letter to 
 Monsieur and Madame Jean Re3 r naud, who were 
 at Cannes, and to procure two letters from Renou- 
 
 [393]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 vier and from Pelletan. Arles-Dufour commis- 
 sioned Edmond Adam to see Monsieur Thiers, and 
 to get a letter from him recommending me to the 
 care of his old college friend, Doctor Maure of 
 Grasse, the most influential and the highest medical 
 authority on the Riviera. Adam was to inform 
 Madame d'Agoult of my departure, so that she 
 might come to bid me good-bye. My dear fatherly 
 Arles-Dufour saw Enfantin and asked him for a 
 railway compartment where I might be made com- 
 fortable for the journey. Enfantin was the Presi- 
 dent of the Paris-Lyons-Mediterranean Railway 
 Company. 
 
 After a while Arles-Dufour returned and told 
 me what he had done, and that he should only write 
 to my father the next morning, so that my family 
 might do nothing to hinder my departure. I had 
 no longer any will left for myself, and was only too 
 thankful just to cast myself on the care of the 
 kindest of " fathers." 
 
 No one who had not seen Arles-Dufour planning 
 a proselyting campaign, an act of charity, or the 
 rescue of some unfortunate person, could have an 
 idea of how much can be thought of in a few hours 
 and the advantage one can take of what is under 
 one's hand. 
 
 Thiers gave the letter to Doctor Maure without 
 delay. [ 394 ]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 " That is good," said Arles-Dufour, who, how- 
 ever, detested " the little protectionist man." " I 
 knew that he liked you very much, Adam, and that 
 is why I selected you as emissary." 
 
 " Might I ask, my dear Aries, who is to accom- 
 pany Madame Juliette Lamber to Cannes? " said 
 Edmond Adam. 
 
 " I, and you also, if you choose." 
 
 " I am quite willing. When do you start? " 
 
 " To-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and be- 
 tween now and then you must find us a nice maid." 
 
 " I will give you my cook, who has been a maid, 
 and for whom I can vouchsafe." 
 
 " Then, in that case, we are quite ready. 
 Nothing more is wanting." 
 
 Cabarrus then came, bringing me some medicine. 
 
 I was again choked with blood. . . . 
 
 Madame d'Agoult and de Ronchaud came in, 
 but only stayed a moment, for Cabarrus, seeing how 
 agitated I was, sent them away. 
 
 Jourdan brought me his letter and one from 
 Renouvier for Jean Reynaud, and Pelletan sent 
 his the same evening from the prison of Sainte- 
 Pelagie. 
 
 Cabarrus's medicine put me to sleep, and I 
 scarcely remembered anything that happened until 
 I found myself comfortably installed in the rail- 
 26 [ 395 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 way-carriage, where the " father " and Edmond 
 Adam, whom I had at first so disliked, and who had 
 afterward grown so dear to me, were taking care 
 of me with such kindness and devotion that I 
 wanted to thank them every minute, but I was not 
 allowed to speak. 
 
 It was snowing hard. At Lyons Madame Arles- 
 Dufour, to whom her husband had announced my 
 arrival, came to kiss me, and called me " her daugh- 
 ter," and said she hoped on my return to see me at 
 Oullins. I burst into tears, and Arles-Dufour hur- 
 ried her out of the railway-carriage. 
 
 We soon arrived at Toulon, and I could look at 
 the sea from the hotel where we stopped. The sun 
 came pouring in through the open windows, and 
 outside all was blue. I had always fancied that 
 " azured Greece " must look like this. I took long 
 breaths, in order to inhale this blue ether. It 
 seemed to me that it would ease my chest and stop 
 the flow of blood, of which my mouth was always 
 full. I thought that I already felt the good effects 
 of this pure air, and I wrote in a pretty little note- 
 book given to me by Cabarrus my impressions of 
 the instantaneous benefit I was deriving from this 
 medical treatment, which caused a laugh among 
 my friends. 
 
 It took two days to go by carriage to Cannes, as 
 
 [396]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 the railway did not then go farther than Toulon. 
 The next year it was built as far as Arcs. 
 
 We arrived at our destination in the evening, and 
 the next morning Doctor Maure, Monsieur and 
 Madame Jean Reynaud, to whom " the father " 
 had written from Toulon, came to see me and " to 
 take possession of my person," as Arles-Dufour 
 said, for both he and Adam were obliged to leave 
 the same evening. 
 
 My friends had no sooner left me than I had a 
 fierce battle to fight with Doctor Maure, who wished 
 to send me to Cannes. 
 
 " I won't go where Rachel died. It would make 
 me feel as though I were going to die too. I want 
 to see the ocean and to breathe the salt air; that 
 alone can save me." 
 
 I wrote this in my note-book for Doctor Maure 
 to read. 
 
 " The sea will kill you," he replied, angrily. 
 
 Oh ! if only I could talk, I could easily convince 
 my new friends that they are wrong in decreeing 
 that I must go to Cannes. My written words are 
 too cold to convince them. 
 
 It began to rain, and the sea that had looked so 
 blue at Toulon was now covered with mist. I sent 
 out my nice maid from Bordeaux to look for a 
 small furnished apartment. 
 
 [397]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 She was the only person who thought I was 
 right. She soon returned, having found one. 
 
 " You will be able to look at the sea and the 
 islands." 
 
 " Go quickly and set the little place in order." 
 
 She spent the afternoon cleaning it, and that 
 same evening, after Doctor Maure had left, saying 
 that he would " carry me off " to Cannes the next 
 morning, I left the hotel and took up my abode in 
 the apartment. 
 
 During the afternoon I had posted a letter to 
 Doctor Maure at Grasse, and another to Monsieur 
 and Madame Reynaud. The next morning they 
 would all know my new address. It was a " coup 
 d'etat." 
 
 The two rooms and the drawing-room of my small 
 apartment faced due south, and were as full of 
 sunshine as the rooms at Toulon. There was no 
 more mist on the sea and the sky was ethereally blue. 
 My new friends did not appear, but wrote me se- 
 vere letters. The next day Jean Reynaud came to 
 see me and found me sitting by the open window 
 drinking in the sea air. 
 
 He asked me if I wished to commit suicide, and 
 if my life were so distasteful to me that I wanted 
 to leave it? 
 
 I answered him by writing on my little note- 
 book: [398]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 " No, I want to live for my dear ones and for my 
 friends, gifts from the gods, whom I worship and 
 love." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders sadly, and left me 
 without a word of farewell. 
 
 During the following week I received disapprov- 
 ing letters from Cabarrus, Arles-Dufour, Edmond 
 Adam, and Madame d'Agoult. Neither Doctor 
 Maure nor Monsieur and Madame Reynaud had 
 sent to inquire about me. They were waiting, 
 as Doctor Maure wrote me, " for me to repent and 
 send for them." 
 
 The weather was splendid. I spent all my days, 
 during the hours of sunshine, lying on the sand 
 by the seashore. At first I felt more intense burn- 
 ing in my throat and chest, but by degrees my lips 
 were less suffused with blood and my fever dimin- 
 ished. 
 
 I wrote this to Doctor Maure, who came in one 
 morning like a whirlwind. 
 
 " Well, Doctor, I feel better. I have had no 
 more blood-spitting since yesterday morning." 
 
 " Is it possible? " 
 
 " I assure you it is, and you see I can talk with 
 impunity." 
 
 " It is most extraordinary." 
 
 " No, the sea has cauterized me." 
 
 [399]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " That just expresses it. Put on your hat; my 
 carriage is below ; I am going to breakfast with 
 Jean Reynaud, and I will take you with me." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " No more ' buts ' or I shall lose my temper." 
 
 We accordingly drove to the Reynauds, where 
 we found Lord Brougham. The surprise produced 
 by my entrance can be imagined. Doctor Maure 
 told them what I had done and the miraculous bene- 
 fit I had derived from my own way of curing my- 
 self. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lord Brougham ; " it does not as- 
 tonish me. There is an English physician who has 
 begun to treat patients suffering from chest dis- 
 eases by sending them to make sea voyages." 
 
 I had really thought I was condemned to die, 
 and I now felt myself returning to life and health 
 as though in a dream. 
 
 What I had always been seeking for since my 
 childhood was reality, and my impotent imagina- 
 tion had never been able to find it. But now I saw 
 this light, this country, these flowers, and they all 
 sang in my heart a Homeric psalm. There it was, 
 in very truth, that sea, which does not eat or wear 
 away the earth, but which only sobs gently as it 
 incessantly recedes from it. Was I not in Greece? 
 
 I had never realized what Madame d'Agoult had 
 
 [400]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 often described to me, nor what Homer had sung 
 about it. At last I really sav it ! 
 
 Phoebus Apollo, radiant and dazzling, rose and 
 set in the ocean like a god. One day I fancied I 
 could see through the floods of light that streamed 
 from his locks, the golden wheels of his chariot, 
 and the shining nostrils of his horses that scent and 
 devour space. 
 
 In answer to my father's long letters I had only 
 written short notes. Neither Cabarrus nor Arles- 
 Dufour nor Madame d'Agoult had said anything 
 to make him anxious. As soon as I was better I set 
 his mind quite at rest about myself, and told him 
 at great length of my Grecian impressions. 
 
 I sent Aunt Sophie descriptive Virgilian land- 
 scapes. My little Alice sent me word through my 
 father that she wished " to see with Mama the 
 bright sun and the trees ladened with oranges." I 
 replied that I promised to bring her with me next 
 
 winter. 
 
 My correspondence was voluminous, but I never 
 
 wearied relating the surprises which this lovely 
 
 azure shore gave me, and the ecstasy with which 
 
 it inspired me. 
 
 I finished my Recits d'une Paysanne, the short 
 
 stories which had all been taken, thanks to my 
 
 devoted friend, Madame d'Agoult; and, while Het- 
 
 [401 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 zel was having them printed, I began another vol- 
 ume, compiled from what I saw daily around me: 
 Mon Voyage Autour du Grand Pin. 
 
 I was a happy woman, for soon I had a third 
 father, " my Cannes papa," Jean Reynaud, who, 
 in writing to Arles-Dufour and to my father, had 
 assumed this title himself. 
 
 All things spoke to me of my gods, and I talked 
 constantly of them, to the great scandal of the 
 author of La Terre et Ciel and of Madame Rey- 
 naud, who was very religious, and who was shocked 
 at my paganism. But both my friends were kind, 
 noble, and possessed essentially elevated minds. 
 They tried to snatch me from the errors of 
 materiality and to sow in my mind the good seed 
 of spirituality, which was to bring forth fruit in 
 after years. 
 
 While Jean Reynaud, on the terrace of his villa 
 at La Bocca, talked to me of Heaven, and, as I 
 expressed it, " put on his wings," Madame Rey- 
 naud, who was one of Chopin's most distinguished 
 pupils, sat near the opened window and, accom- 
 panied by the far-off murmur of the sea, played 
 Beethoven's sonatas, works of the master her be- 
 loved philosopher preferred above all others. 
 
 The perfume of the roses, the violets, and the 
 
 [ 402 ]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 early orange-blossoms intoxicated me, and I no 
 longer wondered at belief in a Hereafter, when life 
 on this Mediterranean shore was so luminous, com- 
 pared to gloomy Chauny and foggy Paris. 
 
 " I recognise in every one," Jean Reynaud said 
 to me, " the right of absolute sovereignty over his 
 own mind. To believe what one wishes to believe 
 is a primal rule on condition that man's conscience 
 prompts him to ameliorate, edify, regenerate, and 
 elevate religiously that in which he believes. There 
 is too much poetry and not enough divine elevation 
 in your pagan religion," he added. 
 
 The profoundly grateful letters my father had 
 written to Monsieur and Madame Reynaud had 
 touched their hearts, and they really felt something 
 more than simple friendship for me. Having no 
 children of their own, they adopted me. 
 
 Although Jean Reynaud had separated from 
 Enfantin before the establishment of the School 
 at Menilmontant, he had been condemned to prison 
 in the lawsuit brought against the Saint-Simonians 
 for outrage to public morality, for the simple 
 reason that without his knowledge his name had 
 appeared in a joint letter of the defenders of En- 
 fantin and of his forty sons. He founded, together 
 with Pierre Leroux, the Encyclopedie Nouvelle, 
 and it was the articles he had written in the Ency- 
 
 [403]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 clopedie, which he had compiled in book form under 
 the title of Terre et Ciel, that were condemned by 
 the Council of Perigueux. Jean Reynaud was 
 elected Deputy for the Department of Moselle, 
 and was afterward made Under-Secretary of Public 
 Instruction under Carnot. In 1849 he became 
 Councillor of State, which post he resigned after 
 the Second of December. According to his annual 
 custom, Henri Martin came to spend a few days at 
 the Villa of La Bocca, and it was a veritable treat 
 to hear him talk of ancient Gaul with Jean Rey- 
 naud, who was a true son of Gaul himself, fond of 
 daring adventure, always ready to brave death, and 
 feeling only attraction for it, because, according 
 to his serene belief, death was only a halting-place 
 in the soul's journey through the infinite. 
 
 The founder and editor of Le Magasin Pitta- 
 resque, Edouard Charton, lived near Cannes, at 
 Cannet, for which I had had such dread. He also 
 often came to the Villa of La Bocca. He was a 
 friend and like a brother to Jean Reynaud, for 
 both of them had been early imbued with the same 
 ideal Saint-Simonian doctrine and with Republi- 
 canism. 
 
 The friendship of these two exceptionally high- 
 toned men was a moral tonic to all those who came 
 under its influence. Jean Reynaud said, in speak- 
 
 [ 404]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 ing of Charton : " He has always done good and 
 never done evil." And Charton said of Jean Rey- 
 naud: "I can never follow his soul, it soars too 
 high." 
 
 After Henri Martin had left, Legouve arrived. 
 What a contrast there was between these two men, 
 who could be, however, compared in an identical 
 general way ! Both were loyal and patriotic, and 
 their aspirations, their thoughts, their feelings, 
 their conception of honour, were essentially those of 
 true Frenchmen. Henri Martin was, like Legouve, 
 the stanchest of friends, and always ready to prove 
 his friendship. Apart from this, Henri Martin 
 and Legouve were entirely dissimilar. The first 
 looked like an untidy countryman, awkward, un- 
 gainly, and large-featured. The only attraction 
 about him was his simplicity, his good-nature, and 
 the confidence he inspired in others by the sincerity 
 in his physiognomy. Legouve was comely; his 
 features were refined ; his manners were perfect ; he 
 fully realized the idea of what was called later, " a 
 man of select society." Democracy needs to ripen 
 and does not produce its aristocracy until after a 
 long time. Morality is the fruit that we should 
 especially cultivate. No man leaving an inferior 
 sphere of life to enter into a higher one, can become 
 thoroughly refined in a day, even should he seem 
 
 [ 405 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 to be such. He may be able to catch the tone, but 
 he fails in acquiring ease of manner. Several gen- 
 erations of distinguished men had contributed to 
 making Legouve what he was. 
 
 Jean Reynaud often said that " if all the French 
 bourgeois were like Legouve — thorouglily good- 
 mannered, liberal, generous, well-balanced in their 
 minds, and brave men — then, truly, they would 
 have reaped that appanage which they had wrested 
 from the nobility, and which the Revolution had 
 legalized. Legouve," continued Reynaud, " is a 
 man superior in morality to any one I know, even 
 to Charton. He is a transcendental moral genius." 
 
 Legouve was a rare writer and a remarkable con- 
 versationalist. Distinction and dignified kindliness 
 were the most striking qualities in his character. 
 An inexplicable charm, mixed with a slight degree 
 of feminality, seemed also to dominate in him. 
 But, on the contrary, his charm of manner sprang 
 from his studied benevolence, from his sure dis- 
 crimination of things, from his faithfulness in 
 friendship and from the surety of his opinions; 
 and this combination of qualities made him gentle 
 and at peace with himself, courteous to others, and 
 calmly cheerful in his own life. No one could 
 know Legouve without respecting him and loving 
 him profoundly. He was truth personified. 
 
 [406]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 Madame Jean Reynaud and I were very curious 
 to know about Madame Ristori, and when we ques- 
 tioned Legouve concerning her, he spoke with the 
 highest admiration of her talent and with the 
 greatest respect for her character. 
 
 Two of Legouve's colleagues of the Academy 
 were at Cannes — Prosper Merimee and Victor 
 Cousin — whom Jean Reynaud did not see on ac- 
 count of his Republican opinions. Legouve liked 
 them both, although he thought the one too cold, 
 too reserved and selfish, and the other too verbose. 
 But at this he only hinted. 
 
 Jean Reynaud often teased Legouve about his 
 " excessively juvenile " appearance. He was so 
 slight and active, and he was so coquettishly dig- 
 nified ! 
 
 It was at Senneport, Legouve's country-seat, 
 where Jean Reynaud always spent a few weeks 
 every year, that he met his wife, who lived near 
 Legouve and was a young and mystical widow, 
 determined never to marry again. Jean Reynaud 
 and she were both living in dreamland when they 
 met. 
 
 No one whom I ever knew understood to a higher 
 degree what a wife's duty should be than Madame 
 Reynaud. I have heard sublime and touching 
 things expressed by her. Jean Reynaud had given 
 
 [407]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 up Saint-Simonian because it lessened family re- 
 spectability, for domestic happiness and duty in 
 conjugal relations were matters for which he pro- 
 fessed the highest respect. 
 
 Vacherot sent me his book, which, although it 
 had been published two years before, had just been 
 seized by the police. As he was aware that Jean 
 Reynaud had not read it, he begged me to give 
 him, in his name, a copy of his Democratic Vache- 
 rot professed in this book to care only for philoso- 
 phy, but he wrote most competently in it both of 
 politics and the social movement. Being excessively 
 malevolent in character, Vacherot's writings were 
 chiefly criticisms. Accordingly in La Democratie 
 he divided his friends into classes, so that he might 
 the more easily ill treat them all in turn. He cata- 
 logued some as Liberals and reproached these for 
 not being Democrats, and others as Democrats 
 whom he reproached for not being Liberals. His 
 definition of the idea of a State was the following : 
 " A State may centralize individual energy and set 
 it to work, but never at any time should it use its 
 own particular right in contradiction to individual 
 right. The State should intervene to enforce re- 
 spect for individual rights. This should be its 
 first duty." How often have I listened to discus- 
 sions on this subject between Dupont- White and 
 
 [408]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 Vacherot. Their quarrels were sharp, but when 
 over, each one would acknowledge to the other that 
 they were both of one mind on the main point, and 
 that the State, to which they allotted a large de- 
 gree of power, was, in their opinion, a result and 
 not a cause in itself, as Louis XIV had wished it 
 to be when he said, "L'Etat, e'est moi." 
 
 One could understand that Vacherot overcame 
 his bitterness of character with difficulty, for, in 
 1851, when he was head master at the Ecole Nor- 
 male, he was dismissed, the Abbe Gratry having 
 found his books heretical and blasphemous. All 
 his pupils went to bid him good-bye, and Taine 
 made him an address in their collective name. 
 Among Vacherot's former pupils were numbered 
 the flower of French writers and thinkers. Emile 
 Deschanel, Caro, Paul Janet, Gaston Boissier, Pas- 
 teur, Challemel-Lacour, Alfred Mezieres, Assolant, 
 Perraud (who later was made a cardinal), About, 
 Sarcey, I. I. Weiss, Prevost-Paradol, Greard, and 
 many others noted in letters. 
 
 Jean Reynaud read La Democratic and wrote 
 a charming letter to the author. Vacherot was 
 under the impression that he owed something of 
 this to me. He was very justly proud of his own 
 merits as a writer. 
 
 I went one day to Grasse to breakfast at the 
 
 [409]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 house of Doctor Maure with my friends, among 
 whom were Charton and Garnier-Pages, the latter 
 then being at Cannet. Doctor Maure took me to 
 see the wonderful Fragonards which the painter in 
 vogue before the Revolution had hidden there in 
 a room that was always kept shut. Fragonard 
 painted Revolutionary emblems in the corridors to 
 dispel the idea that there could be any charm- 
 ing little ladies depicted there to offend the 
 strait-laced. After his fall Fragonard took 
 shelter in this family mansion, where he con- 
 soled himself for his misfortunes by teaching his 
 son painting. 
 
 When I visited the Fragonard dwelling it was 
 still in the possession of two elderly maiden ladies 
 distantly related to Doctor Maure. Every one had 
 been, or was, anxious to purchase these pictures. I 
 came myself several years later on behalf of my 
 old friend Sechan to offer the ladies five hundred 
 thousand francs for their four panels to be re- 
 placed by four pictures from the brush of four of 
 the greatest living painters that they might care 
 to choose. 
 
 The old ladies answered me thus : 
 
 " We have enough to live upon, and our only 
 distraction is seeing the distinguished visitors who 
 come to admire our pictures. We should no longer 
 
 [ 410 ]
 
 MY HEALTH FAILS 
 
 be any one if we sold them, while now we are of 
 some importance — ' the ladies of the Frago- 
 nards.' " 
 
 I agreed with them in spite of my defeat. 
 
 27 
 
 [411 ]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 mETZEL and Bixio both write that they have 
 interested Merimee in me, and that I may 
 expect his arrival at my house. What will Jean 
 Reynaud say if he comes? Bixio is Merimee's most 
 intimate friend, and rumour says the latter's residu- 
 ary legatee. " Bixio is indestructible," says Meri- 
 mee incessantly, so Hetzel told me several times. 
 " Death had a fine opportunity to take him in 1848, 
 but would not; he will outlive us all." 
 
 In spite of the opinion held by Hetzel and Bixio, 
 I considered Merimee a prig, cold, sarcastic, and 
 sceptical; he was usually so described, and I was 
 rather in awe of him. 
 
 We (Merimee and I) lived at opposite ends of 
 the Cours. He appeared three days after the an- 
 nouncement of his visit, and, without any preamble, 
 said to me : 
 
 " You are a young person whom Hetzel and 
 Bixio have already made me like. Old Maure, too, 
 has greatly interested me in your stubbornness. I 
 am thankful for your recovery. You have taken 
 
 [412]
 
 PROSPER MERIMEE 
 
 D'apres une litto6raplne dc Dcvcria 
 
 
 PROSPER MERIMEE. 
 
 From a lithograph by de Deveria.
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 it by storm. I only believe in the sea, in the sea," 
 he added in caressing tones, and with a tender look. 
 " I have read your Nouvelle Paysanne in the De- 
 bats. It is so good that it shows better may be 
 done. I will teach the secrets of building to the 
 foreman if he aspires to become an architect. I 
 know you have perpetrated some Idees Anti-Proud- 
 honiennes. I will not read those. They are not 
 for women." 
 
 " Oh ! with regard to women, we shall not agree. 
 You are too hard upon them — unkind even." 
 
 " We have come to such words already ! What 
 will you say to me upon my twentieth visit ? Also, 
 it is better to settle matters at once. I have been 
 hard upon women, when they were too good 
 to me. To-day they are no longer at all good 
 to me, and I am less . . . unkind. Let us 
 speak frankly. Have I taken up a position pleas- 
 ing to you? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " We shall become friends ? " 
 
 " We are already." 
 
 " Legouve and Maure will be glad, but Jean 
 Reynaud will not admit it." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 Nearly every evening I stayed and dined at the 
 
 [ 413]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Bocca, and was brought home, sometimes by Jean 
 Reynaud, sometimes by one of his old friends, 
 a neighbour, who goes off to his club at nine 
 o'clock. 
 
 Madame Jean Reynaud was absorbed in her gar- 
 den and scarcely ever went out. Jean Reynaud 
 often came to fetch me in the afternoon ; he was 
 very fond of walking, and we rambled over the 
 mountain. He liked to talk ; I liked to listen. My 
 Voyage Autour du Grand Pin was half evolved 
 during these conversations. 
 
 Little by little he told me of his infancy and 
 youth. I could to-day write his " memoirs," so 
 plentiful are the notes I took of what he told me, 
 and so much do I remember. 
 
 Here are a few of the souvenirs I gleaned : 
 
 When Jean Reynaud was at the Polytechnique, 
 Charles X came one day to visit the school, accom- 
 panied by the Due d'Angouleme, who questioned 
 the pupils upon their calling. Jean Reynaud an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I intend to go into the Artillery." 
 
 " Sire ! Sire ! " cried the Duke ; " here is a young 
 man who intends to go into the Artillery." 
 
 Jean Reynaud was already a Republican. The 
 King came up and said to Reynaud: 
 
 " You will fire guns? " 
 
 [ 414]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " Yes," replied Jean, grimly, " I will not fail to, 
 should opportunity arise." 
 
 They were informed that Jean Reynaud was a 
 pupil of Merlin de Thionville. 
 
 The Due d'Angouleme said to Gay-Lussac 
 a propos of his balloon ascent : 
 
 " You ascended to a very great height, it seems, 
 sir? " 
 
 " Yes, your Grace." 
 
 " And was it very hot? " 
 
 " No, your Grace, it was cold." 
 
 " Ah ! was the sun large? " 
 
 " I did not reach high enough, your Grace, to 
 be able, relatively to its distance, to perceive it." 
 
 " And were there many birds up there, sir? ' : 
 
 " I did not see a single one that day." 
 
 One of the professors, Monsieur Leroy, had not 
 yet obtained the Cross of the Legion of Honour, 
 and desired to do so by impressing the King with 
 his answers. Charles X questioned him upon some 
 little astronomical models. 
 
 " How very remarkable ! " said the King. " Are 
 these made by the pupils? They are charming." 
 
 " Yes, Sire. They are to teach them the square 
 of revolutions." 
 
 The courtiers turned away. 
 
 " Extremely pretty, sir." 
 
 [415]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Sire, in the revolving motions of the 
 Sbcirs • « • 
 
 The King walked off. 
 
 At the time of the War of Independence in 
 Greece Jean Reynaud was delegated by the 
 " School " and saw for the first time Pere Enfantin, 
 who headed a subscription list. The " School " 
 subscribed a handsome sum for guns. Pere En- 
 fantin was anxious to send out doctors. 
 
 " I will not pay a penny," said Jean Reynaud, 
 and took the money back again. 
 
 I was especially anxious that Jean Reynaud 
 should tell me about his split with Pere Enfantin, 
 but I dared not question him. 
 
 Nevertheless, I told him one day of the step 
 taken in Pere Enfantin's name by my future dearly 
 loved " Father " Arles-Dufour and Lambert-Bey, 
 to give me a dinner and proclaim me " the woman 
 legislator." 
 
 We were on the hill above his villa, climbing, I 
 behind him, a fairly steep path. He turned 
 sharply to me and said : 
 
 " Is it possible ? Aries dared to ask you that ? 
 I am surprised at nothing Lambert-Bey may do; 
 he is a slave; but Aries, brave and loyal, whom I 
 deemed untouched by the unfortunate moral influ- 
 ence of Enfantin. I am stunned ! " 
 
 [416]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " When it is a question of the principles of the 
 School, Arles-Dufour upholds them all, and is not 
 the ' woman legislator ' a principle ? " 
 
 Jean Reynaud leaned against an olive-tree and 
 made me sit down. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, " it is a principle — one of 
 Enfantin's own. Listen, my dear child ; why should 
 I not speak to you of those things, the greater por- 
 tion of which will be published after my death, but 
 respecting which I must warn you, so that you 
 never fall into the clutches of Enfantin, that moral 
 weakener, the worst I have ever met. I tell you 
 that the most odious part of Enfantin's manoeuvres 
 to dominate the soul of his disciples was to destroy 
 their conjugal happiness, to prove to them that all 
 wives, even their own, were ripe for emancipation, 
 for free-love. Many are the ruptures made by En- 
 fantin's order which I have healed, and numerous 
 are the scandals I have managed to avert. The so- 
 called ' Pere ' sent to the wives men resolved to 
 seduce them by every means, then to betray their 
 secrets to Enfantin, who forced the luckless ones 
 publicly to confess their faults. 
 
 " One of the most awful scenes, the most fearful 
 tortures, I witnessed decided me to break with the 
 School. 
 
 " One day Enfantin rose and said : 
 
 [417]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " ' Providence has willed that I should be sur- 
 rounded by none but deceived husbands.' 
 
 " Bazard rose in indignation. His wife was ad- 
 mirable, devoted, brave and proud. She was irre- 
 proachable. Very pale, he protested against the 
 insult offered by Enfantin to all the husbands 
 round him. 
 
 Slowly Enfantin pronounced the words: 
 Even you ' 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 Bazard uttered a despairing cry which wrung 
 my heart; he fell back upon his seat; then sud- 
 denly, with wild eye and livid countenance, rose 
 and, reeling like a drunken man, left the room. I 
 followed to help him in this terrible trial. 
 
 " Like myself, Bazard revolted against the con- 
 ceit and power of Enfantin. By means of ruses, 
 snares, falsehoods, the relation of which would seem 
 impossible to you, a seducer sent to Madame Bazard 
 had imposed upon her, pursued her, assailed her in 
 such manner, threatening those dear to her with 
 vengeance, danger, even death, that, maddened, 
 Madame Bazard yielded. In my presence the mis- 
 erable woman made her confession. My heart still 
 aches at the recollection. 
 
 " The day I left the ' School,' " Jean Reynaud 
 went on after a long silence, " Enfantin accused 
 several of his disciples of betraying him. 
 
 [418]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " I had stanchly espoused the defence of Ma- 
 dame Bazard, and denounced the infamy of which 
 she was a victim. Upon me in particular, there- 
 fore, did Enfantin direct his accusations. The 
 name Judas was on his lips, when, in a burst of 
 arrogant eloquence he cried: 
 
 " ' I feel I resemble Christ ! ' 
 
 " ' With this difference,' I replied coldly and 
 ironically, ' that Christ was upon the Cross and you 
 are in a comfortable arm-chair.' 
 
 " Thereupon I left what I loudly declared to be 
 a ' School ' of moral mischief. 
 
 " I did not see Enfantin again until the Bourges' 
 trial. That day, pursuing the same idea, he 
 said: 
 
 " ' Two thousand years ago a man teaching a 
 new morality appeared before his judges.' 
 
 " A new morality," repeated Jean Reynaud ; 
 " the morality which stained the two purest be- 
 ings in the world — Bazard and his wife. 
 
 " How could I become a member of a society both 
 humanely religious and economic when I am a 
 spiritualist and a dreamer? " Jean Reynaud asked 
 me. I was unable to answer him, not having lived 
 at the moment of the systems when one undertook 
 to fight without paying sufficient attention to the 
 choice of weapons and of loaders. 
 
 [419]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Doctor Maure dined with us that night. Jean 
 Reynaud recurred, in spite of himself, to the past 
 he had called up for my benefit. 
 
 Old Maure was an eclectic philosopher. He 
 spoke of schools and philosophers with a detached 
 ease which made him a delightful talker. He 
 found some good in each school, having had 
 friends in all of them ; morality in all philosophies, 
 having weighed them all. Witty, original, nothing 
 was so diverting as a certain grimace prefacing one 
 of his remarks, always unexpected, decisive, which 
 cut short any conversation, so droll was it. He was 
 much attached to Jean Reynaud and Merimee, who 
 detested each other cordially. Merimee disbelieved 
 everything which the author of Ciel et Terre be- 
 lieved. In revenge, he had faith in the benefits of 
 the Empire, while Jean Reynaud accused Napo- 
 leon III of every possible crime. 
 
 Nevertheless, when I arrived in Cannes Jean 
 Reynaud was not so irritated against the Imperial 
 rule, because of the union of Nice to France. 
 
 " That is the only thing Merimee has found fault 
 with," said Doctor Maure to Jean Reynaud one 
 day. " It is written that you shall never agree 
 about anything." 
 
 I was most curious to know what Merimee would 
 say about the Empress, and I worried Doctor Maure 
 
 [ 420]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 with questions. He, mischievous, pretended not to 
 understand the drift of my remarks. 
 
 " Now, Doctor, does he think her intelligent? " 
 
 " He wishes her to be so." 
 
 " He wishes, he wishes; just so, to wish requires 
 an effort ; therefore, when questioned, he does not 
 say simply, ' She is intelligent.' " 
 
 " He acquiesces, and adds, ' She has a wonderful 
 memory.' " 
 
 " A substitute, Doctor? " 
 
 " How do you mean? A substitute? " 
 
 " A wonderful memory which makes up for in- 
 telligence." 
 
 " That is as you like. Merimee not being there, 
 it does not behoove me to oppose your opinion ; but 
 if I sum up impressions gathered here and there 
 during my conversations with Merimee, I believe 
 the Empress to be alluring, enchanting, versatile, 
 a woman to her very finger-tips, more complex and 
 diverse than the man of Montaigne, and with all 
 this, and, mark this well, absolutely faithful. Not 
 in the least prodigal, as people say, but rather the 
 contrary." 
 
 " Does Merimee approve of her mode of pro- 
 cedure on certain occasions, the songs and worldly 
 guidance she permits from Madame de Metter- 
 nich?" 
 
 [ 421 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " My dear child, you are going to force me to 
 divulge intimate confidences. The Empress loves 
 her husband, and suffers intensely when he deserts 
 her ; she then seeks distraction at any cost, diversity 
 of sensations which make her forget her conjugal 
 sorrows for a moment — the theatre, games, songs, 
 excursions into the country, she tries them all." 
 
 " And as a mother? " 
 
 " She is perfect. She brings up the Prince Im- 
 perial admirably ; keeps away everything which 
 might excite his vanity, wishing him to be well in- 
 formed and not stuffed with learning. In short, 
 she possesses, as we all do, qualities and defects. 
 It seems to me, since reading some of her letters to 
 Merimee, that qualities predominate." 
 
 " Ah ! but, Doctor, though a friend of Monsieur 
 Thiers, though an old Liberal, though an Orleanist, 
 it seems to me that Merimee has made you like the 
 Empress ! " 
 
 " No, appreciate her." 
 
 The son of a painter, Merimee was devoted to 
 painting. Doctor Maure brought me one day a 
 water-colour painted at Saint-Cesaire, the property 
 of the Doctor, which Merimee had just solemnly 
 presented to him. It was mediocre ! 
 
 " My poor friend, you are now forced to behold 
 Saint-Cesaire unsightly ! " 
 
 [ 422]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " No," he told me, with his grimace, " I will only 
 turn this — er — landscape on the bad side painted 
 by Merimee when he does me the honour of being 
 my guest, and for ordinary occasions I will paste 
 a pretty picture on the back. Alas! why is not 
 Merimee able to paint as well as he writes and 
 eats." 
 
 To be able to eat was a claim upon Doctor 
 Maure's regard, and on that account he had a great 
 contempt for Cousin. 
 
 " Would you believe," he told me, " that one 
 day arriving in the middle of luncheon I heard him 
 asking his governess for some more veal, and it 
 was pheasant ! ! " 
 
 Upon the other side of Cannes Bay, opposite me, 
 was a pine-wood, where Doctor Maure advised me 
 to spend an hour every morning stretched upon 
 the sand by the sea. There I could see Merimee 
 in the distance, followed by his old English friends 
 in light dresses, one carrying a quiver and the other 
 a large bag, both fastened to a strap over the 
 shoulder. Merimee carried a bow — like a god, 
 Homer would have said. At a given moment one 
 of the Englishwomen took out an arrow, Merimee 
 held the bow, the arrow whistled and struck a pine- 
 cone, selected for its ripeness. One of the English- 
 women ran after the pine-cone, which she put in 
 
 [423]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 her bag; the other picked up the arrow if it fell. 
 There was a silent flutter of anxiety as the arrow 
 shot from the bow, followed by joyful cries, ex- 
 clamations, or rather acclamations, which ended 
 only when Merimee again stretched his bow and 
 shot. 
 
 Hidden behind a juniper-tree, I could see every- 
 thing without being seen. 
 
 One day I meet Merimee and Lord Brougham. 
 They bowed and stopped. 
 
 I complimented Merimee upon his skill in pine- 
 cone shooting. Lord Brougham looked at me with 
 an eye full of mischief. I did not even smile. Meri- 
 mee was pleased with the grave manner in which I 
 congratulated him. 
 
 " In Picardy," I added, " every man of spirit 
 is a skilful archer, and I am a good judge of the 
 sport. You are splendid. Yesterday you brought 
 down five cones." 
 
 " William Tell is outdone," rejoined Lord 
 Brougham ; " but, do you not think, Madame, that 
 my two countrywomen do not sufficiently resemble 
 Psyche for this strapping Cupid? " 
 
 It was impossible to refrain from smiling. 
 
 " Moth ! " said Merimee, laughing. 
 
 Doctor Maure allowed me to worry him with 
 questions about Merimee. 
 
 [424]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 There was one I had not yet ventured to ask. 
 You may easily guess it concerned George Sand. 
 I constantly hovered round it. 
 
 " You know, Doctor, Merimee congratulated me 
 upon one of my articles. I am positive he cannot 
 bear women who write." 
 
 " You are mistaken. Moreover, among his 
 faults there is one which in no way predominates — 
 hypocrisy." 
 
 " He really admires writing women? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " Who, for example? " 
 
 " Madame de Stael, George Sand." 
 
 "George Sand!" 
 
 " Yes ; he admires her as much, even more, than 
 I do." 
 
 " Come, now." 
 
 " I swear it ; and it is for that very reason 
 that " 
 
 "That?" 
 
 " That their lot has been so sad. His interest in 
 George Sand was aroused after reading Lelia. He 
 saw Madame Sand possessed an heroic character 
 similar to the one he himself posed as having. Mark 
 that I say posed. He saw her the master (I repeat 
 his very words), looking upon man as the latter 
 looks upon woman in a light love intrigue — a love 
 
 [425]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 which gives nothing of his inner self, taken up 
 and cast aside day by day, unless the fancies of the 
 senses are added to those of the mind. 
 
 " Merimee dreamed of fascinating Lelia, of 
 making her find in him that which he sought in her 
 — something undiscovered, a defensive strength 
 that could not be broken down, an unlimited dis- 
 dain of the other, a challenge to penetrate that 
 other, even in possessing it. 
 
 " The preliminary game lasted long between 
 them. Merimee affected an icy coldness, even in 
 his declarations ; Madame Sand abandoned, in sheer 
 weariness caused by many experiences, her whirl of 
 passionate love, curious to experience an affair 
 without love. 
 
 "He (Merimee) would subdue Lelia one day; 
 would leave upon her life an ineffaceable mark, 
 which would stand apart from all other souvenirs 
 an everlasting query. Above all, she must rebel 
 against the intellectual male that his victory might 
 be the greater. 
 
 " I will once more quote you Merimee's words : 
 
 " ' She possessed nothing, absolutely nothing of 
 what I thought to find in her. Sensitive and sub- 
 missive, she gave herself into bondage. She fell 
 from the heights of Lelia in my imagination. Out- 
 rageously cheated, delayed in my life, I flung, 
 
 [426]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 wounding her, my indifference in her teeth. There 
 again, instead of maledictions and hatred, I was 
 only faced by a woman once more deceived and 
 weeping for her lost dream.' 
 
 " If Madame Sand proved herself romantic, 
 Merimee, you must admit, was extraordinarily so," 
 added Doctor Maure, with his grimace. 
 
 Jean Reynaud, Madame Jean Reynaud and I 
 went to Vallauris, and there were struck by the 
 taste displayed by one of the young Massiers, 
 little more than a child, who, with the pretty 
 pinky-white earth of which common, almost black, 
 earthen pots are made fashioned charming 
 vases of classic shapes. These he dried in the 
 sun, so as to preserve their colour, and sold to 
 strangers. 
 
 We were greatly interested in this child, a true 
 potter, loving his art and dreaming of glazing and 
 baking, begging us to help him, to persuade his 
 father that he would earn more money with pretty 
 vases than with his toupins and pignattes, earthen 
 pots and saucepans. Jean Reynaud did as he asked, 
 sent him books ; and I, when I became a " Vallau- 
 rian," was smitten with this art which I saw tried, 
 developing little by little, and attaining the per- 
 fection of form, new creations ; finding again the 
 lost reflections of the potters of Granada, creating 
 28 [ 427 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the pottery of Vallauris, which others would in 
 their turn, enrich with their discoveries. 
 
 The young potter of whom I speak was Clement 
 Massier. 
 
 Jean Reynaud and Madame Jean Reynaud left 
 Cannes. Before their departure they rented for 
 me a small house surrounded by orange-trees and 
 close to their villa. And there I was to come the 
 following autumn, with my daughter. Madame 
 Jean Reynaud gave me a small Brigasque peasant- 
 woman, Angelique, who returned to Briga every 
 spring, at the foot of the Col de Tende, and came 
 back in the bad weather. She would serve me when 
 I returned to the South. 
 
 To give more character to Mon Voyage autour 
 du Grand Pin, why should I not go with Angelique 
 to the Col de Tende, penetrate into the heart of 
 those mountains stretching so magnificently below 
 our eyes? 
 
 I therefore set out for the Col de Tende with my 
 Brigasque, her brother, and her sister, who were 
 going home at the same time as Angelique, to that 
 village buried beneath the snow in the winter and 
 where the old folks alone remain. 
 
 When I returned from my picturesque and most 
 interesting trip I unluckily bethought me of going 
 from Cannes to Marseilles by boat. The weather 
 
 [ 428 ]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 was frightful, and I was dreadfully ill for sixteen 
 hours, and again spat blood. 
 
 On my arrival at Oullins, near Lyons, at the 
 house of the " Father," at the house of Madame 
 Arles-Dufour, whom I soon called " Mother," I 
 was in so pitiable a condition that my old friend 
 kept me for a week, refusing to allow me to go home 
 ill after a four months' stay in the South. 
 
 Arles-Dufour had been to the Universal Exhibi- 
 tion in London, and told us of all its wonders, and 
 profited by the circumstance to speak of the rule 
 of commercial and industrial fraternity among na- 
 tions, the end of warfare, and such things. 
 
 " When you have proved that you will not fall 
 upon a wretch who insults your wife and children," 
 said Madame Aries, with her bantering smile, " I 
 will believe in the end of warfare. When our 
 peasants no longer fight about a changed boundary 
 in their fields, I will believe in the suppression of 
 frontiers. When people no longer commit crimes 
 in order to possess the inheritance of others, I will 
 tell myself that man has changed ; that he is no 
 longer covetous ; that another's property is sacred, 
 and that we are entering upon the Golden Age." 
 
 " O short-sighted woman ! " cried Arles-Dufour. 
 
 " Clear-sighted woman, you mean." 
 
 I left Oullins quite recovered. My father, Ed- 
 
 [429]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 mond Adam, and de Ronchaud were at the station. 
 Madame Vilbort was not ; why ? I was to learn the 
 reason only too soon. 
 
 My father and Edmond Adam had corresponded 
 during my absence; I found them friends. They 
 would have fired at one another in 1848, but agreed 
 perfectly upon hatred of the Empire. How grate- 
 ful I was to Edmond Adam for giving me his 
 little Bordelaise, whose devotion had had much to 
 do with my recovery ! 
 
 I returned to Chauny that same night, after 
 having embraced Madame d'Agoult and taken my 
 father to thank Monsieur and Madame Jean Rey- 
 naud. What joy to see how my daughter had 
 grown ! She dreamed of nothing but " the beauti- 
 ful blue country, and of the orange-trees." She 
 wished it were " the day we are going to start." 
 
 " Ungrateful mite ! " said my father laughing. 
 
 He knew the danger I had been in, for Doctor 
 Maure had written to him. Even my mother blessed 
 my friends ; " but we must see at the end." She 
 allowed me to understand what interest each one 
 had in being so extraordinarily devoted to me. It 
 is so pleasant to suspect! 
 
 Ah ! suspicion, odious suspicion ! I learned that 
 in my absence my enemies managed to impose upon 
 my charming cousin Vilbort, and that in her house 
 
 [430]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 it was reported that my sudden illness was a farce 
 and that I went to Italy in search of adventure. 
 
 My cousin received every week on Wednesday 
 evening, and I knew that since my return the kindly 
 prattle about my " more than light " conduct was 
 increased each week by a fresh assertion. 
 
 I arrived at her house about ten o'clock, greeted 
 no one, and stood by the fireplace. 
 
 " Good evening, dear cousin," I said loudly. 
 " Here I am, better than the day before my de- 
 parture for the South, where you so kindly helped 
 me. I am informed that spiteful people are circu- 
 lating spiteful reports, declaring loudly that I have 
 not been ill ; that I went not to Cannes, but to Italy, 
 in pursuit of a more or less perfect love-affair. 
 Happily, you are here, cousin, to maintain the 
 critical condition in which you saw me, and if, 
 among your friends here present, there are any who 
 have refused to believe you, I beg they will question 
 me. I am ready to explain." 
 
 Profound silence followed my words. I fixed my 
 eyes upon two persons in particular. These, I had 
 been told, were bitterest against me. One was a 
 friend of Mademoiselle Clemence Royer. They, 
 like the rest, remained silent. 
 
 Vilbort was the first to speak. 
 
 " You could not choose a better house than ours, 
 
 [431 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 cousin, wherein to justify yourself," he said, 
 " knowing that our relationship is strengthened by 
 solid friendship." 
 
 " Thank you, cousin," I answered, rather 
 touched, grasping his hand. 
 
 I was about to leave, when Madame Vilbort flung 
 herself, weeping, in my arms. 
 
 " Dear, dear Juliette, forgive me," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 The kindly ones gathered round me, the waverers 
 followed suit, and the two evil-minded ones went 
 away. Their departure was applauded as in a 
 theatre, and my cousin's guests, disburdened of the 
 remorse of ill-will, finished the evening happily. 
 
 My Recits d'une Paysanne appeared, and I 
 hastened to put my very straggling notes upon 
 Mon Voyage autour du Grand Pin in order. I 
 returned to Chauny, and, my notes classified, I in- 
 tended to come back speedily, for my friends missed 
 me. It was so long since I had talked from day 
 to day with them. I knew nothing of political mat- 
 ters save what had been written to me, and what I 
 read in papers; but what a difference in the ideas 
 one exchanges after the appearance of an event 
 and those experienced before ! 
 
 I made a strenuous effort, though I was worried 
 daily by my mother, who incessantly repeated that 
 
 [ 432]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 I was killing myself, because I did not go out, be- 
 cause I rushed to my work " as soon as I have 
 swallowed the last mouthful." 
 
 " For goodness' sake, Mama, leave me in peace. 
 Has not every trade its risk? For the doctor, in- 
 fection; for the slate-layer, the tumbling down of 
 the roof; for the soldier, death. The writer has 
 excessive work at times, by fits and starts. Must 
 you, when you have chosen it, abandon your trade 
 on account of its risk? In that case, none would 
 ever do anything." 
 
 " Your daughter is perfectly right," said my 
 father. 
 
 " I agree with you," added my mother, who was 
 rather a quibbler, and likes you to give her 
 " reasons." 
 
 As soon as my notes were put in order I returned 
 to Paris. I settled myself once more in my little 
 drawing-room in the Boulevard Poissoniere, and 
 saw my friends again one by one. 
 
 Nothing was talked of except the war in Mexico ; 
 we were naturally inexpressibly shocked. 
 
 " Is it not the Mexican clergy who are anxious 
 to overthrow the Liberal Juarez? Is there not the 
 scandal of the good Jeckers ? " 
 
 " Imperial corruption has reached the culminat- 
 ing point," cried my friends. 
 
 [433]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Toussenel discoursed of nothing but the acquit- 
 tal of Mires at Douai. The magistrates themselves 
 were contaminated, the Supreme Court of Appeal 
 only annulled for the sake of form, to furnish an 
 argument for simpletons. 
 
 In the Chamber the " Five " made a good deal 
 of noise. The eighteen seats in the public gallery 
 were always filled by their young friends, who 
 groaned in a manner likely to irritate the majority, 
 but not so much as to give Monsieur de Morny the 
 right to expel them. Much amusement was caused 
 by a story told by Floquet, who, having fallen 
 asleep in the gallery, suddenly cried out in his 
 stentorian voice, while a speaker mumbled and the 
 Chamber dozed : 
 
 " Citizen President, I wish to speak." 
 
 The effect may be imagined. The whole Cham- 
 ber rose. The public gallery was cleared. Finally, 
 Floquet owned himself in the wrong, and Monsieur 
 de Morny treated the incident lightly. 
 
 Two " juniors " occupied the attention of the 
 " seniors," and their names constantly recurred in 
 the conversation of the latter. They were those 
 of Brisson and Gambetta. 
 
 Pichat was the first to mention Gambetta to us. 
 He described him to me as badly groomed, with an 
 enormous nose, a pale eye, thin, stooping, the hot 
 
 [ 434]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 temper peculiar to Southerners, alternating with 
 tokens of observation and practical sense. He 
 abused the seniors more than any other junior. 
 According to him abstention was but a form of 
 powerlessness, the non-oath-takers did nothing, or- 
 ganized no means of attack or defence. 
 
 The Liberal Union, however, was being sketched 
 in. Jules Bastide, Carnot, sought a form of action 
 while resolving to take up a position in the legisla- 
 tive abstention. 
 
 Jules Simon played Ins usual double game, en- 
 thusiastic about the idea of the foundation of the 
 Liberal Union; he kept close to the juniors and 
 flattered them, reiterating that the part of the 
 seniors was played out. The development of the 
 Liberal Union began, and neither the Orleanists 
 nor the Legitimists gave way. 
 
 Through my old friend Beuque I made the ac- 
 quaintance of Massol, who, moreover, was my near 
 neighbour in the Boulevard Poissoniere. Frequent 
 visitors at his house were Caubet the sage and Doc- 
 tor Clavel. All three constantly prophesied the 
 most brilliant future for their young friend Bris- 
 son. Clavel undertook alone to make him known 
 and understood in his neighbourhood. 
 
 Massol, a former follower of Saint-Simon, had 
 been delegated by Pere Enfantin, in the prosperous 
 
 [ 435]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 days of the " School," to propagate the doctrine 
 among the workmen of the principal towns of 
 France. He belonged to the mission of Egypt. 
 But what were Massol, Brisson, and Clavel above 
 everything? Freemasons. The lodge which 
 monopolized all their thoughts became the motive 
 of all their acts. 
 
 They began to speak with unction of a series 
 of studies which were to lead to the complete libera- 
 tion of the human mind, and would be pursued in 
 the Masonic lodge with the high-sounding name, 
 Renaissance par les Emules d'Hiram. I own that 
 these words impressed me greatly. Massol was sin- 
 cere, without any personal ambition, and his theo- 
 ries of " independent morality " were not lacking 
 in depth. He dreamed of one day bringing out a 
 magazine under that name. Many people, Free- 
 masons especially, were interested in his future 
 work, and even more among the Phalansterians 
 than the followers of Saint-Simon. 
 
 When Massol and I discussed things, and I spoke 
 to him of our Greek philosophers, he showed such 
 disdain that one day I brought him Louis Menard, 
 upon which occasion I was present at the finest and 
 most erudite discussion upon morality I have ever 
 heard. 
 
 [436]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 Massol collaborated with Proudhon in the Voix 
 du Peuple, and had remained his friend; he was 
 even one of the executors of his will. There was no 
 want of opportunities for wrangling, but on polit- 
 ical matters we agreed perfectly. When the Im- 
 perial Government wanted to seize Freemasonry by 
 requiring Marshal Magnan to become Grand- 
 Master, Massol protested with extraordinary 
 energy. 
 
 Brisson was Massol's Benjamin, and the latter 
 gave him his pupil Clorinda in marriage. She had 
 been brought up in the integral ideas of the 
 Renaissance par les Emules d'Hiram. Massol spoke 
 figuratively of rebuilding the temple of Jerusalem. 
 This temple was that of the " independent moral- 
 ity." Massol, like the King of Tyre, would furnish 
 wood, iron, and silver. In the meantime he sold 
 stone fountains. 
 
 Hiram, King of Tyre, son of Abibal, and friend 
 of Solomon, sent him, with materials for the build- 
 ing of the temple of Jerusalem, an architect of the 
 same name as himself — Hiram, who was murdered 
 by his workmen. This story became a myth for 
 Freemasons. I quite believe that in the minds of 
 Massol, Brisson, Caubet, and Clavel this myth 
 meant that when the temple of Jerusalem should 
 
 [437]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 be rebuilt, the great Architect of the Universe 
 would, like any simple Hiram, have to be murdered. 
 For many years of my life did the name Hiram 
 sound in my ears. 
 
 As Gambetta, the much talked-of other junior, 
 was untidy and unkempt, so was Brisson well kept 
 and spotless. He took care of himself, and of his 
 character most of all. 
 
 I do not believe Brisson ever laughed with the 
 heartiness characteristic of man. His character was 
 to him naught but a character — grave, austere, 
 anxious, with all the anxieties to which a man is 
 subject who wants, in his short life, to free human 
 thought from the religious seizure of centuries, for 
 until the " independent morality " there had al- 
 ways been religions ; and my friend Renouvier even 
 said that they still corresponded to the state of 
 ignorance or of science. 
 
 Brisson stopped at the political literature which 
 gives free-thinkers adversaries such as a Rodin, a 
 Jesuit. He suffered, as we all must, from the 
 tyranny of the Empire in addition to his personal 
 fears. Massol was gay, rather, despite the weight 
 of human thought he sought to relieve of its dross. 
 Caubet willingly chattered of things and other 
 people. Clavel, like a child, was easily amused, 
 especially if one made excursions into the country 
 
 [ 438]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 with him. He would run after a butterfly, climb 
 to pick flowers, and fall down again. Brisson re- 
 mained Brisson under all circumstances. His great- 
 est fault was looking at himself, never at others. As 
 long as events continued as at that time to gravi- 
 tate in the same sense of attack, it was satisfactory 
 because it was necessary nolens volens to march in 
 company, and Brisson fought the fight of opposi- 
 tion as well as any other, but he never believed the 
 victory won. That would have been too cheerful. 
 He would still pursue the slain, and, at a pinch, 
 draw his sword against shadows. 
 
 My dear old Beuque was very fond of Brisson, 
 but did not consider him " young " enough. She 
 would say so to Massol, one of Brisson's most en- 
 thusiastic admirers, who used to reply: 
 
 " What can you expect ? He bears the weight 
 of * obscurantism.' " 
 
 Returning from Nohant, Madame Sand sent 
 Marchal, the painter, to me, whom I was acquainted 
 with, to tell me that she liked my Recits d'une Pay- 
 sanne, " tout-plein," a Berri idiom. She was, it 
 seemed, curious to see whether, being so devoted to 
 the North, I was going to describe the South, never 
 doubting, she added, that I was preparing an ac- 
 count of my stay at Cannes. 
 
 I told Marchal that this was indeed the case, but 
 
 [439]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 that since I had read Tamaris I was afraid. Hap- 
 pily I had only just read it, or I would never have 
 ventured to begin my new book. 
 
 " I will write and tell her so," said Marchal. 
 
 Leon de Wailly, speaking in L'lllustration of 
 my Recits d'une Paysanne and of a return of the 
 Idees Anti-Proudhoniennes, called me " Brada- 
 mante." The name clung to me and every one 
 teased me about it. Prevost-Paradol and Henri 
 Lavoix added their flattering paragraphs to those 
 of my friends. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult had just written a very fine 
 book, Florence et Turin, which was talked of in all 
 circles. When an echo of her success reached me 
 I was over j oyed to report it to her. 
 
 My friend was at this period plunged in a state 
 of melancholy from which we, her intimate friends, 
 could not rouse her, for her sorrow sprang from an 
 event that was to have filled her with rejoicing. Her 
 daughter, Madame Ollivier, was pregnant, and 
 though not young, all physical symptoms were sat- 
 isfactory. The cause, however, of Madame 
 d'Agoult's grief was that during the first months 
 of her pregnancy Madame Emile Ollivier had in- 
 sisted that her mother, who gave her the income 
 accruing from a dowry of one hundred thousand 
 francs, should hand her the capital, reiterating 
 
 [ 440]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 every time they met that the happiness of her house- 
 hold depended upon it. 
 
 One day I went to see Madame d'Agoult, and we 
 were starting for a walk when Grevy arrived. She 
 had sent for him, but he had anticipated the hour 
 mentioned. I would have retired, but my dear 
 friend insisted upon my remaining ; " for," she told 
 Grevy, " Madame Juliette Lamber is acquainted 
 with all the details of the matter I wish to consult 
 you about." 
 
 Having explained everything to Grevy, Madame 
 d'Agoult added: 
 
 " This persistence shown by Blandine causes me 
 unspeakable apprehension under the circumstances. 
 Is Ollivier, for some reason unknown to me, anxious 
 about his wife's confinement? Does he wish to 
 have nothing to settle with me if she dies ? It looks 
 like it." 
 
 " It does, indeed," answered Grevy, who had no 
 great liking for Emile Ollivier ; " but you cannot 
 run the risk of adding mental trouble to the phys- 
 ical one your daughter is now undergoing. Should 
 the worst happen to her, you would be stricken 
 with remorse. Give her the hundred thousand 
 francs." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult did so, and peace again 
 reigned over the household. 
 
 [ 441 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Nearly all my friends now left Paris, and I re- 
 turned to Chauny. Jean Reynaud was taking the 
 waters, and I corresponded regularly with Madame 
 Jean Reynaud, when we were all upset by the 
 Aspromonte affair and Garibaldi's wound. With 
 her usual calmness and customary sense she wrote: 
 
 " I will tell you that I greatly regret that this 
 fine type of a spotless hero, as striking in his 
 Caprera as the symbol of abnegation and patriot- 
 ism itself, should have fallen in civil war." 
 
 Our illusions at this period may be gathered from 
 the words of Madame Jean Reynaud : 
 
 " When universal suffrage — a Parliament — has 
 been established in a country, let right reign therein 
 and bring all benefits in the fulness of time. Gari- 
 baldi, unfortunately, is one of those who hasten 
 without waiting to reflect, as Pelletan says, and 
 whose hearts are greater than their minds. 
 
 " Garibaldi has doubtless faults of principle and 
 clear-headedness coupled with many great quali- 
 ties, once more proving that one cannot possess 
 everything. I trust that glorious occasions will not 
 be lacking in Garibaldi's world, that his valour and 
 great generosity will be used in more justifiable 
 conflicts. So much evil has already resulted from 
 this gloomy enterprise that he must be enlightened 
 as to the circumstances and change his course. 
 
 [ 442 ]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " My husband, on his side, is, as I am, delighted 
 with Pelletan, and with his letter to Monsieur Im- 
 haus. A vast amount of energy and spirit is neces- 
 sary to thus produce a dozen essays in one year. 
 The last shows that his seclusion has done him 
 good. He is more brilliant than ever. 
 
 " This year we shall go to Cannes early. There 
 is nothing like a sun cure for completing an air 
 cure." 
 
 Jean Reynaud was home again now and added a 
 few words to his wife's letter : 
 
 " Although I also think that Garibaldi was in 
 the wrong, I hope the consequences of his blunder 
 will be satisfactory." 
 
 I informed Pelletan of Madame Jean Reynaud's 
 approbation, of which he was very sensible and told 
 me that the duty of combatants increased daily; 
 " that the younger members of the schools are dis- 
 quieting, and allow themselves to be led more and 
 more by Vermorels and Gambettas, by the roughs 
 of the party, who have not the demeanour of Flo- 
 quet, Ferry, and Adalbert Philis." Pelletan added 
 that doubtless " we must not return to the ' yellow 
 gloves ' of the National, but the ' manners ' of Car- 
 not, Grevy, Duclerc, Adam, Pichat, and many 
 others have added, let us acknowledge, to the re- 
 spectability of our party." 
 
 29 [ 443 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 The Roman question was always the one which 
 most impressed political men of all parties. Napo- 
 leon III sought to gain time. He declared that 
 nothing must be altered before the death of Pius 
 IX. All the present ministers thought it impossi- 
 ble for matters to remain in statu quo. 
 
 Thouvenel vacillated and oscillated, so Hetzel 
 told me. He stopped at Chauny on his way from 
 Brussels, where he had seen Victor Hugo. Hetzel 
 was a friend of Bixio, and frequently met Nigra 
 at his house. Nigra pretended that the ministers 
 were cowards ; that they knew the situation in Italy 
 to be untenable, and notwithstanding not one of 
 them helped to lessen its precariousness. 
 
 " Prince Napoleon," said Nigra, " proclaims 
 loudly that if France remains in Rome it is impossi- 
 ble for the Italian Government not to resume on its 
 own account the movement created by Garibaldi. 
 All that France does," he added, " decides in favour 
 of Garibaldi. Between him and the Italian Govern- 
 ment is nothing but a difference of method; both 
 have the same object in view." 
 
 Madame Emile Ollivier died in childbirth at 
 Saint-Tropez. All Madame d'Agoult's friends 
 were filled with dismay. Poor Blandine! so beau- 
 tiful and strong ! I wrote to my dear friend : " Do 
 you wish me to come to you ? " Her reply was : 
 
 [ 444 ]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 " I was always haunted by the fear that Blandine 
 was in danger. Do not come, my child. I refuse 
 to be consoled. The blow is too sudden for me not 
 to remain crushed for many days. To wish a re- 
 action at this moment would be more cruel than 
 leaving me to my sorrow." 
 
 When I met Madame d'Agoult again there was 
 still something fierce in her grief. She reminded 
 me of her conversation with Grevy, and added : 
 
 " But, if my son-in-law was anxious about Blan- 
 dine's confinement, why did he take her to Saint- 
 Tropez, rather than leave her in Paris, where all 
 the great practitioners were within her reach? " 
 
 De Ronchaud, who was present, saw my embar- 
 rassment, and replied : 
 
 " A confinement in good air is worth more than 
 a dozen doctors, and even if he were anxious, Ollivier 
 did quite right to take his wife to Saint-Tropez, 
 where, in September, the climate is perfect." 
 
 " And the story of the hundred thousand francs ? 
 How do you explain that? " 
 
 " As you yourself did when Blandine asked for 
 the money ; that is to say, that in the event of his 
 wife's death, Ollivier would not be obliged to dis- 
 cuss business matters with you. The payment of 
 this amount settled everything, whether the child 
 lived or died, for Blandine and her husband ex- 
 
 [445]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 changed, from the early days of their marriage, a 
 deed of gift between living persons." 
 
 " You are certain of this ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Tears sprang to Madame d'Agoult's eyes. I 
 had so seldom seen her weep that I was quite over- 
 come. 
 
 I did not like Monsieur Emile Ollivier, whose 
 false eyes and political behaviour did not inspire 
 me with any good-will. The anxiety he had evinced 
 in the settlement of his affairs in connection with 
 his mother-in-law in that always alarming crisis 
 which his beautiful and clever wife was about to 
 undergo, now increased my antipathy. 
 
 All the friends of Madame d'Agoult mourned 
 with her. 
 
 Public opinion and Government circles were agi- 
 tated by one sole question at tins time, namely, the 
 Italian question. Monsieur Thouvenel, whose 
 valour is highly relative, believed, however, in the 
 possibility of an arrangement between Italy and 
 the Pope. He sought to achieve this. Monsieur 
 Thouvenel's agents naturally acted in accordance 
 with his ideas. Monsieur de la Valette had no 
 opinions save those of his leader. Monsieur Bene- 
 detti saw how things were progressing by the side 
 of Prince Napoleon. One fine morning, however, 
 
 [ 446]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 Monsieur Thouvencl was replaced by Monsieur 
 de Lhuys ; the most astounding part of the affair 
 was the form of the revocation. 
 
 The Minister of Affairs received a letter from 
 Napoleon III telling him that he was dismissing 
 him in the interests of peace. Now it was plain 
 that Monsieur Thouvenel was not replaced because 
 his policy was a policy of peace. The Emperor 
 added that he wished " to put an end to an equivo- 
 cal situation which rendered all the acts of the 
 French Government unintelligible." 
 
 But it would now be equivocal in a different way, 
 and the Imperial policy equally unintelligible ! 
 Monsieur de Morny, who encouraged Monsieur de 
 la Valette and supported Monsieur Thouvenel, was 
 directly affected in his influence. 
 
 Proudhon now came forward again and aided 
 the Imperial policy by his publication of L'Unite 
 et La Federation Italienne. This was the self- 
 same man who looked favourably upon the coup 
 d'etat. 
 
 Bixio, the friend of Cavour, the only interme- 
 diary with Napoleon III during all the prelimina- 
 ries of the Italian war, wrote to me thus : " Your 
 enemy is still getting through a good deal of work, 
 and is assuredly an insulter of all noble causes. 
 He is now ranged against Italian unity. He is 
 
 [447]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 treated as he deserves by La Presse, Le Temps, and 
 L'Opinion Nationale, but no one has horsewhipped 
 him as you have. Quickly, another Anti-Proud- 
 honienne idea." 
 
 Proudhon answered this attack with a pamphlet, 
 in which he accused all the journalists who favoured 
 Italian unity of being decorated by Victor Emman- 
 uel, and of being, under one form or another, in 
 his pay. 
 
 This is a somewhat repulsive species of disputa- 
 tion, and I must put up my pen. 
 
 Persigny sided with Thouvenel, and accused the 
 Papacy of being the cause of the impossibility 
 of Italy's realizing its unity. It would seem as if 
 the Imperial policy grew more and more " equivo- 
 cal and unintelligible." Monsieur Drouyn de 
 Lhuys protested, people said, with energy against 
 the false position in which he was placed, and 
 found in his turn the bric-a-brac of Monsieur Per- 
 signy cumbersome. 
 
 I spent some weeks of October in Paris, for my 
 daughter besought me to start early for the land 
 of bluebirds and oranges. 
 
 An article by Proudhon upon Garibaldi, which 
 Edmond Adam told me had greatly impressed 
 Monsieur Thiers, and had lately been published by 
 the Officice de Publicite de Bruxelles, predicted that 
 
 [ 448]
 
 I RETURN TO MY OLD FRIENDS 
 
 the realization of Italian unity would prove dan- 
 gerous to Europe, for it would bring about other 
 unities more dangerous still. 
 
 Madame Fauvety spoke to me about the debut 
 of a young actress, Sarah Bernhardt, whom she 
 had seen a month before in Iphigenie en Aulide, 
 and who, she said, would one day take the place 
 of Rachel and cause the latter to be forgotten. My 
 poor friend, alas, cherished rancour! 
 
 We went together to the third performance of 
 Gauaches, which had been adversely criticised. 
 
 We did not find this play as antidemocratic as 
 reported, and Marcel Cavalier, after all, had the 
 finest part. Our friends blamed Sardou for de- 
 picting blockheads of all parties and omitting a 
 Napoleonic blockhead; but would the censor have 
 allowed it to pass? In my opinion the Jacobin 
 blockhead is the least abused. 
 
 I bade farewell for many months to my dearest 
 friends. It was a great grief to me, and it seemed 
 that my mind would lack sustenance ; but the sky 
 and sea smiled from afar and drew me irresistibly, 
 the more so that I was once more suffering from 
 my bad cough. 
 
 [449]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ® 
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 LICE and I started forth, and stopped at 
 Oullins, as my dear friends, whom I looked 
 upon as relations, were anxious to know my daugh- 
 ter. She loved the " good genius," then proceeded 
 to attach herself to Madame Arles-Dufour, and 
 soon adopted all the adorable aunts, uncles, and 
 cousins belonging to the " good genius." 
 
 " You belong to the good genius? " 
 
 The answer was given in the affirmative, the 
 acquaintance was made, and affection followed. 
 
 At Oullins, when the children had gone to bed, 
 we read aloud Les Miserables, which had just ap- 
 peared, and our enthusiasm increased. What tears 
 were shed in spite of some caution on the part of 
 Madame Arles-Dufour, who professed to be moved 
 to tears " by the troubles of worthy people rather 
 than by those of rogues, even were their miseries 
 greater." 
 
 Arles-Dufour called his wife bourgeoise, and she 
 retaliated with " follower of Saint-Simon." After 
 spending a few delightful days at Oullins, we took 
 the train, which still went no farther than Arcs. 
 
 [ 450 ]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 Arles-Dufour wrote to Paris to secure two scats 
 in the coupe of the diligence, which were duly as- 
 signed to us. 
 
 The journey was dreary ; my daughter, who had 
 anxiously looked for blue skies directly we left 
 Lyons, only saw rain. 
 
 At Arcs we found floods of rain, and no shelter 
 whatsoever. We floundered through the mud. The 
 railway line was to be extended as far as Cannes 
 some months later; everything was deserted at 
 Arcs ; it was hideous. 
 
 An Englishman and his wife settled themselves 
 in our places in the coupe. I was so furious that 
 I drew out my revolver. The diligence people took 
 my part. Finally I obtained possession of my 
 coupe, but one of our bags, which was in the straps, 
 fell on to my daughter's head, causing her nose to 
 bleed profusely. I thought I had seriously injured 
 her, and was in despair. 
 
 The diligence, which was making its last voyage, 
 groaned and creaked, but the great Esterel Moun- 
 tain reminded Alice of all the tales of brigands we 
 had told her, for at that time she could not read. 
 I had strictly forbidden my mother to tire her, and 
 before teaching her b-a, ba, I wanted her delicate 
 health to improve. 
 
 Now the blue sea and sky appeared at the de- 
 
 [451 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 clivity of the Esterel. A sudden veering of the 
 mistral swept away all the clouds, and my daughter 
 was in raptures. 
 
 The diligence stopped at the bottom of the gar- 
 den of our little villa, called the " Villa Arluc." 
 There was Angelique, my Brigasque, with her red 
 corselet and head-dress of black velvet twisted 
 round her head ! In ten minutes my daughter and 
 Angelique were friends. 
 
 Kind Doctor Maure, delighted to find me in not 
 too sad a state, brought my daughter some pre- 
 served fruit from Grasse, but Alice was absorbed 
 in the contemplation of an orange-tree. She fin- 
 gered the oranges, and in spite of all Angelique 
 said to frighten her about the landlady, whose 
 villa was but a few yards from ours, she pulled and 
 pulled and finally came into the drawing-room 
 with her broken branch and her orange, crying: 
 
 " It is a real one ! " 
 
 To be more certain she proceeded to bite the 
 skin itself, and was delighted, in spite of her 
 grimaces, to eat a real, though horribly sour 
 orange. 
 
 Merimee had already arrived. The good Doctor 
 told me his friend was displeased. " Advances 
 were being made into the interior where it was 
 dangerous, and there were nothing but retreats in 
 
 [452]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 the exterior. Italy wanted Rome at any price, and 
 Bixio told Merimee that bands of brigands were 
 terrifying the provinces, Southern Italy in par- 
 ticular, and that all these bands came from 
 Rome." 
 
 " Merimee," Doctor Maure told me, " is in such 
 a state of exasperation that he has actually quoted 
 a phrase of Challemel-Lacour to me, declaring that 
 revolutionists are driven to speak thus; and this 
 phrase of Challemel is frightful," added the Doc- 
 tor. " Judge for yourself : ' Infamy, cowardice, 
 blackguardism, dulness ; here is the summary of 
 French France and Italian France.' What do you 
 think of Merimee quoting that to me? " 
 
 I had brought the Poemes Barbares away with 
 me and I read them in the glorious sunshine. They 
 seemed more wonderful than in Parisian or Chauny 
 mists. I thought I saw at sunset, when Esterel 
 was veiled in tragic violet shades, descending here 
 and there, les pantheres noirs. 
 
 Girardin wrote to me thus : " My friend de Les- 
 seps has triumphed. I can imagine the emotion 
 felt by a man of our modern day when he saw the 
 Mediterranean flowing into Lake Timsah and rush- 
 ing into the Red Sea. The earth must have expe- 
 rienced some shock therefrom. Do you know, that 
 at one moment, when Mohammed died, everything 
 
 [453]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 was almost jeopardized. The English laugh no 
 longer, and Palmerston's historical remark, ' That 
 swindle, which, as long as he lived, he would never 
 allow to be perpetrated,' becomes quite ridiculous. 
 A secret — hush ! I will rebuke the Presse. Not a 
 word to any one." 
 
 Jean Reynaud now arrived. He had read in 
 the train a pamphlet by Edgar Quinet upon Mex- 
 ico, and was amazed at its assimilation. " Exile 
 causes recoil and allows us to better judge great 
 political lines," said Jean Reynaud. " We will 
 see what the perspicacity of Quinet is worth." He 
 concludes that Juarez is preparing to resist hero- 
 ically against this unjust war, contrary to all 
 rights, and that for us the Mexican expedition will 
 end in humiliation. 
 
 The literary event of the last days of this year 
 was the appearance of Salammbo, by Flaubert, 
 which had been spoken of for so long, for all his 
 friends had heard extracts from it. 
 
 For the first time Madame Sand did not wait to 
 receive a letter from me before writing. And she 
 spoke of Salammbo. 
 
 " You must read it," she wrote ; " it is a splendid 
 work, one of those which leave a mark for all time. 
 I tell every one ' it is a book of a century.' Would 
 you believe that that dreadful Edmond de Gon- 
 
 [454]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 court, after hearing several extracts from Salamm- 
 bo at my house, went everywhere saying that it is 
 spurious Eastern-Algerian-Tunisian, too replete 
 with gueuloir phrases. Read it, and write me your 
 impressions." 
 
 I read Salammbo, and admired the breadth and 
 power of its pictures, in spite of all the absurdity 
 which marked many of the details, which Flaubert, 
 with his scruples, must be certain of; at the same 
 time I read the book fearing to express this admira- 
 tion badly to George Sand. I could never have 
 judged Salammbo had I not known the South and 
 its dazzling days, which alone make one understand 
 African life from without and the mystery of the 
 shade within the temples. 
 
 I wrote to Madame Sand my appreciation of 
 nature, art, and history. All my youth I pre- 
 ferred Carthage to Rome. How I loathed the 
 Gallo-Greek ! 
 
 Madame Sand replied to me very quickly that 
 she " liked my letter, and had made Flaubert like 
 it." 
 
 I learned from Madame Vilbort that Sarcey was 
 " overjoyed " at the success of Augier, a far 
 greater success even than that of the EfFrontes. 
 " The conception of the character of Giboyer, who 
 is a bandit, and would have his son honest, is ad- 
 
 [ 455 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 mirable," Madame Vilbort writes. " Sarcey — do 
 you remember our day at Neuilly? — was right 
 when he said that Augier was merely theatrical in 
 the theatre. Ah ! he is not overkind towards ' back- 
 slidings ' ; for instance, the author of Fils de Giboy- 
 er, or audacious cynics, still less they who exploit 
 reactions and use religion as an instrument! A 
 great Liberal breath permeates the play, adding 
 to Sarcey 's joy, who reiterates, ' Characters and 
 their setting, situations, action, morality, all are 
 admirable, admirable ! ' You can hear him saying 
 this from where you are, I dare swear! 
 
 " You know, my dear Juliette, that I detest 
 Italian music, but it so happens that I am enrap- 
 tured with a marvellous singer named Patti, who 
 made her debut last month in La Sonnambule. She 
 warbles like a bird." 
 
 I met Merimee, who was acquainted with the 
 official news, moreover, with the recovery of the 
 Presse by Girardin. 
 
 " He has bought it," said Merimee, " for one- 
 fourth of the amount for which he had sold it to 
 Millaud. Opposition from Girardin will cause no 
 anxiety to the Empire ; on the contrary, since he 
 is the creator of constitutional opposition. Then 
 he will, perhaps, shake them up a little, give them 
 a few qualms ; they need it." 
 
 [456]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 I inquired, laughing, though sharply, whether 
 the Emperor subsidized the " constitutional " op- 
 position newspapers. Merimee replied solemnly: 
 
 " The Empire, Madame, subsidizes no one that 
 is good to Republics ! " 
 
 My days were spent at this time in finishing Mon 
 Voyage autour du Grand Pin, which I submitted 
 chapter by chapter to Jean Reynaud, and in con- 
 tinuing my daughter's education so wonderfully 
 begun by my father. Did the South awaken any 
 heredity in her? I constantly found her in rap- 
 tures over the sky, the sea, and " the changing 
 colours of the Esterel." Impossible to make her 
 learn any lessons out of doors. Her eyes could not 
 be brought back to her book. 
 
 We both accompanied Jean Reynaud in his long 
 walks, and it is impossible to imagine what he 
 taught Alice. Nothing amused him so much as 
 my respect for the small personality of my daugh- 
 ter. I did not force any of my ideas upon her. 
 When I had to teach her anything rather exalted, 
 I told her: " Grandfather thinks like this, and I 
 think like that; decide for yourself. Have your 
 own opinion." 
 
 The first time Jean Reynaud heard me say to 
 Alice, who was then seven and a half, " Have your 
 own opinion," he burst out laughing, and was be- 
 
 [457]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ginning to make fun of the phrase when my be- 
 seeching look stopped him. 
 
 While my daughter was gathering flowers I said 
 to him: 
 
 " Tease me as much as you like, but not before 
 her. Remember, she has only me to respect." 
 
 Madame Jean Reynaud organized an open-air 
 dinner at Napoule. 
 
 We were to meet either at La Bocca or at Na- 
 poule, at the foot of the old tower. We were starting 
 with the provisions and servants when the Gamier- 
 Pages arrived from Cannet, the Chartons in a 
 brake, and Doctor Maure in his everlasting little 
 closed coupe. He made a grimace on learning 
 we were going to lunch out of doors, declared we 
 should feel cold, and that it would be better to 
 lunch at the villa, and then visit Napoule. No 
 one paid any attention. Jean Reynaud had a 
 closed garden-chair, a foot-warmer with very hot 
 water, and a fur rug placed in our char-a-bancs 
 for the Doctor ; then we set out. The weather was 
 glorious. 
 
 Our great amusement was in settling the old 
 Doctor, who owned he was well looked after. We 
 placed him with his back to the sea, facing the rest 
 of us. The foot-warmer was still very hot, the fur 
 rug " extremely warm, but agreeable," he said, and 
 
 [ 458 ]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 lunch was eaten at the foot of the beautiful Esterel, 
 in view of Cannes, the islands, the snowy Alps, and 
 the infinite azure sea. 
 
 " And your Grasse, Doctor," said Alice, " looks 
 as if it were sitting on the mountain so as to look 
 at you." 
 
 We applauded my daughter's wit. The Doctor 
 made his grimace, and replied to Alice : 
 
 " Grasse is thankful, you see, that I turn my 
 back upon Cannes." 
 
 After lunch the Doctor was allowed to return to 
 Grasse ; " for," said Jean Reynaud, " I would 
 never dare take him where I am taking you — to see 
 a wizard bone-setter." 
 
 Alice danced for joy at the thought of seeing a 
 wizard. 
 
 We followed Jean Reynaud, and went down to 
 the edge of a torrent amid a tangle of verdure. 
 There was a quaint hut made of green branches of 
 trees, some of which had shot forth. The bone- 
 setter had a look of Edmond, and like him was 
 tall. 
 
 Jean Reynaud took me by the hand and said : 
 
 " This is my daughter ; she is ill. What ought 
 I to do? " He accompanied the introduction by a 
 five-franc piece. 
 
 " It is drugs of the future that you want." 
 30 [ 459 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Of the future," I answered. 
 
 The wizard addressed himself to Jean Reynaud : 
 
 " Your adopted daughter is very ill," he went 
 on. 
 
 We all looked at one another. 
 
 " How do you mean, adopted? " replied Jean 
 Reynaud. 
 
 " Yes, adopted," repeated the wizard. " She 
 is not even the daughter of your wife, but you both 
 wish her well; make her undermine stone, build a 
 house, and plan a garden, and she will be better 
 than you are, and as well as I am." 
 
 Alice broke into a new dance, humming: 
 
 " We are going to undermine stone, build a 
 house, plan a garden." She began again, adding 
 with a stately courtesy : 
 
 " Thank you, Mister Wizard." 
 
 " She will remain nice," added the bone-setter. 
 
 " You say that my . . . adopted daughter will 
 enjoy better health than I; am I ill, then? " asked 
 Jean Reynaud, with whom I had remained behind, 
 while the other guests moved away, declining to 
 consult the wizard. 
 
 " I never say what is unpleasant," answered the 
 bone-setter ; " but you must look after yourself 
 carefully this summer, and beware of the doctors." 
 
 " You do not like doctors." 
 
 [460]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 " Do they like me? " 
 " Well, you do them harm." 
 " As much as I can, but not as much as I wish 
 to." 
 
 Legouve now returned to the Villa Bocca. This 
 time he preceded Henri Martin. There was much 
 conversation when Legouve was present. Jean 
 Reynaud liked to discuss all his ideas with him. 
 They groaned over the relinquishment of the ideal 
 by the French race. The exclusive praise of " prac- 
 tical sense " seemed to them to destroy all the illu- 
 sion, poetry, and heroism in us. 
 
 " The ideal even has its market value," said 
 Jean Reynaud. " It is that which gives us con- 
 sciousness of beauty, and that taste, that art, which 
 are the richness of our country. Yes, the beautiful 
 has also its use." 
 
 " It is not to be believed," added Legouve. " We 
 run after what is vulgar, coarse, and vile. You 
 cannot imagine the absurdities sung in the music- 
 halls. As much trouble is taken in all circles to 
 seek the unsightly as to discover the beautiful. 
 The noble lord affects the manners of the coach- 
 man, the great lady imitates adventuresses. Peo- 
 ple look round them, and look down, but no longer 
 look up." 
 
 [461]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " How explain," Jean Reynaud went on, " that 
 at the moment one is pleased to imitate the faults 
 of ill education, the stupidly correct taste of the 
 eternal sameness predominates. The commonplace, 
 the monotonous, the absence of fancy and origi- 
 nality, seems as if it must ere long make everything 
 square, level, and uniform." 
 
 " If this continues the future will bring us but 
 few surprises, my poor friend," sighed Legouve. 
 " No more irregularity, only levelling ! Have you 
 heard of the new Petit Journal for one cent which 
 Millaud is going to bring out — the paper of the 
 multitude, written for the multitude in the spirit 
 of the multitude? Millaud said a few days ago 
 before John Lemoine, who repeated his words to 
 me : ' I am going to have full power over the great 
 press, over the great aristocracy of journalism. I 
 will have a million readers to your thousand, and 
 what power! You cannot penetrate the masses; 
 I will penetrate your classes. My newspaper will 
 be the only reading of the masses. You, the great 
 of Paris, the denizens of the boulevards who be- 
 witch you, you will be a hundred miles away from 
 the reputation of one of my vulgar editors. You 
 will see, you will see ! A novel in my Petit Journal — 
 and I have an extraordinary one — will engross 
 France more than the great Hugo's Miserables.' ; 
 
 [462 J
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 " It would seem, however, that there is in Mil- 
 laud a desire to lower the intellectual level of the 
 upper classes rather than to elevate that of the 
 lower classes," observed Jean Reynaud. 
 
 Legouve now left us, and we all grieved, even 
 my daughter, who thought him adorable. 
 
 Cannes was in a state of great excitement. A 
 general meeting, presided over by the Duke of Val- 
 lombrosa, had just decided to institute a nautical 
 club, where balls, concerts, and dinners would be 
 given, and which was to be built by our friend 
 Bardu, that architect of much taste. 
 
 The Duke of Vallombrosa devoted himself so 
 heartily to the interests of Cannes that under his 
 guidance the town developed rapidly. 
 
 " More's the pity," said Merimee. 
 
 The great distinction, charm, elegance, simplic- 
 ity, and kindliness of the Duke of Vallombrosa 
 gave a perfect tone to Cannes society. A Legit- 
 imist, he was not repelled by Jean Reynaud's and 
 my Republicanism. The Imperialism of Merimee 
 attracted him but little. 
 
 I went one day with Alice to lunch at the house 
 of Doctor Maure ; Merimee and Cousin were there 
 also. Jean Reynaud naturally was invited, and 
 declined, but knew full well I was going. He was 
 aware that I was in the habit of seeing Merimee, 
 
 [463]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 and thought I could not but be benefited by talking 
 of letters with him. 
 
 Merimee fetched Cousin from the Villa des 
 Anges — he would not have come otherwise. Cousin 
 would never have hired a vehicle to go out to lunch ! 
 We were only six in number — Doctor and Madame 
 Maure, Merimee, Cousin, my daughter, and I. 
 Alice, after the first two courses, would go and 
 play with some friends she had in Grasse. 
 
 A more curious sight than Merimee and Cousin 
 opposite one another cannot be imagined. It was 
 an " expectacle," as they say in Provence. Cousin 
 conversed ; he did not chatter. He seemed to work 
 out what he intended to say the first time. He 
 seemed to follow with surprise the unfolding of his 
 ideas, but the form was completed, the expression 
 definite, selected, grave, and scholarly. He spoke 
 as one teaches, and grew excited. 
 
 Merimee, cold, sceptical, and jeering, threw out 
 hints and allusions, upon which Cousin flung him- 
 self like a puppy upon a stone that is thrown him, 
 and which he rolls and rolls. . . . 
 
 The rhetorical philosopher developed ample and 
 even indefinite periods, while the sober writer in- 
 flicted pauses or indicated the flow of a word. The 
 one was a pure spiritualist, dwelling in such an 
 ethereal height, to the giddy summit of which 
 
 [464]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 neither Volarian Doctor Maure could follow him 
 nor I, with my Pagan tendencies. Still less 
 could Merimee, well grounded in materialism, fol- 
 low him — Merimee, who did not admit the divine 
 in any shape or form, and who was delighted when 
 he was able to say he had worked irretrievable ruin 
 on some scaffolding of the Hereafter. 
 
 Doctor Maure nicknamed Cousin " the philoso- 
 pher " ; Merimee " the orator in philosophy." 
 
 Cousin always paid a gentle homage to me, 
 whatever the sly Doctor might say as to his no 
 more being able to distinguish the sexes than veal 
 from pheasant. He had employed all his senti- 
 mentality in the service of the society dames of 
 the eighteenth century. 
 
 My daughter soon asked permission to go and 
 play. Madame Maure gave her a small basket of 
 cakes and fruit and despatched her to her friends. 
 
 Every instant Doctor Maure would remark: 
 
 " Now, Cousin, take this ; it is simply delicious. 
 Be present once at least. If you have never really 
 loved, you might for once really eat ! " 
 
 "What! he has never really loved? He? But 
 do you not know," replied Merimee, " that he is 
 one of the hes of Madame Collet ? " 
 
 " Merimee," answered Cousin, " you are spiteful 
 and say things which wound me." 
 
 [465]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Very well, I regretfully withdraw my words, 
 for there was in them matter for good joking." 
 
 " What a pity," sighed Doctor Maure, who con- 
 sidered that broad jesting at table gave a spice 
 to the dishes ; " when one lunches with Cousin, who 
 is ' straitlaced,' there only remains the ' good 
 cheer,' to which he is quite indifferent." 
 
 " At table Cousin is absent," added Merimee, 
 in revenge. " You, Doctor, are doubly present. 
 Cousin scorns sensuality, and you, Maure, think of 
 nothing else." 
 
 " One strives to preserve a few feelings in- 
 tact." 
 
 When Cousin became too irritating on account 
 of his insensibility to good cheer, Doctor Maure 
 would speak to him of Taine, whose most stinging 
 remarks he knew by heart. 
 
 The " philosopher " suffered more from these 
 criticisms than any one else, for his vanity was 
 great. No one felt the loss of popularity more. 
 
 Upon the occasion in question Cousin partook of 
 some breast of boned quail, very delicately stuffed ; 
 and as Merimee and I repeatedly said " It is ex- 
 quisite," Cousin, fearing to repeat the mistake he 
 had once made about the veal, so frequently re- 
 curred to by Doctor Maure, remarked to Madame 
 Maure : 
 
 [466]
 
 JJ 
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 " This ' pheasant ' is delicious." 
 
 Doctor Maure bounded in his seat. 
 
 " Taine is right in thinking you . . . vague, 
 he cried. " You are incapable of an authentic 
 statement." 
 
 " If I were to feed upon priests, as Merimee does, 
 I would soon know them again." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you go to mass, Cousin," replied 
 Merimee ; " but you are nothing but a hypocrite. 
 You are no more a believer than I am ! " 
 
 " Hush ! take care of the servants. Be cynical 
 among people of importance, but not with those 
 of lesser degree." 
 
 " Would you go to mass on account of your 
 servants? " 
 
 " As an example, yes ; and even, if you will, on 
 account of my servants." 
 
 " Here is a sentiment I intend to repeat," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " My dear Maure, repeat my sentiment as often 
 as it pleases you. I will explain it. Do you 
 imagine I can make the morality of my philosophy 
 intelligible to my governess and my cook? It is 
 far simpler to accept apparently the forms of their 
 belief, because I believe as they do at heart under 
 another form, and it is in what they believe that 
 they find the virtue of serving me faithfully and 
 
 [467]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 honestly. I have a horror of unbelievers, and were 
 
 I not so fond of Merimee " 
 
 " You would be fond of . . . spinach ! " 
 " Tell me, Merimee, do you read the Samedis 
 of Pontmartin ? " asked Cousin, after a pause. 
 
 " No ; I read the Lundis of Sainte-Beuve ; he has 
 wit." 
 
 " Always wit. That is all you talk of, except 
 when it is a question of spiritualism. A thought 
 interests you a hundred times less than a spark of 
 wit, so naturally Sainte-Beuve delights you." 
 " Better than that ; he diverts me." 
 " Are you pointing your remark at me? " 
 " My dear Cousin, you never bore me, but I 
 confess that your eloquence occasionally over- 
 whelms me." 
 
 " To overwhelm is not much better than to bore." 
 " Pardon me, boredom sterilizes ; the tide ferti- 
 lizes as it retreats." 
 
 " You are a perfect ironical courtier." 
 " A courtier ! / a courtier ! " cried Merimee. 
 " Yes ; there are many people who, speaking of 
 you as one of our greatest writers, add, ' the author 
 of the fortunes of the Empress.' I know the story 
 of the correspondence between Mademoiselle de 
 Monti jo and the Emperor at Compiegne. I know 
 it, so that you cannot deny it.' 
 
 [468] 
 
 5>
 
 CHARLES AUGUSTIN STE. BEUVE. 
 From au etching by H. E. Lessore.
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 Merimee did not like joking, and Doctor Maure 
 intimated to me without speaking that matters 
 were going badly. I was not pleased either, for 
 what could I learn by allowing Merimee and 
 Cousin to insult one another? I much preferred 
 hearing them simply tease one another. I inter- 
 rupted the conversation by saying that one of my 
 friends had written to me that on going to see 
 Victor Hugo in Brussels he had told him how his 
 Parisian admirers mourned his interminable exile. 
 
 " I do not feel an exile," answered Victor Hugo. 
 " What is one's mother country, after all? An 
 idea!" 
 
 Never was a storm more successfully averted. 
 
 " Our mother country an idea ! " cried Merimee. 
 " When it is the picture of all that is most tangible 
 in the world, flesh of our flesh, spirit of our spirit, 
 heart of our heart ! It is the living amalgamation 
 of our ancestors, our fathers, ourselves, the vibra- 
 tion of all our voices ! Language, tradition, sci- 
 ence, art, letters, it is that which triturates them to 
 make them French. I could speak for five hours 
 at a stretch upon patriotism, as Cousin talks upon 
 philosophy. I overflow with it. People say I be- 
 lieve in nothing. I believe in 'Her,' our France. 
 I am her adoring son, and worship her even to 
 fanaticism ! " 
 
 [469]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Ah! had I then felt what I was to experience so 
 keenly after our defeats, how I would have ap- 
 plauded that splendid outburst coming from a man 
 usually so cold and sceptical. I looked at Merimee 
 with amazement, as did Cousin and Doctor Maure. 
 
 " See here," added Merimee, abruptly. " I love 
 the Empire. I believe it is necssary to lay the 
 Revolutionary dust, but with the Empire I know 
 that France is in danger from European coalitions 
 and invasion. That is why my patriotism, ever 
 on guard, is violent. Were France ever invaded, 
 it would kill me." 
 
 These words of Merimee awoke sentiments still 
 embryonic in my heart. I loved France, French 
 Gaul, yes, exclusively ; but I did not feel that wild 
 passion for the mother country. French victories 
 filled me with pride, but the distant defeats of our 
 soldiers moved me but little. They seemed to me 
 those of the Empire. 
 
 Nevertheless, after this outburst, I felt more 
 drawn towards Merimee. His scepticism was 
 merely a pose — perhaps a feeling of modesty — to 
 conceal an ardent nature and extreme sensibility. 
 His faithful friendship for Stendhal, all he did 
 for Libri, maintaining his innocence with such de- 
 votion, even to penalty and imprisonment; his 
 brotherly affection for Bixio proved his goodness 
 
 [470]
 
 THE SOUTH AND THE SEA AGAIN 
 
 of heart, like the Prise de la Redoute, and all I had 
 just heard proved his patriotism. 
 
 Cousin told us about his great publication, His- 
 toire Generale de la Philosophic depuis les Temps 
 les plus Recules jusqu a la fin du XVIII Siecle. 
 
 " You will go no further ? " asked Merimee. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He ought to speak," added Doctor Maure, 
 with his customary grimace, " of Comte, Littre, 
 Renouvier, and Taine ; but what can you expect ? ' 
 
 [471]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 D 
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 HE municipality of Vallauris wished to estab- 
 lish a winter resort at the Golfe Juan, and 
 offered a piece of ground to Jean Reynaud and to 
 me on condition that we would each build a house 
 thereon. 
 
 Jean Reynaud received the letter in the morn- 
 ing. He spoke to me about it at breakfast, where- 
 upon Alice began to sing: 
 
 " Stone to mine, a house to build, a garden to 
 plan." 
 
 I laughed heartily. 
 
 "Why not?" said Jean Reynaud. "Why 
 should your relatives not come every winter to you, 
 if you think they are determined to spend the sum- 
 mer in Paris? The health of both you and your 
 daughter will make it necessary for you to live in 
 the South for some time to come. I will help you 
 to build a small house, and, if we are careful, it 
 will not be too costly. The Golfe Juan is charm- 
 ing. Let us go there this afternoon and choose 
 our land." 
 
 " Let us choose our land," I repeated, gaily. 
 
 [472]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 Alice and I were of the same opinion. Here 
 was our ground, upon the road and as close as 
 possible to the sea, between two streams. The 
 farther end formed a hilly curve, like the back of 
 an armchair. Flowering broom grew thickly be- 
 tween the pines and gave forth a smell of almond 
 which was intoxicating. This should be called 
 " Les Bruyeres." 
 
 Jean Reynaud approved, unsmilingly. 
 
 " We must not," said he, " accept this ground 
 gratis, but pay its utmost value at this moment, 
 namely, one franc per metre." 
 
 " But, my dear friend, I have not a farthing, 
 and you seem to speak seriously." 
 
 " I am as serious as possible. Your father must 
 buy it." 
 
 " From a distance, without having seen it? r 
 
 " Leave it to me." 
 
 My " Cannes papa " wrote to my " Chauny 
 papa." What said he? Always spontaneous, my 
 father replied that he was sending ten thousand 
 francs for two acres. 
 
 Alice and I were frantic with joy, and repeated 
 all day : " Stone to mine, a house to build, a garden 
 to plan." 
 
 Jean Reynaud triumphed, and on March 12th 
 acquired the Bruyeres ground at Vallauris as my 
 
 [473]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 father's proxy. For himself, he purchased another 
 plot of ground nearer the Golfe Juan beach than 
 Bruyeres. 
 
 We made nothing but house plans during our 
 walks on the roads, on the seashore, and at night in 
 the lamplight. 
 
 Bruyeres was to be quite small, but large enough 
 to house comfortably Alice and me, my father and 
 my mother. 
 
 I wanted, in spite of some opposition from Jean 
 Reynaud, who afterward came round to my opin- 
 ion, to build the house upon the highest point upon 
 the plateau. In fact, I should have, by levelling 
 the plateau, stones at hand to build the house, 
 which would be most economical. My apprentice- 
 ship as an architect made progress rapidly. I en- 
 gaged a plain master mason from Antibes, and be- 
 hold, I began " to undermine stone." Very early 
 each morning I started for Bruyeres with Alice and 
 Angelique, and we worked in the garden with the 
 brother of my servant, Andre, a sturdy lad of 
 eighteen, who was to be the " gardener " at 
 Bruyeres. Jean Reynaud allowed me to arrange 
 my garden alone. 
 
 I hastily finished the manuscript of my Voyage 
 autour du Grand Pin and sent it to Hetzel. I was 
 therefore free to devote myself to " Bruyeres." 
 
 [474]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 Jean Raynaud always addressed me as Madame 
 l'Architecte. My daughter was now more than 
 ever " the lady in a hurry," for she took a serious 
 part in the work, and spoke every minute of " my 
 Bruyeres." 
 
 I was anxious that we should be able to go into 
 our new abode the following autumn. As for Jean 
 Reynaud, he had his villa at La Bocca, and had 
 no need to hurry over the one at the Golfe 
 Juan, but I did not want to rent again the Villa 
 Arluc. 
 
 My father could only give me fifteen thousand 
 francs for my house, but would send me all the 
 furniture, for there was sufficient at Chauny to 
 furnish Bruyeres, and, later on, our small flat in 
 Paris. 
 
 My father consented, when he should have seen 
 Bruyeres, to sell Chauny, and spend the winter at 
 Bruyeres and the summer in Paris. Alice and I 
 were overjoyed to think we should no more be 
 separated from the adored grandparents. 
 
 " I am getting strong," Alice informed me, 
 " doing the garden at Bruyeres, and will defend 
 you and grandfather against grandmother when 
 she scolds you." 
 
 There could be no cellar at Bruyeres, it would 
 have cost too much. 
 
 31 [ 475 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 As soon as the walls were raised I planted flowers 
 at the foot along the front of a rose-covered trellis 
 which would entirely cover the house. At both 
 corners I placed some huge passion-flower plants 
 which had been given to me. These would adorn 
 the two balconies with their graceful boughs and 
 large blue flowers. 
 
 The plateau was exceedingly fine, carriages 
 would be able to turn with ease, and it was shaded 
 by pines at the farther end. 
 
 Perrinette, a small sister of Angelique, had just 
 lost her situation. She was fifteen years old, and 
 her brother and sister were much distressed. I 
 engaged her. My future domestic arrangements 
 were therefore settled at no great expense. One of 
 my Brigasques would look after the house in the 
 summer, and the two others would return to the 
 mountains and come back to Bruyeres when I did. 
 
 Perrinette worked like a horse in the garden, 
 and Alice never left her. She was her " lady's 
 maid." 
 
 All the neighbouring peasants were friendly to 
 me. One would bring me aloes, others ice-plants, 
 palms, and orange-trees. My nearest neighbour 
 offered me a dozen olive-trees ; these I planted on 
 the terrace. All my garden was to be made 
 out of the proceeds of my Recits d'une Paysanne, 
 
 [476]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 and Alice and I resolved we would buy neither hats 
 nor dresses that year. 
 
 My terrace was a hundred metres in length. It 
 required but little arranging, thanks to the small 
 supporting wall which formed the boundary of my 
 property upon the road. My three Brigasques, with 
 baskets called couffins upon their heads, worked 
 in such a way that they covered this splendid ter- 
 race with fine gravel in a few days. On Sunday 
 Andre, after asking me for a wall on the other side 
 of the road, dug up the ground and made a kitchen 
 garden. Thus he would be able to have vegetables 
 in the summer, and I should profit thereby in the 
 winter. 
 
 " Bruyeres started with a wizard, and now there 
 are fairies," Jean Reynaud would say to us. He 
 was amazed at what we could do out of very little. 
 
 Grave discussions arose between Jean Reynaud 
 and me. He, being an engineer, was anxious to 
 lay out my road, and feared I should spoil all the 
 good I had hitherto done. He approved of my 
 garden, certainly; there only remained the road 
 to be made according to all the rules of art. 
 
 It was impossible to agree. Jean Reynaud drew 
 plans upon paper. I drove sticks into my ground. 
 He spoiled everything with his road, under pretence 
 that it was necessary to lay out the slope which we 
 
 [477]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 could not go beyond, six centimetres to a metre; 
 endless circumlocution ! I argued, and Jean Rey- 
 naud scolded me for my obstinacy. 
 
 " Here," I said, " is my road as I imagine it. 
 It divides my ground into two portions ; begins by 
 a gentle slope, for I will only give it the traditional 
 five centimetres of the slope to the foot of my 
 plateau ; but once there, hey ! presto ! A good cut 
 with the whip, there is an incline of twenty centi- 
 metres ; it is somewhat steep, but one can make an 
 effort to reach it." 
 
 Jean Reynaud subsided, and raising his hat, 
 said: 
 
 " Oh ! ingenious lady, you are right, and that 
 is the solution. The road stretching with a gentle 
 slope in the centre of your ground will require an 
 effort to climb. Put back your sticks, your road 
 will be where you wished. Now," he added, " you 
 only need water; try to get it. I tell you I think 
 it will be difficult, if not impossible." 
 
 I hesitated to disclose my plan to Jean Reynaud. 
 
 " I should like," I said timidly, " my well to be 
 there. It would be reached by a small staircase, 
 and would not be far from the kitchen. I 
 would make a footpath covered with Japanese 
 medlars." 
 
 " There can be no well except near a torrent," 
 
 [478]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 replied Jean Reynaud. " The spot you are show- 
 ing me is in the heart of the granite of the plateau. 
 Have you tried boring? " 
 
 " No, but I think I shall find water within seven 
 metres." 
 
 " May one inquire upon what you base your 
 omniscience in this matter? " 
 
 " Upon the fact that ... all my joys and sor- 
 rows are numbered by seven." 
 
 " And why should seven metres with water be a 
 joy rather than a misfortune without water? " 
 
 " Because I am lucky at Bruyeres." 
 
 " Your argument is incontestable ! " 
 
 " Are you laughing at me ? " 
 
 " How can you expect me not to laugh? It is 
 ridiculous ! " 
 
 I hesitated to sink my well. But ... I remem- 
 bered the words of my friend Arles-Duf our : " Only 
 the crazy ever succeed." So I began operations. 
 The first three metres were easily excavated, four 
 and five, also six — granite — and no water, not a 
 sign of moisture. Agand, my foreman, in spite 
 of the respect to which I inspired him as an archi- 
 tect and an engineer, strongly doubted my science 
 as a well-sinker. 
 
 My daughter, who was hurt by the comments 
 passed by Jean Reynaud, and heard the workmen 
 
 [479]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 laughing at me, advised me to go and see the 
 wizard, adding: 
 
 " He never said ' sink a well, nor make a road,' 
 nevertheless, my road is a great success." 
 
 " That is true, darling little mother. You still 
 have hopes for the water? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, how pleased I would be ! If there were 
 water in your well I would drink it all day 
 long." 
 
 " Moreover, that would be pure crystal water 
 from the rock," said I to myself. 
 
 Six metres and a half — nothing! There I was, 
 busy since early morning. I could not eat any 
 lunch, neither could my daughter. I surprised 
 Angelique and Perrinette with tears in their eyes. 
 Andre looked furiously at the workmen engaged 
 in building the house, and who had come to the 
 well after their dinner with countenances freely 
 expressing their amusement. 
 
 Agand came down to me. 
 
 "Are we going on?" he asked me, and the 
 workmen burst out laughing. 
 
 Andre struck the one who laughed loudest. Both 
 were Italians. Knives flashed. 
 
 I flung myself between them. 
 
 " Wait until there is water in the well with which 
 
 [480]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 to bathe the wounds," I said to them. All thought 
 me mad. 
 
 At four o'clock a well-sinker came up with livid 
 countenance; we could scarcely catch the word, 
 " Water." 
 
 A joyful dance followed. My daughter, An- 
 gelique, Perrinette, and Andre went on to the ter- 
 race and danced a Piedmontese measure, crying : 
 
 " Water ! water ! " All the workmen, headed by 
 Agand, rushed to the well. 
 
 " Water, indeed ! You are a witch ! " said 
 Agand to me. 
 
 Andre ran to the Golfe Juan, where Monsieur 
 and Madame Jean Reynaud were laying out their 
 garden, calling out to them : " Water ! water ! " 
 
 The news spread. People came from all parts of 
 the neighbourhood, and my friends were all de- 
 lighted. Madame Jean Reynaud embraced me, 
 and Jean Reynaud said : 
 
 " Obstinate child, praise God, who protects 
 you." 
 
 Personally, I thought that . . . Apollo guided 
 and helped me. 
 
 When I left Bruyeres to return to Paris, Andre 
 remained on account of the garden and the work- 
 men ; there would be furniture to receive, too. All 
 was going on capitally. 
 
 [481]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 On leaving, Alice threw kisses to her house and 
 garden, crying: 
 
 " Good-b3 r e, my Bruyeres. 
 
 »5 
 
 Although Jean Reynaud wrote to my father, 
 " Your daughters are like flowers revived by the 
 sun. In spite of your medical experience you 
 will not be able to credit the efficacy and prompti- 
 tude of the remedy ; it is the land of sunshine for 
 both of them," my father could scarce believe his 
 eyes when he saw us again. 
 
 The train now started from Cannes; although 
 we did not break our journey at Oullins, being im- 
 patient to " tell them all about Bruyeres," we were 
 not at all tired; and what sunburned faces, what 
 appetites we had! 
 
 I reduced my colour slightly at Chauny, for I 
 looked like a mole, and finally arrived in Paris, 
 happy to see my friends again, to exchange ideas 
 with them, for I had hardly answered their letters, 
 living as I did the life of an engineer, architect, 
 gardener, and well-sinker. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult was amused by all my ac- 
 counts, and Madame de Pierreclos invited herself 
 for the autumn. She was anxious to spend the 
 first fortnight at Bruyeres. Edmond Adam and 
 Edmond Texier vowed they would come and see 
 
 [ 482 ]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 me the following winter and build a house next to 
 mine. 
 
 Hardly had I returned to Paris when the disso- 
 lution of the legislative body threw us all into a 
 state of excitement. This was the signal for 
 action. 
 
 The "Little Olliviers," first of all, declared 
 loudly that the influence of Carnot, and the ad- 
 herents of Simon in the interior, must be done away 
 with; and that of the followers of Louis Blanc, 
 Charras, Victor Hugo, Ledru-Rollin, Barbes, out- 
 side. 
 
 Carnot entered into the lists and formed a com- 
 mittee, he, the weakened non-oath-taker. Jules 
 Simon manoeuvred to obtain a place here and there. 
 Never at any moment of his life had he taken 
 greater pains to perform the opposite of what he 
 said. He attacked Ollivier, preached fidelity to ab- 
 stention on one side ; on the other, he intrigued with 
 Havin, so as to be " forced " to accept a candidate- 
 ship. 
 
 We, in our small circle, were in union with the 
 exiled ones who advocated abstention, and wrote: 
 
 " Our greatest enemies during these last years 
 have been the pseudo-democrats of the legislative 
 body, from Jules Favre to Darimon, from Girar- 
 din to Havin; likewise the real supporters of the 
 
 [483]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Empire, those to whom it looks to prolong its life, 
 are the candidates of the opposition." 
 
 We found proofs of the trickery of Ollivier and 
 Havin with Morny everywhere. They understood 
 one another thoroughly. Morny was the first to 
 speak of the gradual establishment of liberty. 
 
 Efforts for a reconciliation with the enemies of 
 the Empire were made among all the party divi- 
 sions, but the Liberal union did not appear likely 
 to come to anything. Thiers, Changarnier, Cochin, 
 Mortimer-Ternaux, the Prince de Broglie, Prevost- 
 Paradol, Jules Simon, and Carnot held a meeting 
 at the house of the Due de Broglie, and sought to 
 come to an understanding. As the abstentionists 
 counted with the Broglie Committee and the 
 Carnot Committee, it was impossible to come to 
 any arrangement. 
 
 A manifesto was announced bearing the names 
 of Carnot, Garnier-Pages, Henri Martin, Jules 
 Simon, and Marie; there, perhaps, would be union? 
 
 But now Monsieur Thiers, after intimating that 
 he would accept a candidateship, and then refusing 
 it, reaccepted it. 
 
 What! the assassin of the Rue Transnonain, 
 the enemy of universal suffrage, turning to uni- 
 versal suffrage? What! he who had been the most 
 implacable of all with respect to the violation of an 
 
 [484]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 oath, would take his oath ? Democrats and absten- 
 tionists agreed in thinking the affair somewhat 
 strange; but circulars by Monsieur de Persigny 
 and Monsieur Haussman attacked Monsieur Thiers 
 with such violence that they plainly stamped him 
 in the eyes of every one as the enemy of the Empire, 
 and his candidateship made rapid progress. 
 
 Proudhon had no very marked success with his 
 personal abstentionist manifesto, counselling peo- 
 ple to vote for the white bulletin. 
 
 With this the Opposition carried Guerault, Im- 
 perialist, the " Five " candidate who declared that 
 the " Five " must pass before all other compe- 
 tition. 
 
 Ronchaud told me", too, that a committee of 
 twenty-five was being formed in the vicinity of the 
 Temple, which Laurent Pichat was harbouring. 
 This committee, however, perished almost as soon 
 as it was made. 
 
 Neither Guerault, Nefftzer, nor Havin " em- 
 barked." There was a strong polemic with Girar- 
 din against the pretentiousness of the " Five," who, 
 on their own authority, had constituted themselves 
 an electoral committee. Nefftzer only asked that 
 the said " Five " would kindly — so that his re- 
 ligion might be enlightened — give " a collective ex- 
 pression of the political idea which bound them 
 
 [ 485]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 together." It would be difficult to reply to this. 
 The " Five " parried the question by publishing 
 an address to the electors, which was a simple ac- 
 count of their works. 
 
 Laboulaye retired into the second circumscrip- 
 tion before the candidateship of Monsieur Thiers, 
 which was not going forward as it should, in spite 
 of the adherence of the Butte des Moulins commit- 
 tee expressed to Monsieur Thiers by the delegates, 
 among whom appeared, for the first time, the name 
 Spuller. 
 
 Jules Simon took the oath ! He was a candidate ! 
 It is impossible to describe the general amazement. 
 Only the day before he had written : " It would 
 have been a good thing to bring in Lavertujon. 
 He has chances in Bordeaux, and perhaps would 
 have decided a course opposed to that of Ollivier, 
 for there is danger indeed in seeing this youthful- 
 ness entering upon the course which strives to rec- 
 oncile the pleasures of popularity with the ad- 
 vantages of possibility." 
 
 And it was he, Jules Simon, who held out his 
 hand to Ollivier. Charras, in indignation, made 
 public a letter written by Jules Simon. Here is 
 an extract therefrom : "As it pleased the illustrious 
 ' Five ' to join the dance and think themselves the 
 representative of a party which thrusts them back, 
 
 [486]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 the truth would be to proclaim loudly that the 
 party itself drives them back." 
 
 There was considerable uproar at this time over 
 a Mexican victory. Puebla was ours ! And when 
 should we possess Mexico? said those people insa- 
 tiable for conquests in the New World. 
 
 Puebla reminded me of a dispute between Doctor 
 Maure and Merimee, which I had witnessed at the 
 beginning of the year. Both were speaking of the 
 Mexican War. 
 
 " An unpleasant business and absurd venture. 
 Jecker bonds are not good ; that is the opinion held 
 by Thiers," said Doctor Maure. 
 
 " Your Thiers is a small man with a small mind 
 and a small outlook," replied Merimee. " Did he 
 not deny the possibility of railways, and of the en- 
 franchisement of the vile multitude? He does not 
 see an inch beyond his spectacles. Rouher is right, 
 Mexico is the most important thing in this reign. 
 If a powerful empire is not founded in Central 
 America to balance the development of the United 
 States, in another fifty years it will be too late. 
 You may write that to Thiers from me ! " 
 
 Doctor Maure and I gloated over the sentiment 
 Merimee had gleaned from Rouher, and which he 
 repeated like a parrot. 
 
 I went to the Salon with Ronchaud and Burty, 
 
 [487]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 whom Ronchaud introduced to me. Burty is as- 
 sistant to Charles Blanc, brother to Louis Blanc, 
 on the Gazette des Beaux Arts, and had lately 
 joined the staff of the Presse, for which he wrote 
 artistic reviews. The great attraction and subject 
 of discussion in the Salon that year was the Travail 
 and the Repos, by Puvis de Chavannes. 
 
 " One likes or does not like Puvis de Chavannes," 
 said Burty. " There is such personality in his 
 work that many people resist that which this per- 
 sonality wishes to impose ; but, whether one says it, 
 or is content in merely thinking so, it is impossible 
 to deny that he is a master. I have seen drawings 
 of his which might well have been signed by the 
 greatest of his ancestors." 
 
 I stayed for some time before a certain picture, 
 Un Paysan se reposant sur sa Houx, by Millet. 
 Burty showed me the Corbeaux, by Harpignies, 
 and the Prisonier et le Boucher turc, by Gerome. 
 
 " Saint-Victor, Maxime du Camp, About, were 
 rampant about Gerome," said Burty ; " and I must 
 own he is too fond of catching the eye of the pub- 
 lic ; but he has qualities of technique, if not of life, 
 which have their value." 
 
 " Here is one," said Ronchaud, showing us the 
 Martyre de Saint Andre, by Bonnat, " who is be- 
 ginning to be himself, although this picture again 
 
 [488]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 recalls Ribeira and the Martyre de Saint Janvier; 
 but there are portions which prognosticate a 
 Bonnat." 
 
 Ronchaud looked for a Henner, and showing it 
 to me, added : " This one teems with paganism ; 
 these nude saints were Naiades once." 
 
 There was a general ebullition the last day of 
 May that year. Agitation fluttered around the 
 newspapers, excepting the Temps. Nefftzer took 
 no part in the absorbing electoral campaign which 
 was proceeding, pretending that in the event of a 
 great victory the liberties given to the press would 
 be withdrawn. He had not much to be proud of, 
 it is true, in all he did for Ollivier in 1857. He 
 was tired of being duped by candidates. 
 
 Jecker bonds served as projectiles to the opposi- 
 tion. Moray was constantly concerned in all this. 
 Jecker, the banker, had been naturalized, people 
 said, in order to be able to claim his money from 
 the Mexican Government. Everything said in am- 
 biguous terms in the Chamber was exaggerated in 
 conversations. 
 
 At lunch one day Girardin told Madame 
 d'Agoult and me that in the debate upon certain 
 candidateships there were some intensely comical 
 occurrences. Havin, among others, clung desper- 
 
 [489]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 ately to a circumscription, which he refused to 
 give up, though it was to his own interest to do so, 
 it being the circumscription of Picard. Finally, 
 the avowal was wrung from him that " it was the 
 one where the Siecle had most subscribers." " Very 
 well," Girardin told him, " if you will give up 
 the surplus subscribers of the Siecle, I will give 
 you those of the Presse, and the bargain is con- 
 cluded." Girardin added that he had done a little 
 " transportation," and pushed Havin into the cir- 
 cumscription of a candidate of the Carnot Commit- 
 tee, a twofold stroke, for Havin was also a Car- 
 not Committee candidate, and Girardin laughed 
 heartily. 
 
 " Every time there is a serious resolution and 
 responsibilities to take, Picard is ill," pretended 
 Girardin. 
 
 " What do you think," he added, " of those ab- 
 stentionists who refuse to take the oath and have 
 the presumption to choose those who can or ought 
 to take it, according to them? It is contemptuous 
 for the candidates ! " 
 
 Although Girardin was wise enough not to fill 
 
 Madame d'Agoult with enthusiasm, and make me 
 
 furious, he praised that political judgment, " really 
 
 of the first magnitude," possessed by Ollivier. 
 
 " His words are sculptural, worthy of the ancient 
 
 [490]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 tablets," he told me. " Do you think the present 
 situation can be better summed up than in these 
 words : ' We do not ask the country, after having 
 borne everything, to bear no more. Neither sys- 
 tematic approbation nor continuous opposition, but 
 justice, independence to be worthy of liberty, won- 
 derful ! ' " 
 
 " That is covering his dinner with cinders to 
 keep it warm." 
 
 " You demon ! " said Girardin. 
 
 He spoke to us of Gambetta, of one of the juniors 
 who had taken part in all the committee discus- 
 sions in a manner both lavish and judicious. " He 
 is conducting at this moment," added Girardin, 
 " in the sixth arrondissement, a wild campaign in 
 favour of Paradol, who is nothing more than a 
 simple Liberal ; nevertheless, Gambetta considers 
 himself a Republican, but a modern one, with other 
 ideas than those of the ' imbeciles ' of 1848." 
 
 " You cannot imagine the vitality of this fellow," 
 he continued. " Were he better groomed, I would 
 introduce him to you, but it is impossible. How- 
 ever, he is a scholar; his campaign in favour of 
 Paradol proves that. He belongs rather to the Olli- 
 vier clan — with Floquet and Ferry. He often goes 
 to the house of Garnier-Pages, and frequents the 
 young battalion recruited by Dreo to surround his 
 32 [ 491 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 father-in-law. A propos, poor Garnier-Pages went 
 on the sly to deliver a hundred lectures in the coun- 
 try ; he thought to hold France, and thus force 
 himself upon Paris. It will make us laugh." 
 
 Madame d'Agoult told Monsieur de Girardin 
 that Jules Ferry had been to beg her to help him 
 on to the Presse, and that she had refused. 
 
 " I consider it extraordinary of Ollivier to have 
 sent Ferry to me, that I should befriend him with 
 you," she added. " He needs a ' junior ' to himself 
 on every newspaper, and he intended Ferry to play 
 the same part on yours as Floquet does on the 
 Temps. That you take Ferry is your own affair, 
 but I will not recommend him. I will not help any 
 one who only desires to oust my old friends. Mon- 
 sieur Ferry is one of those people who are most 
 willing to jeer at the ' high morality ' of the men 
 of 1848." 
 
 " Darimon wrote to me the most impassioned 
 letter imaginable on the subject of Ferry," replied 
 Girardin. " Ollivier did not dare to recommend 
 him directly, for he knows I dislike intrusion. Be- 
 sides, Ferry is too aggressive; he has a way of 
 swaggering I greatly dislike. The amusing part 
 is that to Darimon's letter, which demanded an 
 answer, was subjoined a very, very mild article by 
 Ferry." 
 
 [492]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 I had seen Pelletan for the last five minutes. His 
 eyes beneath his bushy eyebrows glowed with a 
 fire which became more threatening as his hope of 
 victory became more certain. The way in which 
 he said, " I shall triumph," was enough. I could 
 see him in the Chamber. He would terrify the 
 majority with his tragic air. To think he was such 
 a good, devoted friend, with his look of a car- 
 bonaro! Pelletan's was not a nature to be touched 
 by bitterness and envy, in spite of the struggles of 
 a trying family life — he had four children. But 
 his hatred of tyranny, his passionate love for the 
 people, turned him into a fanatic, capable of being 
 irritated by the slightest trifle. 
 
 Jean Reynaud was set upon Pelletan's success, 
 and, I believe, helped in some details as to cer- 
 tain charges which would have fallen heavily upon 
 Pelletan, already drained by his fine, to pay which 
 he had been obliged to sell his library. 
 
 The excitement reached its height on the evening 
 of May 31st, from the Bastille to the Madeleine. 
 As soon as the first results, which gave a crushing 
 majority to Ollivier, Jules Favre, Picard, and Dari- 
 mon, were known, the outbursts of joy were uproari- 
 ous; for besides the partisans of the four, Henon 
 was elected at Lyons — even the enemies of the Em- 
 pire were pleased. Monsieur Thiers had only a 
 
 [493 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 very feeble majority, which, according to the " little 
 Olliviers," was a proof that he would never have 
 been appointed in Paris without their help. It 
 caused some suprise that Gueroult was in the bal- 
 loting, but he would carry matters with a high 
 hand. The success obtained by Havin and Jules 
 Simon caused no excitement. Pelletan was 
 " named " at the third round, but was not pro- 
 claimed elected owing to an administrative error. 
 Next December, however, he would certainly find 
 his electors faithful, and at last be admitted into the 
 Legislative body. Prevost-Paradol was beaten for 
 the second time, and only found consolation in 
 hurling invectives against universal suffrage. His 
 legislative failure affected his success as an author. 
 
 After the election I lunched at Jean Reynaud's 
 with Henri Martin and Carnot. They were dis- 
 tressed at the failure of their committee, and I was 
 greatly mistaken if the indignation shown by Car^ 
 not against Jules Simon was not as great as it had 
 been a fortnight before. Could it be that at future 
 elections we should see Carnot taking the oath? 
 
 I heard through de Ronchaud that Girardin, 
 who was accused of being the prime mover in the 
 whole electoral campaign, had been called by Count 
 Treilhard a hireling of the press of the interior, 
 and that he had been the victim of violent re- 
 
 [494]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 proaches. He heard that the election caused great 
 consternation in high places ; that of Monsieur 
 Thiers had put the Empress quite beside herself. 
 She could do nothing but repeat " We must have a 
 coup d'etat! " 
 
 " Compensation rains in high places," we said 
 in fun. General Bazaine occupied Mexico ! Morny 
 and Jecker could desire nothing better. Baron de 
 Heckeren, happening to meet Edmond Adam, re- 
 marked to him: 
 
 " With the tongue of Thiers, the Emperor will 
 not hold out five years ! " 
 
 As soon as he had obtained his seat in the Cham- 
 bers, Monsieur Thiers set about forming his group, 
 if not of partisans, at any rate of respectful lis- 
 teners to his conversation with Messieurs Buffet, 
 Lambrecht, Plichon, and Brame. 
 
 The circulars of Monsieur de Persigny departed 
 with him and disappeared like autumn leaves. Olli- 
 vier declared to all those who cared to listen that a 
 breeze of liberty was blowing from on high. 
 Finally, Madame d'Agoult wrote to me that Girar- 
 din was coming from Compiegne; that he had 
 spoken to the Emperor, and had found him prac- 
 tically resolved to withdraw the crumbs of liberty 
 he had given. 
 
 [495]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 It was at the hour of amendment that one saw 
 to what point the opposition was divided. At first 
 Monsieur Thiers did not wish to sign any of those 
 presented by the Left side, and had a discussion 
 with Ollivier on this subject, of which violent terms 
 are recorded. Then, as soon as the disunion was 
 complete, each was anxious to make his own personal 
 amendment. Monsieur Rouher was charged by the 
 Emperor to make a report as to the project of a 
 new Universal Exhibition in France, another of 
 those shows which would procure us visits of kings 
 and princes, no doubt; another fair which would 
 attract the dregs of the whole world and increase 
 our lowest classes. 
 
 The author of my being discoursed at table, while 
 eating his bread, upon the liberty ... of the 
 bakery just granted to us. But the event my 
 father considered the greatest of this last half cen- 
 tury, on account of the blows it would deal to the 
 so-called " free-thinkers," was the appearance of 
 La Vie de Jesus, by Renan. 
 
 My father sent for the book, and simply de- 
 voured it. His joy was exuberant. Yes, that in- 
 deed was the proper way in which to regard the 
 personality of Jesus in order to harmonize it 
 better and make it less divine. 
 
 I received twenty letters, each more impassioned 
 
 [496]
 
 I BUILD A HOUSE BY THE SEA 
 
 than the last ; some for, some against Renan. Jean 
 Reynaud was quite grieved to see such books feed- 
 ing the spirit of negation and serving as a grace- 
 ful standard for the sceptics. Madame de Pierre- 
 clos thought the work abominable and dangerous on 
 account of the charm and perfection of the style. 
 In her opinion " Renan is still the priest who has 
 undertaken, by means of contradictory preachings, 
 to defend the works of the devil." 
 
 Ronchaud wrote : " The book is a beautiful 
 poem. And what a beautiful figure it has made of 
 Jesus of Nazareth ! Even those who do not believe 
 in His divinity must admire him henceforth." 
 
 " Renan," said my father, " was once like my- 
 self — a simple, pious, and sincere student — but 
 when he saw those whose duty it is to guard holy 
 writings, alter and spoil them instead, then he lost 
 his faith, just as I lost mine." 
 
 When he heard that Renan had been deprived 
 of his Hebrew professorship, he exclaimed : " Do 
 you see? Imperialism shows us a friend by treat- 
 ing him as an enemy ! " 
 
 [497]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 I TELL OF MANY THINGS, AND FOUND MY SALON 
 
 HELLETAN wrote to me : " Jean Reynaud 
 is very ill." 
 
 I hastened to Paris and hurried to the Villa of 
 the Boulevard Maillot in such anxiety that I dared 
 not enter and ask for Madame Jean Reynaud. 
 
 I went in at last and found her calm, but as one 
 controlling emotion. 
 
 " Who wrote to you? " she asked before I could 
 speak. 
 
 " Eugene Pelletan." 
 
 "What did he tell you?" 
 
 " That Jean Reynaud was suffering." 
 
 " He should have said, * Very ill.' It is I who 
 saw Pelletan the day before yesterday; this morn- 
 ing they decided to perform the operation to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " What operation ? " 
 
 " For stone." 
 
 I felt reassured; my father suffered from the 
 disease too. He should have been operated on sev- 
 eral times, and intended to be some day. But he did 
 
 [498]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 not worry about it in the least. I told Madame 
 Reynaud this, and my faith seemed to reassure her. 
 
 I wanted to see him, but dared not ask. She, 
 however, guessed my thought, and answered it. 
 " Yes, come for a moment. Look just as you do 
 now. He will be surprised to see you at first, but 
 say you have come to Paris about your book." 
 
 I entered the room of my " Cannes papa." He 
 spoke of Bruyeres, adding: " I feel that your life 
 will improve with your own people at Bruyeres, 
 and in Paris, my child. Enjoy the blessings 
 that God bestows upon you. You have bought 
 them dearly. Good-bye. As soon as I am well 
 again I shall take up my abode at the Golfe at 
 Eden, in order to superintend the building of my 
 house." 
 
 I asked Madame Jean Reynaud the name of the 
 doctor who was to perform the operation, and went 
 straight to my friend Cabarrus and told him. 
 
 " Pah ! " said he. " I should have preferred 
 some one else." 
 
 Then the prediction of the wizard of Napoule 
 came back to me : " Beware of doctors." Suppos- 
 ing I went and begged Madame Jean Reynaud to 
 choose a better surgeon and remind her husband of 
 the prophecy? The one made for me had been so 
 fearfully realized ! But, alas ! I dared not. What 
 
 [499]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 right had I to interfere? I was now in a terrible 
 state about the operation, and proceeded to tell 
 Madame d'Agoult my anxiety and ask her advice. 
 
 She told me I could not possibly take such a 
 responsibility; that if Madame Jean Reynaud lis- 
 tened to me and her husband died, she would cer- 
 tainly be more upset than ever; and if she did not 
 listen to me and yet the misfortune happened, she 
 would think herself to blame. 
 
 June that year was fearfully hot, but every 
 morning and evening I went to get news of Jean 
 Reynaud. The operation had been postponed for 
 two days on account of a storm which had greatly 
 tried the patient. Upon arriving one morning the 
 nurse advised me to wait for an hour. They were 
 operating, and so I should hear the result. I went 
 to the Jardin d' Acclimation and back again. 
 
 The valet said to me : " I have a sort of idea 
 that it has not been successful. The doctors do 
 not seem pleased." 
 
 I returned home sadly, and wept. " Beware of 
 doctors ! beware of doctors ! " 
 
 Jean Reynaud was worse. I knew not what was 
 happening the next few days. Only once did I 
 see Madame Jean Reynaud. She kissed me, and I 
 broke into sobs : " My father, my Cannes father ! " 
 
 " It is all over with him." 
 
 [500]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 " No, no, that cannot be ! " 
 
 I remained there, completely overwhelmed. Ma- 
 dame Jean Rcynaud left me. My tears flowed. I 
 did not know where I was. I repeated, dully : " It 
 must not be ! it must not be ! " Never had I suf- 
 fered so much. Yes, though . . . when my grand- 
 mother died. Then I repeated to myself, " When 
 my grandmother died." 
 
 They were coming and going in the house, but 
 I stayed there still, weeping. Madame Jean Rey- 
 naud passed. I seized hold of her. 
 
 " Tell me he will not die ! " 
 
 She folded me in her arms, and murmured so low 
 I could scarcely catch the words : " He is dead." 
 She was brave enough to add : " Go home, child ; 
 you cannot pray. . . ." 
 
 I found myself in the street. Jean Reynaud 
 dead ! Bruyeres down by the sea was no longer blue. 
 It was black. I walked on, not knowing where I 
 was or whither I was going. I had lost one of my 
 adored fathers. I reached home and wrote to 
 Arles-Dufour and to my father, that they should 
 come to the funeral. I felt I must see them 
 there when the dead body was placed in the ground, 
 or I should feel myself absolutely deserted. 
 
 The kindness of my friends on this occasion was 
 so great that my grief was, as it were, lulled. Pel- 
 
 [501]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 letan, Henri Martin, Lcgouvc, Charton, and Jour- 
 dan came and mourned with me the incomparable 
 friend they had lost, whom they had loved even be- 
 fore I knew him. 
 
 Madame d'Agoult, de Ronchaud, and Madame 
 de Pierreclos, Toussenel, Hetzel, Bixio, Edmond 
 Adam, and the Vilborts arranged among them- 
 selves that I should never be alone. I would have 
 liked to be with Madame Jean Reynaud, but she 
 told me I should do her harm, because I had not 
 sufficient faith in the living soul of my " papa." 
 
 " I can see him before my eyes," she said. " He 
 speaks to me, advises me, and is constantly present. 
 Such kindness, such nobility of heart, such moral 
 beauty must be immortal, and I want to live in 
 union with the new form of life of my Jean, just 
 as I did with the old, so that I may continue to 
 honour him and make others do so." 
 
 My father and Arles-Dufour now arrived. Their 
 tenderness alleviated my pain, but the thought that 
 one day they too must leave me thus suddenly only 
 increased my grief. 
 
 After the burial of Jean Reynaud, my father 
 took me to Chauny, and I promised my friend 
 Arles-Dufour to spend the latter part of Septem- 
 ber at Oullins, for in October I intended to return 
 to Bruyeres with my daughter, finish everything, 
 
 [502]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 send for my father, and settle our future life. 
 Bruyeres must please him. Now I no longer had 
 Jean Reynaud, what should I do, alone with Alice 
 in that little isolated villa, far from my friends at 
 Cannes, not one of whom could replace the one so 
 suddenly taken from me? 
 
 I rewrote the dedication of my Voyage autour 
 du Grand Pin. It was formerly gay and sunny; 
 now it was gloomy and sad. I had written this 
 book, chapter by chapter, at Jean Reynaud's side, 
 and he had been as much amused at seeing me write 
 it as in seeing me building my Bruyeres. 
 
 It rained and rained at Chauny. When should 
 we escape this gloomy dampness which added to 
 our grief? Alice and I spent forty-eight hours 
 in Paris, set out for Oullins, and from thence to 
 Bruyeres. 
 
 At last ! here we were at our Bruyeres. Andre, 
 the gardener, had worked wonders ; the two little 
 Brigasques had understood my wishes, and all the 
 furniture was properly arranged. The roses had 
 been so well watered that the}' already reached a 
 height of three metres. Garlands of passion-flow- 
 ers hung from the balcony. It was a perfect 
 miracle. 
 
 On the way I saw Madame de Pierreclos at 
 Macon, and she said to me : " Let me know as soon 
 
 [503]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 as there is a mattress on the floor for me. I will 
 feed on the ' polenta ' of your little Piedmontese, 
 I will put things in order, plant flowers. I wish 
 to be one of the founders of Bruyeres." 
 
 On my arrival I wrote at once to Madame de 
 Pierreclos : " Come." She was almost speechless 
 with delight and with having nothing to do; 
 charmed, too, to see Bruyeres made out of nothing, 
 and so pretty withal. 
 
 The terrace in front of the house was ideal. Our 
 little Brigasques had covered it with fine gravel, 
 in which my daughter, on all fours, found the 
 prettiest little shells in the world. One morning 
 I saw from my window Madame de Pierreclos 
 gesticulating violently, and declaring that as there 
 was nothing else to do she would search for shells 
 too. And so she did, stretched full length upon 
 the ground. 
 
 Alice and I were overcome with laughter. Just 
 as she was about to get up she cried : "Rambuteau ! 
 Rambuteau ! " and the whole household turned out 
 to help this large person to her feet. 
 
 She would cheer even the Radeau de la Meduse. 
 Ah ! if only Jean Reynaud had known her, how she 
 would have amused him, true Gaul as he was. 
 
 Doctor Maure was quite proud to bring us a 
 letter from Thiers regarding the nomination of 
 
 [504]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 Rouher as Minister of State, charged with main- 
 taining the free exchange policy of the Imperial 
 Government in the Legislative body- Monsieur 
 Thiers declared to his old friend that he would 
 come down upon him as soon as the session was 
 opened, and sustain the true and only industrial, 
 commercial, and agricultural policy, namely, the 
 protectionist policy. 
 
 " Monsieur Thiers is mistaken," said Madame de 
 Pierreclos, " as he always is when progress is in 
 question. Round about Lyons all the great manu- 
 facturers I know are certain to draw great ad- 
 vantages from the new treaties on commerce. I 
 am truly distressed, Doctor, for the first time since 
 we have known each other, not to be able to hold 
 the same opinion as you." 
 
 Several of our friends wrote joint letters to Ma- 
 dame de Pierreclos and me. Ronchaud, first, about 
 Jean Baudry, by Vacquerie, and his success. 
 
 " At last," said Madame de Pierreclos, " I am 
 consoled for the Funerailles de l'Honneur, in which 
 I suffered truly." 
 
 Alas ! Ronchaud's letter made us feel very sad 
 about Berlioz, on account of the failure of his 
 Troy ens. 
 
 " All the friends of Berlioz knew," he wrote, 
 " that the Troyens was much too long. The per- 
 
 [505]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 formance lasted eight hours. It was necessary to 
 shorten it, and Berlioz had agreed to this. But 
 every day since the first performance at the Lyric, 
 Carvalho removes ' all that the public does not 
 like.' Well, except a few unprejudiced musicians 
 and ourselves, the friends of Berlioz, who are ever 
 on the increase, there is no public that does like the 
 Troyens. The performers are so bad that the per- 
 formance drags, and we are unanimous in thinking 
 it will not run three weeks. I am as grieved," add- 
 ed Ronchaud, " as if a personal misfortune were in 
 question. I write with my eyes full of tears. To 
 see Berlioz thus tortured makes me miserable, and 
 you two, who love our poor ' Lucifer,' will both 
 understand me." 
 
 " My dear pagan," Ronchaud continued, ad- 
 dressing himself to me; " let us rejoice, after hav- 
 ing mourned. Such is life ! A treaty, I may 
 inform you, if perchance this has escaped you in 
 your Thebai'de, has just been concluded in Lon- 
 don, by which England abandons her protectorate 
 over the Ionian Islands, which are about to be 
 united to Greece. Long live Independence ! 
 
 " The first volume of Littre's Dictionary has 
 appeared. Now we shall be able to write. The 
 author wishes me to tell Madame Juliette Lamber 
 that he cannot send her such a pamphlet, but that 
 
 [506]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 his colleague of Mon Village will have the little 
 Littre." 
 
 Madame de Pierreclos and I talked a whole 
 evening of Berlioz. He had, for any one who knew 
 and understood him, a primitive nature, both 
 gentle and calm. He was a son of Virgil. His 
 passion and violence were the fruit of an ultra- 
 romantic education, which he gave himself. He 
 sought his inspiration in Shakespeare, in Goethe's 
 Faust, in Beethoven, who exceeds all human limit, 
 in Dante's Inferno, in the torments of Eurydice 
 and Alcestes. As an artist he was an " impossible- 
 ist " ; he strove to seize that which cannot be 
 grasped, and this constituted his grandeur ! When 
 nature is let loose in all her monstrosity he wished 
 the despairing voice of man to be heard in the midst 
 of all the chaos. In love and art he ever wanted 
 new themes, and sought them with frenzy, breaking 
 those chords which refused to sing the demoniac. 
 
 Madame de Pierreclos and I told each other con- 
 tinually that Berlioz was the most extraordinary 
 genius among all those we knew and loved, but at 
 the same time the most unfortunate. He had 
 known nothing of life but tears ; first, misery, 
 strife, and humiliations ; for he was poor, very 
 poor. He was unable to finish his musical educa- 
 tion, and if, by force of genius, he succeeded in 
 33 [ 507 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 creating for himself certain personal proceedings 
 in his composition which added to his originality, 
 those who disputed this found in the naivete of 
 certain technical notions an argument to use 
 against him. 
 
 And what enemies he had! It was considered 
 good form to chaff him, to ridicule his gloomy per- 
 sonality, his tragic eye, his scornful lip, his proud 
 and yet unhappy physiognomy. Yes, " unhap- 
 py," we told each other. What he must have suf- 
 fered at that time ! We seemed to see him in re- 
 volt against human imbecility — cursing it! He 
 who had such a passion for the beautiful, yielding 
 to this passion to the point of seeming mad with 
 it. How could he understand that he himself was 
 not understood? 
 
 If he had been denied by every one he might lose 
 faith in himself, but there were some fanatics 
 among those whose word was law in the musical 
 world; so his pride was simply exasperated. He 
 became bitter against the mediocre, and provoked 
 mortal hatreds by his pamphlets in the Debats and 
 by his cruel words. 
 
 Ought we to write to him? We asked ourselves 
 the question, but finally decided that as we could 
 not congratulate him on a success, we had better 
 keep silence. We decided, however, to send him a 
 
 [ 508 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 basket of flowers with these simple words : " Ma- 
 dame de Pierreclos and Madame Juliette Lamber 
 send some flowers from the Golfe Juan to Berlioz." 
 He replied without thanks in a single line : 
 
 " Was it worth while? 
 
 " Berlioz." 
 
 Pelletan was re-elected. It was merely a matter 
 of form, but all the same Madame de Pierreclos and 
 I, who loved him, rejoiced. Girardin wrote to us: 
 
 " I was at Compiegne the 1st of June last, and 
 knew the results of the elections, but spoke of them 
 to no one. Suddenly, however, the Empress ad- 
 dressed me, saying: 
 
 " ' Well, so your friend Pelletan is elected? ' I 
 bowed in silence. 
 
 " * But defend him, then,' added the Empress. 
 
 " ' Madame,' I replied, ' I need not defend the 
 victor.' She did not look over amiably to me, I 
 assure you." 
 
 Pelletan was, for the official world, an object of 
 horror — the Revolution in person. With his dark 
 eyes, his black beard, his thick eyebrows, and his 
 baleful air, he inspired more fear than the other 
 members. 
 
 Pelletan replied to Madame de Pierreclos, who 
 had written to him in our name, and thanked us. 
 
 [509]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 He spoke of Monsieur Thiers and his political ac- 
 tivity. Certainly he did not approve any of the 
 ideas of the " little man," nor his parliamentary 
 tactics ; but he admitted that with him the opposi- 
 tion was shaping ; that all the lawyers' conferences, 
 all the writers' articles, and all the students' mani- 
 festations, would never have given the opposition 
 the character which Monsieur Thiers had given it. 
 
 " Monsieur Thiers is not an enemy of the Im- 
 perial epopee," added Pelletan; " on the contrary, 
 he has cultivated and over educated it. If he asks 
 for liberties, it is because they are necessary. We 
 know well that he himself, who has made laws, not 
 over tender, for the Press, would not reduce au- 
 thority to powerlessness, in face of the • madmen,' 
 as the citizens like to call the advanced writers. 
 Monsieur Thiers warns the Government that if it 
 refuses the ' old parties ' the necessary liberties, the 
 country will exact them. 
 
 " Between Rouher, tenacious, brutal, and obsti- 
 nate," continued Pelletan, " with arguments bor- 
 rowed from the law courts, unscrupulous as to the 
 means of escaping the catastrophe of a proof, and 
 Monsieur Thiers, determined, putting forward 
 nothing with certainty, always moderate in his ex- 
 pressions, the struggle is a curious one, and I watch 
 it willingly from a front seat." 
 
 [510]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 As Madame dc Picrreclos was leaving us the fol- 
 lowing day, Doctor Maure came to bid her a last 
 farewell. We had our handkerchiefs in readiness. 
 
 I thanked Ncfftzer for his extreme goodness 
 about my Grand Pin, and he replied in a very 
 charming letter. He mentioned, as a continua- 
 tion of several of our conversations, the occupation 
 of Holstein by troops of the German Confedera- 
 tion. " You who must frequently see Merimee," 
 he added, " ought to warn him that he will one day 
 weep bitter tears for having allowed himself to be 
 subdued by Bismarck. Now that we have seen 
 him at work as President of the Council of Prussia, 
 it is easy to understand his success with Napoleon 
 III. It is the everlasting story of Eleonora Gali- 
 gai and Marie de Medicis, the influence of a strong 
 mind upon a weak one. He knows what he wants, 
 and wants it much. The wavering policy of the 
 Emperor fits him like a glove, and he will retain 
 it while retaining the glove. What ! this Bismarck 
 has won Merimee over? And Merimee himself it 
 is who says it. Ah ! did Merimee only know what 
 it meant. 
 
 " They who surround Bismarck were greatly 
 amused at the stories of the small German courts, 
 and when the relator of these amusing anecdotes 
 
 [ 511 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 added, ' They must be suppressed,' the approba- 
 tion was general. Ah ! dear Madame, when one is 
 an Alsatian, and follows the German policy, as I 
 do, one fears things which I cannot name without 
 being taken for a madman, and which are fearful 
 as threats for the future. Read this letter to Meri- 
 mee. I know he is a patriot. Perhaps it will cause 
 some precious uneasiness in his mind. 
 " Believe me, dear Madame, etc., 
 
 " Nefftzeb." 
 
 I wrote to Merimee to come and see me and to 
 honour Bruyeres with a visit. He replied : " I had 
 hoped to be able to thank you in person for your 
 charming little book " ( I had sent him Mon Voyage 
 autour du Grand Pin), " but I came here ill and 
 found sick people, so that I was obliged to nurse 
 myself and others, too. I must give up the hope 
 of coming to the Golfe Juan to render my thanks. 
 Permit me, therefore, Madame, to congratulate 
 you by letter. In my quality of old discoverer of 
 Cannes I was delighted to see a Parisian lady do 
 justice to this beautiful country, and to see that 
 she had had the courage to learn it thoroughly, 
 and the hardihood to tell her fellow-countrymen 
 that there were flowers elsewhere than at Constan- 
 tin's, and mountains elsewhere than at the opera. 
 
 [ 512 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 I have followed you in all your excursions, and can 
 
 attest the exactitude of your descriptions. They 
 
 are charming, like the country which inspired them. 
 
 I only desire one thing, namely, that you should 
 
 compile more like these, and that our surroundings 
 
 may furnish you with material for more than one 
 
 volume. 
 
 " Pray accept, etc., 
 
 " P. Merimee." 
 
 A few days later Merimee came to see me. He 
 smiled at Nefftzer's letter. 
 
 I asked him if he did not wish to keep it as a 
 document to convince me at need, one day ; I, who 
 experienced vague fears, in the sense of those of the 
 director of the Temps, that we were grossly mis- 
 taken. 
 
 " I shall never have occasion to recall this pa- 
 per," said he. " Keep it ; and I authorize you, in 
 the impossible event of Nefftzer's being right, to 
 produce it as an act of accusation against me." 
 
 Merimee confided to me a great anxiety he had 
 had since the middle of November. A decree had 
 reorganized the Ecole des Beaux Arts on a new 
 basis, and it was now under the direction of a 
 commission elected for the purpose and chosen from 
 the Academie des Beaux Arts. Beule had written 
 about the matter to Merimee, and was as distressed 
 
 [513]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 as he. Was not this a case of renouncing and deny- 
 ing traditions? Was it not compromising the 
 spirit and perhaps destroying the Ecole de Rome? 
 
 " I greatly admire Beule," I said to Merimee, " as 
 a scholar and as an author. Moreover, for me, a 
 Greek, has he not the unparalleled glory of having 
 discovered the Porte? . . . Beule at the Acropolis. 
 I can understand what he suffers when he sees art 
 parliamentarized, if I can judge by what I suf- 
 fered when I saw letters democratized in the Petit 
 Journal. There are so many things into which 
 equality may be introduced, but not there." 
 
 Merimee gave me a recent letter of Beule's to 
 read, in which I distinctly remember the following 
 phrase : " It is necessary to purify souls by the 
 presentation of what is beautiful, and not to lower 
 art to the level of universal suffrage." 
 
 We went to Cannes to meet my father. He had 
 returned at last, and was lost in admiration of the 
 journey. How beautiful it all was — the sun, the 
 sea, the blue sky, the wild flowers under the olive- 
 trees ! He talked and talked, one thing after an- 
 other, as if he were teaching us all these things. 
 And the colours of the red granite rocks, and the 
 Esterel Mountains, and the island, and this gulf, 
 and Bruyercs. He got out of the carriage at the 
 
 [ 514 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 entrance. " Oh, what a spacious terrace ! " He 
 wanted to walk on it, and measure it, immediately. 
 " What a splendid road ! and the well ! Ah, I 
 understand! And the plateau, the house! Is it 
 possible, my children, that Bruyeres belongs to 
 you? It is splendid ! " 
 
 Nothing but exclamations of delight. And the 
 pines, and their odour; the heath in flower; and 
 the Brigasques — Andre, Angelique, Perrinette — 
 he knew all their names beforehand; he knew all 
 about everything ; we had said and written so much 
 about it all ; but he named everything as if to take 
 possession. 
 
 Alice capered and danced. " What joy, grand- 
 father likes Bruyeres ! " 
 
 Yes, grandfather liked Bruyeres ! Tired, he 
 went to bed early, but at daybreak awoke the house- 
 hold. 
 
 " What is that we see down there over the sea — 
 there where Apollo is rising? " 
 
 I arrived upon the scene. " That is Corsica, 
 papa. Do you think the sight wonderful enough? 
 The God of Day ascends his chariot, clothed with 
 light; his horses, rays of light entangled in their 
 manes, plunge from the mountains of this beautiful 
 island into a sky tinted by the rosy fingers of 
 Aurora. You see Apollo as I see him, is it not so? r 
 
 [515]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " Yes, I see Greece," cried my father. " To 
 think I never understood Homer and what he wrote 
 until to-day ! This very day I will read it again 
 with fresh light. You have our old Homer here? 
 If not, I must send to Cannes, or Nice, or Corsica, 
 and find him." 
 
 I almost feared to see my father so excited, par- 
 ticularly as he refused to put anything on his head, 
 for he wished to be " bathed in light." 
 
 Doctor Maure, invited to lunch to celebrate the 
 arrival of his colleague, became attached to my 
 father from the first moment. My terrible father 
 was really handsome, good, and charming. Doctor 
 Maure carried him away the very same day, for he 
 was off for the day to Saint-Cesaire, and wished 
 to show my father the magnificent view of the 
 Saigne. They were to return by Grasse, and after 
 to-morrow I was to be allowed to take possession 
 of the " author of my days." 
 
 During my father's short absence I received a 
 visit from Guillaumet, who was leaving for Africa, 
 and spent the day with us. I like Guillaumet im- 
 mensely. He was introduced to me by old Mon- 
 sieur Sechan. He is at once an enthusiast of the 
 great and beautiful, and very simple in little 
 things. One enjoyed teasing him. 
 
 After breakfast Guillaumet, Alice, and I went 
 
 [516]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 down and sat on the rocks of the little Port " Lam- 
 ber." We told him that the water of the Mediter- 
 ranean was blue even in a decanter. He believed us, 
 and wanted to prove it. We sent to Bruyeres for 
 a decanter. He leaned over with his decanter filled 
 and examined it, while we burst out laughing. 
 
 " I owe you my revenge," he said. 
 
 But presently he began to talk art; no more 
 mockery. Alice listened. 
 
 " I watch nature," began Guillaumet. " While 
 she is drawing her pictures, the sun's shadow trails 
 long rays of mist, and the olive-trees are out- 
 lined in the distance. Their shape is no longer 
 visible, only the velvet grayness of the leaves; the 
 scattered masses of pine-trees are grouped darkly 
 together, while here and there a white country- 
 house cheerfully pierces their sombreness. The 
 earth has red tones, which harmonize, without jar- 
 ring, with the shining russet green of the orange- 
 trees. Horses gallop along the road, raising a 
 cloud of dust which settles on a flock of sheep ; and 
 the Brigasque shepherd, in his costume, passes 
 solemnly, throwing orders to his dogs in sonorous 
 tones. Twenty pictures have been sketched under 
 my eyes," added he. " Nature generally offers 
 me her models. It is for me to choose, for me to 
 decide." 
 
 [517]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " I want to be a painter, and you shall give me 
 lessons, won't you, Monsieur Guillaumet? " asked 
 Alice. 
 
 " Alas ! little one, I am leaving. I am going 
 across the water to seek pictures of nature more 
 brilliant even than these; but I shall return, and 
 I pledge you my word as a painter that I will teach 
 you to paint," and Guillaumet laughed heartily. 
 It was his turn to make fun of my daughter. 
 
 I heard from Edmond Texier that Le Marquis 
 de Villemer had an enormous success at the Odeon. 
 The students acclaimed George Sand, and shouted : 
 " Liberty ! Liberalism ! Tolerance ! " 
 
 I sent my Grand Pin to George Sand, who did 
 not answer. No doubt my book displeased her. 
 After the triumph to which all the papers bear 
 witness I can congratulate her. Why did she not 
 tell me what displeased her in my book? It would 
 have been charitable to give me a lesson in letters. 
 I will tell her so. 
 
 George Sand was still at Paris, and her answer 
 came quickly : 
 
 " Dear Madame : Yes, a great success. I am 
 pleased, but not so pleased at the manifesta- 
 tions accompanying the success. When youth gets 
 carried away, who knows where it will stop? 
 
 [ 518 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 " I liked your book, which I only read yester- 
 day, immensely. It is true. You have understood 
 that in the South men are more easily stirred than 
 elsewhere, because the life of things is more intense. 
 Observe well what you see, my child ; note your 
 impressions of life as one does a sketch, and then 
 fill in your pictures with an equal share of truth 
 and selection. 
 
 " Your distant friend, 
 
 " George Sand." 
 
 It was the . first time that Madame Sand had 
 made any allusion in her letters to our distant 
 friendship. How greatly this troubled me cannot be 
 imagined. I dared not answer, promising myself 
 that I would speak to Ronchaud on my return, 
 because, in spite of my desire to know George 
 Sand, I should never have done so without assur- 
 ance that I should not thereby give offence to Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult. 
 
 There had been another plot against the Em- 
 peror. Madame Fauvety told me that Napoleon 
 III summoned Edmond, Zozo's wizard, and that 
 he predicted that he would not be assassinated, but 
 would die in his bed. " If the prophecy is realized, 
 as in the case of Zozo, the Emperor can sleep in 
 peace. Why am I not a Bonapartist, that I might 
 write to him? But you who see Merimee, tell him 
 
 [519]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 the tale of the illustrious Zozo," added Madame 
 Fauvety. 
 
 I did so, and heard through Merimee that he had 
 written to the Empress, " very superstitious, like 
 every good Spaniard." 
 
 My father emphatically . declared that he felt 
 as though he were floating on the swelling tide of 
 new Homeric revelations. In the morning on his 
 balcony, in the afternoon on a rock, he read the 
 Iliad or ^neid. 
 
 Edmond Adam, Edmond Texier, and Hetzel 
 had planned to come together to spend three or 
 four days at Golfe Juan. They would stay at the 
 Eden Hotel, quite near to us. 
 
 There was great rejoicing at Bruyeres. Alice 
 said she would do the honours for Monsieur Hetzel. 
 My father would receive Texier, whose wit amused 
 him, and I would entertain Edmond Adam, whom I 
 loved and honoured most of all my friends. 
 
 Edmond Texier added some gossip to his letter 
 announcing his arrival. According to him, L'Ami 
 des Femmes of Dumas Fils has been an honourable 
 failure, save for Madame de Pierreclos, who de- 
 clared it to be admirable. 
 
 " Dumas is very ill," wrote Texier. " He has 
 been forbidden to work or think, at risk of en- 
 dangering his reason. He leaves for Le Puy with 
 
 [520]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 a very great Russian lady, Madame N., who will 
 take care of him in expiation of what she is ac- 
 cused of at St. Petersburg." 
 
 I answered Texier that he was unjust to Dumas's 
 piece, as Madame Fauvety also said that she thought 
 it very beautiful. Texier then sent me a page 
 from the preface of L'Ami des Femmes, where I 
 read that " woman is an outcast angel." Thanks 
 for such a friend ! 
 
 Our three travellers were favoured with marvel- 
 lous weather. The very day after their arrival 
 Edmond Adam and Edmond Texier bought plots 
 of land close to Bruyeres. Adam bought the first, 
 which he gallantly named the Grand Pin; and 
 Texier bought the second, which he would call 
 Brimborion. 
 
 Auguste Villemot came to Cannes, enticed by 
 Hetzel. Doctor Maure invited us all to breakfast 
 at Grasse, and we set out for Cannes in a big 
 landau. We took Villemot with us. Hetzel, as a 
 young man, took the box seat, and Alice insisted 
 upon room being made for her between him and 
 the coachman. 
 
 On the way Adam told us that he had written 
 the night before to his friend Armand Heine and 
 to Eugene Forcade, telling them to buy the plots 
 of land adjoining Grand Pin and Brimborion. 
 
 [521 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 We should form a colony. My father was more 
 and more enchanted. He drank in Texier's words, 
 who, feeling that he had a very new and a very 
 enthusiastic listener, grew excited, and then fol- 
 lowed a joust of sparkling wit between Hetzel, 
 Villemot, and myself. 
 
 The simplicity of a question put by Villemot 
 gave me the idea of playing a trick on him. I 
 could not then decide what it should be. 
 
 How can I describe the passages of wit and 
 repartee during this excursion, at breakfast, and 
 on the return journey? It was a kind of review 
 of everything, either serious or humorous, which 
 had happened since I left Paris. 
 
 At every moment Doctor Maure made a grimace, 
 and stupefied our boulevardiers by answers worthy 
 of any one of them. And how these Parisians could 
 eat, taste, and enjoy the dishes and wines! 
 
 " Long live the colony of Golf e Juan ! " cried 
 the good Doctor, raising his glass as we were rising 
 from table. 
 
 Villemot had been eating dates with great en- 
 joyment. 
 
 " Are they from the palm-trees we see here? ' : 
 he asked. 
 
 I answered quickly: 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Villemot ; and if you like 
 
 f 522 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 we will go and get some from a friend of the Doc- 
 tor's, who lives quite near." 
 
 Every one guessed my intentions. The palm- 
 tree was in the garden of my daughter's little 
 friends. 
 
 " Shall I buy a pound? " she whispered. 
 
 " Yes." The cunning little thing had understood. 
 
 We reached the garden. The dates were artfully 
 strewn on the grass round the palm-tree. 
 
 Villemot fell upon them, and tasted one. 
 
 " They are excellent." 
 
 " Let us see." 
 
 We all tasted them. 
 
 " Excellent," all repeated. 
 
 The master of the house gave Villemot a bag; 
 he filled and carried it away. He ate them himself 
 and passed them to us, to our delight, all during 
 the return journey. 
 
 " Don't forget to speak of the good dates of 
 Grasse in your article in the Temps," said Hetzel. 
 " Say that they are excellent. It will be only the 
 truth, and you will flatter the obliging owner of 
 the palm-tree." 
 
 Villemot did not miss a single detail of his har- 
 vest of dates at Grasse. 
 
 On my return to Paris, how Nefftzer reproached 
 me with Villemot's dates ! 
 
 34 [ 523 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Armand Heine and Eugene Forcade had 
 bought their land. 
 
 Next year I should have to superintend the build- 
 ing of Grand Pin and Brimborion. I should be 
 appointed to mark out the gardens. I was hon- 
 oured by so much confidence. 
 
 My father wrote to my mother that she might 
 put the house at Chauny up for sale. It was 
 quickly done. Our notary wanted it for himself. 
 Upon my return to Paris, while my father disposed 
 of some cumbersome furniture, my daughter and I 
 were to look for a little summer lodging. 
 
 Bruyeres and Paris, what a dream it would be ! 
 Life with my daughter and father, in the midst 
 of dear friends, so worthy of affection! Such joy 
 could not last ! 
 
 My " papa of Cannes " if he lived would say 
 again, and this time with truth, " Dark days are 
 storing up light for bright days." 
 
 I was grieved. Meyerbeer had died almost sud- 
 denly while finishing the score of L'Africaine. 
 Weill told me that the last time he saw Meyerbeer 
 he said : " Velleda will soon see Selika." 
 
 The morrow of my return to Paris I set about 
 finding lodgings. For ourselves I should have liked 
 to find one in the Rue de Rivoli. My daughter 
 wanted one looking on the Tuileries, where she 
 
 [524]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 " much enjoyed " herself during her short visits to 
 Paris. 
 
 My father timidly admitted that he would like 
 the " Quartier des Ecoles." I called him an old 
 student, and said that the Rue de Rivoli had been 
 the scene of all the revolutions, and that he would 
 have a front seat at the next. 
 
 We began our search from the corner of the 
 Place de la Concorde. One, two, three houses. In 
 the first apartments visited we found our ideal rest 
 on the fourth floor, with a large balcony looking 
 on the Tuileries. They were to let. We wanted 
 them at once. Who was the landlord? Monsieur 
 Soufflot. I remembered hearing Jean Reynaud 
 mention him as a friend. I looked upon this as an 
 omen. The paternal spirit of Jean Reynaud had 
 guided me here. We hurried (Alice and I) to 
 Madame Jean Reynaud, who gave us a letter for 
 old Monsieur Soufflot. 
 
 How charming he was — my landlord ! Every- 
 thing I asked he granted. The rooms were to be 
 cleaned, repainted, and the rent reduced. The 
 lease was sent to my father, and signed three days 
 later. 
 
 Some furniture being sent from Chauny, Alice 
 and I took up our quarters among the workmen. 
 Things progressed so favourably that a month 
 
 [525]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 later my delighted father and mother joined us, 
 and could feast their eyes upon the beautiful view 
 afforded by our apartments by day, and on the 
 magical illuminations at night. In a word, we 
 were Parisians, and extended our house-warming 
 over eight days. 
 
 What excitement there was the day of our house- 
 warming dinner-party ! My mother drove us mad 
 (Alice and me), declaring that the guests would 
 be famished, because there were only five courses. 
 
 Our apartments were rather high, but the wide 
 stone staircase was easy, and it was so cool there 
 in summer. It was tastefully arranged, and pleased 
 all who saw it. My friends spoiled me, each one 
 sending some pretty souvenir. At last our guests 
 arrived, greatly honouring our dovecot. 
 
 Edmond Adam, Edmond Texier, Toussenel, 
 Pe} r rat, NefFtzer, Challemel, Ronchaud. Madame 
 d'Agoult as yet visited no one. Madame de Pierre- 
 clos was at Macon. 
 
 The dining-room being too small, dinner was 
 served in the drawing-room. 
 
 Emile Ollivier was the first and principal subject 
 of conversation at table. NefFtzer was attacked. 
 It was he who had " invented " and supported him 
 in 185T. Challemel-Lacour quoted a saying of 
 
 [526]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 that time: "The election of Ollivier in 1857 was 
 due to a party intrigue of which Nefftzer was the 
 moving spirit." 
 
 " The moving ass, you mean," replied Nefftzer. 
 
 We laughed and spared him, but Challemel and 
 Peyrat were relentless, and returned more fiercely 
 to Ollivier. Edniond Texier, in a few brief words, 
 marked out the chief points of their attack. 
 
 The recorder of the law of coalitions was appre- 
 ciated, as he deserved, by true Republicans. This 
 policy had no longer any secrets from Peyrat. To 
 Ollivier's formula against " systematic opposi- 
 tion," Challemel substituted that of " systematic 
 conversion." The judgment given by Monsieur 
 Thiers was recalled: "Ollivier has not only burned 
 his boats, but all his fleet." Disowned and excom- 
 municated, his infatuation remained unchangeable ; 
 he never ceased to believe that alone he could group 
 together the elements of a Liberal Imperialist 
 party. 
 
 A sally of Hetzel's caused great amusement. 
 
 " Emile Ollivier's policy," he said, " will carry 
 him straight to the Academy." 
 
 This was greeted with cries of protestation. 
 
 " But undoubtedly," continued the imperturba- 
 ble Hetzel, " just as Dufaure's policy led him 
 there." 
 
 [527]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " It isn't the same thing. It's just the opposite," 
 said Peyrat. 
 
 " It is just because it is the contrary that it 
 amounts to the same," replied Hetzel. " The day 
 that the Academy at a certain moment, for a cer- 
 tain motive, has a certain political election to make, 
 it will unfailingly elect Ollivier." 
 
 We shrugged our shoulders. 
 
 " Ollivier," said Edmond Adam, " is a strong 
 man. He has a power which will never fail — his 
 vanity. He will draw upon it for all the energies 
 he requires. He is the first among us who has 
 profited by the compromises of his conscience, and 
 history will lay the chief guilt at his door. Our 
 faltering is the outcome of his compromise, and 
 from it will proceed our future facilities. There 
 are no half measures in honour or in word. Olli- 
 vier bequeaths dangerous opportunities to the Re- 
 publicans. Conservatism alone could continue to 
 solidify the Empire until of itself it became ex- 
 hausted. Liberalism will weaken it, and I fear 
 that such a jumble of false political doctrines may 
 some day give birth to a false republic." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Peyrat. " Let the Republic first 
 come; then we shall see." 
 
 " They will Jacobinize it, eh, Peyrat ? All the 
 French will be compelled to believe the same as 
 
 [528]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 Peyrat and Challemel," added Nefftzer. " That is, 
 if Challemel and Peyrat will consent, for the public 
 good, to think for once alike. If not — ah, well, 
 the Republic will be purified according to the views 
 of one or the other. I, as you know, am more in- 
 clined to a Liberal Empire than to Jacobinism, and 
 if Ollivier inspired me with confidence I should be 
 well satisfied with a Liberal Empire, for as long 
 as French Governments last." 
 
 " Though I thought a Liberal Empire possi- 
 ble," threw in Challemel, " I would not lend assist- 
 ance at any price. It is nothing less than treachery 
 to give help to the enemy, to galvanize them and 
 render victory possible to them." 
 
 " Think, Nefftzer," cried Toussenel, " of what 
 Ollivier might have said, it is surely monstrous; 
 and having been a Republican, is it not apostasy 
 to dare to assert that * a constitutional and Liberal 
 Empire will become the Government of France ' ? " 
 
 " All questions of internal policy are small com- 
 pared with the external events which are hatching 
 to threaten the future of France," replied Nefftzer, 
 with real sadness. 
 
 " The illustrious Jeremiah come to life," cried 
 Peyrat. " Listen, he begins. Hark to the re- 
 cital of the massacres of the Palatinate, the re- 
 venge of Jena ! Listen to the plaintive Nefftzer ! " 
 
 [529]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " You provoke me, Peyrat, and compel me to 
 say what perhaps I should not say here, although 
 my audience is well worth running the risk of 
 mockery from you. Yes, the revenge of Jena has 
 been prepared in Prussia for the last forty-five 
 years. The promoters have said that they require 
 half a century. The time is near. Prussia deceives 
 you. Bismarck — note it well — is a man of the 
 stamp of Cavour, with brutal and useful powers 
 in addition. France commits error upon error. 
 She bungles her advantages. The adventure upon 
 which Napoleon III has sent Maximilian to Mex- 
 ico will end badly, and will create for us danger- 
 ous enemies in Austria ; whereas, both for Austria 
 and for ourselves, we must at all costs remain on 
 good terms. Juares has not disarmed, and Spanish 
 blood will not suffer invasions. What will happen 
 if the Mexicans throw our imperial proteges into 
 the sea? " * 
 
 * The people of Ragusa predicted from this time either vio- 
 lent death or madness for Maximilian, Charlotte and a great 
 number of the Imperial family of Austria, because they had 
 chosen the island of La Cheoma as a country residence. The 
 Archduke had driven the monks out, turned their cemetery into 
 a garden, and had thrown their bones into a common grave, or 
 into the sea. When the last monk left the island, he prophesied 
 that after seventeen cases of violent death or madness among 
 those who inhabited the island, the monks would return. 
 
 [530]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 " Oh ! " said Peyrat ; " though I have no belief 
 in the prophecies of monks, it makes me shudder. 
 While waiting their fatal end, Maximilian and 
 Charlotte seem to be enjo}nng themselves at 
 Mexico." 
 
 " Will you take a bet, Peyrat, upon the con- 
 ference of London to settle the Danish-German 
 quarrel ? " said Neff tzer, gravely. " You are fol- 
 lowing it, are you not? " 
 
 " Yes ; it is even interesting." 
 
 " It will come to nothing. You will see the 
 peace that Prussia will patch up. I read the Ber- 
 lin papers, and I know what is wanted on the Spree. 
 They want to mock, dupe, deceive, promise, but 
 not perform ; lie for the sake of lying." 
 
 Monsieur Drouyn de Luys found Bismarck, 
 President of the actual Council of Prussia, when 
 he represented his country at Paris, " a man to 
 be mocked." Alas ! we shall see the man at work ; 
 he is more than dangerous, he is terrifying ! 
 
 " I was anxious to know the business of the 
 German Jewish agents in Paris," said Toussenel. 
 " I can well see that they tear us to pieces morally, 
 making light of what we respect and compassion- 
 ating humanity in general, to make nothing of our 
 love of France. Do you think that a Valles alone 
 invented such sayings as the one which I shall some 
 
 [ 531 ].
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 day make him swallow : ' That coloured handker- 
 chief called a flag ! ' Some one wishes ill to our 
 race, our character, our heroism. I feel it, I see it, 
 I see signs of it on all sides; but I did not quite 
 grasp who that some one was. You say, Nefftzer, 
 that it is Prussia. Your time is not lost ; you have 
 given warning to a patriot who is not cold-blooded. 
 Thanks ! " 
 
 Toussenel pronounced these words with a re- 
 strained emotion which was impressive. 
 
 Little by little Nefftzer's ideas on external policy 
 made headway with me. Things which I had read 
 became proofs. 
 
 My dear old friend Arles-Dufour, " the father," 
 had for Germany an admiration which was as a 
 warning to me. 
 
 " Leipzig is as good as Lyons to you," I said 
 one day to him ; " and you find as many friends in 
 Berlin as in Paris." 
 
 " Yes, Germany is more intellectual, more se- 
 rious, more humanitarian, than France," answered 
 Arles-Dufour ; " and I have an affection for her." 
 
 " Are you German on any side ? " 
 
 " No, I am Provencal ; but I place science and 
 progress before all, and I find them more honoured, 
 more loved, more sought after in Germany than in 
 France." 
 
 [532]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 I commenced also to discuss " Germanism " with 
 one of my young friends, introduced by Hetzel 
 during his short stay at the Golfe, and to whom 
 I had quickly become attached, so fond were we of 
 arguing upon our differences of opinion. 
 
 Gaston Paris, the son of Paulin Paris, was par- 
 ticularly attractive. Eager for truth, sincere, a 
 seeker, curious, learned, he had lost none of the 
 qualities of youth, poetry, and dreams. But what 
 led one to desire him as a friend and brother was 
 the charm of a surpassing kindness. 
 
 Later I knew only Madame Sand, whose devoted 
 friendship was as absolute. 
 
 After the death of Gaston Paris a kind hand 
 sent me the letters I had written to him, whom I al- 
 ways called brother, as I have called Jean Rey- 
 naud and Arles-Dufour " father." 
 
 The gods have showered upon me the blessings 
 of friendship in every shape — paternal and fra- 
 ternal. My life has been blessed in affection, and 
 I have rarely suffered the great grief of the loss 
 of friendship. I may have been separated from 
 living friends by opinions and ideas, I have never 
 ceased to love them. 
 
 Under my eyes I have one of my letters to Gas- 
 ton Paris, dated July, 1864. Sainte-Beuve ad- 
 vised him to undertake a complete review of an 
 
 [533]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 edition of Rabelais. Gaston Paris hesitated. I 
 was quite of the opinion of Sainte-Beuve, as I had 
 written to him. We both insisted. 
 
 " To measure one's self with such a genius, my 
 dear friend," I told him, " is to enlarge one's self. 
 You are afraid of the old prudish scholars ; why ? 
 Accept, accept. Intimacy with Rabelais will harden 
 you. Re-read Lucretius, who taught me so much 
 about Rabelais." 
 
 Gaston Paris was one of the young men of my 
 generation, whom for a long time I followed hour 
 by hour. Life separated, but never disunited us. 
 I loved him as a friend, and honoured him for the 
 honour he did his country, as no scholar ever car- 
 ried respect for his own methods of research so far. 
 
 In his Histoire poetique de Charlemagne so 
 greatly did he identify himself with his hero that 
 he came to resemble him. 
 
 Having studied in the German Universities, he 
 spoke of Germans with admiration — among others 
 of Frederic Diez, who ha'd been his master in the 
 Romane languages. But if Gaston Paris had a 
 great liking for Germany, in all his discoveries he 
 learned the love of France. It is in the depths of 
 our history that he learned that love ; he awoke 
 and enlarged our past. It is only by the studies 
 of Gaston Paris that chivalrous France, the poetry 
 
 [534] 
 
 /
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 of the Middle Ages, the literature of old France, 
 have been completely revealed to us in all their 
 truth and beauty. The nobility of his life and his 
 disinterested labours earned him the universal 
 esteem of the world of letters ; from his first works 
 all honour was given him throughout his life. 
 
 Arles-Dufour was in Paris. We were all de- 
 lighted to welcome the " good genius " at our table. 
 He was coming from the International Congress of 
 Geneva for succouring the wounded in times of 
 war. With his illusions he believed we had seen 
 the end of barbarism. His dear friends, the Prus- 
 sians, had been nothing less than gentle during 
 the war of the Duchies. He groaned when speaking 
 of it, and said that the Kingdom of Prussia, which 
 he " greatly loves," had suffered enormously, and 
 that was why she took so great an interest in the 
 formation of societies to succour the wounded. 
 
 Arles-Dufour was in great grief. The doctors 
 had given up Enfantin. When his master and 
 friend died, my old friend suffered as I suffered 
 at the death of Jean Reynaud. He had all my sym- 
 pathy, and my own sorrow was awakened at sight 
 of his. 
 
 I saw Madame Jean Reynaud, who told me that 
 after Enfantin's death she would collect certain 
 papers left by Jean Reynaud and carry out his 
 
 [ 535 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 wishes respecting them. These papers she would 
 classify and seal up in a strong box, to be opened 
 at a distant date. 
 
 I don't know why I should have imagined that 
 these papers of which she spoke contained more than 
 one Saint-Simonian story, such as that told me with 
 great emotion by Jean Reynaud, relating to Ma- 
 dame Bazard. Madame Jean Reynaud, however, 
 would tell me nothing about them. 
 
 Before leaving, Challemel brought me his fine 
 essay on Guillaume de Humboldt, which was much 
 spoken of, and which it was agreed showed our 
 friend's full value at last. 
 
 He seemed to have gained what Prevost-Paradol 
 appeared to have lost after his political defeat. The 
 latter could not recover his sarcastic serenity. He 
 had become soured, and we know the reason too well. 
 Hetzel said that his " sourness is no longer shared." 
 
 We were at Bruyeres, and even my mother was 
 more serene, taking a less gloomy view of life, and 
 let herself be cheered by the light. 
 
 I had been quarrelling with my friend Gaston 
 Paris, who wanted me to take an interest in a Ger- 
 man-French society. 
 
 This is my answer to him of December 2d : 
 
 " We shall see many Biichners in your German- 
 
 [536]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 French society, but of Buchner and Germany a 
 little goes a long way. I can see your disgust from 
 here. You groan over my obstinacy and ignorance. 
 Speak to me of the early days of our old Gaul; 
 write your thesis, which I will read to the best of 
 my ability, but let the Germans be German, and 
 you remain French. The spirit of other countries 
 invades our spirit quite sufficiently, and we have 
 no further need to scatter ourselves. I am centrip- 
 etal French and you are centrifugal." 
 
 Eight days later I wrote again : 
 
 " You try to bribe me by describing your idea 
 of a Franco-German society as an intimate crea- 
 tion into which you have put your last hopes of 
 seeing the ideal realized. Let us make a bargain. 
 We will agree that you are German as I am French. 
 Renounce your title of Frenchman, and I will call 
 you neither traitor nor renegade. I defend my 
 country with a sharp pen. I prevent an intellectual 
 invasion of 1814. I march armed to my frontier. 
 Beware! my glass will hold your Rhine. Your 
 spirit is the spirit of Germany. Your method and 
 philosophy are her method and philosophy. You 
 prefer the poetry, science, simple literature, and 
 love of tradition that she prefers. Our revolution- 
 ary genius alarms you. Your analytic mind is no 
 pioneer. You love our old epopees of the Middle 
 
 [537]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 Ages because Germany loves them, and because 
 they have some affinity with the Niebelungen. Is 
 that the German spelling? What happiness to 
 know only one language ! To be an ignoramus 
 one is saved from dreams of abnormal alliances, 
 and of fusions of contrary elements. One does 
 not attempt to compel the people on one side to 
 think and act as their neighbours. One does not 
 cherish a system, a Utopia with assembly-rooms, 
 prospectuses, placards, and a lantern with an in- 
 scription : ' This is to light you in a foreign fash- 
 ion, which is better than your own.' 
 
 " Ah, sir ! I am ready to drink your Rhine from 
 my glass. I defy you to drink my Seine." 
 
 I have reproduced these letters from among 
 those Madame Gaston Paris returned to me after 
 the death of the noblest and most admirable of 
 husbands, because their proper place is at the end 
 of this volume, as they throw a light upon the evo- 
 lution of my mind, and the patriotic sufferings I 
 was preparing for myself in the events towards 
 which France was advancing. 
 
 Like an echo to my intuitive letters to Gaston 
 Paris, I received a visit from Merimee, who gave 
 me a letter from Bixio to read, adding : 
 
 " It is in the same vein as that of Nefftzer." 
 
 " Prussia alarms me," writes Bixio to Merimee. 
 
 [ 538 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 " She is making formidable preparations. She be- 
 gan by Denmark, and will continue with Austria 
 and ourselves. Cavour himself told me the pro- 
 posals made to him by Prussia, in event of a com- 
 mon action against Austria." 
 
 " Well," I said, " are you not convinced by all 
 these assertions of men of weight on the plans of 
 Prussia? Do you still believe the King of Prussia 
 and Bismarck are friends of France? ' 
 
 " I believe it because I know it," answered 
 Merimee. 
 
 " Showing me the Redoutable, the Second 
 Squadron of the Mediterranean, in the waters of 
 Golfe Juan," he added, laughingly. " Until Prus- 
 sia has a navy our vessels will have plenty of sea 
 room. Besides, is not France still and always ' La 
 Grande France ? ' Why should she fear little 
 Prussia? Is our patriotism less? Has the Imperial 
 rule destroyed the military spirit ? " 
 
 " Yes, when it will not use the arms it carries 
 to defend our most noble sentiments of heroism. 
 Yes, Imperial rule destroys the military spirit when 
 it ffives over our admiration of the classics, which 
 inspired us with beauty in art, to vile mockery; 
 it betrays the spirit of France, delivers it up to 
 scorn, and strikes at the very source of our patriot- 
 ism. La Belle Helene after Orphee-aux-Enfers. 
 35 [ 539 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 This is the spirit of irreverence which will .attack, 
 permeate, and vilify everything." 
 
 ' It is French merriment," replied Merimee ; 
 " and they say that La Belle Helene is funnier than 
 Orphee-aux-Enfers. Do you really care so much 
 that honour should be given to the gods of 
 Greece? " 
 
 ' Because I worship them, and because I believe 
 that to attack one religion is to attack all. Your 
 religion is patriotism — the army. It will be made 
 as ridiculous and grotesque as our legendary gods." 
 
 " When a nation laughs it does not think of 
 revolutions." 
 
 " Unless its laugh is one." 
 
 In autumn, when I was bidding farewell to Ma- 
 dame d'Agoult before leaving for Bruyeres, she 
 said: 
 
 " My dream for you, little Juliette, is that j-ou 
 should have a salon — quite small, very select, with 
 the traditions of mine. We will found one on your 
 return. I will send you some instructions on the 
 subject this winter, upon which you will meditate." 
 
 I received from Madame d'Agoult the following 
 beautiful page: 
 
 " Happiness comes only from abnegation and 
 wisdom. To gather round one a group of men 
 
 [ 540 ]
 
 I FOUND MY SALON 
 
 and some intelligent women, one must present a 
 serene or happy appearance. 
 
 " One must simplify one's life, letting no com- 
 plications appear to the eye, even though life be 
 troubled. 
 
 " To keep friends round one it is necessary to 
 create an impersonal and peaceful atmosphere, 
 which gives repose. 
 
 " Consult the first members of a salon before 
 admitting others, that there may be founders, or 
 some who believe themselves so. 
 
 " Avoid the exchange of confidences, which 
 creates too great an intimacy and compels advice 
 which at some time you will be reproached with. 
 
 " Be modest without effacing yourself ; combine 
 simplicity and elegance. Inspire confidence in the 
 strength of your opinions, that you may appear 
 at once immovable and tolerant. 
 
 " The first duty of her who would hold a salon 
 is to keep up the interest of those whom she has 
 gathered round her. 
 
 " To impress upon them that she is more taken 
 up with them than with herself." 
 
 I thanked my dear great friend for her high 
 wisdom, and promised to assimilate it, precept by 
 precept. 
 
 She added: 
 
 [541 ]
 
 MY LITERARY LIFE 
 
 " You need twenty men friends and five women 
 to found a salon. You have them. Mine will re- 
 main the big winter salon, yours will be the little 
 summer salon, and thus our intimate set will never 
 be quite dispersed." 
 
 Alas ! this little salon was destined, very soon 
 after its formation, to deprive me of a maternal 
 friendship, the loss of which caused me as much 
 grief as the death of Jean Reynaud. 
 
 George Sand's great affection did not console 
 me, because, estranged from Madame d'Agoult, I 
 could no longer cherish the hope of reconciling the 
 two greatest feminine personalities of my day and 
 love them both at once. 
 
 (i) 
 
 THE END 
 
 [542]
 
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