THE PLAYER AND THE PLAY-WRIGHT.

A SCENE AT THE FRENCH THEATRE IN 1772.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.

IN the year 1772 I was an editor; the greater without Le Suborneur, or Le Suborneur without number of literary characters thus begin or finish their career. My periodical was L'Année Littéraire, a work which, in public esteem, rivalled the renown of the old Mercure de France. Of course I had free admission to all the theatres of Paris. I studied deeply the art of dramatic criticism, and theatrical amateurs eagerly read the opinions of L'Année on the drama, both in literature and acting.

"Billard," I exclaimed, "is it thou, my friend? I caricature than when I had last seen him, and the am delighted at seeing thee." mania which absorbed all his thoughts, was more troublesome and fatiguing to every one who came near him.

We will read it," said I, hindering him from untying his bundle of manuscript, "at a proper time and place. I shall be able to introduce it to M. Préville,

Now it was not very easy to remember Billard who owes some obligations to me as editor."

“Préville!" exclaimed Billard, "that proud tyrant | ment himself at this hour. Ask those who have heard them, and they will tell the excellent things he ha lost?"

to unknown authors. No, my friend, he and I are already at war.”

"How," I replied, "have you contrived already to make an enemy of the critic of the committee, whose word is fame or oblivion to author or actor? of what imprudence you have been guilty!"

"You never can guess the origin of this quarrel; so you shall hear it. As soon as I arrived in Paris, by advice of my great literary friend, M. Bauvin, author of the Cheruscans—”

"M. Préville's taste is not regulated by that of his lackeys,' returned Ponteuil, sticking his hand in his waistcoat with the impertinent air of the petit-maître marquis he plays in a farce- and no one whose origin was not from some country mud-heap, but would know more of life and manners!'

“In the country,' replied I, getting angry, at least we have better manners than to break an appoint

"Will you be exact in keeping an appointment in the Champs Elysées to-morrow morning, at eight precisely?'

Yes, monsieur,' I said, and if M. Préville comes with you, he will see reason to regret having put off this reading.'

"I took my manuscript with his introduction to this M. Préville, who received me with the air of a Mæcenas, and encouraged me with the greatest promises. There I also saw a young coxcomb called Ponteuil, the youngest son of an author of that name; this youth, spoiled by the favor of Préville, and puffed up by his "But it was evidently not reading, but fighting, that little talent, gave himself the most supercilious airs-Ponteuil wanted with you," said I, interrupting Bilbut like master like man!"

"Ponteuil plays this very evening the part of the Earl of Essex for the first time," said I; " we consider him a very promising young man, full of enthusiasm for his art-he will get on."

"For all that, he is the most insolent of theatrical pretenders, and to him I owe the destruction of my hopes of Préville's assistance; you must know, Pré. ville had made an appointment with me this afternoon for the reading of my piece. I went punctually at the hour named, and was received by five lackeys in livery, who informed me that their master having staid up all night at a petit-souper given by a duchess, who was a friend of his, had laid down to take an hour's repose before the fatigues of the evening, and was then asleep; and that M. Ponteuil, who had been engaged to the reading, was in his dressing-room, and could not be disturbed. As Préville was at home, I thought I would take the chance of his awaking and hearing the piece; and that no time might be lost, I proposed to the valets and footmen, that while they were waiting, they might as well hear Le Suborneur, and as they were used to the theatre, they could give their opinions: to do them justice, they seemed both pleased and flattered by, the proposal, and never would I wish for a more liberal or enthusiastic audience. They clapped, they applauded, they laughed in the proper places, and every thing went on in the most satisfactory manner till the close of the third act, when a happy expression produced such a burst of applause, that Ponteuil opened the door and put in his head to learn what the uproar was about which had disturbed him from his nap. He stood astonished when he saw how we were employed, and made an exclamation of surprise. I instantly ceased declaiming, and said in the politest manner, Monsieur, you come in a happy moment, and if you will sit down, I will just run over the two first acts which will bring you to the passage which has produced all this enthusiasm.'

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'Monsieur,' he replied, in a rude, blunt manner, 'you may go and bellow your verses elsewhere, without breaking our rest.'

"Truly!' said I. 'M. Préville made the appoint

lard.

"M. Préville, whose apartment was farther from the scene of action, was roused by our angry voices; he came into the hall, and the whole scene was related to him by his favorite, with the most impertinent exaggerations; one player took the part of the other, and after receiving a thousand affronts, I left Préville with my Suborneur unread."

This misfortune is almost irreparable," I observed, when he had finished; “you have brought the whole nest of theatrical hornets about your ears, and your piece, even if fit for representation, has no chance of a hearing."

"Parbleu!" cried Billard, "I will forthwith appeal to the public, and they shall learn how authors are treated by the jealous insolence of these mock kings and heroes."

Thinking but of one way of appealing to the publicthrough the pages of some popular journal, I replied, "I will avenge thee of Ponteuil as much as justice will permit an editor. He wants to be taken down a little, and the pen shall chastise him if he is beneath the sword; but take care of yourself, and do not provoke Préville through him, for he is powerful at court through the favor of some ladies of quality who patronize him, and if incensed, he can get a lettre-decachet against any one who offends him."

While I was giving these prudent instructions, Billard was meditating an escape from my quarters, which he found too rational an atmosphere for the plan he was meditating. The musicians having tuned their instruments, were striking those three solemn preparatory notes which, by ancient custom from time immemorial, preface the overture, when muttering a hasty adieu, Billard of a sudden removed himself to a considerable distance from me.

The next thing he did was to skip over into the orchestra, where he mounted a bench with his open, manuscript in his hand. The pit, always whimsical and curious, and diverted by the odd gesticulations of Billard, desired the musicians to cease, that they might hear what the orator had to say.

at having obtained this attention, "my name is Billard, | in his study, reads a letter which he has just written. I am the son of a citizen of Nanci, I have come to Now listen-" Paris to indulge my love for the drama by studying the chef-d'œuvre of our great poets, and to get on the stage a comedy I have written▬▬”

Not a bit did the self-satisfied orator heed this whole- Ponteuil, who steadily refused the humiliating apology some remonstrance.

"Messieurs, the parterre," said Billard, obtaining a hearing by his gesticulations, "I am concerned at depriving you of the fine verses of a tragedy by Corneille, represented as the hero is by my sworn enemy, the Sieur Ponteuil. But give him, by your kindness in listening to an unknown author, a lesson of forbearance; and not him only, but the Sieur Préville, whose inso-outrage always considered in a most serious light under lent manners he successfully copies. Now, listen to the Suborneur, a piece in five acts, in verse. Act the first-scene the first-"

probation from the pit, those of the gallery who had brought their suppers in their pockets, used them as projectiles against the object of popular disapprobation, and never was actor the aim of so many apples, baked and raw, as the Earl of Essex was that night. All these missiles were accompanied with demands for Billard and his Suborneur, and reproaches for having deprived the audience of their superior attractions. Poor Ponteuil, when he was marched off to death, would have preferred a real execution to facing the infuriated audience any longer.

are coming to brilliant passages, when I shall expect you will show your judgment by well-timed applause." His military audience, now better understanding how they were to earn their six-franc pieces, began to applaud with such earnestness at the close of every speech, that their approbation soon added the sergeantmajor to the company, who entered the room to know what had occasioned so much noise.

the suffrage of your judgment against the unjust decision of the players."

"I have been examining witnesses," said the sergeant-major, not paying the slightest heed to this harangue, “and I find that it is only too true that you have actually drawn your sword against his Majesty's guard; your affair will be an awkward one, without you can offer the most unexceptionable guarantees. And as it is, I find I must take you at once to Fortl'Evêque."

Monsieur, you are come at a happy moment," said Billard, whose eyes were animated by the hopes of a fifth auditor; "I am reading to your soldiers to Meantime his adversary, Billard, had been tied like a keep them awake, and I find them perfectly of the malefactor; and in this state, choked with anger, which opinion of M. Bauvin, the celebrated author of the he could only express by the most ridiculous grimaces Cheruscans, as to its merits. I have great confidence and contortions, he was brought before the serjeant-in your discrimination, and shall be delighted to add major, and his sword, broken in half, was exhibited as evidence of his pugnacious intentions, by the corporal, against whom he had drawn it. I followed them, and tried to represent the excited state of my eccentric friend; but the sergeant referred me to the commissary, and put Billard and his manuscript, to which he had clung with instinctive pertinacity, into the prison of the guard-room for the night, and there my poor friend was enclosed with four soldiers of the guard, who were to watch all night, and see that he did not make his escape. Billard did not long give way to regret for this exercise of despotic power, which had deprived him of the most numerous audience that was ever disposed to listen to the reading of a manuscript; and his ingenuity, ever on the stretch to obtain for his Suborneur new auditors, soon began to speculate on the possibility of finding listeners in his guards. The moment this notion possessed him, he addressed the soldiers, who had ranged themselves with military precision before the door of the apart

ment.

"My friends, although I am neither thief nor traitor, still it is possible that I may be detained a good while in your company. Fortunately I have the means with me of enlivening the monotony of our confinement, and I am willing to make you judges of the shameful conduct of the players who have refused my piece Lend an ear, therefore, to the recital of my excellent comedy of the Suborneur, and I promise you each a crown piece of six francs if you applaud in the proper places."

The French guards, who were aware that there is no exception against hearing manuscripts in the articles of war, signified that they were willing to earn the promised reward, and Billard began to read Le Suborneur, to which the soldiers listened with the profoundest military gravity, notwithstanding the little author leaped, bawled, and gesticulated before them with as much vivacity as his state of personal restraint would admit; and, altogether, he must have been a sight to have moved a monk of La Trappe to laughter. Billard was, however, somewhat perplexed by the immobility of his public, when he stopped to examine the effect his first scene had on their features.

"Well," said he, "what do you think of my opening? The versification no doubt astonishes you, for I am astonished at it myself. The plot is now opened, and no longer requires such profound attention; we

"I will go wherever you please, Mr. Sergeant, if you will permit me to finish this very interesting reading; to which I hope you will do me the honor of giving your undivided attention."

How Billard and his guard would have settled this point I cannot assert, for at that moment M. le Commissaire, to whom I had been referred, and who had been listening to the account I had given him of my friend's dramatic mania, entered with me, just as Billard was recommencing reading the Suborneur.

"You have now proof of what I have been telling you," said 1; " you see he is proceeding in the same manner as he did at the theatre; it is the harmless delusion of a man too enthusiastically addicted to letters. I can assure you that M. Billard is of an excellent family among the opulent bourgeoise; he can find ten responsible sureties if needed, and the testimony-"

"Of M. Bauvin, the celebrated author of the Cheruscans," added Billard, flourishing his manuscript; "he always prophesied that the Suborneur would make a great noise; but I am delighted to see the circle of my auditors so much increased; we will now make ourselves comfortable, and, with the leave of messieurs the guard, I will begin over again; every plaudit you give me, will be a reproach to the players."

"We shall see to-morrow," observed the commissaire in a tone that admitted of no dispute," the view taken of this affair by the king and Madame du Barry; if one may believe the report of the theatre, this uproar, so near to them, will be taken very heinously. At all events, I had better take this madman to the prison of Fort-l'Evêque."

The next day I found that the court friends of Ponteuil and Préville had exerted themselves against the poor theatrical enthusiast, and giving a malicious turn to my representations to the commissaire, had sent the

unfortunate comic author and his manuscript of the harboring either wife, child, cat, dog, or bird! See Suborneur to the madhouse of Charenton.

CHAPTER II.

A MORNING VISITER.

1 DID not relax in my endeavors to procure the release of my old school-fellow from a prison so degrading to an author, who had given to a dramatic writer an auditory of mad folk. M. de Sartines, to whom I had recourse, assured me that a little course of medicine was deemed salntary by the physicians of the establishment; that Billard was sub nitting to it with great composure, and that he would be released as soon as the course was completed. Préville, to whom I made a visit of conciliation, pretended to condole with me on the sad situation of my friend, but he begged to rest neuter in an affair with which his name had been already compromised, for he could not take part against his protégé, Ponteuil. Piqued at all this hypocrisy, and not knowing what sufferings were being inflicted on the harmless Billard, I had recourse to my pen, and placing the whole affair in a light which threw great ridicule on the pompous insolence of the players, in which I did not forget the pretension of the grazioso Préville, when I lashed the self-sufficiency of his pupil and protégé. This article appeared in the next sheet of the Année Littéraire, and made a great noise in all the saloons and literary reunions in Paris.

I had written the sheet under the effervescence of the moment, and had perhaps been severer than was usual to my pacific habits; but, like most writers for the public press, I had forgotten the criticism as soon as printed. My literary gazette appeared once every ten days, and in the mean time I had plunged over head and ears into my favorite pursuit, which was antiquarian historical reading.

At that time I was completely absorbed in reading "The Art of Verifying Dates," and had sat up over this book several nights till three o'clock in the morning. This morning, instead of going to bed, I had fallen fast asleep over my book; but my lamp, as if to reproach my laziness, had out-watched me, and was still burning. Day had just dawned in my study, and discovered the literary confusion with which I sat surrounded; here a book was open, and there a book closed; some lying on the floor, and some on couches or chairs, when I was awoke by a most furious knocking at my door. Starting up in a hurry, I overset my lamp upon a volume of the History of France and the Gauls. This catastrophe reduced me to despair; I gazed on the oil spreading over the leaves of the hitherto spot less folio, and I even staunched its progress with my tongue, heedless of the vigorous bangs with which my door was assailed, which seemed as if the ancient catapult, belier, and balista, had all been brought to bear upon it.

“Here," I soliloquized, "is a misfortune!" at the same time shaking my head. "Fearful of similar accidents, I have refrained from domesticating and

what an unwary minute may do! Alas! these learned Benedictine authors are here seasoned like a salad! Reverend Dom Bouquet, Dom Poiriers, and Dom Precieux, what has befallen you? Miserere!"

"Monsieur," said the thunderer at the door, reply. ing through the keyhole to my lamentation over the works of the holy fathers, "you may well betake you to your prayers and litanies, and I hope your second and arms are ready."

"Whoever you be," I said, about to open the door, "you have been the cause of the most unfortunate accident. I had rather you had broken my head or

arms."

"And that I am both willing and able to do forthwith," rejoined my visiter, through the keyhole, “and not half your deserts either, for I say you are a fool and an insolent ass."

This preamble was couched in a style even to astonish a bibliopolist. I forgot at once the oil-spotted folio of the injured Benedictines and my natural placidity, and seizing from among my collection a rusty partizan, which had played its part in the day of St. Bartholo mew, I threw open the door, when lo! my calumniator through the keyhole stood revealed in the person of M. Ponteuil. I then remembered my review in the Année Littéraire-but I stood my ground.

In truth, the Sieur Ponteuil was an Achilles who might have daunted a more robust Hector than myself. His stature was lofty, his shoulders broad, and he had the majestic air of a Roman emperor; fine teeth, large black eyes, brown curls, and handsome hands, made him the Adonis as well as the Achilles of the theatre, and contributed at once to his success and to his overweening conceit of himself.

Monsieur," said I, with the calmness of a philosopher, "you see this partizan, (which you must not confound with a halberd, whose name is derived from a tool to bore holes,) it is yet crusted with the blood of the Huguenots massacred at Paris in the month of August, An. Dom. 1572; I use it but in self-defence were you thrice a heretic, and never without giving an opportunity of explanation. You were talking to yourself through my keyhole just now, I am willing to believe?"