LIBRARY 
 
 SAW DIEGO 
 
 /
 
 1*7 
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY 
 
 OF 
 
 ALFRED DE MUSSET.
 
 C'est mot qui at vtcu, et non pas un fare factice cree par man 
 orgueil et man ennui."
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY 
 
 OF 
 
 ALFRED DE MUSSET. 
 
 (Eranslateto from tfje jFrentfj of $attl Be fHusset 
 
 BY 
 HARRIET W. PRESTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " TROUBADOURS AND TROUVKRES," ETC. ', AND TRANSLATOR 
 
 OF MISTRAL'S "MIRKIO. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1877.
 
 Copyright, 1877, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 Cambridge : 
 Press of John Wilson &> Son.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 r I ""HE memoir of Alfred de Musset by his de- 
 voted brother Paul is, in many respects, a 
 model of what a biography ought not to be. It is 
 an ardent and tearful defence, a eulogy, a threnody, 
 a picturesque and highly idealized sketch : it is 
 any thing, in short, but a sober and truthful piece 
 of portraiture. But who would care to read a 
 brother's memorial of a life so brief and troubled, 
 a nature so richly endowed, and in many ways so 
 winning, if it were dispassionate ? The whole of 
 the sad truth concerning the dissipations which 
 wrecked the poet's health, and the waywardness 
 and weakness which paralyzed his exquisite talent, 
 years even before he passed away, may be read 
 elsewhere. In particular, the study or series of 
 studies by Paul Lindau, published in Berlin almost 
 simultaneously with the present memoir, contains 
 a great deal of sound criticism, and is quite re- 
 markable for its lack of reserve in details. But 
 the eager plea of M. Paul de Musset deceives as
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 little as eager pleas usually do. We divine all that 
 he avoids saying, at the same time that we like him 
 the better for his chivalrous care of his brother's 
 reputation. 
 
 The task of rendering into English his graphic 
 and simple narrative has been a very pleasant one ; 
 and, for an explanation of its few obscure allu- 
 sions to matters connected with French literature 
 and politics, I am indebted to my friend, Mme. 
 George Harney, of Cambridge. 
 
 HARRIET W. PRESTON. 
 YORK, September 3, 1877.
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY 
 
 ALFRED DE MUSSET. 
 
 T HAVE long cherished the purpose of giving to 
 -*- the admirers of Alfred de Musset the story of his 
 life. I have often felt moved to begin the task, but 
 have been withheld by the very vividness of my recol- 
 lections. And yet it is no mere duty which I propose 
 to fulfil toward the man whom, of all men, I have best 
 loved, and whose most loyal friend and recipient of 
 confidence I have ever been. I regard it rather as a 
 complement needful to the perfect understanding of 
 his work. For his work is himself ; and in it we per- 
 ceive that daily transmutation of genius which belongs 
 only to those privileged poets in whom the imagination 
 is in constant communion with the heart. The creations 
 of these rare minds, their merest fancies, do not usually 
 wear the aspect of fiction for the reason that they reveal 
 the very workings of the poet's soul. Their history 
 becomes the history of the human heart, and nothing 
 can be uninteresting which makes them better known. 
 This it is which renders the curiosity of the public, about 
 the incidents of their lives, legitimate and intelligent.
 
 2 Biography of Alfred de Miisset. 
 
 Not only did Alfred de Musset receive the gift of 
 keen feeling and forceful expression, but the sentiments 
 and the thoughts to which he gave so fair a form were 
 those of a whole generation. I know not if any other 
 poet could be cited as being the poet of his era so 
 thoroughly as was he. The first readers of " Rolla " and 
 the "Nuit de Mai" may possibly have seen therein only 
 a philosophic thesis'; the doubts of an unquiet mind, 
 the plaints of an unhappy lover; but ultimately men 
 recognized, even there, the truthful expression of uni- 
 versal feelings. What the poet suffered, he suffered in 
 common with all his contemporaries ; and this is why 
 his works were read in attics as well as in castles, and 
 why his verses charmed the tedium of the bivouac on 
 the remote frontiers of Kalybia. 
 
 It has often been said that the poetry of sentiment 
 makes the envied possessor of this form of expression 
 unhappy. Sensitive souls are sent into the world to 
 be crowded and crushed. The loss of "a mistress, the 
 defection of a friend, a disappointed hope, an illusion 
 dispelled, all the ills, great and small, of which life is 
 made up, exasperate them, and would drive them to 
 desire death if they could not find a solace for their 
 woes in the poet's inspiration. So that those who 
 afford us our highest intellectual pleasures and our 
 sweetest consolations appear doomed to weariness and 
 melancholy, even when they are not actually molested 
 and tormented, as too* often happens ; and if their best 
 friends sometimes irritate them unintentionally, how 
 many others wound them on purpose, well knowing 
 that a pin-prick will make them bleed. The biography
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 3 
 
 which follows will not merely furnish an additional 
 proof of these undeniable truths : it will help to estab- 
 lish another not quite so hackneyed ; namely, that sor- 
 row makes great poets, as Alfred de Musset himself has 
 said in the " Nuit de Mai." 
 
 Is it not plain that we owe the finest passages in the 
 " Divine Comedy " to the bitterness of the exile, and to 
 Dante's resentment against the injustice of his fellow- 
 citizens ? The " Misanthrope " of Moliere might never 
 have seen the light if Armande Bejart had been a vir- 
 tuous and faithful wife. Happy is the poet who, like 
 Petrarch, finds an inexhaustible source of sorrow and 
 sensibility in the virtue of a gentle and compassionate 
 woman ! 
 
 Like his predecessors, Alfred de Musset drew from 
 love and from grief his finest inspiration. A secret 
 instinct forewarned him of those dangerous fellow- 
 beings who were destined to put his affections to their 
 hardest tests. But he had no need to go in search of 
 suffering. Rather, it sought him out so often that his 
 sensibilities were never allowed to- sleep. Every one 
 seemed to contribute something to the sum of his sor- 
 rows; and thus it is that the evil and invidious defeat 
 their own end by rendering the poet's renown yet cost- 
 lier, and more difficult for him to obtain. 
 
 If Alfred de Musset had been born in the age of 
 Louis XIV., he would, of course, have belonged to the 
 court, and shared the intimacy of the king. He would 
 have enjoyed the privileges then reserved for nobility 
 and genius ; he would have held some important charge 
 and been admitted everywhere, like Racine. Nor would
 
 4 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 he have been indifferent to this kind of distinction. 
 Independent as his character was, he would have 
 yielded to the requirements of etiquette ; he would 
 have taken an active part in the refined enjoyments 
 of the only sovereign who ever understood the great 
 art of grouping all manner of talents about himself, 
 and absorbing them for the augmentation of his own 
 glory. He was essentially a man of the world, and 
 he might have been a genuine grand seigneur. The 
 friendship of the Prince of Conde', the company of 
 Moliere and Despreaux, would have charmed him more 
 than formal honors. He would have had a far happier 
 life; but would he have been a greater man today? 
 Would he have made, in an age when life would have 
 been so easy to him, the same deep impression which 
 he has left upon our own ? I think not. His weariness 
 and disgust in the midst of a society which is growing 
 every day more material have caused to vibrate in him 
 the more hidden strings. For every wound which he 
 has received, he has mounted higher. His renown has 
 been only the more solid and brilliant for being slowly 
 won, and an early death has but added to his fame. 
 That sad consecration was not needed. He had had 
 time enough. 
 
 The De Musset family, which originated in the Duchy 
 of Bar, established itself at Blois and Vendome, in the 
 fifteenth century, about the time of the siege of Orleans. 
 The first gentleman of that name mentioned in the 
 "Gallia Christiana" is a certain Rudolphe de Musset, 
 present as a witness at the ceremony of founding an 
 abbey in the diocese of Paris, in 1140. I have else-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 5 
 
 where spoken of Colin de Musset, a celebrated poet and 
 musician of the thirteenth century, the contemporary 
 and friend of Thibaut, Count of Champagne. 1 
 
 Other De Mussets are to be found in the council of 
 Louis, Duke of Orleans, and brother of Charles VI. ; in 
 that of Dunois, bastard of Orleans ; righting in the army 
 of Charles VII. at the battle of Pathay ; and in the 
 household of the Princess of Cleves, the mother of 
 Louis XII. Several of them were lords-lieutenant of 
 the province of Blois. Two of them commanded the 
 companies of arquebusiers, and certain free companies 
 of fifty men under Henry III. Frangois de Musset was 
 killed at Philipsbourg, in attempting to quell a revolt of 
 the German troops in the garrison. The most cele- 
 brated soldier in the family was Alexander de Musset, a 
 chevalier of Saint Louis, and lieutenant of the king at La 
 Rochelle, who distinguished himself in all the battles of 
 the war of the Succession, and became the comrade 
 in arms of Maurice of Saxony. He received several 
 wounds, and only retired after sixty years of active 
 service. 
 
 Minister d'Argenson, and the Marshals of Saxony, 
 Lowendal, Belle-Isle, and d'Estre'es wrote him flattering 
 letters, which his heirs have carefully preserved. 
 
 Certain interesting alliances of the De Musset family 
 are also to be noted. An indirect one with Joan of Arc, 
 through her niece, Catherine du Lys, whose marriage 
 Charles VII. desired to arrange, and to whom he gave 
 a dowry ; others with the Bombelles, the Du Tillets, the 
 
 1 See a brief notice of the life of Alfred de Musset, in the large quarto 
 edition of the poet's complete works published in 1866.
 
 6 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Du Bellays. The paternal grandmother of Alfred de 
 Musset, Margaret Angelique du Bellay, the last female 
 child of that name, belonged to a family which prized 
 literary no less than military distinction. She married 
 her second son, Joseph Alexander de Musset, to Jeanne 
 Catherine d'Harville, an extremely clever woman. Vic- 
 tor de Musset, the father of Alfred, was the offspring of 
 this marriage. 
 
 According to the peerage of France, the arms of this 
 family are a golden hawk, hooded and jessed upon an 
 azure field perched on a bar gules, with the device, 
 " Courtoisie, Bonne-aventure aux preux." La Courtoisie 
 and Bonne-aventure were two patrimonial estates : the 
 first remained in the family until the middle of the last 
 century ; the second, which formed a part of the pat- 
 rimony of Alfred de Musset, was occupied by Antoine 
 de Bourbon, the father of Henry IV., during the sojourn 
 of the French court at the chateaux of Amboise and Blois. 
 It lies two leagues from Vendome, at the confluence of 
 the Loir and a lesser river, at a place called Gue-du- 
 Loir. It is well known that Antoine de Bourbon's was 
 no edifying career. He frequently sought relief from 
 the tedium of a life of show by retiring from the court to 
 Bonne-aventure, where he gave shelter to certain dam- 
 sels rather less virtuous than Queen Catherine's maids- 
 of-honor. The secret of these pleasure parties was ill 
 kept ; and the fame of them reached the ears of the poet 
 Rousard, who chanced to be at Poissoniere, not far from 
 Vendome. Rousard composed a song on the frolics of 
 the king, the refrain of which was, "La bonne aventure 
 au gue, la bonne aventure /" This satirical lyric went
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 7 
 
 from one end of France to the other, and nurses sing 
 the air of it to this day. 1 
 
 The foregoing details are addressed to persons who 
 are curious in matters of genealogy and heraldry. Here 
 are a few for those who interest themselves in the mys- 
 terious laws of hereditary transmission. It is only by 
 an extraordinary concurrence of circumstances that Na- 
 ture succeeds in producing a man of genius. Savants 
 affirm that a single case of high intelligence will retard 
 by three generations the progress of idiocy in a feeble- 
 minded family. Apparently, the introduction of one 
 inferior woman into an intellectual family is quite 
 enough to debase the mental faculties of three genera- 
 tions : these facts are not sufficiently heeded in mar- 
 riage. The maternal grandfather of Alfred de Musset 
 used to relate that he said to himself, after his third 
 interview with the lady whom he afterwards married, 
 " There is the woman whom I need," and that a month 
 before the marriage he knew nothing of the fortune of 
 her parents, nor what dowry she would receive. But 
 this same grandfather was an original character; a 
 person of antique simplicity, a charming spirit, and a 
 poet besides. 
 
 Claude Antoine Guyot-Desherbiers was of an old 
 family in Champagne, and came to Paris to study law, 
 under the reign of Louis XV. He was admitted to'the 
 
 1 In the collections of popular songs, this familiar refrain is variously 
 given. To insure correct spelling we must go back to Rousard, and re- 
 member that Bonne-aventure was situated on the Gu6-du-Loir. The song 
 quoted by Alceste in the first act of the " Misanthrope " is evidently derived 
 from this of Rousard's; but the refrain, "J'aime mieux ma tfiie augue," is 
 perfect nonsense.
 
 8 Biography af. Alfred de Musset. 
 
 bar, and afterwards made a magistrate. During the 
 excitement which preceded the Revolution, he became 
 the friend of the Abbd Morellet, of M. Suard, of the 
 savant Cabanis, the astronomer Lalande, Merlin de 
 Douai, De Barras, and others, into whose hands it was 
 destined that power should presently fall. The tenth of 
 August having abolished his seat on the bench, Guyot- 
 Desherbiers lived in retirement till the end of the Revo- 
 lution. After the gth of Thermidor, he was appointed 
 president of the committee on civil legislation. In this 
 position he exerted his influence to save some heads 
 from the scaffold ; among others, that of the Baron de 
 Batz, who had tried to effect the escape of the queen 
 and her' children from their prison in the Temple. He 
 even ran the risk of keeping M. de Batz hidden in 
 his own house during the pursuit of the revolutionary 
 tribunal. 
 
 M. Guyot-Desherbiers was endowed with a prodigious 
 memory. At an advanced age, he amused himself by 
 reciting whole comedies, playing all the parts with a 
 degree of talent and spirit which delighted his audience, 
 his grandchildren especially. I have heard that the excel- 
 lent Carmontelle, several of whose proverbs he knew by 
 heart, took especial pleasure in hearing him recite them ; 
 and that this performance revealed to the author himself 
 gleams of wit and shades of meaning of which he 
 would not otherwise have dreamed. 
 
 Our grandfather's feeling for poetry was somewhat 
 capriciously manifested ; but that which especially dis- 
 tinguished M. Guyot-Desherbiers was a Gallic gayety, 
 and a picturesque way of saying things, which imparted.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 9 
 
 a peculiar charm to his conversation. This original 
 turn of mind reappears in the comedies of his grandson, 
 especially in the characters of Fantasio and Valentin 
 and of Octave in the " Caprices de Marianne." 
 
 From the maternal side, also, Alfred de Musset derived 
 qualities no less remarkable. M. Desherbiers had mar- 
 ried Marie Anne Daret, a person of rare merit and 
 excellent judgment, a woman who gave good counsel, 
 as her husband was fond of saying. Habitually- 
 grave and equable, our grandmother was at heart affec- 
 tionate, tender, and impassioned ; and, in moments of 
 emotion, her eloquence carried one away. Her tall 
 figure, the dignity of her countenance, the penetrating 
 tones of her voice, and the unspeakable goodness of her 
 heart have left a deep impression upon the minds of her 
 grandchildren, the memory of a kind of angelic creat- 
 ure. Her eldest daughter, who was very like her, trans- 
 mitted to Alfred de Musset sensibility, eloquence, and 
 pathos. It is through their union with distinguished 
 faculties on the father's side, that these happy gifts have 
 been enhanced to the utmost in the case of a single 
 person. 
 
 Victor Donatien de Musset took a good rank in the 
 military college at Vendome, where he was a royal pupil. 
 When he left school at eighteen, he had an elder brother 
 already captain in a regiment at Bresse, and a sister who 
 was queen's pensioner at Saint-Cyr with the promise of 
 being made a canoness. On his return to his father's 
 house, he found there a numerous and agreeable circle 
 of relatives, friends, and neighbors. The eldest of the 
 family was living at Cogners, near Saint-Calais. Other
 
 io Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 relatives and intimate friends dwelt at Tours, at Blois, 
 and at Chartres. Vendome was the centre where they 
 often assembled. For the sake of spending a few days 
 together, they would traverse abominable roads ; but the 
 cheer was good, and the time passed gaily. The entire 
 circle was occupied with plans for making life as pleasant 
 as possible, without a suspicion that they were on the 
 very verge of a political cataclysm. The father of Victor 
 de Musset called M. de Pathay in the province, to 
 distinguish him from his two brothers was so entirely 
 preoccupied with the fortunes of the son who was a 
 captain, that he made up his mind one day that his 
 second son must not marry. Submissive to the fate of 
 a cadet, Victor Donatien had resigned himself to the 
 Church, when the Revolution arrived and snatched off 
 those clerical bands of which he was so ready to be rid ; 
 whence it is fair to conclude that the events of 1789 
 gave to France one great poet who else would never 
 have seen the light. 
 
 About the same time that his future father-in-law saved 
 the life of Baron de Batz, Victor de Musset met on the 
 highway of Tours a condemned nobleman who was 
 being escorted to Paris and the scaffold. The sight of 
 this unfortunate man moved him to the deepest pity. 
 He brought up a hay-cart under the windows of an inn 
 where the gendarmes had stopped, deposited the prisoner 
 in it, drove off with him by cross-roads with which he 
 was familiar, and eluded pursuit. His prowess would 
 have cost him dear, had not General Marescot taken a 
 fancy to the youth, given him shelter under the folds of 
 the flag, and received him into his own service. Em-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. II 
 
 ployed at first in the inspection of fortified places, 
 Victor de Musset made the second Italian Campaign 
 with the general, and on his return from Marengo was 
 appointed chief inspector of engineers. His elder 
 brother, following a star very unlike his own, had emi- 
 grated and fallen by a republican bullet in the ranks 
 of Condi's army. During this interval, also, his parents 
 had both died, only a few months apart. To repair 
 these cruel bereavements he had recourse to marriage. 
 One of his friends introduced him at the house of M. 
 Desherbiers, whose eldest daughter he sought in mar- 
 riage, and was readily accepted. 
 
 Victor de Musset remained in the War Department 
 until 1811, when he was made head of a division (chef 
 de bureau} in the Ministry of the Interior. Superseded 
 in 1818 by M. Lain6 for the expression of liberal opin- 
 ions, he took an active literary part in the Restoration 
 movement. In 1821, he published an excellent edition 
 of the works of J. J. Rousseau, and shortly afterwards a 
 careful and valuable work on the life and writings of the 
 Genevan philosopher, M. de Sdmonville, who chanced to 
 meet and become attached to him, and caused him to be 
 appointed librarian of the Chamber of Peers. In 1828, 
 when General de Caux joined the political coalition which 
 goes by the name of M. de Martignac, Victor de Musset 
 was called to the War Department, in the capacity of 
 chief clerk (chef du cabinet du ministre), whence he 
 passed to the department of Military Justice, in which 
 he remained until his death. 
 
 During his long administrative career, Victor de 
 Musset was fortunate in being able constantly to exer-
 
 12 Biography of Alfred de Musset, 
 
 cise the distinctive qualities of his disposition ; namely, 
 an inexhaustible kindness and serviceableness. Never 
 did a man in power take so much trouble in the service 
 of others ; display such constant activity, energy, and 
 courage in assisting and protecting the unfortunate and 
 the persecuted. It may well be supposed that occa- 
 sions were not lacking. I will cite but two. 
 
 Near the close of the Empire, an emigre named 
 D'Hotland returned to France, burdened with a numer- 
 ous family, and stripped of all his resources. He asked 
 employment and bread for his children of M. de Musset, 
 who appointed him inspector of the central police-station 
 at Melun. Almost as soon as he was installed in office, 
 he was denounced to the Emperor as an old royalist, 
 and from the higher realms of government came the 
 order for his instant removal. The minister summoned 
 the head of the bureau, who undertook an energetic 
 defence of his creature, in which he offered himself as 
 surety for the persons whom he employed, claiming that 
 he had the free choice of his subalterns, and was 
 responsible for them. At the end of a month a new 
 complaint was lodged, and there was a fresh order for 
 immediate removal, this time in terms so peremptory 
 that the minister was terrified. But M. de Musset re- 
 fused to be intimidated. At the risk of his own removal, 
 he addressed to the Emperor a second communication, 
 yet firmer than the first, in which he denounced with 
 indignation the scheme of the informers. It was not 
 without hesitation that the minister M. de Montalivet 
 included this paper in his portfolio ; but it came back 
 the next day with this postscript in Napoleon's own
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 13 
 
 hand, " The chief of the bureau is right," and the poor 
 official kept his place. 
 
 The other affair was more important than the pre- 
 ceding, and created some excitement. One Fabry an 
 overseer or commissary of troops, I do not know which 
 was accused of embezzlement, tried before a court- 
 martial, condemned to the galleys, and there died. 
 Fifteen years afterwards, the proofs of his innocence 
 were discovered. As the heirs of Lesurques, his wife 
 and children demanded his rehabilitation, which could 
 not however be effected without the passage of a law in 
 both Chambers. This was in 1831, and it was fortunate 
 for Mme. Fabry that she found M. de Musset in the 
 department of military justice. She made him enter 
 into her feelings and share them for a year. The minis- 
 ter of war positively shrieked when the chief of the bu- 
 reau proposed to award her an indemnity of a hundred 
 thousand francs ; but, after repeated discussions, they 
 kept to that figure and proposed the law. The statement 
 of the case was a piece of genuine eloquence ; and the 
 day on which Mme. Fabry gained her cause before the 
 Chamber of Deputies was a holiday at home. This 
 obligingness, carried even to the point of self-sacrifice, 
 was once a peculiarly French quality, but is now no 
 longer in vogue. It has been replaced by the American 
 precept, " Time is money ; " and, ever since men began 
 to fancy that time can be estimated in cash, they have 
 ceased to spend it in the service of others. 
 
 To such qualities of heart Victor de Musset united 
 those graces of the mind which go to make up what we 
 call an amiable man, a sparkling gayety, an astonishing
 
 14 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 promptitude of repartee, and profound learning of which 
 he made no parade. He would tell a story in a few 
 words, and with a bonhomie which concealed great art. 
 At table, among his intimate friends, when enlivened by 
 wine and good cheer, his gayety would fly to his head, 
 and a running fire of jests and droll sallies ensued ; 
 but on these festive occasions, as on graver ones, the mo- 
 ment he perceived a trace of unfriendliness, his tongue 
 became sharper, his eye flashed fire, his retort was 
 biting, and he straightway became calm. And, as he 
 never came out of such a skirmish otherwise than vic- 
 torious, he became the terror of the snappish and 
 surly. 
 
 On one of his visits to Vendome, he took my brother 
 and myself to see a country gentleman in the neighbor- 
 hood when the mercury stood at twenty-five degrees. 1 
 
 Our neighbor was penurious, and, in place of the 
 refreshments which are invariably offered in the prov- 
 inces to every visitor, he exhibited two ancient stone 
 statues recently disinterred. 
 
 " You are one of the learned," said our host mock- 
 ingly, " and will doubtless recognize at once the two 
 saints whose images these are." 
 
 " Perfectly," replied M. de Musset. " One is evidently 
 Saint Niggard and the other Saint Glutton ;" and, relieved 
 by the delivery of this scratch, he smiled affably upon 
 his neighbor. Victor de Musset wrote one comedy in 
 verse, which was not found among his papers. 
 
 1 Celsius ; that is, about 78 Fahrenheit.
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 FROM 1810 TO 1828.
 
 I. 
 
 A LFRED DE MUSSET was born on the eleventh 
 ** of December, 1810, in the heart of old Paris, 
 near the Hotel de Cluny, in a house which still bears the 
 number, 33 Rue des Noyers. 1 At thirty-seven in the 
 same street lived our Grandfather Desherbiers, and a 
 great-aunt, the proprietress of a garden which extended to 
 the base of the ancient church of Saint Jean de Latran, 
 now demolished. All the great-nephews of Mme. Denoux 
 took their first steps in this garden. Alfred de Musset 
 used to sa)', jestingly, that in his childhood he was just 
 as stupid as another; but I do not hesitate to assert 
 that he gave early evidence of a rarely precocious intelli- 
 gence. After he had been to church for the first time, 
 he asked his mother, as innocently as possible, whether 
 she would take him again next Sunday to see the comedy 
 of the Mass ; nor had he any suspicion of the Voltairean 
 character of his remark. If half the noteworthy things 
 which children say are attributable to ignorance, there 
 are others to which we give little heed, but which reveal, 
 amid the simplicity of the child, the character of the 
 future man. Here is one. When Alfred was three 
 years old, some one gave him a pair of red shoes, which 
 
 1 This street, partially destroyed by the recent embellishments of Paris, 
 is no longer to be recognized. One may get an idea of what it was from 
 other streets in the same quarter, as yet untouched by the hammer, the 
 Rue Galande, for example. 
 
 2
 
 1 8 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 he admired exceedingly. He was being dressed, and 
 was in a great hurry to go forth in the new foot-gear 
 whose color took his eye. He quivered with impatience 
 while his mother combed his long curls, and at last cried 
 out in a tearful voice, "Oh, make haste, mamma, or 
 my new shoes will be old ! " 
 
 We can but laugh at this vivacity, but it was the first 
 symptom of an impatience for pleasure, a disposition to 
 devour the time, which was never calmed nor contradicted 
 for a single day. Here is another in which the child 
 plainly knows what he is talking about. He had com- 
 mitted some peccadillo or other; and his young Aunt 
 Nanine, of whom he was especially fond, told him that, 
 if he did so again, she should not love him any more. 
 
 " You think so," he replied ; " but you can't help it ! " 
 
 " Indeed I can, sir," was the aunt's reply ; and, to give 
 greater effect to her menace, she assumed as stern an 
 air as possible. The child scanned her face carefully 
 and a little uneasily, for a few minutes, until he detected 
 an involuntary smile, when he cried out, " But I can see 
 that you love me ! " 
 
 Some other misdemeanor, graver apparently than the 
 last, had led one day to his being shut up in the dark 
 closet. When I was of -his age, if a like misfortune over- 
 took me, I never budged an inch, but endured my im- 
 prisonment in a transport of pride. He, however, the 
 moment he was shut up, began to bemoan himself as if 
 he had been in carcere duro. 
 
 " Oh, how miserable I am ! " he cried. " How can I 
 have deserved to be punished by so good and loving a 
 mamma ? I must be dreadfully naughty if she is angry
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mtisset. 19 
 
 with me ! How can I make her forgive me ? What a 
 wicked child I am ! It is God who is punishing me." 
 
 He went on for a long while in the same pathetic 
 strain. Finally, his mother, touched by so deep a re- 
 pentance, went and opened the door; whereupon the 
 prisoner, who had never dreamed of such success, cut 
 short his lamentations, and remarked in an indignant 
 and reproachful tone, " Pooh ! you are not very piti- 
 ful !" (attendrissante?) 
 
 Among the recollections of childhood, this word re- 
 mained as a memorable thing, and Alfred himself liked 
 often to quote it. He liked better still to recall another 
 remark, equally childish, but foretelling, to one disposed 
 to heed the indication, the man of imagination. In one 
 of the chambers of our old house there was an immense 
 beam in the ceiling, which the baby regarded with a sort 
 of terror. One day his Aunt Nanine wished to take 
 away from him a very young kitten which he was hold- 
 ing by the head, to the great displeasure of the animal. 
 After clinging long to the little beast, he saw that he 
 should be forcibly deprived of it, and gave it up ; exclaim- 
 ing furiously, however, in the style of Camille's male- 
 diction, " There ! Take your cat ! It will scratch you ; 
 it will tear your gown ; and the beam will fall on your 
 head ; and I shall go and dine at Bagneux." 
 
 At Bagneux, in the summer-time, the whole family 
 used to meet every Sunday at the house of our great-aunt 
 Denoux, a beautiful country seat, where the children 
 enjoyed themselves exceedingly. Mme. Denoux was 
 greatly flattered when she learned that the utmost con- 
 ceivable happiness to her small nephew was going to
 
 2O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 dine with her. Many and many a time since then, when 
 I have wanted to interfere and remonstrate with him, 
 Alfred has answered, "Yes, and the beam will fall on 
 my head, and you will go and dine at Bagneux ! " 
 
 I am guilty of no wanton exaggeration, when I say 
 that his first love dates from the year 1814 ; and this 
 love was none the less intense for being juvenile, 
 although it had subsided into friendship before the days 
 of genuine amours. Alfred was less than four years old 
 when he beheld enter his mother's house one day a young 
 lady, to him unknown. She was from Liege, which had 
 then ceased to belong to France, and she rehearsed the 
 story of the invasion, the counter-strokes of which they 
 felt at Liege, where her father was an imperial magis- 
 trate. The tale was a moving one, and the narrator 
 expressed herself with singular grace. The baby was 
 smitten. From the sofa where he sat surrounded by his 
 playthings, he heard her to the end without a word, 
 when he rose and requested to know the name of the 
 young lady. 
 
 " It is one of your cousins," they told him. " Her 
 name is Clelia." 
 
 " Ah, she belongs to me ! " he cried : " then I will 
 take her and keep her ! " 
 
 He seized her in fact, and made her tell him, not only 
 the story of the invasion and the return to France, but a 
 hundred other tales which she invented to please him, 
 with the most captivating facility. He could not exist 
 without his cousin Clelia. The instant she arrived, he 
 drew her away to a corner, and began, "Now, then, 
 you see " This was the signal for inexhaustible com-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mzisset. 21 
 
 municationsj of which she never tired. Finally, he 
 asked his cousin to marry him, in all seriousness ; and, 
 not being refused, he exacted of her a promise that she 
 would go with him to the Curd just as soon as he was 
 old enough ; after which he considered himself to all 
 intents her husband. Clelia was obliged to return with 
 her parents to the province, and the separation cost 
 floods of tears. The infant's fancy seemed to have all 
 the characteristics of a violent passion. " Do not for- 
 get me ! " he said, when his cousin was taking leave. 
 
 " Forget you," she cried : " why, you don't seem to 
 understand that your name is engraved on my heart 
 with a penknife ! " 
 
 To qualify himself for correspondence with his 
 lady, he flung himself into his reading and writing 
 lessons with inconceivable enthusiasm. When the young 
 maiden actually married a husband of less tender years, 
 it became necessary to make a mystery of it, and to 
 give the hint to some twenty persons. One day some 
 one of them, forgetful of instructions, made some allu- 
 sion to Mme. Moulin, Clelia's new name ; when 
 the child sprang impetuously into the midst of the 
 circle. 
 
 " Whom are you talking about ? " he said. " Who is 
 Mme. Moulin ? " 
 
 " This is she," was the answer, indicating a young lady 
 whom he did not know, and whose presence was most 
 opportune. 
 
 He looked attentively at the person designated, and 
 .then returned to his play. A few days later, our new 
 cousin, M. Moulin, came to see us.
 
 22 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 " I have seen your wife," said Alfred to him. " She 
 isn't bad, but I like mine better." 
 
 The secret was kept in this way for a number of years. 
 At last, when the serious business of education and the 
 interests of school life had changed the current of his 
 ideas, Alfred was informed that it had been impossible 
 for his cousin to wait for marriage until he was old 
 enough to take a wife. After the first shock occasioned 
 by the revelation, he inquired, trembling, whether it were 
 possible that Clelia had been mocking him. When they 
 assured him that she still loved him as an elder sister, 
 his anxiety was allayed. He reflected for a moment, 
 and replied, " Well, I will be content ! " As if he 
 could have understood the difference between a wife 
 and a sister! 
 
 Mme. Moulin lived at Clermont, in Beauvoisis, with 
 her husband and children. We were closely united by 
 community of interests no less than ties of blood. But 
 suddenly, in 1836, there arose a misunderstanding 
 between us. We differed about a matter of business. 
 Sharp letters were exchanged, and there was even talk 
 of a lawsuit. Alfred set off by diligence for Clermont. 
 He entered his cousin's house unannounced : they both 
 burst into tears, and the lawsuit stopped there. From 
 that time forward, our friendship was never interrupted. 
 Alfred had great confidence in the taste and judgment 
 of his Cousin Clelia. She came to Paris in 1852, to be 
 present at his reception by the French Academy, and 
 the very last time he saw her he said to her : " When 
 they get up a gorgeous edition of my works on the 
 thickest of paper, I shall have a copy bound for you in
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 23 
 
 white vellum with a gold band, as an appropriate me- 
 morial of our attachment." 
 
 I need but to recall my own first impressions, in order 
 to understand those of my brother, concerning the great 
 events of 1814 and 1815. More than once we wept 
 together over the misfortunes of our country, without at 
 all comprehending their magnitude. As the elder, I 
 undertook to have political opinions, which my brother 
 trustfully adopted, and I assisted his natural precocity. 
 We were brought up in the admiration of Napoleon, of 
 whom our mother spoke with an eloquence which filled 
 us with enthusiasm. This great figure, which we appre- 
 ciated after our own fashion, represented to us, first of 
 all, the ideal soldier, the warrior, always victorious. Before 
 we understood the quality of his genius, we regarded 
 him as infallible in every respect. 
 
 To us the Emperor was always right. The snows of 
 Russia had conquered him to be sure, but the snows were 
 to blame ; and, sooner than acknowledge an imprudence 
 or mistake in the life of our hero, we would have 
 brought the charge against God himself. Our idolatry 
 did not come quite to this pass, however, because we 
 found plenty of mortals to accuse. One day a sack of 
 grain was brought to our house, and deposited in a 
 corner of the office. The Emperor, they said, was com- 
 ing to defend Paris ; and we must expect the miseries of 
 a besieged city. These precautions amazed us. If the 
 Emperor was coming to the aid of Paris, what was there 
 to fear ? Was it not evident that the enemy could not 
 take it ? But the Emperor did not come. One day our 
 Uncle Desherbiers went off with his gun on his shoulder
 
 24 Biography of Alfred de Mttsset. 
 
 to fight on the defences. That day, there was growling 
 of cannon, and the servants were all in the street listen- 
 ing to the noise of the battle. The sound died away; 
 and our uncle came back, black with powder, his clothes 
 and hair in disarray. A few days later, the name of 
 Marmont flew from mouth to mouth, coupled with a 
 thousand curses. We learned with horror that men 
 existed capable of betraying the Emperor and their 
 country. What the charm of that could be, no one 
 could make us understand. Good Sylvain Rondeau, a 
 stalwart peasant whom our father had taken for a ser- 
 vant, tried vainly to explain it to us ; but the results of 
 treason appeared only too plainly, when we saw the 
 Prussian soldiers setting up their cooking apparatus on 
 the garden-beds of the Luxembourg, and defiling the 
 lake water by washing their shirts in it. On the square 
 of the Odeon, we found the first proclamation of Louis 
 XVIII. The bill was slightly attached, and I sprang at 
 it and tore it down. The prudent Sylvain was obliged 
 to drag me away by force. Discord reigned in our 
 mother's drawing-room : half of our friends had already 
 declared for the new regime, and they quarrelled, tooth 
 and nail. Happily the spring came, and we were taken 
 to our great-aunt Denoux, at Bagneux. 
 
 There were some Hungarian hussars lodged among 
 the servants in the house at Bagneux. One of them, an 
 old subaltern officer, with a fine martial figure, took a 
 fancy to me. The moment he caught sight of me, he 
 would beckon me to approach. I used to put my foot 
 upon the stone bench in the stable, and he would 
 black my boots assiduously. During the process I
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 25 
 
 would say, well knowing that he understood no French, 
 " Black away, you old Cossack ! " 
 
 But the old soldier took us around the garden on 
 horseback with such complaisance that by degrees he 
 won our affection. The day the regiment left, we went 
 to bid our old friend Martin good-by. Before mount- 
 ing, he clasped us in his arms, and great tears rolled 
 down upon his grizzled moustache. Perhaps the good 
 man had left children in his own country, from whom he 
 had parted more sorrowfully even than from us. 
 
 In the month of June of that year, 1814, I was 
 separated from my brother for some days. Our father 
 was looking for a wife for a cousin of his, and our 
 mother had precisely what was required ; namely, a 
 charming young unmarried cousin of her own. This 
 cousin lived at Joinville. I was left with our great- 
 aunt Denoux, while the rest went to Champagne, where 
 the wedding was to take place. On the journey, my 
 brother's blonde head, always at the opening of the 
 post-chaise, attracted the attention of the peasants, who 
 imagined him to be the King of Rome. There was a 
 row in one village where they stopped to change horses, 
 and they escaped with some difficulty from the hands of 
 the Champagners, who were persuaded that they beheld 
 the son of the great exile of Elba. 
 
 Our mother enjoyed, like the Emperor Napoleon, the 
 privilege of infallibility. Our trust in the superiority of 
 her knowledge, and the certainty of her conclusions, was 
 boundless ; and in fact she was very seldom mistaken. 
 One evening, in the winter of 1815, when she was 
 putting me to bed, I heard her, through the open door
 
 26 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 of the children's sleeping-room, pronounce these words, 
 "This cannot last. The Bourbons do nothing but 
 blunder. We shall see the Emperor back again." 
 
 I sprang with one bound to my brother's bed, who was 
 already asleep. I woke him with the tidings that the 
 Emperor was immediately coming back. He asked me 
 how I knew, and when- I told him that our mother had 
 just said so, he had no more doubt about it than I. We 
 awaited the advent of our hero with extreme impatience. 
 Finally, on the twentieth of March, he came ; and the 
 event which astonished the world appeared to us per- 
 fectly natural. 
 
 On the twenty-first of March, Sylvain took us into the 
 garden of the Tuileries. An innumerable multitude 
 blocked the approaches to the palace. The cheers, end- 
 lessly repeated by ten thousand voices, became one con- 
 tinuous sound, so that one could only hear the last syllable 
 eur in an immense murmur. We succeeded in slipping 
 into the crowd, just under the balcony of the pavilion 
 d'Horloge. There the Emperor presently made his 
 appearance, surrounded by his principal officers. He 
 wore the uniform of the dragoons, with white trimmings 
 and riding-boots. His head was bare, and he waddled 
 a little in walking, as though encumbered by his embon- 
 point. I can see, even now, the fat pale face, the 
 Olympian brow, the eyes set like those of a Greek 
 statue, the piercing look which he bent upon the 
 crowd. How unlike he was to the men around him ! 
 What a contrast, in features and expression, to those 
 vulgar types ! It was verily Caesar amid the blind in- 
 struments of his will. Alfred de Musset was then but
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mtisset. 27 
 
 little more than four years old ; but this poetic figure 
 struck him so vividly that he never forgot it. We 
 devoured it with our eyes for the fifteen minutes or 
 so that it posed before us, and then it vanished for 
 ever, leaving an indelible impress upon our childish 
 imaginations, and in our hearts a love that approached 
 fanaticism. 
 
 One day in the month of April we saw defile, under 
 the trees of a boulevard, a band of conscripts and en- 
 listed volunteers. No doubt they had come a long way, 
 and by forced marches. They were exhausted, gasping, 
 and all in tatters. The spectacle was heart-rending. 
 We had decided that Sylvain Rondeau ought to join the 
 army but he was deaf to our appeals, and made great 
 sport of our reproaches. The six months which elapsed 
 after the passage of the troops appeared so long a time 
 to us, that we began, for very weariness, to interest our- 
 selves in something beside the war. One morning our 
 mother came out of her chamber in a flood of tears, and 
 rent by agonizing sobs. We followed her to our father's 
 study, weeping and wailing too. It was thus that the 
 news of the Waterloo disaster spread through the house. 
 I can hear the clamor of the women now. A little 
 while after came two Prussian officers with their ticket 
 entitling them to quarters. Two rooms had been pre- 
 pared for them on the second floor. They wanted to 
 see the drawing-room. Our mother came out upon the 
 staircase, closing the door behind her, and assured them 
 that they could not be admitted there. One of the 
 officers then attempted to snatch the key from her ; but 
 she flung it out of the window into the court, and
 
 28 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 declined to be intimidated by their threats and their 
 oaths. Our father entered in the midst of the alterca- 
 tion, took the Prussians back to their head-quarters, 
 and returned with two other officers of a more placable 
 temper. 
 
 Every evening the discussions between our parents 
 and our friends were renewed with more animation than 
 ever. My brother and I could not comprehend these 
 differences of opinion. All that was said about the 
 constitutional rights of the peers, and the claim of the 
 legitimate princes to the throne, was Hebrew to us. 
 It was unanimously decided in our own little councils 
 that we would remain true to our Emperor, that our 
 swords and our life-blood belonged to him alone, and 
 that he would certainly come back one day and require 
 them of us, and lead us to Vienna and Berlin as he 
 had done our fathers. Until a new miracle like the 
 return from Elba should come and restore to us the 
 object of our worship, we bade a temporary farewell 
 to politics. 
 
 Of the year 1816 we preserved only the memory of 
 an intolerable imprisonment, occasioned by the continu- 
 ous rains. Our cook Eulalie laid the blame of the bad 
 weather and the destruction of the crops to the return 
 of the Bourbons, which seemed to us an incontrovertible 
 position, and strengthened us in our hopes of a better 
 future. However, in the next year, I was sent to a 
 boarding-school, where my brother came only in the 
 morning as a day pupil, and returned home at night. 
 Upon the narrow stage of that school, with its hundred 
 pupils, appeared all the political passions by which
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 29 
 
 France was then torn. There were royalists, liberals, 
 hypocrites, and informers. The first held their heads 
 high, and the local government, that is to say the head 
 of the institution, showed them a marked partiality. 
 They had all sorts of privileges, places of honor among 
 the rest, awarded, not for good lessons or good conduct, 
 but for the political and religious views which they 
 paraded. The most exalted of these young extremists 
 sat at a separate table in the recess of a walled-up door, 
 where there was a gorgeous blue paper covered with 
 gold fleurs-de-lis. We would not for the world have 
 aspired to the privileges of this class, and our indiffer- 
 ence in this matter caused us to be classed, by our 
 orthodox comrades, among the lukewarm and suspects. 
 This unpleasant position attracted to us affronts, injuries, 
 and persecutions. Happily, the preceptor supposed us 
 more devoted to the existing order of things than we 
 really were, and his protection saved us some ill treat- 
 ment. But, fifteen years later, Alfred found in the rem- 
 iniscences of this period the germ of his " Confession d'un 
 Enfant du Siecle." My sorrowful estate as a constant 
 boarder rendered this life of constraint and suspicion a 
 great deal more painful to me than it was to my brother. 
 I could not understand how my mother could leave 
 me so far away: I even doubted her tenderness, and 
 became desperate. When it came time to resume 
 the yoke, after vacation, I would gladly have died. 
 Happily I came home one day with scarlet fever, and 
 my brother took it. There was no more question of 
 banishing us from the paternal roof, and we had a 
 tutor.
 
 3O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 It was during our convalescence that Alfred was in- 
 formed of the marriage of his cousin Clelia. To console 
 the young swain for the loss of his bride, and to supply 
 the place of the charming stories which she used to im- 
 provise for his amusement, we had recourse to books. 
 We devoured together all the Persian and Arabian tales 
 on which we could lay our hands : the " Thousand and 
 One Days," the " Thousand and One Nights," and the 
 sequel by Calotte. Our appetite for the marvellous 
 was not satisfied by reading these tales a thousand 
 times : we wished to act them as comedies. 
 
 We therefore built, in the first place, an oriental 
 edifice, approached by a spiral staircase of at least 
 twenty steps, the lowest of which was a music-book, and 
 the uppermost a writing-desk. The door was a folio 
 volume which was made to turn on its hinges by means 
 of a cord passed through the loose binding at the back. 
 We descended into the interior of this labyrinth by 
 means of a ladder of upholstery, disguised by fanciful 
 architectural ornaments. The other outlet of this mon- 
 ument could be used for exits, but not for entrances. It 
 was a long plank smeared with wax sloping steeply to a 
 mattress, down upon which we slid, and whereby we 
 executed precipitate flights, effective aerial voyages, and 
 the sudden apparition of the genie with the wonderful 
 lamp. This construction represented by turns the 
 palace of the Calif Haroun, and that of the noble 
 Aboul-Kasem, the cave with the bronze gate, the grotto 
 of Ali-Baba, &c. 
 
 Our play-hours were presently insufficient for enjoy- 
 ments so keen, and in vain did our tutor take us off to
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset, 3 1 
 
 study. He could not withdraw us from the fantastic 
 realms where we were living. The play went on all 
 through our lessons, despite reprimands and punish- 
 ments. We had talismans hidden in our pockets, and 
 the red ring of Maugraby came out of our sleeves the 
 minute our teacher's back was turned. In the evening, 
 in our mother's drawing-room, we transformed into all 
 sorts of animals the people who had not the good fortune 
 to please us ; and, when we were sent to bed, we slept the 
 sleep of Abou-Hassan, the better to play next morning 
 the tale of the " Sleeper Awakened." 
 
 These amusements lasted throughout the year 1818. 
 We were then living in the Rue Casette, in a house 
 belonging to the Baroness Gobert, widow of a general 
 who had died gloriously under the empire. Her son, 
 the sole survivor of eight children, was of a silent and 
 melancholy turn, and a request came that he might be 
 allowed to join our fairy performances. Le'on Gobert 
 was a singular child, with a big head and a voice like a 
 man's, and I did not then remember ever to have seen 
 him laugh. He was just half way between Alfred and 
 myself in age, being two years older than my brother. 
 We considered him an excellent recruit for our company. 
 He was carping and difficult at first ; but by and by he 
 came to like it, and caught our oriental fever. The 
 baroness, always absorbed in the health of her son, gave 
 up to us her drawing-room, where a frightful disorder 
 soon prevailed. At the end of a month, our new com- 
 panion was no longer the same child. His bright face, 
 his energy, his liveliness, confounded the physician who 
 had thought him the victim of an incurable malady. It
 
 32 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 is certain that Le'on Gobert passed without accident the 
 age at which his brothers and sisters had been taken 
 away. He survived his mother, and died in Egypt by 
 his own imprudence, after having established a his- 
 torical prize which furnished a life-annuity to Augustin 
 Thierry.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 33 
 
 II. 
 
 r ["HE Baroness Gobert was so grateful for her son's 
 -*- restoration to life, that she was anxious to do us 
 as great a favor as we had done her. She positively 
 insisted on lending to our parents her estate of the 
 Clignets, situated on the road to Viarmes, very near the 
 forest of Carnelle. The house, which had been unoccu- 
 pied and closed for many years, was queerly arranged 
 and somewhat dilapidated. Outside, it looked like the 
 fragment of some ruined convent, with its narrow and 
 irregular windows. Buttresses sustained the walls, from 
 which the stucco had fallen ; and in the evening we could 
 see the rats and dormice scudding along by moonlight. 
 Inside, there were some ten principal rooms, of which 
 three or four were habitable, and in these were collected 
 the best pieces of the worm-eaten furniture. In the gar- 
 den, which had been laid out in the English fashion, 
 with winding walks, old trees, and dense thickets, we 
 were delighted to observe a rampart-like terrace, a long 
 alley bordered by cherry-trees laden with fruit, and a 
 mound of artificial rock -work, which might have been 
 erected by the decorative artist of our oriental comedies. 
 This hillock came near occasioning a serious accident. 
 In climbing upon it, Alfred laid hold of a rock, which 
 became loosened, and rolled with him to the bottom. I 
 thought he was dead ; but he came off with a contusion 
 of the leg, and a few bruises on his hands. The Due 
 
 3
 
 34 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 de Bourbon was not so fortunate. In one of our ex- 
 cursions in the great forest of Carnelle, we were follow- 
 ing the chase at full speed. All at once, we heard a 
 strange noise in the copse, and what seemed a black 
 flying mass went by us, grazing the earth. It was the 
 boar. He flung himself upon a rearing horse, who fell 
 with his rider. The swooning prince was lifted up. He 
 had several dangerous wounds, and was long confined to 
 his bed ; but recovered at last, and was reserved for 
 a more terrible death behind closed doors. 
 
 Our residence at Clignets permitted us to display our 
 enterprising temper upon a broader stage. Dr. Espar- 
 ron had said to our mother, "What children need is 
 sun, air, and exercise." We were given loose rein, there- 
 fore, and made ample use of our liberty. Our greatest 
 delight was to propose some difficult expedition : like 
 making the circuit of the garden on the top of the wall ; 
 or climbing a tree as far as some branch particularly 
 designated ; or taking a bee-line from one point to 
 another, turning aside neither for hedges nor ditches. 
 Our tutor, who was twenty-five, sometimes accepted our 
 challenges. That was a happy day when he retreated 
 before a pool of water, which his pupils leaped by means 
 of poles. Our tutor was, however, an excellent man, 
 accomplished without pedantry, who found means to 
 teach us something even while he played with us. Our 
 history lesson was given during our walk. He under- 
 stood Italian, and we learned it orally. In certain 
 hours, we were forbidden to speak French ; and, when 
 we did not know the Italian word, the master would 
 hand us his pocket-dictionary. As for geography, he
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 35 
 
 made that study most agreeable by introducing stories of 
 celebrated travellers ; and Magellan, Vasco de Gama, 
 and Captain Cook, took their turn in our fictions. 
 The two years devoted to us by this excellent instructor 
 were, to say the least, much pleasanter and more profit- 
 able than our school-years. His name was Bouvrain. 
 
 The farm of the Clignets lay alongside the mansion. 
 The farmer, M. Piedeleu, was six feet high, with the shoul- 
 ders of Atlas, although a little bent by age. His wife, who 
 was but a few inches shorter than himself, looked like a 
 giantess ; and, when they went to mass on Sunday with 
 their sons around them, they looked like a family from 
 Brobdignag. The first time that we penetrated the farm 
 limits, it was one evening after dinner, one of the 
 Piedeleu sons had by the horns a vicious young cow 
 who wanted to get away, and was pushing her back- 
 wards into the stable. Two other boys were unbending 
 after the labors of the day, by standing on its end a 
 long stone of enormous weight, which served them for a 
 bench. The father was contemplating with folded arms 
 a new wheel which had just been put to his cart, and 
 the mother and youngest girl were preparing supper. 
 Nothing is so admirable to children as physical strength. 
 The interior of the farm-yard and the assemblage of 
 colossi impressed themselves so deeply upon the 
 memory of the eight-year-old scholar, that they were 
 afterwards faithfully reproduced in the little story of 
 " Margot." 
 
 These Piede'leus, good folk as they were, did us an ill 
 turn. They had built a huge hay-rick in the middle of 
 the court-yard, and we discerned in the rick a small
 
 36 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 opening, a few feet above the ground, whence protruded 
 the head of a cat. We started in pursuit of the animal, 
 who came out on the other side of the rick by an 
 interior passage. Enchanted by our discovery, we never 
 went to the farm again without crossing the hay-rick by 
 the cat's passage. One day two of the Piedeleu boys 
 lay in wait for us, 'and seized the moment when we were 
 in the centre of the gallery to stuff the two orifices 
 with bundles of hay. To struggle with the colossi 
 would have been useless. We thought of nothing but 
 clearing a new passage at the side of the obstacle which 
 opposed us. In a moment the air was exhausted, and I 
 felt that we should be stifled. At last I succeeded by 
 frantic efforts in clearing an opening, out of which I 
 burst head-foremost upon the pavement of the court, 
 crying to the peasants to save my brother. Most fortu- 
 nately, he was directly behind, and came out by the same 
 way as myself ; for those good giants never budged, and 
 only laughed at my- fiery face and protruding eyes. 
 When our tutor told them that if their fun had lasted 
 five minutes longer we should have been suffocated, 
 they asked what that was ; nor could they ever be made 
 to understand that there was any danger in being 
 smothered with hay. 
 
 The Piedeleus also caused us another mischance. 
 There was a great dove-cot at the farm, and the pigeons 
 used to swoop down into the garden and upon the terrace 
 of the mansion. One of these birds, less shy than the 
 rest, honored us with his friendship. We used to give 
 him grain, which he learned to take out of our very 
 hands. One day a cook, from the village of Saint
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 37 
 
 Martin du Tertre, bought two pairs of pigeons, and be- 
 sought the farmer's wife to kill him some more. When 
 the tidings reached us, the massacre had already begun. 
 We rushed to the farm, trembling lest we should recog- 
 nize our friend among the victims. Unfortunately, our 
 mother also arrived during the execution ; and, when she 
 saw us eagerly watching the strangled birds and the 
 bloody hands of Mme. Piede'leu, she thought we were 
 enjoying the disgusting spectacle : her indignation was 
 equal to her grief, and she overwhelmed us with re- 
 proaches. I may as well confess here that my disposi- 
 tion was different from my brother's, and that his was 
 the better. He wanted to justify himself ; but I held 
 back, and whispered to him to be silent. It was the 
 injustice that I resented, and I repelled the notion of 
 self-defence as a fresh outrage. My brother did not 
 share this feeling ; but he respected it, and we both kept 
 silence. Again and again, he asked me if it were not 
 time to explain that great affair of the pigeons, and my 
 answer was, " Not yet. We will see by and by." By 
 and by he forgot all about it, and left to me alone the 
 duty of arranging the vindication of our innocence. 
 But we were men before the misunderstanding was 
 removed. 
 
 The fogs and chill of November drove us from the 
 country. Once more in our apartment at the Rue 
 Casette, we were like wild plants in a hot-bed. Alfred 
 had attacks of frenzy from the want of fresh air and 
 space, very like those which are said to attend chlorosis 
 in young girls. In one day he broke one of the draw- 
 ing-room mirrors with an ivory ball, cut the new curtains
 
 38 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 with the scissors, and stuck an immense red wafer on 
 the map of Europe, in the middle of the Mediterranean 
 Sea. He got no reprimand for these disasters, because 
 he appeared himself to regard them with consternation. 
 It was I who undertook to keep them in his remem- 
 brance. When in our confabulations he asked my 
 opinion about any thing which I did not approve, I used 
 to say to him, " The glass is broken, but no matter ; 
 only try not to cut the curtains and stick wafers on the 
 Mediterranean Sea." The reminder always made him 
 laugh, and he heard me out with patience. 
 
 Among the books of our Grandfather Desherbiers, I 
 found one day the " Legend of the Four Sons." 
 
 The perusal thereof plunged me into a deep reverie. 
 Anew world opened before me, the world of chivalry. 
 At the first word of it to my brother, he took fire. We 
 cried aloud for romances. They gave us " Jerusalem 
 Delivered," and we made but one mouthful of it. We 
 must have "Orlando Furioso," and then "Amadis," 
 " Pierre of Provence," and " Gerard of Nevers," &c. We 
 were on the look-out for combats, deeds of prowess, and 
 great feats with the lance and sword. Of the love-scenes 
 we made little account, and when the Paladins began to 
 bill and coo we were wont to turn the page. Our imagina- 
 tions presently teemed with adventures. We rated far 
 above the rest the heroes who owed their success to their 
 own personal valor. For this reason, Renaud de Montau- 
 ban bore off the palm from all his rivals, and became the 
 type of an accomplished chevalier. All these fabulous 
 people were weighed in our righteous balance, and re- 
 ceived a rank in accordance with their merit, and each
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 39 
 
 one was included in a category. Renaud alone could 
 not be classified. From Charlemagne to Maugis, and 
 Huon de Bordeaux, no one was forgotten. If the great 
 Don Quixote himself could have been present at our 
 deliberations, he would have approved our conscientious 
 impartiality, and I do not hesitate to say that his High- 
 ness would have confirmed most of our judgments. 
 
 This labor of classification once completed, we felt 
 our minds relieved, and resumed our dramatic represen- 
 tations. Le'on Gobert played his parts admirably, and 
 the character which he personated best was that of Ro- 
 land. From the moment of entering the lists, he laid 
 about him with positive fury. Alfred, as the weakest, 
 was privileged to wield the enchanted lance, which un- 
 seated, by magic, the strongest and boldest knights. 
 Whoever was touched by that was bound to fall, and 
 thus an equality was maintained among the combatants. 
 But our passion for chivalry put the patience of our 
 tutor to a severe trial. Too often, instead of listening 
 to him, we were prancing through the forest of Ardennes. 
 He was quite right to be angry, but we were incorrigible. 
 To avoid his penalties we invented a diabolical ruse. 
 On each page of Noel's Latin Dictionary was inscribed 
 the name of a cavalier. Whoever had a word to look 
 out in the dictionary must assume th'e character whose 
 name he found on the page containing the Latin word. 
 The name of the braver of two knights caused the 
 pupil who got it to score one, that of the inferior 
 knight lost one to the other ; and thus, under the pretext 
 of Latin translation, our game went on under the mas- 
 ter's very nose. One day our good M. Bouvrain was
 
 4O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 himself looking in the dictionary, and chanced upon the 
 name of the traitor Ganelon ; whereupon, his two pupils 
 burst into a laugh as silly as that of Nicole in the 
 " Bourgeois Gentilhomme." 
 
 I should not dwell on these trifles, if I did not think 
 that they suggest subjects for reflection to those who 
 are devoted to the thankless calling of the teacher. 
 Instead of making war on our infatuation for the heroes 
 of chivalry, why might they not have turned our school- 
 boy passion to good account in our education ? All that 
 was needed was to offer to our starved imaginations a 
 better diet. Would it not have been possible, by a little 
 tact and indulgence, to substitute the heroes of Plutarch 
 for those of the Bibliotheque bleue ? Our enthusiasm would 
 have fastened upon Themistocles or Paulus Emilius, 
 and we should have condemned the bad faith of Lysan- 
 der no less severely than the perfidy of Ganelon. But 
 it costs a great effort to study the characters, tastes, and 
 instincts of children ; and I can well understand that it 
 is more convenient to treat them all alike. 
 
 The year 1819 was distinguished in our memories by 
 the important episode of a journey to Brittany. After 
 staying a month in the little town of Fougeres, where 
 Uncle Desherbiers was sub-prefect, we went to Rennes 
 to visit a friend of our father. The artillery regiment 
 quartered in the town afforded the inhabitants the spec- 
 tacle of a polygon by night. On the day succeeding 
 the celebration, there was a party at the house of our 
 host, and several artillery officers were present. The 
 colonel's son, who professed to know how to draw, 
 sketched upon a sheet of paper some mortars and can-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 41 
 
 non ; and, to represent the curve described by a bomb- 
 shell, he naively traced some regular semicircles. 
 
 "That is wrong," said Alfred. "The bomb is fired in 
 a straight line, and then, as it loses its force, it changes 
 its direction little by little, until the weight of it brings 
 it down to the ground. And it doesn't go in a circle, 
 but in a line that is curved in the middle and straight 
 at both ends." 
 
 And he took the pen and drew some parabolas on the 
 paper. The colonel's son, trained in the artillery, was 
 vain and obstinate enough to defend his own work. 
 But an officer to whom they appealed as umpire looked 
 with amazement on the babe who had solved a problem 
 in statics, and did not fail to assure our mother that her 
 infant phenomenon would one day be a great mathema- 
 tician. He was mistaken. Alfred had no taste for the 
 exact sciences ; but he had a correct eye, and could tell 
 what he saw. 
 
 We had been promised a sight of the ocean ; and our 
 host took us in a carriage to Dinan, where we embarked 
 with other passengers upon a river which empties into 
 the bay of Saint Servan. A violent storm broke upon 
 us at nightfall, just as we were out on the open sea. A 
 squall struck our bark and snapped the mast, and 
 whirled away into the air the shako of a soldier. The 
 passengers set up a doleful wail, and the captain lost 
 his head. Fortunately, a large fishing-craft, just enter- 
 ing port, overhauled us off Cape Malo, where we arrived 
 damp and chilled, but enchanted at having made the 
 ocean's acquaintance through the medium of a slight 
 shipwreck.
 
 42 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 On our return to Paris, in the early days of October, 
 our tutor expressed a wish to leave j and the man who 
 applied for the place was an ass who affected fashion, 
 but whose ignorance soon became manifest. Our father 
 thought a public education the only suitable one for 
 boys, and he placed me in an institution. My brother 
 remained at home and attended classes as a day-scholar 
 in the college of Henry IV. He was but nine years 
 old, but they thought him fit to enter the sixth form, 
 which proves that good M. Bouvrain's lessons had not 
 been so bad. On the day that he entered school, the 
 spoiled child was greeted by the hootings of his com- 
 panions. He had imprudently been allowed to retain 
 his beautiful light curls, and a scalloped collar turned 
 down upon his shoulders. He came home weeping, and 
 insisted on having his hair cut at once. But, though he 
 took this experience tragically, it was one of those mor- 
 tifications which help to mould the character. It is 
 altogether wholesome to come in contact with ridicule 
 and ill-nature, when one is released from the maternal 
 apron-string. We cannot learn too early to defend our- 
 selves, and not to rely on the indulgence of others. 
 This lesson, however, was followed by a far more cruel 
 test, such as few have undergone at so tender an age. 
 
 Alfred early took a high rank in composition, and 
 was noticed by the professor. The head of a large in- 
 stitution, where the course was very severe, wanted to 
 take him gratuitously into his own house, declaring that 
 he would be responsible for the boy's obtaining prizes at 
 the general competition. Our mother rejected the offer 
 decisively, fearing that her son's health wouM be sacri-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 43 
 
 ficed to the reputation of the establishment. She never 
 repented her prudence. There was no need to stimulate 
 Alfred's ambition ; and, without working very hard, he 
 was sufficiently successful. Once, when he was not as- 
 signed a place on the seat of honor, he was so aggrieved 
 as to be almost inconsolable. He nearly cried his eyes 
 out, and was afraid to be seen ; but, when he found that 
 he was welcomed even more tenderly than usual, he re- 
 alized, with a rapture which he never forgot, that he was 
 yet nearer to his mother's heart than he had supposed. 
 On the other hand, he was the smallest member of his 
 class ; and a ferocious hatred was excited among the baser 
 sort of his fellow-pupils against the little blond who was 
 always at the head, and whom the professor set above 
 the rest. The laziest formed among themselves an 
 offensive league against him ; and every day, when he 
 came out of the college-building, the model pupil was 
 saluted with a shower of blows. They chased him into 
 the very arms of the servant who waited for him at the 
 gate ; and the court-yard being a large one, he arrived 
 very ill-used, his clothes in disorder, and sometimes 
 even with blood upon his face. The conspiracy lasted 
 for more than a month, and all that while the poor child 
 had to contend against the base passion of envy, under 
 its most brutal and cynical form ; so that he learned in 
 his very infancy that the vulgar do not bear themselves 
 toward superior men as they do toward the rest of the 
 world. It was Ldon Gobert who brought this infamous 
 persecution to an end. He attended the school for 
 history lessons only. One day, seeing his friend fall 
 into one of these ambuscades, he flung himself into the
 
 44 Biography of Alfred de MILS set. 
 
 melee like a young lion, and dealt such terrific whacks 
 on all sides that envy succumbed, and the league was 
 dissolved for ever. 
 
 After my brother and I were separated, I saw him 
 only on Sundays. On that day we returned to our 
 chivalric romances ; but whether or no the cares of real 
 life had shaken our faith and cooled our enthusiasm, 
 it is certain that we did not bring to our make-believe 
 the same ardor as heretofore. One day Alfred asked 
 me seriously what I thought of magic, and particularly 
 of the enchanter Merlin. I was obliged to allow that 
 those stories were probably all made up by poets, and 
 other ingenious writers ; that the wonderful adventures 
 of Roland were fables, and that Merlin had never en- 
 chanted anybody. 
 
 "What a pity!" said Alfred, with a sigh. "But even 
 if you can't make yourself invisible, or go in a flash 
 from one place to another, or have a genie at your beck, 
 there is nothing to hinder your making secret staircases 
 in a thick wall, or having a hidden door in a wainscot 
 panel, which will open by pushing a spring, if not by 
 saying magic words." 
 
 I told him that I firmly believed in hidden staircases 
 and secret doors. 
 
 " Well, then, what are we thinking about ? " he cried. 
 "We have lived in this house several years, and how 
 do we know that there isn't, even here, some mysterious 
 passage or other, or some way of going from one story 
 to another through the inside of the walls ? " 
 
 But a searching examination convinced us of the 
 mournful truth that there was no mysterious outlet to
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 45 
 
 our house. When I saw how disappointed my brother 
 was, I wanted to afford him one moment of illusion. 
 The dwelling of the Baroness Gobert had only a ground- 
 floor and two stories. 1 We occupied the second ; and 
 we had, besides, a large kitchen under the roof, and two 
 servants' rooms which looked into the gutter. At the 
 risk of breaking my neck, I climbed by this gutter from 
 one chamber to the other. The maid-servant had in- 
 serted in the wood-work a gilded copper hook with 
 a screw, to hang her watch upon. I decided that this 
 hook should be the key of a hinged panel ; and I pom- 
 pously informed my brother that there was a secret pas- 
 sage in the partition between the two attics. The news 
 excited him so much that he turned pale with joy. Be- 
 fore unfolding to him the mystery, I required him to 
 allow me to make the transit without seeing how I did 
 it. We mounted to the attic. He shut his eyes and 
 stopped his ears with all the simplicity and good faith 
 of a true believer. I slid noiselessly along the gutter. 
 When he heard me call him from the next room, his sur- 
 prise was extreme. The idea did not occur to him to 
 open his eyes and watch me, for he shrank from finding 
 himself face to face with the flat reality. He wished, 
 however, to traverse the wall for himself; and, under 
 my directions, he turned the copper key eleven times 
 one way, and thirteen the other ; and I know not how 
 many more times from right to left, and left to right. 
 He stayed there half an hour, thinking that he had 
 made some mistake. At last I revealed my stratagem, 
 
 i This house, No. 27 Rue Casette, has recently had another story 
 added.
 
 46 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 and the magic was dispelled. Alfred thanked me for 
 the deception as for a delicate attention ; but he felt the 
 illusion to have been too early lost. He promised 
 himself the pleasure of playing the same trick on our 
 neighbor Ldon Gobert ; but that youth had no faith, 
 He made haste to open his eyes and dart at the gutter, 
 so that the trick was not even played out. 
 
 The adventure of the secret door was just before the 
 first of January. Whether by chance, or intentionally, 
 our parents gave us for our New Year's present the Don 
 Quixote of Cervantes, and that charming work dealt the 
 last blow to our demoralized taste for chivalry. We saw 
 more clearly than more rational readers that the work 
 of Cervantes is full of wisdom, moderation, and good 
 sense ; that it is calculated to clear the mind of extrava- 
 gant and ridiculous rubbish ; and that it hits precisely, 
 without overpassing, the end at which the author aims, 
 namely, as Cervantes himself says, to hold up to the 
 contempt of mankind a false and absurd school of litera- 
 ture. So ended, in Alfred de Musset's childhood, the 
 era of the marvellous and the impossible ; a sort of erup- 
 tion which his imagination had to undergo, a malady 
 without danger for him, since he recovered from it at an 
 age at which others are barely attacked ; and all the 
 traces it left were a poetic and generous element, a cer- 
 tain inclination to look at life as a romance, a child-like 
 curiosity, and a sort of admiration for the unexpected, 
 for concatenations of events and the caprices of chance. 
 This slightly fatalistic tendency may be recognized in 
 his novels and comedies, especially in the characters to 
 which he lends his own views and feelings.
 
 Biography of Alfred de M^tsset. 47 
 
 III. 
 
 T~jX)R those unfortunates who go to school, the year 
 * is reduced to the six weeks of vacation : the rest is 
 but a series of insipid days during which one flounders 
 in Latin, with one's elbows on a desk, and when it would 
 not be worth while to live, were it not conceded that 
 there is no other way of becoming a man. Alfred de 
 Musset was too conscientious in his work, too desirous 
 of success, and too much afraid of failure, not to be 
 perpetually agitated and unhappy during the period of 
 his classical studies. A low rank was his despair. If 
 he had not been able to commit his lesson to the very 
 last word, he set forth for the college trembling with 
 apprehension. He was pursued by remorse for even 
 the slightest failures, and always thought himself to 
 blame. At the beginning of every school year, he was 
 greatly exercised about the change of professors. We 
 learn from one who was especially interested in him that 
 he made one leap from the sixth to the fourth form, and 
 even then bore off the first prize at the end of the year. 
 He thoroughly corrected his timidity afterwards, but 
 never overcame his tendency to nervous anxiety. 
 
 In the vacation of the year 1822, our father decided 
 to take us to see his old friends in the vicinity of Ven- 
 dome, most of whom were unknown to us. At Char- 
 tres, a burlesque reception had been prepared for us. 
 We descended from the diligence in the midst of a group
 
 48 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 of peasants, who were apparently stupefied with amaze- 
 ment when they recognized Monsieur de Pathay. They 
 asked if the two striplings who accompanied him were 
 his sons, and addressed us with quirks and puns which 
 we did not at all know how to take. But M. de Pathay, 
 more acute than Pourceaugnac, recognized all the mum- 
 mers, one after another, except one wet-nurse, very lo- 
 quacious and diabolically mischievous. It was a woman 
 who had been a young girl when he left, and whom he 
 found the mother of a family at the end of a dozen 
 years. We regarded this merry company with amaze- 
 ment; but they all played their parts wonderfully well, 
 and we retained a high opinion of the wit and liveliness 
 of the people of Chartres. 
 
 At Vendome a less amusing reception awaited us. 
 Although the day and hour of our arrival had been an- 
 nounced to our old aunt the Canoness de Musset, she 
 professed not to have expected us. Her little house in 
 the faubourg Saint Bienheure', with a tiny garden en- 
 closed by a branch of the river, was very like those chill 
 and silent interiors which Balzac loved to describe. 
 There was an odor about it of penurious antiquity ; and 
 the shutters, perpetually closed, defended the mould 
 and saltpetre on the walls from the sunlight. Three 
 dogs one a hideous pug replied to our pull at the 
 bell by inappeasable barkings. The mistress of the 
 house received us grimly. The breakfast, for which we 
 waited long, was so meagre that the good lady was 
 ashamed of it; and she condescended to add a cluster of 
 grapes, as sour as vinegar, which she plucked from the 
 trellis. During this light repast, she gave us clearly to
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 49 
 
 understand that she could have dispensed with our visit. 
 At intervals the brother and sister became red with 
 anger. They exchanged a few flings and parted coldly. 
 In 1830, when the noise occasioned by the publication 
 of the " Contes d'Espagne " had penetrated even that 
 moist retreat, the canoness consoled herself by a reproach- 
 ful letter. She had always blamed her brother for his 
 excessive love of literature ; but it was the extreme of 
 humiliation to have a poet for a nephew. She disowned 
 and disinherited the males of our family, on account of 
 the disgrace. 
 
 A few days of freedom under the old trees of Bonne- 
 aventure effaced the painful impression made by our 
 visit to the canoness. The remainder of the vacation 
 was divided between the little Chateau de Musset where 
 was then living a cousin of ours, who was also a devoted 
 friend and the ancient manor-house of Cogners, the 
 hereditary seat of the head of the family. Cogners, 
 elevated to a marquisate, during the regency of Anne of 
 Austria, was a feudal castle, which derived, from certain 
 large additions made in the seventeenth century, a char- 
 acter at once picturesque and majestic. The great 
 winding stone staircase is a blemish to both stories. The 
 modern portion, where the state apartments are, con- 
 tains immense rooms, with windows of an extravagant 
 height. In the old part, the rooms are irregular in shape, 
 the doors narrow, the windows have deep seats. Be- 
 tween the two layers of a double floor in one of the 
 chambers a secret retreat had been contrived, ap- 
 proached by a trap-door, concealed under a huge, high- 
 posted, canopied bed. Women and priests had sought 
 
 4
 
 $O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 refuge there during the storms of the Revolution. One 
 of our fondest dreams was suddenly realized ; but 
 rather late, as often happens in this life. Great was 
 Alfred's joy at being permitted to inhabit this chamber. 
 Despite the fatigue of a day of travel, he could scarcely 
 sleep for impatience to open the trap-door. He woke 
 me at day-break, and we went down into the mysterious 
 entresol. The room was low, but perfectly habitable. 
 We came back covered with spiders'-webs, and when we 
 discovered the subject of the fine tapestry which adorned 
 our room to be Don Quixote taking the barber's tin 
 dish for the helmet of Mambrino, we could not help 
 laughing at our expedition. 
 
 Every thing, however, at the Chateau of Cogners, even 
 the hospitable and patriarchal manners of the inhabi- 
 tants, reminded us of by-gone times. We dined at two 
 o'clock, and had supper at eight. The traveller, citre:, 
 physician, or military man who happened to be crossing 
 the country, was sure of a plate at table, and room in 
 the stables for his horse. In the evening, we gathered 
 in a vast hall on the ground-floor, very dimly lighted in 
 the far corners by a candelabrum with two arms, placed 
 on a large stand in the centre. When one passed near 
 the table, a gigantic shadow was projected upon the 
 walls. While we waited for supper, the lord of the 
 manor read aloud the lesson for the day. He declaimed 
 certain passages with a solemnity truly comic, and never 
 failed to take off his cap, when he came to the titles of 
 Monseigneur the Dauphin, and her Royal Highness, 
 Madame. It was no satire on the personages named, but 
 merely his way of testifying his contempt for the new
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 51 
 
 power of the press, the importance of which he had not 
 learned to understand as an organ of public opinion. 
 The Marquis de Musset had been a member of the 
 Chamber of Deputies for 1814. His son served in the 
 king's body-guard, and his son-in-law in the guards of 
 Monsieur. He had himself served under the old regime. 
 At the age of eighteen, being then an officer in an 
 Auvergne regiment, his fine bearing attracted the at- 
 tention of Louis XV., who made him step out of the 
 ranks that he might examine him more closely. His 
 grand-nephews could only admire in him the graces of 
 old age ; but he was straight as a candle, and had a com- 
 plexion of singular freshness, prominent eyes, an aqui- 
 line nose, and very handsome legs. He held his head 
 high when he walked, and flung his feet forward, as if 
 making his entree into the royal drawing-room. His 
 grand air, his correct language, and the fund of old 
 stories which he told so well, inspired us with a mixt- 
 ure of curiosity and respect. 
 
 The marquis had had in his life one deep grief, ag- 
 gravated by remorse, of which he never spoke, although 
 time and religion had consoled him. He had lost by 
 his own fault an eldest son of great promise. I remem- 
 ber that the subject was always avoided in the family 
 when the children were present ; still we had heard 
 vague mention of our cousin One'sime, his fine parts 
 and pleasant disposition. Later, I learned the story of 
 his tragical death. His father had conceived the unfor- 
 tunate idea of placing him, at fifteen, in the Institution 
 Liotard, where more attention was paid to the religious 
 sentiments of the pupils than to their intellectual de-
 
 52 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 velopment. One'sime fancied that he was destined for 
 the clerical profession, toward which he felt an invinci- 
 ble repugnance. He imparted his fears to my father, 
 and besought him to intercede with the marquis and 
 induce him to explain his intentions. On his own part, 
 also, the youth wrote letter after letter ; but he received 
 only stern replies, and never the explanation which he 
 desired. The father, buried in his province, did not at 
 all comprehend the danger of these vague monitions. 
 He saw, in the prayers and entreaties of his son, only a 
 lack of submission. Onesime, never doubting that he 
 was to be made a priest, penned a last desperate letter. 
 The marquis was moved ; but he decided on principle 
 to make one more display, at least in words, of the rigor 
 of paternal authority. In a reply more severe than those 
 which had preceded it, he offered no explanation ; but 
 exacted a blind obedience. The fatal letter was hardly 
 in the post-office, before the father, as though he had 
 divined the consequences of his answer, set off in haste 
 from Cogners for Paris, determined to withdraw his boy 
 from the Institution Liotard. He arrived on the even- 
 ing of the day when One'sime had committed suicide. 
 
 Our aged aunt, who was as devotedly pious as her 
 husband, had in the end consoled herself as well as him 
 for this terrible misfortune. She was an excellent lady, 
 a genuine figure of the past, with very slight knowledge 
 of the world, for she had never left her father's chateau 
 when she removed on her wedding-day to that of Cogners, 
 whence she never stirred. Her eldest daughter, who had 
 not married, devoted herself to charity on a great scale. 
 She had a kitchen and a dispensary for her paupers,
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 53 
 
 and read as many medical books as the parish doctor. 
 She was often sent for in the middle of the night. At 
 all hours and in all weathers, she would set forth, with 
 her bundle under her arm, to carry aid to the sick. 
 Neither fatigue nor failing health could stay her zeal for 
 a single day. She led this devoted life in a lonesome 
 region, with no reward save the blessings of the poor of 
 the district, until the day when her strength sufficed only 
 for praying to the God whom she had so nobly served. 
 Our good parents divided their caresses equally be- 
 tween my brother and me. Our uncle had an evident 
 partiality for Alfred ; and so our aunt, actuated by a sense 
 of justice, displayed the same for me. While the hus- 
 band gave his favorite the finest fruit, the wife slipped 
 tidbits into my plate. This milk-and-honey regimen 
 was very satisfactory to hungry school-boys ; and, when- 
 ever we were asked where we wanted to spend our vaca- 
 tion, we clamored to go back to Uncle De Musset's. In 
 1824 we did so ; but this time an accident, of which any 
 other child than my brother would not have made great 
 account, mingled a fearful association with the delights 
 of the castle of Cogners. Alfred was wild to go out 
 hunting for the first time. A small single-barrelled shot- 
 gun was procured for him ; and, under the keeper's direc- 
 tion, he was permitted to kill rabbits in the warren. One 
 morning he was walking behind me, carrying under his 
 arm the gun which he had just loaded, and the muzzle 
 of which was pointed at my heels. The gun was worth- 
 less, the trigger was worn out, and somehow it went off, 
 the charge of lead making a hole in the ground close to 
 my right foot. I turned at the noise ; and, across a puff
 
 54 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 of smoke, I saw my brother waver and fall. He had a 
 nervous attack, followed by fever. The illness was 
 short ; but his passion for the chase was much dimin- 
 ished, his visit at Cogners was spoiled, and the number 
 of the year, 1824, was always replaced by the periphrasis, 
 " the year when I almost killed my brother." 
 
 Alfred was then in his fourteenth year, and so far ad- 
 vanced in his studies that he might have graduated at 
 fifteen, if he had not taken a double course in philoso- 
 phy. The Due de Chartres, who was his classmate, had 
 received permission from his father, the Due d'Orleans, 
 to invite some of his school-fellows to the chateau of 
 Neuilly on holidays. The best scholar in the class was, 
 of course, among the invited guests. He found favor 
 with all the Orleans family ; especially with the mother 
 of the young princes, who charged her son not to for- 
 get the little blond. It was a needless injunction. De 
 Chartres, as he was called at school, had a marked par- 
 tiality for Alfred, and during recitation used to write 
 him heaps of billets upon bits of paper. They are mostly 
 invitations to dine at Neuilly ; but their tone is very free. 
 I will quote the last only, which is in reply to a farewell 
 note that the young prince thought too ceremonious. 
 
 "This is the last day that I shall come to school. As we 
 shall not see one another for some time, I should be very 
 much obliged if you would write to me. We are going on 
 the 2 ist, and shall not come back before the pth of August. 
 We are going on a rambling tour to Auvergne, and Savoy, 
 and the banks of the Lake of Geneva. Adieu, and ever 
 yours. 
 
 "DE CHARTRES. 
 
 " P. S. I wanted something besides your respects."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 55 
 
 During the trip here mentioned, the prince addressed 
 to his old school-fellow two long letters. The first, dated 
 at Clermont-Ferrand, contains a detailed description 
 of the mountains of Auvergne. The other is the story 
 of an excursion into Switzerland, told with all the art- 
 lessness of youth. But I find in the same bundle of 
 papers still another letter, much more original, and 
 called for,th by some ebullition of friendly and familiar 
 mirth. I think that this last is worth publishing. It is 
 dated Sept. 14, 1826. 
 
 "Mv DEAR FRIEND, It is only because I had noth- 
 ing to say, that I have delayed writing to you so long. 
 Nine study-hours varied by horseback rides, and occa- 
 sional stupid family parties at Montmorency, or the fair of 
 Loges do not offer much material for a letter. But to- 
 day I have performed a splendid feat, and I must tell you 
 about it. 
 
 " We went to the fair at Saint Cloud ; and after we had 
 been weighed, and had gone the round of the twenty-five-sou 
 shops, and bought whatever we fancied, and eaten quantities 
 of wafers, we went into the equestrian circus of M. le Che- 
 valier Joanny. There were about a hundred persons present. 
 M. le Chevalier Joanny, being five feet and eight inches high, 
 came out in an old guardsman's uniform, made for a man of 
 about five feet ; so that the bottom of the waist was in 
 the middle of his back. He had an embroidered waistcoat 
 underneath, and his pantaloons were made to imitate Turkish 
 trowsers. Then began a terrific noise, which was the over- 
 ture. The inside orchestra for, while the circus perform- 
 ance went on, they were all the time summoning spectators 
 outside with trumpets the inside orchestra consisted of six 
 horns, all out of tune ; and a trombone, played by a very 
 young and very pretty woman. A Chinaman leaped into the 
 ring. He had the top of a parasol for a hat, very dirty
 
 56 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 drawers for breeches, and other things to correspond. As 
 for the other performers, Ab uno disce omnes. 
 
 " At last, after a great number of feats and gambols, they 
 all left the ring to make way for a monstrous elephant, 
 who was destined to be the theatre of my exploit. The ' 
 animal was very intelligent, and performed a number of 
 feats at the command of his driver. When he was ordered 
 to salute the company, M. le Chevalier Joanny explained 
 to us that in India, 'at sunrise, these creatures by a sort of 
 religious instinct salute the majestic orb of day.' What the 
 devil has religion to do with it ? 
 
 " When the elephant took a broom to sweep the hall, M. le 
 Chevalier, who accompanied every act of the clumsy but 
 knowing animal by some judicious reflection, informed us 
 that, in India, little ladies of rank employ these creatures as 
 housemaids to clean their boudoirs. Finally, he invited all 
 who were so disposed to mount upon the elephant's back. 
 Nobody stirred. Seeing the general backwardness, I deter- 
 mined to set an example ; so I climbed upon the creature's 
 back, along with the keeper and my brother Joinville. None 
 of the spectators cared to follow us. As we passed the 
 orchestra, I gravely removed my hat ; and the musicians, not 
 to be outdone in politeness, struck up the air, ' Ou peut- 
 on etre mieux.' 
 
 " Such, my dear friend, was the trait of heroism of which I 
 wished to inform you, confident that you would appreciate 
 it at its true worth. 
 
 "FERDINAND, P. D'ORLEANS."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 57 
 
 IV. 
 
 r I^HTJS far we have seen in Alfred de Musset only a 
 * precocious child of vivid imagination, and an assid- 
 uous pupil, receiving with docility all that was taught 
 him. But, in 1826, he began to give unusual signs of 
 strength and independence of mind. He had been 
 taught logic, analysis, and ratiocination ; and he began 
 to reason. Often after the recitation in philosophy, 
 when he had heard the lesson with attention, he would 
 shake his head, and venture to say, "It does not sat- 
 isfy me." He would then review in a hundred different 
 ways the question under discussion, probe it to the bot- 
 tom, and come to a fresh conclusion. His compositions 
 were full of his aspirations after truth. The professor 
 an excellent man, but extremely orthodox was dis- 
 turbed that his scholastic metaphysics were not received 
 as Gospel-truth by his best scholar. He had, however, 
 the good sense not to be angry. If only his fundamen- 
 tal principles were accepted, he would allow discussion 
 of subordinate points. More than once, he gave a lesson 
 to the whole class on the duties of the scholar. In the 
 month of July, 1827, when Alfred had competed for the 
 inter-collegiate prize, M. Cardaillac and another mem- 
 ber of the university board came and told our father 
 that his son would in all probability obtain the highest 
 prize. The subject given out was a Latin dissertation 
 on the Origin of Emotion. The essay of Alfred de Musset
 
 58 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 had at once been adjudged the best, both in thought 
 and manner ; but the religious side of the question had 
 appeared to be insufficiently developed. Another pupil, 
 whose work showed less talent, had dwelt more upon 
 this important point ; so that the opinions of the exami- 
 ners were equally divided. The head-master of the 
 university who was also Bishop of Hermopolis had 
 caused the scale to incline toward the lad who seemed 
 more devout. It could hardly have been otherwise 
 under the reign of Charles X. Some years later, the 
 first prize was given to Alfred; but now he only ob- 
 tained the second. At the moment of distribution, 
 Monseigneur d'Hermopolis smiled to see mount the 
 platform a little blond of sixteen, with a head so small 
 that the crown dropped about his neck. 
 
 A prize is of no great importance, save as a test of 
 collegiate success. The works of Alfred de Musset 
 show that he did not stop there in the study of philoso- 
 phy, but pushed his metaphysical researches very far. 
 The attentive reader knows that the thinker in him is 
 always abreast of the poet. 1 It is important, however, 
 to a clear understanding of the man, that we should 
 examine his mode of procedure in the search for truth. 
 When he came in contact with a great mind, he began 
 by conscientiously taking the place of a learner, in order 
 thoroughly to fathom the doctrine or the system. He 
 
 1 M. Victor de Laprade, in the discourse on Alfred's reception by the 
 French Academy, which he had the distinguished honor to pronounce, let 
 fall in the course of his eulogium, whether in carelessness or levity, the 
 strange remark, " Alfred de Musset obtained, if you can believe it, the 
 philosophic prize ! " It was astonishing to nobodv but M. Victor de 
 Laprade.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mtisset. 59 
 
 adopted it. He was ready to profess and even practise 
 it. But presently his reason was outraged upon some 
 point: doubts arose, and the disciple became first 
 judge and then dissenter. It was thus that I saw him 
 travel by successive stages from Descartes to Spinoza, 
 then to the new philosophies of Cabanis and Maine de 
 Biran, arriving finally at that haven where he found the 
 " Espoir en Dieu." In his search for the beautiful he 
 pursued the same method. He began by enjoying 
 whatever pleased him, yielding himself with ardor to 
 the delight of enthusiasm, and he ended by examination 
 and exact appreciation. In this twofold exercise of 
 seemingly incompatible faculties, namely, enthusiasm 
 and critical penetration, he acquired, not in litera- 
 ture only, but in all the arts, a soundness of judgment 
 which, if he had had nothing else to do, would have 
 made him one of the foremost critics of his time. 
 
 In pursuance of the new plan of study which he had 
 marked out for himself, Alfred began paying special 
 attention to the reading of foreign authors, drawing, 
 music, and law. Repelled by the dryness of the law, 
 he had a passing fancy for medicine ; but M. BeVard's 
 lessons in descriptive anatomy, and the dissection of 
 human bodies, inspired him with an insurmountable 
 disgust. His father's one fear was that he would be an 
 idler, and yet he did not press him to choose a profes- 
 sion. It was the student himself who was alarmed by 
 the discovery that he had no taste for either of the two 
 more distinguished of the learned professions. He shut 
 himself up in his own room, and remained there several 
 days, a prey to the most melancholy reflections ; and,
 
 60 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 when I inquired the cause of his sombre mood, his 
 answer was, " I shall never be good for any thing. 
 I shall never practise any profession. Humanity in 
 general is only too insignificant on this grain of sand 
 where we live ? I shall certainly never consent to be 
 any particular kind of man." 
 
 He had no suspicion that he would, ere long, be 
 classed among men so rare that not more than three or 
 four of them appear in a century. His mortification 
 was appeased when his drawing-master, amazed at his 
 progress, told him that he might be a painter if he chose. 
 At the notion that he might, after all, have a vocation, 
 his courage revived. He spent his mornings in the 
 Louvre, and his portfolios filled with sketches. 1 This 
 passion for painting was, however, only a digression 
 with which Nature amused herself, before revealing the 
 way by which she was to lead him. 
 
 In the spring of 1828, our mother rented a small suite 
 of rooms in a very large house at Auteuil. Chance gave 
 us for a neighbor M. Melesville, and charming relations 
 sprang up between his family and ours. We acted 
 comedies and improvised charades. We had sometimes 
 for spectators the elder Brazier and M. Scribe, and 
 Alfred enjoyed these reunions intensely. He was off 
 to Paris early in the morning to pursue his studies, and 
 
 1 Most of these sketches, among which were some original designs, were 
 destroyed by Alfred himself. His friends often cut pages out of his album. 
 I have still two finished drawings. One is a full-length portrait of Louise 
 Bouvier, a celebrated thief, detained in custody at Clermont ; the other a 
 head of Lord Byron. Mme. Maxime Jaubert has about fifty of Alfred de 
 Mussel's drawings. An album full of caricatures was given me by a lady 
 cousin of mine, with whom he spent a month in 1842.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 61 
 
 work in a studio ; but he returned to Auteuil for dinner, 
 often on foot by the woodland alleys of the Bois de 
 Boulogne, and with no companion save a book. The 
 day when he had taken Andrd de Chenier's little volume 
 to read by the way, he arrived in the country later than 
 usual. Under the spell of that elegiac poetry, he had 
 chosen the longest way. From delighting to re-read and 
 recite verses which one loves to aspiring to compose the 
 like, there is but a step; and Alfred did not resist the 
 temptation. He composed an elegy which he has not 
 thought it worth while to preserve, but it began thus, 
 
 " II vint sur les figuiers une vierge d'Athenes 
 Douce et blanche, puiser 1'eau pure des fontaines, 
 De marbre pour les bras, d'e"bene pour les yeux. 
 Son pere est Noe"mon de Crete, aime" des dieux ; 
 Elle, faible et revant, mit 1'amphore sculptde, 
 Sous les lions d'airain, pere de 1'eau vantde, 
 Et fe"conds en cristal sonore et turbulent," &c. 
 
 A youth came to the same fountain driving horses and 
 mules, and while the animals crowded about the basin, 
 the youth asked the maiden if she were the nymph of 
 the spring. When he discovered that she was a mere 
 mortal, he made love to her and invited her to share his 
 home, of which he gave a poetic description. The 
 maiden, whom her father had devoted to the worship of 
 Diana, rejected the young man's proposals at first, but 
 finally yielded. Then the jealous goddess pronounced 
 a curse upon her, and the faithless priestess died just as 
 the morning sun appeared above the horizon. This 
 piece, which contained no less than a hundred stanzas, 
 was finished in two days, or rather in two walks, and
 
 62 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 with the exception of a song composed at the age of 
 fourteen for his mother's birthday, these are the first 
 verses which Alfred ever wrote. 
 
 The history of his second attempt belongs to the age of 
 romanticism, and the great civil war in French letters. 
 The classics yet held possession of the stage, where they 
 defended themselves as in a redoubt : but the " Henry 
 III." of Alexander Dumas was already written, " Marion 
 Delorme " was on the stocks, and " Cromwell " published ; 
 and the famous preface to the latter work, in which the 
 author had created a new school of poetry, had caused a 
 fermentation in many a youthful brain. Even before he 
 had finished his studies, Alfred de Musset had been 
 introduced, by his friend and school-fellow Paul Foucher, 
 at the house of Victor Hugo. There he had seen MM. 
 Alfred de Vigny, Prosper Merime'e, Sainte-Beuve, Flmile, 
 and Antony Deschamps, Louis Boulanger, &c. All of 
 these had already given proofs of genius, and won 
 more or less reputation. The time was spent in read- 
 ings and literary conversations, in which everybody ap- 
 peared to be of the same mind, although at heart they 
 were often otherwise. Alfred did not try to resist the 
 contagious enthusiasm which one breathed in the very 
 air of the Ce'nacle. He soon became a neophyte in 
 the new church, and was permitted to join the evening 
 walks when they went to see the sunset, or to enjoy the 
 view of old Paris from the towers of Notre Dame. On 
 the morning after a meeting, where a good many ballads 
 had doubtless been recited, the young listener pacing 
 along under the trees of the Bois de Boulogne, and 
 haunted by the musical rhythm which still sounded in
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 63 
 
 his ears, undertook to compose, first a ballad, and then 
 a short romantic drama, both of which he afterward 
 condemned to the flames. The scene was laid in Spain, 
 in the castle of the old Sanchez de Guadarra. The 
 daughter of this nobleman was singing one night at 
 her window a plaintive song. Agnes had been twice 
 affianced. 
 
 " Une main dans sa main, deux fois s'dtait glace'e, 1 
 Et, vierge, elle tait veuve, en deuil de deux dpoux." 
 
 The two youths to whom she had been promised had 
 died on the day after their betrothal. Her father had 
 just proposed to her a third husband, Don Carlos, a 
 brilliant cavalier, young and valiant. Old Don Sanchez 
 had a high opinion of Don Carlos, and thus expressed 
 his preference for the military profession : 
 
 " Homme portant un casque en vaut deux a chapeau, 
 Quatre portant bonnet, douze portant perruque ; 
 Et vingt-quatre portant tonsure sur la nuqu'e." * 
 
 The brilliant Don Carlos arrived with his long sword 
 and his gold spurs. Agnes allowed herself to be be- 
 trothed for the third time. During the ceremony, a 
 monk was saying his prayers in a corner. It was Don 
 Juan, the brother of Carlos, a gloomy and mysterious 
 person, who spoke seldom and always in vague prophetic 
 terms, 
 
 " And ever gazed beyond the horizon's line. " 
 
 1 She had twice held a hand which turned to ice in her grasp. She was 
 a virgin and yet a widow, in mourning for two husbands. 
 
 2 A man in a helmet is worth two in a hat, four in a student's cap, twelve 
 in a periwig, and twenty-four with the tonsure.
 
 64 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Don Juan was apparently indifferent to what went on 
 around him. -But, when the ceremony was over, he re- 
 quested a moment's conversation with Don Carlos ; and 
 the two were left together. The monk then confessed 
 his own love for Agnes, and that he had poisoned her 
 two former lovers. Forbidden by his vows to aspire to 
 her hand, he could not suffer her to belong to another 
 man. He begged Don Carlos to give up the marriage ; 
 and, his prayer proving futile, the monk seized a sword 
 suspended on the wall, turned back the sleeves of his 
 frock, fought his rival and slew him briskly, after the 
 manner of the romantic school, and subsequently killed 
 himself, while Agnes went into a convent. 
 
 I need not say where the novice of seventeen found 
 the subject, and whence he adopted the style of this 
 performance. We detect the influence of the president 
 of the Cenacle, and some of the verses need not have 
 been disowned by the master himself. It should be ob- 
 served that " Hernani " had not then seen the light, and 
 that romantic Spain had but just been discovered by 
 M. Merime'e. 
 
 A tri-weekly journal of the narrowest dimensions was 
 then appearing at Dijon, under the name of the " Pro- 
 vincial." Paul Foucher, who knew one of the editors, 
 had published some of his own verses in this newspaper ; 
 and he proposed to submit, to the same editor certain 
 stanzas by another poet, as young and obscure as him- 
 self, who dared not as yet give his name. Sustained by 
 Paul Foucher's recommendation, the youthful poet sent 
 to the Dijon journal a ballad composed expressly for. 
 the " Provincial." This fragment, entitled " A Dream,"
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 65 
 
 appeared in the number for August 31, 1828, with no 
 signature but the initials A. D. M. It was in the woods 
 of Auteuil that the blond poet dreamed out this bit of 
 pleasantry. Paul Foucher's editorial friend, in an intro- 
 ductory note of twenty lines, asked pardon of the 
 readers of the " Provincial " for offering to them so 
 excessively romantic a composition ; but the editor-in- 
 chief, M. Charles Brugnot, declared in a foot-note that 
 this deprecatory preface was none of his, and that he 
 had no favors to ask for a piece of fanciful writing, 
 which he considered charming. The infant poet was 
 already the subject of a controversy between the two 
 editors, who quarrelled in the pages of their own journal. 
 Alfred, however, was overjoyed to receive the number of 
 the journal which contained his first printed verses. 
 Many a time since then his thoughts have awakened the 
 groanings of the press ; but the modest Dijon news- 
 paper, preserved with religious care, has always held an 
 honorable place among his papers. 
 
 At the close of the year 1828, the literary war was 
 becoming livelier day by day. The louder the classical 
 camp cried " barbarism," the more audacious did the 
 romanticists become. Happy time, when men were 
 ready to fight for a sonnet, a fugitive verse, or a hemi- 
 stich ! Like a soldier who sees his friends rushing into 
 action, Alfred felt possessed by the longing to try his 
 strength. One morning he went and awoke M. Sainte- 
 Beuve with the laughing announcement, " I have been 
 making verses too!" M. Sainte-Beuve was not the 
 man to make a mistake about the worth of these 
 attempts, and the future reserved for their author. A 
 
 5
 
 66 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 few days later, he wrote to one of his friends, "We 
 have a child of genius among us." Alfred now deter- 
 mined to have his pieces read at the Cenacle. The 
 elegy was a good deal applauded, but the poem of 
 "Agnes" excited positive enthusiasm. The immense dif- 
 ference in style and movement between these two works 
 could not fail to be remarked by so intelligent an 
 audience. This versatility of talent gave the highest 
 possible idea of the powers of the new recruit to the 
 phalanx. It might have been foreseen that it would be 
 impossible for him to serve long under any banner what- 
 ever, and that he would soon break ranks and follow his 
 own fancy ; but, as yet, nobody dreamed of that. 
 Among other good traits, the members of the Cdnacle 
 had this admirable quality, that they knew not envy, and 
 never stinted their praise of young aspirants. Alfred 
 was welcomed on all sides. 
 
 But, despite these encouragements, the debutant would 
 not yet allow that he was a poet. " If I were to mount 
 the scaffold to-morrow," he said to his brother, " I might 
 well strike my forehead, and repeat the words of Andre" 
 Chenier, ' I feel that I had something here ' ; but they 
 are doing me poor service by assuring me that I am a 
 great man. The public and posterity alone can confer 
 that rank." 
 
 In order to have more verses to recite to his friends, 
 he composed successively " Le Lever," " L'Andalouse," 
 " Charles Quint a Saint Just," " Don Paez," " Les 
 Marrons du Feu," and " Portia." Then came the " Bal- 
 lade a la Lune ;" yet no symptom was observed of a 
 revolution in his ideas, and great was the amusement
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 67 
 
 excited by that carnival of wit. For even parodies were 
 admitted by the Ce'nacle, and there was intolerance of 
 nothing but" classical works. No one dreamed that this 
 lad had completely fathomed all the doctrines discussed 
 in his hearing, and adopted an independent course ; and 
 that he was neither to accept advice nor follow any 
 model, from the day when, after deep reflection and long 
 listening to the poetry of others, he uttered Correggio's 
 cry, " I, too, am a poet ! " 
 
 While his muse yet lured him to the woods of Auteuil, 
 the age of manhood arrived. On his first appearance in 
 society the winter before, women had paid no attention 
 whatever to the little fellow, who conscientiously exe- 
 cuted the steps which his dancing-master had taught 
 him ; but a few months later, his figure developed, and 
 he lost his boyish air and his timid bearing. His 
 countenance assumed a remarkable expression of pride 
 and assurance, and his glance became steady, and, at 
 the same time, so inquisitive and piercing that it was 
 not easy to meet. The first woman who detected the 
 change was a lady of much talent ; a fine musician, 
 coquettish, and satirical, but attacked by an incurable 
 affection of the chest. To visit her in the country, 
 whither she continually invited him by notes of prudent 
 brevity, Alfred missed his rendezvous with the Muses, 
 and traversed the sterile plain of Saint Denis. When he 
 saw that this lady did not regard him quite the same as 
 formerly, while still she affected to treat him like a 
 child, the manoeuvre amazed him. It was some time 
 before he learned that advantage had been taken of his 
 innocence, and that he had been made to play the part
 
 68 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 of Fortunio. The lady was provided with a Clavaroche ; 
 but she had not the heart of Jacqueline. She remained 
 insensible to the tender reproaches of the youth whom 
 she cruelly mocked. He stopped his visits without be- 
 traying either anger or scorn. Another lady who had 
 a fancy for him tried to console him ; and when one 
 morning I observed him in spurs, and a tall hat inclin- 
 ing to the right side, while a long lock of hair waved on 
 the left, I perceived by these cavalier airs that his 
 vanity was safe. 
 
 Seven years later the memory of his first adventure 
 awoke, when Alfred de Musset thought himself taken in 
 a similar snare. He was mistaken this time ; but the 
 transient suspicion produced the "Chandelier," in my 
 opinion, his most perfect comedy, and one of the best pro- 
 ductions of the French spirit since the days of Moliere. 
 
 In the last days of 1828, as we were coming out of a 
 ball-room, where Alfred had displayed a keen ardor of 
 enjoyment, Prosper Chalas, editor of the "Temps" and 
 the "Pandora," a clever fellow with some knowledge of 
 mankind, seized my arm in the street, and whispered 
 in my ear, 
 
 " You may be sure that your brother is destined to 
 become a great poet ; but when I see his face, his de- 
 light in the pleasures of society, that air of his like that 
 of an escaped colt, the looks which he gives women 
 and the looks which they give him, I am afraid of the 
 Delilahs for him." 
 
 The presentiment was realized. The Delilahs came, 
 but they only made him the greater poet.
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 FROM 1829 TO 1836.
 
 V. 
 
 "JDESIDE the danger hinted at by Prosper Chalas, 
 -* ^ Alfred de Musset had freely run all sorts of other 
 risks at the age of eighteen, and his position was defined. 
 He had been intimate with young folk who were richer 
 than he, and he had wished to adopt their ways of life. 
 The first tailors in Paris had alone the privilege of ap- 
 proaching his person, and he gave them employment. 
 Horseback exercise was in fashion among his friends, 
 and he hired horses. They played high, and so did he. 
 They turned night into day, and he kept vigil. But he 
 had a constitution like steel, and incredible cerebral ac- 
 tivity ; and he often wrote fifty verses after his return 
 from a supper-party. That which would have been ex- 
 cess for many people was really only exercise for him. 
 When I spoke to him of the perils of bouillote? and of 
 the terrible day when the tailor would bring in the bill 
 for his new clothes, he replied : 
 
 " Just because I am young I want to know every thing. 
 I want to learn by experience and not by hearsay. I 
 feel as if there were two men in me, one acting, and 
 the other observing. If the first does a silly thing, the 
 other will profit by it. Sooner or later, please God, I 
 will pay the tailor. I play, but I am not a gambler; 
 and when I lose money, the lesson is worth all the re- 
 proofs in the world." 
 
 1 A game at cards.
 
 72 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Occasionally, to be sure, he had sombre mornings and 
 evenings of vain regret. On these days of wretched- 
 ness, the poet liked to compose a costume correspond- 
 ing with the situation. Out of the depths of a closet he 
 would drag an old yellow coachman's coat with six capes, 
 large enough to go round him three times. Thus muffled, 
 he would lie down upon the floor of his room, and hum 
 in a lamentable voice some ancient air, contemporary 
 with the coat. Whenever I found him in this penitential 
 garment, and in a melodramatic attitude, I knew that the 
 cards had proved intractable. The moment I opened 
 my lips to address him, " Let me alone," he would say, 
 covering up his face. "Leave me to my rags and my 
 despair." 
 
 But when evening arrived he would put off his rags 
 and don his finest clothes. The mere change of raiment 
 sufficed to turn the current of his thoughts ; and he would 
 set forth on a tour of Parisian drawing-rooms, where the 
 pleasures of the world caused him to forget his reverses 
 at play. Either because a ball-room made a singular 
 impression upon him, or owing to some peculiarity con- 
 nected with his taste for painting, he remembered with 
 astonishing accuracy the order in which the ladies had 
 been seated, the colors and fashion of their dress, the 
 way their hair was arranged. Moreover, luxury gave 
 him a kind of intoxication. He admired bright lights, 
 laces, and jewels, as a child admires them. To dance 
 with a real marquise, in real diamonds, in a vast saloon 
 as light as day, seemed to him the summit of bliss. He 
 had the same childish admiration for people who make 
 a show of any kind. He could forgive Alexander for
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 73 
 
 having burned Persepolis to amuse a courtesan. He 
 liked Sylla because he was fortunate. Heliogabalus 
 did not displease him at a distance in the robes of a 
 priest of the Sun ; and even Caesar Borgia found some 
 favor with him on the score of his mule shod with gold. 
 I did not scruple to charge him with these weaknesses ; 
 and the best talks we ever had were when we quarrelled 
 about such things, for he defended his bad cause admi- 
 rably. I pause to note these details, because they be- 
 long to a period of three years only, in the career of 
 dhe whose character was soon to change and become 
 ennobled. 
 
 The winter of 1829 passed rapidly amid this complex 
 life, in which, nevertheless, reading and study occupied 
 a large place. The Muse now and then descended, 
 taking him by surprise ; but she was well received when 
 she came. Among his pleasure-loving companions, 
 Alfred was so fortunate as to find one true friend. 
 Alfred Tattet, then making his first appearance in 
 society, was exactly of the same age as himself. He 
 was a lovable fellow and a very lively guest, regular in 
 his devotions and extravagant in his language, finding 
 every thing either entrancing or execrable ; but yet 
 keener after the pleasures of the mind than any others, 
 and always ready to go into raptures over a fine verse. 
 He easily obtained a sight of his friend's productions, 
 and used to give little aesthetic evenings and matinees 
 for the sake of hearing them read and re-read. There 
 De Musset made the acquaintance of Olric Guttingeur, 
 who one day took him to Havre and Honfleur. In con- 
 sequence of a confidential conversation which they held
 
 74 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 on this journey, Alfred wrote three stanzas which sufficed 
 to immortalize the friend to whom they were addressed. 
 The youngest disciple of the great Ce'nacle thus became 
 the god of a Ce'nacle not yet known. 
 
 In the drawing-room of Achille Deve'ria, where he 
 went a great deal, Alfred used to waltz alternately with 
 two young girls of the same age ; both very pretty and 
 pleasing, equally ingenuous and great friends. He 
 talked delightfully about fashions and dress and trinkets, 
 and was as much a child as any of the three. He used 
 to dilate regularly to each on the beauty and the graces 
 of the other. On the morrow the maidens would ex- 
 change confidences, and they were somewhat scandalized 
 not to be able to discover which he preferred. These 
 drawing-room flirtations were renewed season after sea- 
 son, until they ended in an adventure which a few peo- 
 ple must still remember. Gustave Planche, who was 
 very discriminating in his antipathies, detested Alfred 
 de Musset for no reason, but instinctively. Planche did 
 not dance ; but, from the corner where he was seated, 
 he undertook one evening to depose that he had seen 
 the indefatigable waltzer furtively kiss the shoulder of 
 one of his partners. There was an immediate " Fie ! fie ! " 
 and the young lady received orders to refuse to dance 
 with her habitual partner. Alfred guessed, by the sor- 
 rowful looks of the victim, that she was acting under 
 authority, and having done nothing amiss, he demanded 
 an explanation so peremptorily that it was impossible to 
 refuse. The malicious speech was traced to its source, 
 and Planche attempted to deny it ; but the matter was 
 pressed, and he was at last obliged to confess. The
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 75 
 
 father's wrath was turned against him, and when the 
 ball was over he waited for the calumniator and admin- 
 istered a sound caning. Planche learned the truth of the 
 proverb, " 111 luck follows an ill-wisher ; " and it may 
 well be supposed that the adventure did not make him 
 love any better the poet to whom he owed the lesson. 
 The young girl's reputation was not to be affected by 
 any such flurry, and it was to her that Alfred de Musset 
 afterwards addressed the verses " To Pepa." 
 
 During this time, the collection of poems which was 
 to bear the title of "Contes d'Espagne et Italic," was 
 growing by degrees. That nothing may be omitted, we 
 will note, in passing, a first publication which is very 
 little known. At eighteen, Alfred was only too happy to 
 translate from the English a small romance for the pub- 
 lisher M. Mame. He had adopted the simple title of 
 " Le Mangeur d'Opium ; " but the editor insisted on 
 " L' Anglais, Mangeur d'Opium." 1 This little volume, of 
 which it would probably be difficult to find a copy to-day, 
 was prepared in a month. The translator was not very 
 exact, and introduced into the reveries of the foreign 
 hero some of the impressions which he had himself re- 
 ceived from M. Bdrard's lessons in descriptive anatomy. 
 No notice was taken of this anonymous publication, and 
 it disappeared in the flood of literary novelties, like a 
 drop of water in the sea. 
 
 But now came a catastrophe of which the consequences 
 were serious, and which troubled the poet deeply. One 
 morning his father informed him that he had secured for 
 him a clerk's place in one of the offices of M. Febvrel, 
 
 1 The title of the original was " Confessions of an English Opium-eater."
 
 76 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 who had just obtained, through sealed proposals, the 
 contract for supplying the military posts with fuel. The 
 poor boy dared not wink. He suffered himself to be 
 fettered by the bureaucratic ball and chain. No very 
 great assiduity was required of him ; but he daily felt 
 the weight of his fetters in every respect save that of 
 salary. Impelled at length by a frantic desire to regain 
 his liberty, he called on a devoted publisher of the ro- 
 mantic school. Urbain Canel examined the manuscript 
 of the " Contes d'Espagne," and declared that it lacked 
 five hundred verses of the length suitable for an octavo 
 volume, which was the regulation form of the new 
 literature. 
 
 " Five hundred verses ! " cried the poet. "I can soon 
 give you those, if they will emancipate me ! " 
 
 It was the season of vacations, and Alfred obtained 
 from his employers a leave of three weeks. On the 2yth 
 of August, 1829, he set out for Mans, where his Uncle 
 Desherbiers was then residing. He returned on the 
 igth of September, 1 and that very evening repeated to 
 me the entire poem of " Mardoche," which contained 
 almost six hundred verses, some of the most audacious 
 of which had, however, to be suppressed. Urbain Canel 
 was particularly charmed by the length of the piece, and 
 sent it at once to the printer. The compositors worked 
 at these poems of an unknown author only in their 
 leisure moments, and the last proof-sheets did not come 
 till near the end of the year. On the 24th of December, 
 Alfred besought his father to give a party, and invite 
 MM. Merime'e, De Vigny, Emile and Antony Deschamps, 
 
 1 I find these exact dates in his note-books.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mussef. 77 
 
 Louis Boulanger, Victor Pavie, De la Rosiere and 
 Guttingeur. To them he recited "Don Paez," " Portia," 
 and "Mardoche." Most of the invited guests were 
 already acquainted with the first two poems ; but the 
 last named, for all its freedom of language, carried 
 off the honors of the night. There was but one opin- 
 ion about the infallible success which awaited these 
 poems. 
 
 A few days later, there appeared, under the title of 
 "Contes d'Espagne et Italic," a volume of 232 pages, of 
 which but five hundred copies were printed. 1 The effect 
 which it produced is well known ; but it is curious to- 
 day to re-read the journals of that time. Some of them 
 flew into a perfect rage against both the book and its 
 author. One condemns the exaggeration both of charac- 
 ters and language ; another, on the other hand, praises 
 the young poet for not abusing his privilege of hyperbole. 
 An opposition journal inquired with admirable gravity : 
 " Whence comes this preference of the rising generation 
 for Spain and Italy, countries where freedom does not 
 exist, and where religion is degraded by superstitious 
 observances." At the same time, a pious royalist critic 
 votes an indulgence to the unbridled Muse on account 
 of the second canto of " Portia," where he has dis- 
 covered an edifying description of the awe inspired by 
 the majestic aspect of a Gothic church. 
 
 1 The smallness of the edition is not remarkable. In those days nobody 
 bought new books. They only praised them in their neighbors' studies. 
 Those five hundred books obtained, in a few days, ten thousand readers. 
 Between 1828 and 1840 the fashion of publication changed. The iSmo 
 displaced the 8vo, and people bought the books which they desired to 
 read.
 
 78 Biography of Alfred de Mussel. 
 
 The celebrated " Ballade a* la Lune " became at once 
 the subject of clamorous discussion. Those who were 
 sternly resolved to take it seriously, considered them- 
 selves absolved by this specimen from reading the rest 
 of the book. Others saw in it much more than the poet 
 had meant, and would have it that he was ridiculing 
 both his friends and himself. It must be confessed that, 
 on this occasion, professional connoisseurs and respect- 
 able middle-aged men were not exactly the most intelligent 
 judges. But while they gravely discussed, with more 
 or less of good faith, the exact meaning of the " Ballade 
 a la Lune," the poet had conquered the public whom 
 he desired to please, the young of both sexes. 
 
 Alfred soon had numbers of adventures to confide to 
 me. Some were " Boccaccian," and some romantic ; 
 others had a spice of the dramatic. Several times, I was 
 awakened in the middle of the night to give my serious 
 opinion on some matter requiring the utmost prudence. 
 All these anecdotes having been confided to me under 
 the seal of secrecy, I forgot them as in duty bound ; 
 but I am able to affirm that they would have stricken 
 with envy Bassompierre or Lauzun. The women of 
 those days were not absorbed in luxury and the 
 toilette. Young people who desired to please did not 
 need to be rich. To have at nineteen the prestige of 
 genius and fame sufficed for some things. But for all 
 his success, Alfred de Musset had the modesty and good 
 sense to resist intoxication. He was always on his 
 guard against foolish pride and infatuation about him- 
 self, a vulgar shoal, on which nevertheless some of 
 the greatest minds have grounded.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. .79 
 
 While the servum pecus of imitators flung itself upon 
 the " Contes d'Espagne," and made, as best they might, 
 a hundred different attempts to copy them, Alfred de 
 Musset himself was pondering a reform, and changed his 
 pace so completely that, in the "Vceux Steriles," "Octave," 
 and the " Pense'es de Rafael," the first pieces 
 which he published in the " Revue de Paris," after an 
 interval of serious reflection, we find no more irregular 
 verses, no trace of carelessness in style. We know that 
 the poet asked forgiveness of his mother-tongue for 
 having sometimes offended her. He said that Racine 
 and Shakspeare met upon his table Boileau, who had 
 forgiven them ; and though he boasted of making 
 his Muse walk bare-foot, like truth, the classicists 
 might have supposed her shod with the golden buskin. 
 They might well have congratulated themselves on an 
 apology, so gracefully uttered ; but they pretended not 
 to have heard it, and came back to the " dot of the 
 i," * like Moliere's marquis in his refrain of " cream 
 tarts." At this epoch, the romanticists, wounded by 
 Raphael's profession of faith, complained of desertion, 
 and did not fail to say that the poet of the " Contes 
 d'Espagne " had deteriorated, and was not fulfilling his 
 early promise. Alfred de Musset suddenly found him- 
 self alone, all parties having turned against him ; but 
 he was young, and proud as CEdipus, and literary differ- 
 
 i Musset, in his famous " Ballad to the Moon," fantastically compares the 
 planet, hanging above a pointed spire, to the dot over an i, 
 " C'e'tait dans la nuit brune, 
 Stir le clocher jaune ; 
 
 La lune, 
 Comme un point sur un i," &c. TR.
 
 8o Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 ences did not prevent friendly intercourse. He did not 
 go as often as formerly to the Cdnacle; but he met 
 his old friends at the receptions of Achille Deve'ria, and 
 at the Arsenal with good Nodier, who loved him de- 
 votedly. 
 
 But Alfred had obtained leave to resign his place ; and 
 the day on which he did so had been one of the happiest 
 of his life. That his father might have no anxiety about 
 the consequences of this rash step, he undertook to pro- 
 duce something more lucrative than poetry ; and with 
 this intent he composed a little dramatic piece in three 
 tableaux, entitled "La Quittance du Diable." Each 
 tableau was accompanied by a recitation in verse. It 
 was a mere scintillation of fancy, yet not without origi- 
 nality. With the assistance of a musician of talent, he 
 might have made of it a comic opera, which would have 
 been as taking as many others. The piece was offered 
 to the theatre of the " Nouveaute's," where all kinds of 
 things were played, and it was accepted ; and some steps 
 must have been taken towards its representation, for the 
 distribution of characters is written out on the cover of 
 the manuscript, in the manager's hand. M. Bouffet and 
 Mme. Albert were to take the two principal parts, and 
 they were the best artists in the company. I do not 
 know what prevented the representation ; but probably 
 it was the Revolution of July, which broke out while the 
 leader of the orchestra was arranging the music for the 
 scenes. However that may have been, the author with- 
 drew the piece, and consigned it to the portfolio where 
 it still remains. 
 
 After the crisis of the yth of August, Alfred de
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 8 1 
 
 Musset, who feared nothing so much as a public office, 
 remained a passive spectator of the rush for places. 
 Selfish congratulations poured from all quarters into the 
 palace ; but he allowed himself to forget his old school- 
 fellow, now become Due d'Orldans. The gravity of the 
 political prospect, and the counter-strokes of revolution 
 in the north and south of Europe, did not suffice to 
 arrest the literary movement, begun under the fallen 
 dynasty. The general intellectual fermentation seemed 
 to have turned to the advantage of letters. During the 
 four years of the new regime, a generation of writers 
 arose who have not yet been superseded. In the autumn 
 of 1830, the theatres, less restricted now than ever be- 
 fore, seized upon a subject which had been forbidden 
 under the previous government ; namely, the epopee of 
 the Empire. Napoleon appeared upon every stage, even 
 the most obscure. Harel, the enterprising director of the 
 Oddon, brought out in superb style a drama of this 
 kind, the principal part in which was given to Frederic 
 Le Maitre ; and, to fill a void in hi's repertory, the same 
 manager requested the author of the " Contes d'Espagne 
 et Italic" to furnish him a piece as novel and audacious 
 as possible. The manuscript of the " Nuit Ve'nitienne " 
 was the result, and M. Harel appeared enchanted with 
 it. The piece was carefully mounted, committed to 
 memory in a few days, and announced as a godsend. 
 M. Lockroy took the part of the Prince ; Vizentini, a 
 capital actor, played the comic character ; an actress of 
 moderate gifts, but extremely pretty, played Laurette ; 
 and M. Lafosse, Razetta. 
 
 The first performance took place on Wednesday, Dec. 
 6
 
 82 Biography of Alfred de M us set. 
 
 i, 1830. I do not know the character of the audience ; 
 but in the second scene, which is nevertheless ex- 
 tremely lively, Vizentini found himself interrupted by 
 hisses. Furious cries drowned the voices of the actors, 
 and the pit had paroxysms at all the finest points in the 
 dialogue, as though it had gone with the full intention 
 of hearing nothing. The author was confounded by the 
 uproar, and could not believe but that the piece would 
 recover itself during the great scene between the Prince 
 of Eisenach and Laurette. Mile. Bdranger, beautifully 
 dressed in white satin, was resplendent in freshness and 
 beauty, and for a moment the gigglers were actually 
 silenced. Unhappily, the actress, in looking from her 
 balcony to see if the jealous Razetta were still at his 
 post, had to lean against a green trellis, the paint of 
 which was not dry, and she turned toward the public 
 with a robe all crossed with green squares, from the 
 girdle to the hem. This time the disheartened author 
 succumbed to his ill-luck ; and the scene between the 
 Prince and Laurette was fairly smothered in the yells of 
 the audience. All the charming wit by which the young 
 "Venitienne" allows herself to be cajoled, passed un- 
 heeded. In that scene, there is one remark quoted from 
 a letter of Lovelace to Belford. I hoped that this pas- 
 sage would conciliate the malcontents ; but it did not. 
 Richardson was hooted like all the rest. Harel, con- 
 vinced that all this tumult was deliberately planned, 
 insisted upon a second trial. The fatal trellis was re- 
 moved, Mile. Beranger wore a new gown, and the author 
 besought M. Lockroy to add these words, after the quo- 
 tation from Richardson, " as Lovelace says." But all
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 83 
 
 was vain. The piece had almost precisely the same 
 reception as at first, and the name of Lovelace was 
 greeted by an ignorant and senseless titter. When the 
 storm was at its height, the author cried out, " I would 
 never have believed that there was material in Paris 
 for so stupid an audience." Prosper Chalas wrote 
 him the next day, and asked whether he proposed to 
 throw himself to the beasts that evening, and he re- 
 plied, " No, I have said farewell to the menagerie for 
 one while." 
 
 The consequences of this sad mishap were incalculable. 
 Disgusted by a rebuff of which he keenly felt the cruelty 
 and injustice, Alfred de Musset wrote no more with a 
 view to stage representation. If the public had awarded 
 to the young author of twenty the consideration which 
 was his due, how many more dramatic pieces might have 
 followed this first attempt ! His glorious revenge of 
 the " Caprice " was not taken until seventeen years after 
 this mortifying evening. Who can say how the theatre 
 would have stood to-day if a handful of Boeotians had 
 not alienated from it, for so many years, the only writer 
 capable of arresting the decline of the dramatic art. 
 Possibly that class of literature which, since the reign of 
 Louis XIV., has always held the foremost rank in 
 France, might have escaped the reproach of declining 
 to a manufacture. The public has only itself to thank 
 ' for the pleasure which it has lost. 
 
 Loeve-Veimars, in the " Temps," had the courage to 
 chide the Oddon pit for the brutality of its behavior. 
 The young author was grateful, and paid a visit to 
 Loeve-Veimars, during which he was presented to
 
 84 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Jacques Coste, chief editor of the " Temps." The 
 latter, by way of experiment, requested the author of 
 the " Contes d'Espagne " to furnish him a few fanciful 
 articles, and allowed him carte blanche. From Jan. 10, 
 to the close of May, 1831, there appeared quite reg- 
 ularly every Monday a series of anonymous articles 
 under the head of " Revue Fantastique," where Alfred 
 treated such subjects as occurred to him. That of 
 " Pantagruel, the Constitutional King," was remarkably 
 opportune, and had a great success. But, though truly 
 modest, the poet had too much independence long to 
 submit to any species of slavery. He wearied of jour- 
 nalism, and his reviews soon ceased to appear. 
 
 Under the pretext of acquiring experience, he was 
 leading a somewhat dissipated life. Young people of 
 fashion used then to spend their evenings at the Cafd 
 de Paris, and parties of pleasure were organized there 
 on an extensive scale. They would set off at midnight 
 in post-chaises for Enghien or Morfontaine. They laid 
 extravagant bets, which created public excitement, and 
 Alfred de Musset bore his part in all this nonsense. 
 Occasions for more moderate pleasure also came to him. 
 The unforeseen, for which he had a somewhat pagan 
 veneration, reserved for him sundry special favors. 
 Often bewildered by the choice offered him, he neglected 
 a more obvious for a more doubtful pleasure, for a 
 simple card-party at his neighbor's the Marquis of Bel- 
 mont, an informal visit, a cigar, a chat with a friend, 
 or for nothing whatever. He found it extremely pleas- 
 ant to stay at home and reflect that he might be enjoy- 
 ing himself abroad if he liked. His study was to him
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mtisset. 85 
 
 a haunt of delight, and there we often talked till three 
 o'clock in the morning. Or sometimes the framing of 
 an engraving purchased on the quays demanded our 
 serious consideration ; and, on such days, ours was an 
 animated interior, and our family meals were as gay as 
 possible. 
 
 Among those freaks of chance which the poet loved 
 to regard with a whimsical reverence, there was one 
 which deserves to be reported. Mme. La Duchesse 
 de Castries wanted to read the " Contes d'Espagne," 
 and ordered her companion, who was an Englishwoman, 
 
 to buy a copy. Miss was not very well acquainted 
 
 with the ways of the world, and knew no better than to 
 write to the author the following note : 
 
 "MONSIEUR, A young English lady, wishing to read 
 your poems, addresses herself immediately to you to obtain 
 them. If you will send them to her, she will be deeply 
 obliged." 
 
 This note, legibly signed and bearing the young lady's 
 address, remained for a long time open upon a table, in 
 company with others equally impertinent. One morn- 
 ing, however, Alfred read it over, and wrote the follow- 
 ing reply : 
 
 " MADEMOISELLE, All young English ladies are pretty, 
 and I shall not wrong you by fancying you an exception to 
 the general rule. Since, therefore, you have freely confided 
 to me your name and address, do not be surprised if I claim 
 the privilege of offering to you in person the poems which you 
 desire to read." 
 
 Poor Miss was terribly embarrassed. She ran to 
 
 the duchess and confessed her blunder, and showed her
 
 86 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the cavalier reply which her imprudence had drawn 
 forth. Mme. de Castries comforted her, and told her 
 to await with composure the proposed call. Alfred de 
 Musset soon came with his book under his arm. The 
 valet de chambre had had his orders, and conducted 
 him to the drawing-room, where the duchess received 
 him most graciously and invited him to sit down. She 
 then explained smilingly the mistake of her companion. 
 " There is no reason," she said, "-why you should be 
 deprived of the pleasure of seeing this young English 
 girl, and I will presently introduce you ; but you must 
 begin by making my own acquaintance." 
 
 Thereupon, they began to talk. Alfred knew per- 
 fectly well that the Duchesse de Castries was one of 
 the most agreeable women in Paris. He, therefore, 
 put a good face on the matter, accepted the situation 
 merrily, and determined to shine ; and the result was 
 that the acquaintance, thus begun, ended in a life-long 
 friendship.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 87 
 
 VI. 
 
 TT has been said of the author of the "Contes 
 -^- d'Espagne " that all he lacked in his various enter- 
 prises was good advice. I would have liked to see the 
 honorable counsellors bringing their budget of maxims 
 to that eager spirit, who knew much more about them 
 than the old masters themselves, and who never treated 
 a literary question, either in conversation or in writing, 
 without improvising a whole art of poetry, full of genuine 
 novelties. Nothing certainly would have been easier 
 than to convince him that his verses were bad ; but he 
 would have flung them into the fire, and there would 
 have been no gain. Advice about his way of life he 
 never lacked. But it would have been a fine thing to 
 hear reasonable people lecture this Fantasio, who even 
 while he gave loose rein to his passions, yet scrutinized 
 and studied himself so carefully that his fancy far out- 
 ran all representations which could be made to him. 
 Nothing but time, experience, and reflection can change 
 the character of a poet's genius ; and, if reflection can 
 abridge time, never did poet advance faster than he of 
 whom we speak. 
 
 His experience with the public had been enough to 
 make Alfred de Musset resolve to reform his manner. 
 Nor was this merely an affair of prosody and versifica- 
 tion. A revolution far more important was in progress 
 in his ideas and the character of his mind. He pro-
 
 88 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 duced very little in the years 1830 and 1831 ; but he 
 read and reflected much, and he lived more perhaps 
 than is needful for a poet. One evening, in the month 
 of October, I found him sitting moodily with his head 
 in his hands, and I asked him what he was think- 
 ing of. 
 
 " I am thinking," he replied, " that I am approaching 
 my majority. Two months from to-day, I shall be 
 twenty-one ; and that is a great age. Do I need to 
 visit so many men, and chatter with so many women, in 
 order to know mankind ? Have I not already seen 
 enough to have much to say, supposing that I am capa- 
 ble of saying any thing? Either we have nothing in us, 
 and our sensations have no effect upon our minds ; or*we 
 have the elements of all things in us, and then we only 
 need see a little in order to divine the whole. And still 
 I feel that I lack something, I don't know what. Is it a 
 great love ? Is it a great sorrow ? Both perhaps. But 
 I dare not crave that sort of enlightenment. Experi- 
 ence is a good thing, provided it does not kill you." 
 
 As if he scented in the air something which he 
 dreaded, he formed schemes for retirement and hard 
 work. He tried regularly to apportion his day. That 
 he might be sure of quiet recreation, he took a season- 
 ticket to the opera for six months. Sometimes he passed 
 the time of the performance in a stage-box, where he 
 met friends. Sometimes he retired alone to a re- 
 mote corner, and gladly allowed the music to excite his 
 imagination. Under this sort of stimulus, he composed 
 the " Saule," the longest and most serious poem which 
 he had yet written, and which represents what we call,
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 89 
 
 in the work of a painter, a period of transition. I 
 have elsewhere described the grotesque destiny of this 
 poem. 1 
 
 The winter opened with gloomy auspices. The cholera, 
 which had been stayed for a short time in Poland, had 
 just appeared in the north of Germany. One morning we 
 learned that it had leaped with a single bound to Lon- 
 don, and presently the tidings spread that it had broken 
 out in Paris. The whole aspect of the city was changed. 
 One could not stir abroad without meeting hundreds of 
 hearses. In the evening, the deserted streets, lighted 
 at long intervals by the red lanterns of the ambulances, 
 the closed shops, the silence, the few panic-stricken 
 passers-by who were hurrying for help, all revealed the 
 presence of the scourge ; and every morning the number 
 of the dead increased. Immense removal-carts en- 
 countered at every door one or more biers, sometimes 
 but half constructed. If the corpse was not ready, the 
 overworked agents complained of being made to wait, 
 and quarrelled with relatives and servants. Since the 
 days of the plague in the reign of Charles V., nothing 
 like it had been known in Paris. 
 
 Our father was then suffering from an attack of the 
 gout. On the yth of April, when the physician ques- 
 tioned him, we observed his countenance change. He 
 did not mention the pestilence, but the prescriptions 
 which he ordered were enough. At nine o'clock in the 
 evening, cholera declared itself with frightful violence, 
 and at six in the morning all was over. Our consterna- 
 
 1 See a brief notice of the life of Alfred de Musset, in the quarto edition 
 of his works, published by subscription in 1866. Paris : M. Charpentier.
 
 90 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 tion was so great that we did not at first measure the 
 consequences of this great misfortune. I had seen my 
 brother shed tears over disappointments in love ; but now 
 his grief was quieter because deeper, and he was mute. 
 " This," said he, " is one of those tearless troubles which 
 are never assuaged, the memory of which will always 
 keep its first horror and bitterness. Death strikes us 
 otherwise than love." 
 
 Before examining the state of our father's affairs, it 
 seemed evident to us that, if the emoluments of a fine 
 office were subtracted from the family income, our posi- 
 tion must necessarily be changed. It did not prove so. 
 Unexpected resources appeared ; but their extent was 
 yet uncertain, when my brother confided to me a resolu- 
 tion which will perhaps appear incredible to-day. 
 
 "Without comfort," said he to me one evening, "there 
 can be no leisure, and without leisure no poetry. I must 
 stop playing the spoiled child, and toying with a vocation 
 which is not a career. It is time for me to think and act 
 like a man. The notion of being a burden on the best of 
 mothers, or of prejudicing the future of a sister whom we 
 adore, and who will need a dowry in ten years, is revolt- 
 ing to me. I shall put the affection of those whom I love 
 best to no such test ; and this is what I have determined 
 to do. I shall make a last literary experiment with a vol- 
 ume of verses which will be better than the first. If the 
 publication of this work does not bring me in as much as 
 I expect, I shall enlist in Chartres' hussars, or in a regi- 
 ment of lancers along with my old comrade the Prince of 
 Echmiihl. The uniform will be very becoming. I am 
 young and in good health. I like horseback riding; and,
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 91 
 
 with the influence which I can bring to bear, the devil is 
 in it if I do not become an officer." 
 
 Considering the necessary delay, I was not over- 
 powered by terror at this resolution. There was no 
 prospect of immediate want at home. Alfred began his 
 work, and it was not from work that I desired to dis- 
 suade him. The plan of the poem was suggested by 
 that Oriental proverb of whose truth he was destined to 
 have sorrowful experience, " Between the cup and the 
 lip, there is room for a misfortune." He supposed him- 
 self obliged to work, and delighted to repeat that neces- 
 sity is a muse whom courage can idealize. Sustained by 
 the idea that this attempt would be his last, he felt per- 
 fectly free in his mind ; and, when he was satisfied with 
 his day's work, he used to rub his hands and say : " I 
 am not a soldier yet." 
 
 With no more information about the Tyrol than could 
 be derived from the old geographical dictionary of La 
 Martiniere, he did not hesitate to lay the scene of " La 
 Coupe et les Levres " in that unknown country, and he 
 proved thereby that " the poet has within himself the 
 elements of all things." This dramatic poem, which 
 contains more than sixteen hundred verses, was finished 
 in the course of the summer; and the author then read it 
 aloud to his friend Alfred Tattet. During the autumn, 
 he also wrote the comedy, "A quoi revent les jeunes 
 Filles." Two sisters full of wit and grace whom he had 
 known at Mans, and whom he called his first partners, 
 served him as the models of those two charming figures, 
 Ninette and Ninon. 
 
 It was I who undertook to offer to the publisher Ren-
 
 92 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 duel this volume, whose title, "Un Spectacle dans un 
 Fauteuil," was suggested by the remembrance of that 
 tumultuous night at the Ode'on. Renduel seemed in no 
 haste to conclude the bargain. Poetry, he said, was 
 not a salable commodity, while prose sold like bread. 
 Fortunately I myself had just engaged in bread-making; 
 and, out of regard to me, Renduel consented to trade in 
 the less popular form of food. The MS. was in the 
 hands of the compositors, and the proofs were coming, 
 when there was added at the foot of the page an excla- 
 mation of alarm, " More copy ! more copy ! " The pub- 
 lisher added, "There are but 203 pages, and we must 
 have 300, or the volume will not be presentable." 
 
 The author set to work again. He wrote " Namouna " 
 yet more expeditiously than he had written " Mardoche." 
 Even then there were but 288 pages ; but the article being 
 rhymed, and consequently of the second class, the pub- 
 lisher was content with the smaller quantity. Alfred 
 then assembled his friends, and made them listen to 
 " La Coupe et les Levres," and the comedy " A quoi 
 revent les jeunes Filles." The audience consisted of 
 the very persons who had applauded the " Contes 
 d'Espagne " three years before ; but what a difference ! 
 He was heard in sombre silence. Was it admiration, 
 shock, surprise, or dissatisfaction ? I do not know. I 
 only know that the seance was perfectly glacial, and that 
 the publisher was in despair. M. Merime'e alone drew 
 near the author and said in a subdued tone : " You 
 have made an enormous advance. The little comedy, 
 especially, pleases me very much." The book appeared 
 before the end of the year, but with the date 1833. It
 
 BiograpJiy of Alfred de Musset. 93 
 
 did not create nearly as great a sensation as the " Contes 
 d'Espagne ; " but most fortunately the author had heard, 
 the very day after it was offered for sale, two young men 
 who were walking before him on the Boulevard de Gand 
 laughingly repeat this verse from the part of Irus, 
 
 " Spadille a 1'air de oie, et Quinola d'un cuistre." x 
 And this trivial circumstance, made him feel entirely 
 satisfied. The journals were apparently somewhat afraid 
 to reverse their previous judgments ; but at length M. 
 Sainte-Beuve, who himself owed no apology to the 
 author of the " Contes d'Espagne," succeeded in attach- 
 ing the bell. In the "Revue des Deux Mondes," for 
 Jan. 15, 1833, he published an article in which the new 
 volume of poems was compared with the first, progress 
 noted, and the beauties of the two works illustrated, with 
 that absolute correctness of eye, that skill in thoroughly 
 searching and fathoming a subject and throwing its most 
 delicate shades into relief, which make criticism, when 
 sustained by disinterestedness and good faith, a truly 
 fine and useful art. M. Sainte-Beuve quoted from both 
 volumes passages with which he was peculiarly struck, 
 and then added : " To my mind these verses have a 
 poetical quality, the equal of which in its own way is not 
 to be found in all the works of any one of a large num- 
 ber of estimable people whose verses have brought them 
 to the Academy, M. Casimir Delavigne himself, if 
 you will. Images like these are found, not elaborated. 
 I could cite at least a hundred as good, of which all 
 plagiarists, manufacturers, verbal critics, and people of 
 taste, are invited to partake." 
 
 1 " Spadille looks like a goose, and Quinola like a fag."
 
 94 Biography of Alfred de Musset, 
 
 One likes to see criticism turn animated and forget 
 itself, cast aside its judge's cap in a moment of enthusi- 
 asm, and push to the verge of imprudence its disregard 
 of consequences. At the close of his article, M. Sainte- 
 Beuve delicately reminded his readers that he was a 
 poet himself, by remarking that Marlowe and Rotrou, 
 on the appearance of Shakspeare and Corneille, were 
 saved from sorrow by admiration. 
 
 The example thus deliberately set by M. Sainte- 
 Beuve found but few imitators. Articles appeared at 
 long intervals. People were pretty generally agreed 
 about the merit of the portrait of Don Juan in " Na- 
 mouna." There was no longer any thought of denying 
 talent ; but it was still possible to dispute originality. 
 Every thing is like something else. Criticism fell back 
 on the accusation, so often repeated since and with so 
 little discernment, of having imitated Lord Byron and 
 other poets whom my brother resembled but slightly. 
 On this point, the author had well defended himself in 
 the very dedication of the book thus criticised. This 
 dedication contained a passage in which the doctrines 
 of the romanticists, and the mania for curious rhymes, 
 were sharply attacked. But it made no difference ; and 
 the poet had flung at his head the names of Byron, 
 Victor Hugo, La Fontaine, and Mathurin Regnier. In 
 point of fact, a man who could have imitated success- 
 fully so many poets, differing so widely among them- 
 selves, must have come near originality. It would seem 
 as if three years of intimate association with a mind as 
 firmly tempered as that of M. Victor Hugo ought to 
 have exercised some influence over a young debutant ;
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 95 
 
 but there was no trace of any such influence in the 
 volume then in the hands of the critics. 
 
 As for Lord Byron, everybody imitated him in the 
 sense that all contemporary poets heard his strains with 
 emotion, and found echoes of the same awakened in 
 their own souls. If Alfred de Musset responded to him 
 better than the rest, it was because of a greater simi- 
 larity of sentiment and life-experience between him and 
 the English poet. On certain sides, in fact, these two 
 fine organizations strongly resemble one another. They 
 sacrifice to the same gods, and offer, " for incense, love 
 and grief and melody ; for a victim, the poet's heart." 
 Both liked to represent themselves in their fictitious 
 creations, because this was the only method which made 
 it possible for the poet's heart to beat under the drapery 
 of the character. In this respect, neither imitated the 
 other ; but they met upon ground which Dante, Shak- 
 speare, Moliere, La Fontaine, and many others, had trav- 
 ersed before them. 
 
 Can it be necessary now to say that, if Alfred de 
 Musset studied Mathurin Regnier as well as Fontaine, 
 it was for the purpose of fathoming the true genius of 
 our language, and defending himself against that influx 
 of English and Germanic elements which was inundat- 
 ing the new literature ? Seriously, to imitate Regnier 
 would have been to do him too much honor. What he 
 liked in the old satiric poet, was his frankness ; and he 
 had the best of reasons for setting a high value on that 
 Gallic quality, for he possessed it himself, and owed to 
 it a large part of his power and influence. 
 
 Another reproach in which several of his critics
 
 96 Biography of Alfred 'de Musset. 
 
 united, and which it is now curious to recall, was this : 
 " The poet of ' Namouna,' " said one, " has no convic- 
 tions about any thing. What sort of a man is he ? What 
 are the objects of his worship ? Whence does he come, 
 and whither is he tending ? In times as serious as the 
 present, how can he practise art merely for his own 
 amusement? The moment is ill chosen for these free- 
 and-easy airs about all which troubles and disquiets 
 humanity. If he believes in any thing, let him say so; 
 otherwise, he is of no account in our generation. He 
 is but a poetical amateur." This reproof becomes pos- 
 itively comical when we reflect that the author of 
 " Namouna " is precisely the only poet whose doubts 
 and anguish, and yearnings toward the infinite and the 
 divine, fairly represent the most secret history of the 
 human heart in this age of scepticism. M. Sainte- 
 Beuve, more sagacious than the rest, began by express- 
 ing his own bewilderment about the meaning of a work 
 which appeared full of inconsistencies ; but, when he 
 had succeeded in analyzing the great figure of Don 
 Juan, he exclaimed : " If I have said that this work 
 lacks unity, I retract the saying. Unity the difficult 
 and impalpable is here collected like a beam of light, 
 and falls full and with magic effect upon the counte- 
 nance in question. This is the object of idolatry." 
 
 And yet it was a unity whereof only glimpses were 
 obtained by clairvoyant spirits. It is not discernible in 
 any isolated poem, nor even in any one volume ; but it is 
 to be found to-day in the complete works of the poet. 
 For the fifteen years between 1830 and 1845, tnat ' s to 
 say, from the "Contes d'Espagne " to "II faut qu'une Porte
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 97 
 
 soit Ouverte ou Ferme'e," his last contribution to the por- 
 traiture of our society, short-sighted people never ceased 
 to reiterate on the occasion of every new book by Alfred 
 de Musset : " Who is this man, and whither is he tend- 
 ing?" To which he might have replied : "I am going 
 where my age is going, where we are all going, where 
 you are going yourselves, although you may not know 
 it." But he said nothing, and that was better still. 
 
 It may readily be supposed that Alfred abandoned 
 the idea of enlisting in De Chartres' hussars, notwith- 
 standing the handsome uniform of that distinguished 
 corps. That public composed of the young of both 
 sexes which he had desired to please, had responded to 
 his appeal. It was not precisely for that public that he 
 deliberately undertook the immensely difficult task of 
 composing a poem in stanzas of six consecutive rhymes. 
 But his more serious object was attained. Shortly after 
 the publication of M. Sainte-Beuve's article, the chief 
 editor of the " Revue des Deux Mondes " engaged the 
 assistance of Alfred de Musset. This publication, 
 founded subsequently to the " Revue de Paris," had 
 just begun, in 1831, to appear twice a month. It had a 
 formidable opposition to encounter, and its fortune to 
 make. The young poet promised to contribute as much 
 as he could ; and the reader will allow that the review 
 suffered nothing at his hands, for all that he wrote 
 appeared there. 
 
 On the ist of April, 1833, Alfred de Musset made 
 his first appearance in the " Revue des Deux Mondes," 
 by the publication of "Andre* del Sarto." The 
 subject of this drama had been suggested to him by 
 
 7
 
 98 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the brief notices which accompany the engravings in 
 the " Musee Filhol," a favorite book of his, which he 
 was perpetually conning. When he came to throw him- 
 self into the characters of the Florentine artists of the 
 Renascence, he conceived a strong desire to visit Italy. 
 He wanted, he said, to imitate the author of the " Histoire 
 des Croisades " who, after his work was complete, went 
 to the Holy Land to see what sort of places they really 
 were which he had described. 
 
 After an interval of six weeks, " Andrd del Sarto " 
 was followed by the " Caprices de Marianne," the two 
 acts of which were thrown off in a kind of juvenile 
 transport, the logic of emotion supplying the place of a 
 formal plan. When he came to the famous bottle 
 scene, and had put into Marianne's mouth the tirade in 
 which she taunts the young libertine with having lips 
 more dainty than his heart, and with knowing more of 
 beverages than of women, the author stopped short for 
 a while as though stupefied by the force of his own 
 reasoning. " It isn't to be supposed," said he, " that I 
 am to be beaten myself by that little prude ; " and, after 
 a few moments of reflection, he conceived the triumph- 
 ant reply of Octave. Now that this comedy is fully 
 accredited, both as a reading and acting piece, it is 
 played, but no longer judged. The first person who 
 saw the printed proofs was a little startled by it; nor 
 is this very wonderful. It was like nothing else what- 
 soever, an impassioned subject impregnated with the 
 very quintessence of wit and fancy. The fragment was 
 inserted in the " Revue" without alteration, but not with- 
 out apprehension. It was, however, the last instance of
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 99 
 
 any thing like hesitation ; and every thing else which the 
 new poet offered to the " Revue des Deux Mondes " was 
 accepted forthwith. I ought also to add that, when his 
 admission to the editorial staff of the magazine awak- 
 ened jealousy, and was made the occasion of recrimi- 
 nation, the editor-in-chief undertook his defence, and 
 insisted upon retaining him, with a firmness which he 
 was obliged to push to the verge of obstinacy. All who 
 ever knew Alfred de Musset realize how like he was 
 both to Octave and Ccelio, although these two characters 
 appear the very antipodes of one another. Nowhere 
 but in himself did he find that humor, that inexhaustible 
 merriment, that careless raillery, which vivify the scenes 
 between Octave and Marianne. That the author had 
 such a side may rea.dily be conceived ; but to under- 
 stand that the same man reappears in Ccelio, with all 
 his sustained passion, and the sad and sweet exaltation 
 of mind characteristic of the timid lover, one must 
 remember that love has a transforming power. Once in 
 love, Alfred passed directly from the former to the latter 
 character. Nor is it by any means incredible. For the 
 pangs which our friends endure when in love, we are 
 readily consoled : we bear them like philosophers ; but 
 our own are no laughing matter, and our sufferings 
 from them are very real. Once we were Octave, but 
 now we are Ccelio. For the noble and tender figure 
 of Hermia, the author had not far to seek. He had 
 his model before his very eyes in the person of our 
 mother, always intent on sparing him trouble, or add- 
 ing something to his comfort. As for Marianne, 
 when I asked him where he found her, he answered :
 
 IOO Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 " Nowhere and everywhere. She is woman, not a 
 woman." . 
 
 One morning after the publication of the " Caprices 
 de Marianne," Alfred was at a breakfast at the house 
 of Mme. Tattet, the mother of his friend. MM. Sainte- 
 Beuve, Antony Deschamps, Ulric Guttinguer, and seve- 
 ral other distinguished literary men were present. The 
 mistress of the house was asking Alfred about the health 
 of his mother and sister, and he replied : " I suppose 
 that they are well, but I must confess that I have not 
 seen them for twenty-four hours." He was rallied on 
 this answer, and submitted to the reproaches of his 
 friends about his way of life ; but insisted, in self- 
 defence, that he had some very serious ideas in his 
 head. At dessert he was asked for some verses, and 
 recited the first part of an unpublished poem. It was 
 " Rolla," about which he had as yet said nothing to any 
 one but his brother. The company welcomed the poem 
 with transports of delight, and the author had the good 
 taste not to revert to their late friendly remonstrances. 
 He knew that he was justified. 
 
 " Rolla " appeared in the " Revue des Deux Mondes," 
 Aug. 1 6, 1833. The next day, as Alfred de Musset was 
 going in to the opera, he flung away a cigar on the steps 
 of the theatre, and then saw a young man who was fol- 
 lowing him stoop instantly, pick up the fragment, and 
 carefully wrap it in paper. He has told me a great 
 many times that no compliment, or badge of reward, or 
 distinction, ever touched his heart like that simple tes- 
 timonial of sympathy and admiration. 
 
 At this period, Alfred met for the first time a person
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 101 
 
 who was destined to exercise a considerable influence 
 over his life, and leave a deep impression on his works. 
 It was at a great dinner given to the editors of the 
 "Revue" at the Freres Provenaux. The guests were 
 many, and among them there was one woman, next 
 whom Alfred sat at table. She simply and pleasantly 
 invited him to call on her ; and, after going two or three 
 times at intervals of a week, he became a constant 
 guest. Some of his intimate friends were also on 
 familiar terms there, and among them Gustave Planche. 
 This cynical individual, who had neither tact nor good 
 sense, had usurped a position which rendered him very 
 annoying. He assumed airs of familiarity to which he 
 had no sort of right, took the tone of a master, and 
 affected an ease which the mistress of the house endured, 
 out of weakness and good-nature, but with concealed 
 impatience, as Mme. D'Epinay endured Duclos. Alfred, 
 who knew Planche thoroughly, advised him to alter his 
 manner. Planche pretended not to understand the hint, 
 and it became necessary to be more explicit about the 
 estimation in which he was held. Instead of changing 
 his tone, he retired furious, and bore my brother an in- 
 extinguishable grudge ever after. 
 
 The salon from which Gustave Planche withdrew into 
 exile lost nothing by his departure. Conversation never 
 languished there, and it was a scene of reckless gayety. 
 I have never seen so lively a circle, or one which cared 
 so little for the rest of the world. There were chat, and 
 sketching, and music. On certain days, the company 
 disguised themselves and played different parts. They 
 met in little committees and invented all manner of en-
 
 IO2 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 tertainments, less through dread of ennui than overflow 
 of animal spirits. One day they took it into their heads 
 to give an aesthetic dinner, with a tinge of politics and 
 philosophy. The invited guests were certain editors of 
 the " Revue/' and, among others, Lerminier the pro- 
 fessor of philosophy. In order to provide him with a 
 suitable companion, they invited Debureau, the incompa- 
 rable Pierrot of the " Funambules." Debureau, who was 
 usually seen clothed in white and powdered with flour, 
 put on for the occasion a black coat, a shirt with a very 
 full ruffle, a stiff starched cravat, pumps, and tight gloves. 
 He was ordered to personate a distinguished member of 
 the English House of Commons, passing through France 
 on his way to Austria, with extremely secret instructions 
 from Lord Grey. When they were in full swing, Alfred 
 wanted a part assigned him, and adopted that of a young 
 supplementary servant-girl, freshly arrived from Nor- 
 mandy. He donned the peasant woman's short petticoat, 
 ribbed stockings, short sleeves, and cross suspended 
 from the neck. His rosy cheeks and blonde hair cor- 
 responded with this picturesque costume ; and when he 
 had shaved off his moustache he looked like a fine slip 
 of a girl, not too clever. 
 
 On the day appointed the guests arrived, to the num- 
 ber, if I remember rightly, of seven or eight. Debureau, 
 as became so considerable a personage, arrived fifteen 
 minutes later than the hour named. The guests were 
 presented to him, and he responded to their salutations 
 by slight bows, after which he planted himself before the 
 fireplace, where he stood, stiff as a statue, with his hands 
 behind his back, in glum silence. There was great
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 103 
 
 curiosity to see the author of " Rolla ; " but at half-past 
 six, Alfred de Musset had not arrived, and they sat down 
 at table, leaving his place vacant. The place of honor 
 was assigned to the Englishman, who opened his mouth 
 only to eat and drink, but that largely. Nobody recog- 
 nized Pierrot. In order to give him free play, and Ler- 
 minier a chance to display his knowledge, they turned 
 the conversation upon politics. But vain were all allu- 
 sions to Robert Peel, Lord Stanley, and the other 
 renowned statesmen of Great Britain. The foreign 
 diplomat replied only in monosyllables. At last, how- 
 ever, somebody used the phrase, "the equilibrium of 
 Europe;" whereupon the Englishman waved his hand as 
 if about to speak. 
 
 "Would you like to know," said he, "what I un- 
 derstand by ' the equilibrium of Europe,' in the present 
 portentous state of English and continental politics? 
 Observe me. I will illustrate." 
 
 The diplomat took a plate, flung it into the air with a 
 rotary motion, and then caught it adroitly on the point of 
 his knife, where it continued to spin, but kept its balance 
 to the great admiration of the spectators. "There," 
 said Debureau, "is an emblem of European equilibrium. 
 There is no security elsewhere." 
 
 A universal peal of laughter succeeded, and it was 
 redoubled when the hostess had named Debureau. But 
 the young girl from Caux, whose taking ways had been 
 remarked by some of the guests, did nothing but blunder 
 from the commencement of the dinner. She dropped 
 whatever she touched, put the plates upon the table 
 wrong side up ; brought a knife when a fork was re-
 
 IO4 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 quested, and vice versA. The reproofs of her mistress 
 appeared to embarrass her, and increase her awkward- 
 ness. At the moment, however, when the English- 
 man gave such energetic expression to his views on 
 the balance of power, the young waitress, the better 
 to testify her participation in the general hilarity, 
 seized a carafe as though she would drain it, and then 
 poured the water upon the head of Lerminier, who 
 began to swear at the pestiferous Normande. Alfred 
 then took his place at table, still in his peasant cos- 
 tume, and partook of his share of the dinner which he 
 had served so ill. The reader can guess whether the 
 remainder of the evening was lively. The story made 
 so much noise at the time that a good many Parisians 
 still remember it. 
 
 The same individuals will perhaps recall an almost 
 forgotten writer by the name of Chaudesaigues who was 
 then attempting literary criticism in the "Revue de 
 Paris," and some other journals. Having neither much 
 talent nor much influence, he was a little envious and 
 too simple to conceal the fact. He was a tall, pale 
 youth, with a face like the pictures of Christ, and he 
 stammered in talking. One day he came to make a 
 call in the drawing-room where Debureau had figured as 
 a diplomat. Near him in an arm-chair Chaudesaigues 
 saw a fair-complexioned young man, who spoke never a 
 word, but left the talk to him. He began an exceedingly 
 knowing criticism of " Rolla," " Namouna," and the rest, 
 without a suspicion of the general enthusiasm about 
 verses which he himself could barely tolerate. The 
 blonde youth smiled encouragement, seconded all his
 
 Biography of Alfred de Miisset. 105 
 
 remarks, and accompanied with nods of approbation the 
 discourse of the iconoclast. Thus supported, Chaude- 
 saigues was proceeding to personal criticism, when the 
 mistress of the house abruptly interrupted him with, 
 " I have the honor of presenting to you M. Alfred de 
 Musset, whose acquaintance I have long. wished you 
 to make." 
 
 Chaudesaigues stammered, seized his hat, and rushed 
 for the door, amid irrepressible laughter. But he was 
 a better fellow than Gustave Planche. He returned 
 and begged pardon for his offence, when he might 
 justly have complained that a malicious trick had 
 been played upon himself. They gave him the right 
 hand of fellowship and he was admitted to a coterie 
 where he continued to afford amusement by further 
 blunders. 
 
 It would seem as if a relation which insured so merry 
 a life, where talent, wit, grace, youth, and good-humor 
 were thrown into a common stock, ought never to have 
 been dissolved. Especially would it seem as if people 
 who were so happy could not have done better than 
 remain in an establishment which they had succeeded 
 in rendering so attractive to themselves and others. 
 But no : unrest, the foe of all well-being, and an in- 
 comprehensible turbulence of spirit seized upon them, 
 and they began to pine for a wider sphere than a 
 small salon in the first city of the world. That city 
 became in their eyes no better than a heap of crum- 
 bling, smoking ruins, from which they must needs es- 
 cape. They essayed at first an excursion to Fontaine- 
 bleau ; but it did not suffice, and as winter approached
 
 106 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 they talked of Italy. Their talk soon resolved itself 
 into a scheme of travel, and the project became a 
 fixed idea. 1 
 
 1 It can hardly be necessary to say that M. Paul de Musset here de- 
 scribes, with a somewhat superfluous air of mystery, the beginning of the 
 too famous relation between Alfred de Musset and George Sand. TR.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 107 
 
 VII. 
 
 A LFRED DE MUSSET felt that his Italian journey 
 ** must remain but a half-formed purpose until he 
 had obtained his mother's consent. One morning, at 
 the family breakfast he appeared preoccupied. I knew 
 what was on his mind, and was hardly less agitated than 
 he. On rising from the table, he sauntered about with 
 an air of hesitation. At last he plucked up courage, 
 and made a cautious official announcement of his in- 
 tentions, adding that his plans were subject to his 
 mother's approbation. His request was received like a 
 piece of undeniably bad news. " Never," said our 
 mother, " will I give my consent to a journey which I re- 
 gard as a dangerous and fatal thing. I know that my 
 opposition will be overruled, and that you will go ; but 
 it will be against my wishes and without my sanction." 
 
 For a short time, he hoped to overcome this resistance 
 by explaining on what conditions the trip was to be 
 made ; but, when he saw that his pertinacity served but 
 to excite a flood of tears, he immediately altered his de- 
 termination and sacrificed his project. " Reassure your- 
 self," he said to his mother, " I will not go. If it is 
 absolutely necessary that somebody should weep, it shall 
 not be you." 
 
 And he actually went out to countermand the prepar- 
 atory orders which he had given. The same evening, 
 at about nine o'clock, our mother was sitting with her
 
 io8 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 daughter by the fire, when word was brought her that a 
 lady was waiting outside in a hackney-coach and very 
 anxious to speak with her. Our mother went down ac- 
 companied by a servant, and the unknown lady gave her 
 name. She then entreated the anxious mother to entrust 
 her son to her, promising that she would herself show 
 him a mother's care and tenderness. Promises not 
 proving sufficient, she proceeded to vows. She em- 
 ployed all her eloquence, and it must have been great 
 to have secured her success in such an enterprise. 
 In a moment of emotion, consent was extorted ; and 
 for all Alfred had said, our mother was the one to 
 weep. 
 
 On a foggy, melancholy evening, I accompanied the 
 travellers to the mail coach, where they took their places 
 amid all sorts of evil omens. When people whom every- 
 body knows undertake to travel together in this way, 
 they may be sure that their reputation has everywhere 
 preceded them, and that mystery is out of the question. 
 Any one must have been mad to suppose that such an 
 expedition could remain a secret. Their purpose was 
 neither to avoid the judgment of the public nor to defy 
 it, but simply to submit to it ; or rather they did not 
 think about it at all. It can be no more of a secret to- 
 day than the plot of a comedy ; and, as all the world 
 knows, that comedy was a drama. I am not going to 
 rehearse it. I shall only relate such circumstances as I 
 learned at a distance of three hundred leagues, and 
 which I should have known in any case, even if I had 
 received no confidences. 
 
 Alfred's first letter to his family was dated at Mar-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Miisset. 109 
 
 seilles. He was rejoiced to have fallen in with Stendhal 
 (Henri Beyle), who was leaving for his consulate at 
 Civita Vecchia, and whose caustic wit had enlivened 
 the journey. The second letter, dated at Genoa, con- 
 tained some details about manners, costumes, the women, 
 and the famous picture galleries of that city, and also 
 an account of a walk in the gardens of the Villa Pala- 
 vicini, where Alfred had sat down to rest in a delicious 
 spot beside a fountain, which was a great favorite with 
 tourists. Other letters from Florence informed us that 
 he had found in the Florentine " Chronicles " the 
 subject for a drama in five acts, and was enjoying visit- 
 ing the public squares and palaces which he meant to 
 make the scenes of his characters' action. This was 
 the drama of " Lorenzaccio." 
 
 From Bologna and Ferrara, which he merely passed 
 through on his way to Venice, he did not write at all ; but 
 on his arrival at the death-struck city of the doges, he fell 
 into transports of childlike delight. The room which he 
 occupied in the Danieli palace, on the Molo degli Schia- 
 voni, seemed to him to merit a full description. He 
 never wearied, he said, of gazing on those ceilings under 
 which the head of some great Venetian family must 
 have walked long ago, or of contemplating, through the 
 window, the entrance to the grand canal and the dome 
 of La Salute. He knew that he should not be able to 
 resist the temptation of laying amid these surroundings 
 the scene of a romance or comedy; and he therefore 
 took notes on Venetian customs and peculiarities of 
 dialect, and made his gondolier chatter incessantly. 
 
 Near the middle of February, the letters which had
 
 no Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 arrived regularly up to that time suddenly ceased. 
 After a silence of six mortal weeks, our mother and I 
 had determined to set out for Italy ourselves, when a 
 letter was forwarded to us, which only added to our 
 anxiety by its altered handwriting, its tone of profound 
 sadness, and the deplorable news which it contained. 
 The poor boy, hardly recovered from an attack of brain 
 fever, spoke of dragging himself home as best he might. 
 He wished, he said, to leave Venice as soon as he was 
 strong enough to get into a carriage. " I shall bring 
 you a sick body, a depressed mind, and a bleeding 
 heart, but one which loves you still." He owed his 
 life to the devoted care of two people who never left 
 his pillow until youth and nature had fairly van- 
 quished his malady. For hours he had lain in the 
 very grasp of death, and had been conscious of it 
 himself, in the midst of his strange and utter prostra- 
 tion. He attributed his cure, in part, to a soothing 
 potion, opportunely administered by a young physician 
 of Venice; and he wanted to keep the prescription for the 
 draught. " It is a powerful narcotic," he added, " bitter 
 like every thing which that man gave me, even the life 
 which I owe to him." The prescription was actually 
 found among Alfred's papers, with the signature of 
 Pagello. 1 
 
 The sick man's return was heralded by a letter 
 which plainly revealed his nervous irritability. " For 
 pity's sake," he said, " put me in some other room than 
 my own. At the bare idea of awaking to the sight of 
 
 1 During a trip which I made to Venice in 1863, I ascertained that M. 
 Pagello was still living and practising medicine at Bellune. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. ill 
 
 that hideous, crude, green paper. I shrink as if the 
 four walls were hung with ennui and disappointment." 
 
 To humor his invalid fancy, I determined to give him 
 my room, which had two windows looking into the gar- 
 den, and a paper of a peculiarly subdued tone. On the 
 loth of April the poor prodigal arrived, very much 
 changed and emaciated ; but, once under his mother's 
 wing, recovery was only a matter of time. The severity 
 of his attack may, however, be inferred from the slow- 
 ness of his recovery, and the psychological phenomena 
 by which it was accompanied. 
 
 The first time that my brother tried to tell us the 
 true story of his illness, and his return to Paris, I per- 
 ceived his face change suddenly, and he fainted away. 
 He had an alarming nervous attack, and a month 
 elapsed before he was able to recur to the subject and 
 finish his recital. 
 
 Alfred kept his room for a long time, leaving it only 
 in the evening to play chess with our mother. He had 
 brought from Italy a sort of servant, a hair-dresser by 
 trade, who had taken tolerably good care of him on the 
 journey, without knowing a word of French. The lad 
 was a poor enough valet ; but his services were agree- 
 able to Alfred, who often summoned Antonio and made 
 him talk the dialect of his country. Antonio, however, 
 contracted in these interviews a home-sickness so in- 
 tense that it became necessary to send him back to 
 Venice ; and one morning he accordingly departed with 
 a load of empty phials and old pommade-pots, which he 
 proposed to fill with lard and spirits of wine, and sell to 
 the inhabitants of the lagoons as specimens of Paris 
 perfumery.
 
 112 BiograpJiy of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Our little sister, child as she was, already played the 
 piano very well. We observed that Hummel's fine 
 concerto in B minor had the power of luring the sick 
 man from his retreat. When he had been shut up a 
 good while, I used to ask for the Hummel concerto, and 
 after a few minutes we would hear him open his door. 
 Then he would come and sit down in a corner of the 
 drawing-room, and when the piece was finished we often 
 succeeded in detaining him by talking of music ; but if 
 a word recalled his trouble he would return to his cham- 
 ber for the rest of the day. 
 
 When his craving for solitude was partially appeased, 
 he opened his doors to his friend Tattet and myself, 
 from whom he had nothing to conceal. We sometimes 
 passed whole days in the invalid's chamber, and even- 
 ings which might as well be called nights. At first, 
 Alfred was determined to be brave. He thought that 
 pride would serve his turn, and plainly counted on that 
 for subduing his grief and his regrets. But he was not 
 long in recognizing the impotence of this auxiliary, and 
 then he thrust it away as a futile point of honor. After 
 a while he allowed us to see the depth of the wound 
 which he had received. Despite the fearful memories 
 which oppressed him, he hugged his grief, and sometimes 
 he was angry with us for venturing to chide him on this 
 head. At times he was morose, as though his very 
 nature were changed. He suspected us of I know not 
 what treachery, or accused us of utter indifference ; and 
 then, all in a moment, he would take shame for his sus- 
 picions, and revile himself for ingratitude with such 
 exaggerated vehemence, that we could hardly soothe
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 113 
 
 him. As for those who had destroyed his peace, it was 
 not enough for him to forgive them. He tried to find 
 excuses or at least extenuating circumstances, for them : 
 so sick was he at heart, so fearful that the courier from 
 Venice would bring him no more letters. He wrote 
 several, in which he did not hesitate to take all the 
 blame to himself; some of them contained verses. 1 
 
 When it became known in Paris that Alfred de 
 Musset had returned without the companion with whom 
 he had set out on his travels, the matter gave rise to 
 much conjecture, and fables .were invented which bore 
 no resemblance to the truth. Alfred got wind of the 
 gossip, and spared no pains to deny whatever might 
 prove injurious to the lady whom he had left at Venice. 
 In this respect, he merely did his duty as a chivalrous 
 man : but he could not conceal his depression, nor the 
 alteration in his looks ; and malicious conjectures con- 
 tinued to be raised in spite of him. 
 
 If we would know his real state of mind during this 
 time of trial, it is to himself that we must apply for a 
 faithful picture of it : we must give place to the patient, 
 and hear him in his own words. This is what he wrote 
 on the subject in 1839, after a lapse of five years : 
 
 " I thought at first that I felt neither mortification nor 
 regret at being deserted. I took my leave proudly ; but, when 
 I came to look about me, I beheld a desert. An unexpected 
 
 1 In 1859, I requested the person with whom these letters were deposited 
 to return them to the family of the deceased poet. He calmly replied that 
 the sacred trust had been violated, and the letters restored to the hands of 
 one who should never have seen them again. I inquired what had become 
 of them, and learned that they had been burned. I have in reserve a pack- 
 age of autograph letters on this subject. P. M.
 
 114 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 anguish seized me. My thoughts seemed all to be falling 
 around me like dead leaves ; and a feeling, hitherto unknown, 
 awoke in my heart, a feeling excruciatingly tender and 
 strange and sad. I saw that I was powerless to struggle, 
 and I gave myself up to despairing sorrow. I broke off all 
 my customary occupations, and shut myself up in my cham- 
 ber. There I stayed and wept for four months, seeing no 
 one, and having no diversion save a mechanical game of 
 chess in the evening. 
 
 " Little by little, however, my sorrow was assuaged, my 
 tears were dried, my nights were no longer sleepless. I fell 
 in love with melancholy. In this quieter mood I looked back 
 a*t what I had left. No remnant of the past remained, 
 nothing at least which could be recognized. An old picture, 
 a tragedy which I knew by heart, an utterly hackneyed ro- 
 mance, a talk with a friend, afforded me surprise. Such 
 things had a new meaning : I knew then what experience is, 
 ^and I saw that sorrow teaches us truth. 
 
 " That was a noble moment in my life. I love to pause at 
 it ; a hard but noble moment. I have not told you the par- 
 ticulars of my passion. The story, if I were to tell it you, 
 would prove very like another ; and what would be the use ? 
 My mistress was dark : she had large eyes. I loved her and 
 she deserted me, and I suffered and wept for four months. 
 Will not that suffice ? 
 
 " I presently perceived the change which was being wrought 
 in me ; but it was as yet far from complete. One does not 
 become a man in a day. I began by indulging a ridiculous 
 exaltation : I wrote letters after the manner of Rousseau, 
 no matter about all that analysis ! My sensitive and inquis- 
 itive spirit trembled incessantly like the magnetic needle ; 
 but what matter, if the pole is found ? I had long been 
 dreaming : now I began to think. I tried to say as little as 
 possible, but I went back to the world. I wanted to see and 
 learn things anew. 
 
 " One is captious when one is suffering. Sorrow is not 
 easy to suit. I began like Cervantes' curt, by purging my
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 115 
 
 library and consigning my idols to the garret. I had in my 
 room a good many lithographs and engravings, the best of 
 which now seemed to me hideous. I did not care to climb a 
 staircase to rid myself of these. I was content to put them 
 in the fire. When my sacrifices were achieved, I counted up 
 what remained. It was not much, but that little inspired me 
 with a certain respect. My empty bookcase annoyed me ; 
 and I replaced it by one three feet broad, and containing three 
 shelves, where slowly and reflectively I arranged a small num- 
 ber of volumes. My frames, on the contrary, remained empty 
 a good while. Six months elapsed before I could fill them 
 to my taste, and then I put in them old engravings from 
 Raphael and Michael Angelo." * 
 
 All these details are precisely true. I was present at 
 the auto-da-fe of the engravings, and the dismantling of 
 the library. The books which he kept, and which he 
 called his old friends, were the French classics of the 
 seventeenth century, Sophocles, Aristophanes, Horace, 
 Shakspeare, Byron, Goethe, the four great poets of 
 Italy in one volume, Boccaccio, Rabelais, Mathurin 
 Regnier, Montaigne, Amyot's Plutarch, and Andre 
 Chenier. Leopardi's little volume was afterwards added 
 to this choice collection. The frames had been vacant 
 a good while when Tattet brought him, one day, a very 
 fine engraving of Raphael's Saint Cecilia. 
 
 " I hope," said he, " that this master will find favor 
 with your severity." 
 
 Alfred admired the engraving, and wished himself to 
 frame it ; and before long there grouped themselves 
 around the Cecilia, the Virgins of the Chair and the 
 Candles, the Poetry of the Vatican, Saint Catherine of 
 
 1 From an unpublished work of Alfred de Mussel's, entitled " Le Poete 
 Dechu."
 
 1 1 6 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Alexandria, Michael Angelo's Surprise, 1 and the Goliath 
 of Giulio Romano. Titian and Rubens were not admitted 
 until long after. 
 
 When first our invalid had consented to seek for some 
 amusement away from home, he said, as he was dressing : 
 " Now that I am going to plunge again into the stream 
 of life, I feel a mixture of joy and dread, for it seems 
 as though the unknown were before me. I am like a 
 goldsmith, who cautiously rubs a gold ring on his touch- 
 stone. I am going to test every thing by my own half- 
 closed wound." 
 
 And the first time that he returned from a visit where 
 the conversation had been such as to make him forget 
 his troubles, he experienced a sort of shame." " Such is 
 human misery," said he. " A grief which has become 
 torpid is as like enjoyment as a new pleasure." 
 
 When we asked him whether the desire to produce 
 something would not soon revive, his answer was : 
 "The desire 1 you mean the faculty of production. I 
 know nothing at all about it. I am just as incompre- 
 hensible to myself as to others. I tremble already 
 when I think how bad the first verse which occurs to 
 me will look the next day -when I come to examine it 
 coolly." 
 
 We urged him as a mere pastime and proof of his 
 mental recovery to write a prose proverb ; and the lead- 
 ing editor of the " Revue des Deux Mondes " showed 
 him many marks of friendship. Naturally obliging, he 
 
 1 Apparently the engraving by Marc Antonio of certain figures, from 
 the cartoon of the Battle of Pisa, of soldiers surprised while bathing in the 
 Amo. TR.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 117 
 
 did not like to refuse ; and, the editor needing something 
 of an imaginative character for the magazine, Alfred 
 made an effort to resume work. Some time before, he 
 had sketched in a few lines the plan of a comedy, to 
 which he had given the provisional title of " Camille et 
 Perdican." He had even written an introduction to it 
 in verse ; but nothing would have induced him to com- 
 pel his Muse to descend by means of exorcisms, and he 
 therefore translated his verses into prose. 1 
 
 The piece which was entitled, " On ne badine pas 
 avec 1'Amour," bears marks, in some places, of the moral 
 condition of the author. The singular character of 
 Camille, certain speeches of Perdican's which are marked 
 by a melancholy tenderness, and the conflict of pride 
 between the two, suggest the influence of the sad recol- 
 lections to which the poet had succumbed ; but the 
 whole piece, from beginning to end, is imbued with a 
 passion and fervor of feeling, before which the " Depit 
 Amoureux" of Moliere the subject of which bears 
 some resemblance to the loving strife of Camille and 
 Perdican turns positively pale. 
 
 Before he went to Italy, Alfred de Musset had sent to 
 M. Buloz the MS. of " Fantasio," and this comedy had 
 been published in his absence. Those who had the good 
 fortune to know the author in the flower of his youth, 
 and his youthful follies, know how faithfully he has de- 
 picted himself in the original character of " Fantasio." 
 But that which, in the comedy, suffices for a whole 
 character, a perfect type, and the subject of a piece, 
 
 i The poetical form of the introduction to this comedy was published in 
 the large quarto edition of 1866.
 
 n8 Biography of Alfred de -Musset. 
 
 is found, when we examine the original closely, to con- 
 stitute but a single facet of a brilliant mind, and one out 
 of a thousand of the deep recesses of his heart. The 
 Emperor Napoleon was right when, in a conversation on 
 literary matters with the renowned Goethe, he said that 
 there is not time in an acting play to develop a com- 
 plex character, with all its apparent contradictions, its 
 delicate shades, and infinitely multiplied incongruities ; 
 and that, if we would not confuse the spectator, we must 
 represent only simple and legible characters, the clew to 
 which is given in the first word they speak. Only in 
 a biography and after the lapse of twenty years, can it be 
 fully and convincingly shown that the tender Coelio, the 
 epicurean Octave, the frivolous Valentin, the light- 
 hearted Fantasio, the impassioned Fortunio, and the 
 philosopher in the " Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle," 
 were one and the same man. 
 
 A more sustained work than the story of the loves of 
 Camille and Perdican had been offered to the " Revue 
 des Deux Mondes," but not inserted ; namely, the drama 
 of " Lorenzaccio." Probably it was thought too long ; 
 or it may be that the editor preferred to reserve it unpub- 
 lished for the collected dramatic works brought out in 
 book form by the house which issued the " Revue." 1 
 
 In order to surmount the melancholy which, under 
 the guise of constancy in love, still weighed his spirits 
 down, Alfred undertook, in the month of September, 
 a journey to Baden. The trip proved most benefi- 
 cial ; and he returned perfectly restored, both in mind 
 
 l " Un Spectacle dans un Fauteuil." Prose, 2 vols. 8vo. Paris and 
 London: 1834.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 119 
 
 and body. He was engaged in writing out that grace- 
 ful episode of his " Sentimental Journey," which he 
 entitled " Une bonne Fortune," when an unlucky acci- 
 dent destroyed the favorable effect of the journey, and 
 the fruits of six months of struggle and reflection. The 
 return of a person whom he had wished never to see 
 again, but of whom he was forced to see much, plunged 
 him anew into a life so full of exciting scenes and pain- 
 ful discussions that the poor boy had a relapse, from 
 which it seemed as if he could not recover. Neverthe- 
 less, he drew from his very malady the means of cure. 
 Where reason did not avail, suspicion and incredulity 
 saved him. He wearied of emphatic recriminations, and 
 resolved to shake off that unwholesome regime. A final 
 rupture took place in 1835, as the result of some trifling 
 disagreement ; and this time, instead of abandoning him- 
 self to the voice of his grief, the patient consented to 
 seek distraction. The world did not wish to lose him, 
 his friends entreated him to take part in their amuse- 
 ments, and he yielded. 
 
 There is a vast difference between a party of pleasure 
 where the wine, by rendering fools more loquacious, is 
 productive only of noise and coarseness in speech, and 
 a supper among choice spirits animated by good cheer, 
 who recite verses, give excellent music, improvise songs, 
 and exchange the gayest of sallies. A great deal has 
 been said about the reunions of which Prince Belgiojoso 
 was the soul ; and some people have been pleased to re- 
 mark that Alfred de Musset there plunged into excesses 
 extremely dangerous for a poet. It is a most absurd 
 exaggeration. The greater part of these "excesses,"
 
 I2O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 reduce themselves to entirely simple dinners after swim- 
 ming parties ; and even in carnival times, when custom 
 sanctions noisier amusements, Alfred very rarely took 
 part in such. He refused ten invitations where he ac- 
 cepted one, and often quitted a circle and went home 
 when the evening's mirth was at its height. 
 
 A new man, very unlike the old, had in fact replaced 
 the Octave and Fantasio in him. The malice and stu- 
 pidity of the insinuations against his mode of life at 
 this period will be sufficiently evident from a list of 
 the works composed during the year 1835. They were 
 " Lucie," the " Nuit de Mai," the " Quenouille de Bar- 
 barine," the " Chandelier," the " Loi sur la Presse," the 
 " Nuit de Decembre," and the " Confession d'un Enfant 
 du Siecle." Where would he have found time for all 
 this writing, if he had passed his nights in convivial 
 entertainments, and his days in recruiting from the 
 fatigue of the night ? I say nothing of his reading, which 
 nevertheless was not discontinued. Strictly speaking, 
 however, he composed nothing during the first four 
 months of that prolific year. One day in May, his 
 friend, Alfred Tattet, asked him in my presence, what 
 the fruits of his silence were to be, and this was the 
 answer he made : 
 
 " For the last year I have been reading over again 
 what I had read before, and learning over what I 
 thought I knew. Now I have gone back to the world and 
 plunged into some of your pleasures, for the sake of see- 
 ing again what I had seen before. I have made the 
 most sincere and heroic efforts to drive away the memory 
 which obscured my vision, and to break up the per-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 121 
 
 petually recurring habits of the old time. After having 
 interrogated grief till it had nothing more to tell me, and 
 quaffed my own tears, sometimes in solitude, sometimes 
 before you, my friends who believe in me, I feel at last 
 that I have surmounted misfortune, and wholly disen- 
 gaged myself from my past. To-day, I have myself laid 
 upon their bier my youth, my idleness, and my vanity. 
 My thought seems to me like a plant which it has long 
 been necessary to water, but which can now draw 
 nourishment from the earth and grow in the sunshine. 
 It seems to me now that I shall speak soon, and that I 
 have something in my soul which must come out." * 
 
 It was the " Nuit de Mai " which was crying to come 
 out. One spring evening, as we were returning from a 
 walk, Alfred repeated to me the first two couplets of the 
 dialogue between the Muse and the Poet, which he had 
 just composed under the chestnuts of the Tuileries. 
 He worked without interruption until morning, yet when 
 he appeared at breakfast I detected no sign of fatigue 
 upon his face. Like Fantasio, he had the color of the 
 May in his cheeks. The Muse possessed him. All day 
 long, he carried on simultaneously his work and his 
 social intercourse, as one plays two games of chess at 
 the same time. Now and then he quitted us and wrote 
 a dozen verses or so, and then came back and resumed 
 conversation. But, when night came, he returned to 
 his work as to a lover's rendezvous. He had a little 
 supper served in his own room, and he ought really to 
 have ordered two covers, one for his attendant Muse. 
 He made a requisition of all the candlesticks in the 
 
 1 These lines occur again, almost word for word in the " Poete D6chu."
 
 122 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 house, and lighted twelve candles. It must have seemed 
 to the other inmates as if he were giving a ball. On the 
 morning of the second day the piece was completed, and 
 the Muse took wing ; but she had been so well received 
 that she promised to return. The poet blew out his 
 lights, went to bed, and slept until nightfall. When he 
 awoke, he read over what he had written, but found 
 nothing to retouch. Then out of the ideal world where he 
 had lived for two days, the poet dropped abruptly down 
 to earth, sighing as though he had been rudely awakened 
 from some delectable fairy dream. His enthusiasm was 
 succeeded by a sudden lassitude, a disgust with life and 
 its petty troubles, and a profound depression. It seemed 
 as if all the luxury of Sardanapalus, and all the refined 
 amusements which Paris had to offer, would hardly be 
 enough to rouse him from his dejection. But the sight of 
 a pretty face, a strain of music, a graceful note opportunely 
 received, dispelled the shadows, and he was obliged to 
 own that he was resigned to living a little longer. 
 
 In the eyes of some, these alternations of high excite- 
 ment and utter prostration are only a proof of weak- 
 ness ; but they are mistaken. Insensibility is not 
 strength. It better deserves the name of impotence. 
 " The man who takes the strongest dose of life," said 
 the philosopher Flourens, " is the man who feels most 
 keenly." In more than one passage of his works, 
 Alfred de Musset, who knew himself thoroughly, has 
 described the exceptional organization which makes 
 what we call a poet ; but among his papers I have dis- 
 covered yet another definition, which may, I think, be 
 appropriately inserted here.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 123 
 
 " Be sure that the restless spark imprisoned in this paltry 
 skull is a divine thing. You admire a fine instrument a 
 piano of Erard, a violin of Stradivarius ; but, great God ! 
 what are they compared to a human soul ? In all the thirty 
 years which I have lived, I have never used my faculties as 
 freely as I desired. I have never been quite myself except 
 when I have been silent. I have as yet only heard the open- 
 ing bars of the melody which perhaps is in me. The instru- 
 ment will soon crumble into dust, and I have but tuned it ; 
 yet that has been a delight. 
 
 " Whoever you are, you can understand me if you have 
 loved any thing whatsoever, your country, a woman, a 
 friend ; nay, even your own welfare, a house, a room, a bed. 
 Suppose that you are returning from a journey : you are com- 
 ing back to Paris. You are at the frontier, stopped only 
 by the custom-house. If you are capable of emotion, do you 
 not feel a certain pleasurable impatience at the thought that 
 you are returning to that house, that room ? Does not your 
 heart beat quickly when you turn the corner, when you ap- 
 proach, when at last you arrive ? Ah well ! it is but a natural 
 pleasure and a vulgar impatience which you feel for the bed 
 and table which you know so well. But suppose that you 
 felt the like for all that lives, noble and common, known 
 and unknown alike. Suppose your life a continuous journey, 
 every boundary your frontier, every inn your home, your 
 children awaiting you on every threshold, your wife on every 
 couch : you think that I am exaggerating ; but, no ! It is 
 thus with the poet ! It was so with me when I was twenty ! " ' 
 
 He might have added : " So I am still, and so I shall 
 always be." As M. Saint Rend Taillandier has said of 
 Goethe, he planted flowers of poetry at every step. 
 Every keen and sweet impression which he received in 
 life produced some piece of verse. After he had written 
 
 1 Quoted from the " Poete De"chu." This page was written in 1839. 
 P. M.
 
 124 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the " Nuit de Mai," as though there had been healing 
 in the first kiss of the Muse, he declared to me that his 
 wound was perfectly cured. I asked him if he were 
 quite sound and sure that the wound would not open 
 again. 
 
 " Possibly," he replied, " but if it does open it will 
 only be poetically." 
 
 Twenty years later, in our mother's drawing-room, the 
 conversation turned on divorce, and Alfred said in the 
 hearing of several people who never forgot the remark : 
 "Our marriage laws are not so bad after all. There 
 was a moment of my youth when I would gladly have 
 given ten years of my life to legalize divorce, so that 
 I might espouse a married woman. But if my vows had 
 been heard, I should have blown my brains out in six 
 months."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 1 25 
 
 VIII. 
 
 TN the month of August, 1835, the "Quenouille de 
 -* Barbarine" appeared, and the author immediately 
 set to work on the " Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle," 
 of which, however, the title was not yet determined. 
 He was laboring with zeal, when he read one morning in 
 a newspaper the text of a proposed law which created 
 a new misdemeanor in the case of printed matter ; 
 namely, that of objectionable intent or tendency. The 
 penalty affixed struck him as enormous. The then 
 minister, profiting by the alarm, occasioned by the 
 attempt of Fieschi, was demanding of the legislators 
 new weapons against free discussion. Alfred did not 
 resist the temptation to write an occasional poem, which 
 those would seem never to have read who reproach him 
 with habitual indifference to the welfare of his country 
 and the events of the day. In truth, he defined his posi- 
 tion in these words : 
 
 " Pour etre d'un parti j'aime trop la paresse, 
 Et dans ancun haras je ne suis dtalon. 1 " 
 
 But the boasted idleness of an exceedingly busy and 
 industrious young man was only self-respect, and the 
 firm resolution never to abandon poetry. This wise line 
 of conduct, from which he never swerved, did not pre- 
 
 1 " I love idleness too well to belong to any party, and I am not the stal- 
 lion of any stud."
 
 126 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 vent him from feeling most acutely all which concerned 
 the safety and honor of his country. The verses on 
 the new law were addressed in the form of a letter to 
 the prime minister, who was wise enough to cherish "no 
 grudge against their author. Politicians are wont to 
 smile when poets mix themselves up with the affairs of 
 this world ; but the men who at that time held the 
 destinies of France in their hands are now reduced to 
 asking, on their own behalf, a little of the freedom of 
 which they so rudely deprived others, and against which 
 they so loudly declaimed. 1 Fieschi's case proved that 
 there was no correlation whatever between the news- 
 papers, books, and theatrical performances of the year 
 1835, a d an obscure conspiracy hatched by mercenary 
 subalterns in a grocer's shop ; but we were enriched by 
 the crime of moral complicity and the penalty of trans- 
 portation. 
 
 All this while, Alfred was working at the " Confession 
 d'un Enfant du Siecle." He went continually into 
 society, yet wrote every evening an appalling number 
 of those pages, where we feel, as we read, the quivering 
 of his pen. A novel incident interrupted him in the 
 midst of his work. He came home one evening per- 
 plexed by some ambiguous words addressed to him by a 
 woman, and accompanied by looks more significant than 
 her speech. Disgusted as he was with love, and barely 
 recovered from his previous attack, Alfred observed the 
 lady's associates with suspicion, and fancied he saw 
 traces of a conspiracy into which two people had entered 
 to destroy his peace. He did not hesitate to bring the 
 l This was written under the reign of Napoleon III.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 127 
 
 charge, and the younger lady exculpated herself com- 
 pletely : but, while she proved that she had had no wish 
 to inspire affection, she proved equally that she did not 
 feel it ; and the accuser found his position, with refer- 
 ence to her, somewhat embarrassing. 1 
 
 Obliged to retract his unjust suspicions, Alfred asked 
 himself what would have happened if they had been 
 well founded ; and, in a flash, he imagined the whole 
 comedy of the " Chandelier." 
 
 I was then a modest hack-writer, having but two 
 hours in the day the time from four to six to give 
 to my friends and social duties, while I worked all the 
 evening in the hope of acquiring a little talerft ; that is 
 to say, the independence for which I pined. One night 
 I was at home scribbling on I know not what, while my 
 more worldly brother was abroad. As usual, it was past 
 midnight when he came home : but between two and 
 three o'clock in the morning he came to my room with 
 some loose leaves of paper in his hand ; and, seating him- 
 self on the foot of my bed, he began to read that charm- 
 ing scene in which the rage of Master Andre" is opposed 
 by the sangfroid of the crafty Jacqueline. We both 
 went into fits of laughter ; and the second scene, the one 
 in which Clavaroche devises his odious machination, was 
 written before daybreak. I entreated my brother to 
 think seriously about having this delicious comedy put 
 on the stage ; but he replied that its fate was fixed. 
 "If any theatre wants to adopt it," said he, " they will 
 
 1 I have already told this story briefly in the notice which accompanies 
 the edition of 1866. There seems to be no reason now why I should not 
 give it more in detail. P. M.
 
 128 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 find the 'Chandelier' in the pages of the 'Revue.'" 
 The piece actually appeared there Nov. i, 1835 ; and 
 nobody ever suspected that it could be played until 
 thirteen years later. 
 
 This time the characters of the comedy were imagi- 
 nary. There is no similarity whatever between Jac- 
 queline and the lady who so innocently furnished the 
 theme of the piece. But the author continued to play 
 the part of " Fortunio " toward her, although he uttered 
 no reproaches. One morning as he was walking along 
 the Rue de Buci, with a thoughtful face and downcast 
 eyes, he began to dream of the hazard of making this 
 lady a declaration of love by letter. All at once, he 
 said aloud, " But what if I were to say that I love you ? " 
 then lifting his head he met the eyes of a passer-by who 
 began to laugh at his outbreak. His doubts naturally 
 resolved themselves into a poem, and he composed the 
 stanzas to Ninon. That evening, in the lady's draw- 
 ing-room, some ten persons being present, he took a 
 paper out of his pocket and handed it to the mistress 
 of the house, remarking, with an air of entire simplicity, 
 that he had been writing some verses, and wanted to 
 know what she thought of them. The lady read the 
 verses to herself with an indifferent air, and handed him 
 back the paper without a word. Afterwards she asked 
 him for it again, held it open in her hand for a while, 
 and then put it in her pocket, as if unconsciously. 
 
 On the morrow, at the usual calling hour, Alfred sal- 
 lied forth to receive the reprimand which he expected ; 
 but he found nobody at home. He was avoided. When 
 at last he did obtain an interview, it was before witnesses ;
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 129 
 
 and the lady apparently did not remember that any 
 verses had been addressed to her. Alfred pretended to 
 be equally oblivious, but his interest was only piqued. 
 Their silence ended in an abrupt explanation, and a full 
 and unreserved avowal of his sentiments. In this first 
 episode, the lover's happiness lasted three weeks, at the 
 end of which period Alfred was assailed by new sus- 
 picions. The taste of the poison which he had drunk at 
 Venice tine year before came back to him. If his friend 
 had been gentle and patient, she might have cured him 
 of his jealous distrust ; but unhappily she had a haughty 
 spirit, susceptible and impulsive, which brooked neither 
 precaution nor delay. After a stormy week, they re- 
 solved to part, and the resolution was formulated in 
 terms of crushing force. Alfred wrote a desperate letter 
 in which he acknowledged himself in the wrong, and 
 received, in reply, a request for the return of the letters, 
 ten or twelve at most, which she had written him. He 
 wrapped them up in a piece of cloth along with a lock 
 of hair, a few little things which had been meant for 
 souvenirs, and a flower which had scarcely had time to 
 fade. Only one hand might hold this " dear and fragile 
 treasure." He sent it back with tears, and remained 
 face to face with himself. It was verily an amputation. 
 When he thought of the usual patience of women under 
 such circumstances, of their weakness, and the man- 
 oauvres which they know so well how to try, he asked 
 himself by what strange fatality he had encountered the 
 only woman in the world capable of a course so hard 
 and cruel. 
 
 But his Muse did not, as on the previous occasion, 
 9
 
 130 Biography of Alfred de Musset, 
 
 wait six months before consoling him. Publication, 
 moreover, was one way of calling the attention of his 
 ungrateful mistress to the expression of his grief and 
 regret. One fearfully stormy night I came in at about 
 midnight, and saw so many lights in my brother's room 
 that I thought he must have a large number of guests. 
 He was, however, writing the " Nuit de Decembre." That 
 poem, fraught with so deep a melancholy, belongs to the 
 episode which I have just related, and the reader of it 
 sees plainly that the poet has drunk of a new cup. That 
 picture of solitude ; that conception of a pale, sable-clad 
 figure, becoming visible only in moments of anguish and 
 desolation, could only have originated in a new situa- 
 tion and a recent sorrow. I am aware that many readers 
 have seen, in the " Nuit de Decembre," only a reaction 
 from the memories of Italy, and a sort of complement to 
 the " Nuit de Mai ; " but this is an error which requires 
 correction. No doubt should be suffered to linger 
 about that passage of the poem in which the deserted 
 lover reproaches the woman who " knows not how to 
 forgive." I know the truth : and I will not permit the 
 slightest confusion between two very different women ; 
 one of whom had really something to forgive, and the 
 right to refuse her pardon. This is why I have chosen 
 to dwell on that new love affair ; the prologue to which 
 gave rise to the " Nuit de Decembre." 
 
 We will now return to the " Confession d'un enfant du 
 Siecle." The author had had a sorrowful fancy for 
 ending the romance at the point where Brigitte confesses 
 her love to Octave. " My hero," he said, " will be more 
 fortunate than I have been, for I have myself brought
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 131 
 
 him to the moment when he will receive consolation. 
 Let us go no farther ! To-morrow will be too painful." 
 But it was urged upon him that a good ending would 
 render the book insignificant ; and, having consented to 
 finish the second volume, he set to work assiduously. 
 
 In spite of its title, we must not expect to find in the 
 "Confession," an autobiography. The sentiments ex- 
 pressed are indeed to some extent his own ; but truth 
 of incident is nowhere to be found, not even by disre- 
 garding chronological order. The author never meant 
 to tell the story of his youth. He did not merely draw 
 upon his own recollections ; but he observed whatever 
 of life and movement he saw around him, and collected 
 whatsoever he thought might be presented as sympto- 
 matic of the moral malady which he was attempting to 
 describe ; whatsoever might strengthen that philosophic 
 thesis which gives his work a higher range than properly 
 belongs to any mere society romance. Many of the 
 real incidents have been developed or modified, that they 
 might serve as illustrations of character. The attempt 
 to separate what is real from that which appertains 
 merely to art and the necessities of the case would 
 prove utterly futile, and even if successful would shed 
 no light on the life of the author. 
 
 As regards " Desgenais," I need only remark that 
 so strong a type could not have been a portrait. There 
 is summed up in this character a whole class of young 
 people with whom Alfred had been intimate, and whom 
 he named " men of the flesh," to distinguish them from 
 the men of sentiment typified by Octave. The " Con- 
 fession," delayed by events of which the public knew
 
 132 Biography of Alfred de Mussel. 
 
 nothing, was awaited with impatience. It finally ap- 
 peared in the early days of 1836 ; but those who hoped 
 for revelations were disappointed. It did not create the 
 least scandal. And the best advice I can offer to those 
 who read it now, is that they give up their conjectures, 
 and endeavor to learn from it something about them- 
 selves and the times in which they live.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 133 
 
 IX. 
 
 *THHE eleventh of December had been Alfred de 
 -* Musset's twenty-fifth birthday. The new year 
 upon which he was entering began as badly as the pre- 
 vious one had done. Precisely because no fearful 
 memories, no painful associations, were mingled with his 
 second disappointment in love, he felt less energy than 
 on the former occasion for contending against ennui and 
 dejection. A healthful heart can summon the strength 
 needful to surmount a passion of which it is ashamed ; 
 but, when there is no help save in cold reason, the heart 
 refuses to be healed. Alfred felt that he had made 
 a vain boast when he said to his stern mistress in the 
 " Nuit de De'cembre," " He who loses you has not lost 
 all." He fancied, on the contrary, that he had lost the 
 happiness of his whoje life ; and he could not be resigned 
 to so great a sacrifice, nor allow himself to be condemned 
 without being heard. The first time he met the lady in 
 question after the publication of the "Nuit de De'- 
 cembre," she told him that she had been both amazed 
 and affected by the reading of the poem ; that she had 
 not supposed him capable of suffering such distress ; 
 that when she saw him unhappy, she pitied him sincerely. 
 Then, as though afraid of having said too much, she 
 added that it could make no difference. Alfred profited 
 by the occasion to let her know what he had suffered, 
 and then asked to be allowed to resume his visits as a
 
 134 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 friend ; adding that she might receive him without danger, 
 since it could make no difference. She owned the justice 
 of his reasoning, and gave the permission required ; and 
 that night the poor child came home as pleased as 
 though he had won a great victory. 
 
 When I learned the nature of the success in which he 
 was exulting, and which he immediately confided to me, 
 I did not hesitate to declare it a bad piece of business. 
 " You do not, either of you," I said jestingly, " know 
 what you want. Your fair one is like a fish nibbling at 
 the hook, and all the while saying to the fisherman, 
 ' You need not expect to catch me.' And you are like a 
 man sick with gastric fever who consents to be treated 
 for inflammation of the lungs. It is easy to foresee the 
 result. In obedience to your ungrateful lady, you will 
 not whisper a word of love ; but you will betray your 
 feelings a dozen times in a day. She on her part will 
 be moved by your constancy; and, in her gratitude to you 
 for ceasing to love her, she will fall in love with you 
 herself. And, after a fortnight of this sort of thing, 
 your obedience and her determination will end like the 
 reformation of that drunkard who went back to the inn 
 to treat his resolution." 
 
 In the very height of his troubles, Alfred always en- 
 joyed a laugh at his own expense. It was one of his 
 consolations, and I knew it, and often availed myself of 
 the fact ; and in this case my brother, while he laughed 
 at my grumbling, felt in his heart that it was just. In a 
 few days my predictions were verified. Alfred saw his 
 implacable mistress three or four times in a week, and 
 scrupulously observed her orders. He said not a word
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset 135 
 
 of love, but inwardly he was in a rage. Then the temp- 
 tation assailed him to break silence by another poem ; 
 and, this method having succeeded before, he composed 
 some new stanzas for his own consolation, but resolved 
 to wait a while before offering them to her. The follow- 
 ing are the verses, which have never been published : 
 
 TO NINON. 
 
 For all your wit, my lady cool and fair, 
 Your studied languors, and the lofty air 
 That suits you well, albeit it works us ill, 
 'Tis certain that you cannot have your will. 
 
 Certain, though not a sign thereof be shown, 
 That in my heart's domain you rule alone ; 
 That love is not destroyed when love is hidden, 
 And that I love you, Ninon, though forbidden. 
 
 Certain it is that, in your own despite, 
 The love you would rebuke you still invite ; 
 That men elect to writhe beneath your scorn, 
 And pangs of loving you are lightly borne. 
 
 And when, O spirit, sensitive and shy, 
 Spurning our lightest touch, you start and fly, 
 The scattered radiance of your loveliness 
 Falls on us, and our torment turns to bliss. 
 
 Be what you will then ! Shed your sweetest graces, 
 Scorn or allure us, or our woes deride ; 
 And like a diamond with a million faces, 
 Turn ever more a new and dazzling side. 
 
 One soul there is will yield you thanks unceasing, 
 And the glad remnant of its days unknown ; 
 For me, your blows are better than all blessing, 
 And yours I am, and never more mine own.
 
 136 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 And one there is who knows my heart's whole story, 
 My Muse, Ninon ! She knows, but never tells ! 
 You are so like, I think when she's before me 
 I see yourself ! I scarce could love her else ! 
 
 And there are nights when on the dark arises 
 A sweet look, shifting like a meteor's ray. 
 A sweet dream comes and goes, returns, entices 
 (Poets and happy folk are mad, they say). 
 
 A visionary being I embrace, 
 A wordless music murmurs in my ear, 
 Dark, spirit eyes look soft on my disgrace : 
 I turn to heaven, Ninon, and see you there. 
 
 O my beloved, do not take away 
 
 My darling grief, my lone life's mortal charm ! 
 
 Pity me not, but let me suffer, pray ! 
 
 No plaint of mine shall work you any harm. 
 
 Once indited, these verses could not fail of ultimately 
 finding their way to the lady who had inspired them. If 
 the author had attempted to hand them to her himself, 
 as he had done with the first stanzas to Ninon, she 
 would perhaps have refused to take them ; but the post- 
 office was invented to surmount difficulties of this nature, 
 and, by way of the post, the second stanzas arrived at 
 their address. Alfred awaited the result with some 
 anxiety, until through the same medium he received a 
 large envelope. The lady was not much of an artist, 
 but the envelope contained a pen-and-ink drawing, re- 
 presenting a large drawing-room clock, which the lover 
 readily recognized, and the hands of which indicated 
 the hour of three.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mttsset. 137 
 
 That evening, in spite of all his efforts to appear 
 sober and self-possessed, our poet was in a transport of 
 delight. ' He was positively beside himself. The second 
 verses to Ninon had been as successful as the first. 
 The lady liked pretty poetry, and poetry had wrung from 
 her the confession which love had failed to extort. She 
 was an extremely clever person ; and, instead of absorb- 
 ing all her friend's leisure she spurred him on to work, 
 declaring that she should look upon his future perform- 
 ances as so many proofs of his affection. They were 
 both confident of a long future ; and I augured well of 
 these indications, so long as their good understanding 
 should last. 
 
 It lasted a fortnight. Chance had already determined 
 the issue of the affair. This time the rupture was no 
 fault of the lover's, who had profited by his previous ex- 
 perience ; but, while he was on his guard against his own 
 jealousy and unjust suspicions, some one else who was 
 jealous had guessed the whole truth. The Ninon of 
 the stanzas was destined to figure under another name 
 in a prose narrative. The situation, as I have said else- 
 where, was reproduced in " Emmeline." 
 
 The dangerous point in affairs of this nature is always 
 that moment of internal conflict, when a virtuous and 
 loyal woman fully believes that she is coming off victo- 
 rious. Why should she dissimulate so long as her 
 conscience does not reproach her ? To dissimulate her 
 feelings would be to avow herself in the wrong. She 
 does not wish to yield ; she is not going to yield : but 
 the day comes when love is too strong for her, and pru- 
 dence awakes too late. She catches a glimpse of the
 
 138 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 future, and a few hours suffice to break up and destroy 
 happiness, purpose, every thing. Alfred might not per- 
 haps have resigned himself to the second separation if 
 he had had the jealous person only to deal with ; but 
 when he found that he must make a man wretched, 
 and bring about an inevitable catastrophe, he insisted 
 no longer, but yielded to the lady's entreaties, respect- 
 fully and sadly. 
 
 So ended the love story of " Emmeline." Just as in 
 the romance which bears that title, the affair was con- 
 cluded sorrowfully, to the gay notes of a waltz, between 
 two figures of a cotillon, by the intervention of a com- 
 passionate but inexorable friend. Alfred made the very 
 promise which he put into the mouth of his fictitious 
 Gilbert. "Any thing in the world, for your sake." The 
 condition imposed was complete separation. Alfred 
 intended to go away. He made his arrangements for so 
 doing, and announced his purpose to his friends ; but his 
 courage failed him, and he asked for one day of grace, 
 and then another. And then, suddenly, he was apprised 
 that his departure would not be necessary. 
 
 Alfred was supported under the pain of this wrench 
 by the very sacrifice which he was making. Ought he 
 not to consider himself fortunate to be able to restore 
 his friend's peace at the expense of his own ? He 
 wanted to give an example of a sorrow bravely borne. 
 But when the negotiations were concluded, and his un- 
 happiness was achieved, and he found himself left alone 
 to struggle with his regrets, he began to ask himself 
 why he should live any longer. I could see that he 
 was dreaming of all that he had lost, and fairly luxuriat-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 139 
 
 ing in his disappointment. He plunged into his sorrow 
 as deeply as might be, preferring active pain to passive 
 dejection. I told him that he was in a fair way to make 
 his malady incurable, and he replied : " It is so." 
 
 Alfred de Musset used openly to profess for M. de 
 Lamartine both sympathy and admiration. One day in 
 the month of February, 1836, under the influence of a 
 fresh attack of melancholy, I found him re-reading the 
 " Meditations." This poem, whose tranquillizing power 
 he had just experienced, inspired him with the desire to 
 give poetical expression to his own gratitude to the 
 author of the " Lac." He repeated to me the first part 
 of the epistle to Lamartine, as far as the verse where 
 he says that Lord Byron in his last days 
 
 " Sur terre autour de lui, cherchait pour qui mourir." * 
 
 But he hesitated about going on with the poem, fear- 
 ing that it would seem pretentious in him to assume 
 that Lamartine would be interested in the story of his 
 troubles. By way of disposing of his modest scruples, 
 I undertook boldly to assure him that verses like these 
 would reflect as much honor on Lamartine as on their 
 author, and that all Europe would feel an interest in the 
 sorrow out of which they had sprung. Accordingly we 
 proceeded to the usual ceremonies which distinguished 
 his days of inspiration, the grand illumination and 
 the supper. The Muse was only awaiting permission 
 to descend. On the following day the epistle was far 
 advanced ; and on the first of March, 1836, it appeared 
 in the "Revue des Deux Mondes." Some time after- 
 
 1 "Looked the world over, seeking some one for whom he might die."
 
 140 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 wards Alfred received a note from M. de Lamartine, in- 
 viting him to call. He hastened to comply, and for 
 three or four months there was constant intercourse be- 
 tween the two poets. Evenings after he returned from 
 these visits, Alfred would rehearse in the family circle 
 the talk of the morning. Among other things, I remem- 
 ber his saying the first time he came home that he had 
 been promised a reply to his verses. M. de Lamartine 
 had asked for time in which to express his gratitude, 
 saying, with a charming good grace, that it would be no 
 easy matter to devise a reply worthy of the letter. 1 
 
 Until the day should arrive in which he was to be 
 glorified by this reply, Alfred dwelt with pride and plea- 
 sure on the promise. We know how he loved to burrow 
 in the picture and engraving shops. In one such he 
 found a crayon copy of the " Poetry " of Carlo Dolci, 
 the features of which were really very like those of the 
 
 1 In the nineteenth instalment of M. de Lamartine's "Literary Conver- 
 saticfis" we were told, in 1867, why this reply never appeared; but I must 
 confess that I never perfectly understood the explanation. It was some- 
 what amazing to learn that M. de Lamartine totally forgot his interviews 
 with Alfred, and that when he found him at the Institute in 1852, he sup- 
 posed that he was addressing him for the first time. In the same nineteenth 
 conversation we .are told that M. de Lamartine had at first but a poor 
 opinion of the lyrical ability of this young man, an opinion derived from 
 reading the " Rhin Allemand ; " but that some time later, a shepherd handed 
 him in the park of Saint Point the number of the " Revue des Deux 
 Mondes " which contained the verses addressed to himself, and that, when 
 he read these, his prejudice vanished. Now the " Rhin Allemand" was not 
 written until June, 1841, and the "pitrea M. de Lamartine" appeared 
 March i, 1836; consequently, it would seem as if M. de Lamartine's 
 memory must have served him very ill when he attempted to account for his 
 silence ; or else that it took the shepherd who was charged with the delivery 
 of his copy of the " Revue des Deux Mondes " five years to find him in the 
 park of Saint Point. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 141 
 
 author of the " Meditations." He instantly bought the 
 drawing, and gave it a place in one of the frames which 
 adorned his study ; and his friends remember to this 
 day how highly he prized this ideal portrait, and the 
 childlike pleasure which he took in the contemplation 
 thereof. Afterwards, when all Paris was rushing to the 
 performances of the "Caprice," Mme. Allan conceived 
 a fancy for this crayon. Alfred dared not refuse it to 
 the actress who had insured the success of the play ; but 
 he always regretted losing it, and in the very last months 
 of his life he said repeatedly : " Why need Mme. Allan 
 have taken away my Lamartine ? " 
 
 The readers of the " Revue " remarked the peculiarly 
 careful execution of the " Epistle." The author wanted it 
 to be faultless. We know now the circumstances under 
 which that flower of poesy was sown, and there need be 
 no mistake about the feelings which caused it to blossom. 
 How is it possible fully to comprehend the poet's yearn- 
 ing regret, without the knowledge that his love was one 
 which a mere sense of personal dignity would not have 
 compelled him to crush out ? The story told in the letter 
 to Lamartine is that of an evening of deep agitation, 
 when Paris was resounding with the coarse uproar of 
 the Carnival. Those who were mistaken about the sub- 
 ject of the " Nuit de Ddcembre " committed the same 
 error with regard to the letter. Alfred smiled at their 
 misconceptions ; but, when asked by his friends to ex- 
 plain, his answer used to be : " You can think what you 
 please." 
 
 His reserve was just and proper at the time, but now 
 all is changed. A third of a century has elapsed, and
 
 142 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the letter to Lamartine has become something beside 
 the effort of a young poet of great promise serving 
 to embellish the last number of a review. He who 
 uttered that cry of pain has been removed by an early 
 death ; but the cry is echoing yet, and the heart of the 
 public is moved by it. There is a peremptory demand 
 for an explanation, and it ought to be made. 
 
 There are subtle differences to be observed in the 
 reproaches addressed by lovers to their cruel mistresses. 
 Read, for example, the whole of the passage in the 
 "Lettre a Lamartine" which begins, 
 
 " O mon unique amour ! Que vous avais-je fait ? 
 Vous m'aviez pu quitter, vous qui juriez la veille, 
 Que vous e"tiez ma vie, et que Dieu le savait." 1 
 
 Far otherwise did the poet talk in the " Nuit de Mai ! " 
 These verses are the sequel to those of the " Nuit de 
 D^cembre." They are addressed to the same person, and 
 she has had no occasion to blush for them. The time 
 for misapprehensions is past. Let us render to every 
 one his due. I would renounce the purpose of writing 
 my brother's life, were it not permitted me to shed a 
 little light on those finest passages in his poems, where I 
 can feel at every word the very throbbings of his heart. 
 
 She who inspired the letter to Lamartine needed no 
 assistance to recognize her own likeness in it. Shortly 
 after it appeared, the author found in his room, one 
 night when he went home, two Sevres vases accom- 
 panied by a note in which occurred the following 
 passage : 
 
 " * My only love, what wrong had I done you that you cast me off, when 
 you had sworn, only the night before, that you were mine and God knew it ? "
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 143 
 
 " If you knew the state into which I was thrown by read- 
 ing your verses, you would be sorry for having said in them 
 that your heart was caught by a woman's caprice. It was 
 true love and no caprice from which we both suffered. Do 
 not be so unjust to me as to doubt it. Even now, if I had 
 only myself to think of, I would wipe away the tears which 
 blind my eyes, and leave all and lose all for you. One word 
 from you would be enough, and I have now no hesitation in 
 saying so. But because you love me, you will let me weep." 
 
 These lines wrought a great change in the mind of the 
 distressed lover. Under the seeming sternness of his 
 treatment he recognized a sincere compassion. His grief 
 was shared ; and this thought comforted him. Twenty 
 times he repeated : " She would have left all if I had 
 said a word ; but I never will say the word which might 
 destroy her." 
 
 Destiny brought to Alfred de Musset a compensation 
 for his sacrifices. If there is a being on earth to whom 
 a woman's friendship may be useful, it is surely a poet 
 or an unhappy lover. He fulfilled both conditions when 
 he became the friend and godson of a highly gifted 
 woman whom he had known for a long time. Hers was 
 one of the most agreeable salons in Paris. Music was 
 given there once a week, and on these days numbers of 
 people came to hear Prince Belgiojoso, Ge'raldy, the 
 Countess de Sparre, &c. On other days, there were 
 fewer guests and conversation only. 
 
 One evening they were amusing themselves by bestow- 
 ing on one another fanciful sobriquets. The mistress of 
 the house had been appointed to find a name for Alfred 
 de Musset, and she dubbed him " Prince Phosphor of the 
 restless heart."
 
 144 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 The lady who thus baptized him permitted him to call 
 himself her godson, and her his godmamma. 
 
 From this graceful intimacy, and the influence which 
 the godmother acquired over the mind of her boy, there 
 resulted, on the one side, judicious advice and encour- 
 agement, consolation, and the stimulus to exertion ; on 
 the other, a constant desire to deserve the approval of a 
 reader who endeavored to be exacting, precisely because 
 she was fond of him. 
 
 For years Alfred de Musset felt bound to keep his 
 godmother fully informed of all the impressions which 
 he received. Not an amusing idea entered his head, 
 nor a fleeting sentiment his heart, but it was communi- 
 cated to her. The introduction to " Silvia " shows that 
 that story was written in answer to a letter in which the 
 poet had been reproved for allowing his Muse too long a 
 rest. I shall tell later how he replied to a more serious 
 reproach, by a sonnet addressed to his godmother, 
 which could not well have been made public while the 
 author lived." 1 
 
 1 The " godmother " was Mme. Maxime Jaubert, and the friendship 
 between her and Alfred de Musset one of the sweetest, most healthful, and 
 helpful influences of the poet's life. TR.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 145 
 
 X. 
 
 A BRIEF and unimportant episode in Alfred's 
 ** career, took him for a time away from all literary 
 labors and associations. When he first re-entered his 
 study, he examined all the objects about him earnestly, 
 as if they had been old friends. His natural vivacity 
 made all contrasts pleasing to him. One day I found 
 him there, promenading up and down, while he alter- 
 nately hummed that cavatina of Pacini which Liszt's 
 piano and the voice of Rubini had lately brought into 
 fashion, and murmured under his breath lines which 
 arranged themselves in hemistichs. Finally he paused 
 before his writing-table, seized a large sheet of paper, 
 and wrote as follows : 
 
 LA NUIT DE JUIN. 
 
 (LE POETE.) 
 
 Muse, quand le bid pousse il faut etre joyeux, 
 Regarde ces coteaux et leur blonde parure ; 
 Quelle douce clartd dans 1'immense nature, 
 Tout ce qui vit ce soir doit se sentir heureux. 1 
 
 1 Or thus: 
 
 " O my Muse ! the com is up, 'tis the season of delight, 
 Look how the circling hills their snow-white mantle wear, 
 And a softened splendor throbs in all the infinite air : 
 All things that breathe rejoice on such a night." 
 10
 
 146 Biography of Alfred de Mussel. 
 
 " In fact," I said, as I perused these lines, " this is 
 going to be one of those nights when there is no death 
 in the soul." 
 
 He laughed, and promised that the " Nuit de Juin " 
 should treat of love and pleasure only. Dinner-time was 
 approaching, and knowing, as I did, that the Muse was 
 fond of descending at the shepherd's hour, 1 I made no 
 doubt that on the morrow the piece would be half done. 
 Unluckily, Tattet came in, and wanted to take his 
 friend off to dine at a restaurant. I besought him 
 not to interrupt so important a work, representing the 
 harm he might be doing to the poet, the public, and 
 himself. Tattet allowed that I was right, but the dinner 
 was ordered, and. he had promised my brother to the 
 other guests, among whom were MM. Alfred and Hippo- 
 lyte Mosselman, De Jean, and Arvers. 2 Tattet assured 
 me that they would break up early, and that poetry 
 should not be the loser ; and Alfred departed, to my 
 great regret. He came home late, and his head was 
 tired. The next day I made inquiries for the " Nuit de 
 Juin," and his answer was that there were thirty days in 
 the month. He knew, however, that the Muse was 
 offended and would^not return; so he took his hat and 
 went off for a call. The occasion had passed, and the 
 " Nuit de Juin " stopped there. To-day, as I look upon 
 the broad blank sheet, discolored by time, which I 
 found among the author's papers, and read again the 
 
 1 L'heure du Berger is the hour when the gentle shepherd enjoys the 
 company of his mistress. TR. 
 
 2 Felix Arvers, a very clever original fellow of a melancholy tempera- 
 ment, who, nevertheless, wrote several very lively and successful vaudevilles. 
 He died young. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 147 
 
 title and the four autograph lines, I can hardly be 
 reconciled to the thought that the page will never be 
 filled. 
 
 We have, however, a compensation for this loss. 
 Alfred, who had trained alternately in the two rollicking 
 companies commanded severally by his friend Tattet 
 and Prince Belgiojoso, stopped short one morning and 
 announced that he had had dissipation enough. He 
 compared himself to a shuttlecock, sent back and forth 
 between two battledores, and was resolved to declare 
 his independence by returning to his mother's lodgings. 
 He brought back a quantity of new impressions, and, 
 hence, of new ideas. He donned his dressing-gown, 
 flung himself into his arm-chair, and proceeded to read 
 himself a better lecture than his father or his uncle 
 could have delivered. From this unspoken dialogue 
 came the scene between Valentin and the excellent Van 
 Buck, and afterwards a piece in three acts, entitled " II 
 ne Faut Jurer de Rien." So it is, that in the life of a true 
 poet nothing is lost or useless. The characters in this 
 little piece were so purely comic, and the denouement 
 so happily conceived, that when the author came to put 
 it on the stage, there were very few alterations to be 
 made. 
 
 This comedy appeared in the " Revue " of July i, 1836, 
 and immediately afterward the " elastic ball " resumed 
 its flights. Then came another return to our home, the 
 same pleasure at the sight of his study, the same desire 
 to shut himself up there, the same allurements offered 
 to a Muse who only feigned resentment ; for our poet 
 had now no serious offence with which to reproach him-
 
 148 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 self. But something more important was now in ques- 
 tion than the amusing conversation of Uncle Van Buck. 
 
 The " Nuit d'Aout " was, for our poet, a night of 
 veritable rapture. He had decorated his room and 
 thrown open the windows. The light of the candles 
 played over the flowers that filled four huge vases sym- 
 metrically disposed. The Muse came in the guise of a 
 youthful bride. No festival or evening's entertainment 
 ever compared with these glorious hours of facile and 
 fascinating labor ; and since, on the present occasion, 
 the poet's thoughts were peaceful, his heart sound, his 
 mind vigorous, and his imagination full of sap, he en- 
 joyed a pleasure inconceivable by the vulgar. To form 
 an idea of this poetic intoxication, we need neither recall 
 what has been told of the effect of opium, hashish, or 
 other inebriating poisons, nor that accumulation of the 
 more refined pleasures of sense which Oriental story- 
 tellers have lavished on the heroes of their fabulous 
 narratives. One must judge by the degree of enthusi- 
 asm and sensibility with which he is himself endowed, 
 by raising to the tenth power the pleasure which he 
 receives from reading this beautiful poem of the " Nuit 
 d'Aout," what the author must have enjoyed in writ- 
 ing it. 
 
 No sorrowful or bitter leaven mingled with his poetic 
 intoxication this time, and his happy mood lasted for 
 several days. All through the composition of the 
 "Nuit d'Aout," the poet felt himself in communion 
 with his unknown readers, and never more so than at 
 the close of the last stanza, 
 
 " Aime et tu renaitras; fais toi fleur pour e"clore."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 149 
 
 The spell remained unbroken until the publication of 
 the piece ; but, on the morrow, I found him moody, try- 
 ing in vain to read a chapter in some new novel or other. 
 I asked what ailed him, and he replied : " By great 
 good luck, the fish has passed some days in the water. 
 At present he is sprawling in a corn-field." 
 
 I took him off to the swimming-school, where his 
 body at least might be restored to its beloved watery 
 medium. There we met Prince Belgiojoso and his com- 
 rades, who invited us to go with them to Broggi's Italian 
 restaurant. After a dinner seasoned by exercise and 
 keen appetites, we had some music, and the evening 
 passed merrily. We returned rather late ; but, before 
 going to bed, Alfred attempted to finish the novel which 
 he had laid aside in the morning. He read aloud 
 to me a sentence in which we counted an incredible 
 number of adjectives. Every substantive dragged two 
 or three in its train, and the effect was most uncouth. 
 The reader in high good-humor asked me what I thought 
 of it all, and I replied in the words of Le'andre : " It is 
 very much the fashion." 
 
 " I wish I knew," rejoined Alfred, " what the good 
 people of the Provinces think of such a style, and 
 whether they suppose it a fair sample of Parisian 
 literature." 
 
 After discussing this question until a very late hour of 
 the night, Alfred conceived the notion of addressing a 
 letter to the editor of the " Revue," in the character of 
 a denizen of some small town. We talked it over ; and 
 he concluded that, instead of giving the views of one 
 provincial, it would be better to compare the impres-
 
 150 Biography of Alfred de Musset, 
 
 sions of two. Stendhal, whom we numbered among our 
 friends, had published sundry articles, sometimes over 
 the signature of " Dupuis," and sometimes over that of 
 "Cotonet." Alfred adopted these two names, enjoying 
 the idea of Stendhal's own mystification. Soon after, 
 there appeared in the " Revue " the first letter of " Two 
 Inhabitants of Fertd-sous-Jouarre," on the abuse of 
 adjectives. 1 Under a light and attractive form, this 
 letter treated with clearness and force a question of 
 literary taste, and it created a considerable sensation. 
 Stendhal was enchanted with the good sense of his 
 pseudonyms ; but people persisted in attributing the 
 article to him, and he had great difficulty in convincing 
 them that he was not its author. He even received 
 complimentary letters from a great distance. But the 
 secret was soon divulged. Franz Liszt learned it from 
 a lady to whom it was confided by the editor of the 
 "Revue," and Liszt took pleasure in imparting it to 
 his many friends. 
 
 A distressing piece of news reached Paris at about 
 this time. The newspapers announced the death of 
 Mme. Malibran. Alfred had been one of her passionate 
 admirers, 2 and her untimely death affected his poetic 
 
 1 Alfred de Musset never saw " Ferte-sous-Jouarre," all statements to the 
 contrary notwithstanding of pretended biographers who deserve a differ- 
 ent name. He chose that town because the name struck his fancy. 
 
 2 But only an admirer. One day, in a railway-car, I heard some un- 
 known persons conversing about my brother, and deploring the fact that 
 Mme. Malibran had never returned his affection for her ; saying that, if 
 she had, it might have defended the charming young poet from another 
 and more perilous attachment. The story was retailed freely as matter of 
 public notoriety ; but the truth is that, except upon the stage, Alfred never 
 saw Mme. Malibran but once in his life, when she sang in a parlor, and that 
 he never spoke to her.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 151 
 
 sensibilities keenly. On the fifteenth of October, he 
 published the verses which one so often hears quoted, 
 and which so many people know by heart. Perhaps the 
 poet felt in himself the same fatal predilection for suf- 
 fering with which he reproached the great singer when 
 he wrote the famous verse, 
 
 " Tu regardais aussi la Malibran mourir." 
 The same might have been said of him twenty years 
 later. 
 
 The year 1836 closed amid the excitement caused by 
 the attempt of Meunier. This was the fourth time that 
 the king had narrowly escaped death. Alfred, who did 
 not forget the hospitalities of Neuilly, shared the uni- 
 versal feeling. He wrote, merely for his own satisfaction, 
 a sonnet, which he did not intend to publish, but of 
 which his friend Tattet requested a copy. Tattet showed 
 the copy to M. Edouard Bocher, who lent it to his 
 brother Gabriel, the librarian of the Due d'Orle'ans ; 
 and so it was that the verses on Meunier's attempt 
 came to the notice of the Prince Royal. An express 
 from the chateau soon brought their author the note 
 which follows : 
 
 " Our common friend M. Bocher has just shown me, my 
 dear schoolfellow, a noble page extracted from your poetical 
 portfolio. These truly fine verses, in which a dry and ungra- 
 cious subject receives dignity from the elevation of the poet's 
 thought and his noble simplicity of expression, would have 
 touched me, even had their author been unknown. It is with 
 real delight, however, that I recognize in them the sentiments 
 of an old school-comrade ; and, as I read, I find myself carried 
 back to younger and happier days. 
 
 " I wanted to thank you in person for this good gift, and I
 
 152 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 seize the occasion offered by New Year's day to beg your 
 acceptance of the token herewith offered by your old associ- 
 ate, and the sincere admirer of your beautiful gifts. 
 
 "FERDINAND PHILIPPE D'ORLEANS. 
 "TuiLERiES, Jan. i, 1837." 
 
 When the exchange of official compliments was con- 
 cluded, Alfred de Musset repaired to the palace. The 
 prince received him with open arms and the sonnet in 
 his pocket. He drew the author away into a bay win- 
 dow, that he might read it once more, and then, as if 
 aglow at the perusal, he exclaimed: "I have not yet 
 found an opportunity of showing your verses to the 
 king ; but, if you will wait five minutes, I will take them 
 to him now, and, if he likes them as well as I do, I 
 shall tell him that you are here." 
 
 The prince went in search of the king. After a quar- 
 ter of an hour or so, he came back with a disturbed 
 countenance, looking both sorry and embarrassed, and 
 said that the king was not visible just then, but would 
 be so on some future day ; which, however, he did not 
 fix. Alfred felt sure that the sonnet had been read, and 
 that it had not given pleasure ; and he begged the prince 
 to tell him what it was in his verses which had offended 
 the royal ears. The Duke of Orleans acknowledged 
 with a blush that it was the familiarity, the tutoiement. 
 " I should have guessed a thousand times before guess- 
 ing that," replied the poet, blushing in his turn. 
 
 The school friends parted in equal consternation. 
 When my brother had repeated to me this strange con- 
 versation, we proceeded to re-read the sonnet together ; 
 and I asked myself if it were possible that the king
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 153 
 
 a man of intellect and culture had really been offended 
 by language which Boileau might have addressed to 
 Louis XIV. It did not seem so ; and the probability is 
 that the prince, in his youthful impetuosity, had disturbed 
 his father by appealing to him at an inconvenient time. 
 The king heard with a divided attention, and sent his 
 son off, on the first pretext which occurred to him. The 
 prince bore himself gallantly in the matter towards his 
 former comrade, and had him invited to the palace balls. 
 A singular circumstance afterwards occurred, which 
 proved that, when the sonnet had been shown to the 
 king, the Due d'OrMans, perceiving that it had not 
 made a good impression, had the good taste not to men- 
 tion the writer's name. On the day when he was actually 
 presented, Alfred perceived that Louis Philippe looked 
 pleased at the mention of his name. " Ah," said the 
 king, coming forward as though agreeably surprised, 
 " you are from Joinville. I am very glad to see you." 
 
 Alfred was far too well bred to betray the slightest 
 astonishment. He made a reverential bow ; and, as the 
 king passed on to address some one else, he cast about 
 him to discover the meaning of the words which he had 
 just heard, and the smile which accompanied them. It 
 then occurred to him that we had at Joinville a cousin, 
 a very accomplished and delightful man, inspector of 
 forests on the private domain, and fully worthy of that 
 genial welcome. The monarch had forgotten his son's 
 school-days, and the names of the children who had 
 visited him at Neuilly ; but he remembered perfectly the 
 condition and aspect of his own estates. The name of 
 De Musset represented to him an inspector, a trust-
 
 154 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 worthy overseer of his own woods, by whom he set great 
 store, and very properly. Throughout the last eleven 
 years of his reign, he saw once or twice every winter 
 the face of the supposed inspector of forests, and con- 
 tinued to bestow upon him smiles fit to arouse the envy 
 of more than one courtier, and which passed, it may be, 
 for compliments to poetry and belles-lettres. It is cer- 
 tain, however, that Louis Philippe never knew that there 
 lived, during his reign, a great poet who bore the same 
 name as the inspector of his woods.
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 FROM 1837 TO 1842.
 
 XI. 
 
 ' I "HE contempt of literature which the sovereign 
 -* unconsciously testified by his gracious words and 
 smiles did not amuse Alfred de Musset as much as it 
 might have done ; for his thoughts would recur to the 
 days of Louis XIV., and he felt with keen regret the 
 difference between the two eras. In vain I reminded 
 him that, in our time, the public is the true Maecenas. 
 The indifference of the chief of the nation weighed on 
 his heart. He was ashamed of it, and unwilling to 
 allude to it, save in the chimney-corner. Yet the kind 
 attentions and affectionate expressions of the Prince 
 Royal were some consolation. He observed one day 
 that there was a prince who would bring to the throne 
 other ideas than those of Louis Philippe. In fact, the 
 Due d'Orldans had a confidential conversation with his 
 school friend, in which he expressed his views very 
 freely about his father's politics, and the isolated posi- 
 tion of France between the unfortunate nations whose 
 cause she had abandoned, and those foreign govern- 
 ments which were ever hostile and suspicious. The 
 prince did not hesitate to hint at war as a very probable 
 event of the first year of his own reign. He even 
 quoted, apropos of his remark, a speech of Fantasio's. 
 "We will make a trip to Italy, and enter Mantua with 
 no other torches than our swords. And when peace is
 
 158 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 concluded," added the prince, "we will proceed to 
 amuse ourselves. We will give employment to the poets 
 and artists, and you shall write verses and come and 
 read them to us." 
 
 In the midst of triese discussions, the Princess Hdlene 
 arrived from Germany. With what pomp the marriage 
 was celebrated is well known. Amid the vast galleries 
 of Versailles, Alfred dreamed of a future, fairer, and 
 worthier of a great nation than the epoch of the golden 
 mean, and peace at any price. His imagination, " sensi- 
 tive as the magnetic needle," discerned afar a new Re- 
 naissance of arts and letters, a brilliant and chivalrous 
 reign. At twenty-six, such dreams were in order, and 
 their entertainment seemed justified by the purposes 
 and opinions of the Prince Royal, the noble character of 
 the Duchesse d'Orldans, and the remarkable talents of 
 the Princess Marie. Side by side with the old court 
 there was growing up, in the salons of the heir-apparent, 
 another younger and more vivacious court, graced by 
 the fair and fascinating figure of a new Margaret of 
 Valois. Alfred wished to prepare himself for the advent, 
 nearer or more remote of that splendid era, which would, 
 he believed, give a name to the nineteenth century. He 
 applied himself more zealously than ever before to the 
 polishing and perfecting of his works, and the care of his 
 reputation. During the years of 1837-38, he worked 
 calmly, without any undue excitement ; still under the 
 inspiration of his heart, for he could not do otherwise, 
 but of a freer, happier heart than his had formerly been. 
 He bore the vexations of life more patiently; he pre- 
 ferred being shut up among his books. As he says him-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 159 
 
 self in the " Nuit d'Octobre : " " Oh days of labor, sole 
 days when I have lived ! Oh ! thrice blessed solitude ! " 
 
 And, since this happy mood impelled him to works 
 requiring patient application, he resolved to write a 
 series of novels ; no less for the public and his friends, 
 than for the future court of Francis I. and the Queen of 
 Navarre. Having stimulated his enthusiasm for the 
 story-teller's art by reading once again the charming 
 tales of Boccaccio, he desired himself to display that 
 talent for narration with which he had not yet been 
 credited. The " Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle," had 
 been more of an impassioned appeal than a romance. 
 In order to give variety to his works, he resolved to add 
 another prose volume. Ever since the i8th of August, 
 1836, he had had an engagement in writing with the 
 " Revue des Deux Mondes," to furnish that periodical 
 a society novel. The subject which he intended to treat 
 was that of " Emmeline ; " but when time had removed 
 that episode of his experience into the perspective of 
 the past, he perceived that his own sorrow had magnified 
 it. Now it resumed its true proportions, which were 
 those of a novelette ; and he promised to fill out the 
 proposed volume with other tales of the same sort, if 
 the first were well received. 
 
 Suddenly, a wholly different subject occurred to him. 
 Among the little tokens which he was always receiving, 
 there had been a net purse with no name attached, 
 the giver of which he had never been able to divine. 
 After having suspected all the ladies of his acquaintance, 
 he drew from his conjectures the subject of a picture of 
 Parisian life. This was the origin of the " Caprice."
 
 160 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Wishing to produce a fresh type of the perfect woman 
 of the world, he took for a model his godmother, 
 although she had nothing whatever to do with the ad- 
 venture of the net purse. The conception of Mme. de 
 Lery occurred to him, with her gayety, her malice, her 
 picturesque language, her keen wit, her seemingly frivo- 
 lous character. There are very few women in any land 
 capable, like Mme. de Lery, of using in the interests of 
 morality the whole arsenal of coquetry; of doing a 
 good deed as one makes an April fool, and extricating 
 herself completely from a dangerous situation, with as 
 much cleverness as grace. If, however, the thing is pos- 
 sible anywhere, it is in Paris : and that clearly outlined 
 figure has been accepted as the perfect picture of a 
 Parisienne par excellence. Those who think the portrait 
 flattered are free to consider that charming creation, 
 Mme. de Lery, as the author's tribute of gratitude to 
 those women of Paris whose suffrages he has always 
 received. 
 
 When the " Revue " published the " Caprice " (June 
 16, 1837), it was talked about in the salons ; but the 
 literary world at large affected to disregard it, as though 
 with a somewhat ill-natured sense that the appreciation 
 of such a sketch did not come within its province. The 
 author did not trouble himself about this silence, but 
 proceeded to write "Emmeline," which was completed 
 in a few days, and the MS. of which he delivered to the 
 printer with some slight reluctance. This was, in fact, 
 his first genuine romance. He had undertaken to arouse 
 interest and move the hearts of his readers by the sim- 
 ple story of a disappointment in love and a sacrifice to
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 161 
 
 reason and duty. Left to his own resources, the poet of 
 youth found that in attempting merely to talk well with- 
 out rhetoric he encountered an entirely new test. The 
 moment his story was out, his family and friends reas- 
 sured him completely about the result of the experiment, 
 and the " Revue " called for more tales. He at once 
 commenced the little story of the " Deux Maitresses," 
 which, in his modesty, he still regarded as an experi- 
 ment. After having depicted himself in Valentin, he 
 paused. The incidents which he proposed to recount 
 had not happened to himself, although he had long be- 
 fore found himself in a situation very like that of the 
 hero. How could he impart an air of truth to a tale the 
 subject of which must seem paradoxical to so many 
 people ? That it is possible to love two women at one 
 time could not, as his godmother remarked, be doubted 
 by Prince Phosphor ; but to prove it by an example was 
 not so easy. The first six pages of the " Deux Mai- 
 tresses" were strewn about his writing-table. The wa- 
 vering author had planted Valentin on that spot, and gone 
 off with his friend Tattet. He chanced upon a bouillote 
 party, lost his money, and came back and shut himself 
 up in his chamber a sadder man. He was even sulky 
 the next morning when his mother brought him a great 
 bunch of roses in a glass of water, and set them down 
 before him, saying, " All those for four sous ! " His 
 mother stole softly away, and Alfred felt the tears come 
 into his eyes. "Ah," said he, "here at least, is some- 
 thing true ! I can't go wrong if I write what I have 
 really felt." 
 
 He wrote that page about the pleasures of the poor,
 
 1 62 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 which finishes the first chapter of the novel. Once 
 reconciled with his subject, he worked all day long, and 
 boldly undertook to present, under the form of candid 
 recital, the romantic scenes and events which had taken 
 place in his own imagination only. He did not, however, 
 quite finish his little romance, and the new detention 
 occurred on this wise. 
 
 To conceive a novel, to imagine a fable, and arrange 
 the plan of it, had been the affair of an hour of fireside 
 chat; but Alfred realized with impatience how slowly 
 the manual labor advanced. Often he would be dream- 
 ing of a poetical subject, even while he was writing prose. 
 He even maintained that this twofold exercise of the 
 faculties was rather profitable than injurious to both 
 efforts. Knowing perfectly well beforehand what he 
 wanted to say in prose, he economized the time required 
 to put the words upon paper by turning over in his head 
 a new idea. It was, he said, like turning your eyes to a 
 more distant star, in order to see more clearly the 
 sparkle of the nearer one. Moreover, a chance occur- 
 rence recalled him to poetry. One evening, after a long 
 conversation with a lady who was really frankness and 
 kindness personified, he began to suspect her I do not 
 know why of deceit and hypocrisy. Convinced almost 
 immediately of the injustice of his suspicions, he sought 
 within himself for the origin of his odious distrust, and 
 fancied he detected the cause of it in that first occasion 
 of his life when he had come in contact with treachery 
 and falsehood. 
 
 Even while he related the loves of Valentin and Mme. 
 Delaunay, he was dreaming of early memories and
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 163 
 
 sorrows now gone by. As his reminiscences became 
 more poignant, he conceived the idea of a supplement 
 and conclusion to the " Nuit de Mai." He felt in his 
 soul something like a rising tide. His Muse smote him 
 upon the shoulder, and refused to wait. He rose to re- 
 ceive her, and he did well; for she brought him the 
 " Nuit d'Octobre," which is in fact the necessary sequel 
 to the " Nuit de Mai," the last word of a great woe : 
 a perfectly legitimate, as well as a most crushing, 
 revenge; that is to say, forgiveness. On the i5th 
 of October, the " Revue " published the last of the 
 "Nights;" and, on the ist of December, the "Deux 
 Maitresses." 
 
 By way of profiting by a mood so favorable to work, 
 Alfred searched among his memories for another ro- 
 mantic subject, and the gay figure of Bernerette, re- 
 curred to him. The veritable adventure was somewhat 
 desultory in its action ; yet he made of it one of his 
 most attractive and popular stories. Feeling that death 
 alone could expiate the faults of the wayward girl, and 
 soften the reader's heart toward sins of youth for which 
 so severe a penalty was paid, he condemned his heroine 
 to a tragic end. While the true Bernerette was roaming 
 the country, no one knew where, the ideal Bernerette 
 died at twenty; and the amours, begun in laughter and 
 nonsense, finished with despair and suicide. 
 
 Like the history of Valentin, that of Fre'de'ric and 
 Bernerette suffered an interruption. The author had 
 long been tormented by the insoluble problem of the 
 destiny of man, and the ultimate aim of life. I used 
 often to find him with his head buried in his hands,
 
 164 Biography of Alfred de M us set. 
 
 determined by sheer force to pierce the impenetrable 
 mystery, seeking some ray of light, either in the depths 
 of space, or the spectacle of the external world or his 
 own heart; calling on science, on philosophy, on all 
 creation for proofs and way-marks, and finding only 
 systems, reveries, negations, conjectures, and, at the end 
 of all, doubt. 
 
 The subject of his reflections became a fixed idea, he 
 wanted me to discuss it with him, and we were frequently 
 at it until three o'clock in the morning. He read with 
 inconceivable eagerness, the ancients and the moderns, 
 the English, the Germans, Plato, Epictetus, Spinoza, 
 down to M. de Laromiguiere himself; and, as may 
 readily be supposed, he found himself none the better. 
 Oftentimes, repelled by the overweening dogmatism of 
 some, and the indecision and obscurity of others, he 
 closed his books, and resumed where he had left it the 
 story of his poor Bernerette. But, on the day when he 
 laid his heroine in her grave, the tears came into his eyes ; 
 as he penned the last page his scepticism vanished, 
 and he said a word to me which I shall never forget. 
 " I have read enough," said he. " I have scanned and 
 searched enough ! Tears and prayer are essentially 
 divine. It is God who gave us the faculty of weeping, 
 and tears come from Him to us, and prayer returns from 
 us to Him." On the succeeding night he began the 
 "Espoir en Dieu." 
 
 The readers of the " Revue des Deux Mondes," when 
 they read in that magazine, with only a month inter- 
 vening between the dates of their appearance, the history 
 of a grisette, and an invocation to the Creator, can hardly
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. ' 165 
 
 have suspected the correlation between these two so 
 dissimilar efforts. It is certain, however, that the death 
 of Bernerette, by provoking in the heart of the author a 
 fleeting compassion for an imaginary woe, drowned all 
 the philosophies of the world in a single drop of water. 
 The verses on the " Mi-Careme," which immediately fol- 
 lowed the above-mentioned publications, furnish a yet 
 more striking proof of the versatility of this young and 
 impressionable mind. One evening, at some ball or 
 other, the cotillon was very ill-managed, and Alfred 
 seized the occasion to pronounce a eulogy on the waltz, 
 which he had been meditating ever after reading in Lord 
 Byron's poems a bitter criticism on the same dance. 
 When he had avenged the " Belle Nymphe aux Brode- 
 quins dores," he returned to his novels. 
 
 At the time when he discovered among the memorials 
 of the Italian painters the story of " Andrea del Sarto," 
 he had also been smitten by another subject, too meta- 
 physical to be treated under the form of a drama or 
 comedy, but which he kept in reserve. Encouraged by 
 the manager of the " Revue " to continue his series 
 of novelettes, he looked up among his notes the story 
 of "Tizianello." After mastering an excellent style of 
 painting in his father's studio, says the history, whether 
 true or false, the son of the celebrated Titian produced 
 only one work, the portrait of his mistress ; but that 
 work was a masterpiece. 
 
 In order to enter more completely into the views of 
 his hero, the author adopted them, and maintained this 
 theory, that one masterpiece is enough for the glory 
 of one man ; and that when a genius has once proved
 
 1 66 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 what he can do, he ought to stop there and not lay him- 
 self open to the charge of deterioration, like Corneille, 
 Guido, and Titian himself. In our discussions I took 
 the other side, and pleaded the cause of assiduity and 
 fecundity. The obscurity which shrouds the name of 
 Titian's son, and the immense reputation of his father, 
 were all in my favor ; but my brother undertook to con- 
 vert me by the example of his hero, of whom nothing 
 is known except that he had a great deal of talent, and 
 only once condescended to prove it. Of all his brief 
 romances the " Fils du Titien " is undoubtedly the one 
 which was written with most enjoyment and enthusiasm. 
 He was determined to make it a gem, and he added the 
 ornament of two sonnets composed for the occasion, 
 which were supposed to furnish irrefragable proof of the 
 cleverness and poetic talent of the hero, who could be 
 proved a great painter only in writing. The whole 
 month of April was devoted to this effort ; and this time, 
 if I remember rightly, no interruptions occurred. 
 
 The " Fils du Titien " appeared in the " Revue " for 
 May i, 1837. Some personal reminiscences may be 
 detected in the episode of the purse, and the behavior 
 of the hero's prodigal son. A good many readers will 
 doubtless be pleased to observe how skilfully some slight 
 reflection from the author's own experience is occasion- 
 ally introduced in the midst of fictitious circumstances 
 belonging to a remote time. Alfred thought this ro- 
 mance one of his best productions, both by reason of the 
 sonnets which he considered faultless, and of the dis- 
 tinguished character of the subject. He had treated it 
 so conscientiously that he took a six months' rest after
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 167 
 
 its publication, somewhat after the manner of Tizianello. 
 But the time had not yet arrived for him to take a vow 
 of inaction, and offer reasons for his silence. 
 
 One evening his bile had been stirred by a discussion 
 at the cafe', in the course of which, certain envious per- 
 sons had more or less vilified every contemporary repu- 
 tation ; and the fancy occurred to him to translate into 
 verse the doctrines which he had been opposing, and so 
 carry war into the camp of his adversaries. The result 
 of this satirical whim was the idyl of "Dupont and 
 Durand." 
 
 At the house of the Duchesse de Castries, Alfred de 
 Musset met an extremely beautiful woman who had just 
 read the "Espoir en Dieu," and complimented him 
 highly on the beauty of its versification. He replied 
 lightly, but with the utmost respect, that he was sorry he 
 could not wear so delightful a compliment, like a flower 
 in his button-hole. The lady went into the country the 
 next day; but, a few days later, Alfred received an enve- 
 lope containing a little bouquet of white flowers, tied 
 with a thread of silk. He was not the man to allow so 
 graceful an attention to pass unnoticed, and he replied 
 by the verses " To a Flower." Afterwards he saw the lady 
 again at long intervals, and her beauty was always one 
 of his great admirations. She died young, while still 
 beautiful and very much the fashion ; and her death was 
 a sudden and terrible one. 1 
 
 Pauline Garcia had recently arrived in France, a mere 
 child, but already famous. She had been heard but once 
 in Paris, at the Belgian minister's ; the second time she 
 1 She was accidentally burned. P. M.
 
 1 68 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 was to appear at a musical matinee at the house of 
 Alfred's godmother, before an audience composed of 
 genuine dilettanti. Prince Belgiojoso was there, and so 
 was Deasaiier, a composer of much talent, who died 
 shortly afterwards in Germany. Mile. Garcia began by 
 singing Deasaiier's lovely air, " Felice Donzella," in 
 D minor. The author accompanied her himself. I 
 fancy I can still feel the thrill of delight which ran 
 through the audience at the opening measures. We 
 declared that it was the voice of Malibran herself, but 
 with more freshness, more compass, a more velvet 
 smoothness, and without that slight hoarseness which 
 never quite wore off under a quarter of an hour. Of 
 course, our excitement reacted on the youthful singer, 
 and the applause nerved her up to such a degree that 
 she remained a long while at the piano, resisting her 
 mother's attempts to draw her away. After Deasaiier's 
 piece, came an air of Be'riot's and then one of Costa's, 
 and finally the whole repertory of boleros and ariettas. 
 The connoisseurs were simply ravished at the marvellous 
 compass of that voice, the quality of tone, the excel- 
 lence of her method. Meanwhile, Alfred de Musset, 
 presented by his godmother, undertook to converse with 
 the young girl on the highest themes of art, and found 
 her so he liked to say as deeply versed as any old 
 professor. He came home from that seance in the high- 
 est spirits, repeating over and over again, " Oh, what 
 a glorious thing genius is ! How fortunate we are to 
 live in a time when it still exists, and we can observe 
 it closely ! " Just as though he had not been full of it 
 himself !
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 169 
 
 Subsequent talks with Pauline Garcia about music 
 and the stage confirmed him in the conviction that, by 
 care and prudence, she might become the worthy suc- 
 cessor of Malibran. That year (1836) was a year of 
 high hopes. Of course, there must be an idolized singer 
 for the future court of France and that aesthetic revi- 
 val to which we were all looking forward. Chance had 
 ordained that she should be of the blood of the Garcias. 
 It was a clear case of predestination. Two new events 
 occurred which added lustre to the promises of the 
 future, the birth of the Comte de Paris, and the 
 advent of Mile. Rachel. In the early days of August, 
 the booming of cannon informed the populace of the 
 safe delivery of the Duchesse d'Orleans. There were 
 already two generations of heirs to the crown of July. 
 Alfred was moved to testify to the prince who had 
 honored him with his friendship his own participation 
 in the happiness of the royal family. He composed 
 some verses on the subject that very day, and the tribute 
 was finished before we learned from the " Moniteur " 
 what were to be the names and titles of the newcomer. 
 His father desired to place him under the special pro- 
 tection of the city of Paris. 
 
 Three days after the birth of the prince, on the first 
 of September, 1838, the " Revue des Deux Mondes " 
 published some stanzas, to which the friends of the 
 author called the attention of the Due d'Orldans ; and 
 a messenger from the palace brought to the poet a 
 pencil-case ornamented with a diamond. It has been 
 said, in several of the more or less trustworthy notices 
 which have appeared since Alfred de Musset's death,
 
 170 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 that the place of Librarian of the Department of the 
 Interior was given him in reward for his verses on the 
 birth of the Comte de Paris. This is not exactly true. 
 The place became, vacant, and the minister offered it to 
 M. Buloz. The manager of the " Revue des Deux 
 Mondes " thought best to decline it, but suggested instead 
 one of his associates. After assurances that the appoint- 
 ment would be a good one, he gave the name of his 
 candidate. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that the minister had not 
 read so much as a line by the writer recommended. He 
 knew something by hearsay of the " Ballad to the Moon," 
 and characteristically remarked to M. Buloz, " I have 
 heard some talk about the dot over an i, and I thought it 
 a rather hazardous expression. I should not wish to 
 compromise myself." 
 
 When Alfred heard of the steps kindly taken by M. 
 Buloz, he requested the support of the Due d'Orle'ans. 
 The prince promised to intercede with the minister, who 
 had already another person in view. Then came six 
 weeks of parleying. M. Edmond Blanc was somehow 
 mixed up in it. Finally, on the igth of October, the 
 appointment was signed, and the author of the dot over 
 an i became the Librarian of the Department of the 
 Interior. 
 
 At that time there was living next us, in the same 
 house, a certain physician, a very accomplished man, 
 and professor of lithotrity, with whom Alfred liked to 
 talk about physiology and medicine. 1 One day our 
 
 1 His name was Lon Labat, and his destiny a strange one. During a 
 journey to the East, on which his wife had accompanied him, he cured the
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 171 
 
 neighbor brought in from the country an exceedingly 
 pretty little serving-maid, about fourteen years of age, 
 in the costume and head-dress of her native village. 
 With the doctor's permission, Alfred questioned the 
 child and made her tell him her story. She had not 
 very much to say; but Alfred treasured in his memory 
 a great store of conversations with children and young 
 girls, having a positive adoration for innocence and 
 ingenuousness. The image of the farm of Clignets, 
 forgotten for almost twenty years, recurred to his mind. 
 This furnished him with a landscape, and his poetic 
 imagination supplied the rest. The fable was composed ; 
 and, on the first of October, the " Revue " published 
 the story of " Margot." 
 
 Just at that moment, there dawned upon us one of 
 those geniuses who sway the world. A child of seven- 
 teen had restored tragedy to life, tragedy which had 
 apparently been buried for ever in the tomb of Talma. 
 It seemed as if this maiden had suddenly discovered 
 the true meaning of verses which the whole world knew 
 by heart. The attempt to rejuvenate, by a new interpre- 
 tation, consecrated and even antiquated masterpieces, if 
 
 Shah of Persia of a chronic kidney complaint, which had been pronounced 
 incurable. The Shah would not part with him ; appointed him his own 
 physician-in-chief, and loaded him with honors, decorations, and gifts. M. 
 Labat consented to reside in Persia : but he did not forget his native land ; 
 and his ascendancy over the mind of the Shah became very serviceable to 
 the Frenchmen resident in the domains of that prince. On a certain occa- 
 sion, some French and English merchants were disputing about privileges, 
 and M. Labat caused the balance to incline to the side of his compatriots. 
 Shortly afterward he was poisoned by his servants. He treated his own 
 case, and very skilfully, but his health was ruined. He returned to France, 
 arranged his worldly affairs, and went calmly to Nice to die, persuaded that 
 he was the victim of British vengeance. P. M.
 
 1/2 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 made by a great artist, always succeeds. The public 
 taste readily goes back a hundred and fifty years, al- 
 though it is equally ready to resume upon the morrow 
 its onward motion. Mile. Rachel had but to open her 
 Corneille and Racine, and her fortune was at once 
 assured. After she had twice or thrice lifted up her 
 voice in the desert where the faithful guardians of tradi- 
 tion preach, she found one night a few attentive listen- 
 ers. The tidings were whispered from one to another. 
 The newspapers, unwilling to be behindhand, made 
 haste to announce the new planet. All Paris flocked 
 in, with a curiosity which soon became enthusiasm ; and 
 it was decided that tragedy must still exist, since we had 
 undoubtedly a great tragedienne. 
 
 Alfred de Musset was one of the first to recognize the 
 genius of Mile. Rachel. For two months he did not 
 miss a single one of her representations, and the very 
 first day I heard him joyously exclaim: "We have two 
 Malibrans instead of one ! Pauline Garcia has a sister ! " 
 As might have been expected, the classicists raised 
 shouts of triumph. They made haste to proclaim that 
 the resurrection of a class of works long since aban- 
 doned was the death-warrant of others which had 
 recently been introduced upon the stage. The roman- 
 ticists, on their part, dissembled their fears, insisted 
 that the public was beside itself, and that the phantom 
 of tragedy would speedily return to its grave. Alfred 
 de Musset thought there was as much of injustice and 
 unreason on one side as on the other, and he undertook 
 to reconcile the contending parties. He published a 
 dissertation in which he argued that tragedy and the
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 173 
 
 romantic drama could perfectly well exist side by side, 
 and need ask nobody's leave to live. When he had 
 defined the character of the young actress's genius, and 
 demonstrated that genius was neither too ambitious nor 
 too flattering a word to be applied to her, the author 
 approached the literary question. He began by assuring 
 the romanticists that they need not hope for the speedy 
 disappearance of the new craze for tragedy ; but neither 
 did he allow the classicists to count upon the utter an- 
 nihilation of the class which dispenses with the unities. 
 He then took a rapid survey, both of antique tragedy 
 and that of the seventeenth century, and showed how 
 they were severally adapted to the tastes of Athens and 
 Versailles. But now that all theatrical conditions were 
 changed, the author expressed the hope that we might 
 see a third variety of dramatic compositions, more in 
 harmony with our own manners than either, and par- 
 taking of the qualities both of antique tragedy and 
 the modern drama. He briefly sketched the plan of a 
 new poetic school, and closed as follows : " These are 
 the questions which I would like to propose to those 
 writers who are justly in high favor among us, provided 
 any of them are induced, as they probably will be, by 
 the talent of the young artist who has restored the 
 honors of the old repertory, to arrange a new part, 
 specially for her." * 
 
 No one, however, profited by this poetical proclama- 
 tion, which might have aroused the antique Muse without 
 sacrificing to her the conquests of modern art. The 
 
 1 " On Tragedy considered with reference to the Debut of Mile. Rachel," 
 " Revue des Deux Mondes," Nov. i, 1838.
 
 1/4 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 author of the article himself was alone capable of 
 putting its principles in practice. But it would be a 
 mistake to suppose that he dreamed of saying to him- 
 self, " Do. you write a tragedy for Mile. Rachel." The 
 pitiable insults of the Odeon pit had for ever banished 
 the thought of the theatre from his head. Moreover, 
 he was not one of those who, when they see an artist in 
 high favor, have no scruple about thrusting forward 
 their own talent, for the sake of attaching their fortunes 
 to hers. He never would have thought of writing a part 
 for Mile. Rachel, unless she had begged him to do so. 
 This did actually happen twice, as we shall see farther 
 on, and it is exceedingly to be lamented that the project 
 came to nought both times. Let this be added to the 
 other signs of the times, that any thing fine and good 
 in the way of poetry or art will infallibly fail, provided 
 its success require, I will not say the concurrence of 
 several persons, but even the steadfast accord of two 
 wills. So foreign to the modern imagination are all 
 save monetary and material rewards ! The great tragic 
 actress herself did not escape the malady of her age, as 
 the close of her career plainly shows. But nobody fore- 
 saw this at the point which we have now reached. 1 
 
 When the article in the " Revue " appeared, Rachel 
 had already restored to the stage five works out of the 
 old repertory; namely, " Cinna," "Horace," "Andro- 
 maque," " Mithridate," and " Tancrede." During the last 
 days of November, she added a sixth to this list, and ap- 
 peared in the part of Roxanna. This time the journals all 
 agreed in charging her with the grave blunder of having 
 
 1 This page was written in 1862.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 175 
 
 attempted a part which did not suit her. Her friends 
 were more alarmed than she was herself, her only senti- 
 ment being one of anger. Precisely because he was not 
 a professional critic, Alfred thought he ought to under- 
 take her defence. He had no difficulty in showing that 
 Rachel had displayed in Roxanna the same qualities 
 and the same genius, as in her previous parts, and that 
 here, as always, her peculiar conception of the character 
 had brought out novel effects. He then asserted that, if 
 she had made her first appearance in "Bajazet," the 
 critics would have smothered her with praise, and poured 
 out upon her devoted head all the riches of their compli- 
 mentary vocabulary. But Roxanna was her sixth im- 
 personation; and there was the difficulty, epithets were 
 exhausted. There were no more compliments in the 
 bin ; and, after we have admired, it always looks well to 
 show ourselves doubtful and difficult to please. " And 
 this," said the author, "is the way judgment is pro- 
 nounced ; at least, in the newspapers." 
 
 The ill-humor of the Monday papers was diverted 
 from the actress to her champion ; but Alfred was not 
 disconcerted, for the public was of his mind. 1 The per- 
 formances of " Bajazet" attracted the same crowds as the 
 former tragedies had done, and the incensed Roxanna 
 was avenged by their applause. Rachel continued as 
 long as she lived to play that beautiful part, notwith- 
 
 1 On the 6th of December, 1838, Jules Janin published in the "Journal 
 des Debate," an attack on the defenders of Mile. Rachel, in which he 
 called Alfred de Musset a third-class poet. The same critic had the au- 
 dacity to set up above Rachel a certain Mile. Maxime, long since entirely 
 forgotten. There is no excuse for enormities of this kind which are not 
 committed in good faith. P. M.
 
 1/6 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 standing the charitable advice which she had received to 
 abandon it; and those who persisted, whether for the 
 sake of making themselves notorious or from whatever 
 motive, in waging an impious and cruel war upon this 
 highly gifted woman so long as she lived coined money 
 afterwards over the body of the dead Rachel, strewed 
 her grave with artificial flowers, and shed above it tears 
 adulterated by speculation. 
 
 Amid this breaking of lances, by virtue of which 
 Alfred lived absorbed in the happy life of art, he was 
 informed that Mile. Garcia was to sing in a concert at the 
 The'atre de Renaissance (at present the Italian theatre, 
 Place Ventadour). Ever since the musical matin'ee to 
 which the godmother had bidden us, some twelve or 
 fifteen admirers of this precocious genius had formed 
 among ourselves a defensive league to assist her first 
 public appearance in Paris. Among the more ardent 
 members of this band, were MM. Maxime Jaubert, 
 counsellor in the Court of Appeals, Berryer, Auguste 
 Barre, the sculptor, Prince Belgiojoso, Baron Denier, 
 Alfred de Musset, and his brother, and a number of 
 society men, who by their position, knowledge, and au- 
 thority might exercise a considerable influence. We 
 embraced every opportunity, not merely of hearing 
 Pauline Garcia sing, but of conversing with her. We 
 informed ourselves about the young girl's purposes ; 
 we were absorbed in her interests, which were to some 
 slight extent our own, since we were determined to 
 attract her to Paris and detain her there. In order to 
 render her stay agreeable, we must secure her a success 
 proportionate to her talent. When she deigned to con-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 177 
 
 suit us, we weighed the pros and cons of every question 
 with extreme solicitude, and highly approved in these 
 consultations the prudence, experience, and good sense 
 of her mother, the widow of the great Garcia. 
 
 Summoned by circulars, we attended the concert in the 
 The'lltre de Renaissance, some time in December, 1838. 
 The sister of Malibran was disposed to be satisfied. 
 
 She did not need the assistance of her friends. The 
 
 * 
 
 public applauded her with a fervor which detracted 
 nothing from the regrets bestowed on Malibran. Alfred 
 de Musset was not able to be present at the concert, 
 but he called on the young cantatrice at her lodging, and 
 she sang him the whole programme. In an article in 
 the " Revue," he said with his customary modesty that 
 he was no musician, but gave proof of a profound feel- 
 ing for the art of which he professed ignorance. I do 
 not think that the talent of Pauline Garcia was ever 
 more justly defined and appreciated than in those six 
 pages of the " Revue des Deux Mondes." For the three 
 months that he had been pleading the cause of the 
 youthful Muses of tragedy and song, the sincere and im- 
 partial critic only had appeared. It was time for the poet 
 to take his turn, and a very simple incident effected it. 
 
 Alfred has himself told the story in an article in the 
 " Revue des Deux Mondes " for January i, 1839, which 
 closes with a well-known piece of verse addressed to 
 Rachel and Pauline Garcia. 
 
 " Unhappily," said the too modest poet, " it is not for 
 me to follow these gifted young creatures." 
 
 But who should follow them if not he? He might 
 have said : " It is not for me to follow them, but to take
 
 1/8 Biography of Alfred de Mtisset. 
 
 them by the hand, and lead them into the right way of 
 art and beauty and truth." But the sigh of regret which 
 he heaved was perfectly sincere. The meaning of it was, 
 " Ah, if I were only thought worthy, how gladly would I 
 employ my talents in the service of such interpreters ! " 
 
 So ended the year 1838, the most prolific and the 
 happiest year of my brother's life, because it was the 
 richest in illusions. 
 
 But there was something beside the poetic amours, the 
 artistic pleasures, and the triumphs which I have detailed. 
 His happiness could not have been complete, if the 
 heart had not had its share therein. Ever since 1837, 
 Alfred had met often in society a very young and very 
 pretty woman of an enthusiastic and impassioned nature, 
 and occupying an independent position, one who act- 
 ually bought the works of poets, although it was not then 
 the fashion to do so. They talked together in Parisian 
 drawing-rooms. They corresponded during a necessary 
 absence of hers in the provinces. 
 
 The correspondence was literary when it began. 
 Afterwards it became lover-like. I have seen frag- 
 ments of it which might belong to the series of the 
 Portuguese letters. 
 
 The frank and loyal spirit of the lady was something 
 so new to Alfred that he was deeply enamored of it. 
 The connection lasted two years, during which there was 
 neither quarrel, nor storm, nor coolness of any kind, 
 nor any occasion for jealousy or offence ; and this is 
 why there is no story to be told about it. Two years of 
 unclouded love are not to be described. Real happi- 
 ness has no history.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 179 
 
 XII. 
 
 E evening in the month of January, 1839, after a 
 good day's work, Alfred counted in my presence 
 the pages of his novel of " Croisilles," which he had 
 just completed. When he had estimated approximately 
 the number of pages in the " Revue " which the MS. 
 would fill, he exclaimed : " Finis prosa I " I asked him 
 what he meant. 
 
 " I mean," he said, " that anybody can tell a love 
 story more or less charmingly, although there is a differ- 
 ence between Boccaccio and the light-literature column. 
 But since I can express myself in a language not spoken 
 by the first man you meet, I wish and intend to confine 
 myself to that." 
 
 I respected his scruples, and the only argument in 
 favor of prose-writing which I brought forward was the 
 pecuniary one. 
 
 " Just look," he rejoined, " at those two inspired young 
 girls, whose d&buts we have just watched with so keen 
 an interest. They would never disown their vocation. 
 They could not be turned out of their course by any 
 pecuniary offer whatever. Pauline Garcia would not 
 take an engagement at the Ope'ra Comique. Rachel 
 would not deign to recite a bit of melodrama. I propose 
 to follow my own line as they do." 
 
 He proceeded to read me his novelette of " Croisilles," 
 which I thought charming, although it evidently required
 
 180 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 one more scene, which was so clearly foreshadowed that 
 it seemed impossible to relinquish the thought of it. 
 After taking the old aunt of Croisilles in a hired car- 
 riage to the financier's, to request the hand of his 
 daughter, he should not have stopped there. Why not 
 portray the old lady's grand airs, the father's excite- 
 ment, then the cooling of the good man's wrath, the 
 change of his ideas from black to white, and finally 
 his granting through vanity what he had once refused 
 from pride. There was a comic situation all outlined, 
 which it would scarcely have taken him two hours to 
 fill out. But nothing would induce the naughty boy to 
 attempt it. " No," he persisted, " I have decided, and I 
 shall not go back." " Croisilles " came out on the 
 fifteenth of February, 1839, and when the author was 
 criticised for the abruptness of its termination, he only 
 rubbed his hands and repeated, "Finis prosa!" 
 
 He was paying attention at that time to a female 
 artist of talent, who treated him with a hardness and 
 lack of confidence the more inexplicable because he 
 had done her genuine service. I did not understand, 
 until a long time afterward, why it was that this exceed- 
 ingly clever woman should have allowed herself to enter- 
 tain a prejudice against a man whose poetic gallantries 
 might have made her immortal. Her unjust and inex- 
 plicable sternness mortified Alfred de Musset, and in a 
 moment of spite he wrote the stanzas to Mademoiselle 
 
 which begin, " Oui, femme, quoi qu'on puisse 
 
 dire." But this terrific reproach was not his last word ; 
 for the ensuing year he addressed to the same person 
 the verses entitled " Adieu," in which his anger appears
 
 BiograpJiy of Alfred de Musset. 181 
 
 greatly softened. At the actual moment of separation, 
 the poet could feel nothing but regret. Moreover, neither 
 of these poems was sent to its address, and the lady 
 who inspired them may have read them ten years later 
 without recognizing them. Alfred always communicated 
 these personal poems to his godmother, who was the 
 depositary of his inmost thoughts, and gave her copies 
 of them. On the morrow, he was agitated about some- 
 thing else. Two other pieces of the same sort, which he 
 composed in the spring of 1839, are probably still hid- 
 den away in ladies' drawers, and will come to light some 
 day, if Heaven pleases. 
 
 Alfred continued anxiously to watch the progress of 
 the two noble children, as he called Rachel and Pauline 
 Garcia. On the twenty-sixth of March, the godmother 
 issued a circular letter inviting all her friends to be pres- 
 ent at the " Theatre du Gymnase Dramatique," at a per- 
 formance given for the benefit of Mme. Volnys, at which 
 Mile. Garcia was to sing with Mme. Damoreau. A few 
 days later, Mile. Garcia left for England ; and the Lon- 
 don papers soon apprised us that she had made her first 
 appearance there in the part of Desdemona. A letter 
 addressed to the godmother, and shown to us, contained 
 the following passage : 
 
 "The public wanted the air ' Che Smania,' in the second 
 act, repeated. But I would not interrupt the dramatic action, 
 and kept straight on. I contented myself with coming before 
 the curtain. In the third act, they were determined to make 
 me repeat the romanza of the ' Willow,' and the ' Prayer.' 
 How could I ? I should have had to have a glazier come to 
 Othello's house and mend the broken pane of glass, that he 
 might break it anew ! So, in spite of the uproar of encores^ 
 I would not stop."
 
 1 82 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Alfred was never weary of lauding the courage and 
 conscientiousness of this inexperienced young girl, 
 more preoccupied with the right rendering of her 
 piece than with her personal success, and coping 
 thus with the London public on the very day of her 
 debut. He saw foreshadowed the future of another 
 Malibran. 
 
 Rachel, all whose performances he attended, interested 
 him no less. One evening in May, he met her in the 
 corridor of the Palais Royal, coming out of the Theatre 
 Francois, and she bore him off to supper along with a 
 band of artists and other friends. In his posthumous 
 works may be read a curious description of that supper. 
 " It was," says the author, " a picture by Rembrandt, 
 and a scene out of Wilhelm Meister in one." Shortly 
 afterward his table was heaped with the works of Sis- 
 mondi and Augustin Thierry, and he was sketching the 
 plan of the " Servante du Roi." I have told elsewhere 
 why this tragedy was never finished ; but when he was 
 at work on the fourth act, in July; 1839, ^ would not 
 have seemed possible that so fine a project should mis- 
 carry. Rachel read the monologue of Fre'degonde, and 
 from this sample demanded the rest of the piece. While 
 the poet was dreaming over it, his friends, and particu- 
 larly the manager of the " Revue" reproached him with 
 his silence. His idleness was not without a purpose ; 
 nevertheless, it was injurious to his interests. 
 
 It is a notorious fact, that none but English edi- 
 tors pay largely for literary wares of a superior quality. 
 With French publications, it is quite otherwise; and 
 quantity is all in all. Remuneration is very slight,
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mitsset. 183 
 
 unless one fills a great many pages. Alfred always 
 managed his money matters badly. He knew as 
 little about the balance between his receipts and his 
 expenses, as about the modern science of numbers. 
 The slightest incident, the most fleeting impression, was 
 enough to make the Muse descend ; but, if the result 
 did not furnish much matter for the typographers, he 
 got his credit extended, so that the fruits of his labor 
 were often consumed in advance, and when the day of 
 settlement came he experienced a sincere regret. Never- 
 theless, his novelettes, although they had not occupied 
 much space in the " Revue," had produced sums round 
 enough to be appreciable by the author, and a good many 
 people in his case would have made this fact the basis 
 of a speculation. In him, however, this work, which 
 was better paid than his poetry, occasioned a kind of 
 desperate vexation. It was a case of literary conscience 
 such as no explanation could make quite clear to the 
 men of the present generation. 
 
 One day I was trying to persuade my brother to re- 
 turn, at least for a time, to his prose novelettes. I repre- 
 sented to him that his affairs were in confusion, and that 
 the misfortunes of Galsuinde and the ambition of Fre'de'- 
 gonde could not set them straight. At first he repudiated 
 the notion of interrupting his historical studies, and 
 diverting the current of his ideas ; but afterwards he 
 became alarmed at the thought that his immense credits 
 were about to be converted into pressing debts. Two 
 or three tales might serve as a solution of all his diffi- 
 culties. Alfred consented to look over his notes with 
 me, and there he found the sketch, in six lines, of a brief
 
 1 84 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 romance, the hero of which was Christopher Allori, the 
 Florentine painter. He instantly warmed to this sub- 
 ject, which was really very fine. We had been talking 
 it over for an hour when M. Felix Bonnaire came in. 
 He came, at a venture, to ask for something, either in 
 prose or verse for the " Revue ; " expecting only the 
 habitual response, " I neither have hatched, nor will I 
 hatch, any thing, O Bonnaire ! " Hence he was agree- 
 ably surprised when he heard of the project which we 
 had been discussing. Alfred felt that he was perfectly 
 safe, when he promised in writing to furnish three 
 novelettes in three months ; and M. Bonnaire departed, 
 pleased at having secured some pages of printed matter 
 for the " Revue." Alfred congratulated himself on being 
 free from two importunate creditors ; and I was de- 
 lighted to think that the "Fils du Titien " would soon 
 have a worthy pendant. 
 
 But in the night the wind changed. When I went 
 into his room next morning, my brother overwhelmed 
 me with reproaches. " You have turned me," he said, 
 " into a mere thinking machine, a serf attached to the 
 glebe, a galley-slave condemned to penal labor ! " 
 
 He proceeded, in his exaggerated style, to draw a ter- 
 rible picture of the prose- writer, painfully bending over 
 his table, with two hundred pages in his head, but 
 barely able to produce a dozen in six hours : pausing, 
 exhausted, with red eyes, and fingers stiff with fatigue, 
 and dolorously regarding the scrawl before him, poor 
 product of his day's labor ; haunted by the rest he had 
 to say, and appalled at having said so little, and falling 
 from languor into complete disheartenment.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 185 
 
 Like the wise father of La Fontaine's young widow, I 
 suffered the torrent to flow on. I then attempted to 
 make the infuriated poet understand that a novel was not 
 to be summoned into existence by a drum-beat ; that the 
 " Fils du Titien," " Emmeline," and " Croisilles " itself 
 had been written with too much zest to betray the 
 slightest effort ; that facility of execution enhanced the 
 pleasure of the reader ; and, moreover, that I had never 
 myself observed the author in that galley-slave condition 
 of which he had drawn so formidable a picture. 
 
 " But I very soon should be in such a condition," he 
 replied, " if I listened to you ! I need only fulfil the 
 engagements which I have made ! Give me back my 
 debts and my creditors ! I prefer to be in debt ! I will 
 toil and moil when I see fit. Now I am going back to 
 the, race-course ! " 
 
 Convinced that this sublime despair would soon subr 
 side, I waited patiently for the return of his working 
 mood. At the end of a fortnight, the poet was less 
 excited, but more gloomy. When his money matters 
 had been arranged in accordance with the aforesaid 
 agreement, he owned that he felt relieved ; but did not 
 immediately begin to work, and he would not so much 
 as speak of the painter Allori. I felt positive remorse 
 for having subjected him to the critical alternative of 
 working against the grain, or failing to fulfil his engage- 
 ment. 
 
 As ill luck would have it, Alfred lighted one morning 
 upon a flat magazine-story, in which he detected several 
 gross blunders. With an astuteness which amazes me 
 even now, he divined, three years in advance, that this
 
 1 86 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 new style of literature would bring about a revolution, 
 and seriously corrupt the public taste. 
 
 " Read that," he said, handing me the story, " and tell 
 me how long the literature of the imagination is likely 
 to survive, if it goes on stultifying itself and its readers 
 at this rate." 
 
 I endeavored to show him that all writers were not 
 jointly and severally responsible for the anachronisms 
 contained in one tale ; and that the author of " Emme- 
 line " need not fear being confounded with the fashion- 
 able craftsmen. 
 
 " Don't you see," he said, " that this portiere style of 
 literature is evoking a whole new world of ignorant and 
 semi-barbarous readers ? I know very well that it will 
 die of its own excesses ; but it will first disgust all deli- 
 cate minds with reading. Meantime, I renounce it. 
 There shall be nothing in common between us, not 
 even the utensil. I wish I might never touch a pen 
 again. Thank God, a bit of chalk or a burnt match will 
 do to write a verse with ! " 
 
 The days and weeks slipped by. Felix Bonnaire 
 called from time to time to inquire for the promised 
 novelettes. One day, Alfred said to him : " Come again 
 to-morrow. They will be all done." 
 
 Bonnaire gave me an inquiring look ; and I signified 
 that I knew nothing at all about it. After he was gone, 
 my brother said : "When a man finds himself in a blind 
 alley, and cannot turn back because he has a sword 
 sticking in him, all he can do is to make a hole in the 
 wall, and go through." 
 
 After dinner, during which he said little, Alfred shut
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 187 
 
 himself up in his room. In the middle of the night, I 
 fancied I saw him come into my room on tiptoe, with a 
 light in his hand ; but he did not make noise enough 
 fully to awake me. In the morning when I got up, I 
 remembered the vision ; and I glanced toward a certain 
 shelf of my book-case, where I had deposited a pistol- 
 case. The box was gone ; but I had taken the precau- 
 tion to put the caps and the powder away in a bureau 
 drawer, where they still remained. 
 
 Alfred came down to breakfast, as usual. He appeared 
 depressed, and made scarcely any reply to my inquiries 
 about his nocturnal visit. A letter was brought him, 
 which he read and re-read. It was from Mile. Rachel, 
 inviting him to spend some days with her at Montmo- 
 rency, where she had rented a country-seat. He set 
 forth in high spirits, forgetting to take the pistol-case, 
 which I restored to its place. I do not know what there 
 was in Rachel's note beside the invitation ; but it is 
 certain that, during his stay at Montmorency, the poet 
 amused his hostess so well by his disquisitions on the 
 arts, and by talk both grave and gay, that she was very 
 unwilling to have him return to Paris. On his return, 
 still in a happy frame of mind, he wrote a letter to his 
 godmother, in which contrary to his usual custom of 
 giving a full account to that beloved lady of all the im- 
 pressions which he received he hardly alluded to the 
 Montmorency visit, but described some more recent 
 experiences, and wound up with this sentence : " How 
 captivating she was the other evening, running about 
 her garden with her feet in my slippers ! " I confine 
 myself to quoting this passage, leaving the reader to
 
 1 88 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 draw such deductions as he may choose. He will at 
 least venture to conclude that this incident must have 
 made a pleasing variety in the life of an intellectual 
 galley-slave. A gust of wind seemed to have dispersed 
 all his gloomy thoughts. Nevertheless, the contract with 
 the " Revue " still existed ; and, once at home again, the 
 slave felt the ball tugging at his foot. The face of Fe- 
 lix Bonnaire soon reappeared ; and, to avoid him, Alfred 
 ran away to the country with M. Berryer, where he met 
 his godmother, and forgot his cares in the society of a 
 large and delightful circle. The manager of the "Re- 
 vue " was too much his friend sternly to exact the fulfil- 
 ment of his engagement within the prescribed time ; still, 
 it was necessary to give him some sort of satisfaction. 
 
 On his return from the Chateau d'Augerville, Alfred, 
 beset by the memory of his promise, yet unable to sur- 
 mount his repugnance to keeping it, shut himself up in 
 his own room, and refused to see any one. I saw him 
 only at meal-times, and did not dare ask what he was 
 doing. One day, as he was leaving the table, he said to 
 me, with a strange expression of bitterness and vexation, 
 " You insist upon prose. Well, I will give you some." 
 I besought him to tell me his plans. His writing-table 
 was strewn with manuscript sheets ; but there was no 
 title on the first page, and I asked him what his subject 
 was. "You will know presently," he said, "what the 
 name of it is. It is neither a reminiscence, for the 
 story is not precisely my own ; nor a romance, for I 
 speak in the first person. There is too much that is 
 imaginary for you to call it a confession, and too much 
 that is true for a mere made-up story. It is a production
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 189 
 
 without a name. The genuine thing about it is, unhap- 
 pily, the grief which dictated it, the tears which I have 
 shed while putting it on paper." He then took up his 
 MS., and read me his fantastic performance. The fol- 
 lowing is the introduction : 
 
 " Although the motive which impels you is sufficiently con- 
 temptible (being only an idle curiosity), I will tell you all you 
 wish to know. You are almost a stranger to me, and your 
 sympathy or compassion would be of no use to me whatever. 
 For what you may say I care still less, for I shall never know 
 it. Yet I will show you the depths of my heart as frankly 
 and fully as if you were one of my dearest friends. You need 
 be neither surprised nor flattered by this. I carry a load 
 which is crushing me ; and, when I talk to you, I give it a pre- 
 liminary shake, before casting it off for ever. 
 
 " What a story I could tell you, if I were only a poet ! 
 Here, in the midst of this wilderness, in view of these moun- 
 tains, what would not a man like Byron say, if he had my 
 sufferings to describe ! What sobs you would hear ! And 
 these ice-fields would hear them also. But Byron would talk 
 to you in the open air, on the verge of some precipice. I, 
 gentlemen, propose to close my window. It suits me to con- 
 verse with you in the chamber of an inn ; and I make use, 
 very properly, of a language which I despise, a coarse instru- 
 ment without strings, abused by every chance-comer. It is 
 my business to talk prose, and to tell in the style of the news- 
 papers, between a pallet and a handful of fagots, the tale of 
 an ineffable, unfathomable grief. I like to have it so. It suits 
 me to drape with rags the sad romance which was my story, 
 and to fling into the corner of a hovel a fragment of the sword 
 which was broken in my heart. 
 
 " Do not suppose that my woes have been of a very ele- 
 vated kind. They are by no means those of a hero. They 
 would merely furnish the subject of a novel or melodrama. 
 Listen to me as you listen to the wind that whistles in the 
 crack of the door, and the rain which beats against the
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 windows, not otherwise. I was a poet, a painter, a musi- 
 cian. My miseries have been those of an artist ; my misfor- 
 tunes, those of a man. Read as if you were reading your 
 own journal." 
 
 There followed the story of a young man of abundant 
 gifts, the spoiled child of an affluent family, who made 
 verses, composed music, and painted pictures for his own 
 pleasure merely, but with success. This part of the narra- 
 tive was made up out of the experiences of the author's 
 own childhood and youth. By way of exhibiting in the 
 strongest possible light the meanness and vulgarity of 
 his present trouble, Alfred began with the story of his 
 first grief, and the wound which he had received in Italy. 1 
 An unexpected reverse of fortune suddenly altered the 
 hero's position. Obliged to support a grandmother 
 and four young sisters, he turned his talents to practical 
 account, and began to write novels. His first efforts 
 were successful, and the publishers asked for more. He 
 imposed upon himself a daily stint. His head soon 
 became tired, and his invention was exhausted ; but his 
 necessities were such that he could allow himself no 
 relaxation. He must write, write incessantly. After a. 
 year of this torture, the ypung man. lost heart, as will 
 appear from the ensuing scene : 
 
 " One night, or rather one morning ; for I had written till 
 day-break, I was seated at my table, having just completed 
 a volume. Not only must I deliver to the printer my pages 
 barely dry, but I must re-read, with my weary eyes on that 
 gray paper, the melancholy result of my vigils. My sisters 
 
 1 Extracts from this portion of his MS. have been given in pages 128-136 
 of the second part.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 191 
 
 were asleep in the next room; and, while I fought with drowsi- 
 ness, I could hear their breathing through the partition. I 
 was so weary that I felt completely disheartened. Still I 
 finished my task, and, the moment it was done, I buried my 
 head in my hands. I do not know why it was that every res- 
 piration of the children filled me with profound sadness. The 
 last chapter of my book had described the death of two lovers. 
 It was hurriedly and carelessly done, like all the rest ; and the 
 chapter lay before me. Mechanically, I cast my eyes over 
 it, and a strange association occurred to me. I got up half 
 asleep, took down the poem of Dante from my library, 
 and began to read over the story of ' Francesca da Rimini.' 
 You know that the passage contains not more than twenty-five 
 verses. I read it several times in succession, until the senti- 
 ment of it pervaded my entire being. Then, forgetful of my 
 sleeping sisters, I repeated it aloud. When I came to the 
 last verse, where the poet falls to the ground like one dead, I, 
 too, sank weeping upon the floor. 
 
 "' Twenty-five verses,' I said to myself, 'may make a man 
 immortal. How ? Because he who reads these twenty-five 
 verses, after a lapse of five centuries, if he have a heart, falls 
 down himself and weeps, and a tear is the truest and least 
 perishable thing in all the world. But where do we find these 
 twenty-five verses ? Drowned in three poems ! They are not 
 the only fine ones, it is true, and they may not be the finest ; 
 but they would suffice, by themselves, to save the poet from 
 annihilation. And who knows but their accompaniment, 
 the three long poems, and all the thoughts, and all the 
 journeys, and the expatriated Muse, and the ungrateful com- 
 patriots, were needful that these twenty-five verses might be 
 found in a book which is not read from beginning to end 
 by two hundred persons in a year? It is, then, the habit of 
 sorrow and toil it is misfortune, if not misery which makes 
 the fountain flow ; and it is enough (is it not ?) if a drop be 
 treasured up. But, if in lieu of this, grief and toil, poverty 
 and custom, combine to dry up the living spring, to degrade 
 and exhaust the man, what becomes of the drop which might
 
 1 92 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 have fallen, the tear which might have been so fruitful ? It 
 will run out upon the pavement and be lost.' " l 
 
 At this point, the reader paused. His hearer was as 
 much moved as himself, and felt a weight upon his 
 heart. We both kept silence for a few minutes, and 
 then I asked for the rest. After the picture of that 
 night of anguish, came a dissertation on the poet and 
 the prose-writer. 2 The rest was only projected ; but this 
 was what was to happen : The hero of the tale, dis- 
 gusted with hack-writing, turned eagerly to painting, 
 and soon became a tolerably skilful genre painter. But 
 he presently found himself confronted by the old diffi- 
 culties. Family expenses and every-day necessities 
 obliged him often to lay aside his brush for the sake of 
 giving lessons, or to wield the crayon of the lithographer. 
 He went to the Louvre, and wept before the smiling face 
 of the "Joconde," as he had wept before the shade of 
 Francesca da Rimini. The next day, he abandoned 
 painting, planted himself before the piano, and passed 
 whole nights in the study of the great composers. But 
 notwithstanding all his efforts, and two or three triumphal 
 evenings, he could not surpass the common throng of 
 concert musicians. He returned to Paris, and relapsed 
 into obscurity. For the third time, he shed barren tears 
 of despondency while performing on his piano the 
 Requiem of Mozart. 
 
 It was during this third night of despair that the 
 artist resolved to emancipate himself by suicide. But, 
 before his death, he desired to prepare some memento 
 
 1 From the " Poete Dechu." 
 
 2 It appeared in the posthumous volume.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 193 
 
 of his passage through life. He wanted, just once, to 
 yield to the impulse of his heart, and to make his last 
 cry of anguish audible to those who had suffered like 
 torments with himself. 
 
 With this purpose, he slipped away one morning on 
 the imperial of a diligence, and made his way to Switzer- 
 land. There, in the chamber of an inn, he hurriedly 
 wrote a fragment of his own Memoirs. To the tale of 
 his sufferings, he added a few scraps of poetry, the last 
 being a farewell to life. He composed music for these 
 verses ; and then opened his box of colors, and took his 
 own portrait. 
 
 I demurred a little to the deno&ment. The author 
 wanted to carry things to extremes ; and either fling 
 his hero over an Alpine precipice, arranging the 
 circumstances so that his death might seem acci- 
 dental, or simply light a chafing-dish. I objected 
 to so gloomy an ending. It seemed to me an ad- 
 ditional wrong to our poor century, already so loudly 
 decried, to represent a young man of the finest gifts 
 yielding to the pressure of undeserved misfortunes, 
 while in the performance of honorable duties. I stated 
 to the author the following dilemma: either the hero 
 will not be thought to have had real talent, or he will be 
 accused of lacking courage and perseverance. To which 
 the poet replied : " It rests with me to prove that he had 
 talent. If his verses are good, and his prose eloquent, 
 that will be enough." We continued to discuss the 
 question, and I expressed a wish that the last three 
 works the "Farewell to Life," the piece of music, 
 and the portrait, all of them inspired by the same gen- 
 
 13
 
 194 Biography of Alfred -de Mtisset. 
 
 uine sentiment might come to the notice of some dis- 
 cerning person, and be recognized as masterpieces. 
 
 " But what will you do with the author's modesty ? " 
 interrupted my brother. 
 
 I replied that the author could very easily vindicate 
 that, if he would only take the trouble. 
 
 "I see," he said, " only one way to content you. It 
 would be to introduce upon the scene a young girl trav- 
 elling in Switzerland with her father. She must have a 
 fine ear, and must hear him singing the ' Adieu a la Vie.' 
 The sentiment of the verses and the accents of the 
 singer will show her that his music is no mere pastime. 
 Poetry, music, and likeness will all appear admirable to 
 her, and the young man himself yet more interesting. 
 The hero will be rescued by love, and I shall escape 
 the charge of fatuity ; for the enthusiasm of a woman 
 for her lover's lucubrations does not prove them to be 
 masterpieces." 
 
 Without . committing himself to this idea, Alfred 
 promised to consider it. But when he said to me, one 
 evening, speaking of Jacopo Ortis, "The world only 
 pities the misfortunes of which one dies," I knew very 
 well that he was reverting to his tragical termination. 
 A few days later, he read me his " Idylle de Rodolphe 
 et Albert ;" and asked me whether that bit of verse, if it 
 were slipped in among the papers of his hero, would not 
 suffice to make the reader accept him for a poet. I told 
 him the only trouble was that the " Idylle " was too 
 beautiful, and that people would not readily believe but 
 that such verses might have saved their author. 
 
 " And why should they not believe it ? " he exclaimed.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 195 
 
 " Either I deceive myself, or my creation is a genuine 
 poet ; that is to say, a child incapable of working out his 
 own destiny. His pleasure or pain, his success or his 
 wretchedness, depend upon circumstances, not upon 
 his own will. He sings the air which Nature taught him, 
 as the nightingale does ; but, when you try to make him 
 sing like a blackbird, he is silent, or he dies. Greater 
 souls than Gilbert or Chatterton have never been appre- 
 ciated until after their death. When poets are flung 
 into the midst of a distraught or heedless world, they 
 must either get out of it, or become clerks or soldiers, 
 according as the time is one of peace or war. But their 
 contemporaries must answer to posterity for their loss. 
 There have been blunders enough made in that line to 
 justify the addition to the list of one imaginary woe. 
 Moreover, in this romance, I do not accuse society, as I 
 might if I were treating of a historical character, and as 
 Alfred de Vigny very properly did in ' Stello.' The 
 very title must show that I do not intend to enter an 
 action against any one ; and this is why I am still delib- 
 erating whether I had better call the work the ' Stone 
 of Sisyphus ' or the ' Lost Poet.' " 
 
 I besought my brother to choose the first title ; repre- 
 senting the delight the envious would take in saying 
 that the work was a new " Confession of a Child of the 
 Age." Alfred threw up his head haughtily, and replied, 
 " They would not dare ! " But the observation had 
 struck him. He began to look up the numbers of the 
 " Revue," to discover the date of his last contribution ; 
 and was frightened to perceive that, since the fifteenth of 
 February, he had worked only for himself. Instead of
 
 196 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 reserving for his romance the fine verses which he had 
 just written, he sent them to the manager of the " Re- 
 vue." This took place in the last days of September. 
 The " Idylle " appeared on the first of October, and that 
 night the poet slept serenely. 
 
 We had just heard a piece of news highly important 
 to the dilettanti, the engagement of Pauline Garcia at 
 the Theitre Italien. The management of this theatre 
 had been intrusted to M. Viardot ; and, in consequence 
 of the burning of Favart's Hall, the first performance 
 was to take place at the Odeon. Pauline Garcia made 
 her debut in " Othello," and her friends were all at their 
 posts ; but, before the close of the second act, Malibran's 
 younger sister might have counted on the entire audi- 
 ence as her friends. Alfred de Musset wanted to have 
 his say about this performance ; and I would recommend 
 to curious readers his analysis of the genius of Pauline 
 Garcia, written in 1839.' There are niceties of detail 
 about it, which would apply perfectly to the interpreta- 
 tion of Gliick's masterpieces in 1861. 
 
 The differences between Malibran's Desdemona and 
 Pauline Garcia's were noted with rare acumen. It 
 was not because custom prescribes a stint of praise in 
 such cases, that the author allowed himself to offer the 
 young debutante some advice ; but because the advice 
 was good and needed. 
 
 " The moment," he said, " in which she falls on the 
 floor, when repulsed by Othello, is a painful one to some 
 persons. Why need she fall ? There used to be an 
 easy-chair at hand, and the libretto says merely that 
 Desdemona faints. I do not lay any very great stress
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 197 
 
 on this point ; but these striking effects, these sudden 
 sensational turns, are so much in fashion nowadays, 
 that I think we ought to be cautious about them. Mali- 
 bran made frequent use of them it is true. She fell, 
 and always did it well ; but now the boulevard actresses 
 have also learned how to fall, and Mile. Garcia appears 
 to me better fitted than any one else to demonstrate 
 that, if one can succeed without such means, one ought 
 to avoid them." 
 
 Where did Alfred de Musset learn that there " used to 
 be an easy-chair at hand " ? I do not know ; but he was 
 right, for I find among his papers a letter from Mme. 
 Garcia, dated Nov. 2 (his article came out on the first), 
 in which the widow of the great Garcia expresses her- 
 self thus : 
 
 "The article is charming; the criticism excellent. We 
 shall try to profit by its good suggestions ; and, first of all, we 
 will have the arm-chair at the next performance, although 
 Emilia says, ' Al suol giacente ; ' that is, lying on the ground 
 or the floor. But no matter. My poor husband used to enter, 
 absorbed in jealous and heart-rending reflections. He flung 
 himself into a chair of some sort whatever they had in those 
 days and when he rose, he turned it, without appearing to do 
 so, in such a manner, that Pasta might drop into it naturally. 
 But enough for the present." 
 
 Always afterwards, Mile. Garcia fainted in the arm- 
 chair, and left to other Desdemonas, who felt much less 
 keenly than she, exaggerated movements and carefully 
 studied falls. If the article in the " Revue " had done 
 no more than this, it would have been something : but in 
 the closing paragraph the author gave both the young 
 actress and the French public some advice which they
 
 198 BiograpJiy of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 would have done well to heed ; and which, though ori- 
 ginally put in the form of a wish, has since assumed the 
 character of a prophecy : 
 
 " And what is to become of Pauline Garcia ? There is no 
 more doubt about her future. Her success is established, 
 proved. All she can do now is to mount higher. But what 
 will she do ? Shall we keep her with us, or will she, like her 
 sister, appear in Germany, England, and Italy ? Shall she 
 roam the world for the sake of a few handfuls of louis, more 
 or less ? Shall we award her fame, or will she seek it else- 
 where ? What is a reputation, after all ? Who makes it ? 
 What determines it ? This is what I asked myself the other 
 evening, as I left the Oddon after witnessing that triumph, 
 after I had seen so many tearful eyes and agitated faces in 
 the hall. I beg pardon of the pit which clapped so bravely. 
 My question is not addressed to that. I ask your pardon, too, 
 fair ladies in the proscenium, who dream so fondly of the 
 airs you love, and tap your gloves sometimes ; and who, when 
 your hearts thrill to the accents of genius fling lavishly your 
 fragrant bouquets ! Nor was I thinking so much of you, O 
 subtile connoisseurs, fine folk who know every thing, and are 
 consequently amused by nothing ! I was thinking rather of 
 the student and the artist, of the man who, as they say, has 
 only a heart and but little ready money ; who comes here 
 once of a Sunday, for an extraordinary treat ; the man for 
 whom the mere exercise of his intellect is a stimulating and 
 salutary pleasure ; the man who needs to see something noble 
 and fine and to weep over it, that he may work gaily on the 
 morrow, and have courage to come again ; the man in short 
 who loved the elder sister, and knows the worth of truth." 1 
 
 How much there is in these few words ! Was it the 
 fault of the pit, or of the fair ladies, or of the languid 
 connoisseurs ? Was it the fault of the young singer her- 
 
 1 Debuts de Mademoiselle Pauline Garcia. Revue des Deux Mondes, 
 Nov. i, 1839.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 199 
 
 self? Which one of all these failed to do his duty, or 
 comprehend his true interests? However it came about, 
 Pauline Garcia went to Russia, and was almost entirely 
 forgotten ; and for the fifteen ensuing years we saw other 
 Desdemonas correctly flinging themselves upon the floor, 
 and the Theatre Italien descending by degrees to what 
 it is to-day. Not until twenty years had elapsed 
 twenty years of shrieks and simperings and bad taste, 
 in short of radical and complete decadence did pure 
 art, and simple song, and dramatic music revive one 
 fine evening, in a remote corner of Paris, at the Theatre 
 Lyrique. Malibran's sister had reappeared in the 
 " Orpheus " of Gliick. 
 
 While the admirers of Pauline Garcia were reading 
 the article on her Othello, Alfred was writing, with all 
 his wonted facility, the pretty rhymed tale of " Sylvia." 
 When the " Idylle " appeared, the godmother made haste 
 to tell her son what she thought of the piece. Her letter 
 wound up with a friendly reproof, touching the long 
 silence of his Muse. " Idleness," she said, " is lack of 
 courage." Her godson responded gaily and triumph- 
 antly to her strictures, in verses which were also given 
 to the public. 
 
 I knew nothing of all this when in the " Revue des 
 Deux Mondes" for December 15, I read, on a detached 
 leaf of blue paper, a list of forthcoming contributions, 
 among which Alfred de Mussel's prose work was an- 
 nounced, under the objectionable title of the " Poete 
 De'chu." I could not suppress a gesture of impatience, 
 which my brother observed. He merely pointed with 
 his finger toward the MS. of the tale imitated from
 
 2OO Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Boccaccio, more than two hundred verses of which were 
 already written. " Look," said he, " that little poem is 
 but half done yet : in three days I shall have finished it. 
 What farther proof do you require of the vigor of my 
 brain ? One would never attempt any thing so bold if 
 one thought about envious and ill-natured people." 
 
 I replied that I was perhaps too cautious, and that I 
 would defer my opinion to that of Tattet, or the god- 
 mother. Tattet came so often that I did not have long 
 to wait for him. My brother read him the story of the 
 lost, poet, and he interrupted him again and again with 
 admiring exclamations. I even saw tears in his eyes. 
 
 " Nothing more eloquent has been written," he said, 
 " since the days of Jean-Jacques Rousseau." 
 
 When the reading was finished, I left him alone with 
 his friend, and my brother informed him of my objec- 
 tions. Tattet did not think them well founded ; but the 
 next day Alfred told me that he had burned several 
 pages of the romance, which was not at all what I 
 wanted. He put the rest away in a box, and said that 
 the prose contained some ideas which would be good to 
 put into verse. The poem of " Sylvia," which appeared 
 on the first of January, 1840, caused the readers of the 
 " Revue " to forget the promise of the previous num- 
 ber. A long while afterward other portions of the 
 MS. were burned, and my brother charged me to de- 
 stroy whatever remnants of the work he might leave be- 
 hind him, with the exception of the passages quoted 
 above, for which I earnestly interceded. Twenty odd- 
 pages of writing are all that remain of that precious 
 document. They are admirable. I have read them
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 201 
 
 with deep emotion ; and, if I might give them to the 
 public, I would not hesitate ; convinced that they would 
 reflect no less honor on the character of the man than 
 on the gifts of the writer. But, fine as they are, I have 
 promised ; and they must be destroyed.
 
 2O2 Biography of Alfred de Mussel. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 WE must not smile at the sufferings of the poet. 
 He alone can give his plaints audible expres- 
 sion ; but flow many there are who suffer like him, yet 
 cannot make it known ! How many young souls, forcibly 
 turned aside from their true vocation, have shed by night 
 just such bitter tears as the strains of " Dante " wrung 
 from the author of the " Poete Dechu ! " How many 
 are made unhappy by the very fact that Nature has en- 
 dowed them with more intellect than belongs to the 
 vulgar ! The latter may envy the poet his pangs, his 
 heart-sickness, and his fame ; but it is none the less 
 certain that genius is a fatal gift, unless it have the 
 safeguard of enormous vanity. Alfred de Musset had 
 not received from Heaven that infallible defence against 
 the sorrows of the heart and mind ; and the incidents 
 related in the last chapter show how unhappy he was. 
 His refusal to publish a work which had been an- 
 nounced by the " Revue " complicated the situation yet 
 more ; nevertheless, neither the engagements which he 
 had made, nor my own exhortations to diligence, availed 
 to induce him to return to prose, for which the magazine 
 story had given him an invincible repugnance. " In 
 verse," he said, " a poet may permit himself to offer to 
 the public the truthful expression of his feelings ; but, 
 in the language employed by anybody and everybody, 
 he may not ! "
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 203 
 
 The prose manuscript which contained this honest 
 expression of his mind was thrown into a corner but 
 the author could not dispose of his anxieties after the 
 same fashion. A review is a kind of Minotaur. Of 
 the two hundred verses of " Sylvia," the number for 
 January i, 1840, made but one mouthful, and three times 
 a week came M. Felix Bonnaire to chat at our fireside. 
 These friendly visits were assuredly those of a most 
 patient and inoffensive creditor ; nevertheless, he was a 
 creditor with a mortgage on one's thoughts and feelings 
 and tears. It was in such terms that Alfred invariably 
 described all contracts for future work. I must confess 
 that I thought him extravagant and unreasonable. Like 
 the manager of the " Revue," like Alfred Tattet and 
 the godmamma, I occasionally stigmatized his disdain- 
 ful silence as laziness or weakness. But we were all 
 wrong. We had not the poet's second sight. 
 
 Alfred was always in love as a matter of necessity. 
 When I omit to mention the fact, it may be understood. 
 His twofold admiration for Pauline Garcia and Rachel 
 passed from his intellect into his heart, every time he 
 came out from hearing a performance by either one. 
 This was the time when he should have written the story 
 of Valentin's double passion for the Marquise and 
 Mme. Delaunay. The narrative would then have con- 
 tained much curious analysis of emotion ; but, as it was, 
 the novel was written three years too early. The ideal 
 situation, might have been made much finer, because 
 the hero would have been only an amoureux, not an 
 amant. 
 
 The agreeable period of this double attraction came
 
 2O4 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 to an end in the winter of 1840. I perceived that the 
 poet, preoccupied with his engagements, worn out with 
 exhortations to industry, and a trifle disenchanted, no 
 longer wanted to confide his griefs to anybody. At the 
 gay parties to which his friends invited him, he still en- 
 joyed the sprightliness of others, but the animation of 
 Fantasio had deserted him. His depression betrayed 
 itself in all he said, and made itself felt even at our 
 family meals. One evening after we had messed at a 
 restaurant with Tattet and several other friends, we 
 had had a good dinner and drunk more than was need- 
 ful, the feasters left the table, bent upon further 
 amusement ; but when they came to look for Alfred he 
 was not to be found. He had escaped, and had been 
 for some hours in my room. I asked him how he had 
 employed his evening. " I have been doing my best," 
 he replied, "to enjoy myself as other people do, and I 
 have only succeeded in stultifying myself. The truth is 
 I am no longer capable of enjoyment." 
 
 I asked him what he meant by that ; and the reply 
 which he gave struck me as so singular that I requested 
 him to write down the substance of it. It was a piece 
 of advice which I often gave him, and which, unhappily, 
 he very seldom heeded : but this time he probably put 
 his thoughts upon paper before going to bed ; for there 
 is certainly a reminiscence of the conversation I have re- 
 ported in the following lines, which I found among his 
 papers : 
 
 " Pleasure is the exercise of our faculties. Happiness is 
 their exaltation. It is thus that, from the beast to the child 
 of genius, the whole vast creation underneath the sun silently
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 205 
 
 accomplishes its eternal task. And thus, at the close of 
 a feast, some, heated with wine, seize cards and fling them- 
 selves upon heaps of gold under the glare of lamps ; some 
 call for horses and ride forth into the forest; the poet arises 
 with eyes aglow, and draws his bolt behind him ; while one 
 young man speeds noiselessly away to the home of his mis- 
 tress. Who shall say which of all these is the happiest ? 
 But he who stirs not from his place, and has no part in the 
 whirl about him, he is the least of men, or else he is the 
 most unhappy. 
 
 "So goes the world. Among tavern-rovers, some are 
 rosy and merry ; some pale and taciturn. Can there be 
 a more painful spectacle than that of an unhappy libertine ? 
 I have seen some whose smile would make one shudder. 
 He who would subjugate his soul with the weapons of sense 
 may intoxicate himself indefinitely. He may affect an impas- 
 sive exterior ; he may repress his thoughts by the might of a 
 steadfast will : those thoughts will roar incessantly inside the 
 brazen bull." 
 
 The melancholy which inspired such reflections was 
 not easily surmounted. When one has lost the faculty 
 of enjoyment, in the poet's sense of the term, dissipations 
 are. of no use. During the carnival, Alfred conscien- 
 tiously compelled himself once or twice to join the hila- 
 rious bands ; but he brought back from these excursions 
 nothing but fatigue and a fresh access of despondency. 
 
 One day he resolved to begin again, although he felt 
 no inclination to do so. " I am going," he said, " to imi- 
 tate the late Marshal Turenne. My body refuses to go 
 into battle ; but my will shall take it there in spite of 
 itself." 
 
 This time Nature rebelled, and he came home with in- 
 flammation of the lungs. M. Chomel, although one of the 
 most skilful physicians in Paris, did not form a correct
 
 2O6 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 opinion of the disorder ; but took it, at first, for a brain 
 fever. If we had followed his first prescriptions, the 
 mistake might have cost us dear. Fortunately, a mother's 
 instinct, clearer-sighted than science, divined the error 
 and repaired it. 
 
 It required no less than three persons, assisted by a 
 sister of charity, to nurse a patient so insubordinate and 
 full of strength. Ten days of sleeplessness and exces- 
 sive blood-letting seemed only to exasperate him. In 
 one of his rebellious moments, when we were at our wits' 
 end, the godmother arrived. She found her boy sitting 
 up in bed in a transport of rage, and calling loudly for his 
 clothes, that he might go to the baker's, he said, and get 
 some bread, because they would not give him any at 
 home. At first he would not listen ; but, by degrees, the 
 persuasions of his godmother quieted him. At last 
 she peremptorily ordered him to lie down, and he obeyed ; 
 muttering still, but remaining motionless under the touch 
 of her little hand which hardly covered half his forehead. 
 Princess Belgiojoso. who never missed the opportunity 
 to do a kindness, came also several times and sat by the 
 sick man's pillow, and offered him drink which he dared 
 not refuse from the hand of so great a lady. One day, 
 when he was very sick indeed, the princess said to him 
 with perfect composure : " Be calm. People never die 
 in my presence." He pretended out of gratitude to be- 
 lieve her j but, when she promised to come and see him 
 again, he said quite seriously, " I shall not die on that 
 day." 
 
 When his disease was abating, I observed a strange 
 phenomenon. One morning, Sister Marcelline and I
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 207 
 
 were sitting by my brother's bedside. He appeared 
 calm and somewhat exhausted. Reason was still con- 
 tending with the delirium occasioned by the loss of sleep 
 and the remains of pulmonary congestion. Visions were 
 flitting before his eyes ; but he took note of all his sen- 
 sations, and questioned me to enable himself to distin- 
 guish real from imaginary objects. Guided by my replies, 
 he analyzed his delirium, observed it curiously, amused 
 himself with it as with a spectacle, and described to me 
 the images which were generated in his brain. By and 
 by, complete pictures were composed, and one of these 
 dissolving views remained fixed in both our memories. 
 , It was then March. The sunshine fell upon the 
 writing-table in the centre of the room which, for the 
 time being, was covered with phials. In spite of its 
 being thus encumbered, the invalid seemed to see the 
 table just as he had left it the day he took his bed, 
 that is to say, strewn with books and papers with a 
 writing-desk upon it, and pens methodically arranged. 
 Presently four little winged genii snatched up the books, 
 the pape.rs, and the desk ; and, when they had cleared the 
 table, they brought on the phials and medicines in the 
 same order in which they had come from the apothecary's. 
 On the arrival of the famous Venetian potion, which M. 
 Chomel had allowed to be tried, the patient saluted it 
 with his hand in the Italian fashion, and murmured: 
 "Pagello has saved me once 'more." The other medi- 
 cines took their actual places ; and, for a brief moment, 
 the dream and the reality were identical. Then, from 
 among the army of phials, arose a champagne-bottle 
 adorned with its metal stamp. It was borne pathetically
 
 2O8 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 upon a litter by two small genii, who assumed for the 
 occasion a subdued and sorrowful attitude. The con- 
 voy moved off by an ascending path which wound away 
 into the distance ; while by another path a decanter 
 descended wreathed with roses, and surmounted by its 
 crystal stopper. The decanter glided smoothly down 
 the sloping pathway, while the genii scattered flowers 
 before it, and the phials drew themselves up in a double 
 line to receive it, and gave it the place of honor. 
 
 After this impressive entrance, the decanter laid aside 
 its wreath, and installed itself modestly upon the mantel. 
 The genii removed the traces of the ceremony, took away 
 the now useless phials, and restored things to their pris- 
 tine state ; so that the recovered poet might find his 
 table in order for work. Each volume and every scrap 
 of paper resumed the place which it had occupied the 
 night before he was taken ill, and the pens arranged 
 themselves symmetrically before the desk. Their duty 
 discharged, the genii departed ; but the poet, after in- 
 specting his table, exclaimed, " That is not quite right ! 
 There was a little dust in spots, particularly upon that 
 lacquered writing-desk." 
 
 The instant that he made this reasonable complaint, 
 he perceived a little man about three inches high with a 
 perambulating cocoa-seller's urn upon his back. The 
 Liliputian traversed the desk and books, turning the 
 faucet of his urn, whence issued a fine dust, and in a few 
 seconds the desired order reigned on the table. "That 
 is perfect," said the master, drawing the coverlid over 
 his eyes. " Now I can sleep, and I believe that I am 
 cured."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 209 
 
 And so he was ; for, when next he woke, his brain had 
 recovered the clearness and tranquillity of its normal 
 condition. He told these particulars to the physician 
 himself, and M. Chomel replied with a smile, " You 
 have had a regular poetical pneumonia. I am con- 
 vinced that you would never be like the rest of the 
 world, whether sick or well. But try to profit by the 
 advice which you have given yourself. The apotheosis 
 of the decanter will not suffice. You must also remem- 
 ber that nature designed the day for waking, and the 
 night for sleep." 
 
 " Your aphorism," Alfred replied, " is not so profound 
 as that of Hippocrates ; but I promise you that I will 
 ponder it." 
 
 The word convalescence does not begin to express the 
 curious state of beatitude in which the poet found him- 
 self during his recovery from this illness. It was a 
 veritable new birth. He felt about seventeen, and en- 
 joyed the " pleasures of childhood and the notions of a 
 page," like the cherub in the " Marriage of Figaro." All 
 the difficulties, all the causes of despondency, which had 
 preceded his illness, had vanished, and his horizon was 
 rose-color. In the evening, the family used to assemble 
 around the famous writing-table, to chat or sketch, while 
 Sister Marcelline knitted little jugs out of variegated 
 wool. Auguste Barre, who lived near us, used to come 
 to work upon an album of caricatures in the style of 
 Toppfer's, representing the series of events and catas- 
 trophes attendant upon a marriage treaty repeatedly 
 broken off and renewed. All Paris was laughing at it, 
 and one did not need to be a convalescent to find amuse-
 
 2IO Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 ment in these comical drawings. Alfred and Barre 
 wielded the pencil, and the rest of us made up the ex- 
 planatory text, which was no less absurd than the draw- 
 ings. The album consisted of fifty-one sketches, more 
 than half of which were from Alfred's hand. It was 
 not without a pang of jealous regret that I saw the prod- 
 igal godson bestow on his godmamma these nonsensical 
 productions, which, if I had them now, would recall one 
 of the sweetest periods of our home life. Who shall 
 give us back those delightful evenings of laughter, 
 chatter, and jest; when, without stirring abroad and 
 with no help from outside, our household was so happy ?. 
 The convalescent's first sorrow came with the farewell 
 of Sister Marcelline. Not only had the angelic sweet- 
 ness and devoted -care of that saintly girl attached us 
 all to her ; but, quite unconsciously, she had acquired a 
 marked ascendancy over the mind of the invalid, by the 
 spectacle of the serenity of spirit which she brought to 
 the discharge of her duties, and by describing to him, 
 with affecting simplicity, some of the events of her life ; 
 especially those which had induced her to take the veil. 
 In her eagerness to second the physician's efforts, she 
 advised the patient about the course he ought to pur- 
 sue ; first, for the health of his body, and then for that 
 of his mind. How could he forbid one so pious and so 
 affectionate to interest herself in the religious experi- 
 ence of him whose life she had saved by her devotion ? 
 Marcelline used her privilege discreetly, and her gentle 
 entreaties had more effect than those of a doctor of 
 divinity could have had. He assured her that it was 
 so, and she left him well content, with the promise
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mm set. 211 
 
 that she would pray for him. Always afterwards, when 
 he wanted help, Alfred asked for Sister Marcelline ; but, 
 whether by accident or intentionally, she was never sent 
 to him but once. Occasionally, at intervals of several 
 years, she got leave to come out and ascertain the con- 
 dition of her patient. She would talk with him for a 
 quarter of an hour or so and then flit away. They were 
 angel visits, unhappily too rare ; but they always came 
 so opportunely that Alfred regarded them as marks of 
 the favor of some mysterious and consolatory power. 
 
 According to the customary working of his mind, the 
 poet, when bereft of the sister whom he regretted, began 
 to concentrate all his thoughts upon her, until his 
 thoughts became words, and his words took the form of 
 verse. One day he told me that he had composed some 
 stanzas, "To Sister Marcelline," but he obstinately 
 refused to write them out. "These verses," he said, 
 " were made for myself alone. They concern only me, 
 and no one else has a right to them. Why should I not 
 compose a dozen stanzas for my private use, and recite 
 them to myself if I choose. I will repeat them to you 
 once, and you may remember them if you can." 
 
 Accordingly, he did so. Tattet heard them also, and 
 besought his friend for a copy, but in vain. Afterwards, 
 another lady, whose care had been no less assiduous 
 than Sister Marcelline's own, repeated from memory a 
 few of these verses. By comparing our recollections, 
 we succeeded with great difficulty in reconstructing four 
 stanzas ; but their order is by no means certain. When I 
 owned this misdemeanor to my brother, he was not at all 
 angry and, since he demanded no promise of secrecy, I
 
 212 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 do not see why I should consign to eternal oblivion one 
 of the purest inspirations of his vanished Muse. Here 
 is all I have been able to recover of the stanzas to Sister 
 Marcelline : 
 
 " Poor child, thy beauty is all fled ! 
 Thy nightly vigils by the dead 
 
 Have left thee pale as they. 
 As any delver's of the soil, 
 Thy hand is hard with loving toil, 
 
 Men's anguish to allay. 
 
 Yet brave amid its weariness 
 Beside the pillow of distress, 
 
 Thy white brow shineth ; and 
 Full well the wretch whose fevered grasp 
 Enfolds it, knows how kind the clasp 
 
 Of that disfigured hand. 
 
 Pursue thy solitary way, 
 
 And step by step, and day by day, 
 
 Draw nearer to thy God. 
 While we bemoan life's cruel ill 
 Who meanly use our coward skill 
 
 To fly the chastening rod. 
 
 But naught of evil dost thou know, 
 And nameless unto thee the foe 
 
 With whom thou strivest still. 
 The strokes thereof cannot harm one 
 Who hath forgotten how to moan, 
 
 Save for another's ill." 1 
 
 1 There is an allusion to the tender memory left by the care of Sister 
 Marcelline in a letter of Alfred de Mussel's to his godmother, dated July 
 31, 1840. In reply to a previous letter in which the poet had alluded jok- 
 ingly to his flirtations with several young women, his godmother had asked
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 213 
 
 Apparently, Sister Marcelline must have obtained from 
 the invalid a promise to engage in some religious exer- 
 cise ; for, when she went away, she left him a pen on 
 which she had embroidered, in parti-colored silk, the 
 motto, "Think of your promise." Seventeen years 
 later, this pen and one of the little knitted jugs were 
 enclosed in the poet's coffin. It was one of his last 
 requests. 
 
 After his recovery, Alfred conceived the desire of 
 writing for Rachel a tragedy of Alcestis. He pur- 
 chased the drama of Euripides, and applied himself 
 to his Greek, so as to read it in the original. His friend 
 Tattet ransacked the libraries, both public and private, 
 in search of the sketch of a tragedy upon this theme, 
 which some of the biographers of Racine had declared to 
 exist among his papers. In his review of the " Alcestis " 
 of Gliick, J. J. Rousseau had made some very judicious 
 criticism of the faults in the libretto of the Bailli du 
 Rollet. These faults were a lack of variety in the 
 situations, and a consequent monotony of language, so 
 difficult to avoid that the Greek poet himself had fallen 
 into it. Alfred was not discouraged, but accepted these 
 
 him what had become of his feeling for the sister in the midst of these love 
 affairs. This is evidently her meaning in her remark about the "sacred 
 story." We must not misinterpret the apparent levity with which the god- 
 son replies to this question. I think he was unwilling to have so serious a 
 subject mixed up with the badinage by which he was trying to divert the 
 mind of a lady whom he suspected of a slightly malicious feeling, not to- 
 ward himself, but toward one whom he deeply reverenced. It was in a 
 very different tone that he spoke of Sister Marcelline to the Duchesse de 
 Castries, as may be seen by a letter to his brother, dated June, 1840. When 
 he told the godmother that the " sacred story " was somewhat in the con- 
 dition of the Old Testament, it was probably his way of refusing to an- 
 swer her at all. P. M.
 
 214 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 criticisms as useful warnings. We shall see presently 
 why this project was abandoned. 
 
 Unwilling to recall his thoughts to painful themes, I 
 was careful, during his convalescence, not to allude to 
 the things which had disturbed him before he was ill. 
 M. Felix Bonnaire, in his morning calls, never breathed 
 a word about work or engagements. Whether it were 
 heedlessness or presentiment I cannot say ; but Alfred 
 made the remark now and then, that every thing arranged 
 itself in this world, and that his affairs would do the 
 same. Sister Marcelline had predicted it, and so it 
 would be ; and, in point of fact, the poet's embarrass- 
 ments were about to receive a most unlooked-for 
 solution. M. Charpentier had just effected a revolu- 
 tion in the book-trade. His i8mo editions brought 
 within the reach of people of moderate means books 
 which even the rich had previously found too dear. In the 
 two preceding years, M. Charpentier had brought out a 
 large number of books, and M. Buloz now suggested to 
 him the idea of publishing the works of Alfred de Musset 
 in the new form. To further the success of the scheme, 
 M. Buloz consented to sacrifice a certain number of 
 copies of his own 8vo edition of the " Spectacle dans un 
 Fauteuil," which still remained in the book-shop of the 
 " Revue." One morning, therefore, M. Charpentier came 
 and proposed to the author of the " Contes d'Espagne " 
 to collect all his poems in one volume of the new form. 
 This proposal quite altered the aspect of affairs. M. 
 Charpentier was not deceived in his expectations : a 
 large number of copies of the reprinted poems were sold, 
 and the other works by the same author came in their
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 215 
 
 turn to furnish occupation for the printers. It was a 
 financial revolution for our poet, and he repeated many 
 times, "Sister Marcelline predicted this; and yet the 
 poor girl hardly knows what a verse is." 
 
 For the complete enjoyment of his leisure and freedom 
 of mind, our convalescent resolved to regale himself with 
 some interminable reading. He read the whole of 
 " Clarissa Harlowe " for the second time, and then he 
 wanted the " Memorial de Sainte Helene," into which he 
 plunged, and read and reread, until the pages were fairly 
 disfigured. Afterwards he wished to make himself ac- 
 quainted with all the memoirs which had been published 
 concerning the empire; not forgetting the journal of 
 Antomarchi. According to his wont, he exhausted the 
 subject. When he was possessed by this sort of rage 
 for a person, his reading, his thinking, and his conversa- 
 tion constituted a genuine monograph. I asked him 
 what it was which had attracted him so powerfully to- 
 ward the imperial epoch, and he replied, " Its greatness. 
 The pleasure of living in imagination in a heroic time, 
 and the need of getting away from our own. I am tired 
 of little things, and I turn toward the quarter where 
 great ones are to be had. I care more to know how that 
 man put on his boots, than for all the secrets of the 
 present political situation in Europe. I know quite well 
 that clever people nowadays dread nothing so much as 
 being ridiculed for chauvinisme ;"* but, for my own part, 
 I snap my fingers at that sort of ridicule." 
 
 1 Military braggadocia, a loud and boastful type of patriotism. The 
 name is derived from Chauvin, the veteran sergeant in Scribe's " Soldat 
 Laboureur," and is especially applied to the worship of glory and the great 
 emperor under the Napoleonic regime.
 
 216 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 The month of June arrived, and the Parisians began 
 to disperse. Tattet invited his friend to try the air of 
 Bur} 7 . As in former years, they rode horseback night 
 and day in the woods of Montmorency. On the spot 
 where, in 1838, Alfred had composed the happy sonnet, 
 beginning, " Quel plaisir d'etre au monde," he real- 
 ized the change which a short time had wrought in his 
 opinions and tastes. The turbulent life which they led 
 at Bury inspired him only with the desire to turn his 
 horse into some solitary path. His friends have told me 
 that one morning when he was late about rising, they 
 went into his room, and found upon his table a sonnet 
 to which, when he afterwards published it, he gave the 
 name of "Tristesse." After having allowed the state 
 of his mind to be suspected by the active companions 
 whose zeal for pleasure he no longer shared, he was 
 afraid of being a check upon them, and he came away. 
 
 At about this time there was a transient revival of in- 
 terest in politics. War was thought to be imminent. 
 France, finding herself once more alone and confronted 
 by her old enemies, made as though she would resist a 
 new coalition consolidated by England. So long as the 
 government preserved its bellicose attitude, they contin- 
 ued to tack on the other side of the channel ; but on the 
 day when the king of France, who was considered able, 
 made the blunder of announcing in his ultimatum that 
 he would not go to the length of actual hostilities, his 
 enemies, as might have been anticipated, redoubled 
 their arrogance. There is no need to rehearse the piti- 
 ful part played by France in 1840. Her influence in the 
 east was destroyed for a long time to come. Like all
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 217 
 
 honorable men, Alfred de Musset grievously resented his 
 country's humiliation ; and the day when the shameful 
 conclusion was made known, he angrily exclaimed, " This 
 reign has lasted too long." 
 
 When the policy of peace at any price had been fairly 
 resumed, Alfred endeavored to forget it all. He haunted 
 the galleries of the Theatre Frangais, whatever the play 
 might: be, and notwithstanding the heat of summer. One 
 evening when the audience was very small, they were 
 only playing Moliere, he came home and wrote that 
 curious piece which he called " Une Soire'e Perdue," and 
 which is at once a satire and an elegy. The " Revue des 
 Deux Mondes " profited by this graceful flight of fancy. 
 
 Shortly after, Mme. Berryer invited my brother and 
 me to come and meet the godmother and several other 
 agreeable people whom she had collected at her house. 
 Accordingly, we went to Augerville together about the 
 middle of September. The first part of our journey 
 passed off gaily ; but while we were crossing from Fon- 
 tainebleau to Malesherbes, my brother became dreamy, 
 and his melancholy mood infected me. Without con- 
 fessing as much to one another, we both found ourselves 
 carried back to the same time. These mysterious shades, 
 these lofty forests so like Gothic cathedrals, the dark 
 walls outlined against a blazing sky, all these things 
 were unchanged in appearance since 1833. What signi- 
 fied seven years more or less to trees three hundred 
 years old ? At every step Alfred felt the memories of his 
 youth starting into more vivid life. The few words which 
 he said I found again five months later in the lines now 
 so well known,
 
 21 8 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 " Que sont-ils devenus les chagrins de ma vie ? 
 
 Tout ce qui m'a fait vieux est bien loin maintenant, 
 Et rien qu'en regardant cette vallde amie 
 Je redeviens enfant." x 
 
 While his thoughts lingered about the favorite ride 
 and all the charming spots, mine went farther, and I re- 
 called the day of his departure for Italy, the horrible 
 winter of 1834, our desolated home, the six weeks of 
 suspense when we heard nothing from our absent one, 
 the return still sadder than the departure, until the 
 beauty of the forest made me shiver. Crushing the fine 
 sand and jolting over the pavements, our uncomfortable 
 vehicle brought us at last to the hospitable asylum 
 where a delightful circle was awaiting us ; and in the 
 evening, after dinner, we introduced into a charade the 
 frightful drama of " Pouch Lafarge," who was so ill fed 
 by his better half ; for the public was just then divided 
 into the accusers and the partisans of Marie Capelle. 
 
 Thanks to the pending lawsuit, there was a great deal 
 of discussion at Augerville about the art of poisoning 
 and the ways of proving death by poison ; out of which 
 arose the project of turning the story of Simone into 
 verse. The last stanzas will be found to contain slight 
 allusions to the contest in the Court of Assizes ; while 
 the introduction betrays a good deal of anxiety about 
 the evil course that literature was taking. Two months 
 later, the author had pointed out the deplorable vagaries 
 of the drama. Recurring now to pages written so long 
 
 1 Where are now the sorrows of my life? That which has made me old 
 is now far away. And the mere sight of this beloved valley makes me 
 a child once more.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 219 
 
 ago, we are struck with the prophetic character of all 
 that portion which consists of literary criticism and ob- 
 servations on mental condition. But alas ! in vain 
 have poets received the gift of second sight. The fate 
 of their predictions is not precisely like that of Cassan- 
 dra's. We listen and admire. We are amazed that they 
 should be able to tell us so exactly what is thought by 
 people of taste. And then the torrent rolls on. 
 
 At Augerville, Alfred was apparently as happy as a 
 child in vacation ; nevertheless, at the end of a fortnight, 
 he brought forward a pretext of pressing business, and 
 took his leave. Although Rachel needed no champion, 
 I hoped that he was returning to Paris for her sake ; but 
 it was written that these two creatures whose perfect ac- 
 cord was so much to be desired should never remain 
 good friends for more than two weeks at a time. Almost 
 as soon as Alfred saw Rachel again, they fell out with 
 one another. 
 
 These trifles derive serious importance from the fact 
 that, in consequence of the quarrel, all thoughts were 
 abandoned, both of the " Alcestis " and the " Servante 
 du Roi," and the one completed act of the latter piece 
 was thrust away in a box. Many people will think that 
 the author did not very well understand his true interests ; 
 and probably there are those among living dramatic 
 writers who would have prosecuted their task with en- 
 tire indifference to the ungrateful comments of Rachel. 
 " Let her say what she will of me," they would have said, 
 "provided she accepts a part which I have arranged. 
 If the piece brings a good sum of money, the rest 
 matters little." But Alfred de Musset was not exactly
 
 22O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 like all the rest of the world ; and since the sensibility 
 of poets, unreasonable as it seems, is the source of their 
 genius, we must forgive them for it. 
 
 His method of banishing Rachel, Fredegonde, and 
 the annoyances of the side-scenes, was to plunge into 
 the ideal world, and work to please somebody else ; in 
 this instance his godmamma, who was greatly interested 
 in the subject of " Simone." This little poem, which 
 Alfred wrote with enjoyment and even enthusiasm, ap- 
 peared in the "Revue" for Dec. i, 1840. 
 
 On the eleventh of the same month, the author com- 
 pleted his thirtieth year. That morning his air and 
 bearing struck me as graver than usual. He made in- 
 quiries about the precise hour of his birth. I knew how 
 he was feeling, and we talked long together. " I have 
 come," he said, " to one of my climacterics. It is ten 
 years and something more since I said my first word to 
 the public. You know what I have thought and suffered. 
 You know what luggage I carry, and can estimate its 
 value. You can appreciate better than I can myself the 
 reputation which I have won. Now, answer me truly, 
 Do you think that justice has been done me ? " 
 
 Unhesitatingly, I replied " No." 
 
 " I have thought so myself," he replied, " but feared 
 that I was mistaken. The public fs behindhand with 
 me. It is silent about the things I publish to a degree 
 which amazes me. I have not the slightest wish to play 
 the part of an unappreciated genius ; but after ten years 
 of work I think that I have the right to withdraw inside 
 my tent. I am quite willing to say to myself that I have 
 been a child until now ; but I do not want others to say
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 221 
 
 it of me. It is high time that I had my dues. If I do 
 not get them, I will be silent." 
 
 Alfred sat up very late on the night of the nth of 
 December ; which was not in itself remarkable, since he 
 rarely went to bed before two in the morning. It was 
 during that night apparently that he wrote out the fol- 
 lowing reflections, on a stray bit of paper which lay 
 about his table for a long time afterwards: 
 
 " Thirty years old ! 
 
 " There is a mournful look to be turned uppn the past, only 
 to see there dead hopes and dead sorrows ; and a still more 
 mournful one to be turned upon the future, there to see the 
 winter of life ! 
 
 " There is a foolish thing to be attempted ; and that is to 
 keep on being a child, and yet it was a fine thing with those 
 who were beloved of the gods, with Mozart, Raphael, Byron, 
 and Weber, who died at thirty-six ! 
 
 "There is a chilling thing to be done, and that is to 
 say to one's self, ' All is over ; ' yet, when Gothe said it, it was 
 noble. 
 
 " There is a stupid thing to be done, to fancy that one 
 has risen superior to one's self ; to assume the style of an ac- 
 complished man ; to live like an experienced egotist. 
 
 " A languid, lazy thing to be done, not to hear the clock 
 when it strikes ! 
 
 " A brave thing to be done, to hear it, and yet to live on 
 in spite of the gods. But in that case one could not believe 
 in eternity ! 
 
 " A sublime thing to be done ; and that is not even to 
 know that the clock is striking. But in that case one would 
 have to believe in every thing ! 
 
 " However it be, it is certain that, at this age, the hearts of 
 some crumble to dust, while those of others live on. Lay 
 your hand upon your heart, for the moment is come. It 
 falters. Has it ceased to beat ? Become ambitious or avari-
 
 222 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 cious, one or the other ; or else die at once ! Is it beating 
 still ? Then let the gods do their worst ! Nothing is lost." 
 
 The poet had indeed laid his hand upon his heart, and 
 listened attentively. But that heart was beating still, and 
 nothing was lost
 
 BiograpJiy of Alfred de Musset. 223 
 
 XIV, 
 
 T ORD BYRON said good-bye to youth at the age 
 -^ ' of thirty-six. Alfred de Musset, always eager to 
 devour the time, had anticipated by a few years that 
 crisis after which we see the future in a new light 
 Ever since the month of September, he had been dream- 
 ing over his excursion to the woods of Fontainebleau. 
 The impressions which he received' on that journey were 
 both sweet and bitter ; but, by and by, the bitter element, 
 which had never been powerful, disappeared altogether. 
 His recollections would have faded away entirely but 
 for an unforeseen circumstance, which emphasized them 
 anew and turned them to the profit of poesy. In the 
 corridors of the Theatre Italien, Alfred met a lady whom 
 he had wellnigh forgotten for many years ; but who had 
 first crossed his path under the shades of that forest. 
 He came home a good deal agitated. The Muse came 
 with him, and invited him to labor. He resolved to en- 
 tertain her as in happier days, by a grand illumination 
 and a banquet. It was like the meeting of two recon- 
 ciled friends; and the Muse, touched by her welcome, 
 gave herself up without reserve. Whole stanzas flowed 
 out upon the paper at one pulse of the fountain. The 
 poet did not lie down before daybreak, nor did his in- 
 spiration slacken even in sleep ; but the moment he 
 awoke he seized the pen. The " Souvenir " appeared 
 in the "Revue," Feb. 15, 1841.
 
 224 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 When he had received the congratulations of his 
 mother, those of his friend Tattet, and the letter from 
 his godmamma, which never failed under such circum- 
 stances, Alfred said to me, " This is all I shall get by 
 my sacrifice to the public. I have thrown to the beasts 
 my bleeding heart. I have wrestled with my thought, 
 to the end that a madman or a blockhead might hum 
 these lines like any common song, 
 
 " ' Mes yeux ont contempt des objets plus funebres 
 Que Juliette morte, au fond de son tombeau.' * 
 
 " I said these words aloud, alone in the silence of the 
 night, and there they are flung away to be picked up by 
 any idle passer-by. Why could they not have waited 
 till I was dead ? But you will see that nobody will say 
 a word about them then." 
 
 In short, he was beginning to perceive that his most 
 remarkable poems seemed, at the time of their appear- 
 ance, to fall into a void. Ever since his genius had 
 taken a bolder flight ; ever since his verses had acquired 
 a world-wide range, so that any one with a heart might 
 have felt their beauty, the press had feigned uncon- 
 sciousness of them : and, if haply the name of their author 
 were mentioned, it was merely to quote, with dishearten- 
 ing levity, the poet of the Spanish tales, as though he 
 had made no progress whatever since 1830. 
 
 For a long while, Alfred de Musset refused to believe 
 in that conspiracy of silence, which every one else ob- 
 served. He was too kindly readily to admit such a 
 
 1 " My eyes have seen sights more funereal than that of Juliet dead in the 
 tomb "
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 225 
 
 thought, too magnanimous to see meanness in others, 
 too dignified to take a single one of those steps which 
 are supposed to be indispensable to the success of any 
 literary work. When, finally, the truth fairly stared him 
 in the face, he failed to recognize it. Now and then, he 
 felt the ill-will of those who award reputation. The in- 
 justice grieved him ; but he was too proud to let his 
 disappointment be known. His modesty always took the 
 turn of self-disparagement. And, while he pronounced 
 the funeral oration of poetry and the arts, he judged 
 himself with incredible severity. In these moments of 
 discouragement, he insisted that others should agree with 
 him, and corroborate his own extreme views. After that, 
 a word would suffice to produce a reaction in his mind ; 
 but, when you had restored him to a sense of his power, 
 you had also restored his spirit of indifference. How 
 many times when urged to work, his answer has been, 
 " Why should I ? Who cares ? Who will thank me ? " 
 
 We have seen that, in 1840, he had resolved for the 
 future to write verse only. After the publication of the 
 " Souvenir," he determined to write merely for his own 
 pleasure. Thenceforward his table was strewn with 
 sonnets, songs, and stanzas. He amused himself by 
 writing in a hurry sometimes in short-hand on scraps 
 of paper, the envelopes of letters, the margin of a litho- 
 graph, or the cover of a novel, as though to prove that 
 what he wrote interested himself alone, and was never 
 to see the light. I waited until some stimulant should 
 rouse him ; but, unfortunately, he received none but 
 disagreeable impressions ; for there are periods in life 
 when one trouble invokes another as its complement, 
 
 '5
 
 226 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 and our woes are mutually aggravated by a kind of 
 logical connection. 
 
 I have told how the friendly relations between Rachel 
 and her champion were interrupted. Just then, Pauline 
 Garcia was absent. To the shame of the Parisians be 
 it said, the mass of the public had not obeyed the im- 
 pulse given by people of taste on the first appearance of 
 the youthful singer. The sister of Malibran sang in her 
 own style, and according to her own feelings. At that 
 time, there were certain infallible methods of getting 
 one's self applauded at the Theatre Italien, certain 
 noises, hiccoughs, and invariable pauses, which never 
 failed of success. It was a routine equally convenient 
 for the artists and the habituees of the theatre ; since it 
 rendered quite unnecessary any knowledge of music 
 on the part of the audience. Pauline Garcia repudiated 
 these vulgar recipes. She adopted a course just the re- 
 verse of the fashionable one, and disdained the old 
 effects which were looked for at certain places in her 
 parts. On the other hand,- she had flashes of genius 
 which passed quite unnoticed. In a word, she was origi- 
 nal. She needed to be understood, and she was not 
 understood. After having sung Desdemona, Rosina, 
 Tancrede, and Cinderella, with decreasing success, she 
 thought that she had tried long enough ; and she de- 
 parted to a foreign land, to the great regret of the poet, 
 who had celebrated her debut, and saluted that "new 
 era " which two years had sufficed to extinguish. 
 
 A lady to whom Alfred de Musset had become much 
 attached during his illness had also gone away for a 
 long absence. The Princess Belgiojoso, whose salon
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mttsset. 227 
 
 was one of the pleasantest in Paris, was passing the 
 winter in Italy. She was making a noble use of her 
 large fortune, by founding an important charitable es- 
 tablishment some leagues from Milan. Like Sister Mar- 
 celline, she had talked very seriously with the poet. 
 Alfred wrote to his fair monitress, and told her how keenly 
 he regretted the affectionate sermons to which her voice 
 had lent so much sweetness, adding that he would gladly 
 have a slight illness for the sake of hearing more of the 
 same. The princess replied by inviting him to come to 
 Italy, where he would find a genial climate, a healthful 
 regimen, and other sources of inspiration than were fur- 
 nished by the Boulevard de Gand. She promised him 
 entire freedom, a spacious lodging, a family library filled 
 with rare books, and as many sermons as he might 
 desire. This graceful invitation filled him with joy and 
 gratitude. Again and again, during the winter of 1841, 
 he repeated, "I am not forgotten by everybody. 
 When it becomes intolerably tedious here, I shall know 
 where to look for hospitality." 
 
 But while he talked in Paris about going to Italy, he 
 wrote to Milan that the project was a dream. 
 
 In the month of May, it was the godmother's turn. 
 Usually her absences were brief ; but this year she went 
 into the country, intending to remain nearly all summer. 
 She took care not to confide her purpose to her godson ; 
 but he, while expecting her return from day to day, went 
 back to his sad refrain that his friends were falling off, 
 and the desert widening around him. 
 
 He got up one morning, carrying in his looks that 
 motto of Valentine of Milan which he was so fond of
 
 228 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 quoting. It actually seemed as if nothing ever would 
 rouse him out of his dejection, when his eye happened 
 to light on the song of the poet Becker. It proved the 
 spur which woke him suddenly. The Vicomte Delaunay, 
 in one of his witty papers, has pleased himself by de- 
 scribing, in a very sprightly fashion, the origin of the 
 "Rhin Allemand." All this anecdote lacks is veracity. 
 It is made up from beginning to end. The truth is as 
 follows : 
 
 On the first of June, 1841, we were breakfasting at 
 home, when a copy of the " Revue des Deux Mondes " 
 was brought in, which contained both Becker's song and 
 the " Marseillaise de la Paix." Alfred, seeing some 
 verses by Lamartine in the table of contents, turned at 
 once to that page of the magazine. When he read those 
 six couplets of Becker's which contain in so few words 
 so many insults to France, he knitted his brows ; but, 
 when he had read the reply to them, he knitted them 
 still more. No doubt he would have approved the feeling 
 which inspired the " Marseillaise de la Paix," if the piece 
 had appeared by itself. It is perfectly legitimate to invite 
 all men to clasp hands without distinction of race, name, or 
 geographical boundary. As a philosophical proposition, 
 it is as good as any other ; but to reply to an insolent 
 challenge by opening one's arms to the challenger is to 
 choose one's time ill. This was the way Alfred de Musset 
 looked at it ; and since, to his mind, the " Marseillaise 
 de la Paix " was no answer to Becker's song, the de- 
 sire seized him to answer it himself. The more we dis- 
 cussed it at the breakfast-table, the more animated his 
 face grew. He flushed to his very ears. Finally, he
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 229 
 
 struck the table with his fist, retired into his own room 
 and shut the door. At the end of two hours, he emerged 
 and repeated to us the " Rhin Allemand." For all M. 
 de Lamartine called it a " tavern-song," it made an im- 
 mense stir. The Due d'Orldans at once despatched 
 his congratulations to the author; for, since the retro- 
 grade movement of the preceding year, the political 
 situation had not been such as to allow the heir-appar- 
 ent to express himself openly. It is no exaggeration 
 to say that at least fifty composers wrote music for this 
 song. One of these airs was adopted by the army, and 
 sung in all the barracks. Prussian officers wrote the 
 author taunting letters, some in German and others in 
 French, making appointments at Baden, and inviting 
 him to fight them there on such or such a day. As often 
 as one of these letters arrived, he laid it carefully away 
 in a drawer. " These are fine young men," he said: " I 
 like their patriotism. It gratifies me to perceive that my 
 verses have gone to the right spot. I have clinched 
 Becker's nail. But why does he not write me himself ? 
 He is the man I would like to fight. As for my young 
 Prussians, they may fight with the French officers who 
 have challenged Becker, if there are any." 
 
 The " Rhin Allemand " was composed on the morn- 
 ing of the first of June. Out of respect for the author 
 of the " Marseillaise de la Paix," Alfred refused to pub- 
 lish it in the " Revue." Moreover, the next number 
 would not come for a fortnight. He therefore offered 
 the piece to the " Revue de Paris," which was published 
 weekly ; and there it appeared on Sunday, June 6th, while 
 the Vicomte Delaunay's comments on it were printed in 
 the " Presse."
 
 230 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 From Tourraine, where she was spending the sum- 
 mer, came the godmother's congratulations to her child. 
 "The 'Rhin Allemand,' she wrote, "is better than the 
 best songs of Beranger. There is a breath of loftier 
 poetry in it." To compliments she added exhortations 
 to industry. The godson replied that his patriotic 
 fibres would not be stirred every morning, and that his 
 heart was fast asleep and would not wake easily. The 
 godmother again reproached him for his indolence, and 
 again he made a jesting defence. " It is all your fault," 
 he answered, " if I am tired to death and don't know 
 what to do with my evenings. But ennui and indiffer- 
 ence are the best possible remedies for the disease 
 called poesy. Consequently, I am very well ; and what 
 are you scolding about ? " 
 
 In fact, the summer of 1841 seemed to him intermi- 
 nable. The manager of the " Revue " had quite as good 
 a right as the godmother to exclaim against his in- 
 dolence, and I emphasized all he said. Alfred was 
 sincerely fond of M. Buloz, and very sorry that he could 
 not satisfy him. Finally, after a silence of six months, 
 after being repeatedly and earnestly pressed to explain 
 his conduct, he wrote the verses, " Sur la Paresse," 
 which he addressed in the form of a letter to the man 
 most interested in the question. Usually, a satire loses 
 its point in a little while : but these verses read as 
 if they had been written yesterday ; a fact which proves 
 that the author understood perfectly the eccentricities of 
 his age, and that the age has not yet overcome them. 
 Read over the passages about hypocrisy, the unbridled 
 love of money, pompous egotism, the importance of
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 231 
 
 bread and butter, and that mediocrity which understands 
 nothing but itself. It is all seasonable at the end of 
 thirty years. The epistle was published on the first of 
 January, 1842. "There," said the author, "that is the 
 cleverest thing I ever wrote." 
 
 I asked him where the cleverness lay. "Don't you 
 see," he replied, "I have given reasons for my silence; 
 and these reasons, whether good or bad, imply a promise 
 that that silence shall continue. Really, it remains to 
 be seen whether I keep my word. But when the world 
 perceives that my disdain is real and unaffected, as it 
 certainly is, I shall no longer give umbrage to any one. 
 Those who pretend to be unaware of my existence will 
 consent to acknowledge it. Am I a clerk or a copyist, 
 that people should pester me about the employment of 
 my time ? I have written a great deal. I have made as 
 many verses as Dante or Tasso. Who the deuce ever 
 presumed to call them lazy ? If Gothe took it into his 
 head to fold his hands, who ever reproved him for frit- 
 tering away his time over science ? I will follow Gothe's 
 example to the day of my death, if it suits me ! My 
 Muse is my own ; and I will show the public that she 
 obeys me, and I am her master, and that, if it wants any 
 thing of her, it must do as I like." 
 
 When Tattet, in his turn, requested his friend to ex- 
 plain the course he was taking, he received in reply the 
 following verses, 
 
 " Le mal des gens d'esprit, c'est leur indifference, 
 Celui des gens de cceur, leur inutiliteV' ' 
 
 l " The trouble with people of mind is their indifference ; with people of 
 heart, their impracticability."
 
 232 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 The next number of the " Revue des Deux Mondes," 
 after that in which the letter on Indolence appeared, 
 was to contain an article by M. Sainte Beuve. In read- 
 ing the proofs of this article, M. Buloz came upon a 
 paragraph, the terms of which he thought calculated to 
 put the modesty of Alfred de Musset to too severe a 
 test. On the eve of the publication of the number, he 
 sent me a hasty note, begging me to come and see him. 
 I complied, and he read me the paragraph. It was a 
 classification of living poets ; not in the order of their 
 merit, but in what the critic conceived to be the order 
 of their celebrity. It was a perfectly useless thing, prov- 
 ing nothing whatever : and the least of the objections to 
 it was the one that the author himself allowed ; namely, 
 that it was sure to wound the persons mentioned, quite 
 as much as those whose names were omitted. In this 
 classification, Alfred de Musset was assigned to the 
 third rank, and to a class so numerous that there were 
 even ladies in it. The critic added, however, that if the 
 young poet were often to write satires like the verses 
 " Sur la Paresse," or meditations like the " Nuit de Mai," 
 he would stand a good chance of promotion to another 
 group. 
 
 M. Buloz asked me what I thought of this judgment : 
 and I replied that, if the writer of it had stopped his 
 readings at the " Nuit de Mai," it would be a good plan 
 to send him the twenty copies of the "Revue " which con- 
 tained the other Nights, and the various poems and 
 " meditations " published during the last six years ; 
 moreover, that I should hardly have expected to find 
 the author of the letter on Indolence confounded with
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 233 
 
 versifiers to whom the manager of the " Revue " had 
 frequently returned their productions, with as little con- 
 sideration for "ladies" as for gentlemen ; that I thought 
 the judgment in question thoroughly unfair, even in 
 respect of applying the word " meditations " to poems 
 of unquestionable originality; that it did not become 
 the " Revue " to speak in such terms of one of its most 
 popular editors ; but that, if they desired to transfix 
 their readers by the insertion of a page which would 
 give more pain to Alfred de Musset's admirers than 
 even to himself, the article was perfectly adapted to its 
 end, and ought not to be altered in the least. M. 
 Buloz hastened to assure me that he had no such inten- 
 tion, and he promised that he would request M. Sainte 
 . Beuve either to modify or entirely suppress that passage 
 in his article. 
 
 Nevertheless, I knew the irritable temper and imprac- 
 ticable vanity of M. Sainte Beuve so well, that, when 
 the number came on the fifteenth of January, I had a 
 presentiment that nothing would be changed. Alfred 
 took the pamphlet, opened it at random, and lighted 
 directly upon the page where his name occurred. After 
 an instant, he laid the number on the mantel, saying, in 
 a low tone, " Et tu, Sainte Beuve ! " 
 
 He at once changed the subject, and refused to recur 
 to it. As for me, I protested as I had a right to do, and 
 took the consequences of my recriminations. I have 
 been taking them ever since, for they have not yet come 
 to an end. At present, a glance at the poems of Alfred 
 de Musset will show that he has not added to his works, 
 since 1842, many satires, or " meditations " either ; yet
 
 234 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 M. Sainte Beuve has revoked his judgment. He has 
 placed the author of the "Nuit de Mai "among the 
 gods, since his death be it understood, which is 
 why I make this reparation to-day. And if my apology 
 seem somewhat tardy, so was his. 
 
 Alfred did not go very much into society in 1842 ; 
 but he went back to two or three salons which were fre- 
 quented by friends of his. From these, he several times 
 returned with sonnets or rondeaux in his head, which he 
 addressed on the morrow to some lady or other ; but of 
 which, unfortunately, he did not always keep copies. As 
 for the charming allegory of the " Merle Blanc," it was 
 composed for an illustrated publication, the author of 
 which had won his esteem, and he did not consider it 
 work at all. 
 
 The illness through which he had been so carefully 
 nursed by Sister Marcelline had left him with an un- 
 fortunate tendency toward diseases of the chest. He 
 needed to take the utmost precaution; and he would 
 take none. To the numerous colds which he owed 
 to the organization of the national guard, were added 
 others caught through mere imprudence. Often, to his 
 great annoyance, he was condemned to keep his room ; 
 but his constitution was so elastic that a few hours re- 
 stored him. I would leave him prostrate in bed, and, 
 coming back almost immediately to keep him company, 
 I would find him up, and pulling on his walking boots. 
 Twice during the winter we called in the physicians ; 
 but they bled him too profusely. 
 
 Whatever they may say to the contrary, I am 
 convinced that their lancets did him incurable harm.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 235 
 
 One morning in March, when we were at breakfast, 
 I perceived that my brother, at every pulse-beat, 
 gave a slight involuntary toss of the head. He de- 
 manded to know why my mother and I looked at him 
 curiously; and we told him what we had observed. "I 
 did not know," he replied, " that that was visible ; but 
 I can set your minds at rest." 
 
 He pressed the nape of his neck in some way with his 
 thumb and forefinger, and his head immediately ceased 
 to mark the pulsations of his heart. "You perceive," 
 he said, "that this terrible disorder can be cured by a 
 very cheap and simple method." 
 
 In our ignorance, we were reassured ; but in reality 
 we had seen the first symptom of a most serious affec- 
 tion, to which, at the end of fifteen years, he was destined 
 to succumb. 
 
 On the return of warm weather, Alfred expressed 
 a wish to take a little rest in the country; and the doctors 
 advised it. Our good friend and cousin, the inspector 
 of forests, had quitted the woods of Joinville for those of 
 Ivry ; and, in the hope that this change of residence would 
 be his last, he had purchased, near Pacy-sur-Eure, the 
 little Chateau of Lorey, which had once belonged to 
 the renowned Taglioni. Life was lively in the valley of 
 the Eure. People danced and played comedies, not at 
 Lorey alone, but also at Breuil-Pont, at Comte Louis 
 Talleyrand's, and with the ladies Roederer at Mesnil; 
 and Alfred repaired thither in response to our cousin's 
 numerous invitations. On the i4th of July, at a large 
 and gay party which he attended, he observed that the 
 legitimists present were conversing in undertones.
 
 236 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Some startling piece of news had been received, which 
 people did not venture to do more than whisper one to 
 another. The master of the house changed countenance 
 when he heard the tidings, and uttere'd an exclamation 
 of grief and consternation : the Due d'Orleans was dead. 
 Alfred returned to Paris the same day ; not to mingle 
 the vain expression of his condolence with others more 
 or less sincere, but to be present at the funeral ceremo- 
 nies, and then to shut himself up and give way to his own 
 personal sorrow and regret. The death of the prince 
 who had honored him with the title of friend took away 
 all his courage. A great many of his illusions had been 
 dispelled within a brief period; but now his last hope 
 deserted him. " Fate," he said, " has decreed that our 
 poor France should havd no future, not a single day. 
 As for mine, it is annihilated. I see nothing before me 
 but weariness and disgust. I only want to go myself as 
 soon as may be." 
 
 I reminded him of his passion for the unforeseen, and 
 the interest which he often took in watching his own 
 career. "Nobody ever knows," I said, "what destiny 
 has in store for him. Nature and chance are inexhausti- 
 ble." To which he replied, that it had been all very well to 
 say so formerly ; but that now the unknown had nothing 
 to offer him, not even in the way of new griefs and 
 trials, which would be welcome if he could regard them 
 as salutary "derivatives," alluding to the doctrine of 
 Hippocrates that one inflammation destroys another. 
 
 When it was suggested to him that his attachment 
 to the prince royal might seem to demand some public 
 expression of his grief, he repudiated the idea of mak-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 237 
 
 ing verses on such a theme. M. Asseline, the secretary of 
 the Duchesse d'Orldans, brought him the engraving of the 
 prince after Ingres. Alfred begged him to express his 
 gratitude ; and added that, when the official mourners had 
 dried their tears, he should have something to say. 
 
 It was at this time that Tattet formed the resolution 
 of leaving Paris, and taking up his abode at Fontaine- 
 bleau. The motives which impelled him thus to break 
 with his past life were too serious to admit of discussion. 
 Alfred found fresh matter of grief in this separation, 
 and felt it more keenly than he had anticipated. It was 
 no "derivative" (to use his own expression), but an ag- 
 gravation. Tattet was not merely a charming companion 
 and a faithful friend : he had also precious qualities as 
 a confidant and a listener. His admiration for the char- 
 acter and genius of his favorite poet manifested them- 
 selves with a fervor of which every one who approached 
 him felt the fascination ; and how much more he who 
 was the object of it ! The pleasures, the pains, and the 
 vexations of his friend, Tattet laid to heart as if they 
 had been his own. At his house used to assemble a 
 small circle of agreeable men, whom his departure scat- 
 tered. There were promises of frequent meetings at 
 Fontainebleau ; but daily confidences, long talks, read- 
 ings in common, and the perpetual interchange of ideas 
 and impressions, were no longer to be expected. It was 
 a real loss, added to the visionary one of so many illu- 
 sions and hopes. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, this man, so depressed, 
 so discouraged and disenchanted, who reiterated 
 with perfect sincerity, " Nothing remains for me ; "
 
 238 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 this drowsy heart " shut up," as he declared, " for ever," 1 
 was becoming daily more susceptible to the slightest 
 emotion, and consequently more poetic than before. 
 Misfortune, anguish, and regret seemed only to enhance 
 his susceptibility. A word, a line of poetry, a strain of 
 melody, would bring the tears to his eyes. At the very 
 moment when he was lamenting that he had not the 
 strength to live any longer, his impressions were becom- 
 ing more vivid than ever, and external objects were 
 acting upon his organization with greater power. 
 
 One day, in his edition of the four great Italian poets, 
 he came upon some sonnets by Michael Angelo Buona- 
 rotti. The depth of thought, the vigorous terseness of 
 their form, delighted him. He amused himself by trying 
 to detect in the poet's manner the peculiar qualities of 
 the sculptor and the painter ; and, when he found a 
 verse in which the thought seemed to him to be com- 
 pressed into an unusually small number of words, he 
 would exclaim, " There's brevity ! " 
 
 He now conceived the desire of delineating, like 
 Michael Angelo, some grand statuesque figure. He 
 was at that time on intimate terms with a beautiful and 
 very distinguished lady, for whom he had a strong friend- 
 ship ; but who sometimes treated him with a curtness 
 and severity under which he was not always patient, so 
 that their relation was marred by clouds and misunder- 
 standings. 2 I never knew what the last offence was ; but 
 I know he must have encountered some very harsh, 
 unjust, and injurious treatment on the day when he came 
 
 1 See the sonnet to Alfred Tattet, on his departure from Paris. 
 
 2 See correspondence of Alfred de Musset for the year 1842.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 239 
 
 home resolved to break with this lady for ever. In the 
 mood of mind which I have described, he wrote the 
 verses " Sur une Morte." The rupture was complete 
 and irremediable. In order to judge whether the writer 
 of those verses was to blame, one should understand the 
 wound which he resented ; and no one knows how deep 
 that was. No one ever blamed the great Corneille for 
 yielding to an impulse of poetic wrath against a lady 
 who was rash enough to ridicule him. The way not to 
 feel the lion's claw is not to tease him. 
 
 Beside the sonnets of Michael Angelo, Alfred read 
 and re-read, until he knew them by heart, the poems of 
 Giacomo Leopardi, where the vibration between stern 
 sorrow and tender melancholy corresponded with his 
 present state of mind. When he struck the cover of the 
 book, and said, " This little volume is worth a whole 
 epic," he felt that Leopardi's soul was the sister of his 
 own. The Italians have such keen intellects that they 
 are not very fond of the poetry of the heart. They 
 want long, high-sounding words. Less fortunate than 
 Alfred de Musset, Leopardi did not receive justice from 
 his countrymen even after his death. Alfred was out- 
 raged by the thought. He desired to write an article 
 for the " Revue des Deux Mondes " on this man whom 
 he regarded as the first of modern Italian poets ; and he 
 even collected some biographical materials for this pur- 
 pose. But, while he dreamed of this, he preferred to 
 pay in verse his tribute of sympathy and admiration to 
 the ' Sad friend of Death." Hence the piece entitled 
 " Apres une Lecture," which appeared on the fifteenth of 
 November, 1842.
 
 240 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 While allowing for his excessive sensibility and natural 
 exaggeration, we must concede, that, during the fatal 
 year of 1842, Alfred de Musset received terrible wounds. 
 He complained that, from every quarter at once, came 
 matter of sorrow, disenchantment, and disgust. " I 
 can see nothing," he said, "but the reverse of every 
 medal." 
 
 Every symptom of deterioration in letters, he sorrow- 
 fully resented. The magazine-story had just then touched 
 its extreme of popularity, cynicism, and audacity ; and 
 every one who wielded a pen had a right to feel humili- 
 ated. Alfred blushed for the fact, as did all writers of 
 refinement. On the one hand, he beheld the literature 
 of the imagination soiled and polluted, and a general 
 falling off in literary honesty, public taste, and an appre- 
 ciation of what is really fine ; on the other, men of genius 
 losing courage. At thirty-two, he lamented that he had 
 lived too long. Add, moreover, his broken idols, the 
 image of Rachel defaced, Pauline Garcia far away and 
 forgotten, Tattet's voluntary exile, Sainte Beuve relegat- 
 ing the author of the verses " Sur la Paresse " to the 
 level of female versifiers, Lamartine making him wait 
 six years for an answer, the Due d'Orleans miserably 
 slain by a vulgar carriage accident, and it must be con- 
 ceded that even a man of duller susceptibilities than 
 Alfred might here have found cause of sadness and 
 lament. It is certain that, at this epoch, all things 
 seemed to combine to affect him, and every thing that in 
 any way affected his mind or heart gave him occasion 
 for distress. Finally, even I, who would gladly have 
 consoled him by any means in my power, even I contrib-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 241 
 
 uted my pang, like all the rest. For some years I had 
 been dreaming of a trip to Italy, and just at the close 
 of this year, 1842, the journey so long desired be- 
 came practicable, and I left home on the nineteenth of 
 November. Unwilling to mar my pleasure, Alfred said 
 not a word of the enormous void which my absence 
 would make in his life, at a time when he needed me so 
 much. He insisted on accompanying me to the coach- 
 office, although he was not well on that day, and he bade 
 me good-bye with a smile. A letter from the godmother 
 revealed what he had felt when he shook my hand at 
 the door of the vehicle. " I was still too happy," he said ; 
 "for at any hour of the night or day I could tell my 
 troubles to a friend. Even this comfort had to be taken 
 away from me." 
 
 I had but come to the first halting-place on my route, 
 when I received this letter. I was stopping at Mire- 
 court, in the Vosges, where our good uncle Desherbiers 
 was sub-prefect. The godmother's information made me 
 very anxious. I wrote to my brother, and told him that, 
 if he really needed me, I would defer my Italian journey 
 to some other time, and go back and spend the winter 
 in Paris. Alfred replied by the letter which follows, 
 and which I copy in this place to give some idea of his 
 unselfishness and delicacy of feeling, and of the affec- 
 tion which united us : 
 
 "Thank you from the bottom of my heart, my dear friend, 
 for your good letter. I will begin by answering your ques- 
 tion, conscientiously, as you desire. Pray do not think of me 
 otherwise than as a brother and a friend, and forget entirely 
 my passing annoyances, which are of no account. I am very 
 
 16
 
 242 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 well just now ; and having no cause of vexation, whether real 
 or material, my melancholy is gone with my fever. Of course, 
 our midnight talks were very precious, and you may be sure 
 I shall never forget the friendship you showed me in that last 
 time of trial. You have been both extremely kind and ex- 
 tremely helpful to me ; but I beseech you to set for,tb on your 
 journey without a single regret, or any afterthought capable 
 of troubling you for an instant. 
 
 " My mother is come back, and so is Mme. Jaubert. You 
 see that I am not alone. Mme. de Lagrange has invited me 
 again, in the sweetest possible manner. 
 
 " The good captain charged me to tell you that the matter 
 of the correspondence was arranged. Letters for you will be 
 forwarded hence to Mme. Aubernon, who will send them on 
 to you. You will only need to give the address, or rather the 
 addresses, of the places where you want them sent. 
 
 " I am not surprised that you are happy with our excellent 
 uncle. Tell him that I love him, and should enjoy just 
 as much with him as you do. Tell him that he remains in 
 my memory as the man of all men for whom I have most 
 sympathy and respect. 
 
 " Farewell. Do not fail to write. Your letters will do me 
 a great deal of good. I embrace you, 
 
 " ALFRED. 
 " THURSDAY, Dec. i, 1842."
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 FROM 1843 TO I ^57-
 
 XV. 
 
 E of our sister's earliest friends was a young girl 
 who had been obliged to return to her father's 
 house almost immediately after her marriage. All the 
 best society of Paris was interested in the misfortunes 
 of this truly amiable, discreet, and beautiful woman, 
 condemned at the age of twenty to perpetual widow- 
 hood. Her residence under her husband's roof had 
 been accompanied by circumstances so strange, that the 
 question was raised whether she ought not still to be 
 regarded as unmarried. Unable to regret a man who 
 had spared no pains to alienate her from him, she was 
 not long in drying her tears and resuming her wonted 
 grace and gayety. We were then living in her neigh- 
 borhood. 1 She came frequently to see her former play- 
 mate, and to relate to our mother the lamentable causes 
 of her lawsuit. When she went home at nightfall, al- 
 though she had not a hundred paces to go, a servant 
 came for her. Two or three times only did Alfred give 
 her his arm to escort her to her own door. But they 
 were observed, and it was enough to give occasion, not 
 for slander, but for significant smiles of envy and malice. 
 Alfred would not wait till the smiles had been translated 
 into speech. He wrote the sonnet, " Non, quand bien 
 meme une amere Souffrance," to which I refer the 
 
 1 Since the month of October, 1839, we had lived on the Quai Voltaire.
 
 246 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 reader. Reverence for innocence has never, I think, 
 inspired purer or more perfect poetry. 
 
 At his godmother's, Alfred often met another young 
 wife, who had been almost as unhappily married as the 
 one I have just mentioned. Her husband had just died 
 most opportunely ; and death, in the words of Sganarelle, 
 adjusts many things. The year of mourning had passed, 
 and the widow was taking off her weeds. One evening 
 when he was sitting by her, Alfred told her that she was 
 too young and too beautiful not to marry again ; but 
 apparently marriage had left such bitter memories that 
 she cried out at the suggestion, " Never ! " speaking 
 the word with an energy of horror which impressed the 
 poet greatly. This is the whole history of the sonnet 
 which is entitled " Jamais ! " The other incidents of the 
 conversation will be found in the lines themselves. The 
 lady's reply was sincere, and her resolution perfectly well 
 considered. She kept her word. 
 
 Under the pseudonyme of P. J. Stahl, Jules Hetzel, 
 editor and author, had recently composed a fanciful tale, 
 illustrated by a large number of engravings by Tony 
 Johannot. To insure the success of this expensive 
 work, Hetzel entreated my brother to contribute some 
 verses, and allow his name to be associated with that of 
 the prose author. At first, Alfred obstinately refused ; 
 but, among the sketches of Johannot which pleased him 
 very much, there was a graceful figure of a young girl 
 sitting at a piano and singing. The piece of music 
 which was to be interpolated in the text was a lied of 
 Mozart's, not yet published in France, the refrain of 
 which was " Vergiss mein nicht." Alfred set it up on
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 247 
 
 his sister's piano, and. when she had sung it to him he 
 liked it so well that he wanted to translate the words. 
 Difficult as the attempt was to adapt words to music 
 already written, he succeeded at one sitting. He felt as 
 if he were bound to do so. Johannot's drawings also 
 inspired him with a sonnet, and the editor asked no 
 more. Marie, and the lied in three couplets, " Rapelle- 
 toi," were inserted in the " Voyage ou il vous plaira," 
 and P. J. Stahl is responsible for the rest. What Alfred 
 would not have done from interested motives, he fur- 
 nished impulsively under the charm of Tony Johannot's 
 talent, and especially of the genius of Mozart. He 
 allowed his name to be inscribed on the frontispiece of 
 the illustrated volume. 
 
 After spending the winter in Naples and the spring in 
 Rome, I found myself in the month of July at Florence, 
 and there one evening at Countess Orlow's, I heard 
 them talking about some verses on the death of the 
 Due d'Orleans, which had appeared in the French 
 papers. The daughter of Countess Orlow, Madame 
 Orsini, quoted the two first verses of the tribute: 
 
 " La joie est ici-bas toujours jeune et nouvelle, 
 Mais le chagrin n'est vrai qu'autant qu'il a vieilli." * 
 
 I knew that my brother had meant to wait for the 
 anniversary of the thirteenth of July, before paying his 
 meed of regret to the prince whom he had loved, and 
 to the Princess Marie, whose coffin was still at Pisa. I 
 knew the mournful pleasure which he had promised him- 
 self in recurring to that almost forgotten misfortune, at 
 
 1 "Joy is ever new and fresh in this world ; but grief is genuine only in 
 proportion to its age."
 
 248 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the risk of astonishing those who had wept so loudly at 
 the time, but who very probably might take no heed 
 of the first recurrence of the fatal anniversary. When I 
 saw the effect produced by this poem in a foreign land, 
 I never doubted that its author would receive some 
 token of remembrance and affection from the royal 
 family. I was mistaken. The king did not even read 
 the verses on the death of his son ; and it seems that the 
 Duchesse d'Orldans noticed only the word concerning 
 Laborderie, one of the school-mates of Alfred and the 
 prince at the college of Henry IV., whom the poet 
 speaks of as the best of us three. A long while after the 
 publication of the stanzas on the anniversary of the 
 " Treize Juillet," when it was no longer possible to ig- 
 nore such a tribute to the memory of the Due d'Orleans, 
 a messenger from the palace brought the author a few 
 words of very frigid and ceremonious politeness. From 
 the constrained manner of the messenger, and the tone 
 in which he inquired who Laborderie was, Alfred divined 
 that the princess had been offended by the too laudatory 
 mention of their old comrade. On the other hand, he 
 received a letter in an unfamiliar hand, in which a lady 
 thanked him, in glowing and affecting terms, for having 
 made her brother's name immortal. The letter an- 
 nounced the coming of a tea-service in Limoges por- 
 celain, some pieces of which are still in existence. As 
 long as the poet lived, the sister of Laborderie wrote 
 him once a year, and sent him a truffled fowl at carnival 
 time. 
 
 Before I went to Italy, I had made, in company with J. 
 Hetzel and M. Obeuf, the mayor of Bellevue, an excur-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 249 
 
 sion to Pontchartrain, which abounded in comic incidents, 
 and the story of which diverted my brother so much that 
 he had amused himself by turning it into verse. Hetzel 
 repeated some parts of it to Charles Nodier, who re- 
 quested the whole, and we sent it to him. After the 
 lapse of nearly a year, Nodier, in a fit of mirthfulness, 
 addressed to the author of that burlesque Odyssey some 
 verses in the same measure in which it was written. 
 Alfred replied, also in the same metre. His mind was 
 still full of this pleasantry when the board of discipline 
 decided to punish with severity the neglect of national- 
 guard duty, and sentenced him to several days' imprison- 
 ment. The culprit made interest, and obtained the room 
 numbered either n or 14, whose walls the artists who 
 had been as lawless as himself had covered with paint- 
 ings and drawings. The prisoner enjoyed this dungeon 
 immensely ; and, by way of leaving there a souvenir of 
 his own residence, he inscribed a few verses under a 
 female figure which took his fancy ; and, when he wa? 
 released, still pursued by the rhythm of his rustic Odyssey, 
 he composed the " Mie Prigioni," published by the 
 "Revue," Oct. i, 1843. The copy containing these 
 lines fell into the hands of M. le Comte Mold, who, 
 attracted no doubt by the originality of the title and the 
 brevity of the piece, read it through, and was so much 
 pleased with it that he charged a third person to be the 
 bearer of his compliments to the author, and to tell him 
 that if ever he, M. Mold, was in the ministry again, he 
 would remember him. M. Mold was never minister 
 again ; but he did not forget " Mie Prigioni," when its 
 author paid him a visit as candidate for the French 
 Academy.
 
 250 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 When I returned from Italy in November, 1843, Alfred 
 wanted to celebrate the day, and he took me off to dine 
 at the restaurant, although dinner was ready for us at 
 home. We had to talk over that beloved Italy with 
 which I was yet more in love than he. My fresh recol- 
 lections awoke his own. We talked all dinner-time, and 
 in the evening, over the fire, we talked on until two hours 
 after midnight. The next day and for many days, we 
 had to recur to the subject. Venice in particular was an 
 inexhaustible theme. But when I spoke of Florence, 
 and the Pitti museum, we always stopped at Allori's 
 Judith ; and I reminded my brother that the strange 
 history of that fine work and its author had once seemed 
 to him worthy of being related by the pen which had 
 produced the " Fils du Titien." 
 
 It is well known that Cristofano Allori, when betrayed 
 by his mistress, conceived the singular idea of represent- 
 ing her in the character of Judith, and of giving the 
 bleeding head of Holofernes his own face. The evening 
 that we recurred to the subject, my brother's interest 
 in it so revived that he thought he would treat it in 
 verse. When we separated, he continued to dream over 
 it by himself. During the night, he arranged the plan of 
 the work ; and the next day a few verses were already 
 put upon paper. Unhappily, he had a painter among 
 his friends, an accomplished man whom he often con- 
 sulted. The artist was so imprudent as to say that the 
 figure of Judith might represent Allori's mistress ; but 
 that the face of Holofernes was not a likeness of the 
 painter. He went so far as to say that there was no 
 meaning in the man's head at all. Alfred was annoyed.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 25 1 
 
 He felt personally injured by these doubts as to the au- 
 thenticity of Allori's portrait, and the misunderstanding 
 lasted three weeks, one of his most protracted temper 
 fits. Peace was signed one evening when we were 
 discussing art ; but the impressionable poet was disen- 
 chanted, and Judith and Allori were laid aside. A friend, 
 quite innocently no doubt, was thus responsible for the 
 failure of what promised to be a noble and interesting 
 work. It is all the more to be regretted because the 
 friend was wrong. The portrait of Cristofano Allori by 
 himself in the Uffizi Gallery has precisely the same face 
 as the head of Holofernes in the Pitti palace. 1 Here is all 
 I have been able to find of the verses which my brother 
 threw off when he composed the plan of the work. 
 
 CHOEUR DES PEINTRES. 
 Ni les senders battus, ni les regies antiques, 
 O puissant cre"ateur, n'ont e"td faits pour toi. 
 Libre comme les vents, la loi que tu pratiques 
 Est de vivre sans loi. 
 
 ROMANO. 
 
 Allori, le grand-due forme une academic ; 
 II t'en nomme le chef. Les arts, en Italic, 
 Meurent d'une honteuse et miserable mort. 
 
 ALLORI. 
 
 Mourir avant le temps est un bienfait du sort. 
 Aliens, nobles seigneurs, entrons chez ma maitresse. 
 
 LE CHOEUR. 
 
 Ou sont, Cristofano, les jours de la jeunesse ? 
 Alors, on te voyait, autour les lourds arceaux, 
 
 1 I verified this a second time when I was last in Florence. The num- 
 ber of the portrait is 263. P. M.
 
 252 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Sur les murs des palais promenant tes pinceaux 
 
 Verser assidument la couleur et la vie. 
 
 Te voila pale et triste. Est-ce la jalousie 
 
 Qui t'a fait, comme un spectre, errer toute la nuit ? 
 
 Quel usage as-tu fait de ce jour qui s'enfuit ? 
 
 Prends garde au noir chagrin qui mene a la folie. 
 
 II est un sur remede a la me'Iancolie, 
 
 Le travail, le travail ! Cesse done de rever: 
 
 La peinture se meurt, et tu peux la sauver. 
 
 ALLORI. 
 
 Elle est morte d'ennui, de froid et de vieillesse. 
 Aliens, nobles seigneurs, entrons chez ma maitresse. 1 
 
 There is also in existence the fragment of a scene in 
 which Allori, having obtained certain proofs of the un- 
 faithfulness of his mistress, confides to his pupil Romano 
 his jealousy and despair. The author doubtless threw 
 his useless way-marks into the fire, and only formless 
 scraps of them have clung to my memory. 
 
 1 Chorus of painters. Beaten paths and ancient rules were not made 
 for thee, O great master ! Thou art free as air, and the only law which 
 thou obeyest is to live without law. 
 
 Romano. Allori, the Grand Duke is forming an Academy, and hath 
 appointed thee its master. Art in Italy is dying a shameful and miserable 
 death. 
 
 Allori. Early death is a boon of destiny. Come, noble sirs, let us go 
 to my mistress. 
 
 Chorus. Where, O Cristofano, are the days of thy youth ? Then we 
 were wont to see thee among the low arches, wielding thy pencil over palace 
 walls, and lavishly expending life and color. Now thou art pale and sad. 
 Is it jealousy that makes thee wander like a spectre all night long? What 
 hast thou done with the day which is flitting away so fast ? Beware of the 
 dark melancholy which tends to madness ! There is a sure remedy for it. 
 Work ! work ! Dream no more ! Painting is at the point of death, and 
 thou couldst save her ! 
 
 Allori. She is dead already of cold and weariness and old age ! Come, 
 noble sirs, let us go to my mistress !
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 253 
 
 Our discussions of Italy were kept up all winter. This 
 innocent pleasure was interrupted by an attack of pleu- 
 risy, which my brother caught in the most senseless 
 manner possible, on a night-ramble in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne when the weather was fine, but the cold mortally 
 severe. There was the same unnecessary blood-letting 
 as before, and it protracted his convalescence. To 
 while away the time, he wrote a novelette about the loves 
 of two deaf-mutes which appeared in the " Constitu- 
 tionnel." He also composed some lines "To my Brother 
 on his Return from Italy," and after that he persisted in 
 silence in spite of all manner of entreaties and offers of 
 the most brilliant description. His friends themselves 
 left off teasing, when they saw that it annoyed him. " I 
 am curious to know," he said to me, " whether Petrarch 
 had always a dozen pedagogues or policemen at his 
 heels, forcing him at the point of the sword to write 
 verses on Laura's blue eyes when he wanted to be quiet. 
 This reproach of laziness is a new invention, in which 
 one can smell the age of manufacture a league away. 
 Why is not M. de Cambrai attacked for having written 
 only one romance, ad usum Delphini. You deserve, 
 every one of you, that I should set about writing a Latin 
 poem, as long and as crude as Petrarch's ' Africa.' I'd 
 like to know just how many of those who call me indo- 
 lent are only repeating what they have heard somebody 
 else say, and how many of them never read a verse in 
 their lives, and would be at their wits' end if they were 
 obliged to read any thing beside the 'Mysteries of 
 Paris.' The newspaper-story is the true literature of 
 our day."
 
 254 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 The deterioration of public taste was one reason why 
 he preferred to keep silence ; but there were others at 
 once deeper and more dignified, which his modesty for- 
 bade him fully to explain, even in tete-a-tetes with me 
 or his friend Tattet. The lines " Sur la Paresse " con- 
 tained but half his thought. Had he completed his 
 poem of "Judith," this negligent and scornful mood 
 might perhaps have been illustrated in the character of 
 Allori. The poet, as was his wont, might have endowed 
 the hero with his own sentiments. Had an occasion and 
 a pretext been given, he might have formulated his prin- 
 ciples, his grievances, and the reasons of his disgust, in 
 the language of the "Nuit de Mai," and the heart 
 which he was determined to keep shut would have 
 opened in spite of himself. I therefore regret the 
 poem of "Judith" on more than one account. 
 
 There was not an hour in which this indolent man was 
 not busy. His days were divided between reading and 
 games of chess. He undertook to study the treatises 
 of Philidor, Walker, &c. He had sometimes the honor 
 of being the antagonist of Labourdonnays, and the 
 most famous members of the chess club. Nothing could 
 be less like laziness than this ardent study, as it were, 
 of an abstract science. But neither reading nor chess- 
 playing could wholly exclude ennui. Often did Alfred 
 complain of the length of life, and that time the rascal 
 did not move a step. He had withdrawn from society, 
 and avoided his most agreeable companions. The god- 
 mother herself saw him only at long intervals. 
 
 When the notion took him to break up his usual 
 habits and go in search of distraction, he went from one
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 255 
 
 extreme to the other. He would go ten nights in suc- 
 cession to the Theatre Italien, the Ope'ra, or the Ope'ra 
 Comique ; and then some evening he would come home, 
 satiated with music for a long while. If he joined a 
 pleasure party, it was in the same excited frame of mind. 
 It was all extravagant, and often injurious to his health; 
 but, to his dying day, he never could be restrained by 
 reasonable precautions, or any sort of moderate regime. 
 Another literary man who had once seen him intoxi- 
 cated came to me one morning in the street, and, with- 
 out mentioning the encounter, began to speak of the 
 poet's long silence in a tone of hypocritical regret, amid 
 which I detected gleams of a satisfaction which he could 
 not wholly conceal. Jealousy, in so infinitesimal a 
 writer, was laughable. I reassured the poet's confrere, 
 about the faculties of the man of whom he was so dis- 
 interestedly fond, and I had the satisfaction of seeing 
 his brow darken in proportion as his anxieties were re- 
 lieved. About the same time, almost on that very day, 
 the godmother, whom nothing escaped, told me that 
 she had received similar expressions of condolence. She 
 was seriously alarmed by them. " It is evident," she said, 
 " that if envy and slander can put on the appearance of 
 interest and compassion, they will be very much more at 
 their ease. I have already observed an increased readiness 
 to talk about our poet. Praise is no longer grudged 
 him ; but people make haste to add that there is noth- 
 ing more to be expected from his Muse. If you believe 
 me, do not let a day pass before you warn him of his 
 danger." 
 
 I replied that I should have my labor for my pains,
 
 256 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 that our poet despised prudence, and that I had no 
 longer any influence with him ; but that the godmother 
 herself, who was quite new to the business, might have 
 some effect. " Ah, well ! " she said bravely, " I will 
 try." 
 
 She afterwards gave me a hint of the tone she meant 
 to take, and the arguments she would employ ; and what 
 she said was marked by a clearness and felicity of ex- 
 pression that surpassed my expectations. I came away 
 full of hope, admiring the superiority of women to our- 
 selves in eloquence, and even in logic, when their feel- 
 ings are moved. A note was dropped in the post-office 
 containing a request that the godson would come and 
 have a talk with his godmother, who promised to deny 
 herself to all other visitors. 
 
 On Thursday, August 13, 1844, after dinner, Alfred 
 accepted the invitation, and they had an interview which 
 lasted until midnight. I was absent just then, having 
 gone to the Vosges and Baden to meet some friends 
 who took me with them to Switzerland, whence I went 
 by way of Constance to Venice. Returning in the 
 month of November, I asked the godmother about the 
 result of her interview. " Do not speak of it," she re- 
 plied with emotion. " Our dear Damis' 1 feelings were 
 dreadfully hurt, and so were mine. I cannot repeat what 
 he said. It would be too much for me. All is, I was 
 beaten at every point. He is a hundred times right. 
 His silence, his lassitude, his disdain, are only too fully 
 justified. If he would but speak out, he would over- 
 whelm those who have presumed to censure and pity 
 l This was one of her pet-names for her godson. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 257 
 
 him, and sooner or later his immense superiority will be 
 acknowledged by all the world. Let us leave time to do 
 its work, and not play with fire ; for we are mere children 
 in comparison with him. After he left me, the poor boy 
 wrote a sonnet which he sent me early the next morning, 
 and it wrung tears from my eyes. He wanted to show 
 me what he was capable of doing, as if I had any 
 doubts about that! I keep these lines among my 
 papers, and some day perhaps they will be published, 
 and then that dreadful thirteenth of August will not 
 have been in vain." 
 
 I asked to see the sonnet ; but the godmother dreaded 
 the reading of it. She would not fetch it, but spoke of 
 something else. Thirteen years later, after my brother's 
 death, she gave me the original. Here it is, 
 
 " A blockhead's calumnies offend me not, 1 
 Nor loud reproach of libertine and sot 
 From any base officious hypocrite 
 Whose hand I clasped in faith but yesternight. 
 The very glass is worthier in my sight 
 Which brings brief ease amid my cruel lot. 
 But thou, who knowest my most hidden thought 
 And deepest source of sorrow and despite, 
 Hast thou forgot whom thou didst once divine ? 
 And was it in thy heart to wrong me so ? 
 Ah, call not sorrow sin, old friend of mine ! 
 But rather drop a tear of ruth divine 
 Into the cup where I would drown my woe, 
 In memory of thy love of long ago ! " 
 
 1 Page 300 of the original.
 
 258 Biography of Alfred de Mussel. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 'THHE celebrated Liszt had a pupil named Hermann, 
 -^- who afterwards became a member of a religious 
 community. Hermann often played the piano in private 
 for the benefit of two or three friends. Alfred admired 
 him, both as a pianist and a composer ; and, while the 
 musician improvised, the poet would devise verses 
 adapted to the movement of the music. They com- 
 posed together in this way three songs, " Bonjour, 
 Suzon ! " " Non, Suzon, pas encore ! " and " Adieu, 
 Suzon ! " Another melody by the same master, adapted 
 to Italian words, was afterwards adopted by Steinberg 
 for the barcarolle, which he sings in "Bettine." One 
 day, in the spring of 1845, Hermann disappeared. 
 Divine grace had suddenly touched his heart, and we 
 heard of him later as a barefoot Carmelite in a convent 
 in the south of France. 
 
 Just about the time that this miraculous conversion 
 took place, I received from M. de Salvandy, minister of 
 public instruction, a literary mission to Venice. The 
 archives of the republic were to be searched for docu- 
 ments relating to the history of France. My commis- 
 sion was for six months ; but I remained in Venice a 
 year. Our uncle Desherbiers had held, for more than 
 thirty years, the modest government office of sub-prefect 
 of Mirecourt ; and I proposed to my brother to pay a
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 259 
 
 visit to this worthy uncle. We accordingly left Paris for 
 Mirecourt in company, in the early days of May, 1845 ; 
 and we stayed there six weeks. I then went to Epinal, 
 whence I repaired to Venice by way of Munich, Inn- 
 spruch, and Trent. Alfred remained half the summer 
 in the Vosges, proceeding from Mirecourt to Epinal, and 
 from Epinal to Plombieres, much feted by the good 
 people of Lorraine, and a great favorite in the pleasant 
 family of the department prefect. 
 
 I had been six months in Venice when, one evening 
 in November, a clever Frenchman, named M. de 
 Trobriant, came up to me on the square of Saint Mark, 
 and spoke with enthusiasm of a " proverb," which he 
 had just been reading in the " Revue des Deux Mondes." 
 " II faut qu'une porte soit ouverte ou fermee." I made 
 haste to look up the number containing this proverb, and 
 to me who had been so long absent the picture of Pari- 
 sian life which it presented was delightful. Moreover, I 
 recognized the characters. That of the count was so 
 very like that I seemed to see my brother far away, 
 seizing his hat at every peal of the bell, leaving the door 
 open, and unable to decide whether to go or stay. I 
 should have had more difficulty in identifying the lady, 
 if the title of " marquise " had not given me a clew ; but 
 I soon learned that I had guessed correctly. The con- 
 versation had taken place almost exactly as reported in 
 the "proverb." The termination only was fictitious. The 
 marquise remained a widow, the poet departed, and the 
 closed door was not opened again until the occasion of 
 his next visit, when they adopted a new device. 
 
 It should be said, in praise of the actor Bocage, that
 
 260 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 it was he who first pushed to the verge of achievement 
 the bold enterprise of having a piece of Alfred de Mus- 
 set's played before a paying public. Bocage, the manager 
 of the Odeon, was positively determined to risk a repre- 
 sentation of the " Caprice." Mile. Naptal went so far 
 as to learn the part of Mme. Lery. The author, mind- 
 ful of the " Nuit Venitienne," anticipated a second 
 failure, attended none of the rehearsals, and gave Bocage 
 carte blanche. I never knew why this project was 
 abandoned, but probably on account of some one of the 
 thousand accidents which are always happening in the 
 theatre ; such as the engagement of Mile. Naptal at 
 the Comedie Franchise, or the offer of some piece which 
 seemed to contain surer guarantees of success than the 
 " Caprice." When I returned from Venice, both mana- 
 ger and author had given up the scheme. 
 
 A piece of good fortune coming at this time occa- 
 sioned great joy in our family, and a great disturbance 
 of our domestic arrangements. Our sister was married 
 and left home. She was to live in the provinces, and 
 her mother went with her to superintend the beginning of 
 her housekeeping. I stayed in Paris a while to be com- 
 pany for my brother, and again we talked of that be- 
 loved Italy whence I had just returned the second time. 
 After this, I accepted an invitation from my sister to 
 visit her at her own house ; and, while I was away, a 
 young actress made her ddbut at the Gymnase. Rose 
 Cheri found, in the part of Clarissa Harlowe, 1 an occa- 
 sion for the display of talents of which she herself had 
 
 l This piece was by M. L6on Guillard, now keeper of the records at the 
 Com6die Franchise. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 261 
 
 hardly been conscious. Alfred de Musset was particu- 
 larly fond of Richardson's fine romance, and frequently 
 read it over. He was attracted by the title of the play, 
 and took such a fancy to the actress, and such a liking 
 for the piece, that he attended the performances at the 
 Gymnase for thirty successive nights. When I returned 
 from Anjou, I found him still under the spell of this 
 daily pleasure, and almost as enthusiastic about Rose 
 Chdri, as he had once been about Rachel and Pauline 
 Garcia. The very night that I came back I had to go 
 with him to the Gymnase. His artist's passion lasted 
 as long as the performances of " Clarissa Harlowe " 
 continued. 
 
 The winter of 1847 was a sac ^ one f r us : our apart- 
 ment seemed half as large again as formerly. Of what 
 use was it to make jokes at table ? There was no longer 
 any one to laugh at them, and no more music after din- 
 ner! Those melodies from Mozart, those sonatas of 
 Beethoven, once to be had for the asking, were heard no 
 more. The very piano had disappeared, leaving a great 
 gap in the furniture of the drawing-room. I besought 
 my brother to break the monotony of the winter by an 
 excursion to Anjou or some other warm region ; but I 
 could not tear him away from Paris, even though he 
 complained that he knew every paving-stone in it. Not 
 before September could I induce him to go ; but then 
 we went together for sea-bathing to Croisic, and after- 
 wards to our sister's house, where Alfred was so happy 
 that I fancied him fixed for a long time. He stayed a 
 month, and that was long for him ; but, when he returned 
 to Paris, an incredible piece of news awaited him. The
 
 262 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 " Caprice " was to be played at the Theatre Frangais ! 
 The fortunes of this piece were truly strange. 
 
 Mme. Allan Despreaux, who had been quite forgotten 
 by the Parisians, was in high favor at the court of Russia. 
 Admitted to the best society, she had taken on the tone 
 and manners of a great lady. One day at Saint Peters- 
 burg, she was advised to go and see a piece which was 
 being played at a small theatre, and in which there was 
 an admirable female part, which it was thought might 
 suit her. They made up a party for the little theatre, 
 arid saw the piece played in Russian ; and Mme. Allan 
 Despre'aux was so taken with it that she wanted it trans- 
 lated into French, in order that she might play it at court. 
 Now this play was the " Caprice," and it came very near 
 being translated into the language in which it was orig- 
 inally written. The Emperor Nicholas would certainly 
 have ordered it to be done, if a lady familiar with French 
 literature and there are a good many such in Russia, 
 more even than in France had not apprised Mme. Allan 
 that the Russian play which she thought so meritorious 
 was itself a translation. The volume containing the 
 "Caprice" was common at Saint Petersburg. A copy 
 was presented to Mme. Allan ; and the piece was played 
 before the court, and found great favor. 
 
 Nothing of all this was known at Paris ; but when 
 M. Buloz, administrator of the Come'die Franchise, was 
 treating with Mme. Allan by letter for a return to the 
 French stage, she expressed a wish to make her reap- 
 pearance before the French public in the parts of Celi- 
 mene and Mme. de Lery. Everybody at the Comedie 
 Frangaise, except M. Buloz, was amazed at this selection.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 263 
 
 Nobody knew where the little piece came from ; but the 
 great actress, confident in her experience, persisted in 
 her resolve. When he came back to Paris in October, 
 Alfred de Musset found the arrangements far advanced. 
 During one of the rehearsals of the " Caprice," he heard, 
 from the side-scenes where he was, M. Samson, who 
 was hidden among the shadows of the orchestra, calling 
 out in a highly scandalized tone, " Rebonsoir, my 
 dear ? What language is that, pray ? " 
 
 This would seem to prove that, in 1847, there was 
 still some doubt at the Come'die Frangaise whether the 
 author of the " Caprice " wrote in a style which one 
 might adopt without compromising himself in the house 
 of the correct and brilliant M. Scribe ! However, the 
 piece was brought out on the 27th of November, and 
 then uncertainty ceased. The success of the " Caprice " 
 was an important dramatic event, and the extraordinary 
 popularity of that little play did more for the author 
 than all his other works had done. In the course of a 
 few days, the name of Alfred de Musset had penetrated 
 to those middle classes of the public whom books and 
 poetry never reach. The sort of interdict which had 
 weighed upon him was removed as if by enchantment, 
 and not a day passed without the quotation of some of 
 his verses. 
 
 When the thunderbolt of Feb. 24, 1848, fell upon us, 
 Alfred de Musset saw with regret the departure of a 
 royal family in which he had had a friend. The Revo- 
 lution was destined to affect him no less than many 
 others, but in a wholly unexpected way. The new min- 
 ister of the interior held, it was said, a sort of private
 
 264 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 nocturnal council, where were elaborated those " repub- 
 lican bulletins " which were read by the population of 
 Paris with amazement, and often with affright. When 
 he saw among the names of the privy councillors that of 
 a person who had no decent pretext for wishing him any 
 thing but good, my brother thought that he might per- 
 haps keep his librarian's place ; but he was mistaken. 
 One of M. Ledru Rollin's first acts was the removal of 
 Alfred de Musset. One journal cried out against this 
 proceeding ; another denied the fact. Alfred then pub- 
 lished the letter of dismissal which he had received. It 
 was couched in terms of brutal brevity, and signed by a 
 certain secretary-general named Cartaret. I was at that 
 time contributing some literary articles to the " National," 
 which was just then enjoying a popularity for.which it 
 was unprepared by its twenty years' life as an organ of 
 the opposition. I requested one of my friends on the 
 " National " to speak to the minister of the interior ; and 
 he did so, but without effect. 
 
 Although he owed little to that Revolution which 
 took away the surest part of his income, Alfred could 
 not refrain from admiring, in one of its most sudden and 
 energetic manifestations, that French nation so full of 
 life, elasticity, and unexpected resources of which M. 
 de Tocqueville has said that it is capable of inspiring 
 strong love or strong hatred, but never indifference. Dur- 
 ing the sorrowful days of June, when blood ran in the 
 streets, Alfred exposed himself freely, and spent several 
 nights in bivouac. Amid the episodes of our civil war, 
 the course of his dramatic triumphs was uninterrupted. 
 As a sequel to the "Caprice," the Theatre Franais
 
 Biography of Alfred dc Musset. 265 
 
 wanted to bring out the " proverb," " II faut qu'une porte 
 soit ouverte ou ferme'e," and the comedy in three acts, " II 
 ne faut jurer de rien," out of which MM. Provost, Brin- 
 deau, Got, and Mmes. Mante and Luther, constructed a 
 perfect gem. This last piece was played for the first 
 time on the twenty-second of June, 1848, at the very hour 
 when a formidable insurrection was piling barricades all 
 around. The Theatre Historique gave several represen- 
 tations of the " Chandelier," which afterwards went back 
 to the Come'die Frangaise. Rachel asked the author 
 for a part, and Mile. Augustine Brohan displayed her 
 wit and her coquetries for the same end. After an 
 extremely sprightly correspondence with the poet, the 
 queen of soubrettes obtained a half promise. Alfred 
 wrote " Louison ; " but some sort of misunderstanding 
 occurred, the true story of which I never knew ; and the 
 part was given to Mile. Anais, and lost nothing by the 
 transfer. 
 
 On the third of May, 1849, a musical and dramatic 
 matin&e was given in Pleyel's rooms for the benefit of 
 the poor. Mile. Rachel, Mme. Viardot, Mme. Allan, 
 and MM. Roger, Got, and Regnier, lent their assist- 
 ance ; and Alfred, who had been informed of the plan 
 some time before, wrote a "proverb" for the occasion, 
 entitled "On ne saurait penser a tout," the insertion of 
 which in the programme proved an attraction to a great 
 many persons. The majority of the spectators were 
 pretty young ladies in spring toilets, and the author met 
 once more what he used to call his public of " little pink 
 noses." The "proverb" succeeded so far as to cause a 
 great deal of laughter ; but, when it came to be produced
 
 266 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 at the Theatre Frar^ais, the audience of the Rue Roche- 
 chouart was no longer the majority, the Monday papers 
 were hostile, and the piece was played only ten or 
 twelve times. The " Chandelier " was welcomed with a 
 degree of favor which repaired this slight reverse, not- 
 withstanding it was criticised as immoral. All Paris 
 went to see it ; and, when M. Leon Faucher undertook 
 to have it suppressed after forty performances, the author 
 was 'so much disturbed that he composed a moral end- 
 ing in order to satisfy the minister. In this new version, 
 Fortunio went to the wars with Clavaroche, while Jacque- 
 line came under her old man's rod once more. But this 
 alteration did not satisfy the conscience of M. Ldon 
 Faucher, who would hear nothing of it. 
 
 In the beginning of 1850, our household was broken 
 up. Our mother, attracted by her daughter to Anjou, 
 gave up her large apartment; and we had to separate. 
 It was a cruel moment for us both, for until then we had 
 always lived at home. Alfred took lodgings at first in 
 the Rue Rumfort ; but he found himself too far away 
 from me, and soon came to live in the Rue Mont Thabor, 
 I having taken a suite in the Rue des Pyramides. Our 
 mother had found him a housekeeper capable of at- 
 tending him with a devotion almost equal to that of 
 Sister Marcelline, whom he regretted so much in times 
 of illness. The zeal and good sense of Mile. Colin 
 spared my brother many anxieties, and insured him the 
 care which his health required. Naturally disposed to 
 anxiety, it alarmed him to feel that he had only himself 
 to rely on for all the exigencies of life ; but, when the 
 first moment was over, he faced the new situation with
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 267 
 
 firmness and courage. That terrible phantom of neces- 
 sity from which he had shrunk at the age of thirty, he 
 found himself prepared to confront by those political 
 catastrophes which had smitten sorely many lives beside 
 his own. He had done nothing since 1847, save passively 
 to watch the second career opened by the theatre to the 
 productions of his youth ; but, at the age of forty, his 
 taste for work suddenly revived. 
 
 That nothing may be omitted in my account of his 
 latest works, I will now go back a few years, and relate 
 one of those trifling incidents which it pleased him, with 
 his poetic imagination, to regard as fiats of destiny. 
 
 One day in April, 1846, Rachel had invited him to 
 dine with her. The other guests were men of fashion, 
 and all very rich. During the dinner, the left-hand 
 neighbor of the hostess remarked upon a very beautiful 
 ring which she wore. The ring was generally admired, 
 the skill of the goldsmith eulogized, and every guest 
 in turn paid some compliment to the precious jewel. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Rachel, " since this work of art has 
 the honor to please you, I will put it up at auction. How 
 much am I offered ? " 
 
 One of the guests made a bid of five hundred francs, 
 another of a thousand, another of fifteen hundred. In 
 a moment, the ring was run up to three thousand francs. 
 
 " And you, my poet," said Rachel, " are you not going 
 to bid ? How much will you give me ? " 
 
 " I will give you my heart," replied Alfred. 
 
 " The ring is yours." 
 
 And with the impulsiveness of a child, Rachel actually 
 drew off her ring and flung it into the poet's plate. When
 
 268 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 they rose from the table, Alfred, who thought that the 
 joke had gone far enough, wanted to give back the ring ; 
 but Rachel refused to take it. "By Jupiter," she said, 
 " I was entirely in earnest. You gave me your heart, 
 and I would not give it back for a hundred thousand 
 crowns. The bargain is closed, and there is nothing 
 more to be said about it." 
 
 However, despite her resistance, Alfred took her hand 
 gently, and slipped the ring upon her finger. Rachel 
 then drew it off again, and held it out to him with a 
 supplicating and theatrical gesture. " Dear poet," she 
 said, in a voice of genuine emotion, "you would not dare 
 refuse this little present, if I should offer it to you on 
 the morrow of the day when I shall play the famous 
 part which you are going to write for me, and which I 
 have been expecting all my life. Keep the ring, I be- 
 seech you, as a pledge of the promise you have made. 
 Whenever, either owing to my fault or otherwise, you 
 renounce for good and all the idea of writing the part I 
 have desired so much, then bring me the ring, and I 
 will take it back." 
 
 As she said this, she bent her knee, and displayed all 
 the enchanting grace which nature gave her as an aux- 
 iliary of her genius. Of course, the ring had to be 
 accepted on the conditions which she proposed. The 
 poet came home, a good deal touched by the incident, 
 well disposed and fully resolved this time to profit by 
 the occasion. A few days after the scene which I have 
 described, Rachel went to England. She had promised 
 faithfully to write to her poet, but she did not keep her 
 word; and Alfred, who knew by experience the fitful
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 269 
 
 humor of the great tragedienne, augured ill of her 
 silence. It was just then that Rose Chdri was playing 
 " Clarissa Harlowe " so successfully. Alfred had not 
 hesitated to say before Rachel all the good which he 
 thought of the young actress at the Gymnase, and prob- 
 ably Rachel thought that she discovered a purpose in- 
 jurious to herself in the praise thus lavished upon 
 another. At all events, without a word of explanation, 
 she assumed toward the poet a harsh and scornful 
 demeanor, to which he only replied by returning the 
 valuable ring, which she appeared to have forgotten. 
 She put it on again without a word of remonstrance. 
 
 Four years later, in March or April, 1851, Rachel 
 gave a ceremonious dinner at the hotel which she had 
 built on the Rue Trudon. Alfred was invited, and the 
 mistress of the house took his arm when they were going 
 in to dinner. Alfred trod on Rachel's gown, who said 
 with her grand air, 
 
 "When one gives a lady his arm, one should take 
 care where he puts his feet." 
 
 "When one becomes a princess," replied the poet, 
 " and builds a hotel, one should order of one's architect 
 a broader staircase." 
 
 The evening began unfortunately; but after dinner 
 there was a reconciliation. Alfred made a smiling allu- 
 sion to the time when he had supped with Roxana and 
 the covers were tin, and Rachel was amused by the 
 reminiscence. 
 
 "Perhaps you think," she said, "when you see all my 
 luxury and my splendid silver-plate, that I am not as 
 amiable as I used to be ; but I can prove the contrary."
 
 2/O Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 " How so ? " demanded Alfred. 
 
 " I will go and see you, and entreat you once more to 
 write me something." 
 
 And in fact she did come the next day, and talked 
 theatre for an hour. During the days which followed, 
 she came several times, and at last obtained the promise 
 of a part. But Alfred was a little suspicious of that 
 fickleness of mind of which Rachel had already given 
 him so many proofs. He dallied. The time of leave- 
 takings arrived, and Rachel once more left for England. 
 
 A new actress, then in the flower of her youth and 
 beauty, had lately made her debut at the Come'die 
 Franchise. She asked for parts, and did so with the full 
 intention of playing them. . Alfred turned his thoughts 
 in that direction, and arranged for the stage the " Caprices 
 de Marianne." Madeline Brohan gratefully accepted the 
 part of Marianne, which Rachel might have taken if 
 she had understood her true interests. But in 1851, in 
 the midst of her success, Rachel wrote from London to 
 her author a pressing letter, to remind him of his engage- 
 ment. Then, when she returned to Paris, she learned 
 that he had lately written for Rose Cheri the part of 
 Bettine, of which more anon ; and it may be that a 
 touch of jealousy was blended with her fresh importu- 
 nities for the promised role. Alfred, moved by her 
 constancy, now arranged the plan of an entirely new 
 drama in five acts, the scene of which was to be laid in 
 Venice in the fifteenth century. 
 
 In the midst of these negotiations, " Bettine " was 
 played with but moderate success ; and the ardor of 
 Rachel seemed suddenly to cool. Alfred de Musset,
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 271 
 
 offended by the silence which she maintained toward 
 him, put the unfinished work away among his waste 
 papers, with the remark, 
 
 " Adieu, Rachel ! It is yourself whom I have buried 
 for ever in this drawer." 1 
 
 All was indeed over between Rachel and him ; and we 
 shall have nothing more to say of that highly gifted 
 actress whom nature seemed to have created and sent 
 into the world to act in concert with the author of 
 " Lorenzaccio," but who could never keep on good 
 terms with him long enough for him to complete an act- 
 ing play. No doubt Alfred de Musset was quite as 
 much to blame as she. He ought to have laughed at 
 her humors, and pushed his work forward to its comple- 
 tion, thus attaining the lucrative end of public represen- 
 tation in spite of temporary obstacles. Many others 
 have given him the example; but the others were not 
 poets, and we must take poets as we find them. 
 
 To return to " Bettine." Alfred remembered Mme. 
 Rose Cheri, and the pleasure which he had taken six 
 months before in the performances of " Clarissa Har- 
 lowe." The part of Bettine, which he wrote expressly 
 for her, she accepted with delight ; nor have I ever yet 
 understood why the piece should have been coldly re- 
 ceived by the audience at the Gymnase Dramatique. 
 It was played only twenty or thirty times, a very small 
 number for a genre theatre. And yet I consider it one 
 of the most perfect productions of the pen which wrote 
 
 1 The reader can judge from the fragment of "Faustine," published 
 among his posthumous works, how much it is to be regretted that the piece 
 was never finished. P. M.
 
 272 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the " Caprice ; " and, if it did not obtain the success which 
 it deserved, I think it can only have been by reason of 
 that very perfection. It was owing to the poetical 
 quality of a style unfamiliar to the ears of that public, 
 to the ripeness of the author's genius, and his profound 
 knowledge of the human heart. The bewildered spec- 
 tators listened with extreme attention, but the beauties 
 of the work were above their comprehension. The last 
 word has not yet been said about " Bettine," and some 
 time or other the world will recur to it. 1 
 
 The story of Rachel's vagaries and the resentment of 
 our poet has carried me farther on than I intended. I 
 must go back a year and speak of a little masterpiece, 
 for which we are chiefly indebted to the ingenious insist- 
 ence of M. VeVon, and also, perhaps, to Alfred de Mus- 
 sel's own indignation at the sort of criticism which had 
 been bestowed on " Louison " and " On ne saurait 
 penser a tout." In 1850, notwithstanding his desire to 
 remain faithful to the " Revue des Deux Mondes," Alfred 
 had yielded to the entreaties of M. Veron, who opened 
 to him the columns of the " Constitutionnel " on most 
 advantageous terms. " Carmoisine " came out in the 
 latter journal ; and it is assuredly one of Alfred de 
 Musset's finest works, to my mind, indeed, the deepest 
 and most moving of them all. When I read the passage 
 in which Carmoisine confides her hopeless love to the 
 jester Minuccio, it seems to me as though the scene 
 had been sketched by the hand of Gothe or Shakspeare. 
 
 1 There is a letter of Mme. Allan Despreaux inserted in the notes to 
 the large edition, which shows that this actress, who was very clever and had 
 excellent taste, was particularly fond of " Bettine." She would have played 
 the part herself if she had not been too old, and already ill. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 273 
 
 But we will leave to others the appreciation of this 
 poetic work. 
 
 M. Veron had absolute confidence in the powers of 
 Alfred de Musset. Without knowing how much the 
 MS. of " Carmoisine " would prove to be worth, he 
 agreed in advance to pay a thousand francs an act, and 
 to leave the author at liberty to write three or five, as 
 he might think fit. Alfred, incapable of adding an act 
 to a piece which, in his own opinion, required only three, 
 felt that his work would be well paid on the prescribed 
 conditions ; but M. Ve'ron was so charmed with the 
 piece when he came to read it, that he wanted to pay for 
 it as if- it had had five acts. The author refused to accept 
 so large a sum, and in the end they halved the differ- 
 ence. I mention this circumstance, because it affords a 
 glimpse of two sufficiently rare characters, a generous 
 publisher and a disinterested author. 
 
 Alfred de Musset had fancied himself too lightly 
 esteemed by the classicists of the French Academy to 
 aspire to become one of their number ; but, encouraged 
 by M. Merime'e, he decided to make the application, 
 and the Academy did itself honor when it opened its 
 arms to the poet of youth. He might have done with- 
 out the Academy; but if, after his name had been pro- 
 posed, he had been allowed to die before the doors of 
 the Institute were opened to him, the Academy would 
 have repented it, and public opinion would have con- 
 demned its course. The author of the " Nuits " cared 
 more than I should have expected for this mark of dis- 
 tinction, which he regarded as an indispensable conse- 
 cration of his talent. On the day when he pronounced 
 
 18
 
 274 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 the eulogy on M. Dupaty, to whose chair he succeeded, 
 I heard, among the elegant audience of "little pink 
 noses," murmurs of amazement and approbation at the 
 blonde locks and youthful air of the candidate. He 
 might have been taken for thirty. 
 
 His election was attended with some difficulty. Among 
 the grave personages by whom he was surrounded on 
 that day, not more than a dozen knew his works at all, 
 and these were acquainted with some few pages only. 
 
 M. de Lamartine himself publicly proclaimed that he 
 had never read them. Others condemned them out of 
 hand without wanting to know more. On the eve of the 
 ballot, M. Ancelot, who was particularly fond of the can- 
 didate and resolved to give him his vote, said, in the 
 garden of the Palais Royal, to the publisher Charpentier, 
 " Poor Alfred is a lovable fellow and a charming man 
 of society j but, between ourselves, he never did know 
 how to make verses, and he never will." 
 
 M. Fortoul was then minister of public instruction. 
 He wanted to testify in some way his good-will towards 
 our poet, and accordingly he paid him a great deal of 
 attention, and repeatedly asked him to dinner almost 
 en famille^ One evening the minister said he would 
 like to give him a subject for a poem. Alfred never 
 enjoyed working to order. His independent Muse did 
 not readily obey the behests of any one, and the even- 
 ing that this proposal was made he came home con- 
 siderably alarmed. But M. Fortoul's kindness had 
 touched his heart, and he consented to consider the 
 
 1 M. Fortoul was one of the editors of the " Revue des Deux Mondes," 
 and very fond of people of talent. P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 275 
 
 various themes which had been suggested, and among 
 which he was to be allowed freedom of choice. One of 
 them struck him agreeably, and without making any 
 definite promise he put in his pocket a sort of pros- 
 pectus, and said he would think it over, and send a 
 prompt answer if he decided to treat the subject. The 
 next time he came, he brought his poem almost complete. 
 It was the " Songe d'Auguste." The minister was so 
 gratified that he was bent on a solemn representation of 
 the piece at some court festival. Charles Gounod com- 
 posed music for the choruses, the best artists were to 
 be selected from all the theatres, and the parts of 
 Octavia and Augustus were already assigned to Rachel 
 and M. Bressant. 
 
 But vague murmurs of disapprobation suddenly arose, 
 and a bucket of ice was thrown upon the flame. The 
 minister himself seemed afraid that he had been impru- 
 dent, and. said no more of the proposed performance. 
 The next year the Eastern war broke out. Now the 
 most important scene in the poem was a dialogue be- 
 tween Livia and Octavia, concerning peace and war, 
 and the author had naturally concluded in favor of 
 peace. After the bombardment of Sinope, the " Songe 
 d'Auguste " was out of date; and by the time that peace 
 was concluded, two years later, oblivion had swept over 
 the whole thing. Moreover, M. Fortoul, who alone had 
 been interested in the work, died suddenly, although 
 not before he had repaired the wrong which M. Ledru 
 Rollin had done the author. The following is the letter 
 which he wrote to Alfred de Musset, after reading the 
 "Songe d'Auguste."
 
 276 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 " I have the pleasure, my dear sir, of informing you that 
 you have been appointed librarian of the department of public 
 instruction. This office, which you have never solicited, but 
 which I have long wished to confer upon you, has been 
 rendered vacant by a removal which disturbs no position 
 already acquired. I esteem myself infinitely happy to be able 
 partially to repair the wrong done you by our now forgotten 
 misunderstanding. I only regret that I have so little to offer 
 one whose talent reflects the utmost lustre upon the literature 
 of our time. 
 
 Believe me your most devoted, 
 
 H. FORTOUL. 1 
 
 I have already had occasion to offer proofs of the fact 
 that poets have, at odd moments, a sort of second sight. 
 Precisely because they are not usually occupied with 
 public affairs, when a political event does stir them, and 
 cause them to reflect, they understand better than the 
 vulgar its range and signification. If inanimate objects 
 are to them voiceless thoughts, if they are searching 
 for eternal truth even when they look upon a blade of 
 grass, they have also their hours of meditation upon 
 the actions of men and the needs of nations. When 
 they express what they feel, they show us what we are 
 
 1 M. Fortoul's regard for Alfred de Musset dated a long way back. In- 
 contestable proof of this may be found in the " Revue des Deux Mondes " 
 for Sept. i, .1834. This number contains an article very laudatory of the 
 " Spectacle dans un Fauteuil." The author of this article, which is now 
 very curious reading, is comparing, apropos of " Lorenzaccio," the Floren- 
 tine republicans of 1536 with the French of 1830. " These merchants," he 
 says, "let themselves be tricked out of their Republic, almost as foolishly as 
 we have done ourselves." Farther on, M. Fortoul congratulates the author 
 of " Lorenzaccio " on having fathomed " the plebeian desires which inflame 
 us." It is to be observed that the minister of public instruction under the 
 second empire had not always been in favor of a perpetual dictatorship. 
 P. M.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 277 
 
 capable of feeling without being able to express it. 
 When they take the trouble to look, they see things 
 which our eyes do not distinguish. 
 
 The moment that Alfred de Musset learned that a 
 Piedmontese army corps had been sent to the Crimea, he 
 drew a host of conclusions, which led him almost imme- 
 diately to the prevision of a radical change in the desti- 
 nies of Italy. I told him that he was going too fast, 
 and that Austria would never consent to a rearrange- 
 ment of the map of Europe which would involve the 
 loss of some of her wealthiest provinces. " Justice," he 
 replied, "is not as difficult as it is supposed to be. We 
 cannot keep the branches of the tree of life from bud- 
 ding ; and there is a people the other side of the moun- 
 tains which is determined to live. Egotists think that 
 the world was made for them, and smile at the sufferings 
 of a great nation ; but we ought rather to smile at their 
 political schemes. Intelligence and freedom go hand in 
 hand. It may be that the liberty which we have looked 
 for so long is not far off, for it travels by ways which we 
 know not." 
 
 Probably there was no connection whatever between 
 the arrival of Mme. Ristori at Paris and the secret 
 schemes of M. Cavour ; but Alfred de Musset liked to 
 look upon the visit of that great artist as presaging the 
 intimate union thenceforth to subsist between France and 
 Italy. His attendance on the performance of " Mirra " 
 and " Marie Stuart" was so constant that he never missed 
 one unless he were absolutely ill in bed. The bust of 
 Mme. Ristori by the Italian sculptor Lanzirotti was 
 placed in his little museum, on a tall pedestal con-
 
 278 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 structed for the purpose ; and he liked to play upon the 
 name by calling the noble figure the " Italia ristorata." 
 Poetry also was to have been invoked to pay tribute to 
 the great foreign tragedienne; and Alfred began some 
 verses, which unfortunately he never even committed to 
 paper. ' Illness prevented him from completing them. 1 
 The performances of "Mirra"'were destined to be his 
 last pleasure, and admiration for Ristori his last en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 1 The irregular fragment of these stanzas which M. Paul de Musset 
 quotes from memory cannot well be translated, and seems hardly worthy even 
 of transcription. TR.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 279 
 
 XVII. 
 
 r I ""HE health of Alfred de Musset had seemed for 
 -* a long time to be declining. The organic affec- 
 tion whose first symptoms I had observed in 1842, and 
 which had developed stealthily, made rapid progress dur- 
 ing the winter of 1856. I do not know why the physi- 
 cian, who understood the nature of it perfectly, should 
 have thought fit to keep it a secret. It was an affection 
 of the valves of the aorta. I began to observe the well- 
 known indications of heart disease ; but these alarming 
 symptoms would sometimes disappear altogether, and 
 give place to that air of health and vigor which we asso- 
 ciate with his age. He would never submit to any cura- 
 tive treatment, except when he was confined to his bed ; 
 and, therefore, I took the paroxysms of his malady for 
 so many fresh accidents. One day I found him stretched 
 in a chaise longue which he had recently bought ; and, as 
 he showed off his acquisition,"he said, " I hoped I should 
 have died young ; but, if it is God's will that I should 
 stay some time longer in this weariful world, I must be 
 resigned. And this is the article of furniture in which I 
 propose to grow old." 
 
 Severe cold and extreme heat were alike injurious to 
 him ; and, despite his repugnance to quitting Paris, 
 Alfred went for three years in succession to the sea- 
 side ; not to try bathing, which would have aggravated 
 his complaints, but to breathe the fresh and tonic air.
 
 280 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 In 1854, he visited Croisic, whence he went to our sis- 
 ter's at Angers, where he stayed a month. The two 
 following years he spent his vacation at Havre. Dur- 
 ing his last journey, while living at the Hotel Frascati, 
 he became very intimate with an English family, the 
 head of which was a man of note, and also of a most 
 simple and kindly character. The daughters of M. 
 Lyster, who were both at the fascinating age between 
 childhood and maidenhood, became very fond of the 
 invalid poet, and showed their affection by the most 
 assiduous attentions. Alfred, on his part, became a child 
 again ; entered into the games of the two sisters, and 
 devised others to amuse them. He was particularly suc- 
 cessful in making them talk, for he always had the 
 faculty of lending his own wit to people whom he fancied. 
 As I have said before, he loved and venerated, above 
 every thing else, youth, innocence, and ingenuousness. 
 Only those who knew him well can understand the 
 delight he took in the society of these pleasant girls. 
 One evening he stayed out later than was prudent 
 upon the mole at Havre, and had a feverish attack in con- 
 sequence. He did not come down to breakfast the next 
 morning, and the little English girls were uneasy and 
 sent their father to make inquiries. The idea of passing 
 a day without seeing their new friend was intolerable. 
 I do not know whether his room was on the ground 
 floor, or whether its windows opened upon some sort of 
 verandah ; but the children brought their chairs to his 
 open window and established themselves there, and the 
 invalid from his bed took part in their games and their 
 conversation. He enjoyed it so much that the fever
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 281 
 
 subsided, and the time flew fast in this delightful inti- 
 macy. Everybody was dismayed when the day of part- 
 ing came. Alfred said his farewells, and mounted into 
 the omnibus which was to take him to the railway. 
 There his trunk was not to be found. He called for 
 it angrily, but no one knew what had become of it. It 
 was impossible to return to Paris without this import- 
 ant piece of luggage, so he mounted the omnibus once 
 more and went back to the Hotel Frascati. At the 
 door of the house, he was met by loud applause : the two 
 little maidens were lying in wait for him. They clapped 
 their hands, and showed him his trunk, which they had 
 themselves dragged aside amid the confusion of the 
 departure. He could not go now for several hours, and 
 their joy was such that he remained in Havre two or 
 three more days. 
 
 One evening in the autumn he found, when he went 
 home, the card of M. Lyster. He was enchanted, and 
 set out the next day to visit his Havre friends. They 
 were lodging at the Champs Elyse'es, and the fine weather 
 and warm sunshine tempted him to walk. As he paced 
 the long avenue, he reflected on the different manners 
 prevailing in town and at the seaside. There would not 
 be in Paris the delightful ease and freedom which had 
 constituted the charm of their former intercourse. They 
 would fancy that they had a thousand things to say, but 
 when they came to revert to their common memories 
 and pleasures, they would find that they scarcely knew 
 each other. " My maidens will have other friends about 
 them," mused the poet, slackening his steps, "fellow- 
 countrymen perhaps. One of them may have a suitor.
 
 282 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 I shall only be a caller like any other, and possibly a 
 tiresome one. Farewell, sweet familiarity and childish 
 merriment and play! Am I sure that I could myself 
 recover the mirthful abandonment of the seaside ? Per- 
 haps I shall presently be returning along this avenue, 
 regretting a lost illusion, and the bloom of a dear 
 memory destroyed. It would be better not to touch the 
 butterfly's wing." 
 
 In the midst of such reflections, he reached the door. 
 He was divided between a longing to see the young 
 girls again, and the fear of disturbing his cherished 
 memories of travel. The latter scruple prevailed. In- 
 stead of pulling the bell, he retraced his steps. He 
 went home, and never saw his H&vre friends again. 
 
 One winter evening, a regular poet's fancy seized him 
 for making a retrospective and nocturnal visit to Italy 
 and the age of the Renaissance. He begged Horace de 
 Viel Castel, who lodged in the Louvre, to open the 
 picture gallery for him at night. He was accordingly 
 admitted, at ten o'clock in the evening, into the gallery 
 of the Italian school, with a portable lamp of the kind 
 used in torchlight processions. He stayed there a long 
 while, lost in thought, and came out well pleased, say- 
 ing that he had lived with the old masters that night, 
 and that there were two for whom he would cheerfully 
 have mixed colors and cut pencils, Raphael and 
 
 Leonardo da Vinci. 
 
 f 
 In the month of March, 1857, M. Emile Augier was 
 
 proposed at the Academy. Alfred de Musset, who was 
 very fond of him, took a keen interest in his success. 
 On the night before the ballot, he was seriously ill ; and
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 283 
 
 M. Augier, fearing that he would not be able to be pres- 
 ent, besought me to use all my efforts to induce him to 
 attend the meeting. When the time arrived, I found my 
 brother resolved to go, in spite of the incessant palpita- 
 tion of the heart which incommoded him extremely. 
 He sent for a carriage, but there was none to be found. 
 The rain was falling in torrents, and the hour of the 
 ballot was about to strike. Alfred took my arm and 
 started, notwithstanding the storm. He walked slowly 
 along the Rue Rivoli, obliged at every twenty steps to 
 stop and take breath. Finally, on the corner of the 
 Rue des Pyramides, I succeeded in stopping a passing 
 carriage. He entered it, and arrived just in time to 
 vote. Revived by the out-of-door air and his satisfac- 
 tion at having voted, and exulting also in the success of 
 his candidate, Alfred went and dined at a restaurant 
 and thence to the play. His housekeeper scolded him 
 for his imprudence. " Never you mind ! " he said, 
 " Very likely it is the last time. My friend Tattet is 
 calling me, and I think I shall rejoin him before long." 
 
 Tattet, who was just as old as he, had died not long 
 before, from an attack of gout. 
 
 M. Empis, of the Academy, struck by the change in 
 his colleague's appearance, inquired of me about his 
 health, and asked if he were following any course of 
 treatment. I replied that he was unwilling to do so ; 
 but that he had an excellent physician who gave him 
 directions and advice informally. " We will force 
 him to take care of himself," said M. Empis, "and 
 this is the way we will manage." I will get him in- 
 vited to Saint Cloud ; and, when there, he will have to
 
 284 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 obey the physician of the house. M. R will cure 
 
 him. 
 
 I thought this little conspiracy might possibly succeed. 
 Once at Saint Cloud, Alfred would submit to guidance ; 
 but, while waiting the return of warm weather for the 
 accomplishment of this project, I made a trip of a few 
 days to Augers. While I was away, Alfred received an 
 invitation to dine at the Palais Royal with Prince Napo- 
 leon. He was very ill, but he was determined to go. 
 Dressing fatigued him so much that he was late, and 
 when he arrived the company was already at table. 
 After dinner, wishing to efface the unfavorable impres- 
 sion made by his late arrival, he drew near the Prince 
 and engaged in the conversation, which he soon con- 
 trolled, and rendered it grave and gay by turns, but 
 always interesting. It is not so long ago but that many 
 of the persons present still remember that evening, and 
 they have told me that Alfred de Musset never seemed 
 to them more animated and pleasing. It was his last 
 evening out. When he went home, he took his bed, and 
 never rose from it again. 
 
 I was still at Augers, when I received on the 26th of 
 April, a letter from Alfred's housekeeper, begging me to 
 return. I brought forward some pretext of business and 
 set out for Paris. When I arrived, I found my brother 
 in bed ; but quiet, and without fever. The fainting fits 
 which had now become habitual with him recurred from 
 time to time ; but in the intervals he did not suffer. He 
 could listen to reading or talk tranquilly. The house- 
 keeper whom I had always thought an excellent judge 
 of his condition, appeared less alarmed than she had
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 285 
 
 been, and I took courage. The improvement lasted until 
 April 29th. On the 3oth, I thought the doctor anxious 
 during the day ; and his anxiety infected me as soon as I 
 heard him pronounce the terrible word consultation. At 
 seven o'clock in the morning of May ist, M. Morel- 
 Lavallee had an interview with the accomplished M. 
 Rostan, whom I had summoned. Each of them told 
 me separately that there was no immediate danger, and 
 that they would come again the next day at the same 
 hour. The day was not a bad one. Our invalid had 
 obeyed all the instructions implicitly, and he experienced 
 decided relief. He congratulated himself in the even- 
 ing on his docility. "Tranquillity is a fine thing," he 
 said. " It is a great mistake for us to be so afraid of 
 death, which is only extreme exhaustion." 
 
 He was in an admirable frame of mind. He made 
 plans, one, among others, for going back to Havre; 
 but, since he must always have some subject of anxiety, 
 he regretted not having accepted the proposition of his 
 publisher, who had wanted him to surrender all pecu- 
 niary interest in his works, in consideration of a yearly 
 payment of twenty-four hundred francs during his life. 
 I had no difficulty in showing him that he need not re- 
 gret the conclusion of this affair. He then made the 
 most minute inquiries about my occupations, and after- 
 wards asked in succession after every one of the persons 
 whom he loved, as if he were holding a review of his 
 personal attachments. His questions multiplied. The 
 angelic face of Sister Marcelline came back to his mem- 
 ory and smiled upon him. We talked, still in the most 
 peaceful fashion, until an hour after midnight, when he
 
 286 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 suddenly started up and pressed his hand upon his heart 
 as though he felt some extraordinary disturbance there. 
 His face took on a strange expression of surprise and 
 concentrated attention. His eyes opened to their utmost 
 width. I asked him if he suffered. He shook his head, 
 and to my other questions replied only by these words, 
 as he lay back upon his pillows, " Sleep ! At last I 
 am going to sleep." 
 
 Sleeplessness had always been his most implacable 
 enemy, and I took this for a favorable crisis in his 
 disease. It was death. He closed his eyes, and opened 
 them no more. His calm and regular breathing died 
 gradually away. His last sigh was unaccompanied by 
 a single convulsive or agonized movement. Death, for 
 which he had wished so often, had come to him as a 
 friend, in the guise of slumber. A congestion of the 
 heart was the immediate cause. Was he conscious that 
 he was dying ? I do not know. Perhaps he desired to 
 spare me the anguish of a last farewell. Perhaps his 
 weariness with life, his sense of deliverance, and the 
 gentle mastery of slumber, left him no strength to utter 
 any supreme good-by. 
 
 When the first rays of dawn fell on his face, a super-* 
 natural beauty was diffused over it, as though the great 
 thoughts to which his genius had imparted an imperish- 
 able form were shining round him like an aureole. The 
 attendants who took care of him could not believe in 
 this unexpected departure. " It is impossible," they 
 said. " He is asleep. He will wake." 
 
 I touched my lips to his forehead, but it was already 
 cold as marble.
 
 BiograpJiy of Alfred de Musset. 287 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 TT cannot be denied that nature sometimes imprisons 
 * a beautiful soul in a deformed or uncomely frame ; 
 but usually she is pleased to bestow upon poets the gift 
 of fine looks. When we consider the portraits of Mo- 
 liere, Racine, Tasso, and Byron, we are glad to see in 
 their features a style of beauty corresponding with the 
 character of their genius. 
 
 In his whole personal appearance, Alfred de Musset 
 displayed the symmetry and harmony which constitute 
 perfection. His figure of medium height (five feet four 
 inches) remained slender and elegant so long as he pre- 
 served his health. When he was a young man, he looked 
 but a boy, and in mature life he was often taken for 
 a very young man. At twenty he was the perfect type 
 of the graceful page of old-time courts, and he very 
 often wore the costume of one at fancy balls. His face 
 was impressive from uniting two kinds of beauty, regu- 
 larity of feature and vivacity of expression. His blue eyes 
 were full of fire. His delicate and slightly aquiline nose 
 recalled the portraits of Van Dyck; and his friends 
 frequently noticed the likeness between the two. His 
 mouth was rather large, and his lips somewhat too full, 
 less so than La Fontaine's, however ; but they lent them- 
 selves with extreme mobility to the expression of his 
 feelings, and betrayed all the keen susceptibility of his 
 heart. Under the influence of the softer emotions,
 
 288 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 like pity or compassion, they quivered imperceptibly. 
 You saw at once that that mouth could become eloquent 
 with passion, or smile with easy irony in conversation. 
 But his finest feature of all was his forehead, of which 
 the shading suggested all the bumps which phrenology 
 has designated as the seats of the most precious facul- 
 ties. Whether that science be genuine or chimerical, it 
 is certain that it attributed to the author of the " Nights " 
 (although not invented specially for him) poetic sensi- 
 bility, reflective power, perspicacity, ardor of mind, and 
 an instinctive appreciation of all the arts. 
 
 There are but two portraits of Alfred de Musset which 
 give a just idea of him, the medallion of David d' Angers, 
 and the crayon by Charles Landelle. Unlike as the 
 faces are, it should be remembered that they are sepa- 
 rated by a long interval of time, the one likeness having 
 been taken in 1831, the other in 1854. Landelle was 
 mistaken in giving his sketch a dreamy aspect. Alfred 
 himself used to complain that the artist had made him 
 look as if he were asleep, whereas his usual expression 
 was very spirited. This appears in David's medallion 
 to a remarkable degree. Were it not for this trifling 
 defect, the work of Landelle would be perfect. It has, 
 moreover, the advantage over bronze or plaster of repro- 
 ducing faithfully the beautiful color of the original, and 
 the fine tint of his fair hair ; for Alfred de Musset had 
 not a single gray hair when he died. 
 
 The other portraits, whatever the talent of their 
 authors, can but bewilder the recollections of the poet's 
 friends, and give a false and inadequate idea to those 
 who never saw him. I would except, however, the mar-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 289 
 
 ble bust, made by M. Mezzara for the Theatre Frar^ais. 
 It was executed long after the poet's death ; and not only 
 was that difficulty surmounted, but it is even remarkable 
 for the correctness of the likeness. 
 
 No description whatever can take the place of the 
 sculptor's chisel or the painter's brush in the representa- 
 tion of a man's physical semblance. As for the soul of 
 the poet, if I have not failed in my task, it will be found 
 the same in the story of his life as in his works, where he 
 has himself depicted it with evident sincerity. A few 
 traits of character will now suffice for the completion of 
 his moral portrait. 
 
 I think that there were but two men of genius, before 
 Alfred de Musset, who ever carried so far the courage of 
 perfect frankness ; and they were Jean Jaques Rousseau 
 and Lord Byron. It cost them both dear. When the 
 philosopher of Geneva laid bare his soul, he fancied that 
 the revelation of his faults would win them pardon. He 
 was mistaken, for the reason that those faults were 
 enormous, and some of them were unpardonable. The 
 English poet would seem to have gone yet farther than 
 Jean Jacques. He is thought to have yielded to the in- 
 sensate desire of seeming worse than he really was. It 
 was giving a wide scope to calumny, which profited by 
 the fact so far that posterity is now obliged to defend 
 the poet against himself. The defence will be success- 
 ful, but not easily so. The French poet has likened him- 
 self, not without reason, to the priest who offers his own 
 heart in sacrifice. He offered it naked, for he had 
 nothing to fear from the truth. The well meaning men 
 who think themselves qualified to reprove him, have 
 
 19
 
 290 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 not known Alfred de Musset aright. As for those who 
 do not highly regard the poetry of the heart, and call it 
 personal poetry, their prejudices can only harm them- 
 selves, and nothing that we can say would remove them. 
 They do not succumb to the charm of the poetry in 
 question, because they lack the heart in which it might 
 awake an echo. It is an unfailing touchstone : " Tell 
 me what poets you love and do not love, and I will tell 
 you what you are." 
 
 Alfred de Musset was not satisfied with being sincere. 
 He swore uncompromising hostility to falsehood in every 
 guise. Whenever he encountered it, and, unhappily, 
 he saw it often and near at hand, he struck it in the 
 face. He could excuse all, pardon all, except deceit. 
 He never awarded to rhymers without talent who sub- 
 mitted to him their verses that species of good-natured 
 flattery which hurries young aspirants into that danger- 
 ous path at the end of which lie the mortifications of a 
 mistaken calling. If he had ever done that cruel deed 
 which others commit without scruple, it would have been 
 for him a source of deep remorse. Liars had made him 
 suspicious ; and although he called mistrust " an evil 
 genius, introduced into his nature, but not born there," 
 experience had cultivated the feeling. He despised the 
 human race, yet he who had spoken to him but twice 
 might call him friend. No man was more readily be- 
 guiled than he ; no heart opened more easily than his. 
 A few advances, a few marks of sympathy, sufficed to 
 obtain from him all that was desired. He was at the 
 mercy of the impressions of the moment, especially in a 
 tete-a-tete, and wholly carried away by the charms of 
 conversation.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 291 
 
 The Marquis of Manzo, the biographer of Tasso, 
 makes the same remark in the precious notice of the 
 great poet which he has left us. " These beings en- 
 dowed with excessive sensibility pour out," he says, 
 " involuntarily the treasures of their souls before the 
 first person who presents himself. Animated by the 
 desire to please, they confide their thoughts and feel- 
 ings to whoever will listen, and even to indifferent 
 persons." 
 
 Lord Byron carried this confiding spirit beyond the 
 verge of imprudence. " The first person," says Thomas 
 Moore, " with whom chance brought him in contact 
 became the whole world to him, and might, if he 
 pleased, know all Byron's secrets." And Moore adds, 
 that this is a trait which we find in all times and all 
 countries among those who have received the fatal gift 
 of poesy. 
 
 This was the natural disposition of Alfred de Musset ; 
 but let his suspicions be ever so slightly roused, and he 
 became the most impenetrable person in the world. He 
 had an extreme distrust of journalists, anecdote-mongers, 
 indiscreet story-tellers, and, above all, of editors, who 
 peddle out to one writer what they have gathered from 
 another. Felix Bonnaire came to see him at least once 
 a week for fifteen years, and was no farther advanced in 
 his intimacy at the end than at the beginning. With 
 M. Charpentier, who repeated to him what he heard 
 elsewhere, Alfred played, for the sixteen years during 
 which they had business relations, a comedy at which 
 we have more than once laughed together. This comedy 
 consisted in the demonstration by every manner of proof
 
 292 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 of the fact that his works would not survive, but would 
 be forgotten after his death. 
 
 A few great poets have been exceptions to the rule 
 stated by the Marquis de Manzo and Thomas Moore. 
 Gothe, among others, was resolved to become master of 
 himself, and succeeded so well that he has even been 
 reproached for his reticence. Who knows but the 
 greatest mind of Germany, so often accused of insensi- 
 bility, understood that he could escape the poet's malady 
 only by subjugating his own heart ? Tasso, assuredly, 
 would never have been confined in his dungeon, if he 
 had been master of himself as Gothe was ; and Gothe 
 himself who, by the way, wrote a drama of Torquato 
 Tasso might have run the risk of being thought mad, 
 and confined like his hero, had he not imposed silence 
 upon his own heart amid the pleasures of the court at 
 Weimar. 
 
 Even if he had tried, Alfred de Musset could never 
 have assumed the impassible front of Gothe ; but he 
 did not carry his rashness to the same length as Byron. 
 To judg6 of the keenness of his sensibilities, one needs 
 but to open a volume of his poems. One can see by 
 the sonnet to M. Regnier how his intellect received its 
 impulses from his heart. He was passing one evening 
 through the vestibule of the Thdatre Frangais. A strip 
 of paper pasted on the bill, announced a change in the 
 play. M. Regnier's daughter had died that very day. 
 Alfred was barely acquainted with that excellent come- 
 dian, whose talent, however, he admired. The death of 
 a child whom he had never seen, the sorrow of the poor 
 father, smote and saddened him. A great many people
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 293 
 
 passed through that vestibule, and some of them no 
 doubt were conscious of a similar pang ; but he alone 
 was unable to banish the sorrowful impression. He 
 must needs relieve his feelings, and send to the bereaved 
 father some expression of his sympathy. Hence the 
 beautiful sonnet to M. Regnier. There could not 
 be a better illustration of the poetic organization par 
 excellence. 
 
 Few men have ever been as susceptible to the senti- 
 ment of pity as the author of these verses. The sight of 
 a case of suffering, a sorrow confided to his ear, would 
 agitate him to the extent of haunting his dreams. One 
 evening he came home very late from the Theatre 
 Franais, where he went so often. It was a cold, 
 snowy winter night. Wrapped to his eyes in his cloak, 
 and with his hands in his pockets, he had passed an old 
 beggar playing a hand-organ on the bridge of the Saints 
 Peres. The persistence with which the old man turned 
 his crank, in the hope of obtaining a few sous, touched 
 him vaguely ; but the roaring wind and falling snow, 
 and the slippery footway which he was obliged to heed 
 distracted his attention. Arrived at the door of his 
 house on the Quai Voltaire, he still heard far away the 
 plaintive wail of that organ ; and, instead of pulling the 
 bell, he looked at his watch and saw that it was past 
 midnight. "That poor devil," he said to himself, " would 
 have gone home perhaps, if I had given him something. 
 I shall be the cause of his getting an illness in this pes- 
 tiferous weather." 
 
 His imagination pictured the miserable wretch dying 
 of neglect in some garret, and the notion took such hold
 
 294 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 of him that he could not advance another step. He 
 went straight back to the beggar on the bridge, and 
 tossed him a five-franc piece. " There," he said, " that 
 is probably more than you will get if you stay there 
 until morning. For God's sake go home to bed ! I'll 
 give you the money only on that condition." 
 
 The beggar, who had not looked for such a windfall, 
 gathered up his luggage and decamped. I represented 
 to my brother the next day that his alms had been 
 rather magnificent. " It is impossible," he replied, " to 
 pay too high for sleep ; and, if I had come home without 
 stopping that d d music, I should not have slept for 
 the night." 
 
 The pitying horror with which he regarded suffering, 
 and his desire to relieve it, did not stop with human 
 beings. Even beasts felt the effects of it. His house- 
 keeper one day apprised him of the critical circumstances 
 of a puppy about to be thrown into the river. He 
 solemnly stayed the execution, and took the condemned 
 creature home. So he was provided with a dog. 
 
 The cat's turn came next. Alfred requested that he 
 might have one of the young ones of the first cat who 
 had kittens, not being able to take charge of the entire 
 family. They sent him a frightful little beast, shaggy, 
 and of a dirty gray color. " I am not very fortunate," 
 he said, contemplating his boarders. " I like only beauti- 
 ful things, and here I am encumbered with an ugly pug 
 and a regular area cat. But what's to be done ? I did 
 not select them, and I cannot help respecting and admir- 
 ing in these poor beasts ugly as they are the phenom- 
 enon of life and the work of mysterious nature."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 295 
 
 The benefactor had no reason to repent his generosity. 
 By dint of grace and amiability, the kitten won pardon 
 for the homeliness of her garb, and the dog proved to 
 be endowed with all the canine virtues and remarkably 
 intelligent. In fact, the celebrated Marzo was the ad- 
 miration of all the servant-maids in the neighborhood, 
 and even made himself useful by going alone every even- 
 ing to the newspaper stand with three sous in an enve- 
 lope, and bringing back the " Presse " in his teeth. 
 Without the assistance of language, he could get the 
 house-door opened, and conclude a business transac- 
 tion successfully. I shall not praise his love for his 
 master : it would be an insult. Marzo did not consider 
 gratitude a merit, nor devotion a virtue. He will for 
 ever remain ignorant of the fact, that, among the breed 
 of human beings, there are those who are envious and 
 ingrate. Even now, in decrepit old age, he remembers 
 him who is no more ; and when the housekeeper, his last 
 faithful friend, speaks to him of his master, he pricks up 
 his ears, and shows that he is thinking of the one he 
 loves, and whose return he is always expecting. 1 
 
 Tattet who had less respect for the phenomenon of life 
 got rid of an old dog who was in his way by having him 
 killed. Alfred de Musset, indignant at such cruelty, 
 overwhelmed his friend with reproaches, and treated him 
 
 1 Marzo died of old age Aug. 28, 1864, cared for to the last, and 
 deeply mourned by his old friend. Mme. Martelet, unwilling that his body 
 should be flung into the rubbish cart, charged her husband to bury it. He 
 set out early with Marzo's remains wrapped up in a newspaper. Arrived 
 at Auteuil, he found some men at work digging, and asked permission to 
 put the body in a load of earth which they were about to remove. Marzo 
 was buried in a heap of dirt, under a new street which afterwards received 
 the name of the Rue de Musset. P. M.
 
 296 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 with coolness for some time. Before he could be for- 
 given, Tattet had to own that he was wrong, and say 
 that he was sorry. 
 
 But if the affection of a dog proves nothing, since 
 these virtuous animals often attach themselves to very 
 objectionable persons, the master of poor Marzo was 
 able to inspire the same sentiment of tender devotion in 
 others, less easy to win. In the various houses where 
 he lived, and the haunts which he regularly frequented, 
 he was loved with a species of adoration ; and it was 
 not always for the sake of his poems and his fame, for 
 some of his friends did not even know how to read. 
 There were those who would have gone through the fire 
 for him. Their zeal and their demonstrations of interest 
 reminded him of that boy in the cafe of the Porte Maillot 
 who was so smitten with J. J. Rousseau, and took care 
 of him and served him with so marked a preference, 
 without dreaming that his friend was an author and a 
 philosopher. Alfred de Musset set great store by these 
 spontaneous attachments, and often returned them by 
 rendering real service to these good people and interest- 
 ing himself in their affairs. 
 
 At the chess club and the Cafe de la Re'gence, he 
 was keenly regretted. But the fondest and truest of his 
 friends was his uncle Desherbiers. There was no sacri- 
 fice which this good man would not have made for his 
 nephew. He was comrade and father in one. Alfred 
 loved him with filial devotion, and neither could do with- 
 out the other. On some points their opinions differed. 
 In literature, politics, and philosophy, they did not 
 always agree. At chess or piquet, they occasionally
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 297 
 
 quarrelled, and parted in dudgeon. But the next morn- 
 ing Alfred would write a note of apology ; and in the 
 evening they would meet, and make no allusion to the 
 differences of the night before. Often, at the very 
 instant when the letter of excuses was being despatched, 
 the good uncle would arrive under the impression that 
 it was he who had been in the wrong. They were like 
 Henry IV. and D'Aubigne'jWhose tiffs and reconciliations, 
 says Sully, were like those of a lover and his mistress. 
 This impassioned friendship lasted as long as they 
 lived. 
 
 In the address delivered at his reception by the Aca- 
 demy, Alfred de Musset said, " I have never quarrelled 
 with any one but myself." A grudge was an impossi- 
 bility to him. When literary differences had alienated 
 him from the " Cenacle," and he felt that there was a 
 coolness between Victor Hugo and himself, it was a real 
 grief of mind to him. One day, in the spring of 1843, 
 the two poets met at a breakfast at M. Guettinguer's. 
 They came forward to greet each other with outstretched 
 hands, and conversed as gaily as though they had parted 
 only the evening before ; and Alfred was so moved by 
 his cordial welcome that he wrote the fine sonnet which 
 has made the memory of it immortal, " II faut dans ce 
 bas monde aimer beaucoup de choses." 
 
 Among the ladies of Paris most distinguished for wit, 
 elegance, beauty, and good taste, I could cite a score 
 who gave him proof of sincere friendship. Those to 
 whom he has addressed verses, and whom he has desig- 
 nated by their initials, Mme. T., Mme. O., Mme. 
 G., are easily recognizable by people in society. Now
 
 298 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 that Mme. Menessier Nodier has been named by the 
 poet, there can be no harm in saying that the sonnet, 
 " Je vous ai vue, enfant," and the two following ones, were 
 composed for her. The rondeau, " II est aisd de plaire a 
 qui veut plaire," was addressed to the wife of a minister. 
 But there are no verses in his collected poems addressed 
 to one person whom I wish and ought to name. Mme. 
 Ancelot was very fond of Alfred de Musset. Her sup- 
 port was of great use to him, when he was a candidate 
 for the Academy, in the way of winning over M. Ancelot, 
 and saying good things of him with that constant pre- 
 meditation of which kindly women alone are capable. 
 Moreover, he always spoke of her with gratitude and 
 respect, and freely owned his obligations to her. Those 
 who represent Alfred de Musset as prone to sarcasm 
 and slander show that they had no real knowledge of 
 him. He never slandered any one. He never sacri- 
 ficed the absent to the pleasure of turning a witticism. 
 He was even unwilling to listen to the slander of others, 
 for fear of becoming accessory by the mere hearing. 
 No one with the slightest regard for truth will refuse to 
 believe that many of the ill-natured bon-mots which 
 have been ascribed to him are due to those who pretend 
 to have heard them from his lips, and take this course 
 to gratify their private grudges. Whenever any one 
 ventured to insult him to his face, Alfred de Musset 
 showed a prompt and terrible power of repartee, but it 
 never occurred to him to commence hostilities. Some- 
 times it was only upon reflection that he took the sense 
 of an injurious remark, so hard was it for him to credit a 
 malevolent intention.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 299 
 
 Not only did he never make an unfair use of his 
 intellectual superiority, but, in conversation, he put him- 
 self on a level with his interlocutors, as much through 
 modesty as politeness ; so that they left him as well 
 satisfied with themselves as with him. This amenity 
 did not prevent his maintaining his own opinion with 
 entire frankness ; but the attention which he paid to the 
 views of other people, and the form of courtesy which 
 he knew so well how to preserve, rendered discussion with 
 him easy and interesting. It was a pleasure to differ 
 from him. Few people have the courage of their opin- 
 ions in the presence of men of authority ; and the ever- 
 lasting assent with which their remarks are received 
 must be an exceedingly wearisome thing to princes. 
 Alfred de Musset pleased them, because he ventured to 
 express opinions contrary to theirs, and did it with as 
 much tact as independence. 
 
 In the same manner, he liked to have people hold 
 their own against himself. He liked them to defend 
 their cause while they had a reason to give, or an argu- 
 ment to adduce, and especially he liked them to express 
 their thoughts clearly. In his earliest years, he showed 
 his antipathy for hesitation. One evening in 1828, our 
 father took us both to the house of General Caux, at the 
 war department, to listen to a eulogy on the late Due 
 de Riviere by M. Alissan de Chazet The audience 
 consisted of royalists, tried and true. Before we entered 
 the minister's drawing-room, our father charged us to be 
 careful not to wound the self-esteem of the author. M. 
 Alissan de Chazet read his panegyric somewhat tamely ; 
 and, when he had finished, the admirers of the Duke
 
 3OO Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 congratulated him. By way of showing that he was not 
 intoxicated by the nectar of compliment, the author 
 requested criticism. He even insisted upon it, remarking 
 that this was the time to point out his faults before his 
 MS. went to the printer. Alfred immediately spoke up, 
 and said that he had a criticism to make. The company 
 gathered around the little blond, who was entirely un- 
 known, while our father knitted his brows in some 
 anxiety. " Monsieur," said the lad, " in the piece which 
 you have read to us, ever}' time you make a comparison, 
 or illustrate your thought by an image, you seem to ask 
 the reader's pardon by saying, ' so to speak,' or 'if I 
 may venture to say so.' Now I think that one should 
 dare say things as he feels them, and I should advise 
 you to suppress those rhetorical precautions. I prefer 
 too great boldness to an appearance of timidity." 
 
 The assurance of the fair-haired boy was highly amus- 
 ing to the company, and his strictures did not displease 
 the panegyrist of M. de Riviere. Two years later, the 
 critic published poems, against which no one could prefer 
 the charge of timidity. 
 
 Yet, when circumstances required them, Musset did not 
 despise "rhetorical precautions." At the house of the 
 Duchesse de Castries, much frequented by the old Due 
 de Fitz-James, who was very fond of anecdotes of French 
 character, and told them wonderfully well; at the god- 
 mother's, where fashion never excluded gayety ; when 
 visiting other women of the world, nay even in the salon 
 of a prude, Alfred had the art of saying things so as 
 not to wound the most fastidious ears. 
 
 The fact that he never neglected the opportunity of
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 301 
 
 making a joke when one came in his way shows that 
 there was a great fund of good-humor in the man. Yet 
 his jests were always innocent, and had no end save that 
 of amusement, for he detested mystifications. One even- 
 ing Princess Belgiojoso, whose friendship for him was 
 very sincere, had some sort of grievance against him. 
 When the time came to take leave, the princess said 
 with some severity that she owed him a grudge. He 
 went home resolved to write a submissive letter and ask 
 her pardon, and the first sheet of paper that he took up 
 was a stamped one. He determined to use it, and ac- 
 cordingly composed a letter full of whimsical apologies, 
 which he wound up by saying that the official sheet 
 would attest the solemnity of his asseverations and the 
 profundity of his repentance. The next time he saw the 
 offended lady, she held out her hands, laughing so heartily 
 that the other persons present were amazed at her wel- 
 come, and demanded an explanation of it, which was 
 given. 
 
 Even among entirely congenial people, there are mo- 
 ments in the country, and in summer, when the time 
 seems long. At such times, Alfred de Musset delighted 
 in giving a new impulse to conversation. When he fore- 
 saw these hours of languor and weariness, his inventive 
 mind had a thousand resources. One morning, in a cer- 
 tain chdteau, the numerous guests had abandoned them- 
 selves to the far niente. The ch&telain had thrown up 
 his duties as proprietor ; the men were reading the news- 
 papers, or smoking on the outside steps : the need of 
 some kind of diversion was universally felt. Some of 
 the ladies took their work, and one sat down at the
 
 302 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 piano and played a mazourka. Alfred thought that he 
 detected a melancholy meaning in the first phrase of the 
 air, and a gayer thought in the second, and he traced 
 the same contradiction through all the developments of 
 the theme. He said so to the lady at the piano, and 
 illustrated the difference of sentiment which he had de- 
 tected, by singing to the melody of the ritornello, 
 
 " Alas ! Alas ! 
 What sorrow in the world ! 
 
 Aha! Aha! 
 What pleasure here below ! " 
 
 To show that she understood him, the lady sang it in 
 her turn, and then asked for more words. " Come," 
 she said, still playing, "give me two sad verses and two 
 gay ones." 
 
 It was not easy, for the music required alternate lines 
 of five and seven syllables ; but the poet gave his mind 
 to the task, although at that time he had never practised 
 with Father Hermann. When the musician had sung a 
 couplet, she went back to the ritornello, while the improv- 
 visatore produced the succeeding couplet. He composed 
 in this way as many as were wanted, all in the twofold 
 mood indicated in the programme. It was a complete 
 little poem in the form of a plaint, but I am no longer 
 able to say what it was about. Here are two or three 
 of the couplets, which by the merest chance I find in 
 the depths of my memory, 
 
 " I will carry my despair 
 
 To a foreign shore : 
 Italy, the ever fair, 
 
 I will see once more !
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 303 
 
 Now my lady-love is gone 
 
 From my longing view, 
 ' Hither,' cries the dulcet tone 
 
 Of my hostess new. 
 
 Listen to a lover's woe, 
 
 Pity all my pain ! 
 And, O bright-eyed maid, do thou 
 
 Fill my glass again ! " 
 
 The reason why I remember these three couplets is 
 that, all day long, the ladies whom the complaint amused 
 kept singing them over and over, so that the whole castle 
 resounded with the refrain of the mazourka, "What 
 sorrow in the world ! What pleasure here below ! " I 
 offer them to the reader as a specimen of those relics in 
 forgotten drawers, which the poet of the " December 
 Night " calls the " debris of happier days." 
 
 Here is another such relic, which must be classed 
 among the improvisations. Alfred de Musset, who could 
 sing the grace and beauty even of a staircase at Ver- 
 sailles, was naturally yet more disposed to pay homage 
 to these qualities when he met them in a woman. One 
 evening there came to the godmother's a bewitching 
 young lady who brought the mistress of the house a 
 little present. It was a needle-case of black shell orna- 
 mented with silver. Alfred took it into his head to have 
 this box himself. It was a mad enterprise. The god- 
 mother could not give him what had just been given 
 her, and her young friend declared that the box was no 
 longer hers to give. He was very obstinate, however, 
 and returned to the charge again and again, but with- 
 out success ; and so the evening wore away until near
 
 304 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 midnight. In the dressing-room, before going home, the 
 young lady wrapped herself up in a white capuchon, mar- 
 vellously becoming to her rosy complexion. Alfred said 
 jestingly that she looked like a monk, and they parted. 
 Early the next morning, our groom, who was well used to 
 such errands, was traversing the streets of Paris, carry- 
 ing a big envelope containing the following six-line 
 stanzas : 
 
 " Fairy friar in orders white, 
 Lo, a beggar starving quite ! 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 Drop a trifle ere he goes : 
 Freely gives who gives aright, 
 Fairy friar in orders white. 
 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 All my hopes on thee repose ! 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 Hopes deceive, a saying trite : 
 Dare I then my suit disclose, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose ? 
 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 If I say the truth outright, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 I invoke a world of foes : 
 How should I their wrath invite, 
 Fairy friar in orders white ? 
 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 Evil elves their rest oppose, 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 Who have bidden thee, Good-night : 
 What's the reason ? Tell, who knows, 
 Winsome friar with tints^ of rose !
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 305 
 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 When thy glance on me did light, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 I became as one of those, 
 I who use to snore at night, 
 Fairy friar in orders white. 
 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 Men propose, but gods dispose ; 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 Proverbs tell the truth aright : 
 Listen, then, what I propose, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose. 
 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 
 Give and take, receive, requite, 
 
 Winsome friar in tints of rose, 
 
 There's a bargain one may close : 
 
 'Tis our very case I cite, 
 
 Fairy friar in orders white. 
 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 Gavest thou the gift I chose, 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 Ebon case with silver bright, 
 I should pay thee. I suppose, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose. 
 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 I should pay thee mite by mite, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 All my verse and all my prose 
 Could devise of most polite, 
 Fairy friar in orders white. 
 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose, 
 Ne'er a virgin flower that blows, 
 Fairy friar in orders white, 
 Won such praise as I'd indite, 
 20
 
 306 Biography of Alfred de Mussel. 
 
 Tribute stately and verbose, 
 Winsome friar with tints of rose. 
 
 Naughty friar in orders white, 
 Say me nay, and in despite, 
 Naughty friar with tints of rose, 
 I'll beset thee with such woes 
 Thou shalt dearly rue thy plight, 
 Naughty friar in orders white. 
 
 Ah, my friar with tints of rose, 
 Holds my heart her secret close ? 
 Ah, my friar in orders white, 
 I would tell it if I might ! 
 Nay ; but why the tale expose ? 
 Ah, my friar with tints of rose ! " 
 
 Although young, the lady had already received a good 
 many compliments, but seldom of this quality. This 
 impromptu, written in haste between bedtime and the 
 hour of rising, was a charming surprise for her; and she 
 replied by sending the author a little sandal-wood box, 
 containing not needles, but a pen, which afterwards 
 achieved much writing, both in prose and verse. I could 
 not tell the number of graceful tributes which the letter- 
 post or the early groom has thus distributed over Paris, 
 how many flowers that lavish Muse scattered by the 
 way-side. As for the long talks, now light, now serious, 
 but always poetical, original, and full of curious observa- 
 tions, which used to detain us in the godmother's draw- 
 ing-room till the small hours, they must be allowed to 
 perish, with their occasions and the circumstances which 
 suggested them, for lack of a paid stenographer who should 
 give his days and nights to recording them in a folio. 
 
 This prodigality was not confined to things of the
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 307 
 
 mind. It was rooted in the very nature of the man. 
 Rich or poor, he could only live en grand seigneur. If 
 he gave his last five-franc piece to relieve some case of 
 need, he did it as freely as though his pocket had been- 
 full. At Croisic, on the sea-side, he saw one day, before 
 the hut of a poor salt-maker, a ragged little girl asleep 
 in the sun with her head on a handful of straw. He 
 drew near, and softly put a louis d'or between her lips, 
 and then stole away on tiptoe, exulting in the trick, and 
 in the pleasure which awaited the child when she should 
 wake. I have read in the memoirs of Lord Byron, so 
 sadly mutilated by Thomas Moore, that when the agents 
 of the noble lord had sold his estate of Newstead, and 
 wrote to him to ask what they should do with the pro- 
 ceeds of the sale, Byron replied, " You need not 
 trouble yourself to invest the money. I will use it for 
 my pleasure." An enormous amount was in question, 
 some hundred thousand pounds sterling. Alfred de 
 Musset was perfectly capable of making the same reply. 
 He only needed to feel the touch of the two million 
 and a half francs. In default of the domain of New- 
 stead, we sold, in 1846, a small family property belong- 
 ing to our father's inheritance. Alfred received one 
 morning, as his share of the first payment, five thousand 
 francs in silver money. He had never possessed so 
 large a sum before. I advised him to put it in the 
 funds; but he replied, looking admiringly at the little 
 bags ranged along his table, "What! change these 
 beautiful coins into scraps of paper ! I am not such a 
 fool. It is not in the funds that I will put this money, 
 but in my own closet."
 
 308 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 He actually arranged the bags in a cupboard ; and as 
 though distrustful of himself, and willing to offer proof 
 of his wisdom and prudence, he gave me the key to keep, 
 saying that I might give it back to him mornings, but not 
 evenings, in the perilous hours of dissipation and play. 
 
 I agreed, put the key in my pocket, and departed. In 
 our dining-room, I met General de Berthois, one of our 
 oldest friends, and went with him to the drawing-room. 
 I had hardly sat down by the general's side, when I felt 
 myself pulled by the sleeve of my coat. I turned round, 
 and saw my brother, who was close behind me, and wore 
 a grave and preoccupied air. He stooped, and whis- 
 pered in my ear, " The key ! Give me the key ! " 
 
 I gave it up, and never saw it again. That fine pre- 
 cautionary arrangement had lasted a little less than 
 a minute. The five thousand francs were not invested 
 in the funds. Alfred de Musset never held in his hands 
 a receipt for rent or a railway bond. On this head, he 
 would take no advice. Moreover, he was, in all respects, 
 the most independent man alive ; governed by impres- 
 sions, and the fancy of the moment. He was for ever 
 setting out with the intention of going to some particular 
 place, and changing his purpose when half-way there. 
 From the Quai Voltaire, where he lived in 1840, the 
 distance was not great, by way of the Rue des Beaux 
 Arts, to the office of the " Revue des Deux Mondes." 
 One evening he was to dine there with some of his asso- 
 ciates, and had accepted the invitation with pleasure. 
 As he went downstairs, he asked who the guests were to 
 be, and whom he was to sit next. There was one 
 person whom he would like very well for a neighbor.
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 309 
 
 Would he have him? Such another one, he said, would 
 bore him. Lerminier would perhaps turn the conversa- 
 tion upon politics. The talk would be all, " discus- 
 sion of the address," and " attitude of the ministry." At 
 this notion, he took fright.- He changed his course, and 
 dined alone at the Palais Royal, whence he sent a 
 messenger with a note of apology. 
 
 Engagements of any kind annoyed him ; but none 
 alarmed him so much as engagements to perform a 
 given amount of work. All that he has said in his 
 story of the " Lost Poet " he felt so bitterly, that I con- 
 sider that period of his life one of more cruel trial and 
 of greater peril than he ever encountered at any other 
 time. And yet; the poet who so dreaded the lightest 
 bond allowed himself constantly to be entangled by 
 enthusiasm, by weakness in the presence of importu- 
 nity, by imprudence, and maladministration of his 
 affairs. He gave his signature only too many times, and 
 often to people less obliging than the manager of the 
 " Revue." His self-styled friends occasioned him more 
 than one sleepless night. 
 
 All characters abound in contradictions. When Mus- 
 set consented to have a housekeeper to manage his 
 bachelor establishment, he told her that he should not 
 keep her three months ; but she stayed with him as long as 
 he lived. Scarcely was he installed in his rooms on the 
 Rue Mont Thabor, and still in debt for his furniture, when 
 there was offered him a fine copy by Carle Vanloo of a 
 Giorgione in the Louvre, "Le Concert ChampStre." 
 The picture was not dear, and the opportunity was 
 precious. He took it on a four months' credit, brought
 
 3io Biography of Alfred de Musset* 
 
 it home in triumph, and hung it on his dining-room wall, 
 saying to his housekeeper, who was by no means de- 
 lighted with the acquisition, "Put my plate opposite 
 that picture, and take one dish off my bill of fare. I 
 shall always like my dinner -well enough." 
 
 The Duchesse de Castries twice wished him to marry. 
 The person whom she selected first was a very fine 
 woman ; but Alfred was then much too young and showed 
 little zeal in the matter. The second parti pleased him 
 immensely; but he was brave enough to surmount his 
 inclinations, and to raise objections which were found 
 just and reasonable. Once again, I do not know in 
 what year, Chenevard said to him carelessly, between 
 two games of chess, 
 
 " If, by chance, you should want a wife, come to me. 
 I can point one out who will suit you." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Alfred. " Who is she ? " 
 
 "I have lately," replied Chenevard, "become ac- 
 quainted with M. Melesville. This morning I called 
 there, and was shown into the drawing-room. A most 
 charming young girl invited me to sit down until her 
 father should come. I had never seen her before, and 
 I was smitten with her beauty and her pleasing and in- 
 telligent air. She is a brunette with large black eyes. 
 Her father is the best man alive; They are a family of 
 intellect and taste. It occurred to me at once that she 
 would be an excellent match for you, and I resolved 
 that I would mention it. There is my proposition. You 
 
 can think it over." 
 
 * 
 
 They discussed the matter as they sat, and to such 
 good purpose that the two arrived at a fixed intention of
 
 Biography of Alfred de M us set. 3 1 1 
 
 marriage. Alfred was particularly fond of large black 
 eyes and brunette beauties. He had had but little inter- 
 course with M. Melesville since the days of our stay at 
 Auteuil; but that little had been friendly and based 
 upon mutual esteem. He remembered having seen this 
 young girl- play a part with great spirit in a little society 
 comedy, and he knew that she was full of talent and 
 perfectly well bred. His poet's imagination instantly 
 took fire. Chenevard, in whom he had confidence, reit- 
 erated that M. Melesville was the best and simplest- 
 hearted man in the world, with patriarchal manners, 
 who owed his own fortune to his own talent, and would 
 be sure to rate talent above wealth. One would like to 
 marry just for the sake of having such a father-in-law. 
 All possible advantages seemed to be united, and it only 
 remained to decide what steps to take. Alfred, already 
 devoured by impatience, sought a pretext for renewing 
 his acquaintance with M. Melesville and calling at the 
 house ; since he would hardly be believed if he said that 
 he was in love with the young lady without knowing her, 
 and he did not wish to plunge like a notary directly into 
 the question of figures. Chenevard soon found the 
 wished-for excuse. " You will go," he said, " to M. Meles- 
 ville, and propose to co-operate with him about a play. It 
 will not be hard for you to think out the plot of a comedy. 
 Armed with this plot, you will introduce yourself: you 
 will work with the father; you will chat with the daugh- 
 ter. When you have had time to discover her wit and her 
 graces, you will appoint me your ambassador. I shall be 
 the bearer of proposals. They will be favorably received, 
 and you will make a regular comic-opera marriage."
 
 312 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 Alfred was enchanted with the project, and immedi- 
 ately adopted it. The subject which he thought of for 
 his drama was the Arabian tale of the magnanimous 
 Noureddin, which he proposed to weave into a comic 
 opera. Mile. Melesville's name was Laure, and she 
 had an album of drawings. Chenevard, who also was 
 full of dreams about the projected marriage, thought he 
 would offer the maiden a pencil-sketch. He took his 
 subject from Petrarch's sonnets, and represented the 
 first meeting between the great poet and Laura de Noves, 
 giving the features of Petrarch and Laura some resem- 
 blance to those of Alfred de Musset and Mile, de Mdles- 
 ville. When the sketch was finished, he employed the 
 suitor to add to it a French translation of the four lines 
 which had suggested its subject. Alfred, accordingly, 
 wrote underneath the drawing the following quatrain 
 imitated from the twelfth sonnet of Petrarch, 
 
 " Be"nis soient le moment, et 1'heure, et la journe'e, 
 Et le temps et les lieux, et le mois de 1'anne'e, 
 Et la place che'rie ou dans mon triste coeur 
 Pe'ne'tra de ses yeux la charmante douceur ! " * 
 
 This done, Chenevard proceeded to M. Melesville's 
 in the character of a scout, to reconnoitre the ground, 
 and offer his drawing enriched by an autograph. At the 
 first mention of the young girl's name, he was informed 
 that she was promised to M. Vander Vleet, and that the 
 marriage would soon take place. Thus ended the little 
 intrigue. Alfred did not renounce it without regret. 
 
 l " Blessed be the moment, the hour, the day, the season, the place, the 
 month of the year, and the beloved spot where the charming sweetness of 
 her eyes penetrated my sorrowful heart."
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 313 
 
 Serious folk may smile at so very slight an outline of a 
 romance; but I cannot help thinking that, if the scheme 
 had been successful, the poet might have been living 
 now. Once brought under the omnipotent influence of 
 a beautiful and clever woman whom he loved, and who 
 was worthy of his love, Alfred would have been the 
 truest, happiest, and most correct of husbands. He had 
 a reverence for plighted faith, and his independent spirit 
 could have been made perfectly to conform to duties in 
 whose performance lay the security for his happiness. A 
 congenial marriage would have saved him. 
 
 Years and experience had no power to chill the heart 
 of Alfred de Musset. On the contrary, his susceptibili- 
 ties continued to grow keener as long as he lived. He 
 was a prey to agitations, anxieties, and perpetual emo- 
 tion. He felt an incessant need of free and confidential 
 communication, either with his brother or his uncle 
 Desherbiers. He detained us by his fireside, and we 
 could no more resolve to tear ourselves away than he 
 could suffer us to go. When he was in one of his 
 feverish moods, one had to enter into all his feelings, 
 and become dubious, dejected, wrathful, and tender by 
 turns. This violent spiritual exercise, these contradic- 
 tory emotions of a soul singularly sensitive and mobile, 
 were sometimes fatiguing to those about him ; but there 
 blended with such fatigue an indescribable charm. Pas- 
 sion and exaggeration are contagious. We were carried 
 away in spite of ourselves, tormented, exalted! And 
 we came back again and again, as to an indulgence 
 from which we could not refrain, to be tormented and 
 exalted anew. Who will give me back that agitated
 
 314 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 life, those hours of delicious anguish ? Ah, well ! 
 for forty years at least, I revelled in the intimate knowl- 
 edge of that great mind, and the riches of that sincere 
 affection. 
 
 It is said that there are geniuses who do not know 
 that they are such. I do not believe it. Correggio him- 
 self, simple-hearted as he was, did not long remain in 
 that state of ignorance. Alfred de Musset, the most 
 modest of poets, knew better than any one else the 
 strength and weakness of each of his own works, and 
 he judged them as soundly as if they had been another's. 
 Those of his writings which he rated highest are the 
 second volume of poems, the " Fils du Titien," " Loren- 
 zaccio," and " Carmoisine." 
 
 It is to be regretted that, in France, poetical gifts can- 
 not be a source of fortune. The " Caprice " alone was 
 worth more to the author in money than all his other 
 works put together. Stendhal, who was very fond of 
 Alfred de Musset, amused himself one day with com- 
 puting how much Alfred's poetry brought him by the 
 line. He took the number of the " Revue " which con- 
 tained " Rolla," and the result of their calculations was 
 the modest sum of sixty centimes. Stendhal then opened 
 the poems of Lord Byron, and taking for a point of 
 comparison "Tasso's Lament," for which Mr. Murray 
 payed three hundred guineas, he found that the English 
 publisher had given his author more than a guinea and 
 a half a line. Stendhal exclaimed upon the difference as 
 scandalous and disgraceful to France. 
 
 "But, before you fly into a rage," said Alfred, "you 
 had better consider whether there is not a correspond-
 
 Biography of Alfred de Mi is set. 315 
 
 ing difference in the quality of Lord Byron's verses and 
 mine. Perhaps they paid me enough." 
 
 " I will never allow that," replied Stendhal. 
 
 If Lord Byron, with his well-known character, had not 
 been a peer of England ; but if, instead, he had been no 
 richer than the French poet, and had received but five 
 hundred francs for his poems where he did receive five 
 thousand, life would have been impossible to him upon 
 such conditions. 
 
 As he said himself in his lines to Mme. Ristori, 
 Alfred de Musset had a heart ever prompt to answer 
 the appeal of genius. We know the immortal homage 
 which he paid to M. de Lamartine. He also admired 
 Beranger, but could not understand why a gifted poet 
 should voluntarily restrict himself to the narrow limits 
 of the song. He blamed him for having weighted 
 himself with the often painful shackles of a refrain, and 
 for having dragged about his whole life long the ball of 
 the faridondaine)- But he was not one of those who 
 have excused themselves from doing justice to the noble 
 character of Beranger by calling his disinterestedness 
 coquetry. 
 
 It was not by accident that the author of the " Pense'es 
 de Raphael " spoke of Shakspeare and Racine meet- 
 ing upon the table. He professed an equal admiration 
 for these two so diverse geniuses. In the fervor of 
 youth, he preferred the former ; but ripe reflection 
 taught him the full value of the second. When he found 
 in Racine a strong and impassioned expression, he ex- 
 
 1 Say the "ding-dong bell;" any merely sonorous and unmeaning 
 burden. TR.
 
 316 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 claimed that it was as fine as Shakspeare ; and if he 
 found, in the English poet, a great thought clothed in a 
 pure and irreproachable form, he compared it to the 
 poetry of Racine. One of the things which he liked best 
 was a certain exclamation of Phedra's, which illustrates 
 by its very grotesqueness the bewilderment of one sick 
 at heart, 
 
 " Ariane, ma soeur ! de quel amour blesse'e, 
 
 Vous mourutes aux bords oil vous futes laissde?" 1 
 
 When Rachel breathed out that strange and unlooked- 
 for lament, Alfred buried his face in his hands pale with 
 emotion. 
 
 I will not say that naturalness was the quality which 
 charmed him most: but, rather, that it was for him an 
 indispensable quality ; and if its presence could not save 
 a book from being mediocre, or even bad, no conceiv- 
 able beauty could atone for its absence. For this rea- 
 son the letters of Mme. de Sevigne' did not please him. 
 He detected in them at times a something artificial and 
 affected, a suspicion that they would be shown to other 
 persons beside her to whom they were addressed. 
 
 The abuse of adjectives, upon which he had animad- 
 verted so comically in his letters from Ferte sous Jouarre, 
 continued to be one of his pet antipathies. One day in 
 1833, a beautiful romance of which all the world was 
 talking, and which contained a new revelation of genius 
 fell into his hands before he had made the acquaintance 
 of the author. He enjoyed the book, but found things 
 
 1 " O ! my sister Ariadne, by what love wounded didst thou die on the 
 shore where thou wast abandoned? "
 
 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 317 
 
 in it to criticise. Struck with its abuse of adjectives, he 
 took a pencil and erased as he read, all the useless 
 epithets, parasitic clauses, and other superfluities. The 
 first chapter of the novel thus chastened and corrected, 
 is infinitely more natural and pleasanter to read than 
 the original, and the reading of it conveys an excellent 
 lesson. 1 
 
 In none of his works either in prose or verse, not 
 even in his critical articles, did Alfred de Musset ever 
 employ the first person plural. This manner of speak- 
 ing, which is supposed to be modest, seemed to him, on 
 the contrary, pretentious. Except in newspapers, where 
 the writer who wields the pen may be considered as ex- 
 pressing the views of the other editors along with his 
 own, he never liked any one to say we in place of /, and 
 when he encountered that hackneyed idiom, he would 
 say laughingly, "I did not know before that the author 
 was king of France and Navarre." 
 
 The poet of " Namouna," and the " Spanish Tales," 
 often smiled at the futile attempts of his copyists, for 
 never was poetry more imitated than his. " The rash 
 creatures do not know," he used to say, "how much 
 good-sense one needs in order to dispense with common- 
 sense. But good-sense, tact, wit, and imagination are 
 all in vain, if one have not especially and above all a 
 great deal of heart. Fancy is the most perilous of all 
 marks of talent. The ablest are led astray by it like 
 school-boys, if they make it a matter of the head alone. 
 Those who feel truly and keenly may give themselves 
 up to the dangerous delight of letting their thought run 
 
 1 I still possess this curious copy of " Indiana." P. M.
 
 318 Biography of Alfred de Musset. 
 
 wild, knowing that the heart will follow it step by step. 
 But people who lack heart are invariably swamped by 
 their fancy, if they have any. Once launched on their 
 voyage, they can anchor to nothing, because they have 
 no fixed point in their own souls." 
 
 Up to his latest day, Alfred de Musset read all that 
 appeared, and wanted to know and appreciate all. He 
 paused, well pleased, over a new idea, however trivial. 
 His memory retained a pleasing verse, a passage contain- 
 ing a just sentiment, an ingenious reflection, or an origi- 
 nal expression ; and, caring little whether the author had 
 a reputation or no, he quoted freely what struck him as 
 unusual. He suspected books made out of other books, 
 and preferred himself to apply at the original sources of 
 information rather than trust to interpretations. 
 
 But I see that I am being carried away beyond the 
 proper limits of my subject. If I were to collect the 
 literary judgments and opinions of Alfred de Musset 
 on the men and things of this and previous ages, I 
 should have to make another book. It is time to pause, 
 in spite of the recollections which come crowding into 
 my mind. May it but seem to the passionate admirers 
 of the poet that I have attained the end proposed, 
 that of making the man known. To them alone is this 
 notice dedicated. I have written with no other purpose 
 than the desire to be exact, with no guide save my re- 
 grets, with \\vfixed point in my soul save my love for the 
 brother whose untimely death has left a void in my life 
 which nothing can fill. 
 
 THE END.
 
 1 C\ o r. Q 
 
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