THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
MEMOIRS OF BERANGER. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST & BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSOES TO HENET COLBUEN, 
 13, GREAT MARLB0R0U(3tH STREET. 
 
 1858. 
 
 The English Copyright of this work is the propeity of the Publishers. 
 
FQxns 
 
 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Of what importance is it to great poets that 
 the history of their lives should be transmitted 
 to posterity ? Their life is entirely involved 
 in the duration of their works : and the traditions 
 and legends with which, in the dearth of posi- 
 tive information, the people surround the cradle or 
 the tomb of their favourite bards, rather add to their 
 renown. 
 
 A song-writer, who is the echo — more or less faith- 
 ful — of his age, cannot indulge in the hope of any 
 such posthumous glory. If his songs peradventure 
 survive himself a few years, the following generation 
 may be unable to comprehend them, unless they 
 have complete information of all the circumstances in 
 
2 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 which their author was placed, and of the individual 
 sentiments by which he was more immediately in- 
 spired. 
 
 The friends who exerted all their influence in en- 
 deavouring to persuade me to compose and bequeath 
 to the world these personal memoirs, have frequently 
 addressed me in the manner I have stated : and my 
 answer, for a long time, has invariably been, " Of 
 what value is the history of a man who has occupied 
 no distinguished position in an age when so many 
 have been persuaded of their own importance ?" But 
 they uniformly rephed, " Your biography, written by 
 yourself, may become the most faithful commentary 
 of your songs." 
 
 My indisposition to the task was at last overcome 
 by their persuasions ; and in this biography I consign 
 to posterity a considerable number of personal recol- 
 lections. It is requisite, however, to warn the 
 reader, that, although the period of my life runs con- 
 temporary with the most important events of an 
 epoch which has produced and witnessed so many, I 
 make no pretensions to extend my narrative, and the 
 reflections by which it is accompanied, beyond the 
 sphere which my career, as a song-writer, naturally 
 indicates and confines me to. As my mind was 
 constantly pre-occupied with the interests of my 
 country, above all other objects of consideration, I 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 3 
 
 have, doubtless, been led to meditate profoundly upon 
 several questions of a general nature. Naturally 
 inclined to view things in their political relations 
 and aspects, 1 may often have expressed my opinion 
 of enterprises of more or less importance ; but in 
 such a delineation of my life as this is intended to be, 
 I must confine myself as strictly as possible to facts 
 that have reference to myself alone — facts it may be 
 of but little consequence, and no doubt often very 
 common-place. As regards that share of personal 
 influence I have exercised in active political life, 
 I must refer to what the historians may be disposed 
 to say of it, should my readers consider it suf- 
 ficiently interesting to follow its traces in the 
 most recent events of which France has been the 
 theatre. 
 
 In perusing these recollections, the reader will ob- 
 serve that my contemplative character has, in most in- 
 stances, confined me to the role of a passive spectator. 
 When, at fifty years of age, I was brought within a 
 near view of power, I only bestowed upon it a passing 
 attention, just as in the indigent period of my youth I 
 found amusement in looking on the green cloth, heaped 
 with gold, and observing the varying chances of the 
 game — without, however, envying those who held the 
 cards. There were neither contempt nor prudence 
 on my part in this : I merely obeyed the humour of 
 
 B 2 
 
4 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 the moment. The reflections with which my narra- 
 tive shall he interspersed, as it proceeds, will he the 
 exact expression of the emotions produced by an 
 existence, from which all my pleasure proceeded. I 
 leave great events and the more important narra- 
 tions of history to great men. This is merely the 
 story of a song- writer. 
 
 If it were in one's power to select the place of his 
 birth, I should certainly have chosen Paris for mine. 
 Even before the date of our great Revolution, Paris 
 was the city of liberty and equality, in which misfor- 
 tune was at all times alleviated by the greatest mani- 
 festations of sympathy. I was born here on the 
 19th of August, 1780, in the house of my grand- 
 father, Champy, by trade a tailor, in the Rue Mon- 
 tot'gueil — in which, the house is still standing at the 
 present day.* 
 
 Wh(^, knowing that the scene of my birth was in 
 one of the dirtiest and most turbulent streets of 
 Paris, could have imagined that I should so love the 
 woods, the fields, the flowers, and the birds ? 
 
 My father, who had been for some time the clerk 
 of a provincial notary, came to Paris, and made his 
 debut in this street, as book-keeper to a grocer. 
 
 * Since this was written it has been removed to make 
 room for a pare anx huitres. — Note by Beranger 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 5 
 
 Being desirous of engaging in business, he determined 
 on marriage, when nearly thirty years of age. A 
 young girl, pretty, sprightly, and of a beautiful figure, 
 passed the grocer's door every morning, on her way 
 to the Magasin de Modes, where she worked. My 
 father took a fancy to her, solicited her hand in 
 marriage, and obtained the consent of the tailor 
 Champ}', who had six other children. 
 
 ■ My grandfather bestowed no other dowry on his 
 son-in-law than that which was involved in a useful 
 relationship ; of which the latter might have taken 
 advantage. 
 
 But he was so far from doing so, that after six 
 months of marriage and prodigal expenditure, the 
 two spouses separated — my father with the in- 
 tention of proceeding to Belgium, and my mother 
 returning to her parents. The latter resumed her 
 occupation as a modiste ; and scarcely regretted the 
 absence of a husband, for whom, gay, kind, and of an 
 agreeable exterior, as he w^as, she had never ex- 
 perienced much affection. My birth had almost cost 
 my mother's life — the use of instruments having been 
 necessary, in order to facilitate my entrance into this 
 world, from which I should certainly prefer to depart 
 with less ceremony. In later times, when I suffered 
 from such a want of self-confidence as led me to appre- 
 hend ditficulties even in the most tiifling matters, I used 
 
b MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 to remark, that nothing had been easy to me, not even 
 the circumstances of my birth. 
 
 I was entrusted to the care of a nurse in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Auxerre, with whom I remained three or 
 four years ; during which time no one appears to have 
 been at all anxious to know whether I was well or 
 ill. The truth is, I was getting on remarkably 
 well. 
 
 Although my nurse had lost her milk, as we 
 were afterwards informed, and, according to the 
 custom of Burgundy, I was frequently fed on bread 
 dipped in wine, instead of bovilUe, she did not 
 on that account bring me up with less care or 
 tenderness ; and although paid with great irregu- 
 larity, it was, nevertheless, with great reluctance 
 that she restored me to my grandfather, in whose 
 care I remained till I was nearly nine years of 
 age. His wife and he had not regarded their own 
 children with much affection ; but, true to their cha- 
 racter as grand-parents, they did their utmost to spoil 
 me ; made my uncles and aunts my very humble ser- 
 vants ; and it was by no means their fault if I did not 
 then acquire the taste for an elegant and recher'che 
 appearance. As I was frequently attacked by dan- 
 gerous maladies, and subject from the earliest period 
 of childhood to the most violent headaches, I was 
 older than usual when I was lij-,st sent to a school, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 7 
 
 which was situated exactly opposite our house in the 
 impasse (blind-alley) de la Bouteille. I do not be- 
 lieve I attended more than twenty times — so cunning 
 and inventive was I in discovering pretexts for the 
 avoidance of the painful drudgery. My good grand- 
 parents imposed this duty upon me with reluctance, 
 although they had themselves a taste for reading. 
 I remember my grandmother carefully perusing 
 the romances of Prevot, and the works of Vol- 
 taire; and my grandfather commenting aloud on 
 the work of Raynal, which at that time enjoyed great 
 popularity. I may since have doubted whether my 
 kind grandmother understood much of what she read, 
 passionately addicted as she was to her books. She 
 was constantly quoting M. de Voltaire ; which, how- 
 ever did not lead her to neglect to make me join, 
 on the occurrence of the sacred ceremonies of the 
 Fete-Dieu, in the celebration of the Holy Sacra- 
 ment. 
 
 My inclination for school was never very great ; 
 my disposition rather led me to remain noiselessly in 
 a corner, to cut paper figures, or to make little 
 baskets of cherry-stones, skilfully hollowed out and 
 delicately carved ; masterpieces of art, which kept 
 me employed whole days, and excited the admiration 
 of all my relations. 
 
 My mother had, by this time, left her own family, 
 
b MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 and was now residing alone. I was in the habit of 
 going occasionally to spend a week or a fortnight 
 with her near the Temple, where her dwelling was 
 situated. These visits made me acquainted with 
 modes of hfe, which presented a strange contrast to 
 that which I had in the Rue Montorgueil. She 
 also frequently took me with her to the theatres on 
 the boulevard, to some balls, and on pleasure excur- 
 sions into the country. 
 
 I listened much, and spoke little, I learned many 
 things, but I did not learn to read. 
 
 My father, who was still separated from my mother, 
 was now residing in Anjou, and I had only seen him 
 once or twice on his occasional journeys to Paris. In 
 the beginning of the year 1789, he returned to it, and 
 it was then determined that I should be sent to school 
 in the faubourg St, Antoine, to which I was soon 
 after taken, and from the roof of which I witnessed 
 the capture of the Bastille. That memorable event 
 may be said to have embraced almost all the instruc- 
 tion I ever received there ; for, to the best of my 
 recollection, I was never taught either reading or 
 writing. I had, however, already perused the Hen- 
 riade, with notes and various readings, and a transla- 
 tion of the Jerusalem, by Mirabaud. These works 
 were the gift of an uncle, who, like my grandfather, 
 followed the business of a tailor ; and who was anxious 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 9 
 
 to inspire me with a taste for books. If it be asked, 
 how I had learned to read, I am unable to reply. 
 
 The short time that I passed in this school, im- 
 pressed on my memory the recollection of two events, 
 besides the capture of the Bastille, the circumstances 
 of which I can now retrace with pleasure. 
 
 An old man, who came to see his grandson, was a 
 frequent visitor. This youth, being the oldest pupil 
 of the school, enjoyed the privilege of a corner of the 
 garden to himself; and this little plot was adorned 
 with a green arbour — in the shade of which the old 
 man was accustomed to sit with great satisfaction. 
 I frequently made my way through the capucines and 
 sweet-scented peas, in order to look upon this venera- 
 ble octoo-enarian : whose name I had heard over and 
 over again from my schoolfellows. It was Favart, 
 the founder of the Opera Comique, and author of 
 several very successful plays, such as Annette et 
 Luhin, La Chercheuse d'Esprit, and Les Trois 
 Sultanes. So pleasing is this recollection to me, 
 that even at the present day I am anxious to discover 
 the circumstances or the impressions which led me, 
 ignorant and uninstructed as I was, to remain so 
 long gazing with curious interest on that old poet, 
 whose talent and reputation I was quite unable to 
 appreciate. 
 
 Could it be the instinct of my future destiny which 
 
10 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 attracted me to this author of so many of the 
 lyrics generally sung throughout the country — to 
 this Favart who, when speaking of his dramatic 
 journeys in the train of camps and armies, used 
 to say — " The Marechal de Saxe had appointed me 
 the song-writer of the army." 
 
 My second recollection is of a very different nature. 
 Among the pupils were several children of Grammont, 
 a tragic actor of the Theatre Francais. I can still 
 see the youngest dressed in a red tunic — one of the 
 discarded heroic garments of his father. With w^hat 
 delight I would listen to him, when he declaimed 
 before us the part of Joas, which he had been already 
 taught to play ! I had formed an intimate friendship 
 with this pupil, because he was of a mild and tranquil 
 character — which harmonized with my own dreamy 
 listlessness. With the elder Grammont, a boy of at 
 least fifteen years of age, my relations were not so 
 agreeable. I regarded him with extreme terror, 
 in consequence of the bad treatment which he was 
 never weary of inflicting upon me. Fortunately, our 
 encounters were very rare — he belonged to the class 
 of big boys : I was one of the little. I afterwards 
 conceived some suspicion as to the cause of the 
 aversion with which he regarded me. 
 
 I was favoured with the protection of a relative of 
 my grandfather, who had long known our school- 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 11 
 
 master, the Abbe . In the hope of pleasing my 
 
 cousin, the subordinates of the school pampered and 
 indulged me ; and thanks to my frequent headaches, 
 I was often allowed to absent myself from class. A 
 favour of this description naturally rendered me an 
 object of envy; and on the day of an important cere- 
 mony, Grammont found an opportunity of indulging 
 his hatred. It was the occasion on which prizes 
 were distributed to the pupils ; I had not the slightest 
 claim to any myself, and I saw them conferred on 
 younger fellow pupils without a single feeling of envy 
 or regret. I was quite satisfied to be passed over : 
 when — had I not what I must call the remarkable 
 misfortune to be presented with the croix de sagesse ; 
 the eternal lot of college boobies? — to be candid, 
 I had certainly some right to it, as I was neither 
 given to play, nor insubordinate, nor noisy. 
 
 But the pupils did not fail to shout haro sur le 
 baudet ! This, however, did not prevent my being 
 decorated with the cursed cross. But if any feeling 
 of pride was conceived on this account, it was of 
 short continuance. That very day, when the pupils 
 of all ages who had not yet been removed by their 
 relatives for the vacation, were assembled in the 
 play-ground, I was standing at the raiUng which 
 separated us from the street, eying the stalls of 
 cakes and fruit which were stationed there to tempt 
 
12 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 the meagre purses of the scholars. The small sums 
 which relations allow to be distributed to their children 
 under the name of semaine, or weekly money, were 
 rapidly exchanged for such sweet dainties. Alas ! 
 my only pleasure was to be a witness of the enjoy- 
 ment of others — for I had no semaine. An enor- 
 mous apple, with its glowing vermillion coat, particu- 
 larly excited my appetite. Child-like, I was devour- 
 ing it with my eyes, when a rude voice suddenly ex- 
 claimed, close to my ear, "Take the apple! take it ! 
 or 1 shall thrash you." It was not the old serpent 
 which tempted our first parents, but the terrible 
 Grammont. His iron hand was pressing me against 
 the railing. What feelings took possession of my 
 innocent and candid spirit ! I scarcely dared to 
 commit the act ; but terror, in conjunction with my 
 eager appetite, triumphed so completely, that I 
 yielded to the injunctions of my enemy; and, for- 
 getting the respect due to my new decoration, I trem- 
 blingly put forth my hand, and seized the fatal apple. 
 I had no sooner committed the crime than Gram- 
 mont seizes me by the collar, raises the cry of thief, 
 and holds forth the evidence of my guilt before the 
 assembled school. What a scandal ! The holder of 
 the prize for good conduct to have been betrayed into 
 the commission of so heinous a fault ! I was taken 
 into the presence of the masters ; but so great was my 
 
MY BIOGRAPHV. 13 
 
 agitation, that I neither heard nor understood the 
 sentence that was passed upon me. Doubtless, the 
 bad reputation of the accuser, who was detested both 
 by pupils and by masters, and some kind testimonies 
 in my favour, enlightened the conscience of the 
 judges. 
 
 It is certain, however, that I was obliged to give 
 up the cross — which Grammont, at the first moment, 
 had snatched from my breast. I cannot say whether 
 or not it is to this scene, which cost me many tears, 
 that I must attribute my aversion, since that period, 
 to apples, and the slight estimation in which I hold 
 crosses as emblems of merit. 
 
 How often have I, since that time, laughed, in re- 
 calling to mind this adventure of childhood. As to 
 Grammont, it were happy for him if he had con- 
 fined himself to such practical frolics. 
 
 I was informed four years later, that having be- 
 come, along with his father, one of the chiefs of the 
 revolutionary army, which covered with blood and 
 ruins the departments of the west, father and son 
 had committed so many atrocities, that the Com- 
 mittee of Public Safety, in order to make an example, 
 gave them up to the guillotine, which constantly fol- 
 lowed the army along with the baggage. 
 
 I heard of this death with terror : I hud already 
 experienced the effect which the sight of blood, shed 
 
14 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 by the hand of a murderer, had produced upon me. 
 In the month of October, 1789, on a hoHday with 
 which we had been favoured, as I was crossing the 
 street with one of my aunts, we suddenly found our- 
 selves in the midst of a crowd of men and women of 
 the most repulsive and alarming aspect. They were 
 carrying, on the points of long pikes, the heads of the 
 gardes du corps, who had been massacred at Ver- 
 sailles. This spectacle inspired me with such horror 
 that, when I now think of it, I seem to behold, in 
 imagination, one of those blood-stained heads that 
 passed quite close to me. I also regarded it as one 
 of the greatest blessings of heaven, that I was removed 
 from Paris during the Reign of Terror. 
 
 My father, who had become a notary at Durtal, 
 very soon wearied of paying my moderate school- 
 charges, and sent me to Peronne — a town in the neigh- 
 bourhood of which he was born, in a village inn — a 
 circumstance which did not prevent him making 
 great pretensions to nobility. These pretensions he 
 founded on certain family traditions ; which, in his 
 opinion justified him in conferring on me, in the 
 register of my birth, the feudal particle, which he 
 always assumed himself; and to which my mother, 
 daughter of a tailor as she was, attached no less im- 
 portance than he did. In my own justification, I 
 must state, that this was a mania of the heads of our 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 15 
 
 family. My grandfather had made the same preten- 
 sions — although he had been obliged by the state of 
 abandonment in which he was left (his father having 
 gone, under the name of Beranger de Formentel, to 
 contract a second marriage in England), to descend 
 to the condition of a publican. These aristocratic 
 ideas and pretensions are still very common in France. 
 I have known a smaU shopkeeper of Picardy who, 
 with great assurance, used to maintain that he w^as 
 allied to the house of Bourbon. That, at least, was 
 worth the cost of self-delusion ! 
 
 For my part, it was not imtil I had seen some bad 
 verses, written in my manner, which appeared in an 
 almanack, and were attributed to a M. Berenger, 
 author of the Soirees Provencales, that I determined, 
 according to the advice of Arnault, to make use of 
 the de, and to place the initials of my baptismal names 
 before my surname. In this way I showed that there 
 was a distinct difference between my signature and 
 that of several others of the name of Berenger, who 
 wrote at this period ; and one of whom, I understand, 
 had composed some verses on the birth of the King 
 of Rome, which were attributed to me in my turn. I 
 did not protest on this occasion ; but I wrote several 
 letters to the Quotidienne, in favour of the other 
 Berenger ; whom I should certainly have desired to be 
 declared innocent of my unfortunate rhymes. The 
 
16 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Quotidienne paid no regard to my testimony ; and 
 the result was, the introduction of an additional 
 particle into literature. On the occasion of the Resto- 
 ration, some friends wished that I should suppress it ; 
 but I had sufficient confidence in the strength of my 
 own principles to avoid giving evidence of them in so 
 childish a manner. My father left me, as my only 
 inheritance, a heraldic genealogy — to the support of 
 which the only things necessary were, authoritative 
 papers, historical accuracy, and moral probability. 
 
 But let us now return to my journey into Picardy. 
 It was to one of his sisters, a widow, who had no 
 children of her own, that my father, without having 
 given her any previous notice of my approach, sent 
 me off by the diligence. I see myself arriving, under 
 the direction of an old female cousin, at the little inn 
 of the £pte Royale, which was kept by my aunt in 
 one of the faubourgs of Peronne, and which consti- 
 tuted her whole possessions. I do not know her ; 
 she receives me with hesitation, reads my father's 
 letter, commending me to her care, and then address- 
 ing the cousin, says — " It is impossible for me to 
 take charge of him." This moment it still dwells 
 vividly in my recollection. My grandfather, having 
 been seized with paralysis, had retired with an insuf- 
 ficient income, and could not provide for me. My 
 father rejected the burden of my support ; and my 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. l7 
 
 mother was totally regardless of me. I was no more 
 than nine years and a half old ; but I felt that I was 
 repelled by all. What was to become of me ? Such 
 scenes quickly develop reason, and bring it to maturity, 
 even in those who are born with but the smallest germ 
 of it. 
 
 In the course of years, as I increased in growth, I 
 became very plain in appearance ; but I had been a 
 beautiful child, and I have often said to myself, that 
 I ought to bless Providence for it. This beauty, 
 which is particular to the first age of our life, might 
 exercise a great influence on its whole duration, by 
 the smiles of love and happiness with which it sur- 
 rounds us, at a period when we stand so much in 
 need of support and sympathy. I do not at all wish to 
 diminish the meritorious nature of my aunt's conduct ; 
 but as I see her in memory, she first throws a side- 
 long, hesitating glance upon me. Her hesitation 
 lasts but for a moment ; her heart is touched ; and 
 then, moved and melted by my solitary and abandoned 
 fate, she presses me in her arms, and, while the tears 
 glisten in her eyes, says, " Poor deserted child ! I will 
 be your mother !" Never was a promise more faith- 
 fully and tenderly kept ! 
 
 I had to lament, some time ago, the loss of this 
 excellent woman, who died at the age of eighty-six 
 years, after having dictated her epitaph — which was to 
 
 c 
 
18 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 this effect, '* She never was a mother, and yet she 
 has left children who weep for her." Her nephew, 
 the poet, could have found nothing hetter than this 
 to say ; but he may still be permitted to insert in 
 this place the eulogium of her who was, in every 
 respect, his true mother. Endowed by nature with a 
 superior mind, she had supphed the defects of her 
 education by serious and select reading. Inspired 
 with enthusiasm for all that was great, even in the 
 last years of her life, she continued to dwell with 
 interest on the announcement of new discoveries, the 
 progress of industry, and even the embellishment of 
 the city. As she was capable of the most sanguine 
 exaltation of temperament, the Revolution had in- 
 fluence enough to make her as ardent a republican 
 as was consistent with her humane disposition ; and 
 she was always able to associate with her patriotism 
 as a Frenchwoman, those rehgious sentiments for 
 which a feeling soul is often more indebted to its own 
 inherent nature than to early education. Such was 
 the poor aubergiste, who was burdened with the care 
 and responsibility of the second period of my child- 
 hood. Telemachus, Racine, and the dramatic works 
 of Voltaire, composed her whole library, and with 
 these she succeeded in teaching me to read ; for, 
 although I already knew almost by heart two epic 
 poems, I could read only by eye, and was incapable 
 
MY BlOGRAPHYi 19 
 
 of connecting and pronouncing even two syllables 
 aloud — having never been instructed in the value of 
 sounds in their union and harmony. At length, an 
 old schoolmaster taught me to write and to calculate 
 with greater precision than I had been able to teach 
 myself. At this point my studies were brought to 
 an end ; my aunt had not the means to procure for 
 me a more complete and brilliant course ; and, be- 
 sides, the college of Peronne was now closed. 1 had, 
 in paiticular, a very great taste for drawing, which 
 she was anxious I should cultivate ; but to this, also, 
 the amount of requisite outlay presented an insuper- 
 able obstacle. Fortunately, my moral education was 
 not interfered with by any similar cause, for which 1 
 am indebted to the lessons on all subjects that I re- 
 ceived from my aunt ; lessons which she carefully 
 adapted to my age, and to the peculiar character of 
 my intelligence, the development of which was very 
 rapid, until I had reached the age of twelve. The 
 mistress even occasionally considered it necessary to 
 have recourse to the opinion of her pupil. Thus, for 
 nearly fifty years, I have been in the habit of giving 
 counsel to others. It appears, therefore, that I was 
 destined to this foolish business — which is no more 
 advantageous to those who adopt it than to those 
 on whose behalf it is exercised. I shall, probably, be 
 asked if this precocious development of reason pre- 
 
 c2 
 
20 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 vented myself from frequently going astray. Alas ! 
 no ; but it enabled me to preserve the memory of my 
 slightest faults, and it is on that account that I am 
 happy to recall to-day without shame the lessons of 
 my instructress. 
 
 I shall now relate an incident, which will give an 
 idea of the method she so successfully employed to 
 inculcate her principles. 
 
 During the Reign of Terror, several of her friends, 
 inhabiting a neighbouring village, were arrested in 
 the middle of the night, and conducted to Peronne, 
 there to be incarcerated. In passing before our inn, 
 they were permitted to speak to my aunt. The 
 noise of this visit had not awoke me ; and in the 
 morning, without informing me of the arrests that 
 had been made, she took me with her to the town , 
 and I remarked with astonishment that she pro- 
 ceeded immediately in the direction of the prison. 
 When she was about to knock at the wicket, she 
 said to me, " My child, we are going to see some 
 worthy people, good citizens, who have been deprived 
 of their liberty, in consequence of a base and calum- 
 nious accusation. I wish to show you the persecu- 
 tions to which virtue is exposed in times of political 
 agitation." 
 
 Such lessons, communicated in so impressive and 
 practical a manner, remain profoundly impressed on a 
 young mind. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 84 
 
 Another lesson was taught me, of a totally different 
 nature. As long as the churches remained open, 
 my aunt either conducted or sent me punctually to 
 Divine service. She even made me assist in the 
 service of the mass a priest with whom she was ac- 
 quainted ; and on whom since then. Brother Jean des 
 Entomeures has often led me to think. It was neces- 
 sary, of course, to learn the Latin of the service ; but, 
 notwithstanding my excellent memory, I was never 
 able to learn Latin by heart. The consequence was 
 that, at my first communion, the cure was obliged, in 
 contempt of the canons, to allow me to say my 
 prayers in French. 
 
 To return to my apprenticeship as a child of the 
 choir, I fulfilled my duties so imperfectly — I so bungled 
 and confounded the responses — I handled the cruets 
 so awkwardly, that the abbe, who, however, ought 
 not to inspect them too narrowly, perceiving one day 
 that there did not remain a sufficient quantity of wine 
 for the consecration, discharged an epithet at me, 
 which was anything but sacramental — hastily finished 
 the mass, and made his way to the sacristy — vowing 
 that he would never again admit me to the honour of 
 serving the altar. I had no desire to return to it I 
 took much greater pleasure in listening to political 
 conversation. It is unnecessary to relate all the cir- 
 cumstances calculated to explain the manner in which, 
 
•s!^ 
 
 22 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 young as I was, I became so interested in the events 
 of our great revolution, and how mj' patriotism was 
 exalted to so lofty a pitch. 
 
 Into what a state of anxiety my aunt and I were 
 thrown by the invasion of the army of the Coalition ! 
 the advanced guards of which had penetrated beyond 
 Cambrai. Seated, in the evening, at the door of the 
 inn, we listened to the thunder of the cannon, during 
 the siege of Valenciennes, about sixteen leagues from 
 Peronne, which was attacked by the English and 
 Austrians. Every day my horror of the foreigner 
 increased more and more. With what joy, therefore, 
 I listened, when the victories of the republic were 
 proclaimed ; and when the cannon announced the re- 
 capture of Toulon, I was on the ramparts, and my heart 
 beat so violently at each discharge, that I was under 
 the necessity of sitting down on the grass, in order to 
 recover my breath. 
 
 In the present day, when patriotism slumbers in 
 France, these emotions of a child may appear strange. 
 The world will not be less surprised when I state that, 
 at sixty years of age, I still preserve this patriotic 
 exaltation ; and that it requires all that love of 
 humanity and reason, enlightened by experience, 
 which I may possess, to prevent me addressing to 
 rival nations the same maledictions, of which 1 was 
 so prodigal in the period of my youth. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 23 
 
 This sentiment so animated — animated so much 
 the more, possibly, because in the world I had early 
 learned to concentrate it in my own mind — has had, 
 like all my other sentiments, a very great influence 
 even on my literary judgments. My friends have 
 often been astonished that my appreciation of Vol- 
 taire was so limited, notwithstanding my admiration 
 of his character as a reformer, and of the wonderful 
 fertility of his powerful genius. This kind of cold- 
 ness in the appreciation of a portion of his works 
 soon became common in France, and dates from the 
 epoch when, still young, I became aware of his un- 
 just preference for foreigners. Indeed, I almost re- 
 garded him with hatred when, at a later period, I 
 read the poem in which he outrages Joan of Arc ; a 
 true patriotic divinity — who, from the days of in- 
 fancy,' has been the object of my sincere veneration. 
 I should not have dared to say this to-day if I had 
 ever insulted Napoleon, dying in captivity with the 
 EngHsh. 
 
 1 hope I may be pardoned for dwelling so much on 
 this patriotic love of country, which was the great, I 
 might almost say, the only passio.Q-of myL life. With 
 the exception of the fevers and headaches, which now 
 became more and more painful, my health did not suffer 
 from any other circumstance at Peronne, with the ex- 
 ception of one which might have put an end to every 
 
24 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 other malady. In the month of May, 1 792, 1 am stand- 
 ing on the threshold of the door, at the termination 
 of a storm ; a thunder-bolt falls, bursts, and throws 
 me to the ground, completely suffocated. A thick 
 smoke fills the house ; the interior is laid waste ; and 
 crevices are opened in the roof by the lightning. My 
 aunt, concerned only about me, when she sees me 
 extended without life, raises me up, carries me in her 
 arms, and exposes me to the air and rain. In the 
 midst of the crowd that has collected, she feels my 
 pulse, lays her hand upon my heart, looks in vain 
 for some signs of existence, and exclaims, " He 
 is dead !" I could hear her long before I could make 
 any movement or utter a single word, in order to re- 
 assure her. At length, being insensibly recalled to 
 myself, after having responded to her joyful caresses, 
 1 gave utterance to some reflection of an infant rea- 
 soner, for which she had very frequently reproached 
 me, always adding the remark, " I clearly perceive that 
 you will never be devout." I have said that she was 
 sincerely religious. On the indications of a storm 
 she sprinkled the house with holy-water, and she used, 
 to say, "This is to preserve us from the thunder." 
 When I was restored to life, and stretched upon the 
 bed of a neighbour, I got them to relate to me what 
 had happened, and then immediately exclaimed, "Well, 
 and what was the use of your holy water?" 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 25 
 
 It was long before I recovered from the terrible 
 shock I had received ; and my sight, which until then 
 had been very good, appeared to have suffered to such 
 a degree, that it was altogether out of the question to 
 realize the design which had been formed of placing 
 me as apprentice with a clockmaker : a trade which 
 had many attractions to me, and for which my ex- 
 treme dexterity rendered me suitable. Nevertheless, 
 it was necessary that I should adopt some trade ; an 
 opinion in which I was supported by a well-known 
 passage of Rousseau.* 
 
 My aunt also v;as quite aware that if I confined 
 myself to assisting her in the management of her inn, 
 my prospects for the future would by no means be 
 assured thereby. She perceived, moreover, that my 
 vanity was wounded, when circumstances rendered it 
 necessary that I should wait at table, or go to the 
 stable, and she remarked to herself that my feeble 
 constitution was not adapted to every kind of labour. 
 My first introduction to business was as a jeweller; 
 but the master with whom 1 served was a poor man, 
 who taught me only to execute a little work in 
 copper; making me spend the greater part of my 
 time in hstening to the story of his amours. 
 I, therefore, abandoned his workshop, and entered 
 
 * I wish Emilius to have a profession, &c., &c. — 
 Rousseau, — Em'de, — Note by Beranger. 
 
26 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 the office of a notary, who had become juge de 
 paix. This magistrate was a friend of my aunt, who 
 pleased him by her wit and intelligence. He showed 
 me many marks of kindness, and the recollection of 
 him must ever remain one of the most delightful 
 which I have to record of the days of my youth. 
 
 M. Ballue de Bellenglise, a zealous disciple of 
 Rousseau, and an enthusiastic partisan of the Revo- 
 lution, had been called to the Legislative Assembly. 
 When he returned to Peronne, after the term of his 
 mission had expired, he founded certain gratuitous 
 primary schools on a plan which may, probably, be 
 considered worthy of serious consideration. 
 
 M. de Bellenglise was more anxious to form men 
 than to educate savants ; and his desire and object 
 were, that the pupils should carry on the work of their 
 own discipline. The school was supposed to 
 form a little community. The pupils elected, from 
 among themselves, judges, members of districts, 
 a mayor, municipal officers, a justice of peace. These 
 officials were all required to exei'cise their functions 
 within a sphere of authority adapted to the re- 
 quirements and interests of an association of young 
 imps, the oldest of whom might, probably, be 
 about fifteen. The system included also an armed 
 force, composed of the whole body of the pupils, who 
 were divided into chasseurs, grenadiers, and artillery ; 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 2? 
 
 and who also elected their own officers. In our pro- 
 menades we carried our lances and sabres, and were 
 attended by an ammunition waggon and a small piece 
 of cannon — which was dragged after us, and in the 
 mancEuvring of which we were instructed. If our 
 supply of muskets fell short, it was because a suffi- 
 cient number had not been fabricated to provide for 
 the twelve armies by which the republic was 
 defended. 
 
 We had also a club — the meetings of which at- 
 tracted a number of the people of Peronne of all 
 ages. In respect to our studies, although our foun- 
 der was a learned Latinist, Latin was completely 
 banished from the institution ; and, notwithstanding 
 his remonstrances, we paid but little attention to the 
 instructions of an old priest who taught us grammar, 
 and for whom this establishment provided, during the 
 continuance of the revolutionary crisis, a safe and de- 
 sirable refuge. The interests of the republic had far 
 greater attractions for us than lessons in language ; 
 and as every member of my family sung, it was 
 then, doubtless, that the gift of song was awakened in 
 me. I might also have acquired the power of public 
 speaking, for I was invariably appointed the president 
 of our club, and the duty was imposed on me of pro- 
 nouncing addresses to the members of Convention, 
 who came to Peronne. Besides, in all the national 
 
38 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 ceremonies, we had our appointed place. On such 
 occasions I usually delivered an oration of my own 
 composition ; and I may add that, in times of more 
 than ordinary importance, I was appointed to draw up 
 addresses to the Convention and to Maximilian 
 Robespierre. 
 
 The intmsion of these children into the sphere of 
 high politics, and the little attention generally bestowed 
 on study, was a double inconvenience, the result of 
 the revolutionary effervescence. M. de Bellenglise 
 always gave it his strenuous opposition ; but his re- 
 monstrances were to no purpose. On the whole, how- 
 ever, it has always been my opinion, that the system 
 of education he had conceived was, fundamentally, one 
 which was in every way adapted to produce good citi- 
 zens, in a country where popular election ought to be 
 the only pivot of power. 
 
 Our Lycurgus had also extended his system to the 
 education of young girls — adapting it of course to the 
 requirements of their sex. 
 
 The inculcation of the forms and principles of that 
 society, in which they must afterwards occupy a place, 
 into the minds of children is calculated to give the 
 value, which a duration of several centuries usually 
 confers, to institutions that have but more or less re- 
 cently been developed from the principles which are 
 necessarily realized in such forms. It is equivalent to 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 29 
 
 the production of a precocious experience in the minds 
 of children who have come into the world under a 
 new political regime, and to their initiation betimes, 
 not only in the practice, but also in the curious study 
 of principles which are not yet perfectly adapted to the 
 wants of society. What important purpose do our 
 great establishments for the instruction of youth serve, 
 except to produce a few savants and a considerable 
 number of ordinary scholars. Are men formed 
 in these institutions to take their part in the business 
 of life ? As for citizens, there is no question of 
 them. 
 
 The establishment founded by M. de Bellenglise 
 had only a short existence. An outcry was raised 
 against it, and it was quickly abandoned. There is 
 no greater misery than that of the man of superior 
 talents and comprehensive views, who is condemned 
 to live in a paltry town, especially if it has been the 
 scene of his birth. It is, indeed, painful to find that 
 no one is capable of understanding or sympathizing 
 with his opinions ; but that is the least of his discom- 
 forts. — ^The stupidity and jealousy of his neighbours, 
 who regard him with the greatest animosity, spare no 
 exertions to raise up enemies against him. M. 
 de Bellenglise had a sufficiently numerous host 
 of them ; but he appeared not to be conscious of the 
 fact. 
 
30 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 This man was a republican Fenelon. I have 
 never been able to represent to myself the author of 
 Telemachus under any other figure, or with any 
 other tone of voice, than the figure and the voice of 
 this venerable friend of my childhood. His simple 
 appearance and grave aspect were peculiarly his 
 own. I still recollect his fine eyes, his fair com- 
 plexion, and his smiling mouth. I see his wide 
 brown Icvite, with a single row of buttons, descending 
 to his feet, and his large, round hat. How imposing 
 he appeared to me ! Two little dogs were the usual 
 companions of his solitary walks ; and when the dis- 
 tance he had traversed was too great for them, he 
 carried them in turn in his arms. In his own 
 dwelling, in the midst of a profusion of flowers, a 
 charming collection of birds delighted and soothed 
 him by their songs, which interrupted neither his 
 labours nor his meditations. M, de Bellenglise was 
 initiated in the secrets of all the sciences. He was 
 deeply sensible to the finer emotions produced by the 
 contemplation of works of art. He played comedy 
 with great success ; but his most successful efforts 
 were in the delineations of the drama — a species of 
 theatrical representation which, at that time, was 
 quite new. He also suggested the idea that we 
 should learn certain parts : to our rcjietitions of which 
 he listened with the greatest pleasure. His elocu- 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY* 81 
 
 tiou, although brief and pointed, was full of grace. 
 His moral nature was mild and gentle — not only 
 pervading and softening his own character, but ex- 
 tending his influence over others. He did not 
 require to say, " Let these little ones come to me," in 
 order that we should eagerly follow in his footsteps. 
 
 My relatives had often told me that, in the ex- 
 pression of his affection for me, he had predicted 
 that I should become celebrated on some future day. 
 The httle renown that I have obtained he never 
 knew ; for he died at Amiens, where he filled the 
 office of President of the Criminal Court of the 
 department of the Somme. The exercise of these 
 high functions was painful to him in the extreme ; 
 and when his duty compelled him to condemn an 
 unhappy wret(;h, wlio had avenged an unjust, but 
 formally legal spoliation of his property, by an act 
 of incendiarism, he addressed the individual who had 
 done wrong under the sanction of the law, in the 
 open court, in terms of reprobation so pointed and 
 energetic, that the latter, notwithstanding the in- 
 fluence of his wealth, was obliged to remove from 
 the department. M. de Bellenglise was opposed to 
 the punishment of death ; and, on each visit of the 
 First Consul to Amiens, he never missed an oppor- 
 tunity of using his utmost exertions in attempting to 
 satisfy him of its injustice and inutility. Excellent 
 
32 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 man I True philosopher ! — benevolent and chari- 
 table — may thy memory be blessed ! 
 
 It was through the influence of M. de Bellenglise 
 that I obtained employment in the printing office, 
 which, with the aid of that gentleman, the bookseller 
 Laisnez had just established at Peronne. I con- 
 tinued in this situation nearly two years, devoting 
 myself with great diligence to the labours of typo- 
 graphy — an occupation for which I had considerable 
 taste. I did not, however, yet succeed in attaining 
 orthographical correctness. Notwithstanding the 
 attentions of the son of M. Laisnez, who, although a 
 little older than myself, had contracted a warm 
 friendship with me, and was desirous of instructing 
 me in the principles of language — 1 never engaged in 
 study but with extreme reluctance. The only branch 
 in which his efforts were rewarded with success was the 
 art of versification, in the rules of which I was initiated 
 by him. I will not say that his instruction evoked the 
 taste for this art in me, for I had long possessed it. 
 At twelve years of age, when I was quite incapable 
 of divining that verses were regulated by any fixed 
 system of measure, I wrote several lines of rhyme, 
 both good and bad ; but all of the same length, as I 
 had drawn for my direction two pencil lines, from 
 the top to the bottom of the paper. I was per- 
 suaded I had thus composed verses quite as regular 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 33 
 
 as those of Racine. A few verses of Fontaine, 
 however, led me to suspect that much might be said 
 in opposition to my method. 
 
 My aunt had, in the meantime, contracted a 
 second marriage with a M. Bouvet, a man of educa- 
 tion, wit, and perhaps genius, but of a bizarre 
 humour, which, tending almost to folly, gave me a 
 key to the character of Rousseau, whose ideas he 
 appeared to possess, and whose eloquence his lan- 
 guage sometimes simulated. He also endeavoured, 
 but without success, to teach me French. Indeed, 
 he was less successful than any other in obtaining 
 ascendancy over me ; for, having already had some 
 practice in judging the characters of those by whom 
 I was surrounded, it did not escape my observation 
 that he made my aunt miserable ; a result of the 
 union which I had foreseen and predicted. I had 
 used my utmost exertions to prevent this marriage ; 
 and the poor woman often said, " I ought to have 
 listened to you." 
 
 While my aunt was directing my education by 
 republican maxims, in a town preserved by Andrd 
 Dumont * from the murders which, at the distance 
 
 * Few of the Conventionalists, when engaged in 
 their provincial missions, have uttered more furious 
 declamations than Andr^ Dumont. By that means he 
 inspired an amount of confidence, which he knew how 
 
34 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 of a few leagues, filled Arras — where the ferocious 
 Lebon was all-powerful — with blood, my father was 
 hving in Brittany, where he occupied the post of in- 
 tendant to the Countess of Bourmont, whose son is 
 now a marshal. He had been arrested as a federalist ; 
 and, under the name of Beranger de Mersix, he was 
 one of the hundred and thirty-two Nanteses. My 
 relatives did not inform me of his arrest, and the 
 sufferings he had experienced, until the moment of 
 his deliverance, which was obtained by a judgment 
 after the 9 th Thermidor. 
 
 When he came to visit us in 1795, he was not a 
 little scandalized by my opinions, so much in opposi- 
 tion to his own — for he was a devoted royalist. He 
 therefore attempted my conversion, in which, in con- 
 sequence of my youth, he did not imagine there 
 would be much difficulty ; but he soon found out 
 
 to turn to the advantage and safety of his department. 
 Many arrests were made at Amiens, which were magni- 
 fied by rumour ; but only one or two imprudent indi- 
 viduals were actually victims sacrificed for the safety 
 of all. I have always been surprised at the small 
 amount of gratitude with which his fellow citizens 
 were inspired by this man, whose humanity was so 
 courageously manifested in opposition to the cruelty of 
 many of his colleagues. I have seen him publicly 
 repudiate absurd denunciations, and send the de- 
 nunciators to prison, I did not then know all the 
 risks that he ran in acting in this manner. — Note hy 
 Beranger. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 35 
 
 that he had to do with a Httle caviller, who would 
 yield neither to his discourses nor caresses. He took 
 great offence at this; and had, in my presence, a 
 conversation with my aunt, which I cannot forget, 
 and she has often laughed since in reminding me of 
 it. " Sister," said he, " this child is infected with 
 Jacobinism." " Rather say, nourished with repub- 
 licanism, dear brother. In this part of the country. Ja- 
 cobinism has been merely a word." " Jacobin or 
 republican is all one to me, and this child has im- 
 bibed the essence of the most pernicious doctrines." 
 " They are mine, and those of the best citizens." 
 " How could you, a religious woman as you are, be 
 so inconsiderate as to have his first communion ad- 
 ministered by a perjured priest ? " " Was it better 
 to wait until there was neither priest nor church, as 
 was the case soon after," " Without doubt, in the 
 interest of religion, which must revive on the resto- 
 ration of Royalty." *' I am pleased, brother, to hear 
 you talk of religion — you who have not a shadow of 
 faith." " Sister, we aristocrats must defend the 
 altar and the throne. For my services in their 
 cause I have for more than a year been dragged from 
 prison to prison, and, but for the protection of 
 heaven, 1 had almost been led to the scaffold." 
 " Rather say that your vanity has led you to associate 
 yourself with people, who think no more of you on 
 
 D 2 
 
36 MY b:ography. 
 
 that account. But let us leave opinions, which I 
 would have perfectly free, and return to your son." 
 " Well, what do you wish me to do with him now ?'' 
 " Just what you have done until this moment. When 
 you saw him yesterday, calmly presiding over his 
 club, and heard him speak in ardent and touching 
 language of his native country, and when his words 
 were received with applause, your eyes filled with 
 tears." " I do not deny his intelligence, sister ; but 
 myself a devoted royalist, how can I think without 
 dread of the object to which his talents may be 
 devoted ? " " He will employ them in the service of 
 the republic." " My God ! you will not, then, listen 
 to reason. Your republic has not six months to 
 live ; I have already told you so ; our lawful sovereign 
 will soon be restored. M. le Comte da Clermont 
 Gallerande, one of those who, in Paris, are making 
 preparations for his return, assured me of this only a 
 few days ago ; and it is also the opinion of the young 
 Comte de Bourmont, who is fighting for him in 
 Brittany. In six months, I tell you, we shall all be 
 at the feet of Louis XVIII." " And who is Louis 
 XVIII. ? " " He is your king and mine, sister ; 
 king of France and Navarre since the death of Louis 
 XVII. Do you not know that this young and un- 
 fortunate prince has but recently expired in the 
 Temple, the victim of the most odious treatment ? " 
 
M\ BIOGRAPHY. 37 
 
 " Oh, do not speak to me about it ; I have already 
 groaned over the sad fate of that poor child ; but in 
 what way can his death affect his uncle, and particu- 
 larly your son?" '' In this way : on the return of 
 the Bourbons, I hope to obtain the admission of my 
 son among the pages of his majesty." " Surely, 
 brother, you are out of your mind. If we had the 
 misfortune again to behold this family, which has 
 armed all Europe against France, do you think that 
 you would be favoured with the slightest notice by the 
 least of their princes ? " " Assuredly ; I shall present 
 the proofs of my nobility." " Come ! still at your 
 idle fancies. Do not forget that you were born in a 
 village inn, and that our good mother was only a ser- 
 vant, but not the less on that account a woman of 
 good sense. The worthy woman, it is true, also 
 allowed that you and your father must have noble 
 blood in your veins. My husband, she used to say, 
 did no work with his ten fingers, and got drunk on 
 wine at the inn, Hke a good country gentleman, — and 
 as for my son, he can no more live without debts 
 than a great lord." " Sister, all your jokes will not 
 prevent my son, the head of the family after me, from 
 becoming a page of his majesty." " Your son shall 
 never be a lacquey." " What do you mean by a 
 lacquey ? The king's page ! Why it is an honour 
 envied by the greatest houses." " That quite re- 
 
38 MY BIOGRAPHY, 
 
 fissures me on his account." " Sister, when the 
 Bourbons return, I swear to you 1 shall present my 
 son to our excellent princes." " Take care, then, 
 that he does not sing the Marseillaise to them." 
 
 It must not be imagined that I have invented this 
 dialogue, which the conversations of mv father, 
 at a later period, have vividly recalled a hundred 
 times to my recollection, even to the most trivial 
 expressions. 
 
 I was soon obliged to join him in Paris, where, 
 again united to my mother, he had engaged in the 
 operations of the Bourse ; for it was necessary to 
 live while expecting the return of the royal dynasty. 
 
 I had often dreamt of Paris — a city which no one 
 ever forgets, however young he may have been when 
 he first left it ; but when on the point of separating 
 from my aunt, I experienced the greatest agitation. 
 The wise counsels which, while her eyes were suffused 
 with tears, she gave me, caused my tears also to 
 flow ; and I did not cease weeping -during the whole 
 journey, which, at this time of revolutionary disaster, 
 the diligence accomplished in two days and a half. 
 My foresight, that remarkable powder — I had almost 
 said that defect — which had rarely abandoned me, 
 seemed to inspire me, in my fifteenth year, with a 
 presentiment of the vicissitudes I was destined to 
 imdergo. I knew that my father, however kind he 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 39 
 
 was disposed to be, was not a proper guide for me in 
 the difficult path of life ; and I felt that it was in- 
 cumbent on me to assume the part and bearing of a 
 man at a very early age. Now, the idea of becoming 
 what is termed a man rather alarmed me. This 
 may appear extraordinary, but it is not the less true. 
 The following is a remarkable proof of what I now 
 state. The thought of becoming and of appearing a 
 man pre-occupied my mind so painfully that, when I 
 afterwards heard it remarked that by clipping the 
 beard with scissors, instead of shaving it, one never 
 had much of that appendage, I determined not to 
 make use of a razor during my youth, and I still 
 employ scissors to shave myself. 
 
 What was my occupation in Paris ? Alas ! I 
 became, with my father, a very expert and able 
 financier. Although I could not confine myself to 
 the rules taught in educational works, the power of 
 calculation was suddenly developed in a remarkable 
 manner in me. In all problems of this nature it 
 was necessary to devise my own method of proce- 
 dure ; and I succeeded in mental calculation with 
 wonderful rapidity. The misfortune of the times 
 compelled my father to resort to all modes of busi- 
 ness. It is known with what difficulty the transac- 
 tions of commerce were effected in those days, and 
 the disorders into which discount dealings, and the 
 
40 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 affairs of the bank, were thrown by the rapid succes- 
 sion of events. In this my father saw a resource in 
 his distress, and a sphere for his activity. 
 
 The depreciation of assignats gave an enormous 
 value to money. We borrowed at 2~ per cent, 
 and even at three per cent, by the month, and we 
 still made a profit. Child as I was, this 
 business amused me very much at first — perhaps on 
 account of the precocious intelligence which it gave 
 me an opportunity of displaying, to the great admi- 
 ration of my father. The amusement I found in it 
 was of very short duration, as any one may easily 
 imagine ; and I soon knew enough of the nature of 
 the operations we conducted to regard them with 
 disgust. My father, who was dazzled by the exten- 
 sive nature of his operations, was neither covetous nor 
 distrustful ; and his easy goodness of disposition made 
 him the plaything or victim of the first comer who 
 could assume a sad face, or flatter him. I endea- 
 voured, therefore, to convince him that he was not 
 adapted by nature for such a profession. Neverthe- 
 less, I was obliged myself, at the age of seventeen, to 
 manage alone affairs of a similar nature. I had just 
 lost my mother, whom 1 had scarcely ever seen for 
 more than ten months. It was necessity alone which 
 had renewed relations between her and my father, with 
 whom she had but seldom lived on happy terms. She 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 41 
 
 had never been willing to bring my sister home from 
 the country, where she was residing with her friends. 
 So far as regards myself, nothing was more excusable 
 than her indifference. Buffon says, that boys gene- 
 rally resemble their mothers. Never did child less 
 resemble its mother than I did mine, both morally 
 and physically. Her wish was to have made me a 
 brilHant fop, as they used to say in those days ; but 
 my disposition was averse to it. Her imprudence 
 brought her life to a close before she had completed 
 her thirty-seventh year. 
 
 A short time after her death, still a royalist, and 
 as regardless of my remonstrances on the subject of 
 politics as of finance, my father allowed himself to be 
 dragged into the conspiracy of Brothier and of Ville- 
 heurnois, which was so singularly baffled by General 
 Malo. Our house obtained money from London, 
 where it has always been found for the purpose of 
 stirring up enemies against France. I, poor little 
 patriot, was obliged to carry this gold to the con- 
 spirators, who, in my justification 1 must say, rather 
 appeared to make use of it for their own particular 
 wants than for the accomplishment of their projects. 
 I must also admit that few royahst conspirators could 
 have been obtained at a more moderate rate. These 
 vyere satisfied with 200,000 francs. 
 
 M. de Bourmont had concealed himself in Paris, 
 
42 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 with the intention doubtless, of taking the lead in this 
 Royalist movement, in case the designs of the conspi- 
 rators were favoured by any decided prospect of suc- 
 cess. This man, although still very young, and so 
 effeminate in appearance, that he might have been 
 taken for a female in disguise, was the only individual 
 of the party who appeared to possess much ability. I 
 paid him a visit at his residence in the Rue des Marais 
 du Temple, where he had found a safe retreat in the 
 midst of extensive gardens ; and I was astonished at his 
 boldness and the skill with which he baffled the re- 
 searches of the police. I observed no individual of any 
 particular note among the other conspirators ; but I 
 made them the subject of some epigrams, which hit 
 their mark with sufficient precision to afford much 
 amusement even to my father. 
 
 This conspiracy was discovered, and my father was 
 arrested along with the principals and their accom- 
 plices. He was brought up for judgment before a 
 council of war, but the proof of his guilt being insuf- 
 ficient, he was fortunately acquitted. 
 
 I was obliged to provide for all his wants during the 
 time of his detention ; and so successfully did I launch 
 into speculation, that I turned over, in the course of 
 business, more than two hundred thousand francs. 
 My father was delighted with this proof of my 
 financial abilities, and he predicted that I was 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 43 
 
 certain one day to be the first banker of France. 
 Considering that his expectation of seeing me in 
 the position of one of the pages of Louis XVIII. 
 was not likely to be fulfilled, this was a great 
 consolation to him. 
 
 My father w^as not the only royalist who sought, in 
 the transactions of the money market, a compensation 
 for their political failures. Certain personages of high 
 extraction were intimately allied to us by the strong 
 ties of self-interest. Some of them, it is true, con- 
 fined themselves to the modest character of debtors 
 for certain borrowed sums ; and in this character they 
 were by no means remarkable for punctuality, many 
 of them even failing to satisfy our claims at all. My 
 father, like M. Jourdain, was not the less proud of 
 having such debtors on his books ; and such was the 
 pressure of their wants, that they frequently descended 
 to the position of flatterers, in order to assure them- 
 selves the advantage of becoming his parasites. I 
 have even seen some of them assist him in the office of 
 the toilet. 
 
 I have already alluded to M. de Clermont-Galle- 
 rande. This man appeared to me to be possessed of 
 the greatest dignity of character and deportment. He 
 only employed us as his agents in the money opera- 
 tions of the Bourse — in w-hich, at that time, almost 
 
44 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 every person had more or less interest, and was, to 
 some extent, involved. This Count, whom I only saw 
 occasionally, appeared to me the ideal of a man of 
 sense and firmness. He had played some secret part 
 in the days of Vendemiaire, in which the partisans of 
 Royalism had been very generally engaged, and in 
 which Bonaparte had contributed to the triumph of 
 the Convention. When the first wars of Italy were 
 terminated, he proceeded to occupy a hotel in 
 the Rue Chantereine. The apartment of M. de 
 Clermont was contiguous to this hotel, and from it I 
 saw Bonaparte for the first time as he was crossing 
 the end of the avenue. 
 
 *' What a great general he is ! " I remarked to the 
 Count. 
 
 " Yes, but the Republic will destroy him, if he 
 does not destroy the Republic." 
 
 " He will make himself dictator." 
 
 ** That is the prediction of a schoolboy, young 
 man. In such republics as this of France, it only 
 requires a few sweeps of the broom to prepare the 
 country for its legitimate masters." 
 
 " And do you think, M. le Comtc, that Bonaparte 
 would be wiUing to undertake the duty of sweeper?'' 
 
 He hesitated, as if at a loss what reply to give, and 
 finished the conversation by remarking, 
 
MY BiOGRAPHY. 45 
 
 " He is a gentleman ; he has been educated 
 amongst men like ourselves, — circumstances producing 
 impressions that cannot be effaced. For the rest, 
 the Directory will not allow him to become too great." 
 
 T knew enough of history to perceive that the part 
 once played by Monk v^'as that which M. de Clermont 
 now assigned to the hero of Italy. He was not the 
 only one who had indulged in this delusion during 
 the Consulate. 
 
 It ought to be clear to every one that I had been 
 educated in a good school of right divine. I must 
 have been very stubborn, however, since I did not 
 become one of their partisans. This conversation 
 recalls another of the same period. 
 
 My father requested his royalist friends with whom 
 he had intercourse, to lecture me on my republicanism. 
 He had particular confidence in the Chevalier de la 
 Carterie, a man of an advanced age, who was amused 
 by my light talk. One day when we were engaged 
 in discussion together, he began speaking to me of 
 my legitimate masters. Tired out by the constant 
 repetition of this word, I suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 " Weil, sir, inform me, then, who these people are, 
 in respect to whom even their partisans are so little 
 united " 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking to me? " gravely en- 
 quired the old chevalier. 
 
46 MY BIOGRAPHV, 
 
 "Well, of your Louis XVIII., the Comte of 
 Artois, and his sons." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! These are important personages, 
 indeed, to talk about ; they are only a family of 
 usurpers.'' 
 
 " Now you confound me, indeed ! What, sir ! — 
 those legitimate masters for whom so many nobles, 
 so many Vendeans, are devoting themselves to death, 
 are only a set of usurpers ? " 
 
 " Real usurpers, my friend ; and they arc not ig- 
 norant of it.'' 
 
 " Enlighten me, I pray you ; I am completely 
 perplexed." 
 
 '* I can quite conceive it. Listen to me, then, and 
 you will see into what an error your royalist friends 
 have led you. Before the time of Louis XIV., and 
 his brother the Duke of Orleans, Anne of Austria 
 had a son, who was no other than the Man with 
 the Iron Mask. His rights have been wrongfully 
 transferred to the illegitimate children of that 
 queen." 
 
 " But, sir, was the Man with the Iron Mask 
 legitimate ? " 
 
 " Assuredly, he was truly the son of Louis XIII. ; 
 but as she was always suspected by her husband, 
 Anne of Austria considered that the king might be 
 incited by Richelieu to cast doubts on his paternity 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 47 
 
 in a case where if. was rendered doubtful by the in- 
 frequency of the relations which subsisted between 
 him and his royal spouse, and she consented to the 
 removal and disappearance of her first-born, on the 
 distinct promise that her conjugal relations with the 
 king should for the future, by some means, be ren- 
 dered so patent as to admit of no ground for doubt- 
 ing the legitimacy of any children that should be 
 afterwards born. Richelieu, who had feigned a 
 passion for Anne, was not long in discovering, by 
 means of the facilities which his position gave him, 
 the secret amours in which she indulged. When the 
 first-born had thus been disposed of, it was no longer 
 possible for the queen to repair her fault, and she 
 was thus put under the absolute dependance of a 
 favourite. Such was the way, my young friend, in 
 which an illegitimate race became the inheritors of 
 the throne of Henry IV." 
 
 Although, at this time, little versed in history, I 
 should, doubtless, have had some objections to bring 
 forward against the more romantic parts of this nar- 
 rative. However, I refrained from proposing any, 
 and contented myself with the remark that, in order 
 to support the pretensions which such a story 
 appeared to suggest, it would be requisite for the 
 Iron Mask to have left heirs of his person. 
 
48 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 " Thank God he has left them," replied M. de 
 Carterie. " Learn then, that being first brought up 
 in Normandy, he was there kept under a surveillance 
 which was by no means strict. Before he was twenty- 
 one years of age, he contracted a clandestine marriage 
 with a young lady of a noble family, and by her had 
 a son, whom the unfortunate man never knew ; for 
 from the epoch of this marriage must be dated the 
 rigorous imprisonment which has since rendered him 
 so celebrated. It was then, also, that his wife, for 
 the first time, knew of what distinguished blood and 
 lineage he was, and perceived how necessary it was 
 to conceal from all eyes the child she had by him ; 
 dreading least they might treat the son in the same 
 manner as they had treated the father, or even worse. 
 This child, which was brought up and educated with 
 the most particular care, had no knowledge of the 
 rights to which he might lay claim, until he was of 
 an age to keep the secret — which was then commu- 
 nicated to him, with all the vouchers that could be 
 used in evidence of the circumstances I have now re- 
 lated to you. This inheritance of a great name has 
 come down through the eldest of his descendants to 
 the present day." 
 
 " And who is the happy mortal who, in the present 
 day, is the possessor of so distinguished an honour ?" 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 49 
 
 " It is a man of about thirty years of age, bearing 
 the name of Vernon, who inhabits a chateau in 
 Bretagne, where many of his faithful subjects have 
 considered it their duty to present themselves to him. 
 He enjoys in that province the respect even of those 
 who know nothing of his royal origin, his mental 
 powers, his education, and his majestic appearance 
 conferring on him so many advantages, of which the 
 common race of men are destitute. During the 
 Reign of Terror he was protected by the revolu- 
 tionary party, and a tempest has now passed over his 
 head, which ought to deliver him from his most 
 bitter enemies." 
 
 " When does he intend, then, to make known and 
 to maintain his rights ?" 
 
 " Wait, wait, only wait. A man has already 
 made his appearance who seems to be the predes- 
 tined instrument of his restoration to the throne of 
 his ancestors." 
 
 " May it be Bonaparte ?" 
 
 " Precisely ; he is not the man they suppose him 
 to be ; but you will know more of him afterwards." 
 
 The history of the Iron Mask had so often en- 
 gaged my attention, that I was not inclined to laugh 
 at the good faith with which the old chevalier re- 
 counted to me its inexplicable events, involved as 
 they are in so much mystery. One thing, however 
 
50 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 particularly pleased me. I should be able to derive 
 great advantage from it in my eternal discussions on 
 political events with my father. In fact, on the 
 very first reference to the claims of our legitimate 
 masters, I unfold the minutest circumstances of this 
 marvellous story to him, and some other royalists, 
 for whose presence I had expressly waited. 
 
 " What folly !" exclaims my father ; " who can ever 
 have told you such an absurd tale ?" 
 " M. de la Carterie." 
 
 On hearing this name, the poor man was struck 
 with astonishment. 
 
 " What !" he said, " he who had promised to cure 
 you of your republican mania." 
 
 His friends, seeing how much he was disconcerted, 
 treated the old chevalier as a fool. But he was by 
 no means one. I ought, however, to admit that 1 
 was afterwards informed he belonged to the sect of 
 the Illumines, founded by Swedenborg, modified and 
 propagated in France by Saint Martin ; and of which 
 Cazotte, author of the .Viable Amoureux, was, by 
 general report, one of the most fervent adepts. 
 Several of the French illuminati entertained the 
 same political ideas as my friend, the Chevalier ; and 
 one of them, who spoke to me in similar terms, 
 predicted, in 1806, the fall of Napoleon, because he 
 had not fulfilled the mission which God had confided 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 51 
 
 to him — the restoration, namely, of the throne of 
 France to the descendants of the Iron Mask. Why 
 should you laugh at the superstitions of the in- 
 habitants of a country village, when you see edu- 
 cated and enlightened men of the world infatuated 
 with such baseless dreams ? 
 
 It cannot be surprising that, during so many years, 
 I endeavoured to satisfy myself regarding the judg- 
 ment I ought to pass on the character and preten- 
 sions of M. de Vernon. For a long time I lost all 
 trace of him ; but at length an individual, whose 
 statement I knew to be worthy of confidence, told 
 me that he had known, or rather seen him in 
 Bretagne. According to his account, he was a 
 person, whose external appearance very well cor- 
 responded with the portrait, which M. de la Carterie 
 had placed before me. This M. de Vernon, who in- 
 habited a modest chateau, appeared to be living in 
 easy circumstances, in which he was maintained by 
 his credulous adherents. In the country the story of 
 his origin and of his rights was whispered from ear 
 to ear. It appears that during the Empire, he was 
 kept in a state of surveillance ; at least, as I was 
 assured by the individual on whose information I am 
 now writing, the prefects sent to him several times, 
 requesting his presence. Although he did not ex- 
 actly disobey these civil injunctions, he only submitted 
 
 E 2 
 
52 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 to them at the last extremity, and in the manner of 
 a man obliged to bend before his inferiors. He was, 
 doubtless, under the influence of the ideas which had 
 been transmitted to him ; he had faith in himself ; 
 and he did not appear to me less respectable than 
 any other pretenders. If he is now no more, he has, 
 very probably, left an heir to the crown quite as con- 
 vinced as he was of the rights of the Iron Mask and 
 of his own. 
 
 It must not be imagined that I refer to those re- 
 lations with persons of birth and distinction to whom 
 we were introduced by the peculiar transactions of 
 the business we followed, in order to weaken the im- 
 pression of the disagreeable and painful elements 
 which it also involved. Our relations with the 
 inferior classes, and witli the unfortunate, were only 
 too numerous. The state of the treasury, the ex- 
 treme debasement of the paper circulation, and the 
 imperious demand for coin, in all kinds of transac- 
 tions, had reduced the Mont-de-Picte — that es- 
 tablishment which a better organisation would have 
 rendered so advantageous as a source of aid to the 
 poor — to a condition in which it was totally unable to 
 meet the demands made upon it. The working man 
 resorted, therefore, in his necessity, to the various 
 private loan offices that were unavoidably tolerated, in 
 order to obtain the money he required, which was 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 53 
 
 lent to him at a very high rate. Even if I had not 
 been born of a benevolent disposition, the sight of 
 so much misery, which we only increased by the 
 present assistance we afforded, must have rendered 
 me feeUng and compassionate. I am happy that it 
 is in my power to render this justice to ray father, in 
 stating that he left me entirely free in my desire to 
 alleviate distress, and, indeed, often set me the ex- 
 ample. How many unfortunates have carried back 
 with them from our house the garments of which 
 they had stripped themselves, in order to provide the 
 necessary security for their small loans ! My good 
 old grandmother Champy,* who assisted us sometimes, 
 
 * On the recurrence of the name of my grandmother 
 in this place, I think it necessary to accompany it with 
 a note for the information of the critics. That one of 
 my songs, which bears the title of" Mij Grandmother, 
 can in no respect be considered the portrait of any of 
 my ancestors on the female side — who were all women 
 of the most praiseworthy character. The tailor's wife, 
 to whom the care of my infant years was confided, 
 was very laborious, and sought distraction from her 
 toils only in reading ; and my father's, who was no 
 less courageous in the discharge of duty, was equally a 
 model of virtuous excellence. 
 
 It formerly appeared to me a very easy matter to 
 distinguish, among the productions of an author, those 
 which are formed under the conditions of his peculiar 
 art and style, and such as are merely the fancies of his 
 mind, from those in which he has had the intention to 
 depict his own character, circumstances, or relations. I 
 have now been enabled to form a contrary judgment. 
 
54 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 said to me : " They are deceiving you." This word 
 has often been repeated to me since 1 have attained 
 to greater experience of the world ; but it has never 
 been able to make me deaf to the groans and lamen- 
 tations of my fellow creatures. Among the great 
 number of unfortunates whom I then saw, I was so 
 happy as to discover an old work-woman, who had 
 been present at my birth. Her history, which is that 
 of so many females of her class, appears to me suf- 
 ficiently interesting and instructive to find a place 
 here, although unconnected with the narrative of my 
 own life. 
 
 The mere Jary, when I discovered her, was at least 
 sixty years of age. The little services that I rendered 
 her even at the time when poverty for me took the 
 place of our brief opulence j those also which she was 
 zealous in rendering to me — mending my worn gar- 
 ments, or putting a little order into the household of 
 
 Therefore, as my sister is a religieuse, I think it incum- 
 bent on me to say that the song, Le Voisin, in which 
 occurs the line, " J^ai une Sceur pour une Beguine,^^ was 
 composed long before my sister thought of taking the 
 veil. 
 
 I have no desire that the application of this line of 
 one of my prefaces : " Mes chansons; c'est moi" should 
 be carried too far. They are, indeed, myself ; but they 
 are certainly others also, and I am obliged to the critic 
 who, in speakmg of my collections, used the expression, 
 " la comedie des chansonsJ'^ — Note by Beranger. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 55 
 
 a bachelor, established an intimacy between us, which 
 continued until her death. One day, when she was 
 arranging my chamber, I thought 1 saw tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, m^re Jary ?" 
 
 " Alas ! it is my old sorrows that gain the mastery 
 over me. Excuse me." 
 
 " Sit down there, and let us talk of your old sor- 
 rows. Is it not rather your rent that harasses you ? 
 Speak ; I am rich to-day." 
 
 *' No, my child, it is not the rent, this time. I 
 have never related to you the sad story of my life, my 
 miserable life." 
 
 " Well, m^re Jary, relate it to me now." 
 
 " But you are writing.'' 
 
 " What matters it ? " 
 
 " Well I will tell you, and perhaps I may so give 
 you an opportunity of being useful to me.'' 
 
 THE HISTORY OF LA M^RE JARY. 
 
 I was once very pretty, very gay, and very merry. 
 My mother, who was a little sempstress, taught me 
 her business, and I became an expert needle-woman. 
 I was seventeen years of age when Jary solicited my 
 hand. He was a handsome young man of a joyous 
 disposition, and employed in the stables of the King ; 
 it was a fortunate chance for me. My mother, ever 
 
56 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 since the death of a son much older than I, in a feeble 
 and suffering state, had a presentiment of her ap- 
 proaching end : and seeing that Jary was not dis- 
 pleasing to me, she hastily concluded the marriage, 
 which for one month was the happiest in the world. 
 But Jary soon showed himself in his true character, a 
 gamester, a drunkard, a libertine. We were living at 
 Versailles ; he used to return drunk, to beat me, and 
 to bring girls with him into our home. My suffer- 
 ings were increased by the death of my mother, from 
 whom I had concealed them, and who had the conso- 
 lation of believing that I was perfectly happy. I should 
 have been so if Jary had been well conducted. He 
 got into debt, lost his place, and came in one day 
 saying, 
 
 " Nannette, I am going to England, where I intend 
 to perfect myself in my condition as a groom." 
 
 " And I," I exclaimed ; " what am I to do to live ?" 
 
 " Hold," said he, " here is a louis. You are econo- 
 mical ; sell our furniture; return to Paris, and work. 
 Marry again, if you feel inclined. I shall send you a 
 register of my death from London." He embraces 
 me ; in a moment he is gone — leaving me speechless 
 and stupified. I have never since heard anything of 
 him. 
 
 We poor people have no time to weep out all our 
 grief: I made haste to return to Paris; I obtained 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 57 
 
 lodging in a confined garret where I set myself to work 
 for the sempstresses. I had not yet finished my 
 eighteenth year, and solitude appeared to me very op- 
 pressive. While I worked, I used to sing without any 
 pleasure. The companions of my childhood were all 
 dispersed ; the fear of worthless acquaintance pre- 
 vented me from getting new ones. I always imagined 
 that some friend would surely fall from heaven. 
 
 In the house where I lived, opposite the narrow 
 window of my chamber, there was a garret window of 
 the same description. One day in spring, I observed 
 at it a young working tailor, so assiduous at his em- 
 ployment that, during the whole day, which I spent 
 without singing, he did not once turn his eyes 
 in my direction. He was fair, and of fine features : 
 although his complexion was rather pale. On the 
 following morning I saw him by day-break again at 
 his work, which he continued with the same assiduity. 
 On this occasion, however, 1 ventured to sing, but in 
 a low tone of voice ; his eyes were soon turned towards 
 me, and we saluted each other. This introduction 
 was followed by meetings on the staircase; next we 
 rendered to each other the services of good neigh- 
 bours; and at length a complete intimacy was estab- 
 lished between us two, poor young people. He was 
 four years older than I, and by his labour ministered 
 to the wants of an infirm mother, whom, on fete days 
 
58 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 and Sundays, he went to visit at Charonne. A 
 mutual tenderness soon rendered us inseparable; 
 and we found it more economical to have only one 
 menage and a common purse. For this I have often 
 prayed for the forgiveness of the good God, when we 
 went to say our prayers together. Alas ! at the end 
 of a few months of this happy connexion I became 
 enceinte ; it was only a joy the more for us. He 
 had just lost his mother, who, in dying, gave us both 
 her blessing. We made sufficient by our united 
 labour to bring up a child. The months of happi- 
 ness that I passed with this good Paul Gaucher are 
 still present to me. They were followed by no 
 others to make us forget them, and misfortune was 
 close at hand. Gaucher had for a long time suffered 
 from disease of the chest ; his illness suddenly made 
 rapid progress ; and, notwithstanding all his courage, 
 he was under the necessity, first of working less, and 
 then of having recourse to the physician. He was 
 soon reduced to such a state that he was obliged to 
 remain in bed half the day. Our little savings soon 
 disappeared ; debts quickly accumulated ; and our 
 linen, our furniture, and our clothes, were all put in 
 pledge. All that would have been of little conse- 
 quence, if his health had been restored. On the con- 
 trary, he got v^eaker and weaker every day; and 
 when 1 was confined there did not remain sufficient 
 to pay the nurse. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 69 
 
 God gave me a son — a charming boy ; but I had 
 no milk to nurture him. He doubtless designed to 
 punish me in this way for my error. We were un- 
 able to obtain a nurse. What despair troubled my 
 joy as a mother ! To add to this misfortune, my 
 recovery from confinement was long and painful. 
 We did not know what to do to appease the cries 
 of the poor, dear infant. Three days after my con- 
 finement, Gaucher, who was extended on a mattress, 
 rises with precipitation, and exclaims, " Give me my 
 boy : in the village where my mother died 1 am sure 
 to find a nurse. I shall run to it." I do not know 
 how he had the strength to rise and go out, carrying 
 with him our little child, which I had carefully 
 wrapped up, and covered with kisses and tears. In 
 my opinion he would have been necessarily absent 
 the whole day ; but, after the lapse of a few hours, I 
 saw him return and fall upon his mattress without 
 being able to utter a single word. In spite of the 
 fever which has by this time seized me, I drag my- 
 self towards him, and force him to drink the re- 
 mainder of the wine which he had laid aside for me. 
 He revives at length ; but then tears gush over his 
 face, so exhausted and pale. A secret disquietude 
 agitates me. " And our boy ?" I said to him. At 
 these words his tears redouble ; lie presses me in 
 his feeble arms : " It is in the Foundhng Hospital," 
 he answers, falling back upon his mattress. 
 
60 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 That, my dear sir, was the most frightful moment 
 of my life; that which filled it with a bitterness of 
 regret, that all the wealth of this world could not 
 have alleviated. 
 
 "What!" I exclaimed; "you have carried my 
 son there ? '' 
 
 " Nannette, listen," he said, taking my hands in his; 
 " I have only a few days to live — a few hours, per- 
 haps. I leave you overwhelmed with debt ; without 
 a single friend ; without the least protection. What 
 would become of you with a child which you are 
 unable to nurture ? What would be the lot of this 
 dear infant itself ? And who knows ? Is it not pos- 
 sible that your husband may return? Pardon me, 
 and listen to me, 1 pray you. Before depositing him 
 in this hospital, 1 have had a mark put upon his left 
 thigh, a cross of the form of that which you have 
 pledged. As he was not baptised, I have attached 
 a note to his clothes, in which 1 have requested that 
 my own name of Paul may be given to him." 
 
 Whatever suffering it cost him to say so much 
 he was obliged to repeat the same words to me over 
 and over again : for he saw that in the state of utter 
 dejection and despair into which I was cast, I had 
 neither heard nor understood him. 
 
 " The cross will never be effaced," he said ; " I 
 have marked it with a red-hot iron." 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 61 
 
 "With a red-hot iron !" I exclaimed, seized with 
 horror, and shudderingiy drawing back from him, 
 as I would have done from an assassin. 
 
 " Reassure yourself,'' said the unfortunate Gaucher; 
 " I took care to use such precautions that the child 
 scarcely uttered a groan." 
 
 My agitation was not appeased by the project, T 
 immediately formed in my own mind to lose no time 
 in again obtaining possession of my child. But my 
 miserable state of health, which grew worse, in con- 
 sequence, doubtless, of the violence of my sorrow, 
 did not permit me to venture out of doors ; and on 
 that very night, after the unusual exertions of every 
 kind which he had just made, Gaucher fell into such 
 dreadful convulsions that I believed the hour of his 
 last agony had come. The physician allowed me to 
 entertain no hope of his recovery ; and, no longer 
 receiving any payment, discontinued his visits. 
 Gaucher lingered for ten days longer; and it was at 
 the very moment when a ghmmer of hope encouraged 
 me, that, after a frightful crisis, I received his last 
 sigh. Poor friend ! How loving and good he was ! 
 God will have taken pity on his soul. Oh, how 
 often I have prayed the Holy Virgin and his patron 
 saint for him ! 
 
 Alas ! my dear sir, it is now forty-six years since 
 then, and from that moment the recollection of him 
 
62 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 and of my only son has been the only companion 
 of my solitude. Yes; since the age of nineteen 
 years I have lived alone — constantly alone. Your 
 grandfather, however, sometimes admitted me into 
 his family : and having instructed me in his business, 
 never allowed me to be without work. This he 
 regarded as a sufficient distraction ; for he scarcely 
 knew of any other, with the exception, perhaps, of 
 his Sunday walks, in which, little as you were, he 
 took you out with him to roam in the fields. It was 
 on one of those excursions that, long before the 
 marriage of your mother, 1 had the happiness to 
 meet him. I was in company with Gaucher, who 
 then worked for him ; and since that time the 
 worthy man has always been ready to assist me. I 
 also worked then ; but I had debts to the amount of 
 one hundred and seventy-five francs to discharge. 
 People know not how much time it requires for a 
 young workwoman to pay so large a sum, however 
 greatmay be her courage and economy. Seventeen livres 
 and ten sous deducted in small sums fiom short 
 working days : it is enormous. I have* paid it all, 
 my dear child — paid every farthing. It required ten 
 years to do it in. During these ten years, counting 
 from the day when my health began to be somewhat 
 re-established, you may suppose that I used every 
 means in my power to obtain information regarding 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 63 
 
 my son. But all my endeavours were vain ; for it is 
 the practice of the administration of tlie Foundling 
 Hospital to refuse all information to mothers regard- 
 ing the place to which their children are sent. In 
 the utmost despair I was made conscious of this by 
 the first replies that were given me, with a hardness 
 which intimidated me, and perhaps prevented me 
 from doing and from saying all that was necessary. 
 No one listens to us ; no one sends assistance to us 
 poor, humble people. Oh, if I could but have known 
 what had become of him ! In order to have him 
 again, to nurture and bring him up, what would I 
 not have given ! How many nights I should gladly 
 have consented to devote to labour, in addition to 
 those which I already spent in it. After long years 
 of unwearied solicitations, one of the sisters of the 
 house at last took pity on me. She examined the 
 registers, and found, at the period indicated, that a 
 newly-found infant had been baptised under the name 
 of Paul. She wrote to the distant place to which 
 he had been sent, and received an answer, informing 
 her that the nurse and her husband being dead, a 
 child, eight years of age, had been confided to a rich 
 traveller, who had been interested by his fine ap- 
 pearance. Since that time they had heard no more 
 of him ; and the cure of the place had forgotten both 
 the name and the country of the traveller. 
 
64 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 These details were but little calculated to satisfy 
 the anxiety of a mother. Nevertheless they were the 
 source of great joy. My son had escaped the first 
 maladies of childhood: he must be living; he was 
 living. The more I dwelt upon it, the more I was 
 convinced. All my dreams seemed to bid me hope. 
 
 Since that time, I have lived with this dear son : 
 with my Paul ; not only searching for him everywhere 
 as much as it was possible in my life of constant 
 labour, but forming an image of him more and more 
 perfect every year. I have seen him when he was 
 quite little ; 1 have seen him grow, become a man ; 
 and I see him to-day in his mature age. He re- 
 sembled me ; he will have had my strength ; he lives, 
 my heart believes it- — is confident of it. Whenever I 
 am alone, he is always before my eyes ; it is not long 
 since I exclaimed to myself, " How many grey hairs 
 you have already, Paul !" and I saw him smile upon 
 me sadly. He will also, doubtless, have experienced 
 many sufferings. I know not, nevertheless, why I 
 imagine to myself, that he has ended by making a 
 splendid fortune. I cannot represent him otherwise 
 than as well clothed ; but, were he in rags, oh, that 
 I could but press him to my heart before I die ! 
 
 With what interest I listened to this mother, 
 creating for herself thus the image of a son, of whom 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 65 
 
 she was incessantly dreaming ! Let it not be imagined 
 that this woman was of a feeble intellect; on the 
 contrary, she was of sober sense and upright character ; 
 but her maternal sensibility had been developed to this 
 extent by solitude and the necessity of loving. The 
 heart of a mother is an inexhaustible source of miracles. 
 
 Becoming conscious of the emotion which she 
 awakened in me, " Do you not think that I shall find 
 him again?" said she. 
 
 " I hope so, m^re Jary. If he were dead, you 
 would lose the faculty of seeing him in this manner. 
 God would not delude, as in sport, an affection so 
 touching." 
 
 Joy glistened in the eyes of the poor woman, who 
 hastily added, " I have very often said that to myself. 
 Ah, if you only knew ! When I am in the street, I 
 fix my eyes on all of his age that pass me. I have 
 even dared — I who am so timid — to stop many 
 persons in the street, because their figure, their gait, 
 their features, recalled to me my son, who resem- 
 bled me so closely, that he might have been taken for 
 me. Some laugh and repel me — saying that I am 
 out of my mind ; while others appear to take pity 
 on my embarrassment. And should I tell you, that I — 
 I, a woman — have frequently gone to the banks of the 
 river to see the men bathe, in the hope of discovering 
 the cross of which Paul must have preserved the 
 
66 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 mark ! How often, after mass on Sunday, have I 
 spent hours on the Pont Neuf, where the crowd is 
 always so great, in order to see if there were no one 
 there who would speak to my heart, or experience on 
 seeing me the emotions of blood. Directed by in- 
 formation obtained by chance, I have often had the 
 boldness to present myself to several bourgeoisie and 
 workmen, who bore the name of Paul, or whom I 
 knew to have no family relations. At this very mo- 
 ment, my dear sir, I am engaged in a new inquiry ; 
 and that is the reason why I thought it necessary to 
 relate to you the history of my misfortunes. There 
 is an actor of the name of Paul, at the Theatre of the 
 Opera Comique, and I have been unable to obtain his 
 address. Could you get it for me? If you will take 
 an interest in the matter, it appears to me that you 
 will bring me good fortune." 
 
 " Mere Jary," I said to her, " you shall have this 
 address to-day." I proceeded at once to find the actor 
 Paul at the theatre, and hastened to bring back his 
 address to her. As I might have anticipated, I saw 
 her m-me at my house, on the following day, sad and 
 disconsolate. The actor Paul liad a father and a 
 mother ; he had presented them to her ; for he ap- 
 preciated the sentiment which animated the poor 
 woman, and had tenderly received her. 
 
 After the lapse of a few months, age, misery, and 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 67 
 
 her mental sufferings triumphed at length over her 
 strong constitution. Dangerous sores broke out on 
 her hmbs, and she was removed to the Hotel Dieu : 
 to which, if I had had the means, I sho\ild not have 
 allowed her to go. On the first visit that I made to 
 her, she said to me, " If I dared " — 
 
 " Do not hesitate, m^re Jary." 
 
 " Well, I was informed the very day on which I 
 came to this place that a foundling, called Paul, is at 
 present living on the quai de la Ferraille, and that 
 he must be about as old as my son must now be." 
 
 I went to see this honest working-man ; but I 
 discovered that he was of southern origin, and not 
 more than thirty-six years of age. I was again 
 obliged to inflict pain on the poor sufferer, whose 
 state got worse from day to day. One of the sisters, 
 who was employed in the apartment, told me that, as 
 there was no expectation of her recovery, any of her 
 little fancies might be gratified. I brought to her 
 one morning some cojifitures that she had expressed a 
 desire for ; but without at all noticing them, she said to 
 me, her eyes radiating with the joy of one of Heaven's 
 elect, " My good friend, my good friend, I have at 
 length seen him in this place, quite close to my bed. 
 He exactly resembled the portrait which the good 
 God has engraved on my heart. His hairs were white 
 as! have told you. It was himself j I shall recover." 
 
 F 2 
 
6S MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 " So much the hetter, ro^re Jary ; but tell me, then, 
 how this happy circumstance occurred to you." 
 
 " He was in the midst of a number of physicians 
 and students ; he appeared to be their head. Oh, 
 how gentle his voice was ! He drew near to my bed ; 
 but I know not what happened ; he disappeared at 
 the very moment I cried out to him, ' Paul, my son !' 
 I then fainted and lost all knowledge. The good 
 sister soon restored me to consciousness, and I have 
 described him to her. He will return to make his 
 visit to-morrow ; and she has promised to bring him 
 to my bed. 'Tis he I 'tis he — return to-morrow — 
 return." 
 
 I came to the conclusion, in listening to her, that 
 the pervading sentiment of her whole life had been 
 transformed into a delirium which presaged her end, 
 notwithstanding the fulness of her voice, the ani- 
 mation of her glance, and the force with which she 
 pressed my hand. On the following day she was no 
 more ; happy to have terminated her life at the most 
 beatific moment of the dream, which alone had been 
 able to support her in the midst of the misery and 
 tears of fifty years. 
 
 Her story, which I wish I had been able to 
 recount with the naive simplicity of manner that 
 marked her own recital, will serve as a transition by 
 which to pass to the narrative of my own adversities, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 69 
 
 In the year 1798 our house went to ruin ; and the 
 misfortune, as I had foreseen, inflicted on me one of the 
 most frightful blows 1 have ever received. 
 
 Educated by my aunt in principles of rigorous pro- 
 bity, I was overwhelmed with despair at the idea of 
 a catastrophe I had been unable to prevent or retard, 
 and for which I dreaded I might appear responsible. 
 Indeed, the capitalists had been in the habit of con- 
 sidering me of some account in the confidence which 
 they accorded the house — although it was more than 
 a year since I had ceased to take any part in its opera- 
 tions. Most of them thought themselves justified 
 in addressing me in language of reproach, which I by 
 no means merited. If my father, who was naturally 
 extravagant, expended his money too freely, I was by 
 no means a heavy burden on the resources of the 
 business. I was lodged in a garret without a fire, in 
 which the snow and the rain often overflowed my bed. 
 My pleasures were not expensive ; I had not much 
 taste even for matters pertaining to the toilet ; and 
 the love of the gaming-table never had any hold of 
 me. My aunt had often said to me, " The opulence of 
 your father will not continue long," and this remark 
 had led me to regulate my conduct. Ill-favoured, 
 and of mean appearance, I have never been 
 in circumstances to expend much in women ; who 
 alone could have led me into expensive folHes. 
 
70 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 In the midst of these fatal circumstances, a passion 
 of a different nature was developed in me. Until this 
 time I had been in the habit of making bad verses, 
 without plan or purpose ; but at length the true love 
 of poetry took possession of me. Although still a very 
 imperfect grammarian, I applied myself to the study 
 of the various styles, and to attempt something in 
 almost all of them ; and, in a few years, I succeeded 
 in forming for myself a poetic system, almost complete, 
 which I have doubtless since perfected, but which has 
 scarcely varied at all in any of its principal rules. At 
 this period, also, I meditated much on the nature 
 and genius of language — thus venturing to master, at 
 a high point, a science the rudimentary steps of 
 which have often inspired me with a sort of 
 repugnance. 
 
 In presence of the misery which ere long began to 
 threaten us, poetry must have appeared to me a con- 
 solation expressly conferred by heaven for my bene- 
 fit. Several capitalists, convinced, in spite of my 
 extreme youth, of my financial abilities and of my 
 honesty, which my tears and despair had so unmis- 
 takably proved to them, offered me sufficient funds 
 again to embark in business. My father urged me to 
 accept the offer, but without success. The business 
 inspired me with such an aversion that I rather pre- 
 ferred to remain pour than to return to the Bourse — in 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 71 
 
 which T have never been able to put a foot without a 
 shuddering of dread. 
 
 1 then regretted very bitterly that I had ever been 
 moved from the printing press ; I have always had a 
 partiality for typography ; but I did not suppose that 
 I knew it sufficiently well to derive from it a source 
 of maintenance. I was wrong, however, for I after- 
 wards became convinced, but not till it was too late, 
 that I might have become a skilful workman in a 
 short time ; a circumstance that would have spared me 
 many years of privation and of futile expectation. 
 
 Whilst my father, though pursued by his creditors, 
 and even thrown into prison, was neither less volatile 
 nor less careless, my desire was to have concealed 
 myself from the whole world. I gave myself up to 
 fits of melancholy, so much the more painful that I 
 was no less expansive in my sorrows than I have 
 always been in my pleasures. The constant fear of 
 encountering the witnesses or the victims of our 
 disaster, led me to indulge in long walks around 
 Paris. Saint Gervais, Romainville, Boulogne, Vin- 
 cennes, for how many tranquilhzing reveries have I 
 been indebted to you ! But it was soon necessary to 
 devote myself to the care of a cabinet de lecture, 
 which my father had been enabled to acquire. This 
 was to me the occasion of fresh embarrassment. He 
 had associated with me a cousin, a merry youth, who, 
 
72 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 while I was rhyming and writing in the midst of our 
 customers, while attending at the counter, expended in 
 his own amusement a part of our little earnings. 
 My father, at length, took charge of the establishment, 
 which had become his last resource. It was situated 
 in the Rue Saint Nicaise One evening when I was 
 going to meet him there, I had a narrow escape from 
 being blown up by the infernal machine, which 
 would assuredly have blown me into atoms, if it had 
 burst only a few seconds later. 
 
 By a singular chance, a few days before this hor- 
 rible catastrophe, M. de Bourmont, who had treated 
 with the Consular Government ; the Abb^ Rathel, a 
 man who lived on royalist conspiracies ; one named 
 Charles, whose family name has escaped my recol- 
 lection ; and two or three other individuals of the 
 same party, had dined with my father. It was not, 
 however, a political reunion. I had there an oppor- 
 tunity of remarking the little harmony that pre- 
 vailed among these gentlemen. M. de Bourmont, in 
 particular, appeared to inspire dissatisfaction and 
 suspicion. I was,^also, much surprised to find that 
 he was compromised in the affair of Carbon and 
 Saint Regent. I have never met him since this 
 time. The individual named Charles was arrested, I 
 believe, the day after this reunion, and shot by virtue 
 of a former judgment issued against him. When he 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 73 
 
 was taken, he had formed the design of assassinating 
 the First Consul, a secret he had entrusted to my 
 father, who did all in his power to dissuade him from 
 it. We unavoidably incurred great risk of being 
 compromised by such relations ; but my father alone 
 was placed under surveillance, and the Commissary of 
 Police gave him the title of Banquier des Royalistes. 
 If the fortune of the party had been judged by that 
 of the banker, bankruptcy was certainly imminent. 
 
 I perceive that I have kept silence on the political 
 events of the two last years of the eighteenth 
 century, which were not of a character to mitigate 
 our distresses. It fell to my lot, who had so often 
 been transported with joy at the success of our arms, 
 soon to lament over their repeated reverses, and even 
 to tremble for the independence of the country. On 
 the termination of the Directorial power, the anarchy 
 became so great that the stoutest hearts lost all hope 
 and confidence in the midst of it. It may, therefore, 
 easily be judged what was the state of the timid. I 
 have, then, heard with shame and confusion good 
 bourgeoisie express their desire for the triumph of the 
 foreign coalition. The Massenas, the Brunes, who 
 brought back victory to our standards in Switzer- 
 land and Holland, did not appear capable of restoring 
 security ; the disorders, the corruptions, and the ex- 
 travagances of the Government of Barras, had so 
 
74 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 completely discouraged the nation, which had for- 
 merly so much confidence in its own strength. 
 
 In the midst of these public misfortunes, an 
 obscure disciple of Juvenal, I was composing my 
 Alexandrine rhymes against Barras and his adherents. 
 It will be seen that I had early imbibed a taste for 
 satire, which was then very general — as the verses of 
 Chamier, Lormian, Despazes, and of many others 
 sufficiently testify. My masterpieces in this style 
 had not time to blossom ; Bonaparte returned from 
 Egypt. When the great news of his unexpected 
 return arrived, I was in our cabinet de lecture, in the 
 midst of more than thirty persons. They all rose 
 spontaneously, uttering a long cry of joy. The same 
 manifestations of delight were made throughout the 
 whole country. France believed itself now saved. 
 When the presence of a man in a country produces 
 such effects on the people, he is unquestionably their 
 master. The wise and prudent arc without any in- 
 fluence in the matter. When Bonaparte disembarked 
 at Frejus, he was already the Emperor Napoleon. 
 
 I had always had a mischievous pleasure in pre- 
 dicting to my father the future elevation of the con- 
 queror of Arcole and of Lodi. His progress in Egypt 
 had not removed the idea that he would ultimately 
 become the supreme head of the government. Like 
 the other royalists, my father was not disposed to 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 75 
 
 regard him in any other light than that of a Monk. 
 As for me, I applauded along with all France the 
 revolution of the 18th Brumaire, not, however, without 
 entertaining my fears that the young general would 
 not pause in his career at the Consulate. 
 
 If I am asked how it was that, with all my pre- 
 visions, I was not revolted by the violation of the 
 constitution of the 18 th Brumaire, I will candidly 
 reply that, in my mind, patriotism has ahvays overruled 
 all political doctrines, and that Providence does not 
 always leave to nations the choice of the means by 
 which their safety is to be secured. This great man 
 alone was able to elevate France from the abyss into 
 which the Directory had ended by precipitating her. 
 I was only nineteen years old at this time, and the 
 whole world appeared to be only of my age in order 
 to think as I did. The opposing parties had destroyed 
 each other by violence ; and their agitations, by which 
 people were alarmed, were only the spasms of their 
 last agony. This alarm was sufficient to prevent the 
 small number of voices that demanded a free republic 
 from finding an echo. It was imagined that they 
 had had such a one in '93, but that republic had no 
 longer any but fools to wish for it. The 
 wise and prudent, who still spoke of liberty, did so 
 with that distrust with which their own minds had 
 been inspired by the result of the unfortunate and 
 
76 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 badly managed attempts that had been already made. 
 Besides, very few of these politicians recommended 
 themselves by the spirit of application, without 
 which the best principles so speedily lose all consi- 
 deration. At last France absolutely required a strong 
 government to deliver it from the Jacobins and the 
 Bourbons, from uncertainty and anarchy. The youth, 
 intoxicated with the glory of the young Consul, 
 eagerly offered themselves from every quarter for the 
 accomplishment of his designs, without thinking even 
 of asking him to render any account of them. In 
 order to judge of the enthusiasm with which he was 
 regarded, it was only necessary to remark in the 
 theatres the frenzy of applause with which the slightest 
 allusion to the dispersion of the representatives at 
 Saint Cloud was received, and to listen to.the peals 
 of laughter that saluted the witty hits hurled against 
 the small number of Brutuses, who, to avail myself of 
 one of the expressions of the period, had dared to 
 resist the new Csesar ! 
 
 Wlio would suppose that the first germ of opposi- 
 tion excited in my mind against the Consular Govern- 
 ment was directed against the practice of borrowing 
 from Greece and Rome the ancient names of offices, 
 which were now given to new functions, and, at a 
 later date, to the establishments of public instruction. 
 Consuls, tribunes, prefects, prytanees, lyceums — all 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 77 
 
 these words appeared to be sacramental with the New 
 World of eighty-nine, that had bequeathed to us an 
 abundance of words of a similar origin. It was, 
 doubtless, very childish on my part, but I have 
 always detested this pedantic imitation of the an- 
 cients. Only think, in our country, of Herault 
 de Sechelles not being able to set himself to work on 
 our constitution, unless he were successful in pro- 
 curing, before everything else, the laws of Minos. 
 From this mixture that we have made of the Ancient 
 and the Modern, of Paganism and of Christianity, a 
 disconnected and inharmonious system of civiUsation 
 has been evoked — a thing of shreds and patches — a 
 sort of harlequin's coat, which fortunately is beginning 
 to show symptoms of dilapidation. My indignation 
 on this subject caused much laughter at the time, 
 and will still, perhaps, call forth a smile even in the 
 present day. That has not prevented me, in spite of 
 all my love for the Greeks, from regarding with an 
 unfavourable eye the great men of Plutarch, and even 
 Plutarch himself, — that Greek who ventures not to 
 appreciate either the political greatness of Demosthenes 
 or the genius of Aristophanes. Let us study Antiquity, 
 let us respect Tradition, but let us not borrow what 
 we are unable to accommodate to our different condition. 
 My admiration for Bonaparte has not prevented me 
 from treating him as something of a pedant. 
 
78 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Paoli had well divined his character ; he was in many 
 respects a hero of Plutarch; and I hope, therefore, 
 he will remain the last, and, perhaps, the greatest of 
 the men of that Old World, which he so loved to re- 
 model — in his own manner it must be confessed. 
 Alas ! nothing is so calculated to bring down misfor- 
 tune as the vain struggle against a new world and 
 new ideas. Napoleon attempted the task, and suc- 
 cumbed. It was a confirmation of the expression of 
 Paoli, when, in 1818, he wrote to the Prince Regent 
 of England, that he was coming, like Themistocles, 
 to seat himself at the hearth of the British nation.* 
 The English people and their prince have well dis- 
 played their sensibility to this recollection of Plutarch. 
 During the early period of the Consulate, in order 
 to escape from the painful position in which I was 
 placed, I used ray utmost exertions to get sent out to 
 Egypt, where our 'army still appeared capable of 
 
 * In 1841 we treated Napoleon according to his own 
 taste in such matters. After the publication of the 
 proces verbal of the proceedings of exhumation, ■which 
 testified that his remains were in a state of preservation 
 so perfect as to raise the cry of Miracle, the newspapers 
 and the publications of the authorities spoke to us of 
 the ashes (cendres) of Napoleon. The poets, it may 
 be presumed, were not the last to avail themselves of 
 the use of this word, cendres. We are also informed 
 that an old soldier, on hearing it repeated, exclaimed, 
 ** See ! these English scoundrels have burnt him," 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 79 
 
 maintaining its resistance for a long time. Parceval- 
 Grandmaison, whom I knew, and who had returned 
 from that country with Bonaparte, being consulted 
 by me, with reference to this project, endeavoured to 
 dissuade me from it, by pointing out the inconveniences 
 with which it was attended, and I was constrained to 
 give in to his opinion. How often has he since said to 
 me, " Was I not in the right ?" Doubtless he was ; yet 
 I cannot admit that I was wrong, for I had to resolve 
 a problem difficult to me, how, namely, not to be a 
 burden to my father, and to find the means of support 
 for myself — it mattered not in what quarter of the 
 world. 
 
 There was, however, some alleviation to my poverty. 
 I was inhabiting a garret, on the fifth story, in the 
 Boulevard St. Martin. What a beautiful prospect I 
 enjoyed from it ! How I delighted in the evening to 
 hover in spirit, as it were, over the immense city, 
 especially when to the murmurs which were unceas- 
 ingly ascending from it were added the noise and 
 tumult of some great storm ! I had installed myself 
 in this lofty abode with inexpressible satisfaction. I 
 was destitute of money, without any certain prospect 
 for the future ; but 1 considered myself fortunate in 
 being at length delivered from the anxiety of so many 
 unfortunate transactions — by which all my better 
 feelings and tastes had been constantly ruffled. 
 
80 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 To live alone, and to compose verses at my leisure, 
 appeared to me the very summit of felicity. And 
 then, my budding wisdom was not of that kind which 
 dispenses with all joy ; very far from it ! Perhaps I 
 have never thoroughly known what our ancient and 
 modern romancers call love : for I have ever regarded 
 woman, not as a wife or as a mistress — relations which 
 too often put her in the condition either of a slave or 
 a tyrant — but I have always seen in her a friend whom 
 God has bestowed upon us. That tenderness, mingled 
 with esteem, with which this sex has inspired me 
 from my youth, has never ceased to be the source of 
 my sweetest consolations. I have thus completely 
 triumphed over a lurking disposition to indulgence in 
 gloomy humours — the returns of which became less 
 and less frequent under the influence of women and 
 of poetry. It would have been sufficient to have 
 expressed my gratitude to women for this blessing, 
 for poetry came to me from them. 
 
 But even when this troublesome disposition held 
 me most completely under its tyrannizing power, I 
 was able in our friendly reunions to cast it oflT, and to 
 show myself the most unrestrained and the gayest of 
 all. How dehghtful a thing it is to possess friends ! 
 My literary meditations did not prevent me from 
 preparing songs for all the joyous dinners in which 
 the resources of our purse permitted us to indulge. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 81 
 
 Not a single carnival passed without masquerades ; 
 to play comedy was one of my greatest amusements ; 
 and I composed little vaudevilles for our private 
 fetes — a circumstance which renders the more extra- 
 ordinary the little pleasure I afterwards experienced 
 in the amusements of the theatre.* 
 
 I formed at this period several friendly connections, 
 which I still enjoy. One of them was with Antier, 
 who has composed many works for our second-rate 
 theatres, and who has produced so many beautiful 
 songs still unpuhhshed, he having never made it the ob- 
 ject of his serious consideration to acquire a reputation 
 for himself, as he easily m.ight have done. Another 
 was Lebrun, a man of the purest and best of characters, 
 
 *The Editor of Beranger has recently been very for- 
 tunate in the acquisition of a manuscript, of not less 
 than a hundred pages folio, and bearing the date of 
 1809. It is accompanied by a letter explanatory of the 
 circumstances in which, at this time, Beranger had under- 
 taken a series of historical studies on the heroes of Greek 
 antiquity. These studies had, according to all appearance, 
 been ordered by a publisher ; but if he wrote a hundred 
 pages to make a beginning with this " galerie mytholo- 
 gique," there is reason to believe that he never finished 
 it, and that he soon became disgusted with a task, which 
 did not leave him the liberty of distributing and 
 treating the subject in his ov^'u manner. In his letter 
 he asks for a collahorateur. " I am a poor hand at hack 
 work," he said ; " I am little suited for this kind of 
 labour, and shall never be able to find much satisfaction 
 in it," If they should be unable to meet with any one 
 
 G 
 
82 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 who became an academician, but who, notwith- 
 standing the deserved success of his beautiful literary 
 works, allowed himself to sink too prematurely into 
 a state of discouragement. The last of these friends 
 was Wilhem Bocquillon, the discoverer of an admira- 
 ble method of music, who, by extending the popu- 
 larity of his art, has rendered a great service to France, 
 and particularly to the working classes, the ameliora- 
 tion of whose condition music is calculated to promote. 
 In speaking of Wilhem — who has composed such 
 charming airs for some of my songs, and who was 
 prevented from attaining a high reputation as a com- 
 poser, in consequence of the time which he devoted 
 to his method — I am desirous of introducing a letter 
 in couplets, such as I have written many of, and 
 
 to assist him, " be assured," he adds, " that by the end 
 of October, even should I be compelled to give my 
 nights to it, you shall have the entire work." 
 
 This letter is dated the 28th of July. Our curiosity 
 is certainly gratified in learning the nature of the em- 
 ployment in which Beranger was engaged at a time 
 when we should have been inclined to believe that his 
 mind was entirely occupied with his friends and his 
 light songs. The fragments of the proposed work that 
 have been preserved consist of really erudite articles 
 on Achilles, Diomed, Theseus, Hercules, and other 
 personages of fabulous history. We also find in them 
 traces of the frequent readings, in which Beranger at 
 that time indulged, of the translations of the ancient 
 poets. — Editor^ s Note, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. S3 
 
 which I addressed to him on the occasion of the Te 
 Deum sung at Notre Dame, in the presence of all the 
 corn-tier kings by whom Napoleon was attended. I 
 possessed a ticket of admission. 
 
 On Sunday, five Kings, in church, I fear. 
 
 Will lead our thoughts from God astray ; 
 I believe, in short, they will look for me there, 
 
 I must send my shirt to be washed to day. 
 I have a black coat, I have a hat. 
 
 In capital hose behold my riches ; 
 I have everything I shall want, save that 
 
 Alas ! it is needful to have breeches ! 
 
 Long live that woman of sense divine. 
 
 Who provides the Academy with theirs ! 
 For I know, in my heart, the sisters nine 
 
 Have a different fancy, and no such cares. 
 Between ourselves, friend, I don't believe 
 
 In the virtue, which calls us sots and wretches. 
 For these ladies find it good sport to leave 
 
 The friends of their choice without any breeches ! 
 
 Thou, whose heart, always a generous one. 
 
 Is open to those oppressed by fate ; 
 Thou, who never makest fun 
 
 Of the plaints of the unfortunate ', 
 Thou, who canst live like a Crusoe, 
 
 Whilst me like a football fortune reaches. 
 Who canst stay at home, nor heed the show. 
 
 Wilt thou lend me thy pair of breeches ? * 
 
 Only one of my friends, under the influence of 
 
 * Beranger has just spoken of his friend Antier, and 
 of his talent as a song-writer. 
 
 We find here, in the manuscript, some verses which 
 
 G 2 
 
84 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 political feeling, in 1815, dissolved the ties that 
 bound us together. He was a celebrated artist, a 
 man of a character generally amiable and mild, but 
 whose vanity led him to take dehght in aristocratic 
 
 M. Antier addressed to Beranger, in 1821, at the very 
 moment when he was about to be conveyed to prison, 
 after his first trial. B^ranger, without doubt, wished 
 them to be printed in this place, and desired to conse- 
 crate in this way the recollection of an old friendship, 
 which praised him in song, and encouraged him long 
 before the dawn of his reputation. — Editor's Note. 
 
 A BERANGER 
 
 AU MOMBNT OU IL VA ENTRER EN PRISON, 
 (1821.) 
 
 Air : (V Octavie. 
 
 Aux dieux des cours puisqu'on te sacrifie 
 Pour n'avoir cru qu'a des dieux indulgents, 
 A ton depart I'amiti^ te confie. 
 Pendant trois mois, au Dicu des bonnes gens. 
 
 Exempt de soins comme d'inqui^tude, 
 Sur ton grabat, couch6 paisible et pur, 
 Tu dormiras mieux dans la solitude 
 Que les tyrans sur I'or et sous I'azur. 
 
 Quand du repos les tranquilles delices 
 Rafraichiront tes membres fatigues, 
 TJn reve affreux leur rendra les supplices 
 Que la vengeance a toujours prodigu^s. 
 
 Loin des flatteurs, leurs conseillers intimes, 
 Dans I'insomnie, au sein des longues nuits, 
 Un souvenir de leurs tristes victimes 
 Ajoutera le reniorda aux ennuis. 
 
 Tu reveras I'epoque glorieuse 
 Ou les partis oublieront leurs malheurs ; 
 Le tronc libre et la patrie heureuse, 
 Te decernant des lauriers et des fieurs. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 85 
 
 society. This old friend repented of his estrange- 
 ment from me ; but I have never believed in the 
 possibility of the reconciliation of friendship, except 
 in cases of misunderstanding. 
 
 I attribute the first idea which I formed of com- 
 mitting my songs to writing to a long illness of this 
 artist, during the continuance of which I constantly 
 tended him. 1 recalled to my recollection more than 
 forty, in the course of the long nights that I sat by 
 his bedside, near which he was unable to endure a 
 
 Honneur a toi ! La chanson, libra et fiere. 
 Sur le Paruasse a droit de se ranger. 
 La France encor ne compte qu'un Moliere ; 
 La France aussi n'aura qu'un Beranger. 
 
 Tous deux, bravant une crainte servile, 
 Sans nul egard des couleurs ni des rangs, 
 Ont, a la cour, fl^tri, comma a la villa, 
 Le ridicule et les intolerants. 
 
 Mais on s'expose a dangereuse epreuve 
 Lorsqu'a des fous on vent parler raison ; 
 Et bienheuraux, Socrata en est la preuve, 
 D'en etra quitte alors pour la prison. 
 
 Aux diaux des cours lorsqu'on te sacrifie 
 Pour n'avoir cru qua des diaux indulgents, 
 A ton depart I'amitie ta confie. 
 Pendant trois mois, au Diau des bonnes gens. 
 
 Tu n'irais pas ou Marchangy te loge. 
 Pour qualques traits nialins ou gravaleux. 
 Si das pouvoirs ta muse aut fait I'eloge 
 Dans vingt recueils broches expres pour eux. 
 
 Bon citoyen, da bassassa incapable, 
 Quand I'etranger donnait chaz nous le ton, 
 Tu na vins pas, d'una rime coupabla, 
 Divinisar Bliichar et Wellington. 
 
86 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 regular nurse— although his fortune would have 
 allowed him to have more than one. I sung them 
 to him as I wrote them, in order to distract his mind 
 during the tedious and painful nights that he passed 
 without sleep. Good, however, as my memory is, of 
 the multitude I have composed, it must have allowed 
 many to escape. It has just furnished me, at the 
 present time, with some couplets, which I wrote in 
 reply to a letter, in which this ungrateful friend said 
 
 All ! Ton a du calomnier ta vie. 
 Tu rcpoussais nn regime sanglant, 
 Et nul n'a droit, sans exciter I'envie, 
 D'etre honn^te homme avec un beau talent. 
 
 Tremblez, cafards ! Son vers ridiculise 
 L'hypocrisie et ses j^ieux exces. 
 Tremblez, ingrats ! Son vers immortalise 
 Les detracteurs du courage fran9ais. 
 
 Soit qu'il proclame, ou qu'il chante, ou qu'il peigne 
 Un Dieu de paix, nos plaisirs, nos travers ; 
 C'est tour a tour Colle, Rousseau, Montaigne ; 
 C'est la nature : elle inspire ses vers. 
 
 D'un gout exquis, d'un commerce modeste, 
 Toujours prodigue et de zele et de soins, 
 Quoique bien pauvre, 11 trouve encor du reste 
 Pour obliger des amis au besoin. 
 
 Aux dieux des cours lorsqu'on te sacrifie. 
 Pour n'avoir cru qu'a des dieux indulgents, 
 A ton depart I'amitie te confie. 
 Pendant trois mois, a a Dieu des bonnes gens. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 87 
 
 to me, after the 20th of March, that it was necessary 
 we should not meet again until after the restoration 
 of the Bourbons. I did not send these verses to 
 him, and, as long as he lived, I considered it incum- 
 bent on me not to publish them. 
 
 Our warm regards let us suppress, 
 
 You write me, and that day await, 
 Which the return shall gladly bless 
 
 Of our old lords legitimate. 
 Ah ! keep, then, thy indifference, 
 
 Thy hopes to me but shudderings send ; 
 It were too much that the tears of France 
 
 To me should bring back such a friend. 
 
 I loved you, and you think men chase 
 
 Poor friendship, like a vagrant-vain, 
 Who finds by the fire at night a place. 
 
 But with the dawn goes forth again. 
 No : from the roof where shelter lay. 
 
 In joy and sorrow, if she flies. 
 Driven by ingratitude away, 
 
 Crossing the threshold, there she dies. 
 
 She dies ! I feel that she must die, 
 
 Proudly she yields to thy decree, 
 At which deep in my heart I sigh, 
 
 But which will not break thy heart in thee. 
 Believe me, if thy party win. 
 
 Whatever I meet of risk or dangers, 
 I shall not fly thy door within, 
 
 Thou still must open it to strangers. 
 
 But let us return to the year 1801, when I was 
 residing in my garret on the Boulevard Saint Martin. 
 
oii MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 My misery was increasing ; and the conscription 
 added a new source of anxiety to the other troubles 
 of my life. It was easy to live on bread and cheese, 
 notwithstanding the strength of my appetite. But 
 how was I to avoid the military levy, and those who 
 carried it into execution ? 
 
 My feeble constitution, and the weakness of my 
 eyesight, which would have reduced me to the con- 
 dition of a hospital soldier, placed me in the category 
 of those who might hope for certain exemption. No 
 one believed that, pale and meagre as I was, I should 
 ever attain to my thirtieth year. My chest appeared 
 to be in a very bad condition, and my father was 
 constantly repeating to me, " You have not long to 
 live. 1 shall bury you soon." Neither of us was 
 afflicted at such a prospect. Unfortunately, the 
 position which the cabinet de lecture appeared to 
 give him, laid him under the obhgation, in case my 
 exemption was not granted, of providing a substitute, 
 which, in his circumstances, it was impossible for 
 him to do. 
 
 Being perfectly satisfied, in my own conscience, of 
 my incapacity for military service, I could only fall 
 upon one method of saving my father the expense 
 which this matter was likely to bring upon him. I 
 did not, although such a course was at that time 
 possible, get my name entered on the contrules. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 89 
 
 But I thus placed myself in circumstances under 
 which my arrest was almost inevitable. This was a 
 painful source of anxiety, added to so many others I 
 was already enduring. Many young persons are dis- 
 couraged by infinitely less. I kept up, however, 
 against adversity, and Providence came to my assist- 
 ance. Being bald at twenty-three years of age, 
 without any other appreciable cause than the head- 
 aches from which I suffered, I was able, in conse- 
 quence of the apparent maturity which such an 
 appearance confers, to defy the gendarmes and police 
 officers, who were constantly on the trace of refrac- 
 tory conscripts. It was quite sufficient for me to 
 take off my hat in their presence. The aspect of my 
 forehead, which, before the age of thirty, seemed to 
 accuse me of forty-five years, at once led them to re- 
 nounce the idea of asking for my papers. I was, for 
 a long time, obliged to pay my salutation to these 
 gentlemen — the refractory of my class not having 
 been amnestied until the marriage of Napoleon with 
 Marie Louise, an event which proves that the little 
 do not always suffer in consequence of the follies of 
 the great. 
 
 As to fortune, it also suffered itself to be touched 
 by my misfortunes. I had spent three years in en- 
 deavouring to find some little employment. I had 
 occupied myself with rhyming, passing from political 
 
90 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 satire to odes and idyls — from comedy to the epic 
 poem. Urged by my ever-recurring necessities, I 
 one day formed the idea of writing to M. Lucien 
 Bonaparte. This was in the beginning of 1804. I 
 have elsewhere related what a fortunate circumstance 
 this desperate step was for me ; but I take pleasure 
 in recalling the miserable condition to which I was 
 reduced, and the menacing future which was before 
 me, when this ray of the sun fell upon me. 
 
 My gold watch and some other wrecks of our fleet- 
 ing opulence had, for a long time, been engaged as 
 pledges at the Mont de PieU; my wardrobe was 
 composed of three bad shirts, which a friendly hand 
 wearied itself in endeavouring to mend, of a thin and 
 well-patched great coat, a pair of trousers with a hole 
 in the knee, and a pair of boots, which I regarded with 
 despair, each morning, as I was engaged in restoring 
 their lustre, discovering some new damage. I had 
 just committed to the post four or five hundred verses 
 in a lettre d'envoi to M. Lucien — taking care not to 
 reveal to any one this last attempt, made after so many 
 other unavailing ones. Two days having elapsed 
 without reply, the good Judith in whose company I 
 finished my days, amuses herself in consulting the 
 cards, and predicts the arrival of a letter that is sure 
 to overwhelm me with joy. Notwithstanding my little 
 faith in the science of Mademoiselle Lenormand, the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 91 
 
 Utterance of this prediction makes me experience a 
 foretaste of the joy which Judith announces to me, 
 for poverty is superstitious. As soon as I had entered 
 into my poor little chamber, I fell asleep, dreaming 
 of the letter carrier. But I awake, and — adieu, ye 
 bright illusions ! The damaged boots meet my sight ; 
 and, moreover, his old pair of trousers must be 
 patched by the tailor's grandson. 
 
 Needle in hand, I continued ruminating on some 
 exceedingly misanthropical rhymes, such as I was then 
 in the occasional habit of composing, when my por- 
 tiere enters out of breath, and hands me a letter, 
 the superscription of which was unknown to me. 
 Rhyme, needle, trousers, everything is forgotten. In 
 my agitation I cannot muster up courage to open the 
 missive. At last, with a trembling hand, I break the 
 seal ; the senator, Lucien Bonaparte, has read my 
 verses, and he wishes to see me. Let such young 
 poets as are in my position imagine to themselves 
 my happiness, and describe it if they can. It was 
 not fortune which first appeared to me ; it was glory. 
 My eyes swelled with tears, and I returned thanks to 
 God, whom I have never forgotten in my moments 
 of prosperity. 
 
 Hastily obtaining the loan of garments more 
 suitable than my own, I repair to the presence of the 
 brother of the First Consul. When, indeed, I think 
 
92 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 of the two feeble dithyrambic poems, {Le Retahlisse' 
 ment du Culte and Le Deluge), which I had ventured 
 to send to this illustrious man, himself an orator and 
 a poet, I cannot but be astonished at the marks of 
 benevolence which he so liberally bestowed upon me. 
 He had the kindness to assure me that he would 
 assume the responsibility of watching over my destiny ; 
 and, notwithstanding his precipitate departure for 
 Rome, he soon gave me a proof of his sincerity. 
 He was not long in sending me from that city a 
 procuration, authorising me to obtain the honorarium, 
 to which he was entitled as a member of the Insti- 
 tute ; and the arrears of three years were paid to me 
 at once. I presented the largest portion of this sum 
 to my father, to whom I was now indebted for the 
 support of many months ; and I was able to provide 
 for my own wants with the thousand francs annually, 
 which the traitement of an academician was worth 
 to me. 
 
 In the only two interviews which I had at this 
 time with M. Lucien, he made some observations on 
 the bold innovations of my style. I had no desire to 
 defend anything, and I confessed to him that I had 
 never had the benefit of classical instruction. It had 
 never before cost me such an effort to avow that I 
 was ignorant of Latin, that language without which, 
 with every one else at that time, I believed it was im- 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 93 
 
 possible to write French well. Such was, doubtless, 
 the opinion of M. Lucien also, but he had the good- 
 ness to say nothing of it to me ; all that he did was, to 
 persuade me to attempt a Roman subject, the Death 
 of Nero. In a poem of about two or three hundred 
 verses, I endeavoured to depict the last moments of 
 this crowned comedian ; but, with such a subject, I 
 was out of my element. I have never been able to 
 manage any other subjects than those which are 
 spontaneously suggested by my own mind, and I have 
 always found imitation impossible. Besides, Pagan- 
 ism and Antiquity, which I knew quite as well as if I 
 had been several years at college, had no attractions 
 for my young muse, which was completely French, 
 completely modern, and already in arms against My- 
 thology, which at that time was so much abused, 
 especially by Delille and Lebrun-Pindare. The 
 poem of Nero contained only a few passages of con- 
 siderable power, in which a certain tendency to sim- 
 plicity made its appearance — a tendency the value of 
 which I immediately acknowledged, when, renouncing 
 the alarming faciUty with which I had at first accumu- 
 lated heaps of verses, I began to labour with reflection. 
 That, it may be remarked, in passing, is no slight 
 restraint for a rhymer of twenty to subject himself to. 
 It is true that I had patience enough to copy Athalie 
 
94 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 twice ; a study which, I am persuaded, has had a very 
 favourable influence upon me. 
 
 In one of my conversations on French versification 
 with M. Lucien, a partisan of forms, which I accused 
 of being rather antiquated, in order to show him the 
 conception of style I entertained, I recited to him 
 some forty verses, composed in a manner the very re- 
 verse of that of Delille. This poet was in great 
 favour ; but, notwithstanding the admirable talent of 
 the master, his manner of writing appeared to me, in 
 certain respects, false and dangerous. I spoke, in 
 this fragment of the fall of the Bourbons, and of the 
 elevation of Bonaparte ; and the following passage 
 occurred in it : 
 
 " Le soleil vit, du haut des voutes ^ternelles, 
 Passer dans les palais des families nouvelles ; 
 Families et palais, il verra tout p^rir." 
 
 If there was nothing in this passage very original in 
 expression, the recital of such verses to a man of 
 yesterday, in the splendid gallery in which he received 
 me, was at least a strange circumstance. I had, as it 
 were assumed, the part of the prophet Habakkuk. My 
 indulgent auditor was not the less warm in hi? 
 praises of the ideas I had expressed. 
 
 The protection of M. Lucien, notwithstanding the 
 exile to which he afterw ards condemned himself, did 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 95 
 
 not cease to be useful to me. One requires to have 
 something to say of himself, and it was a great deal 
 when I could say I was under his protection. At 
 twenty-five years of age, I at length possessed what I 
 always so much desired, a modest employment. I 
 entered the bureaux of the painter Landon, where I 
 prepared and arranged the text of his Musce. This 
 work consisted of a collection of pencil-drawings of 
 the pictures and statues in the gallery of the Louvre, 
 so rich at that time in the fruits of our noble and 
 loyal conquests — whatever the Duke of Wellington, 
 who might have reserved his moral lessons for the 
 spoliators of India, may have allowed himself to say. 
 Intimate as I was with several painters, it was easy for 
 me to accomplish my new task ; and it gave me an 
 opportunity of perfecting my taste in the plastic arts, 
 thanks to the counsels of Landon, who was destitute 
 neither of tact nor of knowledge. The eighteen hun- 
 dred francs of this place, together with the ten thousand 
 francs of the Institute, enabled me to procure the 
 most delightful enjoyments of riches, for I could 
 assist my father, and lend a helping hand to my poor 
 grandmother, the widow of the good old tailor, whose 
 ruin had been accomplished by the assignats. I could 
 even be of service to my sister also, a workwoman in 
 the house of one of my aunts. 
 
 Constantly harassed by the dread of being one 
 
96 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 day compelled to make literature a trade, foreseeing 
 that my actual employment had but little stability, I 
 neglected no means to obtain a more certain occu- 
 pation. With that view, 1 addressed myself to 
 M. Arnault, a tragic poet, the friend of Lucien Bona- 
 parte, and Chief of the Division of Public Instruction 
 at the Ministry of the Interior. I might also have 
 thought of M. de Fontanes, who was equally the friend 
 of my protector, and who had told me that he had 
 read to him my verses. But I had been informed of 
 Arnault's independence of character, in consequence 
 of which he had been unable to advance in the favour 
 of the First Consul. That circumstance determined 
 my choice. Arnault soon became my friend ; and if 
 his limited influence did not enable him to procure a 
 situation for me until three years later, he did not the 
 less unceasingly manifest the signs of that true 
 interest which he felt on my behalf Besides, he 
 opened to me the doors of the World of Literature, 
 which it had never been in my power to frequent till 
 then. 
 
 His desire was, that I should have written in the 
 newspapers; but I never felt any vocation for this 
 species of labour, which has swallowed up and de- 
 stroyed in our country so many young men of talent — 
 born, perhaps, for a future of glory. Besides, my 
 lingering pen and my timorous conscience were 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 97 
 
 startled at the prospect of such a vocation — the adop- 
 tion of which would have also rendered necessary the 
 renunciation of my fairest poetical hopes and dreams. 
 That would have rendered my garret a very solitary 
 abode. 
 
 The Genie du Christianisme, notwithstanding the 
 criticisms which this book provoked in the philoso- 
 phical world, and the form in which the author had 
 expressed his sentiments, inspired me with the 
 greatest enthusiasm. Chateaubriand revealed in quite 
 an original manner the beauties of the writers of anti- 
 quity, and was the means of restoring to literature that 
 religious element, which appeared to be completely 
 banished from our poetry. His work furnished me with 
 a course of study, far more inspiring than the works of 
 Le Batteux and La Harpe. With the exception of 
 the tears of admiration which the Iliad of Madame 
 Dacier had constrained me to shed, and the species of 
 passion with which I was inspired by Aristophanes, 
 whose genius, in my opinion, is still imperfectly ap- 
 preciated among us, I had not been able to form any 
 adequate conception of Greek poetry, I am indebted 
 to M. de Chateaubriand for the glimpse I obtained of 
 it, in connection with the poetry of the Hebrews. He 
 also enabled me, without submitting entirely to all 
 the opinions of this great writer, to form a more sound 
 judgment in relation to our own literature. I have 
 
 H 
 
98 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 had the misfortune — for it is certainly one — of being 
 unable to bend the neck under any yoke ; a circum- 
 stance, however, which has not prevented me from 
 acknowledging, with due gratitude, those whom I 
 have chosen as my masters. 
 
 With an unshaken foundation of that faith which 
 is termed Deism, a faith so deeply engraven on my 
 heart that, united with all my other sentiments, it 
 might even merge into superstition, w^ere it not pre- 
 vented by the clearer light and influence of reason ; 
 with those melancholy dispositions that are the result 
 of misfortune, and under the impressions produced 
 by the works of Chateaubriand, I had thoughts of 
 returning into the bosom of the Catholic church. I 
 consecrated to it my poetical attempts ; I attended 
 the churches in the hours of solitude ; and I indulged 
 in the reading of ascetic works, in addition to the 
 Gospel, which, notwithstanding my own decided 
 opinions, has always furnished me with reading, phi- 
 losophical in its nature, and by far the most consoling. 
 AJas ! my intentions led to no result. I have often 
 said that the only thing of which reason was capable 
 was to sink us when we fell into the water. Never- 
 theless, to my misfortune, she at this time assumed 
 absolute dominion over my mind. Fool ! She would 
 not suffer me to believe in that which formed the 
 faith of Turenne, Corneille, and Bossuet. And yet 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 99 
 
 I have always been, I am at present, and I hope I 
 shall die, that which, in Philosophy, is termed a 
 spiritualist. It even appears to me that this profound 
 sentiment pervades, and is visible in my foolish songs, 
 for the composition of which some charitable souls 
 would have been gratified if they had seen me, twenty 
 years ago, burnt in the public street in the same 
 manner as Dolet and Vanini formerly were. 
 
 I have now remaining only some very mediocre 
 verses, composed under the influence of a faith, with 
 which my pervading spiritualism inspired me. These 
 I shall probably soon commit to the flames ; but in 
 the meantime, they excite a smile whenever my eyes 
 fall upon them. Much as I like to see a poet inspired 
 with religious feeling, when he writes on religious 
 subjects, I regard it as altogether absurd when he repre- 
 sents himself as animated by a faith of which he is 
 really destitute. The eye of the truly devout is not 
 so easily deceived ; and it is soon seen that he is only 
 assuming for a time a religious part, to the require- 
 ments of which he very soon shows himself 
 unfaithful.* We do not at present take into 
 account the risk he runs of falsifying and mis- 
 representing his own talent, of which perfect sin- 
 cerity of sentiment is always the most solid support. 
 
 * Chateaubriand himself, for instance ! Of how many 
 heresies may he be accused ! — Note hj Beranger. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 MY BIOGUAPHY. 
 
 I am not one of those who think that the poet, at 
 the present day, fills any priestly office. Far from 
 me be such an anachronism ! But because poetry is 
 scarcely more than an object of luxury in the actual 
 world, the poet ought not the less to endeavour to 
 preserve sufficient moral unity in his works and cha- 
 racter, in order that no shadow of doubt may be cast 
 on his good faith, in the expression of opinions which 
 he wishes to serve and propagate. 
 
 To give a hasty view of some of my first attempts, 
 I may state that I had formed the idea of a poem on 
 Clovis, in which my design was to depict the Gallic 
 episcopate lending its assistance in the foundation of 
 our old empire. I almost finished a pastoral poem, 
 the subject of which touched on the epoch of Jeanne 
 d'Arc, and a considerable number of idyls, having 
 reference to modern manners. I also attempted 
 several comedies, two of vfhich were in five acts. 
 There was one, among many others, written on or 
 against the savants (to whom I have often failed in 
 the manifestation of that respect which I entertain 
 for science itself) ; and a second, entitled 2^he Her- 
 maphrodites, a strange title, under which I depicted 
 certain effeminate men, the remains of the old regime, 
 and certain women affecting the manners of men. 
 I even wrote several acts of these two pieces; and 
 it was not any possible imperfection in respect to 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 101 
 
 common sense, which arrested the progress of these 
 works, but the care which, almost in spite of myself, 
 I bestowed on the composition of verses, pre-occupied 
 as I was with the selection of the form and the point 
 of the language, even substituting occasionally the 
 image for the simple expression of the thought. 
 
 In this style, which has some relation to that of 
 the epistle, comedies are produced resembling the 
 Mechant of Gresset ; but we are far from approach- 
 ing, I will not say, Moli^re, who alone rises to per- 
 fection in the comic vein, but even Regnard, w^ho, 
 as the author of the Misanthrope, with different 
 means, and a different end, produces in one flow the 
 longer speeches and the dialogue in a form, at the 
 same time witty, fluent, and gay. I cannot avoid 
 here remarking that this author is too much neglected 
 in our courses of literature ; and the world is far from 
 appreciating his style, his charming and hght-hearted 
 improvisation — all the merit of which La Harpe has 
 been incapable of perceiving. In my opinion, Regnard 
 would have been the first of modern comic writers, 
 if Moh^re had not been given to us. The more 
 complete our comprehension of his genius, so much 
 the more shall we admire Molifere, since it will always 
 be with so much the more astonishment that we shall 
 measure the distance which separates them. Rousseau, 
 
102 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 who always appears to think that those who make 
 others laugh make them laugh at him, has treated 
 him no better than Moliere. But I ask this question : 
 Give the title of the Vieux Celibataire to the 
 Lcgataire Universel, and what will you have to 
 say? 
 
 For the hundredth time, then, I began to re-peruse 
 my favourite authors ; and I felt that I had no longer 
 the courage to complete comedies, more than seven 
 acts of which were sent to rejoin other abandoned 
 fragments. I allowed to myself that I might be able 
 to appropriate a certain style, and even to be a writer 
 of imagination, but that I should certainly never be 
 a dramatic author. In an age of assumption, few 
 are able to discover so quickly their feeble points. I 
 have always experienced infinite satisfaction in the 
 recollection of this act of good sense. 
 
 If, since that time, I ever attempted to write for 
 the stage, it was because necessity compelled me. 
 Fortunately, I never obtained the honour even of a 
 reading. Not to speak of my incapacity, what would 
 have been my fate in a career presenting so many 
 obstacles, and in which self-interest, vanity, and self- 
 love are constantly struggling and hesitating at no 
 means by which to attain their ends ? But even with 
 the genius of Moliere, my character would have led 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 103 
 
 to failure, before any piece of mine could have been 
 brought upon the stage.* 
 
 There was little political agitation under the Im- 
 perial Government. Nevertheless, politics always 
 engaged my mind, and although I had almost fore- 
 seen the direction which the ambition of Napoleon 
 ^ould follow, the re-establishment of a throne was to 
 me a subject of great sorrow. Being much less a 
 man of opinions than a man of instinct and of senti- 
 ment, I am naturally inclined to republicanism. I 
 shed tears over the Republic — not those tears written 
 with points of exclamation, of which poets are so 
 
 • I was named, however, at the Theatre clu Vau- 
 deville in the first years of the Tlestoration. Moreau 
 and "Wailland had proposed that I should lend my 
 assistance in the preparation of a piece entitled " Les 
 Cameleons.^^ But I did not fulfil my task, gave up the 
 collaboration, and ought not to have been named. I 
 have never either seen or read the piece ; and in spite 
 of the persuasions of the two authors, I refused to ac- 
 cept my share of the receipts. I know that a hihliomane, 
 M. de Soleinne, has attributed to me the couplets of 
 several of Antier's pieces. This is so much the more 
 ridiculous that the talent of my friend for this kind of 
 work is far superior to any I possess. I believe I com- 
 posed a dozen couplets for the Cameleons, and, to his 
 great surprise, Moreau found only two or three of them 
 passable. — Note hy Beranger. 
 
104 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 prodigal, but such as a soul, living and breathing in 
 an atmosphere of independence, sincerely sheds over 
 the wounds inflicted on the country and on liberty. 
 My admiration for the genius of Napoleon did not 
 in the least diminish the aversion with which I re- 
 garded the despotism of his government, so much the 
 more, that at that time 1 did not attribute so much 
 importance as I have since, to the necessities which 
 the constantly-renewed enterprises of the European 
 aristocracy imposed upon him. 
 
 Another disappointment was soon added to that. 
 Of all the brothers of the Emperor, M. Lucien alone 
 derived no benefit from his elevated fortune, and re- 
 mained in a state of exile, which was suspended only 
 during the Hundred Days. The gratitude with 
 which I regarded him was pained by the knowledge 
 that he was then living forgotten at Rome ; and I felt 
 inspired by the idea of rendering him a public 
 homage. I had only a few pieces of pastoral poetry, 
 which I had almost finished. Throwing aside all the 
 amour-propre of an author, all pretensions to a degree 
 of perfection to which these poems could never rise, I 
 formed a small volume of them, headed them with a 
 dedicatory epistle, and endeavoured to obtain a pub- 
 lisher for them. If we had enjoyed the least Hberty 
 of the Press, the dedication alone would have enabled 
 me to secure the publisher 1 required ; but it was 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 105 
 
 necessary to submit my work to the literary 
 police. 
 
 I was recommended by Arnault to Lemontey, an 
 academician, who enjoyed the reputation of being the 
 most accommodating of the imperial censors. He 
 condemned, at first sight, the dedication of the book, 
 and the epilogue of a pastoral poem which I addressed 
 to M. Lucien. 1 introduce it here. It will serve to 
 enable the reader to appreciate the official suscepti- 
 bility of the good Lemontey, who, with all his censo- 
 rial strictness, was not less in the habit of railing at 
 kings and emperors. 
 
 In an age of glory, why should it be 
 That we die obscure, my verse and I ? 
 Of a noble music the ancient age 
 Never, alas ! hath taught me the spell, 
 Nor the nurse of genius, knowledge sage. 
 Her pure milk offered like a well. 
 What ask ye of me who no master has had ? 
 Misfortune's hard lessons have formed me alone ; 
 If my spring with green blades of corn is clad 
 They are those of a field where nothing was sown. 
 Ah, I would wish by these rural lays. 
 Protector, who fliest the court of power. 
 To charm thy heart to the peaceful ways. 
 Where odours and loves are in every bower. 
 God, doubtless, has storms for the fields ; yet days 
 Of sunshine he sends for each darker hour. 
 You who dig through the old arenas of fame * 
 
 * M. Lucien has caused considerable excavations to be 
 made in the neighbourhood of Home. — Note byBeranger. 
 
106 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Where the kings of the universe held their state 
 What remains of their pomp and heroic name ? 
 Vain fragments and sepulchres desolate ! 
 What a lesson for great men lingers there ! 
 Wilt thou, then, listening to my voice. 
 Full of virtues which grow in the quiet air, 
 Loving field and wood that refuge brings 
 Confide in the fate which has been thy choice ? 
 For the world's example rest, rest there. 
 Free from crowns that oppress the brow of kings. 
 
 • • • • • • • 
 
 If the rigours of the censorship are to be estimated 
 by this specimen, the reading of these verses will, 
 perhaps, also show how much personal abnegation 
 there was in their publication. In proof of the 
 judgment I formed of the entire collection, I gave up 
 the idea of having them printed, as soon as I became 
 convinced of the impossibility of showing my respect 
 for M. Lucien by their publication. This fragment 
 had no better fortune under the Restoration. Having 
 re-adapted it, in order to secure its appearance, I sent 
 it to the Almanack des Muses, but was unsuccessful 
 in my attempt to get it published. It was not until 
 the year 1833 that I was able, by means of some 
 lines of prose, to express pubhcly, in a suitable 
 manner, my gratitude to the illustrious proscrit, 
 whom I had only seen twice since the 20th of 
 March, 1815. In consequence of my reputation 
 as a writer of songs, he then addressed to me some 
 sharp reproaches for my abandonment of the more 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 107 
 
 elevated styles. Being unable to convince him that 
 this abandonment was yet far from forming any part 
 of my intention, I considered it necessary to keep myself 
 at a distance, until after the battle of Waterloo. But 
 when this fatal event occurred, it was no longer pos- 
 sible for me to make my way to this prince ; whom I 
 shall probably never again have the happiness of seeing. 
 Let us return to the year 1807. Having lost 
 my situation with Landon, who had almost termi- 
 nated his work, and finding myself reduced to the sum 
 I received from the Institute, I should again have 
 fallen into a state of want had it not been for the assist- 
 ance of Quenescourt, one of the friends of my child- 
 hood, who easily encouraged me to entertain the hope 
 of a better future. I have often heard myself accused of 
 pride, in consequence of having refused the offers of 
 many rich persons. They were mistaken. My wish 
 has always been to accept of assistance only from the 
 hands of friends. If, moreover, as soon as a kind of 
 political part was marked out for me, I resisted the 
 urgent offers of estimable men, whose attachment I 
 could not for a moment doubt, it was because these 
 friends had themselves filled, in the opposition, a role 
 so important that the independence of the poor song- 
 writer could not avoid being suspected, if he had agreed 
 to place himself under any obligation to them. But I 
 never should have repelled from mere pride the hand of 
 
liO.8 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 a friend, held out to assist me in the midst of my 
 adversities. That would have rendered me, in my 
 turn, unworthy of assisting my own unfortunate friends. 
 I thank heaven that my spirit of order has enabled 
 me, in the day of good fortune, often to oblige ; and 
 I never imagined that my friends had any reason to 
 blush in accepting services that could not have 
 bestowed so much joy on those who were the objects 
 of them, as on myself. 
 
 Moreover, I was not the only writer of that day 
 who, by disinterested conduct, maintained his inde- 
 pendence. The number of those who have done so 
 has been great, notwithstanding the calumnious 
 statements which have been spread abroad. It has 
 often, for example, been stated by the Press, that 
 Thiers w^as under pecuniary obligations to Laffitte. 
 The writer, who was then young, and supporting 
 himself by his labour, has often assisted the financier. 
 But the rigid Manuel was the arbiter of their rela- 
 tions ; and I believe I am correct in stating, that 
 they have never been advantageous to the writer. 
 Thiers has always preserved an upright heart and pure 
 hands. When he has been reproached as having been 
 ungrateful to Laffitte, he has maintained silence ; 
 thus exhibiting a noble courage, as I am able to judge 
 from circumstances that I know. I ought, however, 
 to add that this unjust imputation never proceeded 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 109 
 
 from the mouth of Laffitte. On the contrary, he has 
 often joined with me in praising the conduct of 
 Thiers, in respect to him, since 1830. 
 
 In this notice, which I should have liked to make 
 as succinct as possible, I am constantly ascending and 
 descending the ladder of my life, a single word some- 
 times leading me to take a leap of a dozen or fifteen 
 years. I am, therefore, frequently compelled to 
 return to the point from whence I started. Let me 
 now once more return to the days of my youth, and 
 to some of its happiest moments ; — a great pleasure 
 to an old man. 
 
 The frequent journeys Vfhich I made to Peronne, to 
 see my aunt and Quenescourt, with whom I lodged, 
 had great influence on the almost involuntary develop- 
 ment of my career as a song-writer. Old friends, 
 kind relations, among others, the Forget, who were 
 about my own age, united to offer me a fete. The 
 pleasures of the table are the only distractions of little 
 towns, and afford a good opportunity for amusing, 
 by means of verses, during the time of dessert, which 
 often lasted till midnight. I generally composed them 
 on the spur of the moment, and several of these little 
 songs are now contained in my published volumes. 
 The song of the Gueux may be dated from this 
 period — for we wT.re far from being great lords. One 
 of our most assiduous guests was the compositor 
 
no MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 who, at a former period, had given me my first lessons 
 in case-work at the printing office. Worthy Beaulieu I 
 excellent man ! whose many miseries were consoled 
 by a glass of wine, and whom we took so much 
 pleasure in consoling. 
 
 Having now arrived at that time of life, which the 
 Greeks have called the end of the banquet, I am now 
 desirous of recalling to mind, and repeating at my 
 sad dessert, some of the songs of that time of joy 
 and friendship. 
 
 We had given to our reunion the name of the 
 Convent of the Sans-Soucis, and I composed for it 
 these verses to the air of Lcetamini : — 
 
 THE CONVENT OF THE SANS SOUCI. 
 
 A convent we'll restore, 
 
 Sans Souci titled true. 
 Twelve brothers, and no more. 
 
 Or six if we are few. 
 Let us, then, in our carouse. 
 Chant the order of the house. 
 
 Under our rule austere, 
 
 Who would with us combine ; 
 
 Among his brothers here 
 Alone must take his wine. 
 
 Let us then, &c. 
 
 Without crecelle or bell, 
 With new refrains and gay ; 
 
 To faithful souls we'll tell 
 Each solemn holy-day. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. HI 
 
 Between the pears and cheese. 
 Great saints ! we cry, together, 
 
 Preserve our vintages 
 
 From storms and frosty weather. 
 
 We'll shrive the pretty ones, 
 Great doctors we'll be known ; 
 
 Such as a band of nuns, 
 Should for directors own. 
 
 Such penitents, ne'er fear. 
 
 Our sympathies can shock. 
 And never a brother here 
 
 Shall cast aside the frock. 
 
 Let us then, &c. 
 
 Returning to Peronne in 1809, 1 paid my salutations 
 
 to the community in the follo\Ying verses : — 
 
 Air — Ermite, Bon Ermite. 
 To the convent see me return again. 
 Hail to my joyous brothers ! 
 The world and all its chimeras vain 
 Rogues love, but they please no others. 
 God, who sets us in order good. 
 Out of the mud has pluckt me. 
 And makes my good angel,* kind of mood. 
 To the convent re-conduct me. 
 
 Long life to the monastery ! 
 Where every monk is sincere ; 
 My glass I ring with glee ', 
 A good brother is he. 
 Who returns to the convent here ! 
 
 Let them say at La Trappe, they choose it so, 
 " Brothers, we're dying daily," 
 When destiny strikes us, let us know 
 How to bear its sufferings gaily. 
 
 * My good angel : Quenescourt. — Note by Beranger. 
 
112 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Death comes of itself — why take we care 
 For what may not be mended ? 
 To live well is the problem here. 
 Which with our life is ended. 
 
 Long life to the monastery ! &c. 
 
 Among all the orders I hear men cite, 
 
 Long live the Templars jolly ; 
 
 Though their holy water they keep it bright 
 
 In the depths of their cellars solely ! 
 
 And they much prefer, when their drinking's done, 
 
 If M'isely at all they're living. 
 
 To the songs of David, those psalms, each one 
 
 That are of Gregory's giving. 
 
 Long life to the monastery ! &c. 
 
 Brothers, the devil himself I saw. 
 
 With soft skin and charming coloui'. 
 
 Fine eyes, and a big insatiate maw, 
 
 Mouth to drown us all in dolour. 
 
 From his arms which burn where they embrace, 
 
 I escape, the victory bringing, 
 
 To seek in my cell, my ancient place. 
 
 And join the choir in singing. 
 
 Long life to the monastery ! 
 Where every monk is sincere ; 
 My glass I ring with glee — 
 A good brother is he 
 
 Who returns to the convent here ! 
 
 We were often under the necessity of saying fare- 
 well, and the following are some Couplets d'adieu : — 
 
 AiE : On ne salt comment faire. 
 
 Friends, in our contests of mirth. 
 Let all vain regrets breathe away ; 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 113 
 
 If we're travellers here upon earth. 
 We shall still meet another day. 
 
 Gray friars, au revoir I sing, 
 
 At Paris, a pleasant hope said ; 
 Together our glasses We'll ring, 
 
 I go, then, the table to spread. 
 
 Between love and friendship the road, 
 
 With small preparations I take ; 
 And the most of my knapsack's light load. 
 
 Of the charms of remembrance I make. 
 
 We are young : can we, then, tire our foot ? 
 
 On all breezes our soul travels wide ; 
 Soft notes of a magical flute 
 
 Time the footsteps, of which Hope is guide. 
 
 By post or a-foot if we go. 
 
 Without doubt, we still seek the same end ; 
 Happy he at both sides who can know. 
 
 He Avill meet the warm heart of a friend. 
 
 The following is another song on departure : — 
 
 Am : Comme f« vioit, comme ga jiasse. 
 
 Adieu, merry hearts ! 
 
 Use this day — on his track, 
 Time flies ! — when one parts, 
 
 'Tis to hasten him back. 
 
 I quit the Inn, where 
 
 Tired of wandering astray. 
 
 Upon life's path of care. 
 Friendship led me one day. 
 
 " Joy, sweet cheat, flies always," 
 Says the old man — "not so," 
 
 We retort. ^' Pleasure stays. 
 It is we who must go." 
 
 I 
 
114 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 At the board we assemble, 
 
 Wliat ! tliis bumper's spilled ; 
 
 Because friendship's hands tremble, 
 My passport is filled. 
 
 If, in travelling, I stray 
 
 Past the grief of these hours ; 
 
 Ah, friends ! follow my way. 
 With an odour of flowers. 
 
 Adieu, merry hearts ! 
 
 Use this day — on his track. 
 Time flies ! — when one parts, 
 
 'Tis to hasten him back. 
 
 I was at Peronne on the occasion of the great 
 festival of printers, termed the Fete Saint Jean Porte- 
 Latine. I accompanied the workmen when they 
 proceeded to present a bouquet to old p^re Laisney, 
 my former master. Decked in a paper cap and 
 apron, I sang the following to him and his wife : — 
 
 My master, my toilette is made, 
 
 In bonnet and apron complete ; 
 I must sing where this dinner is laid. 
 
 The old labourer's privilege meet. 
 
 Friendship inspires us. 
 
 Friends, 'tis her dart; 
 What she prints, she requires us. 
 
 To print on the heart ! 
 
 While we work at these tyj)es, each man, 
 
 Take the composing rod, sages ! 
 For without a corrector we can 
 
 Set up, crowned by the press, these pages. 
 
 Saint Jean, where we go for our wine. 
 Recalls me to thoughts of my case; 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 115 
 
 Of this art "which makes glory divine. 
 Is he less than a father of grace ? 
 Friendship inspires us, &c. 
 
 These little songs bring back some happy recollec- 
 tions, and speak to me of friends, many of whom — 
 alas ! have gone before me to the tomb. I com- 
 posed also several lighter trifles, which made a great 
 noise in the country. One of them nearly got me 
 into trouble. 
 
 Peronne had, at that time, and, perhaps, still has, a 
 company of archers. 1 was in the town on one occa- 
 sion, when these gentlemen were shooting at a jay, a 
 bird of painted wood, perched on the end of a pole 
 fifty feet high. They had made the attempt twice, 
 without bringing down the bird. I hastily put together 
 a kind of vaudeville, which, increased by some twenty 
 epigrams, more cutting than witty, soon makes its 
 way, from mouth to mouth, to the address of each of 
 the unskilful archers. The scandal was great ; and 
 Piron scarcely caused less at Beaune by an act of 
 imprudence of a very similar nature. If I had not 
 quickly qiutted the country, some misadventure 
 might probably have occurred to me. With minis- 
 ters, and even with kings, one may escape with 
 prison and a heavy fine ; but our chevaliers of the 
 bow did not appear as if so little would satisfy 
 them. But the good Picards are as easily calmed as 
 they are excited; they forgave my act of folly, at 
 
 I 2 
 
116 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 which they soon laughed themselves ; and I could 
 safely return to sing my songs in this town — the re- 
 collection of which is dear to me on so many grounds. 
 The following is the song in which I celebrated my 
 
 return : 
 
 In these quarters, at my wit. 
 The simpletons rage and frown ; 
 Can I sing and in quiet sit 
 When the fools are against it ? 
 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din, 
 Against me they raise the town ; 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din. 
 They are going to sound the tocsin. 
 
 These outraged archers gay 
 To shoot me they all intend ; 
 I am in fear you well may say. 
 For I am bigger than a jay. 
 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din. 
 Do you hear their small bell,* friend ? 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din, 
 Upon me they sound the tocsin. 
 
 To heal these fools with power, 
 Piron's story, I think, is one ; 
 Bigots, knaves, and pedants, lower. 
 To the wits they're always sour. 
 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din. 
 Whether in Beaune or Feronne ; 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din. 
 They are always sounding the tocsin. 
 
 But you who have helped me, friends. 
 My brothers who prop me about, 
 I have something to make amends, 
 AVhich to flight your e?in2ii sends. 
 
 * In the sport of archery, a small bell {une sonn ett^) 
 announces each stroke. — Note by Beranger. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 117 
 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din. 
 Gaily with glass and with shout, 
 Din, din, din, din, din, din, din. 
 Upon them, we'll sound the tocsin. 
 
 My readers will, perhaps, be curious to see the life 
 which I led, as a young man, under another aspect. 
 In addition to the songs inspired by pleasure, and the 
 gayest of which, now that I have become wise, I dare 
 not introduce, I was also inspired by fits of melan- 
 choly to the composition of such verses as the 
 following : — 
 
 AURORA.* 
 
 Of the days of my spring, oh thou sweet last morning, 
 
 Thou flicst ; spring passes away ; 
 And still I ask hopeless, to see thee returning, 
 
 "Why have I beheld this day ? 
 
 'Ncaththy sweet fruitful tears, dews that shine on the roses. 
 
 How the young flowers open sweet ! 
 But thou drainest the cup, when the dew-drop reposes. 
 
 And straightway they die at thy feet ! 
 
 Little birds, one month sees you born and gay singing. 
 
 Safe from the fowler's snares ; 
 Yet perhaps to your chants, as to mine, time is bringing. 
 
 An echo of troubles and cares. 
 
 For each suffering creature who cries, his rest breaking, 
 
 A poor prop a man can make ; 
 For he finds all his ills, when at morning awaking. 
 
 Before him astir and awake. 
 
 * This ode has been accidentally preserved from the 
 flames, which have devoured so many of its melancholy 
 sisters. — Note hy Beranger. 
 
118 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 By twice twelve summers, a tree drained and sapless, 
 
 Must I droop, thus faded and worn ? 
 Shall the sun rise no more for me, fallen and hapless ; 
 
 Nor sweet nature smile to the morn ? 
 
 The time which has trained me, has placed a hand, 
 shading 
 
 Over my eyes in its flight ; 
 And this cruel To-day so quickly is fading ; 
 
 I see myself old by its light. 
 
 Thus the traveller, at night, with no friend his way 
 guiding, 
 
 While the shadows are closing around. 
 On the slope of a precipice finds his steps sliding 
 
 Deep into a chasm profound. 
 
 Old age with dull eyes, and cold rigour, where lingers 
 
 A palsy for thoughts and for art. 
 Comes towards me, alas ! and has raised her ice-fingers 
 
 To lay a chill grasp on my heart. 
 
 Thou, bright sun, who wak'st, in the depth of the forest. 
 
 Wild animals out of their den ; 
 On the couches of mortals, the more light thou pourest. 
 
 Their ills show but greater to men. 
 
 Fly, visions of love, all our dawn thus adorning, 
 
 With hope's rosy tints and gay; 
 I would I had seen of my years but one morning, 
 
 But the morning of one day ! 
 
 I have allowed myself to indulge in many recol- 
 lections of my youth, and in a multitude of citations ; 
 let me novi' return to the events of my life.* 
 
 * We have collected and placed at the end of the 
 Volume some of Beranger's oldest pieces, in the form 
 in which they were published in the literary journals 
 of the day. — Note htj the Editor. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 119 
 
 When I was at length on the point of obtaining 
 settled employment, I had the misfortune to lose my 
 father. He was struck with apoplexy at fifty-nine 
 years of age, at the very time when I indulged the 
 hope of being able to procure some happier days for 
 him. Soon afterwards, my sister and my mother's 
 sister entered into a convent. I gave expression to 
 many sage reflections in reference to the course which, 
 at twenty-two years of age, Sophie appeared desirous 
 of taking. I imagined that her determination pro- 
 ceeded only from the fear of becoming one day a 
 burden to me. But she persisted ; and neither she 
 nor her old aunt have ever had occasion to do other- 
 wise than applaud the step they then took. In the 
 cloister they have found a state of security and repose, 
 which they could have found only with difficulty in 
 the world. 
 
 On the formation of the Imperial University, 
 Arnault obtained a place for me in one of the bureaux. 
 He presented me to the Grand Master, Fontanes, an 
 ancient dependant of M. Lucien. Fontanes did not 
 bestow any more attention on the poor devd. who had 
 been recommended to him, because Arnault had 
 pronounced an eulogium on my literary essays. They 
 appeared at first disposed to allow me to take my 
 choice of appointments with salaries of two or three 
 thousand francs. The inferior appointment of JEx- 
 
120 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 peditionnaire requiring, as is well known, little mental 
 occupation, appeared to me the one best suited to a 
 rhymer, and I gave it the preference. In that I was 
 wrong ; for with three thousand francs I might have 
 been more useful to my friends. But I was yet 
 unable to consider my duty before my inclination. 
 The consequence was, that M. de Fontanes, seeing 
 how little importance I attributed to great emolu- 
 ments, in spite of the urgent request of Arnault, was 
 so far from fulfilling his promise, that he bestowed on 
 me a place worth only one thousand francs. He had 
 not one of less value to give. This did not cause me 
 much concern, even though it required eight or nine 
 years to rise by a course of gradual increase to the 
 two thousand francs promised at first. When I had 
 become so rich, M. de Fontanes had long ceased to 
 be the Grand Master. 
 
 I was scarcely assured of this employment, when a 
 new burden was imposed on me by Providence. I 
 accepted it, like every other which it had sent. I could 
 see in the latter consolations for my old age ; but it 
 was not so, and I still support it without compensation 
 and without murmur. It is a strange circumstance 
 that I who, from an early period of my life, foreseeing 
 the uncertainty of my careei-, avoided all engagements 
 that might have increased the weight of the poor 
 pilgrim's baggage, have always seen myself loaded 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 121 
 
 with sufficiently heavy burdens. My trust in God 
 has sustained me ; and it is no fault of mine, if those 
 in whose fate I am interested have been unable to 
 derive any advantage from the privations I have im- 
 posed on myself, in order to spare them the difficulty 
 of the road I have traversed. I often grieve on 
 account of it ; but what heart has not its sore ? The 
 old soldier has always some old wound remaining, 
 which threatens to break out again. For all my 
 happiness, it is certainly true, I have above all things 
 desired the welfare of others, at least of those around 
 me. My prayers are far from having been heard. 
 
 In spite of some follies of youth, and of the thorns 
 that misery always leaves in the flesh of those who 
 have crossed its path, from this moment my hfe 
 begins to assume a more regular impulse. I was 
 passing from a period of life which is very critical, 
 especially to men whose intelligence has been spon- 
 taneously developed. Between the age of twenty and 
 thirty, a combat rises in their breast between imagina- 
 tion, exalted by the senses, and reason, enlightened by 
 the dawning of experience — a combat in which the 
 latter does not always triumph. Whatever may be 
 the issue of it, the field of battle is always profoundly 
 stirred up. In me the struggle was as painful as it 
 was long, and I sometimes thought I was about to 
 fall into madness. Reason at length gained the 
 
122 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 victory. My spirit soon became more serene. The 
 fits of melancholy disappeared. I saw men as they 
 are, and indulgence towards them began to pervade 
 all my thoughts. After this time, my gaiety, which 
 had been unequal and boisterous, became calm and sus- 
 tained — and never abandoned me, except on rare 
 occasions in the midst of society. It was always my 
 companion in retreat and in the company of my 
 friends, whom it often consoled, justifying mc in the 
 remark that it was never offensive to sorrow. 
 
 At the same time, I also made the greatest efforts 
 to render my style more perfect. Ideas, good or bad, 
 have seldom failed me ; but I had not so judicious a 
 choice of expression. When one has only himself 
 for master, the course of study is generally long. I 
 acquired a habit of brooding long over my thoughts, 
 in order to seize them in the most favourable aspect, 
 as they came to light. I said to myself that every 
 subject must necessarily have its own grammar, 
 dictionary, and even its peculiar manner of beino; 
 expressed in rhyme, — that, for example, which is of 
 an elegiac nature, not requiring the same precision of 
 rhyme. I dwell on these details only for the benefit 
 of those who suppose that, in order to write well, it 
 is merely necessary to let words fall by chance upon the 
 paper, and who take into consideration neither the 
 necessary reflection nor preparatory reading. If things 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 123 
 
 go on in that way, you will soon see some who will 
 be able to write before they are acquainted with the art 
 of reading. There are assuredly some privileged men 
 of genius, who succeed without trouble in every thing. 
 But who is entitled to believe himself a genius ? 
 
 The corrections which I made in my pastoral 
 poem — a sketch remaining unfinished — revealed to 
 me a greater number of the secrets of our language 
 than any other labour which I undertook. I had 
 composed odes and dithyrambs ; but I soon per- 
 ceived that these styles of poetry — exotic plants 
 transplanted from antiquity into our soil — had no 
 profound root in it, notwithstanding all the merit of 
 our great lyric writers. I do not venture to say that 
 I reason correctly, but it appears to me that the ode, 
 as we employ it, borders on the emphatic — that is 
 to say, almost on the false ; and nothing is more 
 opposed to the French mind, to which the simple is 
 one of the necessary elements of the sublime — as the 
 eloquence of Bossuet, and the finest passages of Cor- 
 neille, fully attest. Pindar, who, perhaps, is per- 
 fectly comprehended by very few, is often cited ; but 
 how great is the difference between the modern poets 
 and the Greek lyric bard ! who, fulfilling in truth the 
 office of a true priesthood, celebrated, in the presence of 
 the twenty sister populations assembled at Olympia, 
 his native country, its heroes and its gods ; and, sur- 
 
124 MY filOGRAPttY. 
 
 rounded by a chorus of dance and song, declaimed 
 his verses in a voice sustained by the aid of music. 
 With us, the poet almost invariably occupies a posi- 
 tion external to his work, as regarded by critical 
 readers ; a fact which ought to make him feel the 
 necessity of having, as it were, a framework for all 
 his subjects. It is by the invention of such a frame- 
 work that his genius should be most strikingly dis- 
 played, and not by a deluge of verses — doubtless, 
 always beautiful, but which make us think of that 
 princess of the fairy tale, whose mouth never opened 
 without pouring forth torrents of pearls, of rubies, 
 and of emeralds : poor princess ! 
 
 If I fall here into some Hterary heresy, I hope our 
 academicians, who are all so profound in Latin and 
 Greek, will have the goodness to forgive me. It is, 
 at all events, the fact, that I burnt as many odes as 
 would fill a small volume, all very emphatic, and on 
 which I had founded some foolish hopes. It 
 has been said that nothing so enlightens as the 
 flame of the manuscript which is committed to the 
 fire. In that case, I ought to see very clearly. I 
 have known authors who never destroyed any of the 
 verses that they composed. I have not preserved 
 more than a quarter of mine ; and I am conscious 
 to-day that I have kept too many of them. 
 
 It ought now to be understood, after what I have 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 125 
 
 said, how great was the objection I always felt when 
 persons, with the intention of praising my songs, 
 have honoured them by calling them odes. It is a 
 hard task to get rid of all the aristocracies ; and that 
 of styles in literature has not yat ceased to prevail 
 among us, notwithstanding the powerful efforts made 
 by what is termed the romantic school. In this 
 respect, and in many others, I owe it some gratitude. 
 That verse of the master, who disdained to allow 
 fable a place in his Art Poclique : — 
 
 " II faut, meme en chansons, du bon sens et de Part," 
 
 has continued to be, in the estimation of many, the 
 highest appreciation of that style to which I finally 
 resolved to dedicate all my time and care ; and hence 
 the name of ode given to such of my songs as they 
 believed to belong to a superior style, notwithstand- 
 ing the really synonymous nature of the two words. 
 I have it from Rouget de Lisle himself, that 
 he w^as displeased when the Marseillaise was 
 termed a song. In making these reflections I hope 
 no other wrong will be attributed to me than that of 
 defending a personal interest. That is a reproach 
 which I must make up my mind to brave, in the 
 interest of a style of poetry to v/hich I owe so great a 
 debt of gratitude. 
 
 I now come to the year 1813, which marks the be- 
 
126 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 ginning of my reputation — ^just when [ was on the point 
 of resigning myself to the fate of never having any. 
 In the midst of so many other labours, it has been 
 seen that I alw^ays composed songs. Through an 
 act of indiscretion, on my father's part, several of 
 those, which had been composed only for the purpose 
 of amusing our little circle of friends, were printed in 
 one of the numerous collections which then encum- 
 bered the shelves of the circulating libraries. They 
 found their way into it entirely unnoticed ,* and they 
 deserved no better fate. But at length some of the 
 MS. copies of the Senateur, the Petit Homme 
 Gris, the Gueux, and, especially the Roi d'Yvetot, 
 made known my name to the admirers of this 
 style, always so numerous in France. Some were 
 printed ; but the last, which was circulated only 
 in manuscript, excited particular attention. An 
 exceedingly moderate criticism of the Imperial Govern- 
 ment, v/hen mutism was the order of the day, it had 
 the good fortune to see the police on its traces. The 
 labour of the verse, the precision of the rhyme, did 
 not prevent its being at first attributed to certain men 
 of the world of a high position — a circumstance which 
 induced me to request my friends, and Arnault es- 
 pecially, to make the name of the author known to 
 those who, according to their own statement, were 
 employed to discover him. It has been several times 
 
^ MY BIOGRAPHY. 127 
 
 asserted that this song exposed me to persecution. 
 There is no truth in the statement. I have reason, 
 however, for heheving that it was hrought under the 
 eye of the Emperor.* 
 
 Many of my joyous refrains were also current in 
 the world; they had so much the more success 
 because they resembled the songs of Colle, whose 
 works M. Auger, the royal censor, ordered to be 
 reprinted at the beginning of the Restoration. These 
 choruses were not composed with the view of publi- 
 cation. But the friends, for whom alone they were 
 intended, saw no inconvenience in distributing a few 
 copies of them. These verses were, fortunately, no 
 more the painting of their manners than of mine ; 
 but I confess that my principles were not quite con- 
 formable with those which the higher ranks of society, 
 into several of whose salons I was about to be drawn, 
 adopted. In order to brave the hypocrisy of some of 
 its laws, I was of a ripe age, had fixed ideas, and a 
 character tried by misfortune. These protected me 
 
 * Will it be believed that a short time ago several 
 of those who recently maligned the Emperor Napo- 
 leon, thought proper to reproach me with having 
 attacked this great man, at the moment of his fall, in 
 the song of the King of Yvetot. They pretended to 
 forget that it was current several months before the 
 victories of Lutzen and Bautzen ; which these gentle- 
 men would, doubtless, have celebrated, if they had then 
 been able to hold my pen. 
 
128 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 from the perils to which youthful talent is exposed in 
 the higher ranks, where its force and originahty are 
 too often destroyed. How many noble thoughts — 
 how many generous designs have been brought to 
 naught by the effect of the air which is breathed in 
 those places where luxury and fashion reign ! Do not, 
 however, accuse of treachery those who introduce or 
 receive you into this society. Their kindness enter- 
 tains no suspicion of the evil they are about to inflict. 
 Do not suffer yourself to be transplanted into gilded 
 saloons. They will soon separate you from the friends 
 of your infancy and youth, who have not been able 
 to rise so high as you, and to whom you probably 
 owe a portion of your vigour. Already a man of 
 experience, I kept fast hold of my cradle and the 
 friends of my infancy. How often, also, after being 
 present at sumptuous banquets, in the midst of new 
 acquaintances, I have gone to dine the following 
 day in a back shop or a garret, in order to re- 
 temper myself among the companions of my poverty. 
 Had 1 only done so in the interest of the free lan- 
 guage which I desired to speak, there would have 
 been wisdom in such conduct on my part ! I also 
 profited there, by not remaining a stranger to the 
 inferior classes, for whom I was bound to sing ; and 
 to whose amelioration I should have been glad to have 
 been able to contribute, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 129 
 
 Although the society of the rich has destroyed 
 far more genius than it ever aided to develop, there 
 are, nevertheless, some kinds of intellect to whom a 
 knowledge of it is necessary. To pass through it was, 
 as it were, a journey for me ; it was my voyage round 
 the world. After having accomplished it, when I had 
 reached fifty years of age, I quitted this sphere of 
 society without regret ; although my visit to it was 
 neither without pleasure nor fruit. I owe, indeed, to 
 this peregrination both excellent friends and happy 
 recollections. I am also indebted to it for the know- 
 ledge, that there are as many noble and good hearts 
 in the higher, as in the other classes. In the higher, 
 unfortunately, virtue is too frequently the slave of 
 custom, of idleness, of all the demands of luxury, 
 and of all the bad ideas which are the common 
 property of every limited and reserved circle. 
 
 In 1813, there had existed for several years a re- 
 union of song-writers and of litterateurs — which had 
 assumed the name of the Caveau, in memory of the 
 cellar rendered illustrious by Piron, Panard, Colle, 
 Gallet, and the Crebillons, father and son. On the 
 death of the old Laujon, Desaugiers had been called 
 to preside over this society — the songs of which con- 
 trasted so singularly with the misfoi'tunes with which 
 France was at that tunc threatened. I never had 
 any inclination for these literary associations ; and the 
 
 K 
 
130 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 idea of becoming a member of one of them would 
 never have occurred to me. Chance, however, de- 
 cided that I should becom-C a member of this one. 
 Desaugiers had an opportunity of seeing some of my 
 verses, and became desirous of making my acquaint- 
 ance. Arnault and the Comte Regnaud de Saint-Jean- 
 d' Angely made arrangements, without my knowledge, 
 for a dinner with the brother of Marshal Suchet ; and 
 Arnault, who dreaded my aversion to society, conducted 
 me there, under the pretext that he was taking me to the 
 restaurateur^ where Desaugiers was waiting for me. 
 An intimacy was soon established between us ; and 
 by the time of dessert he addressed me in the most 
 famihar terras. My natural reserve would, perhaps, 
 have been wounded by this in the society of any 
 other ; but my habit of judging of people at the first 
 glance could not but lead me to form a high opinion 
 of this excellent man, whose appearance was so gay 
 and attractive. I felt at once a true regard for him ; 
 and did not resist the urgent requests he made, that 
 I should dine at least once a week at the Caveau 
 with all his colleagues, whom I knew only by name. 
 I proceeded there on the day appointed, and sang 
 many of my songs. Every one appeared astonished 
 that, rich as I was in productions of this nature, I 
 had never thought of publishing them. " He must 
 be one of us ! " was the cry of all. In order to ob- 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 131 
 
 serve the rules, which forbade the nomination of a can- 
 didate who was present, I was concealed behind a door, 
 with a biscuit and a glass of champagne in my hand. I 
 improvised some verses, expressive of my gratitude for 
 my unanimous election, which, amid the noise of joyous 
 bumpers, was confirmed by a general embrace of welcome. 
 The old Chevalier de Piis, a member of the 
 Caveau, who was not present at this dinner, pro- 
 tested against my election. The smallest reputations 
 are regarded with jealousy by some. Is it on that 
 account that they inspire as much pride even as the 
 great ? Piis had been a man of true talent, and pos- 
 sessed of great wit ; but, in his disposition, he bore 
 no resemblance to Desaugiers, and revenged himself 
 on rising reputations for the loss of his own — a wrong, 
 which is very common with literary invalids. So 
 when the song of the I^07i Dieu acquired some 
 renown, at a later period, he wrote a reply to it, 
 which was inserted in the official journals, and pre- 
 sented to Louis XVIII. This prince, who had a 
 good memory, must have laughed heartily on seeing 
 this new recantation of a man, who, formerly a de- 
 pendent of the Comte d' Artois, had sung the praises 
 of all the revolutionary powers in their turn, even the 
 bris des cloches and the virtues of Marat. Having 
 fallen into a state of destitution at the Restoration, 
 Piis was anxious to obtain a pension, in which, unfor- 
 
 K 2 
 
132 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 tunately, he was unsuccessful. He was certainly not 
 a bad man ; and if he abused the authority which, 
 under the Empire, his position as General Secretary 
 of the Prefecture of Police gave him, he only did so when 
 he sent a complete copy of his works to a considerable 
 number of persons. Who would have dared to refuse 
 the acceptance and payment of eight volumes in octavo? 
 He had employed some gendarmes to make this distri- 
 bution from house to house. Let us pity the author 
 who requires such booksellers, especially when he has 
 survived a reputation which once had some eclat. 
 
 Notwithstanding my prejudice against associations 
 more or less literary in their character, I was deeply 
 touched by the kindness and applause with which I 
 was welcomed to the Caveau. From that day, my 
 reputation as a song-writer spread in Paris, and 
 throughout all France. I could not, however, long 
 continue under any illusion with regard to the incon- 
 veniences of a reunion of men devoted to a life so 
 different in all respects from the habits of mine, 
 however great might be the literary merit and the 
 personal qualities of many of them. The wit of the 
 coulisses, and the interests of the theatre, formed the 
 principal theme of their conversation, which was not 
 always exempt from the bitterness to which rivalry 
 gives birth. I have liked the pleasures of the table, 
 for the effusion of heart which they produce, and the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 133 
 
 witty sallies which they prompt ; hut I have always 
 found the want, in these pleasures, of some grain of 
 philosophy, and especially of the charm of the affec- 
 tions. I was out of my place at the modern Caveau. 
 The ancient, so much boasted of by our fiithers, was, 
 doubtless, no better in this respect. The associations 
 which profess to be merry are seldom gay. 
 
 Armand Gouffe, who sought my friendship with 
 much kindness, had once presided over the Caveau, 
 but had left it, as it was said, in consequence of his 
 jealousy of the success of Desaugiers, whom he had 
 introduced to it. He was certainly not the man to 
 amuse this reunion ; but he was at all events one of 
 the most witty and expert versifiers. His style, 
 which was that of Panard, cannot be considered the 
 same as that of the song, but rather the vaudeville, in 
 which the author proceeds by couplets connected by 
 some proverb, or even by the repetition of some word 
 in the chorus. In this style, Gouffe maintains an 
 undoubted superiority ; and he is the man who, in our 
 times, certainly paid the most attention to the cor- 
 rectness of his verses and the richness of the rhyme, 
 too much neglected since the age of Louis XIV. It 
 is a singular fact that, in France, the song-writers 
 laboured most to restore the use of rhyme to its full 
 honours ; and from a very early period, I myself 
 coupled my rhymes with the greatest care. The new 
 
134 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 school, doubtless, docs not require this example ; but 
 it does not the less allow that I preceded it in one of 
 these most useful improvements. 
 
 When the last convulsions of the Empire, and 
 especially the Hundred Days occurred, the diversity 
 of opinions was not long in sowing misunderstandings 
 in our society, as in all France, and my patriotism 
 could not long accommodate itself to what I heard and 
 saw in our dinners. I abandoned them, therefore. In 
 order to lead me to this step, the following little adven- 
 ture, which I shall relate, would have been quite sufficient. 
 
 Being invited one day by a letter from Baleine, the 
 famous restaurateur of the Rocher de Cancale, 
 to a family dinner, and supposing that he wished to 
 thank me in this manner for the care I had taken, as 
 secretary of the Caveau, in the settlement of all our 
 accounts with him, I proceeded there at the hour 
 appointed. I was conducted into one of the private 
 apartments, where I found Desaugiers, Gentil, and 
 several others, whom I did not know. Astonished 
 to see that they seated themselves at table without 
 waiting for Baleine, a suspicion seized me ; I quitted 
 the dinner-table, and hastened to declare to our am- 
 phytrion, that if he did not immediately come and 
 take his place, I should desert the other guests. He 
 was compelled to abandon his ovens, and to take his 
 place at the table, at which Desaugiers could not help 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 135 
 
 smiling. When the dinner was over, he lost no tinrie 
 in making me acquainted with the usages of our 
 restaurant. Tliey ordered a repast some days before- 
 hand, indicating on the card which of the members of 
 the Caveau they wished to be present— just as they 
 order a dinde truffee and a rare fish. The nature of 
 the song, the true amusement of the dessert, led the 
 most distinguished among us to enact this degrading 
 part. Thus Desaugiers, who, I am sure only acted 
 so in imitation, turned into ridicule what he called my 
 prudery. " If you only knew," he said, *' who com- 
 plain of not being often enough invited ! you are 
 ungrateful ! But for you, Baleine might have served 
 up a dinner not quite so sour, and more than one of 
 our brotherhood will reproach him for it to-night." 
 
 I concluded by laughing at the adventure ; but it 
 was a useful lesson for me and for Baleine also, for 
 he never again thought of making me serve his ends. 
 
 Alas ! it was soon necessary for me to separate 
 from Desaugiers, whose talent I very much admired, 
 and to whom I was greatly attached. Of too feeble 
 a character not to be the plaything of the intriguers 
 with whom he associated, as soon as he was appointed 
 Director of the Vaudeville, by ministerial favour, he 
 made such a display of political fanaticism, as, in one 
 of his careless disposition and natural kindness, waa 
 inexplicable. His character was not adapted for such 
 
136 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 an occupation. His royalism had not separated us^ 
 and I celebrated his appointment to the direction with 
 sincere pleasure ; but when he proceeded so far as to 
 attack those who had been his friends under the 
 Empire, by the song which he made on the subject 
 of Germanicus, whatever regret it cost me, I dis- 
 continued to see him ; and I must acknowledge, that 
 when we occasionally met, he always manifested his 
 regret at it. Some wished to persuade him that the 
 song of Paillasse was directed against him ; he made 
 a very feeble reply to it ; and afterwards, inspired by a 
 better feeling, meeting me at his theatre, he said to 
 me, " No ; it was not me that you attacked ; I did 
 not change my party during the Hundred Days." 
 They succeeded, however, at this time in making him 
 do much worse. They incited him to insult the mis- 
 fortunes of France, by a song entitled the R^gnc d'un 
 Terme ou le Terme d\ni Regne. 
 
 I was, indeed, far from thinking of him when I 
 composed my Paillasse. I never attacked any but 
 those who WTre in high places, and in a position to 
 avenge themselves. I should have blushed to direct 
 my pen against brethren who inconsiderately threw 
 themselves in the path of recantation, especially when 
 I had formerly rejoiced in their friendship. A song, 
 of which each couplet was a bitter and wittily expressed 
 epigram, was circulated against Desaugiers, when 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. lS7 
 
 Louis XVIII. presented him with a silver soupiSre. I 
 
 was aware that it was attributed to me (for I have been 
 
 made answerable for songs of all kinds) ; and I wrote 
 
 to him to assure him that I scarcely even knew it !* 
 
 His answer was the following : " However great may be 
 
 the talent and the spirit of these couplets, they proceed 
 
 from a bad heart ; you may, therefore, conclude that I 
 
 never believed you to be the author of them. I shall 
 
 now tell you his name, if you have not yet divined it." 
 
 * The following is the song alluded to : — 
 
 Am : Rendea moi moii ecuelle de hois ! 
 
 As-tu vu nion ecuelle d'argent, 
 As-tu vu mon ecuelle ? 
 Dit Buteux en se rengorgeant ; 
 Ah ! qu'elle est large ! ah ! qu'ellc est belle ! 
 As-tu vu mon ecuelle d'argent, 
 As-tu vu mon ecuelle ? 
 
 D'oii te vient cette Ecuelle d'argent, 
 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle ] 
 Chez le czar ou chez le r(5gent 
 
 As-tu fait le polichinellc ? 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle d'argent, 
 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle ? 
 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle d'argent, 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle ? 
 
 De Paris Regnaud delogeant 
 
 A-t-il oublie sa vaissellc ? 
 D'oii te vient, etc. 
 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle d'argent, 
 D'ou te vient cette ecuelle ? 
 Bonaparte, esclave indigent, 
 N'a plus de quoi payer ton zele. 
 
 D'oii te vient, etc. 
 
138 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 It affords me great pleasure to look back upon my 
 relations with this man, who was of such an amiable 
 character; and I have often regretted the necessity of 
 dissolving those relations, which, perhaps, would not 
 have been altogether useless to him. Desaugiers, who 
 was so gay in society, and especially at table, where 
 he truly reigned, could not support isolation even for 
 the shortest period. That is the reason to which we 
 
 D'ou tc vieut cette ecuelle d'argcnt. 
 D'ou te vient cette Ecuelle ? 
 
 A ses amis Arnault songeant, 
 
 Tc renvoya-t-il do Bruxellcs ? 
 D'ou te vient, etc. 
 
 Je la tiens, cette ecuelle d'argent, 
 Jc la tiens, cette ecuelle, 
 D'un roi trop bon, trop indulgent. 
 Qui prcnd des chansons pour du zele ; 
 
 Je la tiens, cette ecuelle d'argcnt. 
 
 " Qu'on lui donne une ecuelle d'argcnt, 
 Qu'on lui donne une ecuelle, 
 
 Dit le prince, puisqu'en mangeant 
 
 Pour chacun sa verve ^tincelle. 
 Qu'on lui donne," etc. 
 
 II aurait cent ecuelles d'argent, 
 II aurait cent ecuelles. 
 
 Si I'on en gagnait en changeant 
 
 De heros, d'amis et de belles ; 
 II aurait cent ecuelles d'argent, 
 
 II aurait cent ecuelles. 
 
 Editor's Note. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 139 
 
 must attribute the ascendancy, which others so easily 
 gained over him. " What ! you can remain alone," 
 he said to me, one day, " In solitude I should die of 
 ennui and exhaustion. I am called the joyous De- 
 saugiers ; very well ! in reality there is a vein of 
 sadness in my character." The truth of these words 
 was confirmed by Gentil, one of the friends of his 
 childhood. If, indeed, his gaiety was only a part 
 played to amuse himself, it may be affirmed, that 
 there never was a more perfect actor than Desaugiers. 
 I do not wish to enter into any political discussion 
 here ; I have elsewhere spoken of the painful impres- 
 sion which the two invasions, to which France was 
 compelled to submit, had produced on me. My 
 songs, if they outlive me, will abundantly prove it. 
 At all events, as that which takes place in the street 
 is often the point from which the song-writer takes 
 his departure, I wish to relate some facts of which I 
 have either been a witness myself, or which witnesses 
 on whom I can depend have related to me. History 
 is too much given to the neglect of little details ; and 
 we render a service to it, by preserving the memory 
 even of those which are apparently insignificant. In 
 them may be found the expression of the people's 
 thought — which is too much despised by history. It 
 is a bad habit to represent each epoch by the reunion 
 of certain figures, which writers beautify or deface, 
 
140 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 according to their fancy, and to which, style serves as 
 a pedestal. 
 
 In 1814, I dwelt in a house near the bai'vier^e 
 Rochechouart — which, on the 30th of March, was 
 saluted by several mortars. Judging by what I knew 
 of the paucity of the preparations made for our defence, 
 I thought that my chamber might, during the day, 
 be invaded by the enemy.* It was almost a military 
 position. My window commanded Paris and its 
 environs. After a cannonade, to which there was no 
 serious opposition, except in the direction of Menil- 
 montant, where the combat was long and bloody, and 
 where the pupils of the Polytechnic School and of the 
 School of Saint Cyr, conducted themselves like heroes, 
 I observed towards five o'clock, the arrival of a column 
 of cavalry on the eminence of Montmartre, from the 
 direction of and by the decHvity of Clichy. They 
 were hussars ; they mounted slowly ; were they ours ? 
 Having arrived near the mills, while, by the aid of my 
 glass, I followed them step by step, under the influence 
 of a painful anxiety, I observed that the heads of their 
 horses were turned towards Paris. Great God ! it is 
 the enemy ! He is now master of the heights so badly 
 
 * Rue de Bellefonds, in the ancient chateau of the 
 famous Conitc de Charolais, then transformed into a 
 boarding school for the middle classes. — Note ly 
 Beranger, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 141 
 
 defended. The noise of the musketry and artillery 
 soon ceased ; my alarm increased, and I went down to 
 the street to learn the news. Through the crowd of 
 wounded men whom they are carrying in, and the 
 waggons driven in confusion, I ran to the Boulevards, 
 and there I found that my sad presentiment was hut 
 too true. I was informed that a capitulation hadjust 
 been signed by the aids-de-camp only of the Duke of 
 Ragusa. This marshal, who had long been trafficked 
 with by the Bourbon conspirators (a fact of which I 
 am sure), after having acted in a manner worthy of 
 praise during the continuance of the combat, dared, 
 at a later period, to give the signal of defection. 
 
 The population of working men crowded behind 
 the line of defence, which I had been anxious to see 
 in the morning, depended throughout the day on the 
 arrival of the Emperor, who was only a few leagues 
 distant. They were prepared for the spectacle of a vic- 
 tory. When they perceived at a distance on the plain a 
 general on a white horse, followed by some officers, " Be- 
 hold him ! behold him !" exclaimed the crowd, which 
 could not admit even as a supposition the possibility 
 of danger to Paris. On the news of the capitulation, 
 nothing could equal the amazement and rage of this 
 courageous multitude, which has the taste and the 
 instinct for battle ; and which, during the whole day, 
 had never ceased to pray for arms, which they took 
 
142 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 care not to grant them. I also — I had in vain gone 
 to solicit a musket from those whose duty, it was 
 said, it was to distribute them. 
 
 It has always appeared to me that I should have 
 been brave that day. Assuredly there are at least 
 things which I would not have done. To yield to 
 perfidious insinuations ; to extend the hand to the 
 enemies of our country ; to sign a capitulation which 
 they could have retarded for two days at least, merely 
 by refusing to allow the entrance of the hostile army, 
 which was too feeble to encounter the risk of enterino; 
 so populous a town ; these are things they never could 
 have obtained from me, even if they had menaced me 
 with the most cruel death. But they had satisfied tlic 
 exigencies of tactics and of strategy. The cannons 
 had discharged as many shots as they ought to dis- 
 charge in a single day. The people were counted for 
 nothing. Military honour was satisfied ; and men, 
 celebrated for their bravery, did not hesitate to sign 
 the capitulation of the capital ; that is to say, the sub- 
 jection of their country ! 
 
 Being no longer able to entertain any doubt re- 
 garding this capitulation, I passed a miserable night 
 in my wretched garret, so near to the camp of the 
 enemy. All these soldiers, whether barbarians or 
 civilized, some of whom iiad perhaps seen the Great 
 "Wall of China, appeared to repose only in the joy of 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 143 
 
 their triumph. Until the dawn of day, nothing 
 could he heard hut the noise of strange farandoles, 
 and of savage cries, mingled with the trumpets of the 
 Germans, the Cossacks, and the Bashkirs. I could 
 see the illuminations ^Yhich they prepared to our 
 shame on this Montmartrc, where so often, in the 
 last rays of a hcautiful setting sun, I had gone to 
 dream over the picture of Paris, extended at my feet. 
 At an early hour in the morning I proceed in 
 search of information, and hy the proclamations, 
 which have heen put up during the night, I learn 
 that there is no longer any hope, and that the entry 
 of those who are thenceforward to he called the allies 
 is to take place in a few hours. Little printed 
 notices, without signature, are still scattered among 
 the crowd, to encourage it to resist. Vain protesta- 
 tion ! The Emperor had so encouraged the people 
 to believe only in himself that his voice alone could 
 have dissipated all uncertainty at that hour — alone 
 could have again inspired courage, and above all, 
 have given it a useful direction. Completely con- 
 vinced of the reality of our misfortune, I determined 
 to return to my own house in order to conceal my- 
 self, having no desire to see any part of that spectacle 
 by which Paris was about to be dishonoured. But 
 how great was my surprise on meeting several indi- 
 viduals with white cockades in the midst of the 
 
144 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 groups that lined the boulevards. One drunken 
 man cried out close to me, " Vivent Ics Bourbons J* 
 The crowd did not appear at all to comprehend these 
 first royalist demonstrations; which, however, had 
 already been made, on a greater scale, by a brilliant 
 cavalcade, led by the Duclos, the Maubrueil ; by 
 dukes, marquises, and counts of ancient race ; and 
 by some intriguers, who were eagerly hastening to 
 obtain their share of the booty. 
 
 It is known that the entrance of the Russians and 
 Germans was made with greater courtesy than con- 
 querors generally show on such occasions. Our 
 enemies appeared to present themselves with reverence 
 in the city of Clovis, of Saint Louis, of Henry IV., 
 of Louis XIV., and of Napoleon ; in this city of the 
 Constituent Assembly, and of the Convention, where 
 the great and holy cause of European democracy has, 
 for so many ages, been gradually accomplishing its 
 task with incessant activity. The princes, doubtless, 
 recollected all the obligations that the civilization of 
 their people and the spirit of their courts owed to us. 
 Almost aU the officers of this numerous army spoke 
 the language of the conquered, and even appeared to 
 know no other, except when it was necessary to re- 
 press the rare acts of brutality of some of their 
 soldiers. From the balconies, a thousand or twelve 
 hundred adherents of the Bourbons (I am assured 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 145 
 
 that I exaggerate their numbers by one half), men 
 and women, those of noble race, and such as were 
 ambitious of being ennobled, returned politeness for 
 politeness to the conquerors. Several even ap- 
 proached, and threw themselves down at the feet of 
 the chiefs, kissing their dusty boots ; whilst from the 
 windows, the waving of white handkerchiefs, the 
 cries of enthusiasm, and noisy benedictions, saluted 
 this army as it filed along, quite astonished at the 
 magnitude of its own triumph. Thus, a base 
 troop of Frenchmen trod under foot the trophies 
 of our last twenty-five years of glory, in the 
 presence of foreigners, who, by their aspect, proved 
 that they still retained a profound recollection of 
 them. 
 
 Seized at first with patriotic indignation, the class 
 of working men was for a long time unable to ac- 
 count to itself for so unexpected a change. As this 
 class, more than any other, felt the necessity of peace, 
 this was the only word which could produce amongst 
 them conversions favourable to the new regime, 
 which they v/ere preparing for us with M. de Talley- 
 rand. This able man, as well as the Emperor Alex- 
 ander, attached himself to the Bourbons of the elder 
 branch, only because he no longer had Napoleon to 
 deal with. A judgment may be formed of the 
 difference of the sentiments which animated the 
 
 L 
 
146 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 people and the royalists, by the following two facts 
 which took place under my own eyes. 
 
 The day after the entrance of the foreigners into 
 Paris, a hundred of our soldiers who had been naade 
 prisoners within the walls, were conducted along 
 streets inhabited by workmen, by a detachment of 
 Germans. The workmen, observing that some of 
 the French soldiers w^ere wounded and covered with 
 blood, thought at first that they were conducting 
 them to the hospitals. But being informed that it 
 was to the etat-major of the enemy, encamped in 
 the Champs-Elysees, that they were being led, they 
 gave utterance to loud shouts, and were preparing to 
 effect the deliverance of these unfortunate remains of 
 our defenders, when either by chance or prudence the 
 chiefs of the escort led it into the boulevards, where 
 fervent royalists were stationed to stimulate their 
 agents. I was there. At the sight of our poor 
 soldiers — prisoners, suffering, mutilated — vivats are 
 raised by the group of Bourbonians. Fine gentlemen 
 and beautiful ladies appear at the windows to applaud 
 the foreign soldiers, and not to fail in the execution 
 of their part in such an act of infamy. Not only was 
 the country insulted, but humanity itself! 
 
 A spectacle, no less shameful, but less sad, struck me 
 on the Place Vendome, where several of the royalists, 
 of whom I have just spoken, endeavoured to throw 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 147 
 
 down from the summit of the column the statue of 
 the Emperor, wliich they had intentionally loosened at 
 its base. Horses and men attached to long ropes, 
 used their greatest ej^ertions to drag down this im- 
 mense figure, which remained immoveable, and which 
 the leaders of the party were anxious to see broken 
 in pieces on the pavement of the place. Notwith- 
 standing the terror and surprise which still paralyzed 
 the crowd, the sentiment excited by the outrages 
 levelled at the soldier of the Revolution, produced at 
 first deep murmurs, but afterwards found vent in long 
 peals of laughter at each unsuccessful effort at- 
 tempted by the new iconoclasts. They were obliged 
 to withdraw without having accomplished their task 
 of destruction. 
 
 I do not suppose that any one will be inclined to infer 
 from what I have related that such was the conduct of 
 all the legitimists, nobles, and rich individuals of Paris. 
 The hotels also have had their patriotism, and no 
 parties, doubtless, were without their own virtues. 
 
 It was a remarkable circumstance that the capitu- 
 lation of Paris in no way disturbed the ordinary life of 
 the inhabitants. On the morning of the attack, the 
 various theatrical spectacles were announced as usual, 
 and if the representations did not take place in the 
 evening, I am inclined to believe it was solely because 
 both the comedians and the bourgeoisie were anxious 
 
148 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 to see and to know all that was going to take place. 
 The entrance of the foreigners was another kind of 
 distraction which many, whose patriotism was more 
 doubtful than my own, eagerly ran to see. If they 
 were reproached for their curiosity, " "What could 
 we do in the circumstances ?" they answered. " Why 
 did the Emperor not arrive in time ? Why have 
 Marie-Louise and Joseph abandoned us ?" 
 
 If the Emperor, moreover, had then been able to 
 read the impressions of all minds, he would, doubtless, 
 have recognized one of his greatest faults ; one of 
 those which the nature of his genius led him to 
 commit. He had silenced the Press ; deprived the 
 people of all free intervention in the affairs of the 
 country ; and had thus completely effaced the prin- 
 ciples which our revolution had inculcated upon us. 
 The result had been that profound slumber even of 
 the sentiments which are the most natural to us. 
 The good fortune of the Emperor was for a long time 
 more thought of among us than patriotism ; but as 
 he had absorbed the whole nation unto himself, the 
 w^hole nation fell along with him ; and in our fall, 
 we were unable to show ourselves to the enemy in 
 any other character than that which he had im- 
 pressed upon us. Nevertheless, let us say in his 
 praise, that in this solemn moment, he alone, apart 
 from the general body of the people, was a true 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 149 
 
 patriot, as his desire to fight it out to the last grain 
 of powder, and his readiness to abdicate, sufficiently 
 prove. He alone ? No ; there was another, one 
 of our ancient supreme chiefs ; an able warrior ; an 
 old and disinterested republican ; a forsaken p7'os- 
 crit, to whom Napoleon rendered justice when it 
 was too late, and who, seeing France in danger, 
 listened neither to the suggestions of his just resent- 
 ment, nor even to his opinions — a duty which, in such 
 circumstances, implies the highest virtue. It is 
 almost useless to remark that I speak of the illus- 
 trious Carnot, who demanded permission to go and 
 fight, and who saved Antwerp from destruction, 
 whilst we suffered the capitulation of our capital, 
 under the walls of which Napoleon was approaching 
 to crush our enemies. 
 
 In speaking of my early years, I have remarked 
 that my patriotism had still, notwithstanding my 
 sixty years, all the ardour of my youth. It will, 
 perhaps, be considered that I give too plain a proof of 
 this in the expression of the facts which precede. I 
 have heard the heads of our philosophical schools, 
 rich bankers and merchants, and politicians of the 
 salon, holding up absolute cosmopolitanism. Far 
 from blaming the sentiment by which they repre- 
 sented themselves to be animated, I shared it ; but they 
 had mistaken the epoch. When a nation has assumed 
 
150 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 the initiation of a principle, and especially of a demo- 
 cratic principle — and when it is in the geographical 
 position in which we are placed, even if it should 
 fairly indulge the hope of obtaining sympathy from 
 enlightened men among our neighbours, it has cer- 
 tainly all the other governments for its open or secret 
 enemies, and particularly those which are ruled by a 
 powerful aristocracy. For such enemies all means 
 are good. 
 
 It would be a misfortune to this nation if it ever 
 saw the extinction of that love which it merits, and 
 which constitutes its greatest strength. Its sons 
 must close around its colours, even in the interest of 
 that principle which it is commissioned to spread 
 abroad in triumph, for the benefit of other nations. 
 When these shall have conquered the same rights as 
 France possesses, it will then be the time to silence 
 all those rivalries of self-love, and those antipathies 
 which blood has transmitted to us. What ! French- 
 men, shall we not maintain in ourselves, in the interest 
 of a generous thought, which has already cost us so 
 much blood, a patriotism which the English carry 
 even to insolence and cruelty for the sake of their 
 profits on tea, indigo, and cotton ! 
 
 Let us always endeavour to make the love of 
 country our first virtue ; and I particularly recom- 
 mend it to our literary men, who have greater oppor- 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 151 
 
 tunities of expatiating on it than any other class. Is it 
 necessary for me to recall to mind that my patriotism 
 has never prevented me from expressing my desire 
 that the rights of humanity should be respected, and 
 that peace, which can assure with greater certainty 
 the progress of the principle of our Revolution, 
 should be honourably maintained. I have often been 
 heard to say, since 1830, " When bayonets are once 
 crossed, the progress of ideas is arrested." 
 
 The entrance of Louis XVIII., which I was anxious 
 to see, presented the most singular medley. How had 
 enthusiasm gained possession of the masses, who did 
 not know who the individuals were that were thus 
 brought back to them! It was certain that scarcely 
 one spectator in fifty could have precisely explained the 
 degree of relationship in which these princes stood to 
 Louis XVI. The King, whom many people expected 
 to see wrapped up in a petticoat, because error and 
 malignity had so described him, showed in spite of 
 his infirmities an affable and dignified countenance, 
 which excited general satisfaction. In such a cere- 
 mony, old men are generally regarded with a benevo- 
 lent feeHng. We, who formed the general crowd 
 collected on the occasion, had scarcely time to see any 
 of the secondary personages. But in all this cortege, 
 which necessarily appeared so tasteless and pitiful to 
 eyes accustomed to the pomp of the Napoleonic/e^e5 
 
152 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 the only portion to which universal honour was shown 
 consisted of some detachments of the Imperial Guard, 
 whom they had succeeded in inducing to march* 
 behind the carriages of the old court, or, of the new 
 court, whichever they may prefer to call it. At the 
 sight of those manly figures, furrowed with so many 
 scars, bleached by so many different suns, — to-day so 
 grave, so sad, almost ashamed of the white cockades 
 which they were compelled to wear, shouts burst forth 
 in all directions, " Vive la Garde Imperiale /" Those 
 even who had exclaimed, " Vive le Hoi /'' add their 
 voices to increase this imperial clamour, which pro- 
 duced the strangest contrast, and must, to all appear- 
 ance, have struck terror into the ear of the princes. 
 Being received in this msnner, the old braves raise 
 their heads more proudly, and reply to this glorious 
 salutation by exclaiming, " Vive la Garde Nation- 
 ale r The two cries are mingled and prolonged 
 throughout the whole march, in spite of the rules of 
 discipline, which do not allow of speaking when under 
 arms. From that moment the return from the isle 
 of Elba might have been prophecied. 
 
 Notwithstanding the ridiculous name of the He- 
 sired given to Louis XVIIL, who for twenty-five years 
 was repulsed by France, the only person of all this 
 family whom people at this time desired to see was the 
 Duchessc d'Angouleme. The people knew her 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 153 
 
 history. Every one pitied her misfortunes, and desired 
 for her a happier destiny. Every eye looked for her as a 
 consoling angel in the midst of so many calamities. 
 Alas I nothing in her countenance, in her manner, in 
 the sound of her voice, corresponded to our hopes; 
 and it may be said that, from the day of her entrance, 
 she lost that affection which had not abandoned her 
 during the whole period of her misfortunes. There 
 was, without doubt, injustice in so sudden a change. 
 As for me, I have always been persuaded that the 
 Duchess merits most of the eulogiums which I have 
 heard pronounced upon her character. Her virtues 
 can no more be doubted than her charity. But how 
 happens it that they have often exalted the strength of 
 her character, and that they have never cited in respect 
 to her any of those acts which a woman placed in 
 such an exalted rank always finds an opportunity of 
 performing, in order to obtain the benedictions of the 
 people ? Did the heroic Madame de la Vallette fall 
 down on her knees before her, without obtaining even 
 a single word of commiseration ? I have seen it 
 printed, and I should like to see it denied. Let us 
 remark that those who were most about the person 
 of the Duchesse d'Angouleme, used no great exertions 
 to restore to her the affections of this people, of whom 
 every heart was once open to her, and who soon only 
 saw in her the daughter of the Austrian, For it 
 
154 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 must not be concealed that the unfortunate end of 
 Marie Antoinette has not restored her memory in the 
 eyes of the people of Paris, who have ever preserved 
 an instinctive hatred against the royal blood of Austria. 
 Notwithstanding its love for Napoleon and the King of 
 Rome, it never had any affection for Marie Louise, who 
 has only too well justified our presentiments, and the 
 reception which Paris gave her worthy father in 1814. 
 
 During the sojourn of the allied kings, Alexander 
 endeavoured to merit our praises by a studied mag- 
 nanimity, which was not without its charm. It was 
 remembered that the King of Prussia had suffered a 
 long period of misfortune, had displayed the bravery 
 of a soldier, and the simplicity of a citizen. But 
 when the Emperor Francis appeared, there was not a 
 sufficient number of maledictions and of quolihets for 
 him in all the classes of our population. Why has 
 he not heard what was said of him during his pro- 
 gress, every time that he showed himself in public ? 
 Notwithstanding his impassibility, he w^ould perhaps 
 have blushed. 
 
 With us Parisians, the enthusiastic admirers of 
 great talents, of great virtues, every noble and royal 
 prestige is now for ever destroyed. To whatever 
 condition a man may belong, if he has incurred blame, 
 he receives the same epithet. Our ancestors would 
 have been very much astonished if they could have 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 155 
 
 been informed that, in Paris, an Emperor of Austria, 
 a successor of Rodolph of Hapsburg and of Charles 
 the Fifth, had been treated by the people with the 
 most outrageous insult. And this was done quite 
 openly, and at the very moment when this crowd, 
 which covered him with its contempt, had every 
 eye directed in search of his glorious brother, 
 the Prince Charles, who had not come to Paris, but 
 who would have been received there as a generous 
 and loyal enemy. 
 
 Foreigners, no doubt, will think that I speak in too 
 UTeverent a manner of princes, who came to pass 
 themselves in review before the Parisian people. But 
 let them reflect on the education which my contem- 
 poraries and myself received from events, and they 
 will no longer be astonished. The Convention, which 
 beheaded kings, might have seen from what took 
 place in England that it had not taken the best 
 method to disenchant us of majesty. Providence 
 did the work. It exalted to the summit of power a 
 little sous-lieutenant, who, for fifteen years, gave us 
 the exact measure of all the royal puppets. 
 
 A few hours after the capitulation of Paris, Berna- 
 dotte arrived among us. In order to justify himself 
 for having combated against his former compatriots, 
 he said that he had been obliged to become a Swede 
 in accepting the inheritance of the crown of Sweden, 
 
156 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 By this argument, the only thing that Moreau required 
 to efface the disgrace of his death among our enemies 
 was a crown. The place of Bernadotte in history 
 would have heen very different if he had quitted a 
 throne to fly to the assistance of his native country. 
 Besides, the quality of Swede was not so near the 
 heart of this Gascon, so well preserved amid the ice 
 of the North, that he might not have consented to 
 become a Frenchman again. But he only consented 
 to do so at the expense of the throne of France. 
 With this old republican, no bargain was possible, 
 unless a kingdom was the price of it. As to his 
 religion, he sacrificed it as a thing of no importance. 
 His Majesty had brought along with him Madame 
 de Stael and Benjamin Constant. I will speak 
 of this illustrious publicist, who has displayed as 
 much inconstancy and mobility in his conduct 
 as, in the tribune and in his writings, he has 
 shown, with few exceptions, talent, courage, and 
 perseverance in the principles of a wise liberty. Un- 
 fortunately, perhaps, the facility of his elocution was 
 such, that provided a tribune was accessible to him, 
 and a press with however little of freedom, he 
 would have accommodated himself to any regime. 
 But that was merely the fault of an intelligence 
 which delighted in sporting with difficulties, and 
 regarded every mark of applause with which it was 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 157 
 
 greeted as so many triumphs of its cause. I have 
 observed that, according to my conviction, the ob- 
 stacles opposed by restrictive laws to the expression 
 of thought, were a necessary stimulant to this writer — 
 in his wit the most delicate of all the men of intellect 
 I have known. I never listened to conversation 
 which appeared to me more fraught with grace, 
 sprightliness, flexibility, and apparent affability than 
 his. It became brilliant and strong. when he was 
 excited by contradiction. I did not regard it in any 
 offensive light on this account, and he was far from 
 having any bad feeling with respect to me.* A per- 
 
 * The following is a letter of Benjamin Constant, 
 which is well worthy of being transcribed. It enables 
 us to see how far the influence of the popular poet 
 extended in 1829^ and the manner in which one of the 
 first chiefs and directors of public opinion came to 
 render an account to him of his actions, to justify his 
 thoughts themselves, and to solicit a place in his 
 friendship. — Note hy the Editor. 
 
 " My dear Beranger. — Although your letter contains 
 several things that might have afflicted or wounded 
 me, it is pervaded by such an inexpressible spirit of 
 friendship and of interest, that it has had the singular 
 effect of causing me pleasure rather than pain. You 
 are one of those men towards whom I have felt myself 
 most powerfully attracted. Several circumstances have, 
 on different occasions, combated this attraction, without 
 destroying it. They have caused no coldness in my 
 inmost heart, but they have produced a feeling of 
 restraint and estrangement. I have opened your letter ; 
 I have found friendship in it ; and I am anxious to come 
 
158 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 petual craving after emotions made Benjamin Con- 
 stant a gamester ; but political interests easily snatched 
 him away from this borrowed passion. Nevertheless, 
 literary glory was the first in his view. The French 
 Academy, therefore, in preferring Viennet to him, 
 
 to an explanation with you, in the sincere desire that 
 you may understand me and approve. 
 
 " I take your letter phrase by phrase. I neither 
 labour for, nor do I set myself in opposition to, the 
 Fusion. I am of your opinion with regard to what is 
 personal to me. I believe that those who wish to 
 advance themselves think only of themselves, and do 
 not associate me with their success, if they have any \ 
 and, for my part, I would not purchase the greatest 
 amount of success at the expense of the least principle. 
 If you thought that I entertained ambitious views, you 
 would commit an error which on your part would 
 astonish me. I am sixty years of age ; I have fought 
 for liberty, not without some glory. I have acquired 
 that which I desired — reputation. My only wish, the 
 one thing on which, rightly or wrongly, my imagination 
 remains fixed is, to leave after me some reputation, 
 and I believe that I shall have less as a minister than 
 as a writer and a deputy. I wish it to be said after I 
 am gone, that I contributed to the foundation of liberty 
 in France, and it will perhaps be said, long after the 
 coteries — those which would reject me if I attempted 
 to become one of their number, as well as those which 
 calumniate me in your hearing, a thing which gives me 
 much more pain — shall be buried and forgotten. 
 
 "As to popularity, I like it, I seek for it, I enjoy 
 it till the present moment with delight ; hut I also owe 
 it to the manner in which I have always expressed my 
 thought. If I endeavoured to exaggerate it, I should 
 destroy my talent, just as if I should take it into my 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 159 
 
 inflicted a severe pang on him — whatever he may have 
 said to mo in order to dissemble his feehngs. 
 
 The unfavourable side of the glory ascribed to 
 intellect is its uncertainty for those who obtain it. 
 If you are six feet high, it will not be necessary for 
 
 head to falsify it. You think that you perceive ter- 
 giversations in my letters to the Courrier ; you are in 
 error, My opinion is precisely as I express it in these 
 letters. I firmly believe that France cannot for a long 
 period from this time be free, otherwise than by con- 
 solidating on the really existing foundations, that degree 
 of liberty which she already possesses, or ought to 
 possess. I may be wrong ; but my conviction is, that 
 we ought to remain firmly attached to constitutional 
 monarchy. I know, or I believe I know, that the old 
 governments are more favourable to liberty than new 
 ones. If the dynasty declares itself hostile,°come what 
 may, my mission is not to save those who would destroy 
 themselves. My support will never be given to 
 absolute power, and legitimacy will not obtain it. But 
 all desire for the overthrow of power, without any other 
 motive than recollections and hatreds, shall never enter 
 into my thought. Such is my profession of faith in 
 relation to you ; I may deceive myself, but I conceal 
 nothing — I veil nothing ; and if my opinions arc dis- 
 pleasing, the charge must be made against their matter 
 and not their form ; which in no Avay proceeds from the 
 measures of which you suspect me, nor from a desire 
 of success which I do not experience. 
 
 " This brings rne back to the Fusion. I repeat that I 
 do not labour for it ; that not one of these who do labour 
 for it, has once spoken to me about it ; and that if it 
 takes place in such a manner that the hesitating and 
 egotistical party melts into the liberal, I shall be de- 
 lighted at it. But I shall always resist any measure by 
 
160 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 you to become one of a company of grenadiers, in 
 order to be able to form an idea of your height. Yet 
 Constant, after so much success as a writer and an 
 orator, considered it necessary to establish the faith in 
 his literary worth by becoming a member of an illus- 
 
 which the last would suffer itself to be Aveakened by 
 the other. 
 
 " You have been told that I was sent to theCourrie?' in 
 the same way as I was to Strasbourg. M. Laffitte knows 
 that the shareholders of the Courrier requested me to be- 
 come a competitor for it. I Avas not the first to conceive 
 the idea ; I consented to it. I think that I acted well. 
 I believe I have written useful things, and in every cir- 
 cumstance I always thought what I said. 
 
 " This is a very long letter, my dear Beranger. I am 
 pleased to speak to you in perfect freedom. I should 
 like this petty bickering, which they have wished me to 
 have with you, to be the epoch of a more intimate and 
 confidential friendship. You are, I again say it, the 
 man for whom, in all France, I feel the greatest sym- 
 pathy. When you depend on your own judgments, I 
 would have you for an arbiter, in preference to any 
 other. I ofler you a full and entu'c attachment. If we 
 differ on some subjects, it is because our minds have 
 received a different impress. That does not at all 
 touch affection. I aspire to your acceptance of mine ; 
 and I assure you I have never said a word, nor had 
 a thought, that ought to wound you. 
 
 " You see that I reply not only without rancour, but 
 
 with true affection. My appreciation of your wit, and 
 
 my affection for your talent, can be no more weakened. 
 
 I intend to pay you a visit frequently Avith La Fayette. 
 
 " 2'oiit a vons pour la vie, 
 
 " Benjamin Constant." 
 
 J29th, January, 18,^9. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY, 161 
 
 trious bod}-. No sooner would he have been received 
 into the Academy than he would have been the very 
 first to laugh at it. He would again have fallen into 
 a state of uncertainty ; for no man became more 
 quickly disenchanted with what he had once most 
 eagerly desired. 
 
 I had myself advised him to take part in the com- 
 petition for the vacant chair — confessing to him that, 
 if I had no ambition for the same honour, it was 
 because it was accompanied by too many inconve- 
 niences for my disposition and tastes. I also added 
 that, in my opinion, the reputations that spring up at 
 a period of transition, scarcely deserve to be upheld 
 at the cost of independence ; because, with the ex- 
 ception of two or three of these reputations, the others 
 must disappear completely with us, and perhaps before 
 us. I was resigned ; he was not ; and the sentiment 
 which he necessarily had of his own force was suffi- 
 cient to make him conceive this idea. He had not long 
 to suffer the effects of the intrigue which deprived him 
 of the honour, to which he had undoubtedly many 
 claims. A few days after, he died, exhausted with 
 labours and with vigils ; and the Academy must have 
 regretted that the magnificent and popular obsequies, 
 with which he was honoured, w^re not those of one 
 of its members. These gentlemen have themselves 
 usually interred in a much more modest manner, 
 
 M 
 
162 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 T have just said that he had returned Into France 
 with Bernadotte. He did not hke me to refer to 
 this period in conversation. It suited him hetter to 
 speak of the part which he played near the person of 
 Napoleon during the Hundred Days. He has con- 
 fessed the influence exercised over him hy this man, 
 who, he said, was possessed of immense knowledge, 
 divined everything that he did not know, had as 
 much wit as genius, and more ideas truly liberal 
 than any of the members of his Council. Without 
 wishing to magnify the liberality of the councillors, 
 I have always thought that this last part of the 
 eulogium of the master was employed by Constant 
 as a means of justifying himself for having served 
 the man whom, on the 20th of March, he called a 
 tyrant. " But Bernadotte ? " I repeated to him 
 often. " Bernadotte is engaged in negociations with 
 the view of having some pages of the Memoires de 
 Sainte Helene blotted out ; if he concludes this 
 bargain, I will tell you all the good of him possible." 
 Such was the answer which he one day made to me, 
 when in relation to the publication of these memoirs, 
 we spoke of several of the great personages of 
 the Empire. And since then, indeed, it has been 
 regarded as a positive fact that certain pages relative 
 to Marshal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte-Corvo, had 
 been removed from the precious manuscript. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 163 
 
 I neither knew, nor had any wish to know 
 Madame de Stael. Although endowed with superior 
 wit and talent, her fortune and position did not the 
 less contribute to exaggerate the literary reputation 
 which she merited. Napoleon had disdained to 
 make her his Ageria ; and the fall of the great 
 man was a source of joy to this woman's heart. 
 In the saloons, also, she never ceased to con- 
 gratulate foreigners on our ruin. I am not aware 
 that she ever had the idea of supporting the pre- 
 tensions which brought Bernadotte to France. 
 As to this former republican, the following is 
 an anecdote which has been related to me by a man, 
 who was able to obtain it from a good source, 
 even although he had not been himself a witness of 
 the fact. 
 
 In the few days that he passed almost incognito at 
 Paris, before he had opened his mind to the Emperor 
 Alexander, in whom much hesitation with regard to 
 the Bourbons had always been remarked, Bernadotte, 
 wishing to play with prudence his role of a pretender 
 to the crown of France, thought it necessary to sound 
 one of the ministers of the autocrat. A dinner was 
 arranged with the Count Pozzo di Borgo, another 
 exile, a Coriolanus of the antichamber, whom a 
 shameless writer has not blushed to put on a level 
 with Bonaparte. Charles John, eager to open the 
 
 M 2 
 
164 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 question, demanded of the Russian minister, if the 
 sovereigns had determined on any definite course with 
 regard to Fi-ance. " Ma foi ! Prince," answered 
 the cunning Corsican, " they are very embarrassed 
 about it, and I am of opinion that the counsels of your 
 Highness, being well acquainted with this country, 
 would be very advantageous. What do you think 
 the powers ought to do ? What chief ought they to 
 give to a nation so difficult to govern ? '' The Gascon 
 was anxious for an answer, and not for questions ; 
 he asks, however, if the choice still remains to be 
 made. " You ought to know." 
 
 " Yes, it is still almost free, notwithstanding the 
 urgent entreaties of the House of Bourbon." 
 
 " It appears to me, M. le Comte, that this family 
 is quite strange here, and that what France especially 
 requires is a Frenchman, who has no reproach to 
 bring against the Revolution." 
 
 " There can be no doubt of that." 
 
 " That it requires a man vvho possesses sufficient 
 military knowledge." 
 
 " I think exactly as your Highness.'' 
 
 " A man who understands the administration of 
 affairs on a great scale — who is familiar with the 
 interests of Europe." 
 
 " Just so, Prince — just so ; continue, I entreat you." 
 
 "A man, in fine, whom the sovereigns have 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 165 
 
 already been a])le to appreciate, and whose character 
 is a guarantee of moderation and good faith." 
 
 •' Very well, Prince, I have taken the liberty of 
 saying and of writing all that you have done me the 
 honour to communicate. I have done more ; 
 I have ventured to designate the man to whom, in 
 my opinion, it would be advantageous to commit the 
 destinies of our common country." 
 
 Whilst thus speaking, Pozzo appeared to turn a 
 look of respectful regard upon Bernadotte, who, 
 repressing his exultation, said in a smiling manner, 
 " Would there be any indiscretion in demanding of 
 you, who is the person whom your experience has 
 designated?" 
 
 " Your Highness has already divined, I wager." 
 
 " I might deceive myself, M. le Comte. Name, I 
 beg you, the man who has your suffrage." 
 
 " You demand it, Prince. Very well. It is 
 myself — I, myself — Vv'ho am a Frenchman, a soldier, an 
 administrator, to whom the interests of Europe are 
 known, and who am the friend of almost all the 
 sovereigns. Are these not the conditions that your 
 Highness requires ? " 
 
 Bernadotte, excited to fury by such a mystification, 
 rose from table, and, certain that the Russian courtier 
 would never have dared to express himself in such a 
 manner without having come to a perfect under- 
 
166 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 standing with the Czar, he took his departure from 
 Paris on the very day on which the Comte d'Artois 
 made his entry, in the midst of the ammunition 
 waggons of the enemy, with a small staff, and 
 under the escort of some good sayings which 
 M. Beugnot, and some other royalists — new converts 
 — had prepared for him. 
 
 In relating this anecdote, embeUished, perhaps, by 
 the wit from whom I heard it, but which I believe to 
 be in the main true, I cannot avoid recalling to mind 
 M. de Vernon, that hypothetical descendant of Louis 
 XIII., of whom I before spoke. In 1814, it would 
 have been agreeable to see him claiming his rights, 
 and assuming an appearance of devotion to the safety 
 of France. I believe, indeed, that if the people had 
 been consulted, the descendant of the Iron Mask 
 would have had, after Napoleon and his son, a good 
 chance of obtaining the greatest number of suffrages. 
 
 The wonderful return of the Emperor, on the 20th 
 of March, 1815, was an event altogether popular. 
 On this day of expectation, however, there could be 
 read on the forehead of reflecting men — and there are 
 such in all classes — an anxiety which prevented the 
 joy from being general, notwithstanding the fascination 
 which this last miracle of the great man exercised 
 over all minds. 
 
 Although at this period I began to frequent the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 167 
 
 company of several of the principal actors in our great 
 drama, I should have had nothing but acts of baseness 
 of no great importance to signalize, but for the for- 
 tunate recollection of my venerable friend, Dupont 
 (de I'Eure), whose virtue has resisted the exigencies, 
 seductions, and even the exercise of power. I have 
 obtained from him the account of a conversation 
 between the representative Durbach and the great 
 traitor of 1815, the too famous Fouche. But in 
 relating it here, I fear I shall not be able to colour it 
 with that hvely indignation, which this conversation 
 still causes that generous patriot to experience, when- 
 ever he repeats it. 
 
 After the battle of Waterloo, Fouche, president of the 
 Provisional Governmentjheld the threads of the intrigues, 
 which had been long prepared, and which occupied 
 him exclusively during the continuance of the ministry 
 confided to him by Napoleon after the 20th of March. 
 The re-opening of the gates of the capital to the 
 Bourbons appears to have been his only thought. To 
 effect this object, no labour was spared by this auda- 
 cious man. He corresponded with Talleyrand, Met- 
 ternich, Wellington, and even with Louis XVIII. ; 
 he scattered his emissaries all over the country ; he 
 lavishly distributed his seductions ; he alarmed the 
 timid ; he bargained with traitors ; no effort cost him 
 too much. 
 
168 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Among other means which he em.ployed, I shall 
 relate one, which has a touch of comedy in it. 
 
 A deputation from Paris, sent to the camp of the 
 enemy to negotiate, demanded that Manuel, who had 
 become the most influential orator of the Chamber of 
 Representatives, and who had had at Aix Bome relations 
 with Fouche, should be associated with them. The 
 latter, dreading the patriotism of the tribune, sent in 
 the place, and under the name of Manuel, whom his 
 associates did not know, one of his secretaries, named 
 Fabri, also a member of the second chamber. M. 
 the Comte de Valence was one of the associates thus 
 mystified, and I myself saw him several years after- 
 wards when he visited Manuel, whom he came to con- 
 sult as an advocate, and who, he was surprised to find, 
 was not the man with v^'hom he believed that he had 
 spent several hours in political conferences. I knew 
 the Count, and I assisted Manuel in clearing up this 
 old imposture of the Scapin of Nantes. " Ah, 
 Monsieur Manuel," said the General, " I am no longer 
 astonished at the silence which he, whom I took for 
 yoH, maintained, when I insisted with the allied 
 generals that they should come to the decision of 
 compelling the Bourbons to accept the tricoloured 
 cockade."* 
 
 * This M. Fabri had been one of the friends of Manuel 
 at Aix. The latter, having no wish to take part in the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 169 
 
 M. de Vitrolles, a courageous i-oyallst, who had 
 entered into relations with Fouche, Nvas then taking 
 some steps so openly that the report of them reached 
 General Solignac, a representative, who hastily pro- 
 ceeded at an early hour to warn his colleagues, Durbach 
 and Dupont (one of the vice-presidsnts of the cham- 
 ber.) The three hastily repaired to the Duke of Otranto, 
 whom they found in a deshabille, calculated to add 
 to the disagreeable impression of his visage. 
 
 After having listened to the reproaches of these 
 gentlemen, and the pressing questions of Dupont, 
 Fouche enters into deceitful explanations ; and seeing 
 that he can persuade no one, he ventures to remind 
 them of his revolutionary titles to the hatred of the 
 Bourbons. These titles had unfortunately gained for 
 him the confidence of several citizens; and among 
 others, of Manuel, whose loyal soul forgot that, in 
 political disorders, those who have the most to redeem 
 
 deputation to which this town offered to appoint him, got 
 Fahri named as representative. Manuel, however, was ap- 
 pointed at Barcelonnette. He believed in the sincerity of 
 the principles of Fouche, the conventionalist and regi- 
 cide ; andFouchedidallthathe couldtomaintainrelations 
 with him, even after the second return of the Bourbons. 
 Manuel assisted him in the preparation of the notes, 
 which had then a great repvitation, because they re- 
 vealed the dangerous course which the court was 
 following. Fouche, by these notes, wished to avert 
 his own fall, — Manuel to render service to France. 
 
170 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 are often the most ready to sell themselves. Wearied 
 at length of the rambling statements of Fouche, Dur- 
 bach rises at the words frequently repeated, " Do you 
 forget, then, who I am ?" and answers, " No, we can- 
 not forget it, and recollections crowd upon me. What, 
 indeed, is Monseigneur le Due d'Otrante ? Is he not 
 that ex-oratorian, the president of popular assemblies, 
 who, when shouts of execration interrupted a working 
 man, demanding the abolition of the Supreme Being, 
 exclaimed, ' Let the young philosopher speak ?' — that 
 Fouche who, with Collot d'Herbois, bathed himself in 
 the blood of the Lyonnesc ? — that Fouche who voted 
 for the death of Louis Capet, with a power of logic 
 which he afterwards pretended to have been only fear ? 
 — that Fouche who saved and betrayed in turn the 
 Girondists, Danton, the Mountain, and Robespierre. 
 You are right, M. le Due, between Fouche and the 
 Bourbons, no agreement is possible. No, you cannot, 
 an accomplice of the priest Talleyrand, deliver Paris 
 to princes who will ever see in you one of the 
 executioners of their brother. If they could forget it 
 for an instant, the daughter of Louis XVI. would 
 remind them of it on her knees, with, tears in her 
 eyes. The more favours and dignities they would 
 bestow on you for their restoration to the throne, the 
 more reason would they have, soon after, to make you 
 expiate their own weakness. Fear, then, spite of the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 171 
 
 friendship of Wellington, to be obliged to envy Carnot, 
 whose virtues you rail at. Let that man be proscribed ; 
 he is sure to meet everywhere with the sympathy of 
 all magnanimous hearts. But think of it, M. le Due, — 
 Fouche proscribed, after having sold the Emperor, 
 the nation, and its representatives ; Fouche, out of 
 France, in what place will he show himself where they 
 will not remember, on seeing him, that Robespierre 
 himself called him a man of blood, or where they 
 will not repeat those words of Napoleon, ' Behold the 
 man who puts his dirty feet in the shoes of everybody.' 
 To die an exile, and to die infamous, M. le Due, is too 
 great a punishment. Betray us, and you will have 
 to undergo both these penalties.'' 
 
 Fouch6, pale with repressed fury, wishing to assume 
 an air of disdain, stammered out some insignificant 
 remarks, which he terminated by a sort of proverbial ex- 
 pression, which his paid panegyrists have used as a text, 
 in order to soften the impression of his crimes, " I 
 have never betrayed either a friend or a principle ;" as 
 if such a man had either friends or principles. 
 
 Convinced of the inutihty of the step they had 
 taken, the three representatives retired in indignation. 
 Two days after, the foreigners were masters of Paris. 
 Louis XVin. made his entry into it, and Fouche was 
 his minister. The prediction of Durbach, however, 
 did not the less receive its accomplishment, and the 
 
172 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 remembrance of it must have pursued Fouche even 
 to his tomb, which has remained a proscribed place. 
 
 This second return of the King differed from the 
 first in a way very melancholy, both for himself and 
 for all connected with him. Confined in his carriage, 
 he appeared anxious to protest against the display of 
 foreign troops by whom, on this occasion, he was 
 surrounded and guarded. On arriving at the Tuilcries, 
 in order there to resume his crown, he could 
 see at the end of the Pont Royal, the Prussian cannons 
 pointed against his palace — a position in which they 
 menaced him for more than a month. BlUcher was 
 anxious to afford him the spectacle of the destruction 
 of the Pont d'Jena ; and, even in his own Louvre, his 
 friend WeUington, whom he had made a Marshal of 
 France, ordered the pillage of the statues and paint- 
 ings of the Museum, without respect to the treaties 
 by which we were guaranteed the possession of them. 
 
 Speaking one day of the spoliation of this museum, 
 the richest of the world, I asked M. d'Anglis, 
 an emigrant from Ghent, and a short time since 
 Prefect of Police, why they had not recourse to the 
 men of the faubourgs, who would have hastened with 
 the greatest zeal to defend this national property. 
 " They would have taken good care of that," he an- 
 swered me ; " the museum is too near the Chateau." 
 Put your faith, then, in all the royahsts have told 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 173 
 
 you of the love with which the people regard the 
 Bourbons ! 
 
 But against whom were the insults of the foreign 
 generals directed ? It was no longer Napoleon whom 
 they pursued. Against whom could they turn their 
 animosity ? It is said that Bliicher, Gncisnau, 
 Buloff, and several members of German secret associ- 
 ations, detested the Bourbons, and had made the 
 proposition to General Maison to get quit of them, 
 and, Prussians and French united, to fall upon the 
 English, whom Bliicher could not forgive for attri- 
 buting to themselves the victory in the battle of 
 Waterloo ; which but for the unexpected succour 
 afforded by the Prussian corps, which Grouchy had 
 allowed to escape from him, would have been a defeat 
 for them. It is at least certain that proposals were 
 made to Maison, who had returned from Ghent, dis« 
 satisfied with those for whom he had gone there ; but 
 it is difficult to determine the sense and the value of 
 the conference which took place. But this is true, 
 that the King of Prussia was no longer the master 
 of his own army. It was only on the arrival of 
 Alexander, for whom he had to wait a little, that tlie 
 hostilities of Bliicher ceased ; although the autocrat 
 himself appeared very much cooled in his interest for 
 the restored family, on account of a revelation he had 
 received, regarding a project of alliance between 
 
174 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 France, Austria, and England, negotiated in 1814 by 
 M. de Talleyrand. 
 
 Although the good-will of Alexander was but 
 little, and the conduct of the Prussians insulting, these 
 circumstances did not at all diminish the pleasure of 
 Louis XVI 11. in reigning anew. He pardoned all 
 those on whom he had no expectation of being able to 
 take vengeance. The legitimists, equally regard- 
 less of our frightful disasters, danced no less under 
 his windows, minolino; with their songs of attach- 
 ment to the grandson of Henry IV. cries of 
 hatred against those, who, having heard him swear 
 that he would die on the steps of his throne, could not 
 restrain the laughter caused by his flight during the 
 night between the I 9th and 20th of March. These 
 cries were the signals of a long and bloody reaction, 
 almost all the odium of which Louis XVIII. allowed 
 to fall on his partisans, and even on the members 
 of his own family but which, he wished to have the 
 honour of bringing to an end himself alone, when he 
 thought that there was danger in increasing the 
 number of victims. 
 
 This man had a false and wicked heart. He is 
 the only one of the Bourbons we have known, who 
 has deserved this accusation. Charles X., setting 
 aside his political and religous infatuations, which 
 have destroyed himself, and might have been 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 175 
 
 fatal to us, has left in France the reputation of being an 
 easy and good man, worthy of possessing friends — 
 many of whom, indeed, he had, who remained faith- 
 ful to him. His brother had only favourites. 
 
 He was destitute of affection for his family to such 
 a degree, that he was reputed to be the author of a 
 protestation against the legitimacy of the children of 
 Marie- Antoinette. I remember having seen in my 
 youth, in the hands of some of the most zealous royalists, 
 the copy of a testamentary letter of this unfortunate 
 Princess, in which she said to her children, " Have no 
 confidence in your uncles." This phrase, it may be sup- 
 posed, is not in the document published in 1816; 
 but who knows whether some alteration has not been 
 made on the original, replaced by a fac-simile after the 
 removal of the papers of Courtois,* who was pro- 
 scribed in 1815. The man who revealed the secret 
 of the hiding place in which they were concealed, was, 
 according to report, generously rewarded. 
 
 We are assured that, although Louis XVI II. called 
 the Duchesse d'Angouleme in public his Antigone, 
 there was no affection between the uncle and the 
 niece ; and I have often thought that it was this 
 
 * Courtois, after the 9th Thermidor, had been em- 
 ployed to collect and examine the papers of Robespierre^ 
 which included a great number of interesting docu- 
 ments, in relation to the history of the Eevolution,— 
 Editor^s Note, 
 
!76 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 sentiment of her powerlessness which prevented the 
 Duchess from showing herself ready to aid those 
 political victims who implored her support. This 
 would be an additional misfortune, for which we 
 should have to pity her. 
 
 The appearance of opposition, which the song of the 
 Roi cVYveiot had given me on the fall of the Empire, 
 induced the belief that I was going to identify myself 
 with the interests of legitimacy. Propositions were 
 made to me, and recompenses were promised, even 
 before the arrival of the Bourbons, if I would consent 
 to celebrate them in song. " Let them give us hbcrty 
 in exchange for glory ; let them render France happy, 
 and I will sing them v.ithout reward," was my answer 
 to those who had taken upon themselves the task of 
 recruiting the number of their partisans. Every re- 
 cruit was of value. Let it not be thought that I boast. 
 At this moment I remember that, several years after, 
 bantering Mademoiselle Bourgoin on the royalism 
 which she had displayed in 1815, this witty actress 
 replied to me with that peculiar tone that is so well 
 known — " I was living at that time with a royalist, 
 and such as we, you know, are always of the opinion 
 of our lovers. Louis XVIIL was desirous of seeing 
 me, in order to congratulate me on my devotion and 
 courage; that had turned my head, I am not, therefore, 
 so much to be blamed. But what must we think 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 177 
 
 of these Bourbons who attached importance to the 
 opinions of such a giddy {decousue) girl as I was ! " 
 The crudity of the word increases its aptness. 
 
 In 1816, in the month of January, Arnault being 
 banished, quitted France, and we conducted him as 
 far as Bourget, which was at that time, so to speak, 
 the limit of the kingdom — the remaining part being, 
 in that direction, placed under foreign occupation. 
 In the evening, in the chamber of an inn, at table 
 with a young officer of gendarmerie, whose charge it 
 was to watch over this frontier, and who deplored 
 the misfortunes of the country, I sang to the poor 
 proscrit the song of the Birds — sad adieus, followed 
 by adieus sadder still. This song very nearly led to 
 the loss of the little appointment for which I was 
 indebted to Arnault. His own appointment was 
 given to M. Petitot, a man of letters, who had become 
 a devotee and a legitimist, but who did not manifest 
 the less kindness to me, and several times even en- 
 deavoured to persuade me to bring under notice the 
 persecutions experienced by my father, and to derive 
 all the advantage I could from my former relations with 
 M. de Bourmont, who had attained so unhappily a 
 high fortune after the battle of Waterloo. Although I 
 knew that this general had caused researches to be 
 -made, in order to learn what had become of my father 
 and of me, I was far from wishing to avail myself of any 
 
 N 
 
178 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 advantage I could derive from an opinion which v/as 
 not mine. M. Petitot only testified so much the more 
 interest on my account, and constantly defended me 
 against the denunciations of many individuals, whom, 
 on the occasion of the Emperor's return, I defended and 
 protected. I began to have a near view of many 
 infamies. I was yet to see more of them, and greater 
 ones. Alcestis was grieved for very little. 
 
 It was at the end of the year 1815, that I ventured 
 on the puhlication of my first volume of songs. I 
 had reached an age when men begin to have a fore- 
 sight of the inconveniences of a literary career. The 
 want of monev could alone determine me to enter 
 into direct contact with the public, so much the more 
 that I had as yet only a very vague appreciation of 
 the utility of my songs for the cause I had embraced. 
 The volume was well received, and did not affect my 
 position in the university. " We must pardon many 
 things in the author of the Roi d'Yvetot," was I 
 am assured, the expression of Louis XVIII., w'ho, 
 following the traditions of the ancient regime, was 
 fond of songs, and whom they even accused of having 
 died with mine on his night table. 
 
 I wish to have it remarked, in relation to this 
 volume, published when I was attached to the 
 Bureaux of Public Instruction, that it contains the 
 greatest number of verses, which recall the rather 
 
MY BIOGRAriiY. 179 
 
 cynical licenses of our old literature. Nothing more 
 completely proves that I did not think they ought to 
 incur any grave reproaches. When I v^-as told that 
 our old authors of the school of Rabelais were not 
 models to imitate, even in songs, it was too late to 
 cancel verses which, as I have said elsewhere, con- 
 tributed to obtain for me a popular reputation. From 
 that moment they belonged to the public. To re- 
 move them from the new editions would have been 
 use^^ess. Besides, the booksellers would not have 
 been wilHng to consent to it ; and I confess that there 
 are some of them which I should have very much 
 regretted. Moreover, does it become the age in which 
 I live to show itself severe towards productions of 
 which gaiety is the excuse, if not even the counter 
 poison, when romance and the theatre have carried 
 even to obscenity the painting of the most brutal 
 passions. Has even the highest poetry nothing to 
 reproach itself with in respect to errors of this nature ? 
 
 Let those who would insist on these reproaches, 
 that have been made against me by so many persons, 
 examine the poetical works of Goethe ; they will see 
 that this great poet was not so severe as they arc in 
 regard to the songs of my youth. 
 
 There is one observation which I must make. The 
 songs put (} Vindex were composed in the time of the 
 Empire. Now, it is remarkable, that it is invariably 
 
 N 2 
 
180 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 at epochs of despotism that we ohserve the appearance 
 of such productions. The mind is under such a 
 necessity of liberty that, when it is deprived of it, it 
 leaps the barriers which are the least carefully defended, 
 at the risk of carrying too far this flight of inde- 
 pendence. Wise governments know what dispositions 
 to take. That of Venice protected the courtesans. 
 
 These are not excuses which I offer, — they are 
 explanations \Yhich I give. It is well understood, 
 moreover, that I speak here only of the songs which 
 compose a portion of the collections I have published, 
 and not of all those which have been introduced under 
 my name in the spurious Belgian and French editions. 
 
 There is a last reason which ought to obtain for 
 me the absolution of my former misdeeds. But I 
 am afraid lest it turn out to my detriment. Let me 
 venture it, however ! In the time of our fathers, 
 people amused themselves with the song, but had no 
 particular prepossession for it. In giving it an im- 
 portance which it never before had, I authorized the 
 critics of our chaste age to be more severe in respect 
 to it. Did I know the destiny that awaited my little 
 volumes, in which the jovialities of my youth and the 
 political refrains of my mature age were inserted with- 
 out Older ? " In elevating this style, you have 
 spoilt it," our Aristarchs will reply to me. I see it, 
 gentlemen. In order to escape the index, it would 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 181 
 
 have been sufficient for me to compose only certain 
 wanton songs. Unfortunately, I am no longer of an 
 age to profit by the lesson. 
 
 The period at which my songs led me to assume a 
 kind of personal part in political affairs, was that in 
 which I felt the necessity of making my Muse cast 
 off some of her hghter peculiarities. 
 
 The publication of my first volume had for its 
 result to estabhsh me as the song-writer of the Oppo- 
 sition. It was already evident that I was a man of 
 sincere and disinterested convictions. During the 
 Hundred Days, ,the place of censeur of a journal 
 (the Journal General, which afterwards became the 
 Courrier Francais,) had been proposed to me, but 
 I had refused the offer, notwithstanding the pressing 
 requests by which it was accompanied. This situation 
 was worth six thousand francs. In declining to accept 
 it, I was refusing more than abundance, when I was 
 destitute even of the necessary. To provide for all 
 my expenses, I had at that time only my situation, 
 the salary of which was so small, having given up to 
 M. de Bleschamps, the father of Madame Lucien 
 Bonaparte, who had fallen into want in consequence 
 of the exile of his son-in-law, the sum which I received 
 from the Institute. By arrangements made under 
 the direction of Arnault and Regnauld de Saint-Jean- 
 d'Angely, I alone had a legal right to it, and indeed, 
 
182 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 I had received it until the 3'ear 1814, the period at 
 which M. Lucien was struck out of the academy hy 
 a royal ordonnance. But it was already a long time 
 since I had considered it my duty to deliver the 
 amount, month by month, into the hands of the 
 father of the Princess, who returned me a receipt 
 for it. 
 
 My relations with Manuel date from the end of 
 1816. He was reserved and difficult of access. I 
 was still very unpolished ; and yet on the occasion 
 of our first interview we felt that we were made for 
 that intimate friendship which was established be- 
 tween us in a few days, and which death alone could 
 dissolve. Ho was a habitual visitor at the house of 
 M. Laffitte, and it was by him that I was taken there. 
 I have never had much liking for these gentlemen of 
 finance, for their gilded saloons, and their bustling 
 society. " There is no affection to be looked for 
 there," I said to Manuel. Nevertheless, he spent a 
 great portion of his time in it. I went with him, and 
 I had reason to congratulate myself for it. If the 
 political position of Lafiitte induced me to reject his 
 obliging offers, I am no less under obligations to 
 him for the service which his friendship gave me an 
 opportunity of rendering to many of my intimate 
 friends, and for the great number of unfortunates 
 whom he reheved at mv recommendation. I have also 
 
MY BlOGllAPHY. 183 
 
 had the good fortune to have been able to be useful, 
 on occasions of importance, to this great citizen, who 
 was a man of as much intellect as honour, whose 
 moral excellence was not inferior to his imagination, 
 but who did not sufficiently direct his penetrating 
 mind to the attainment of a knowledge of men, a 
 circumstance which rendered him the victim of many 
 of those even whom he had overwhelmed with benefits. 
 They have, moreover, in vain endeavoured to ac- 
 cumulate calumnies against his old age, which was so 
 agitated. The good sense of the people has always 
 rendered him justice ; an encouraging and noble 
 example to those who, like Laffitte, consecrate their 
 whole existence to the service of their country. 
 
 He has committed one fault with which I fre- 
 quently reproached him. It was that of having 
 purchased the magnificent chateau de Maisons, the 
 most wearisome abode that 1 know, and which never 
 appeared endurable to me except in the company of 
 Manuel, Thiers, and Mignet. Being alone there on 
 one occasion, I happened to quit the chateau with the 
 intention of going across the forest to dine at the 
 restaurant of Saint-Germain, I have not forgotten 
 that in this royal habitation, in which, however, they 
 still show the chamber occupied by Voltaire, I had 
 never been nblo to c:mpose a single couplet. I was 
 not born for chateaux, and that, perhaps, makes me 
 
184 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 unjust to Mansard, for which I ought, nevertheless, 
 even on account of the garrets {mansardes), to have 
 a great affection. 
 
 Thrown into the midst of the most opulent society 
 my poverty was the cause of no embarrassment to 
 me, for it cost me no effort to say, " I am poor." 
 This word which is uttered with hesitation by so 
 many, is almost as good as a fortune, because it obtains 
 for you the privilege of being economical, and con- 
 cihates the interest of many women, and, consequently, 
 that of the salons, which in this respect have been 
 mis-represented. Do not make your poverty a cause 
 of restraint to others. Even laugh at it on fitting 
 occasions, and they will have sympathy for it without 
 wounding your pride. What I say here, I have often 
 repeated to our young friends who, too much dazzled 
 by aristocratical splendour, are ashamed to live without 
 it. If they arc desirous of compromising neither 
 their honour nor their independence, let them learn 
 to say, " I am poor." 
 
 This 7wle of Aristophanes, which at the age of 
 twenty appeared so beautiful to me, without the 
 genius, but also, at least so it seems to me, without 
 the acrimony of the Athenian poet, I played, not in 
 the theatre, where, perhaps, it is no longer possible, 
 but in all the ranks of French society. It was suffi- 
 cient for me to give my most recent verses, or to allow 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 185 
 
 a copy of them to be taken, and in a few days they 
 were circulating through France, crossing the frontier, 
 and bearing consolation even to our unfortunate exiles, 
 who were then wandering over the whole globe. I 
 am, perhaps, the only author who, in modern times, 
 in order to obtain a reputation, could have dis- 
 pensed with the printing press. To what have I 
 owed this advantage ? To the old airs on which, if 
 I may venture to say it, I mounted my ideas as it were 
 on horseback, and to the good sense w'hich kept me 
 from despising the cultivation of an inferior style 
 which led to no literary honours. Among the men 
 who devoted themselves to letters at this epoch, few, 
 I am convinced, would have been willing to follow 
 the same course. I have only taken that which others 
 rejected. I was at an age when men do not suffer 
 themselves to be easily dazzled by success. In order 
 to merit that which I afterwards obtained, I en- 
 deavoured to turn it to the advantage of that style to 
 which I was afterwards to make the sacrifice of all 
 my other projects. It was the rule at the Caveau, 
 that academy of song, that the verses should be 
 brilliant only with wit and gaiety ; but that was too 
 little for me : I was born in a greater or less degree a 
 poet fitted to excel in a peculiar style, and I did not 
 at first perceive that that element of poetry which was 
 in me couid find scope in this species of composition, 
 
1S6 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 which was much less studied than practised. Re- 
 flection at length taught mo its capahilities. Song, 
 n;,oreovei% opened up to mc a path in which my 
 genius could develop itself at ease. I escaped by it 
 from academical requirements, and I had at my dis 
 posal the whole dictionary — of which, according to 
 La Harpe, four-fifths are excluded from our poetry.* 
 Nor could I conceal from myself that the stead- 
 fastness of my principles did not exclude a great 
 susceptibility to varied impressions, which might 
 hinder the completion of any rather extended work in 
 a uniform tone. The author must study man in him- 
 self, which he cannot do when he makes his appear- 
 ance at too early a period. As soon as I fully 
 understood the nature of my own powers, and the 
 literary independence v^'hich song would procure for 
 me, I resolutely determined on the course 1 should 
 pursue. I espoused the poor fille de joie, with the 
 intention of rendering her worthy to be presented in 
 the saloons of our aristocracy ; without, however, 
 forcing her to renounce her former relations, for it was 
 necessary that she should remain a. daughter of the 
 people, from whom she expected her dowry. I have 
 
 * It must be recollected that I made these reflections 
 before the appearance of the new school, which, as the 
 Medec'm malyre Ini says, " a cliancje iout cela.'" — Note 
 hj Bera-iujer, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 187 
 
 been rewarded for this to an extent far beyond any- 
 thing merited by my works, which had at least the 
 merit of directing poetry to political debates for nearly 
 twenty years. The legitimist party, which has always 
 judged me as an author with the greatest benevolence, 
 has accused me of having contributed more than any 
 other writer to the overthrow of the dynasty which the 
 foreigner had imposed on us. I accept this accusation 
 as an honour to myself, and a glory to song. To 
 obtain for it such a distinction, none know what 
 obstacles I had to overcome. How often have I been 
 obliged to struggle against the chiefs of the Liberal 
 party — men who were anxious I should accept their 
 protection, in order to confine me to their timid 
 combinations. 
 
 I have seen myself abandoned by many of them at 
 the most painful moment of the contlict ; and they did 
 not return to me until they saw that the applause of 
 the multitude continued faithfully to follow me. The 
 revolution of July was not necessary to enable me to 
 judge the political tendency of the great men, whom 
 we had produced for ourselves. I have often lamented 
 over it with Manuel, v/ho was more than once obliged 
 to defend me against anathemas, which so far as they 
 regarded myself, only excited my derision, even when 
 they were carried so far as to deprive me of the support 
 of the journals. Disinterested men, who take part in 
 
188 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 political movements, much require to have faith in the 
 people. This faith has never abandoned me. 
 
 The success for which 1 was indebted to song, en- 
 abled me to appreciate my good fortune in having 
 seen the failure of all my other attempts. If my pre- 
 ceding essays had obtained some public suffrages, it 
 is probable I should, like so many other young men, 
 who precipitated themselves towards a goal which was 
 far beyond the reach of their strength, have disdained 
 the inferior style which has obtained for me the 
 suffrage of my contemporaries ; for, in my opinion, 
 the utility of art is that which sanctifies it. No doubt, 
 the failure of so many projects and plans left some 
 disappointment behind. No doubt, the high preten- 
 sions of my youth have tended to dispel all illusion as 
 to the literary value of my successful efforts. But 
 it is not the less certain that, naturally inclined 
 by sentiment and by character to consecrate my talents, 
 whatever they were, to the service of my country, I 
 have fulfilled the humble task wbich was marked out 
 for me. 
 
 I must, nevertheless, acknowledge that when I was 
 nearly forty years of age, a singular idea crossed my 
 mind. Tragedy had never inspired me with any 
 powerful attraction. It was the only kind of poetry 
 which I would never attempt. The idea, however, 
 occurred to me of trying my strength at it, in 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. l89 
 
 consequence of having made it the subject of con- 
 versation with Talma, whom I was always so happy 
 to meet. I expatiated to him on the study of the 
 Greek tragic writers, quite as true as, and much more 
 poetically true than the Spanish, the English, and the 
 Germans, apart altogether from the consideration, that 
 in a naive comprehension of art, they appear to me to 
 have the advantage even of Corneille and Racine. 
 Allow me to say, however, that the latter have produced 
 that which I shall call the theatre resume, the most 
 difficult of all, that in which the poetry is almost 
 entirely in the composition. This remark enables us 
 to understand the expression of Racine, when he said, 
 " My play is done, I have now only to compose its 
 verses." 
 
 In fact, they sum up in five very brief acts, for the 
 benefit of our moral mature and sentiments, a whole 
 life, a whole passion, a whole character, as well as 
 the rival or imaginary events with which their action 
 is connected. This is the highest poetry possible in 
 the drama. It is astonishing that this has not 
 always been acknowledged with regard to Corneille 
 and Racine, while no one denies it in respect to 
 Moli^re, who, it is true, had arrived at a degree of 
 perfection much higher than that of his two con- 
 temporaries. The drama of events, (le theatre 
 chroniqtie), in which the scenes simply follow each 
 
190 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 other in the order of some historical, legendary, or 
 romantic traditions, is the infancy of art, and all 
 the genius that may be found in Shakespeare ought 
 not to prevent us from adhering to this statement. 
 Such was the source in which Schiller sought for 
 his model. In a dramatic point of view, 1 doubt 
 whether he found any advantage in it for his glory. 
 I have said that in consequence of weighing the cri- 
 ticisms addressed to the pale imitators of our great 
 masters, I began to compose, and that in less than a 
 year, several plays on a plan in which I sought to 
 unite, not the burlesque with the heroic — that bar- 
 barous alhance which Shakespeare himself would re- 
 ject at the present day — but the familiar with the 
 heroic. It is the familiar in which our great tragic 
 poets are deficient — less, however, in the case of 
 Corneille than of Racine — because their subjects had 
 reference almost invariably to the aristocracy and the 
 court. The unities of place and time had always 
 shocked me less than the uniformity of tone. 
 
 I was anxious, then, to see if it were possible to 
 deliver ourselves from these restraints to the advantage 
 of the natural, and of dramatic effect. A Count 
 Jidian.vL Death of Alexander the Great, an JEpisode 
 of the Civil Wars of Italy, a Charles VI., a 
 Spartacus, conceived according to this system, and 
 bearing no resemblance to pieces already composed 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 191 
 
 on some of these subjects, afforded evidence, in my 
 opinion, tliat it was in our power to open up a new 
 path in this elevated style. Suj^ported by the authority 
 of Corneillc, who, notwitlistanding the decrees of a 
 pedantic academy, and the remarks, frequently absurd, 
 of Voltaire, has introduced into his pieces a Nicomedes, 
 a Prusias, and even a Felix, I vs'ent so far as to 
 compose the verses of several scenes, in order to satisfy 
 myself of the excellence of the method. But I 
 soon abandoned these, as I had so many others, 
 although I was enabled to reap the benefit which 
 accrues from a useful and amusing study. Who 
 knows ? song may, perhaps, have gained something 
 by it. 
 
 In the career which I have followed, the counsels 
 of others have, of course, been necessary to me. I 
 have taken more than I ever asked. I mean that, 
 instead of going to ask advice, as so many others do, 
 in order to obtain not counsel but praise, I gave my 
 attention, when I was requested to sing, to the slightest 
 words, and the least signs of those who hstened to 
 me, in order to discover the passages which required 
 change, correction, or entire erasure. I, hov/ever, 
 made a selection of some critics, always of an age less 
 advanced than my own, considering that there would 
 be more advantage to gain from them. About the 
 time of my introduction to the public, Henry de la 
 Touchc several times made judicious observations to 
 
192 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 me, which were of great service. I have, consequently, 
 frequently referred to this true poet, who was a great 
 composer of Operas. I have often called him the 
 inventor of Andre Ch^nier, of whose works at least 
 one half must be referred to him, for I have often 
 heard Marie Joseph deplore that there were so few 
 fragments fit to be published among the manuscripts 
 left by his brother. One singular circumstance is, 
 that the verses placed at the end of the volume, and 
 which the gaoler is supposed to interrupt, have not 
 opened the eyes of cool judges. However, every one 
 in the present day knows that these verses were the 
 composition of De la Touche. 
 
 When 1 reached old age, I had also recourse to the 
 counsels of a man whom 1 had seen in his childhood, 
 namely Merimee, in whom we find combined one of 
 the most distinguished intellects of our time, solid 
 and extensive knowledge, and a strict appreciation of 
 the language. He has made me pass some uncom- 
 fortable nights in correcting a few unfortunate little 
 verses. These are proofs of friendship that we cannot 
 expect from all our friends. There are some people who 
 are inclined to regard in a favourable light everything 
 that is done by those v/hom they love, Lebrun, whose 
 benevolence is so great, is a little of this character. 
 I have always, therefore, rather distrusted his appro- 
 bation, which, however, did not the less excite in my 
 heart both pleasure and gratitude. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 193 
 
 I have yet to speak of my publications. 
 
 I had been warned at the office of Public In- 
 struction, that if I had any more volumes printed, I 
 should be regarded as having resigned my situation. 
 This was an obliging form, which M. Petitot employed 
 to let me know that a second volume would lead to 
 my dismissal, and, at the same time, a premium offered 
 to my docility. 
 
 I did not on this account send a smaller number 
 of my new songs to the Minerva, a journal of very 
 great reputation. Tts proprietors, who were all friends 
 of mine, wished to assign me a share of their profits ; 
 but I refused, considering it ridiculous to make friends 
 pay for verses which I was so much amused in com- 
 posing. I did not reason in the same way with 
 regard to my songs in volumes, because the public 
 was free to purchase them or not. A great deal of 
 time was necessary before I could complete a second 
 volume, having never composed more than fifteen or 
 sixteen songs in the year, some of them in a few 
 hours, but the greatest number with deliberation and 
 care. But many years were far from being so abun- 
 dant. The time of their composition was a matter 
 of caprice ; and I have known eight or nine months 
 pass without the production of a single verse, even at 
 the time when 1 was most dilicrent. Now that the tree 
 is old, the fruit becomes gradually m.ore and more 
 
 o 
 
194 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 rare. And what shall I do, when it begins to fail 
 altogether ? Doubtless, I shall die. 
 
 Notwithstanding the feebleness of my voice and 
 my ignorance of music, I sang frequently at that 
 time. If, under the necessity of procuring for 
 myself support in the struggle which I had to 
 sustain, I had at first confined myself merely to 
 living in the world, I soon afterwards carried into it 
 that enthusiasm which is natural to me, and that 
 gaiety which often confers on the mind a confidence 
 which it could not always derive from reason. I did 
 not require to be too much pressed to sing my un- 
 published productions, either in the company of my 
 friends of the Opposition, or sometimes even in the 
 presence of men attached to the Government. It was 
 a pleasure to me to serve the latter with the forbidden 
 fruit. MM. de Barante, Guizot, Simeon pere, 
 Mounier, and many others, could speak of this cir- 
 cumstance. They have heard me at table, beside M. 
 Angles, the Prefect of Police, favour them with the 
 Bon Dieu, the Missionnaires, &c., &c. One day the 
 latter received a report, in which he was informed that I 
 had sung in the house of M. Berard, a friend of his own 
 and mine, some of my anarchical songs, as they were 
 then called. The Prefect had a good laugh at this ; he 
 had been present at the dinner. It is evident that song 
 still enjoyed certain privileges, and that, at this epoch 
 the Prefects of Police were sometimes men of sense. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 195 
 
 At length, in 1821, 1 was able to get two volumes, 
 containing both old and new songs, printed. I have 
 already mentioned that this involved the loss of the 
 modest employment, by which I w^as enabled to live 
 without much labour, and in which I was surrounded 
 by friends ; for notwithstanding my candour, which 
 was somewhat caustic, I have always had the happi- 
 ness of seeing those with whom I lived attached 
 to me. But it suited me better to sacrifice my 
 situation in this manner, than to publish my seditious 
 volumes after they had deprived me of it, an event 
 which might happen any day. Their publication in 
 these circumstances would have assumed an appear- 
 ance of vengeance; which did not accord with my 
 character. Besides, the Liberal party was in the 
 greatest disorder. Their unfounded hopes had just 
 vanished, and the leaders of the Opposition appeared 
 to be seized with a kind of panic. The moment was, 
 therefore, well chosen, since the appearance of my 
 volumes, which had been long expected, and the trial 
 which everything seemed to prognosticate, and which 
 was to adorn them with gilt edges, as I said at that 
 time, might be the means of again slightly stirring up 
 public opinion, which a trifle can discourage, and a 
 trifle can again raise. Several Uberals, and those of 
 the most wealthy, who had incited me to this demon- 
 stration six months ago, now wished to prevent it. 
 
 o 2 
 
196 MY BIOGRAPHY 
 
 As I was publishing by subscription, such an indi- 
 vidual who had inscribed his name for an enormous 
 number of copies, at the same time encouraging me 
 to liave more than ten thousand printed, now sig- 
 nified to me at the last moment that I ought not 
 to have them printed at all, or to withdraw his name 
 from the list of subscribers. But nothing arrested 
 me. On the contrary, I was the more convinced of 
 the necessity of this shot of an advanced sentinel, in 
 order to awake the Liberal camp, commanded in such 
 a strange manner by those who had the honour of 
 passing for its most vigorous chiefs. Manuel thought 
 as I did ; and thnnk-; to my friend M. Berard, and to 
 some other faithful ones, my two duodecimos, printed 
 not without some difficulties by the house of Firmin 
 Didot, appeared in October, in an edition of ten 
 thousand five hundred copies.* 
 
 The publication was made on my own account. I 
 was compelled, therefore, to superintend the sale, in 
 which my old friend, Bejot, rendered me so much 
 
 * I must here observe that Sebastiani and Casimir 
 Perier were among the number of those who did not 
 withdraw their support from me in these circumstances. 
 Although I was never on very intimate terms with the 
 latter, I have always found him an excellent friend. If 
 I put myself forward as a political man, I should have 
 something better to say of his ministry ; to which, in 
 my opinion, sufficient justice has not yet been rendered. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 197 
 
 service. I was witness from hour to hour of the 
 rapidity with which the sale went beyond all antici- 
 pation. I had contracted a debt of fifteen thousand 
 francs, the expenses of impression, and I no longer 
 ventured to put any confidence in the punctuality of 
 subscribers. I experienced, therefore, a wild joy when 
 I found myself in possession of these fifteen thousand 
 francs, which had filled me with dread, and which I 
 imagined I should never be able to realize by my little 
 books. The sums which succeeded produced but 
 little effect on me, in comparison with that of the 
 fifteen thousand francs. To the former, however, 
 must be attributed the circumstance that I was enabled 
 to hve from that day without employment ; for 1 have 
 ever since been able to provide for all my wants, and 
 for the wants of those whom 1 found so much pleasure 
 in admitting to a siiare of my moderate resources. 
 Perhaps this little fortune may not have been enough 
 to keep me always out of embarrassment ; but I have 
 had, as I take pleasure in repeating, excellent friends, 
 who, watching incessantly over me, have prevented 
 me from again falling into the sufferings of poverty, 
 to which my too great facility in giving might have 
 led me. It is wealth to have few wants and many 
 friends. That no one has better felt than L 
 
 The judicial prosecutions, of which I was the 
 object, made so much noise at the time in which they 
 
198 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 occurred, as to justify me in speaking succinctly of 
 them here. In his suit, the Avocat-Gener'al 
 Marchangy, a literary man of some reputation, who 
 had his fortune to make at the Palace, and who 
 made it at the cost of the four heads of the Serjeants 
 of Rochelle, manifested, in the course of the prosecu- 
 tion against me, great talent, sustained by the desire 
 to render my condemnation as rigorous as possible. 
 This good-will towards me often involved him in 
 absurdity, as when citing the Bon Dleu, he exclaimed, 
 " Did Plato speak in this manner of the Divinity 1 " 
 This apostrophe appeared so much the more out of 
 place, since it is plain that the Bon Dieu of the song 
 is that of the Fetichism of the old devotees, and not 
 the supreme intelligence before which I have always 
 prostrated myself, as several other pages of the 
 incriminated work had already testified. 
 
 The details of this audience, which was cele- 
 brated at the time, have been preserved. The crowd 
 was so compact, that the Judges were obliged 
 to obtain entrance by the window, and the accused 
 was almost unable to reach his place at the foot of 
 the tribunal ; although, like a certain rogue whom 
 they were leading to the gibbet, he repeated, " Gentle- 
 men, they cannot begin without me," The beautiful 
 defence of Dupin has been preserved, and shows the 
 amount of gratitude I owe to my illustrious advocate : 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 199 
 
 who never, on any occasion, gave proof of an 
 eloquence more pointed, more abundant, and more 
 witty. Only I cannot avoid expressing my conviction 
 that, in the interest of his client, my defender was 
 too intent on diminishing the importance of song. 
 And, in this respect, my vanity as an author, and my 
 attachment to the species of poetry 1 had adopted, 
 led me to think that the accusation bore more directly 
 on the end I had proposed to myself, in giving to 
 my productions a literary value, which Dupin was 
 anxious to disguise. In a case of necessity, the 
 pride of the versifier would rise even to heroism I 
 " I would rather be hanged by my adversaries than 
 drowned by my friends," I said. It was not, how- 
 ever, the less wise in my advocate to use such means, 
 in endeavouring to save me from the long imprison- 
 ment with which I was threatened. Besides, it was 
 only at a later period, that the quality of poet was 
 accorded to the song-writer — and, strange circum- 
 stance ! the English were, I believe, the first to 
 give me this title in the Edinburgh Review. 
 
 A Judge, whose name it will excite some surprise 
 to find here, exercised his influence in a favourable 
 manner for me in this first affair, the result of which 
 was, that I was only sentenced to three months 
 imprisonment, and a fine of five hundred francs. I 
 mean M. Cottu, that ardent champion of aristocratic 
 
200 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 opinions, nnd, in all other respects, the most honourable 
 of men, the best and the most disinterested of the 
 royalists. He procured the exemption of the Vieux 
 Drapeau, as presenting a case not foreseen by the 
 law, from the condemnation which applied to the 
 others. The consequence was, that a new law against the 
 Press soon closed the avenue by which the greatest of 
 my crimes had been enabled to escape the talons of 
 Marchangy, I do not say of the Judges, for they all 
 appeared so well disposed towards me, that M. 
 Larrieux, the president said, in his summing up, which 
 was filled with praises of me, that it was a pity the 
 gravity of the tribunal did not allow them to sing 
 the works against which the prosecution was directed, 
 as singing might constitute a good excuse for them. 
 If they were not sung, however, during tlie delibera- 
 tions of the jury, many copies were taken of the 
 verses which I hud composed in honour of my 
 expected condemnation, and several of them found 
 their way even to the bureau of the Grcffier and of 
 the Avocat-General. 
 
 I passed the three months of my detention at 
 Sainte-Pelagie very gaily in the chamber which had 
 just been left, after tw-o months stay in it, by P. L. 
 Courier, another dealer in sedition, who was not so 
 badly treated as I was by the Restoration, but whose 
 end was so much to be regretted. I had several 
 
MY BIOGRAfHY. 201 
 
 worthy companions, condemned for political offences ; 
 among others, my friend Cauchois-Lemairc, a man 
 of true merit, who, after having had to suffer so much 
 in exile and in prison, was very inadequately recom- 
 pensed for it by the Revolution of July, 
 
 It would be ungrateful on my part if I forgot to 
 mention, that, in addition to the numerous visits of 
 such as were led merely by curiosity, and of those 
 who are always disposed to follow the multitude, I 
 received, on the occasion of my first detention, no less 
 numerous testimonies of a sincere and altogether 
 patriotic interest. These testimonies of sympathy, 
 and the noise which my condemnation made, were all 
 that was necessary to enable me — and, perhaps, to 
 enable the chiefs of the Opposition also — to form an 
 estimate of the influence which my songs were 
 calculated to exercise. 
 
 I have known people whom the prospect of im- 
 prisonment alarmed. It had no terrors for mc. At 
 Sainte-Pelagie, I had a warm and healthy chamber, 
 sufficiently furnished ; while the lodging from which I 
 had taken my departure was destitute of furniture, 
 exposed to all the inconveniences of cold and moisture, 
 without either stove or chimney; in which, at more than 
 forty years of age, I had only frozen water in winter 
 for all purposes, and an old sheet in which I muffled 
 myself up during the long nights when the inclination 
 
202 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 to scribble rhymes came upon me. Assuredly, I 
 could not but find myself in a much better situation 
 at Sainte-Pelagie. I, therefore, exclaimed to myself 
 sometimes, " The prison will spoil me !" To those 
 who, remembering my situation of two thousand 
 francs, may be surprised at the poverty of my lodging 
 in the city, I shall reply in the words of my favourite 
 axiom, " Those who are not selfish must be 
 economical." 
 
 During my detention, the legal authorities directed 
 a new prosecution against me, which was stirred up 
 by M. Bellart, the Procureur- General. The un- 
 grateful man I During the Hundred Days, I had 
 been requested to use my influence with M. Reg- 
 nauld de Saint-Jean-d'Angely, with the view of in- 
 ducing him to obtain information with regard to the 
 Emperor's intentions as to M. Bellart, who had been 
 one of the most ardent instruments of his overthrow 
 in 1814. M. Regnauld engaged with great zeal in 
 this matter, and authorized me to say, in reply to the 
 friends and relatives of M. Bellart, that he might re- 
 main at Paris without fear. He did not avail him- 
 self of this information, it is true ; but he could not 
 be ignorant of the steps I had taken. In one word, 
 a question of jurisprudence was the principal matter 
 of consideration in this new trial, which was occa- 
 sioned by the publication, through the instrumentality 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 203 
 
 of M. Dupln, but under my name and for my advan- 
 tage, of the documents of the first trial. The case 
 was a new one ; and the most enlightened men had 
 approved of this publication, by which I was enabled 
 to complete my collection, which had been mutilated 
 by the judgment pronounced against me, in publish- 
 ing, with each new edition, the examinations in which 
 the songs and the condemned verses were included. 
 The Bar perceived the tendency of this attempt, and 
 I again returned from prison to take my seat on the 
 bench, with Baudoin, the printer — Marchangy being 
 again my accuser, and Dupin my advocate. Never 
 did a client, gratuitously defended, cause more em- 
 barrassment to his defender — for I ought to mention, 
 that Dupin only consented to undertake my cause on 
 condition that there should be no question of fees — 
 an act of generosity which was repeated by Barthe 
 on the occasion of my last trial. 
 
 Did the publication of the various documents con- 
 nected with the process, and read during the trial, con- 
 stitute a repetition of the offence ? Such was the 
 question which was to be submitted to rational con- 
 sideration, that, on the occasion of a public trial, the 
 first comer may, just as the Gazette des Trihunaux 
 constantly does, avail himself, at his own pleasure, of the 
 whole proceedings, and of all the documents connected 
 with them. Our Bridoisons of the Bar did not so 
 
204 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 understand it, and Marchangy did not blush in sus- 
 taining this additional accusation directed against me. 
 What devotion to personal advancement ! He was 
 punished for it this time, however — his talent was at 
 fault ; and the jury, by a majority of a single voice only, 
 it is true, gave the triumph to the powerful logic and the 
 forcible arguments of Dupin, who was assisted in this 
 affair by Berville, to whom the cause of the printer 
 was entrusted. The worthy son-in-law of the good 
 Andrieux, my venerable friend, gave expression, in the 
 course of his pleading, to an eulogium in my favour, 
 which, even if it had not been so frequently repro- 
 duced, should never have escaped from my memory. 
 
 If the jury, which, at this period, was on the point 
 of seeing affairs of the Press altogether removed from 
 its jurisdiction, had yielded to the efforts of Marchangy, 
 I should have been condemned to two years imprison- 
 ment, at the very moment when I had only two days 
 longer to remain at Sainte-Pelagie. My acquittal was 
 a cause of rejoicing to me, chiefly as a check to the 
 law against the Press, since the publication of the 
 documents connected with all similar trials gave us 
 the power of m.ulti plying, to any extent, the works 
 hostile to our adversaries. I afforded a proof of this 
 myself in 1828, on the occasion of my last trial. On 
 the day when the judgment of condemnation wag 
 pronounced in the Correctional Police, all the new 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 205 
 
 condemned songs were reproduced in the evening 
 journals, which assuredly were not liberal, Charles 
 X. having shown both surprise and displeasure on 
 seeing his own gazettes give to my songs a far greater 
 publicity than my ten thousand five hundred copies 
 could have given, one of these papers considered 
 itself under the obligation of explaining that the 
 judgment obtained in 1822, rendering this reproduc- 
 tion inevitable, the journals of the Government had 
 only anticipated by a few hours those of the Opposi- 
 tion. The royalist sheet did not add that it had also 
 some pecuniary inter^cst in thus anticipating them. 
 
 It has been calculated that, in consequence of this 
 repetition of the condemned songs in the journals of 
 Paris, and of their reproduction in those of the depart- 
 ments and of foreign countries, several millions of copies 
 of verses, the circulation of which they had designed to 
 paralyse by their interdict, were made in less than 
 a fortnight. It was a good lesson for those who are 
 so obstinately bent on fettering the liberty of the 
 Press. The author who had been prosecuted, how- 
 ever, took good care not to manifest any vanity at 
 the result. But if the breath, which swelled and 
 bore away his frail balloon, was not that of glory, it 
 v/as, at least, that of a generous and patriotic opinion, 
 of which he might well show himself proud. 
 
 In lb2.j, I committed a third volume to the hands 
 
206 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 of the publisher, Ladvocat. M. de Villele ruled at 
 that time, and I calculated that this statesman had 
 too much good sense and tact to think of subjecting 
 me to a new trial. Will it be believed ? I consi- 
 dered myself bound by this consideration to manifest 
 less hostility. Nevertheless, the publisher and the 
 printer were harassed by the police, in order to 
 obtain my consent to some retrenchments. For their 
 sake I consented to make a few, which appeared to 
 me of no importance, but I resisted the long and 
 numerous solicitations to remove the Couplet d' Envoi 
 to Manuel, which forms tho' termination of the 
 JEscIaves Gaulois. What course did the publisher 
 Ladvocat take ? Five or six thousand copies were 
 printed without the couplet and some other passages, 
 wliich the police had erased without my knowledge, and 
 the remainder of the edition was left as I had insisted. 
 Having been informed of this falsification on the very 
 day on which Ladvocat gave a great dinner, to cele- 
 brate the appearance of the volume, I declined to be 
 present at it, notwithstanding the prayers of the poor 
 publisher, whom I ought to have pardoned for being 
 more alarmed than myself at the prospect of an im- 
 prisonment, which might ruin his house. He did 
 not, however, escape a trial, in consequence of the 
 seizure of some copies, which did not conform with 
 the one deposited according to the demand of the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 207 
 
 law; but the affair was managed in a very quiet 
 manner, and without any reference to me, proving 
 that I had formed a correct appreciation of the minis- 
 ter who was at the head of affairs.* 
 
 From 1825 to 1828, living constantly in the midst 
 of political society and of its most renowned chiefs, it 
 was frequently necessary for me to give them proofs 
 of my independence and candour. I saw how far the 
 nation had advanced in intelligence beyond its cory- 
 phees, who believed themselves to be its elites, as 
 most political assemblies seldom fail to do, although 
 their belief is rarely well-founded, and certainly was 
 not so at that time any more than in the present day. 
 Several of these gentlemen thanked me for the assis- 
 tance I had endeavoured to afford them ; I answered, 
 " Do not thank me for the songs I have composed 
 against our adversaries ; thank me for those I have 
 not composed against you.'' God knows there might 
 have been some good ones, the outlines of which have 
 often occurred to my mind. In return for the 
 
 * In this trial, a printer asserted that I had broken 
 my word to my publisher and the Journal des Debats 
 appeared to insist on this fact, which was completely 
 erroneous. I might, in my turn, have instituted a 
 little trial against the false witness and the journalist, 
 but I have never liked noise, and I have always de- 
 pended on the good sense of the public to make 
 rectifications of this nature. — Note by Ber anger. 
 
208 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 letter, the Government, I believe, would have readily- 
 pardoned me all the others. 
 
 Thus appreciating the greatest number of our 
 tribunes, to live amongst them was a kind of duty 
 which I fulfilled. The case was different with regard 
 to the youthful society which crowded around me. I 
 have been indebted to it for many beautiful hopes, 
 which have not all been deceived. I have beheld the 
 birth and the growth of fine and noble talents, and of 
 acts of devotion, which, notwithstanding the decep- 
 tions of life, have preserved their vitality. I have 
 witnessed the rise and development of social and 
 philosophical ideas, which, when one day freed from 
 inevitable errors, will promote the amelioration of this 
 poor world, the pretended civilisation of which is 
 yet little more than barbarism. 
 
 If young men have always sought my society, it is 
 because I was always able to comprehend, to encou- 
 rage, and sometimes to enlighten them ; although I 
 must acknowledge with pain that I have learnt more 
 from them than they could have learnt from mc. The 
 hope of being interred by men of greater worth 
 than ourselves is a delightful satisfaction to a friend 
 of humanity. I still maintain this assurance ; and if 
 it is occasionally shaken by various circumstances, how 
 many others re-estabhsh it at the very moment when I 
 am trembling lest it should vanish from my sight, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 209 
 
 If it had been in my power to return to my corner, 
 tiiere to dream and to rhyme, I should have done so 
 when Manuel, whom I lost on the 20th August, 
 1827, died. A painful malady, by which the last ten 
 years of his life were troubled, brought it to an end 
 when he was fifty-two years of age. It has been 
 stated, that his days were shortened by popular ingra- 
 titude. Nothing is less true. In addition to this 
 circumstance, that Manuel was not the man to see 
 the people only in the society of the salons, or in an 
 electoral body of a hundred and fifty thousand indi- 
 viduals, whose capacity may be measured by centimes, 
 he was well acquainted with the fact that more than 
 one college would have re-elected him in 1824, had it 
 not been for the disgraceful intrigues of several of his 
 former colleagues — some of whom were jealous of his 
 superiority, and others alarmed by the flights of his 
 patriotism, which often led them further than they had 
 any desire to go. He knew of these unworthy, 
 underhand dealings ; but, too proud to seek to baffle 
 them and make them public, he could not be sur- 
 prised when he saw that his name did not issue from 
 the electoral urn. If he lamented this for the sake of 
 our cause, as an abandonment of principle, he had 
 reason for congratulation almost so far as regarded 
 himself, as his opposition in the Chamber would have 
 been henceforth too isolated to be of any service to the 
 
 p 
 
210 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 country. He would have been repulsed from it again, 
 without finding in the deputies of the Left so much 
 zeal in defending him, a circumstance which the 
 opposite party would not have failed to represent as 
 an evidence of its own progress. There are certain 
 dramas which, with us Frenchmen, must not be 
 twice played. In everything, our enthusiasm is soon 
 exhausted. The most influential of his colleagues 
 saved him from the embarrassment of a second ex- 
 pulsion ; the risk of which he would not have hesitated 
 to face. Several of those, to whom the direction of 
 the elections was entrusted wrote to La Vendee that 
 there could be no doubt of his re-election at Paris, 
 and on the other liand, letters which they had got 
 written for the purpose, were shown to the electors of 
 Paris, in which the honour of this re-election, repre- 
 sented as certain, wns claimed for La Vendee. 
 
 Manuel regarded with pity so many acts of base- 
 ness. He supported, like a man who anticipated 
 such a result, the oblivion to which the electoral body 
 abandoned him for four years. He did not cease to 
 benefit by his wise counsels those who had betrayed 
 the national cause in his person, and, on his death- 
 bed, he repeated to me several times, with expressions 
 of grief, "You believe in an approaching revolution. 
 I believe in it also ; but, my friend, where will France 
 obtain men to govern her worthily ? " And I ought to 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 211 
 
 make the observation that Manuel was a man whose 
 modesty was far too candid to entertain the behef that, 
 as regards capacity, he was superior to those of whom 
 he entertained so little hope. That was one of the 
 errors of his intellect. 
 
 His premature end recalled the recollection of his 
 services and his virtues. Thiers and Mignet, who 
 with me, were present at his last moments, published, 
 in spite of the cavils of the censorship, articles in 
 which their fiiithful attachment called the regrets of 
 France towards the tomb of our eloquent friend. 
 His funeral procession, which took its departure from 
 the Chateau de Maison, where Manuel had passed his 
 last days, was led by M. LafBfcte, General La Fayette, 
 and a great number of other deputies. The respect 
 in which his memory was held was more particularly 
 displayed by the immense concourse of people that 
 crowded the exterior boulevards, over which we had to 
 pass ; our entrance into Paris having been interdicted 
 by superior orders. In this we are made conscious 
 of the difference which the Government made between 
 Manuel and General Foy, whose funeral obsequies 
 did not meet with any obstacle within the walls of 
 Paris, even when the hearse was drawn by the youth 
 of the various colleges. The people being desirous 
 of rendering the same honour to the expelled tribune, 
 an army of gendarmes immediately appeared ready to 
 
 p2 
 
212 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 put us all to the sword, if this enthusiasm were not 
 repressed. The people persevered, and it was neces- 
 sary to come to a long parley in order to avoid a 
 massacre. Between the brutality of the soldiers and 
 the energetic protestations of the crowd, M. Laffitte 
 displayed a self-possession and firmness, by which a 
 presage could be formed of all that he showed himself 
 to be in the days of July, 1830. In order that our 
 progress might be uninterrupted, it was required that 
 we should again put the horses to the car, on which 
 the dead body was conveyed, — a very little demand 
 after such an exhibition of force. It is true that that 
 of the people had been very much increased during 
 the discussion, and that the number who took part in 
 the funeral procession amounted at least to fifty 
 thousand. We reached the grave ; several orations 
 prolonged my torture : for to the man who is lamenting 
 the loss of one who was dear, and whose mind, 
 oppressed with grief, is no longer under the sway of 
 political pre-occupations, those noisy public funerals — 
 this display of eloquence— this absence of all tears 
 in the eyes fixed on the remains of a friend to whom 
 we would pay the tribute of our last adieu in the most 
 profound silence of thought is, indeed, a torture. 
 
 The erection of a tomb was spoken of ; but in this 
 also we could see how great a difference there was 
 between Manuel and Foy. All that we have since called 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 213 
 
 juste milieu (the golden mean), words which might 
 have been invented at an earlier date, the bank especi- 
 ally, was eager to subscribe for the erection of a mau- 
 soleum to the General, and to assure a fortune to his 
 children. All the long purses refused to open for 
 Manuel ; and it was only with great difficulty that nine 
 or ten thousand francs were raised by subscription. 
 
 Several of his rich friends neglected to lend their 
 aid in it, as they had neglected to procure for Manuel, 
 by honourable means, a position of sufficient ease.* 
 He left little except what he had economized in his 
 profession as an advocate practising at Aix, and as a 
 consulting advocate at Paris. He made very little in 
 this last position ; for as soon as he was appointed 
 deputy, he refused all fees for his consultations, which 
 he no longer gave except as acts of favour, under the 
 pretext that a deputy cannot be a paid advocate, 
 without giving occasion for doubts of the loyalty 
 with which he fulfils the office entrusted to him ; 
 the deputy being often under the necessity of speaking 
 and voting on laws, which may have relation to the 
 interests of his clients. 
 
 * I read in an ill-disposed article, full of errors, of 
 the Biographie 3Iichaud, that Manuel had an inclina- 
 tion for the gaming table. The man who could write 
 such a falsehood, must have had a great antipathy 
 against a person. In regard to games, he was fond 
 only of those that required corporal dexterity, the chase 
 being his great passion. 
 
214 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 By his will, he left me a legacy for life of a thousand 
 francs of yearly income. He had not reflected on all 
 the family burdens which he transmitted to his brother, 
 who was well worthy of this portion of the succession. 
 I, therefore, renounced the legacy, notwithstanding 
 the entreaties of the brother, from whom I requested 
 only the watch of the poor deceased, and his hair 
 mattress, on which I sleep. But the younger Manuel* 
 acted in such a manner that, notwithstanding the 
 renunciation, he always succeeded in carrying out the 
 intentions of the testator, and even in going far 
 beyond them. As his personal position has very 
 much improved, I have ceased to offer any cavilling 
 opposition to the course of this excellent friend, whose 
 attachment towards me is equal to that which I have 
 still preserved for the memory of his excellent brother. 
 
 If this death did not break up my relations with 
 the chiefs of the Liberal party, some of whom had 
 become my personal friends, as Dupont (de I'Eure) 
 and LafRtte, it created in me a much greater necessity 
 of contracting relations with the youth, whose more 
 liberal and generous ideas harmonized better with my 
 peculiarities of thought and feeling. I experienced 
 this in 1828, on the occasion of the puWication of my 
 
 * The younger M. INIanucl, a few days after the 
 death of Beranger, requested that these articles and 
 Bome other souvenirs might be given back to him. His 
 desire has been granted. — Editor''s Note, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 215 
 
 fourth volume. The minister Martignac, having suc- 
 ceeded in bringing about a sort of truce, and even in 
 effecting an agreement between a great number of the 
 Left and the Centres, they were anxious to throw im- 
 pediments in the way of the publication of this volume, 
 the appearance of which threatened, as they said, to 
 trouble the apparent harmony of these gentlemen. 
 
 The more they preached silence to me, so much 
 the more did I feel the necessity of breaking it, j)ro- 
 testing thus in my own w^ay against a fusion (that 
 was the word of the moment) which led public opinion 
 astray, and might serve to the establishment of the 
 principle of the legitimists. I had by this time ac- 
 quired sufficient influence to justify the hope that my 
 attempt would not be without some success. The 
 volume caused great scandal, especially in the ranks 
 of the high Opposition party, several of whose chiefs 
 believing themselves on the point of becoming 
 ministers, calumniated me at a distance, without dis- 
 continuing to offer me their hands when we met. If 
 I have not actually made any of these great political 
 pretenders the subject of my songs, I possessed a 
 wdt, the sting of which they regarded with alarm. It 
 was necessary to be completely armed in the calHng 
 that I followed, and when circumstances required, the 
 epigram and sharp words did not fail me. This was 
 one of the deficiencies of my young days, which I have 
 
216 My biography. 
 
 never been able to correct completely. My communi- 
 cative gaiety, rendering the success of my pleasantries 
 certain, the latter have, perhaps, been no less useful 
 in a certain sphere of society to the popular cause than 
 my songs. 
 
 Certain of having to appear before the tribunals on 
 account of this fourth volume, which made many of 
 my friends make such grimaces, I hastened to pay a 
 visit to the excellent Dupont (de I'Eure), and in order 
 to enjoy the fresh air, I wished to spend some days 
 alone at the sea-side. I was informed at Havre of the 
 commencement of the prosecution. Immediately, there- 
 fore, quitting Dupont, who was alarmed on my account 
 at the consequences of this new affair, I returned to Paris, 
 where certain good people were in the belief that I 
 had gone abroad. Dupin lost no time in writing to 
 me that he would come inamediately to undertake my 
 defence. But I thought it my duty to let him know 
 that, as he had now become a deputy, he could no 
 longer possess the liberty necessary to the advocate 
 of a seditieux of my character, who would not hear 
 of any concessions.* On this occasion, my case was 
 undertaken by Barthe, who conducted it with an affec- 
 tion and a devotedness, that the errors into which 
 
 * A letter published by M. Dupin in the Presse of 
 the 3rd August, 1857, is calculated to introduce some 
 confusion of facts. The text of the Biographie should 
 
My BIOGRAPHt. ^17 
 
 in my opinion he has since fallen, and from which I 
 wished it had been in my power to save him, have 
 not induced me to forget. He was one of the best 
 men whom I have known and regarded v/ith affection. 
 Can 1 allow myself to be severe in my estimate of him 
 
 not require illustrations, but even the Moniteur has 
 afforded, under the Eestoration, the most distinct 
 evidence of what Beranger here says. — Editor^s Note. 
 
 To the Principal Editor of the Moniteur Universel, 
 Paris, 1-ith Nov. 1828. 
 
 Sir, — An article of the Journal de Rouen, relative to 
 the proceeding that has been instituted against me, 
 contains so many inexact statements injurious to me, 
 that, notwithstanding my repugnance to making the 
 public a party to that which concerns me, I pray you 
 to have the kindness to insert the rectification of these 
 errors in your next number. M. Dupin did not, of his 
 own accord, give up his intention of defending me. 
 In answer to the zealous offers of his friendship, I 
 made the first objections to him myself, and these were 
 founded on his actual position as a member of the 
 Chamber of Deputies. These reasons, however, were 
 not sufficient to shake his determination ; they only 
 appeared to him to merit consideration. But, at a later 
 period, a circumstance, having no connection with my 
 objections, occurred to give them a new force. 
 
 Some journals had made the statement, that I had 
 not had my new songs printed until I obtained M. 
 Dupin's assurance that their publication would be 
 attended by no inconvenience. The journals asserted 
 that he had corrected the j)i'oofs, and had added his ap- 
 proval (mit le hon a tirer). Being absent from Paris, it 
 was too late before I became acquainted with this asser- 
 
218 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 and of many others — I \Yho pushed them on to 
 superior employments ; a perilous path in which men 
 of feeble and unsteady character could scarcely avoid 
 going astray. • Ah ! which of us has not failed ? If 
 there are any who arc reported to have never fallen, 
 the reason is that their descent w^as made when no 
 one was paying any attention to them. 
 
 M. Laffitte, with the feelings of a devoted friend, 
 fearing that my health might probably suffer, in con- 
 
 tion, which appears to have been accredited, for it is 
 repeated even at the present day. Notwithstanding 
 its absurd improbabilit}', and its complete want of truth, 
 it placed ]\I. Dupin in a frdse position, even as an 
 advocate, since in defending me he would have ap- 
 peared to be defending his own cause. His words 
 would have lost all their usual authority. 
 
 We were both struck v>'ith this ; and then only I 
 obtained his consent to the transference of my cause 
 to the hands of M. Barthe, equally a friend of mine, and 
 whose fine talent Avas such as to make M. Dupin per- 
 fectly secure as to the result of my defence. M. Dupin, 
 moreover, has not ceased to take the deepest interest 
 in my affair, both as a counsellor and a friend. 
 
 The details which the Journal de Rouen adds, with 
 regard to my agreement with M. Baudoin, are equally 
 inexact, and although published with a benevolent 
 intention, I owe it to myself to prevent their unfavour- 
 able influence. 
 
 I never thought of conferring en my publishers the 
 power of imposing their will on me as to the publica- 
 tion of my songs, and I must say that they have always 
 left my choice free, without any examination on their 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 219 
 
 sequence of a long imprisonment, had used his 
 influence with the ministers to hrino; about a favour- 
 able arrangement on my behalf. I requested him to 
 discontinue all further steps of this nature. It was 
 my determination to abide by the result of the trial. 
 " Take care," he said to me ; " if you should die in 
 prison, you will not obtain the sepulchre of Foy ; you 
 will only have that of Manuel." " Even a more 
 modest one would suit me better," was my reply ; 
 " I have never been particular about being well 
 lodged." 
 
 part. It is supposed, in the article which forms 
 the subject of this denial, that M. Dupin must also 
 have approved the agreement made between M. 
 Baudbin and me. I assert that this act has never been 
 submitted to him, and that it is no more true that it 
 has been submitted to his consideration than that the 
 proofs of my collection have received his corrections. 
 
 You will pardon me, sir, for the length of this letter 
 on account of the sentiments that have dictated it. If 
 honour had not made it incumbent on me, the friend- 
 ship which unites me to M. Dupin, the gratitude with 
 Avhich I am penetrated for all that he has done for me, 
 and for all that he is disposed stiill to do, impose on mc the 
 obligation of laying these explanations before the public. 
 I ought to prevent it from falling into an erroi', the 
 result of which would afflict me much more than the 
 two trials to which I have already been exposed, that 
 which they are now preparing against me, and ail the 
 other insults to which I am every day exposed. 
 
 Receive, &c., 
 (Signed) Bercmger, 
 
220 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 I have never been able to understand, but in an 
 imperfect manner, the arrangement that was pro- 
 posed ^a very extravagant one it was, without doubt. 
 The following is the manner in which it was laid be- 
 fore me by Laffitte, who had only a limited compre- 
 hension of the matter. As the correctional tribunals 
 were at that time charged with the judgment of 
 affairs connected with the Press, the promise was 
 made that, if I would submit to a judgment, without 
 pleadings, in default of appearance, I should be sen- 
 tenced to only the smallest punishment. This was 
 the way in which the authorities wished to avoid the 
 debates, and the noise they would make ; and thus, 
 doubtless, they trusted to be able to escape the re- 
 production of the condemned songs. All this would 
 have been a great advantage to our adversaries. Of 
 course, as every one must conclude, I refused j and 
 did it in such a manner that they insisted no more, 
 except by laying before me the prospect of many 
 years in prison — a prediction which fortunately was 
 not accomplished.* 
 
 Compared with the effect which this trial produced, 
 
 * Beranger might have dwelt at greater length on 
 this part of his history. No sooner had he received 
 intimation of the step which M. Laffitte had taken 
 with M. Portalis, the Keeper of the Seals in the 
 Martignac Ministry, than he took up his pen and wrote 
 to his friend the letter which the reader will now peruse. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 221 
 
 what were nine months of imprisonment and a fine 
 of ten thousand francs to me ? Notwithstanding: the 
 example given by Laffitte, Berard, Sebastiani, and 
 several others, who accompanied me to the tribunal, 
 many of my great political friends considered it 
 prudent still to abandon me. But finding that they 
 had been deceived in their calculations, they came to 
 visit me at La Force, the prison I had chosen, when 
 
 The following is an example of the manner in which 
 this man, so prudent, so thonghtfid, and so modest, 
 could, Avhen it was necessary, manifest his courage, 
 boldness, and dignity. — Note hij the Editor. 
 
 To M. Jacques Laffitte. 
 
 My Dear Friend, — You must not imagine that I 
 am not grateful for what you did yesterday. I can 
 strongly assure you that it has much affected me, and 
 that, regarding it in that light, I had no occasion for 
 hesitation. But I was under the necessity of ponder- 
 ing over all that you have said to me, and I cannot 
 conceal from you that this step causes me much anxiety. 
 I am persuaded that it must also have cost yourself 
 some care ; but without entering into this matter, which 
 in fine could only add to the value with which I regard 
 this new proof of your friendship, let us consider what 
 advantage I can derive from the arrangement in 
 question. 
 
 No, no ; I owe it to my own character, to the public, 
 to my advocate himself, to protest against this manner 
 of proceeding. As to being condemned to the minimum 
 of punishment, what is the advantage of that? Is it of 
 any great importance to myself ? Quite the contrary ; 
 and, the more severe my punishment is, so much the 
 more odious, in the first place, will the author of my 
 
222 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 the accession of M. de Polignac to tlie Ministry had 
 at length completely convinced them that they had 
 no longer anything to hope from the Bourhons, as I 
 had constantly proclaimed hoth in conversation and 
 in song. 
 
 I could easily have ohtained permission to pass my 
 nine months in a maison de sante ; but far be the 
 
 condemnation aj^pear. If, therefore, I have only six 
 months in prison, I give you warning that I shall 
 adopt every imaginable precaution, in order to avoid 
 both the malady and the alleviation of that sanitary 
 asylum. A longer detention would, doubtless, render 
 me less haughty ; and see, therefore, what I should 
 gain by all your arrangements 1 The shame of having 
 abandoned a defence, the principles of which may 
 be useful, dissatisfaction with myself, and a check, 
 perhaps, to this popularity, which they would in vain 
 seek to deprive me of, and which is necessary to the 
 development of my talent. 
 
 There is not a word to say against it, my friend; I 
 am popular ; my popularity is great, at the least. Do 
 you know that in the cafes, in the markets, everywhere 
 they are far more interested in my trial than in the 
 Prussians, the Russians, and the Turks ? 
 
 You know me sufficiently well to be assured that it 
 is not the desire of scandal and of noise which incites 
 me. The proclamation of a useful principle is the 
 matter at stake, and it must be defended with courage. 
 Both my duty and the honour of my character are 
 concerned in this affair. In vain has your friendship 
 proved to me that which I already knew very well : 
 namely, that I was carrying on war at my own expense, 
 and that the more severe the blows which they were 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 223 
 
 idea from me of ever making such a demand. I 
 might not have hecn without grounds for such a 
 request. I was in a state of great suffering during 
 the first four months of this imprisonment. But 
 when one has taken his stand in a contest with 
 government, it appears to me ridiculous to complain 
 too loudly of the blows it inflicts on you, and bad 
 
 preparing to inflict in my name should be, the more I 
 should myself be exposed to a thousand petty acts of 
 vengeance. My reply to you is ; " It is my duty ! As 
 to my health, which you invoke, you have too un- 
 favourable an opinion of it. Be of good cheer ! I have 
 a hard life." 
 
 "With regard to money, captivity will have very soon 
 exhausted it. I know that everything is dear in prison ; 
 but, in fine, if my purse is empty, I know how to fill 
 it again ; you are at hand. 
 
 I shall then do that which your offers, reiterated a 
 hundred times, have not yet made me do. I shall 
 request you for money when all my own shall have 
 slipped away, and I shall not even ask it under the 
 form of a loan, if your friendship is so exacting. You 
 see that I fors^et nothina:. 
 
 Once more consider that, according to the project 
 which you submitted to my consideration yesterday, 
 that if the authorities", appear to withdraw from public 
 prosecution, the accused also retires before the power 
 which his defence might offend. Suppose for a moment 
 that you represent the public, and ask yourself if, in 
 the case of your being the witness of such a comedy, 
 you would not endeavour to discover its concealed 
 springs, and if this discovery would not to some extent 
 diminish the esteem and the interest with which you 
 
224 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 policy to furnish it with an opportunity of showing 
 itself generous in lessening their force. 
 
 Perhaps I thought so because, as I have already said, 
 this prison life, in a corner specially set apart — this hfe, 
 cloistered up, regular, with its long evenings, is not 
 without a certain charm for me. It is by no means 
 suitable for youth ; but I was more than fifty years of 
 age when I had my first experience of it. At this age I 
 
 regarded the accused. Believe me, my dear LafRtte, 
 there are moments in which the most retiring man is 
 under the necessity of exaggerating his own importance, 
 and, in my opinion, I am at present in one of those 
 moments. Let us, then, take the matter in its worst 
 light. I am sent to prison for several years. Then, I 
 may be allowed to believe France will utter a shout of 
 indignation. Let us go further : I die in chains. 
 May I not also be allowed to believe, that for half a 
 century, at the very least, my death will continue to be 
 a bloody reproach on the memory of certain indivi- 
 duals, and are you aware that that would be the most 
 terrible accusation which could be directed against 
 the memory of Charles X. ? I have sacrificed too 
 many of the blessings of the present to that in- 
 describable vain love of glory and of virtue to think 
 that you will not excuse my folly in regarding things 
 in such a light. Examine then, my reasons — weigh 
 them well, and reflect particularly on the purity of my 
 intentions and the exact situation in which lam placed. 
 Tell me, in truth, whether your opinions are not rather 
 those of a friendship which is alarmed, than the coun- 
 sels of cool and tranquil wisdom. 
 
 Tout a vous de cceur. Your friend, 
 
 Beranger, 
 
MY SIOGRAPMV, 225 
 
 may have asked myself sometimes, if I was not born 
 for the convent. But no ! there is no moral liberty 
 there, and that I cannot dispense with ! 
 
 The greatest misery of these houses of detention, 
 and it is sometimes frightful, is the spectacle of irre- 
 coverable misfortunes, incurred by imprudence, and 
 of those degraded natures which are there encountered. 
 Who would beheve it, however ? The misanthropist 
 would not discover there the greatest number of 
 arguments against the poor human race. But, in 
 revenge, the philosopher would meet with terrible 
 ones against the laws by which we are governed, 
 although they are far from being so imperfect as those 
 by which our fathers were oppressed. 
 
 During my imprisonment I was subjected to a 
 severe disappointment. My young friends were de- 
 sirous of opening a subscription for the payment of 
 my fine, which, with the justiciary expenses and the 
 war decline amounted to eleven thousand, five hundred 
 francs. 1 foresaw the little success this project would 
 meet with. The people were wearied with subscrip- 
 tions. Then the working classes, under the impression 
 that my friends, the bankers, would lose no time in 
 discharging this political debt, took no part in the 
 matter. But the bankers, extremely generous in 
 words, are accustomed to obtain the honour of every- 
 thing at the least possible expense. I was not ignorant 
 
 Q 
 
226 MY BIOGRAPHY^ 
 
 of this, and I had made arrangements that these 
 gentlemen should not be subjected to the tax. I 
 should also have hked to avoid this obligation to the 
 public, which is somewhat banker-hke in its nature, 
 and is very ready to assume to itself rights over those 
 to whom it opens its purse. I did not venture to say 
 this at that time. This subscription, thanks to the 
 zeal of the young people, was not a failure. It was 
 very near by being one, however ; and but for the as- 
 sistance of M. Berard, who completed the sum, I 
 should have been obliged to add my own mite. 
 
 After the Revolution of July, the Committee of 
 Relief for the assistance of those who had been 
 condemned under the Restoration, proposed to make 
 me the allowance of an annual sum of six thousand 
 francs, as my share of the indemnities granted by the 
 Government. I n^fused ; there v^'cre other victims 
 wiiose necessities were far more pressing than mine. 
 The working-man, the father of a family, whom they 
 detain in prison, is far more to be pitied than the 
 literary man, who even under bolt and bar, isolated 
 as he is, can still pursue his labours to attain for 
 himself reputation and fortune. 
 
 It will be perceived that I am speaking here only 
 of imprisonment in France, and not of that v^'hicli is 
 the lot of the political prisoners of Austria and 
 Russia of the Pope of the Turks and of other 
 uncivilized nations. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 227 
 
 It was at La Force, that V. Hugo came to make 
 my acquaintance; and soon afterwards brought with 
 him Sainte-Beuve — Alexander Dumas also came to 
 me, illustrious from his first theatrical success. 
 Their visits were the reward of all the combats in 
 which I had eno-aged in behalf of the literarv revo- 
 lution which they and their friends had ventured to 
 attempt, and which, after all, was only one of the 
 consequences, a little delayed, of the political and 
 social revolution. The retrograde tendency of some 
 of the ideas of this school, which was long kept at 
 bay by our old and young liberals, had not prevented 
 me from applauding the eminently lyric genius of 
 Hugo, and from admiring the meditations of Lamar- 
 tlne, with whom I had no intimacy till a later period. 
 I had experienced infinite pleasure in the works of 
 M. de Vigny, who treated his subjects with as n!uch 
 art as taste, a talent not at all common among us. 
 I comprehended all the extent and all the delicacy of 
 M. Sainte-Beuve's intellect, and, with everybody 
 else, I prophesied great dramatic success for Dumas. 
 
 It was in vain to urge the objection that this school 
 had often proved false to the democratic principle, 
 which had first launched it on its career ; that insults 
 to our glory had often proceeded from its bosom ; that 
 they had outraged Napoleon dying at Saint Helena ; 
 that the services rendered by philosophy were not 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 acknowledged by it ; all of these, circumstances that 
 ought to have wounded me more than any other 
 person. " But," I replied, " among us who begin to 
 speak and write so soon, a start is invariably made 
 with the ideas of others, without allowing ourselves 
 time to satisfy ourselves of their relation to our own 
 sentiments, a circumstance, which I may parentheti- 
 cally remark, accounts for the change of opinions 
 of so many superior intellects. Now, our writers of 
 the Romantic School are all very young. Let us 
 pardon them, then, for those errors, an explanation of 
 which we ought to require only from those by whom 
 they have been nurtured. They do not the less 
 compel our literature to give a more frank expression 
 to things modern, of the present day, and completely 
 French, which, as in our political assemblies, we have 
 too long rendered with the assistance of expressions 
 borrowed from antiquity, or in a language altogether 
 hostile to the proper word, such as that of which 
 Delille may be regarded as a model. Wait ! They 
 vainly attach themselves to the past — they will come 
 to us — the language which they speak is conducting 
 them on to our idea." They would not believe me ; 
 but the predictions were not the less fully accomplished. 
 Language ! language ! It is the soul of nations ; in 
 it their destinies are read. When, then, in our 
 colleges; will they seriously teach French to the 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 229 
 
 pupils ? When will they introduce a cours raisonne 
 of the history of the language from the time of 
 Francis I. until the present day ; not for the purpose 
 of explaining our authors, hut for the purpose of 
 explaining by means of these authors, the echoes of 
 their age, the progress of the language, its first uncer- 
 tain steps, its deviations, its rest, and its progress ? 
 
 Since I am in the vein of speaking on language, I 
 wish to mention how greatly I admire the poem of 
 Jocelyn, which, in this respect, without regard to all 
 its other beauties, appears to me a truly marvellous 
 work. No doubt very great talent is displayed in the 
 Chute cfun Ange; but I have never observed — as is 
 the case in Jocelyn — how profoundly the style, which 
 we call rac'mien, enters into all the details of domestic 
 life in all its shades. Never has this species of verse 
 adapted itself with so much facility and truth to the 
 most difficult kinds of painting and narration ; pre- 
 serving, at the same time, all its elegance and har- 
 mony. This is a great advance for our poetry. 
 Henceforth it may express and depict everything. 
 
 I am aware that in Jocelyn there are many negli- 
 gencies of style, and much tedious description, but it 
 is so full of very great beauties, that we may easily 
 excuse a few blots, which, moreover, it would be so 
 easy to erase from it. If such a poem could have 
 come to us from bevond the Rhine, or from the 
 
230 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 other side of the Channel, we should not have had a 
 sufficient number of voices to proclaim the miracle. 
 
 It is time to return to prison for some hours still. 
 
 The police were afraid that my exit from La Force 
 would be made the occasion of some noisy manifesta- 
 tions in the neighbourhood of this prison. As I had 
 quite as great a dread of them as the police, I had 
 taken care to mislead my friends regarding the day 
 of my deliverance. The Governor was not the less 
 careful to awaken me at an early hour, in order to 
 ^^ put me to the door,''' as he said to me with a smile. 
 I was again free after a captivity of nine months, and 
 I w^alked about on the Boulevards with as great in- 
 difference as if I had just left my own house, by which 
 an idea may be formed of the facility with which I 
 could submit to a change of circumstances. It must 
 be evident that I have no pretension to represent 
 myself as a fit object for commiseration. Old age, 
 however, was drawing on. 
 
 This last affair threw a new lustre over my life ; 
 and as the dynasty was every day, by its errors, dis- 
 couraging its most devoted and able servants, the 
 number of those, who testified their good-will to me, 
 necessarily increased so much the more. Chateau- 
 briand had always been the object of my reveries. 
 How great was my joy when, on his return from the 
 embassy at Rome, I was informed that he desired to 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 231 
 
 make my acquaintance. The poet, who had discovered 
 the song in such a humhle position, might indeed he 
 proud to see that it had succeeded in attracting the 
 attention of the author of the Martyrs and of the 
 Genie du Christianisme. This was the highest htc- 
 rary recompense that I could ohtain. In the works 
 that M. de Chateauhriand has puhlished since that 
 day on which I grasped his hand for the first time, he 
 has ahvays testified to the public the greatest good- 
 feelino; towards me. One circumstance which he 
 will not make puhhc is, that having been informed, 
 tvro years ago, that I was suffering from a w^ant of 
 money to such an extent that I v.-as obliged to make 
 retrenchments even in that which was necessary, he 
 lost no time in opening his purse to me, at the very 
 moment when he himself was obliged to sell the retreat 
 which he had made for himself in the Euc d'Enfer. 
 I was tempted to accept his off'er, not for the purpose 
 of making any use of it, but in order that we might 
 be under a mutual obhgation. I did not do this, 
 however, because my habitation is twenty leagues 
 from Paris, money cannot be sent and returned with- 
 out considerable expense, and at the present time, he 
 is, doubtless, debarred from costly pleasures as well 
 as myself, to whom, indeed, they were scarcely 
 ever allowed. 
 
 On a copy of liis Etudes Ilistorique, which he 
 
232 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 presented to me, the author of Rene addressed to the 
 author of the Bonne Vieille, a couplet which I will 
 introduce here : 
 
 "Ainsi que vous je pleur^ sur la France ; 
 Dites un jour aux fils des nouveaux preux 
 Que je parlais de gloire et d'esperance 
 A mon pays quand il fut malheureux 
 Rappelez leur que raquilon terrible 
 A ravage mes dernieres moissons ; 
 Faites revivre, au coin d'un feu paisible, 
 Mon souvenir dans vos nobles chansons." 
 
 In addition to this title to glory, which 1 ana 
 anxious to preserve, why am I unable to append some 
 letters from my illustrious and excellent friend, Lamen- 
 nais, who, as well as myself, v/ould be so pleased if we 
 could complete the course of our old age together ! 
 In his letters also would be found a proof that, although 
 often setting out from the most opposite points, men 
 of sincerity may one day meet in aUiance under the 
 banners of their native country and of humanity.* 
 This is a powerful reason why, in the struggles of 
 opinion, we ought never to allow ourselves to indulge 
 in hatred or insults against individuals, from the 
 moment that we can discover in them adversaries of 
 good faith. If a bad heart, but a fine intellect, 
 doubtless, has said, " Let us act towards our friends 
 
 * See Appendix. -^Editor's Note, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 233 
 
 as if they should one day be our enemies," a man of 
 worth has corrected this horrible maxim in this 
 manner, " Let us act towards our enemies as if they 
 should one day be our friends." These words I 
 have often repeated to myself. As to the word 
 enemy, I avail myself of it simply because it offers 
 itself, for I have never apphed this name to any one ; 
 on the contrary, I might have given the name of 
 friend to too many persons, if I had been of a dispo- 
 sition to lavish it, and to yield to every advance. 
 
 I have even had the reputation of refusing ahnos 
 all the invitations which \vere addressed to me from 
 all quarters. The great lords of the ancient noblesse 
 who supported liberal opinions have, among others, 
 never been able to attract mc to their company, and 
 I said one day to the respectable M. de la Rochefou- 
 cauld-Liancourt, who had the kindness to reproach 
 mc on this account, " Monsieur le Due, believe mc, 
 it is not a ridiculous democratic humour which pre- 
 vents me from accepting your invitations. I am 
 sensible of the honour you do me ; but my dictionary 
 is different from the one used in your saloons. 
 Until 1 had studied yours page by page, I should be 
 only a fool or a mute in your society." I have 
 always, in fact, been accustomed to conform to the 
 manners and the tone of those with whom I asso- 
 ciated ; certain not to return to them when the dis- 
 
234 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 guise cost me too much. I might also have said 
 to the Duke that I had never heen at ease with 
 people whom I did not know, at least hy name. 
 They completely occupy my attention until I have 
 divined their character, and thus prevent tlie free 
 flow of my intellect. M. de Rochefoucauld accepted 
 my excuses with such cordiality, that, being desirous, 
 in 1818, of requesting me to compose a song for the 
 purpose of celebrating, at Liancourt, the departure of 
 the foreign troops, he requested an appointment with 
 me, cither at my own house or at a cafe. It may be 
 supposed that I lost no time in proceeding to call 
 upon him at his own house. I thought of treating 
 the subject, and I promised him that, if I composed 
 the song, he should have a present of it for his 
 patriotic fete. As soon as the Holy A lliance of the 
 Nations was terminated, I sent it to him, and Vv'as 
 rewarded with many expressions of gratitude. As 
 he was one of the administrators of the hospitals, I 
 inserted in it this wicked distich : — 
 
 " J'ai fait pour certain Dae un chant qui n'est pas mal; 
 Je suis sur desormais d'un lit a I'hopital." 
 
 The bed at the hospital was not yet to be despised. 
 
 Our liberal, ancient nobles, notwithstanding the 
 voluntary suppression of titles and even of the par- 
 ticle, did not the less continue to be, almost all of 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 235 
 
 them, to some extent dukes, marquises, and counts ; 
 and I know one of them who, while extolhng the 
 Agrarian law, the preaching of which is attended 
 with less expense than the practice of charity, has 
 instituted several little prosecutions against his 
 neighhours for the preservation of the feudal ser- 
 vices, which had long hcen settled hy mutual com- 
 position. 
 
 Several great lords of imperial creation, poor 
 satellites, extinguished since the fall of their sun, 
 assumed on air of hauteur not less amusino;. It 
 only required a little court favour to transform it into 
 insolence — which did not prevent several of them from 
 being very polite with me after the days of July. 
 During the Restoration, they would not have dared 
 to speak to me, under the dread of compromising 
 themselves. But when Charles X. had fallen, I had 
 some influence, and these gentlemen sought in every 
 direction for aid and counsel, with the view of being- 
 reinstated in their eclipsed grandeur. Several of them 
 even went so far as to insinuate themselves into the 
 faubourg Saint-Germain, in order to obtain the rati- 
 fication of their new titles by the ancient noblesse. 
 The infidehty of these noble parvenus to their plebeian 
 origin has made me less tolerant towards them than 
 towards those, whose prejudices may be attributed to 
 ancient blood and to education. I believe that the 
 
236 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 entire nation formed the same opinion. Proceeding 
 to Compiegne, which the I'^mperor and his suite had 
 just quitted — this was, I behevc, in the year 1808 — 
 I fell in on the road with an old peasant woman, who, 
 with a joyous countenance, comes up to me and says, 
 " Ah, sir, I have seen him at last." 
 
 " Who, then ? " I said to her, pretending not to 
 divine her meaning. 
 
 " The Emperor ! the Emperor ! '' she replies. " He 
 returned my salutation. He salutes every one. He 
 is not like those lords who are about him. One can 
 easily see that they are only parvenusT 
 
 The poor woman did not see a parvenu in the 
 man, whom glory had raised to such a height. Nor 
 did the people ; but, with the exception of the great 
 military names, they had very little esteem for the 
 personages of this court v^'hich was so brilUant — in 
 which, however, many men of high capacity and a 
 great number of illustrious names of the ancient 
 nobility figured. 
 
 La Fayette, a man possessed of an equal bene- 
 volence towards all, at least apparently, had completely 
 thrown aside all the pretensions of his caste. If any 
 recognised in him the great lord of former days, it 
 was, perhaps, by the too great care which he took to 
 make others forget it. Notwithstanding the marks 
 of friendship which he constantly showed me, I had 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY, 237 
 
 never gone to visit him at his chateau of Lagrange, 
 where every one wished to have been, whatever in- 
 vitation he may have had the kindness to offer me, 
 or however much Manuel may have insisted on taking 
 me there. I suspect, too, that the heart of the General 
 is not without some resentment, in consequence of my 
 neglect. Why should I not make a confession ? I 
 had doubts as to his pohtical capacity, and I reproached 
 him, because in the last moments of the Empire, he 
 did not imitate the noble example of Carnot. I knew 
 that during the Hundred Days, wise patriots, and 
 among others Dupont (de I'Eure), believed that they 
 had reason for directing some grave reproaches against 
 him. All this, perhaps, confirmed me in my refusal 
 to visit him at Lagrange. Then I felt that for me, 
 in my position, to be too intimate with him was to 
 enrol myself in his party, an alternative which did not 
 quite suit my independent disposition. I have been 
 blamed for it, doubtless. I blamed myself; and, 
 notwithstanding what I have just said, no one has 
 more completely acknowledged the purity of La 
 Fayette's intentions, and the immense services which 
 he has rendered to liberty. But I obeyed my instinct. 
 I have at all times had too much dependence on 
 the people to approve of secret societies, truly perma- 
 nent conspiracies by which many lives are uselessly 
 compromised, and which give rise to a multitude of 
 
238 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 petty rival ambitions, and subordinate tbe interests of 
 principle to particular passions. They are never long 
 in engendering distrust, which leads to defections, and 
 even to acts of treachery; and finish their work, 
 when the working classes arc invited to join them, by 
 corrupting instead of enlightening them. I could 
 bring forward proofs of all that I advance here. I 
 have known all the effects that these societies have 
 had, or I have at least knov^'n enough to justify me in 
 affirming, that they are only adapted for nations strug- 
 gling under foreign oppression. But for the service 
 which La Fayette may have believed this political 
 corti^ge would one day render him, this great citizen 
 would doubtless have thought as I did ; for I not only 
 refused to become one of the Carbonari, but I en- 
 deavoured to persuade many of my friends, and among 
 the rest Manuel, from joining this association. The 
 Revolution of 1830 has proved that, in a country 
 where the manners of the people, whatever be the 
 form of government under which they live, always 
 assure a certain amount of liberty, there is no neces- 
 sity either for secret societies or for conspiracies, in 
 order that the people, when their day comes, may 
 make known their will. The society Aide-ioi, le 
 ciel Vaidera, which acted ostensibly,has alone rendered 
 undoubted service to our cause ; for notwithstanding 
 all that has been said and written by the legitimists, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 239 
 
 no plot, no secret affiliation directed the generous in- 
 surrection by which the elder branch of the Bourbons 
 was overthrown. I have even met with people who 
 were surprised that the victory had been obtained 
 without their assistance. I may be believed in this 
 matter, for I was in a good situation at that time to 
 know all that took place, and I am equally well situated 
 to-day to speak the truth. The Government of 
 Charles X. alone conspired against itself at that, 
 moment ; a fact, however, which does not imply that 
 for many years, certain ambitious men had not formed 
 projects and made preparations for a certain course of 
 conduct. In 1824 or 1825, the Duke of Orleans 
 said to one of his friends, " Come what will, 1 shall 
 not quit France unless they drive me from it." A 
 short time after this expression, through which we 
 obtain a glimpse of so many things, M. de Talleyrand 
 assured the very same friend that, by the relations 
 which he had maintained with the English tories, he 
 had a certain knowledge that a revolution in France 
 would not be regarded unfavourably, if it went no 
 further than a change of persons. There would, 
 perhaps, have been something in this to make those 
 who urged on this revolution hesitate, if Charles X. 
 had not rendered it inevitable. 
 
 This leads me to speak of M. de Talleyrand, and of 
 the few occasions I have had to estimate this man by 
 
^40 MY BtOGRAPHV. 
 
 his renown. He had several times expressed a desire 
 to meet me. " Why do you not invite him to dinner ?" 
 said one of my friends, who knew what to think of it, 
 to him. " I am too great a lord to expose myself to 
 a refusal," he answered, smihng. He requested LafRtte 
 to procure him the opportunity of dining with me. 
 This was in the beginning of 1827. I had at length 
 an opportunity of seeing at my leisure this personage, 
 who was the object of so much curious observation. 
 I was, therefore, at first, all eyes and all ears. He 
 was aware of the fact that several, years before, when 
 I was indirectly solicited by a certain person in powTr 
 to compose a song against him, I had answered, " I 
 shall wait till he is minister." Doubtless, he did not 
 esteem me the more for this ; and, in like manner, 
 was very little embarrassed by the prejudices which he 
 must have believed I entertained against him, if, per- 
 chance, he saw anything more in my humble person 
 than an object of simple curiosity. He made himself 
 agreeable to me, and at once began to talk of politics. 
 It was in seeking to reply to some malign reflections 
 with regard to the Duke of Orleans, now King, that 
 he addressed me in the words, since so often repeated, 
 " It is not some person ; it is something." After 
 having met with him several times, I obtained the 
 conviction, that if he had borrowed several witty ex- 
 pressions from others, he could in return make a 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 241 
 
 loan of many more to them. Wit with him was only 
 the ornament of great good sense, summing itself up 
 in a brief and piquant form. One would have ignored 
 his age and the different parts that he has played, in 
 order that they might have been able to divine all 
 the experience of which his words were the expression, 
 set off by that finished tone peculiar to those belonging 
 to good society, who have made their way through re- 
 volutions, and who are never alarmed by the mauvals 
 ton of others. It must be acknowledged, that his 
 position gave him an immense advantage in the salons. 
 He took time to reply to every question. He had 
 become an oracle ; he was consulted as such ; and a 
 thought was even attributed to his silence, which 
 was frequently only ennui and idleness, his besetting 
 vice. In fine, there was nothing elevated, nothing 
 profound, nothing generous in his character. A com- 
 plete egotist, his private interest has always been the 
 only motive even of his poUtical acts, a fact which is 
 quite sufficient to deprive him of that reputation of 
 being a great statesman, which those who were dazzled 
 by his old titles and his princely luxury have been 
 anxious to confer on him.* 
 
 * At the Congress of Vienna he at first played a part 
 so calculated to wound his vanity, that he wished to 
 resign bis seat; audit was M. de la Besnardiere, whose 
 reputation is still great at the present day iu foreign 
 
 u 
 
242 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 I shall say no more of this personage who belongs 
 to history. Those who shall afterwards write on our 
 epoch will not foil, I hope, to reduce the pretended 
 capacity of Talleyrand to its just proportions, and to 
 blast for ever the reputation of this ci-devant bishop, 
 this great lord, who betrayed France and Napoleon, by 
 whose benefits his high position had been created for 
 him, and who took care to be paid himself, in 1814, 
 for the disastrous treaty of Paris, which was signed 
 to the great surprise of foreigners themselves. 
 
 1 have now no more to say of myself which can 
 be at all instructive to those who follow the career 
 which I abandoned at fifty-three years of age. 
 
 In constant relation with the chiefs of the Liberal 
 party, I have contributed like them, and to a greater 
 extent than many of them, to the events of the 
 
 affairs, who made the suggestion to him to demand, by a 
 note, what would be the basis of peace for Austria, 
 if the invasive pretensions of Germany and Eussia were 
 yielded to. The Aulic Council, being consulted, de- 
 clared that, in that case, the Emperorwould find it neces- 
 sary to maintain four hundred thousand men, a prospect 
 Avhicli alarmed him as well as several other princes. 
 From this moment, the influence of M. de Talleyrand 
 was very great at the Congress ; but he took care not to 
 employ it, as much as he might have done, to the 
 advantage of France. I am informed of this by De la 
 Besnardiere himself. This is not the only service of 
 the same nature which he has rendered to the most 
 slothful of men. — Note by Bir anger. 
 
Mt BIOGRAPHY. 243 
 
 revolution ot July, 1830. After the triumph of the 
 popular over the legitimist principle, I had the con- 
 viction that my part was terminated, my task fulfilled 
 It appeared to me that the nation required a period 
 of repose, in order to form a judgment of what it had 
 done ; and, with regard to men who were on the point 
 of heing intoxicated or rendered giddy by power, I at 
 least recognized from the very first day that I had 
 nothing to do in their society. I proceeded to wait 
 for them in retreat, where several of them must soon 
 unavoidably come again to seek for me. 
 
 Many of my friends were anxious that I should 
 aspire to the honours of power. Without consider- 
 ing the obstacle of the cens, a tax which I was 
 unable to pay, such a pretension did not at all suit a 
 man, who, from an early period, had been enabled to 
 discover the feeble points of his own character, and 
 to confess that his education had been in many 
 respects superficial. Power is an instrument very 
 difficult to manage, the use of which we must learn 
 by a long course of application before we can employ 
 it well. I was now at an age when the only thing 
 that men learn is to render a better account each day 
 of all they are ignorant of. 
 
 If it has happened to me, in some circumstances, 
 to have had the advantage in clearness of compre- 
 hension, and in the calculation over events of men far 
 
 R 2 
 
244 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 more enlightened than myself, I know that I have 
 been indebted for it only to my particular position. 
 Little engaged in actual life, completely free from all 
 personal interest, and from every concealed ambitious 
 thought, it has sometimes been easy for me to obtain 
 a more accurate and distinct view of events than that 
 which was attained by many minds that were in- 
 finitely superior to me, but which were agitated by 
 passions and desires that I had not. Even the noble 
 ambitions, such as popularity, for example, can throw 
 the soundest understanding into disorder. Let there 
 be no mistake in this matter, then. The advantage 
 which I have enjoyed over many others is that of 
 having been nothing, and having done almost nothing. 
 One must allow the fools to avail themselves of such 
 a honour. 
 
 My young friends, the republicans, equally deceived 
 with regard to my capacity, and anxious to obtain a 
 guarantee for their principles, also wished that I 
 should extend my hand for some portefeuille. 
 
 " "What office of the ministry do you wish me to 
 have?" I asked. 
 
 " That of Public Instruction." 
 
 " Be it so ! When 1 am once in it, I shall force 
 them to adopt my songs as a book of study in the 
 schools for young ladies." 
 
 And at these words, my young friends laughed 
 heartily themselves at their foolish idea. 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY 245 
 
 The new Government made the most honourable 
 proposals to me, but I rejected them all, not being 
 one of those who are ambitious of sinecures ; for 
 forced labour could no longer suit me, and I should 
 have blushed, having sufficient to live on in the 
 amount my little volumes had procured, to draw 
 pensions from the colTers which the nation reple- 
 nishes with so much difficulty every year. It is a 
 point of honour with me, that I have never lived at 
 the expense of my fellow citizens, and the proof that 
 this feeling does not arise from puritanism, a false 
 virtue which is so little accordant with my character, 
 is that, as I have already said, I have never hesitated, 
 even since 1830, to have recourse for assistance to 
 the purse of such of my friends as were not political 
 personages, 
 
 I shall here mention one of the most flattering 
 rewards which were ever bestowed on my patriotism. 
 On Friday of the great week, a lady, whom I had 
 never known or seen before, making her way through 
 the crowd which encumbered the saloons of Laffitte, 
 comes up to me, and presents me with an immense 
 tricoloured flag. " Sir," she said to me ; "I have 
 passed the night in getting it ready ; I have been 
 anxious to deliver it into your hands, into your hands 
 alone, in order that you may have it placed on the 
 ttolumn." Moved even to tears, and gratefully 
 
246 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 thanking this lady, I insist that the homage of this 
 flag be rendered to the assembled deputies. " No, 
 no,'' she replies; "it is for you — for you alone;'' 
 and immediately disappears. 
 
 This flag was immediately hoisted on the column 
 of the Place Vendome by the young men who were 
 the witnesses of this scene, 
 
 I, who have received, and who still receive, so many 
 testimonies of popular affection, cannot mention one, 
 the recollection of which is so frequently recalled to me 
 as that of this lady and her flag. May she survive 
 me in order that she may one day see in this work 
 the testimony of that gratitude which I have pre- 
 served towards her. 
 
 In order not to be exposed to embarrassing requests, 
 and also because I hate to make an exhibition of 
 myself, except in a case of necessity, I thought it ray 
 duty to decline appearing in the presence of the new 
 King, who had several times communicated to me 
 the expression of his desire to see me, and even to 
 thank me, a word for which n y friends Laffitte and 
 Thiers must be responsible. Having answered 
 on this occasion in a pleasant manner, that I was too 
 old to make new acquaintances, my refusal has been 
 attributed to my opinions. But this is an error, I 
 had never seen the Duke of Orleans, but I knew him 
 to be a man of intellect and sense. When he became 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 247 
 
 King he could not be ignorant of the fact, that while 
 assisting in tliose resolutions, of which he had been 
 the object, in those moments that followed the victory 
 of the people, I had been no less nurtured with republican 
 thoughts ; but that, being above every thing else a 
 patriot, I had accommodated myself to imperious 
 circumstances, for the sake of the public safety. 
 This was the result of five years' reflection on my 
 part. Having never entered into an engagement 
 with any party, for I have never been a party man, 
 but a man of opinion, I was completely free in this 
 respect. My republicanism, therefore, could not 
 prevent me from making my appearance in the pre- 
 sence of this prince, who, when Laffitte urged this 
 objection to him, answered, doubtless, with a smile, 
 " I am a republican, also." What I dreaded, if I 
 should be presented to him, was that he might insist, 
 in order to prevail on mc to accept honours or pen- 
 sions. Kings, however recent they may be, 
 do not like to be direotly refused. The refusal to 
 visit him could only be regarded as the result of my 
 unpolished character; the refusal of his favours 
 might have appeared presumption. Besides, I had 
 no desire to make any display of that which they 
 have been pleased to call my disinterestedness. 
 
 After all, what advantage could be gained by the 
 conversations of two men placed in such different 
 
248 MY EIOGRAPHV. 
 
 positions, and both having reached an age in which 
 idons are so much the more tenacious, because they 
 are supported by the pride of their duration. There 
 is every reason to believe, that the king and the song 
 writer would not have understood each other, how- 
 ever benevolent the one might have been disposed to 
 show himself, and liowevcr polite the other might 
 have considered it his duty to appear. Should 1 
 have put myself forward as an adviser of the crown ? 
 But if even my friends, having become ministers, no 
 longer listened to my very humble remonstrances, how 
 vt'ould a king have been disposed to receive them ? He 
 would have laughed at them ; It would have been 
 one of his good days. Reflection would have induced 
 me to laugh myself at the foolish part 1 had attempted 
 to play, and which so many simpletons have attempted 
 to assum.e, with what success we all know. 
 
 Those who were desirous of introducing me to 
 court said, " People are admitted without ceremony ; 
 they appear there in boots." " Very well," I re- 
 plied, " boots to-day, and silk stockings in a fort- 
 night." 
 
 All this was only a trial to my curiosity ; for, to an 
 observer, what spectacle could this new court present ? 
 
 I have kept myself equally distant from all literary 
 honours ; and among other reasons, for one which I 
 have been under the necessity of repeating too frequently, 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 249 
 
 namely in order not to offer an example injurious to the 
 liberty of that style which has been so favourable to 
 me, the importance of which I must be pardoned 
 for somewhat exaggerating. Whatever advantage 
 an academical title might confer on song, the lyric 
 poets will not be persuaded to become the slaves of 
 power, in order to obtain admission to the Institute, 
 which has become one of the ante-chambers to the 
 peerage. The people may still stand in need of 
 satirical songs, and, for my part, I shall not be sorry 
 to have some successors. 
 
 A moment well chosen for the attempt to gain 
 entrance into the Academy was at the period when, 
 during the last year of the reign of Charles X. M. 
 de Chateaubriand adopted an exceedingly kind step, 
 (for we were but very slightly acquainted at that time), 
 and endeavoured to persuade me to become enrolled in 
 the number of candidates for the first vacant chair. 
 My nomination, at that time, might have had an 
 advantageous political signification ; an evidence of 
 which was afforded by the insults which this step, so 
 honourable for me, brought down on M. de Chateau- 
 briand, on the part of one of the newspapers. I did 
 not yield, however, to the pressing entreaties of the 
 great man, who offered to act as my godfather, if I 
 may avail myself of the expression. 
 
 Since the revolution of July, I could not but see 
 
250 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 that my admission to the Academy, supposing this 
 body had deigned to admit me, implied the obHga- 
 tion of taking part in public ceremonies, of wearing 
 the embroidered uniform, and of pronouncing, with a 
 swoi'd at my side, introductory orations, in the pre- 
 sence of a numerous audience. Besides, I might 
 too often have to combat with such intrigues of 
 faction as those which afflicted Constant on his death- 
 bed, or which our great poet, Hugo, repelled no less 
 than three times. " But," — academicians have them- 
 selves said to me, — " who compels you to submit to 
 all these ennuis ? Act as we do, who never put a 
 foot in the Academy." That is the very thing 
 which I cannot comprehend. " What, gentlemen I 
 neglect the duties imposed on me by an honour 
 which I had solicited ! No, that would be still more 
 painful to me than the accomplishment of these 
 duties, of which, such is my character, I might ulti- 
 mately become the slave." So far as my conviction 
 has allowed it, I liave always endeavoured to make 
 my position harmonize with my disposition and 
 tastes — a rule which is much less observed than we 
 are generally disposed to believe. The more I have 
 advanced in age, the more strongly have 1 experienced 
 the necessity of entire independence, a circumstance 
 which ought to make me dread my adhesion to any- 
 body whatever. I can only think when alone, and I 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 25 1 
 
 begin even to find it difficult to live any longer 
 except with my own thoughts, when my old friends 
 are no longer with me. 
 
 Notwithstanding the inconceivable popularity which 
 has adhered to my name — notwithstanding the suf- 
 frages of so many superior men- — and the praises 
 which have been lavished upon me even in the theatre, 
 let it not be imagined that I conceal from myself the 
 inconvenience I must submit to in consequence of not 
 beino- a member of the Academy. I am destitute to- 
 day of that special consideration which it confers on 
 those who belong to it, no matter what may be their 
 title to it. My death will not be celebrated by those 
 solemn honours which it decrees to its deceased mem- 
 bers — honours, at which some who envy them pre- 
 tend to laugh, and which the pubhc by no means 
 regards with an indifferent eye. Who knows but 
 that my conduct, wrongly interpreted, may inspire the 
 Academy with feehngs unfavourable to my memory, 
 however short may be the time my memory will sur- 
 vive myself. I am too sincerely attached to letters 
 not to regard this with fear ; and I hesitate so much the 
 less in giving expression to this fear here, because it 
 affords an answer to those who have accused me of 
 not aspiring to a chair for the sake of singularity 
 Now-a-days, when only that singularity which is pro- 
 fitable is held in estimation, I should have made a bad 
 
252 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 calculation. 1 moreover declare that if I have not 
 always acknowledged the utility of the French Aca- 
 demy, no one will henceforth be more disposed than 
 I to render justice to this foundation of Richelieu. 
 There is evidence of this in the reproach which I have 
 constantly addressed to its members — in the number 
 of whom I have counted, and still count, so many 
 friends — of not advantageously using the power which 
 it might confer on them in a period of literary 
 anarchy, during which the language requires a per- 
 vading and intelligent guardianship, to enable it to 
 resist the barbarisms of the Bar, of the Press, and of 
 the Tribune. Have some not even gone so far as to 
 wish to reinstate the patois in honour ? The acade- 
 micians ought not to forget this. The language, as 
 well as the kingdom, required unity, and for that rea- 
 son, a great minister, eminently national, founded the 
 French Academy. 
 
 For my part, the language having at all times 
 engaged a great share of my attention, in spite of, 
 or rather in consequence of, my ignorance, I confess 
 I should prefer far beyond the annexation of Belgium 
 and of the Rhenish provinces to France, to see the 
 Academy, assisted by ail the classes of the Institute, 
 at length produce a great and beautiful dictionary, 
 revised every ten years, and distributed gratuitously 
 in all the offices of the Administration, great and 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 253 
 
 small, and taking its place at the side of our great 
 codes, the utility of which it would then, in my 
 opinion, equal.* 
 
 I have only a few words to add to this already too 
 long notice. 
 
 On the occasion of the revolution of Poland, as a 
 memher of the Polish committee, I had a little 
 pamphlet, composed of four songs, and a dedication 
 to La Fayette, printed. All the copies which the 
 
 * It must be understood that I do not speak here of 
 such a dictionary as that which these gentlemen will 
 never finish, and which, it is said, is to contain a history 
 of the words. I mea:i a dictionary for the use of the 
 whole nation, and of the foreigners who speak and 
 study our language. 
 
 It must also be avcII understood that this great work 
 should be executed at the expense of Government, and 
 that under the Commission, composed of members 
 selected from the different classes of the Institute, there 
 should be a great number of young men employed in 
 the preparatory labours. 
 
 The French Academy should hold the pen in the 
 general labour. Copies of each sheet ought to be 
 displayed, before printed in the places of public 
 instruction, such as faculties, colleges, &c., and the 
 Commission ought to ' examine all the observations 
 addressed to it regarding the contents of the proofs. 
 
 As nothing is now done with us from pure devotion, 
 it would also be necessary that the Government should 
 not be sparing of money in this great national work, 
 which it should order to be gratuitously distributed, 
 wherever its necessity was acknowledged. — Note by 
 Beranger. 
 
254 MY BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 good Perrotin had produced at his own expense, were 
 put into the hands of the committee, who received 
 all the profits of them. 
 
 It was not in my power to present my last volume 
 to the public till 1833 ; but when I did so, I made 
 a promise that I should never again give it any 
 occasion to occupy itself with me, T knew that I 
 should keep my word, except in the case of too great 
 reverses. Since that time I have done all that I 
 could to fall again into obhvion, and to acquire again 
 entire liberty, for reputation also is a condition of 
 dependence, sometimes even a condition of very 
 troublesome dependence ; a circumstance the young 
 have very little suspicion of. It would all be very well 
 if reputation were always glory ! 
 
 Sincerely attached to men of different parties, who 
 had rival interests after the establishment of the new 
 dynasty — grieved by the faults which both parties 
 appeared to be emulous in multiplying — wearied out 
 in vainly proposing a truce for the advantage of 
 France, I took my departure from the spectacle of 
 these sad alternatives. I have sought retreat and 
 silence at Passy, Fontainebleau, Tours,, and it is in 
 this last town that I write this notice, which I shal], 
 perhaps, finish elsewhere. 
 
 After having entertained doubts of myself during 
 my whole life, it would be cruel to be compelled to 
 
MY BIOGRAPHY. 255 
 
 doubt others before my death. Fortunately, I have 
 sufficiently studied the actual movement of the world 
 to draw from it a consoling conclusion, that, not- 
 withstanding the unfavourable predictions to which 
 personal misunderstandings give occasion in every 
 direction, the triumph of equality is preparing in 
 Europe, and the glory of my dear country will be that 
 of having first claimed, at the cost of the greatest 
 sacrifices, the government of the democracy organized 
 by laws to which all must submit. I can, therefore, 
 return thanks to God for the hopes which he gives 
 me in favour of that cause which I have served, and 
 which will have my last wishes and my latest songs. 
 Tours, January, 1840. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 It is to Beranger's letters that we must look for the 
 complete picture and changeful story of his life. The 
 " Biography " is but a sketch. 
 
 We have felt it right to group together in this 
 place some pages which Beranger preserved, and 
 which are in the nature of apologies and explanations 
 of this hasty biography ; and to these papers have 
 been added a few notes, which render them more 
 complete, together with a rhume of some precious 
 recollections. Beranger's memory has no need of 
 praise or defence at the hands of any ; but public 
 curiosity demands to know something more than 
 what has been stated in his own brief and modest 
 memoir. 
 
 The unity of a character so worthy of esteem, is, 
 doubtless, an object of sufficient rarity in an age in 
 which so many characters have been destroyed by 
 sudden and violent shocks ; and it is that this unity 
 may be seen to have been preserved uninterrupted to 
 the end, that we add an appendix to Beranger's 
 memoirs. 
 
 s 
 
258 APPENDIX. 
 
 The " Biography " concludes, in reality, at the 
 days of July, 1830. Beranger has stated why he 
 was anxious to remain at that time in obscurity, and 
 to be nothing, not even adviser to a Government 
 whose triumph he had assisted, more than any other 
 person, in securing. At that period his active life 
 was brought to a conclusion, and he refrained from 
 any further interference \Yith politics to the hour of 
 his death. 
 
 " The Revolution of July, has been also anxious," he said 
 in the preface Avritteu in 1833, " to make luy foi'tune ; but 
 I have treated it as a poAver capable of falling into caprices, 
 which it is wise to retain the means of resisting. All, or 
 nearly all, of my friends have had a place in the Ministry ; 
 and one or two of them even still hang clinging on the sUppeiy 
 pole. It is a satisfaction to me to think that they are hooked up 
 to it by the skirts of their coats, in spite of all their efforts 
 to get doAATi. I might, then, have had my share in the dis- 
 tribution of public posts ; but I had, unfortimately, no love 
 for sinecures, and had a thorough distaste for any kind of 
 work, except, perliaps, that of exj)editio7inaire. Slanderers 
 have pretended that I acted thus from motives of virtue. 
 Kubbish ! It was because I was idle." 
 
 The course he pursued w^as one of especial wisdom, 
 and he reserved his old age for the toilsome labour 
 consequent on a charity which nothing — not even 
 ingratitude — could chill. 
 
 But although he had withdrawn from the current 
 of politics, Beranger knew very well in 1833 what 
 to expect from the future j and in an admirable letter 
 
APPENDIX. 259 
 
 to Lucien Bonaparte, he has expressed his ideas on 
 the subject with all the sound sense, grace, and 
 frankness, which might be expected of the poet 
 who had declined to take the advantage of the very 
 moment of success — and of the citizen who, after 
 having laboured so energetically and effectually in the 
 past, desired only for the future the liberty of 
 dreaming. 
 
 *' Priuce, — A serioua illness to which I am very subject, 
 and wbich affects me with frightful headaches, has prevented 
 me from replying as soon as I could have wished, to the 
 letter which has been placed in my hands, not by M. Presle, 
 but by M. Ea\'ioli. I am beginning to recover, and take 
 the earHest opportunity of thanking you for the fresh mark 
 you have been so good as to give me of yoiu^ remem- 
 brance. 
 
 '' Do you not know, Prince, that the heart of any man 
 more prone to indulge in illusions than myself, would have 
 been excited by your letter to a dangerous pitch of pride ? 
 I have fortunately, however, only read your expressions in 
 the sense in which, of course, you intended to use them. 
 Your declaration Math respect to the value of my literary 
 coimsels, is only an ingenious method of expressing some 
 esteem for my humble talent ; and as regards the justice of 
 my opinion on political affairs, allow me to persuade you on 
 this point, also, to make large reductions in your praises. 
 
 " Had there not been insurmoimtable obstacles to my so 
 doing, I should have endeavoured to make a journey to 
 London, for the purpose of expressing my acknowledgments 
 in person to you. I regret that that shovdd have been impos- 
 sible : for perhaps, in conversation with me, you might have 
 been able, Prince, to turn to profit the impressions received by 
 me during the time I passed with our politicians. M. Lacoste, 
 
 S 2 
 
260 APPENDIX. 
 
 a friend of the Count de Survilliers, will be able, llo^Yever, 
 should he think it worth while, to communicate to you all 
 that I have said to him with respect to the actual course of 
 events, as well as my impression with regard to the future. 
 But I must at once candidly confess that, until very 
 recently, my ideas have been shared but by few others. 
 The Eepublicau papers, indeed, somewhat incline to them ; 
 but that, I imagine, is for want of something better. 
 
 " There has been a time when young and old alike con- 
 descended to ask my advice, and I then became proud ; but 
 I was ultimately treated as a mere babbler, and my consulting 
 room is now closed. But if I am no longer willing to 
 advise, I still babble, and it is, doubtless, one of my 
 prattlings which has reached your ears. I may very pro- 
 bably, in fact, have said, and that more than once, that the 
 existing state of affairs might last ten years, and possibly 
 longer. 
 
 Before the Eevolution of July, I perceived the impossi- 
 bility of establishing, in a country of equality, the English 
 monarchical, representative system, which cannot exist 
 without the support of a privileged class ; and when this 
 revolution had actually occurred, I, an old republican, con- 
 vinced that France was not yet prepared to accept the 
 republican form, desired that, putting the old monarchical 
 machine to a final use, we should make it serve as a plank, 
 by means of which we might cross the stream ; and what I 
 here say to you my actions, as Avell as words, at that period, 
 have proved to all my friends. I thought, if possible, to 
 assign to this state of transition a duration equal to that of 
 the Kestoration. The faults of the new Government have 
 but very slightly altered my expectations, and have much 
 strengthened my hopes. Therefore, Prince, the prediction 
 of ten years of existence, Avith respect to a throne, which 
 has the appearance of being so \^'eak — if the Bepublic 
 had not itself committed faults which its position, doubtless, 
 rendered inevitable, we should have been nearer, perhaps, 
 t-p the denoie.nent. This party had not yet learned how to 
 
APPENDIX. 261 
 
 appreciate riglitly the cliaracter of new Prance, and thus 
 dreamed of the impossible. It is on the interests created 
 by the Revolution that it must rely at the jiresent day ; and 
 these very iutei-ests the Eepublican party has too often 
 appeared to threaten. Portunately for us other French- 
 men, v.'e know how to discipline ourselves by the blows 
 given us by our enemies, and these blows have never been 
 wanting. The Republican elements are much more abun- 
 dant than is supposed by those who dread, or even by those 
 who desire, the Republic. But it will be long, in my opinion, 
 before they A\'ill be concentrated. In France, we both think 
 and act quickly ; but we only act when the movement ol 
 ideas jumps with that of the popular feelings ; and tluis 
 these days occur but seldom in an age. These are the 
 reasons which make me expect, in a time still remote, the , 
 foil of the Government of to-day, accustomed as I am to see 
 things on their least favourable aspect. 
 
 " I have thought it well. Prince, to point out to you some 
 particulars of my manner of viewing affaii's, that you might 
 be able to estimate it at its true value. But I should not 
 be candid, did I not add, that, living as I do, at the present 
 time, in retirement, I am in a position which is, probably, 
 unpropitious to the modification of preconceived opinions. 
 Dreamers, as you Avell know, should always be listened to 
 with some distrust. Let me add, that, for the sake of the 
 republic of which I dream, I am anxious that it should 
 not flourish prematurely. In fact, my most serious objec- 
 tion to the existing Government is, that it has a hot-house 
 effect upon its growth. 
 
 "I am well aware, also, that I have failed to take into 
 account the chapter of accidents ; but in speculative poli- 
 tics—the only species with which I meddle — accidents 
 should be ignored. It is in action alone that a certaiu 
 weiglit may be attached to them. 
 
 " My object has been. Prince, to enable you to estimate 
 my prediction at its proper value, and, at the same time, to 
 
262 APPENDIX. 
 
 prove to you, tliat it is tlie result of candid reasoning on m j 
 part, and my conscientious con^dction. 
 
 " I afford you, as you see, every opportunity of over- 
 whelming me with reproaclies of being both a fool and a 
 dotard; and pray do not hesitate to take advantage of them: 
 for I am quite used to that species of abuse. The clever 
 ones accused me of folly during tlio Eestoration ; and now 
 the new generation, in spite of the events which, during 
 the last two years, have proved the truth of my prognostics, 
 are as little disposed to give credence to my prophecies. 
 Nor do I esteem them the less on this account ; they fulfil 
 their mission, whilst it is mine to preach in the desert — and 
 a very ridiculous mission it is. 
 
 " You have appealed to mj^ candour, Prince, and you will 
 perceive that I have answered your appeal. I have allowed 
 my pen to run on at the risk of wearying you, and lowering 
 myself in your estimation, for the purpose of affording you 
 all the documents you could require. And now judge, I 
 repeat, how far you ought to give credence to my words. 
 
 " At least, you may fairly regard this letter as a fresh 
 
 proof of that eternal attachment which I have vowed to 
 
 you, and an additional reason for believing me always, 
 
 Prince, 
 
 " Tour most grateful Servant, 
 
 " Be'ranger. 
 " Passy, 25th May, 1833." 
 
 This letter is certainly in several respects a very 
 curious production. Mention has frequently hcen 
 made of the power of divination with which Beranger 
 appeared to be endowed, and this epistle is a suffi- 
 ciently remarkable proof of the clearness of this, his 
 prophetic instinct. The poet's political opinions are 
 expressed in it in plain terms ; and it is interesting 
 
APPENDIX. 263 
 
 to find him speaking so decidedly to a Prince wlio, pro- 
 bably, did not share Beranger's sentiments, and whom 
 the same hope could not satisfy. 
 
 Retirement appeared to have the effect of clearing 
 away from before Beranger's eyes the confusion of 
 actual events, and at a distance from them he com- 
 prehended them better, and estimated them more 
 accurately. 
 
 " It is right that you should understand," he wrote some- 
 what later to Lamenuais, " tliat I am of no value, except in 
 meditation ; for whilst discussion lias the effect of driving 
 away all the ideas my brain may possess I have, more* 
 over, a nice conscience, which prevents me from being 
 a party man. I am merely a theorist. But still this 
 statement requires some qualification ; for patriotism, a 
 feeling which in me is always young, annihilates my 
 opinions as soon as I have reason to fear that their applica- 
 tion would be injurious to my country. I am nothing but 
 a singer of songs, as you know; but believe me when I 
 declare that I am no mere egotist. I am as a hermit who 
 on the strand offers up prayers to Heaven for those who 
 encounter the tempest, regretting at the same time that 
 he himself knows how to handle neither spar nor oar." 
 
 His wish, then, was to indulge in meditation rather 
 than to enter into discussion ; and whilst he would 
 not sacrifice his opinion, he was anxious to avoid 
 belonging to any party. He beheved that the free^ 
 dom, of v/hich he had secured the triumph, would 
 suffice to educate the people ; and his chief solicitude 
 was devoted to its sufferings, sufferings to which he 
 
264 APPENDIX. 
 
 had dedicated his last songs ; and he prayed God as 
 a philosopher, the God of concord and peace, that the 
 hour of tranquillity might as soon as possible enlighten 
 the horizon. He had sung the glorious war of the 
 Revolution, but he could not think that war was holy ; 
 
 " When each new mortal age its course begins, 
 The corn fields lie bedaubed with human blood." 
 
 He marked the onward progress of science, which 
 continually multiplies its miracles, invents the uses of 
 steam, controls the forces of electricity, and he hoped 
 that the world was at length about to be rightly 
 organized. The insignificant quarrels of the time of 
 the Restoration were already fading in the distance, and 
 now was the time he considered — now, when it was no 
 longer necessary to struggle for rights, to take thought 
 for the masses of the people ; to raise them from their 
 state of rude misery, and educate them, so that they 
 might be no longer reduced by hunger, ignorance, and 
 envy, to adore the blood-stained divinities of war. 
 
 He desired by these last songs, which are, as it 
 were, a legacy of Peace, to teach us to love one another 
 in all good faith ; to lead us by a safe path, to that 
 organization and general emancipation of the world of 
 humanity, of which he caught glimpses in far distant 
 revolutions. In the stir of the Chinese population, 
 in the Chinese emigration which announces to Europe 
 
APPENDIX. 265 
 
 that three hundred millions of workers are about, 
 sooner or later,- to enter the ranks of the civilized com- 
 munity. Beranger saw the advance of a new social 
 era ; and to this subject dedicated his last meditations. 
 
 And where did this man, whom such mighty 
 dreams inspired, who was at once so proud and so 
 humble — where did this man, we say, seek to give 
 utterance to, or seek publicity for his words 1 He 
 visited, unostentatiously, the poor ; he consoled the 
 afflicted ; he opened his purse to supply the wants of 
 the utterly wretched ; he raised up the weak and erring. 
 
 When the Republic appeared amidst the lightnings 
 of February, as a poet has expressed It, Beranger, 
 who had predicted it, experienced some anxiety, as 
 he saluted its newly-raised flags, with respect to the 
 device they bore. He hoped that events might show 
 the futility of his fears, but he could not allow him- 
 self to be persuaded that the v^'heat was as yet 
 thoroughly ripe for the harvest. People used to 
 repeat at that time one of those hon-mots full of good 
 sense, in the invention and expression of which he so 
 excelled: — "We have a staircase to go down by, 
 and here we are throwing ourselves out of the 
 window." In fact, he speedily perceived how much 
 enmity had been excited by imprudence. 
 
 Popular gratitude summoned him to become one 
 of the members of the Constituent Assembly of the 
 
^66 APPENDIX. 
 
 Republic ; but he could not give the lie to the guiding 
 principle of his life, and take an active part in 
 politics after having so clearly expressed his reasons 
 for wishing to live in retirement. It was in 1840 
 that Beranger had written to Lamennais the letter 
 of which we have quoted one of the passages above j 
 and was he not, eight years later, still the same man? 
 
 In ignorance of his real character, alone, can any 
 blame him for having refused to become a representa- 
 tive of the people, and, perhaps, something more. 
 
 In all his thoughts, in all his discourses, in all hia 
 letters, may be found evidences of the unity of his 
 character, the clearness of his intellect, and his firm- 
 ness of will. 
 
 To convince ourselves of this, we need only peruse 
 the letter v^diich he wrote to the electors, declining to 
 become a candidate. 
 
 " My dear fellow Citizens, — Is it really true that you 
 wish to make a legislator of me ? I have had a suspicion 
 of the fact for some time, but I hoj)ed that those who first 
 entertained the idea would have renounced it, out of pity for 
 an old man who has always been unaccustomed to the per- 
 formance of official duties, and who, to perform them 
 properly, would be compelled to leai'n at a time of life when 
 to learn is no longer possible. 
 
 " Friends have declared that to refuse to take upon 
 myself such functions will be an error. I think the contrary. 
 But, if it be, indeed, a fault, then do you, whom I wish to 
 be free from all faults, avoid foUowing, in this matter, my 
 example. 
 
APPENDIX. 267 
 
 " That the extent of my popularity may not deceive you 
 with respect to my ■worth as a citizen any more than it 
 deceives myself with res2)ect to my merit as a poet, pray 
 listen to what I have now to say. 
 
 " JMy sixty-eight years, my uncertain state of health, my 
 character, spoiled by a long, but dearly purchased indepen- 
 dence, render me quite luisuitable for filling the honourable 
 part which you msh me to undertake. Have you not 
 already guessed, dear fellow citizens, that I can neither live 
 nor think but in retirement ? Yes ! it is to solitude that I 
 owe the little good sense for which I am sometimes praised. 
 In the midst of noise and tumult, I am lost ; and the most 
 certain method of upsetting my poor brain, which more 
 than once, perhaps, has devised some useful counsel, would 
 be to place me on the benches of an assembly. There, dis- 
 mayed and mute, I should be trampled under the feet of the 
 strugglers for that tribunal which I am myself incapable of 
 ascending. I can neither attitudinize, harangue, nor even 
 read in public ; and for me it is in public wherever there are 
 more than ten persons. An incident of my life which has 
 been more than once wrongly interpreted, Avill prove to you 
 the truth of what I say. 
 
 " A chair in the French Academy, an illustrious body 
 which throughout the world has no rival, is, certainly, the 
 noblest reward an author can desire. "Well, this very favour 
 I have constantly declined to seek, because I have been con- 
 scious that the peculiarities of my temperament were irrecon- 
 cileable with the usages of this society ; usages which are far 
 from being so absolute as those of a legislative assembly. 
 
 " My dear fellow citizens, I have been since 1815 one of 
 the echoes of yoiu' sorrows and yoiu' hopes. You have often 
 called me your consoler ; be not, then, ungrateful. By at- 
 tributing to me a too great importance, you would deprive 
 my coimsels of the weight which they at present derive from 
 my exceptional position. In political struggles the battle- 
 field is covered \sith killed and wounded. "Without reference 
 
268 APPENDIX. 
 
 to the flag under which they may have fought, I have ever, 
 as a true Prench soldier, assisted in interring the former, 
 and in tending the latter. If I am once forced to take an 
 active part in these struggles I shall become an object of 
 suspicion to those to whom I shall extend a fraternal 
 hand. 
 
 " Do not tear me, then, from the solitude in which, wi'apt 
 up in my owti meditations, I have appeared to you to be 
 endowed with the gift of prophecy. I have no occasion to 
 cry out in public that I am a patriot and a republican. 
 But, it may be urged, you should devote yourself to the 
 service of the commonwealth. Oh ! my dear fellow citizens, 
 pray do not forget how capable this v/ord is of being the 
 cloak of ambition. The devotion which is sincere and really 
 useful is that which endeavours only to teach us of what 
 we are ourselves capable. To the charge of egotism, should 
 it be made against me, the whole tenor of my life will be 
 the best reply. 
 
 " Let lis now consider the ideas whicli have occurred to 
 me in my retirement, with reference to the democratic work, 
 the performance of which G od has imposed upon France, 
 for the advantage of the other nations, her well-beloved 
 sisters. Should I not always find, it may be asked, sufficient 
 friends in our assemblies to enable me to develop these 
 ideas, should they be really worthy of some attention ? Yes, 
 but my timid words would but compromise them ; and on 
 those same friends must rest the task of giving them due 
 effect. The vigour of youthful spirits and youthful hearts 
 can alone overcome the obstacles which still oppose the ex- 
 ecution of any good work. And will not some of these 
 hearts be open to my influence ? 
 
 " Leave me, then, I beseech you, dear fellow citizens, in 
 my solitude. I have been a prophet, you say ! Well, then, 
 let the prophet keep to the desert. Peter the Hermit was 
 the worst leader of the crusade which he had so boldly 
 preached, although he was accompanied by the brave Gual- 
 tier Ilave-notliing, as the rich men of that time called him. 
 
APPENDIX. 269 
 
 " Moreover, is it not as well tliat, iu an age wlieu so many 
 persons declare themselves qualified for any position, that 
 some should give an example of diffidence ? jNTature has 
 qualified me for this species of utility — and it is a qualifi- 
 cation which is not likely to excite any envy, 
 
 " Finally, dear fellow-citizens, let me warn you not to be 
 deceived by the intoxication of triumph. Tour courage may 
 even yet require to be re-invigorated, your hopes may yet 
 need re-animation ; and should this be the case, you. would 
 then regret that you had stifled under the weight of honours 
 the slight remains of voice I may still possess. Permit me, 
 then, to die as I have lived ; and do not transform into a 
 useless legislator your friend, the good old songster, 
 
 " Heartily yours, dear Fellow Citizens, 
 
 " Berangery 
 
 Few letters have ever been written which excel this 
 in grace and wisdom. But 204,471 voices replied 
 that there was no name more popular than that of the 
 writer, and that the name of Beranger belonged to the 
 nation. Beranger yielded, and entered the Constituent 
 Assembly of the Republic oppressed with mingled 
 feelings of astonishment, anxiety, and embarrassment. 
 
 A few days later, finding it quite impossible to 
 continue to put this force upon his inclinations, he 
 besought the Assembly to accept his resignation. 
 
 " Citizen President, — I believed it to be my duty to warn 
 the electors of the department of the Seine, at the same time 
 giving very sufficient reasons wherefore that I could not 
 accept the honour of a seat in the Xatioual Assembly. 
 
 " In spite of the deep sense of gratitude with which I am 
 inspired with respect to the large number of votes by which 
 
270 APPENDIX. 
 
 I have been elected to this Assemhly, I still adliere to my 
 resolution to decline an office for which I have not qualified 
 myself by serious study and meditation. 
 
 The step Avhich I have hitherto refrained from taking, 
 that I might not be the cause of a fresh convocation of the 
 electors, having been rendered easy by the circumstance 
 that an invalidated election renders tliis convocation neces- 
 sary, I now resign into your hands, Citizen President, the 
 office which has been entrusted to me ; and which will not 
 the less remain, in my eyes, the sole glory of my life. 
 
 " Have the kindness. Citizen President, to assiu'e the 
 National Assembly of the regret -with which I find myself 
 imable to take part in that thoroughly democratic work 
 which I shall have the honour of accomplishing. 
 
 " Let me request you to present to the Assembly, and 
 also to accept yourself, Citizen President, the homage 
 of my most profoimd respect. 
 
 " Torn' most devoted Fellow Citizen, 
 
 " Be'rangery 
 
 History will declare Beranger to have been in the 
 right. That he was not made for a public career was 
 shown in the whole course of his life ; and it was 
 scarcely to be supposed that at sixty-eight years of 
 age, he could do violence to his nature. But, never- 
 theless, although withdrawn from the Councils of the 
 Republic, he would not have foiled to serve it, had 
 the circumstances of the period been propitious. 
 
 The National Assembly refusing to acceptBeranger's 
 resignation, he had recourse to petition and entreaty. 
 
 " Citizen President,— If anything could make me forget 
 my age, the state of my health, and my legislative incapa- 
 city, it would be the letter Avhich you have had the con- 
 
APPENDIX. 271 
 
 descension to address to me ; and in wliieli you Inform me, 
 that the National Assembly lias done me the honoiu' of 
 refusing to accept my resignation. 
 
 " The fact of my election, and this act of the National 
 Eepreseutatives, will be the objects of my eternal grati- 
 tude ; and, being as they are, so out of all proportion 
 with the humble services I may have been able to render 
 to the cause of liberty ; they prove how noble arc the re- 
 wards reserved for those who, possessed of greater talents, 
 shall be able to render to our beloved country, services 
 of a more positive nature." 
 
 " Happy to have been the occasion of so encouraging an 
 example, and convinced that I can be of no further service, 
 I once more. Citizen President, entreat the National As- 
 sembly in the most earnest manner to refrain from tearing 
 me from the obscurity of my retirement. 
 
 " It is not as a philosopher, and still less as a wise man, 
 that I express this wish, but as a rhymer who believes that 
 he should, as it were, outlive himself, should he lose, in 
 the midst of the turmoil of official life, that freedom of soul 
 which has ever been the sole aim of his ambition. 
 
 " For the first time I now ask something of my country ; 
 entreating those who so wortliily represent her, to accept 
 the resignation I now again submit to them, and to 
 pardon the weakness of an old man avIio cannot conceal 
 from himself how great an honour he loses by ceasing to 
 form one of their number. 
 
 " Requesting you to present my very humble apologies to 
 the xissembly, 
 
 " I remain. Citizen President, 
 " Your most respectful and devoted servant, 
 
 " Ber anger, 
 " Saint et Fraternih'.'' 
 
 For the first time he now asked something of his 
 
 country, and his country has not, remembered it to 
 
 his disadvantage. 
 
272 APPENDIX. 
 
 In the letter addressed by him to the electors or 
 the department of the Seine, Beranger alludes to his 
 refusal, frequently repeated, to occupy one of the 
 chairs of the French Academy. And as it is an 
 absurd piece of injustice to reproach the Academy for 
 not having numbered him amongst its members, so 
 it would be also unjust to accuse Beranger, with 
 respect to this matter, of over-strained modesty. 
 This quality was, indeed, strong within him ; but it 
 was not altogether the motive of his refusal to become 
 an academician. 
 
 A letter written in 1840 to a friend of M. de 
 Pougerville, has already been published ; but it is in 
 a longer and more important letter written to his 
 friend, M. Pierre Lebrun, that he thoroughly explains 
 the reason of his refusal ; and this letter Beranger 
 himself regarded as an interesting item of his story, 
 for he took and preserved a copy of it. 
 
 " I only received your letter this evening, my dear Lebrun, 
 and hasten to answer it, being much vexed to find that you 
 are still unwilling to acknowledge the justice of the reasons 
 which prevent nie from applying for admission at the 
 threshold of the French Academy. You should, however, 
 be convinced that the reasons are of real weight, at least, 
 with me, and are xirged in all sincerity. 
 
 " I repeat to you then, that if I had done anything else 
 than simply WTite songs, I should not consider that there 
 was any objection, literally speaking, to my inscribing 
 myself amongst the aspirants for the chair. But for reasons 
 
APPENDIX. 273 
 
 too long to state here at length, I think it objectionable to 
 give Academical houoiu's to a species of literature which 
 would lose its eftective power when once it became a 
 means of aggrandizement. And shall I, of all men, 
 furnish to those persons who are always eager to depre- 
 ciate the Academy's selection, an opportunity of running 
 down the kind of writing to which I owe so much, 
 and to which it has been my lot to give a more prominent 
 position than it has ever yet held ? Those who at the 
 present day say that my songs are odes, would be the first 
 to exclaim that I am only a song-writer, and that songs are 
 no great things. Acknowledge that it is not for me to 
 assist in proving them to be in the right. 
 
 " I must not fail to add, moreover, that it is impossible to 
 enter a society without contracting engagements, the fulfil- 
 ment of which is demanded as well by duty as delicacy ; and 
 I may as well here confess to you that I have a work in my 
 head which cannot be written in an academical spirit. Do 
 you think, then, that it would become me, entertaining as I 
 do this project, to expose myself to commit an act of ingra- 
 titude ? I already owe too much to you and many of your 
 colleagues. It is because I regard gratitude as a religious 
 duty that I have always dreaded to contract even slight 
 obligations ; and you wish me to contract great ones. I 
 have sacrificed every thing to my love of independence ; — 
 do not, then, rob me of the fruit of efiorts which have often 
 been most painful. 
 
 "Tou are here inclined to repeat, I know, what you 
 have so frequently said, to the eflect, that the obligations 
 which the Academy imposes on its members are very 
 slight ; and you have cited to me, apropos of this sub- 
 ject, the case of La Fontaine, who sought after them. La 
 Fontaine was a good fellow ; now I am, I hope, a good man, 
 but I cannot, unfortunately, be in any way considered a 
 good fellow. Poverty and experience have thrust some 
 small amoimt of philosophy into my brain ; and, pei'haps, 
 my heart is indebted to nature for some few not unamiable 
 
274 APPENDIX. 
 
 qualities, since I have never been witliout many excellent 
 friends ; but I have been in the habit of giving free vent to 
 my temper, and it is sometimes, I must confess, neither 
 reasonable nor gentle. Such being my weakness, v^^ould it 
 be well for me to venture to place myself amongst men 
 who, although, doubtless, very amiable, must certainly have 
 their peculiar tempers as well as I, and would be unable to 
 accommodate them to 'mine — accustomed as it is to speak 
 freely, even at the Tuileries, if you remember. 
 
 " If you will turn your attention to what my career has 
 been in the world, you will find that I have been little more 
 than an idle wanderer, ever avoiding to form any local ties. If 
 I have at any time met with some worthy fellows in the crowd, 
 I have arranged with them to meet again far away from it, 
 in company with some old and genuine friends whom I 
 have been able to preserve, and in the number of whom you 
 are well aware, my dear Lebrun, that I am so fortunate as 
 to reckon yom-self. From those of this circle of friends 
 whom I have found too exalted for me, I have held myself 
 aloof; without, nevertheless, permitting this circumstance 
 of itself to diminish the attachment I had formerly formed 
 for them. And in following this course, my friend, I put in 
 practice a ride, which early in life I laid down for my 
 guidance — a man who has had much to suffer being com- 
 pelled to be scrupulously prudent. As far as I have been 
 able, I have ever avoided any position which was not in 
 accordance with my character and tastes — and more 
 especially with my tastes, which, perhaps, on account of 
 their simplicity, have been to me as virtue and good sense. 
 And you must not suppose that I am herein at all an isolated 
 case, society being constituted as it is at the present day. 
 
 " Foolish persons, or persons unacquainted with me, have 
 supposed, or rather have pretended to suppose, after the 
 revolution of July, that I refused office and lionom^s for the 
 sake of bringing myself into notice , the truth being, as you 
 very well know, I refused to accept office and honours simply 
 because they were agreeable neither to my tastes nor my 
 
APPENDIX. 275 
 
 - character. Besides, have I boasted of my moderation ? 
 Have I made the journals resound with the fact of my 
 disinterested refusals ? 
 
 " A similar error has been fallen into, I know, with respect 
 to the Academy. " It is his pride which makes him decline 
 to enter it," cries one. Can the simpletons really think me 
 such a simpleton ? Alas ! you know, my dear friend, how 
 very humbly I estimate my literary merits, and with what 
 sincerity I have spoken of them in the preface to my last 
 volume. Would to Heaven I could entertain my friends' 
 opinion with respect to my works ! 
 
 " I myself only esteem them in so far as they may have 
 been of use to the noble cause of which I have been one of 
 the champions ; and I am not likely, therefore, to be in- 
 toxicated with regard to their merits. And a man must 
 indeed have lost the use of his senses who could underrate 
 the importance of the Trench Academy, which has it in its 
 power to fulfil so high a destiny, which already numbers 
 amongst its members so many illustrious men, and may any 
 day become possessed of all the genius whose light at present 
 shines without its walls. What! have Ave not still the 
 academic chairs of Corneille and Bossuet, of Voltaire and 
 Montesquieu ? And was not Cuvier himself one of j'^ou ? 
 
 " But I perceive, my dear friend, that by repelling thus 
 seriously the imputation which they throw upon me, I do 
 but join myself mth my accusers against the Academy. If 
 I could be surprised, after that, it is that any one belonging 
 to the Academy, and being my friend, should express dissatis- 
 faction that I do not aspire to become one of its members, 
 when there are actually existing at the presentday so many 
 men of old, and also of more recent reputation, who, although 
 they may not have my own vulgar popularity, could not but 
 be far more valuable additions to the Academy than myself. 
 As for me, poor ignorant fellow that I am, I ain endowed 
 with none of the qualities wliich an academican should 
 possess, and I can, as it were, defy you to find in me the 
 
 T 2 
 
276 APPENDIX. 
 
 least fitness foi* the various tasks and solemn functions wliicli 
 you from time to time fulfil. 
 
 " And here let me repeat to you that one of my observa- 
 tions, which has appeared to strike you most forcibly, as it 
 also struck Dupin, when, one day, he pressed me with argu- 
 ments similar to those used by yourself. I have a horror 
 of making myself conspicuous in public, and am completely 
 incapable, as the author of the ' Maxims,^ of speaking, or 
 even reading for however short a time, in the midst of a 
 numerous assembly ; and I am quite sure I could not 
 endure to listen for a whole hour, to a compliment addressed 
 to myself. 
 
 " But you have been in a great crowd in the law courts, 
 you reply. Parbleu ! Yes, but how could I refuse, when so 
 graciously invited, as I was, to attend them ? Had I been 
 able to compound each time for three months' imprison- 
 ment, and thus escaped appearing in so numerous an 
 assembly, I should have gone to gaol with the greatest 
 good-will. 
 
 " However, in the com*ts of justice, I have only uttered 
 aloud my name; and you may take it for granted, that 
 even if I could compose a discourse, of which I have great 
 doubts, I should be quite incapable of speaking it. 
 
 " But you see me in an embroidered coat, with a sword 
 by my side, going to the palace ? Well, a conversation 
 takes place there. ' Sire, I am your very humble servant' 
 — . ' Ah ! you have come at last then, you, who have been so 
 unwilling to visit us ?' ' Sire, I am your servant.' — ' Be off" 
 with you, and never let me see your face again ' &c. &c. 
 Ah ! my dear Lebrun, can you not understand how per- 
 fectly unsuited I am, to attempt to make your customs 
 mine ? 
 
 " Leave me, my friend, leave me in my retreat, which is 
 by no means that of a mere misanthrope. If the joarnals 
 blame the Academy, because it does not elect me, ought I 
 to write to tell them, that the Academy is not in fault, and 
 that it is proper that such a society should wait until 
 
APPENDIX. 277 
 
 the honour of admission into its ranks lias been solicited ? 
 Dictate what I should write, and I will write it ; but in 
 God's name, restrain the friends I still possess (I have 
 lost many, alas !) from endeavouring to force me into the 
 Academy, in any vmaccustomed way ! for coidd I imagine, 
 my dear Lebrun, that there was any probability of my 
 being nominated, without any application on my part, I 
 should prefer instantly to pay each of you, including the 
 Archbishop, ten visits, and to wait at six o'clock in the 
 morning, cold as it is, at the door of your office, to have my 
 name put down ! An unsolicited election ! Is this what 
 you are di'eammg of for me ? Are you entertaining the 
 idea of bringing me into the Academy, in a triumphal 
 manner, which would be the greatest possible blow to my 
 poor reputation ? Do not, I enti-eat you, let this be the 
 case ; and, if you should think proper, read my letter to 
 your colleagues. But yet, I am a fool ! and am allowing 
 myself to be frightened at something, Avhich is never likely 
 to occur. No ! The French Academy would never debase 
 itself thus, for the sake of a mere tap-room rhymster! 
 How could it ever do for me, what it did not do for the 
 divine Moliere ? I am only a song-wi'iter, gentlemen ! A 
 song- writer, then, let me die ! 
 
 " Yet a few words ! I can never be brought to entertain 
 the idea of being a slave to my reputation. I have endea- 
 voured as far as possible to live apart from it, and now you 
 want me to follow it into your palace, into which it never had 
 any business to enter. Wait ! only wait a little ! and in 
 three or four years it is quite as likely as not that this re- 
 putation of mine will have entirely disappeared ! I shall 
 then, doubtless, be no such philosopher as to be able to 
 regard its disappearance without regret ; but you and I, sir, 
 will at least be then freed from any occasion for troubling 
 our heads with it ; and you will, besides, have the 
 opportmiity of indulging in a hearty laugh at the diffi, 
 ciolties I now make on the subject, and at the repentance you 
 may suppose me to feel at ever having made them. But it 
 
278 APPENDIX. 
 
 is at tlie same time quite certain that I sliould appreciate 
 even more than I now do, your real kindness towards me. 
 
 " Aa for yourself, my dear Lebrun, be assured that I shall 
 always retain the highest sense of the kind manner in v.rhich 
 you hare j)ressed me on this subject, and that I am sincerely 
 and unreservedly gratified to all the academecians who have 
 desired to have me for a colleague.* As fiir as honour 
 is concerned, I am already content, and desire no more ; 
 save me then from all the rest in spite of any need I may 
 have of the little annuity which is alloted to the academe- 
 cians, and which I fornierly received with so much gratifi- 
 cation in the name of Lucien Bonaparte, my first patron. 
 
 "With the assurance of my most devoted friendship, 
 believe me yours in heart and for life, 
 
 The arguments which Beranger puts forward in 
 this delightful letter are of a very elevated order. The 
 people's song- writer, the poet of the French Revolu- 
 tion, here proves once more that he understands, 
 better than any one else, his own true part and fortune 
 in life. He is determined to prove that he is worthy 
 of it. And who, then, can fail to understand him 
 aright when he says " I cannot entertain the idea of 
 being a slave to any reputation. 1 have endeavoured, 
 as far as possible, to live apart from it.'' Beranger 
 wished to enjoy a life-long freedom, and to live and 
 die according to his own humour. 
 
 He wished to be free, and he did not wish to be 
 
 * On the first leaf of this precious autogi'aph is written " a copy 
 of my letter, in reply to that of Lebnm, in which he informs me that 
 it is possible I may he elected a member of the Academy, although 
 I shoidd be unwilling to offer myself or allow myself to be offered for 
 election.''' (The last phi'ase only occm's on the coijy.) 
 
APPENDIX. 279 
 
 rich ; in other words he wished to be happy. What 
 long ago philosophers taught and poets sung, he 
 wished in his own case to carry into effect. He 
 enjoyed happiness, and he deserved to enjoy it. All 
 doors opened wide before him ; but he refused to 
 enter, and remained with the humble. 
 
 And what a retirement, after all, was his ! besieged, 
 as it was, by glory, lit with smiles, and thronged with 
 gentle visions. The most illustrious personages 
 delighted to enjoy one of those hours which Beranger 
 bestowed so freely on his most luuuble friends ; and, 
 coming from all directions, they forgot, under his 
 peaceful roof, the discords of the Vv'orld and their own 
 mutual enmities. 
 
 Chateaubriand had been for Beranger, from his 
 earliest years, one of those scarcely recognised 
 masters, which, in spite of ourselves, we regard with 
 life-long affection and respect. They never met, it is 
 true, in the same camp ; for they fought in behalf of 
 dissimilar principles and ideas ; but, nevertheless, 
 they did meet, and it was the courtier — the 
 gentleman — the creator of the romantic school of 
 literature, who made the first advances. The latter 
 it was who first praised* the plebeian poet who threw 
 
 ■'' Under the simple name of chausounier, a man has arisen who is 
 one of the greatest poets that France has ever produced. With 
 ge7iius which assumes the manner of Fontaine and Horace he has 
 sung, lohen he has chosen, as Tacitus has written. — Preface to the 
 Etudes Historiques. 
 
280 APPENDIX. 
 
 down the images of Royalty, and who in a certain sense 
 might be considered Voltaire's successor. Beranger 
 did not conceal the gratification he felt at these praises, 
 and accepted with pleasure this exalted friendship, of 
 which he was still more proud when the course of time 
 seemed to thrust tlie poet of the Martijrs upon the 
 coasts of the World of Democracy. We know how 
 Chateaubriand spoke of Beranger's songs during the 
 reign of the Bourbons, whose fall they helped to accom- 
 plish, «nnd we also know how Beranger bewailed in ex- 
 quisite verse the voluntary exile of Chateaubriand. 
 They continued firm friends ; and in his Mcmoires 
 d' Outre tomhe Chateaubriand treated no one so well 
 as Beranger. 
 
 In 1831 he wrote him a letter from Geneva, which 
 created considerable sensation when he had it printed 
 at the commencement of a brochure on the Neio 
 Proposition (M. dc Briequeville's) relative to the 
 Banishment of Charles X. and his Family ; and of 
 this letter we may here very properly quote the first 
 paragraphs. 
 
 " Geneva, Sept. 24th, 1831. 
 " To M. Beranger. 
 
 " SiE,— If yoiu* talents were less extraordinary — if the 
 
 pictures you di-aw in verse were less distinguished for 
 
 correctness of design, as well as brilliancy and sweetness of 
 
 coloui'iug, I should content myself with simply thanking 
 
 you for the ode you have addressed to me, whilst, at the 
 
 same time, feeling deeply touched by the evidence it 
 
APPENDIX. 281 
 
 affords oi your good-will ; and iu that case, also, my 
 tickled vanity would find in this ode something so agree- 
 able with itself as would excite my enthusiasm to the 
 highest pitch. But the tribute which I now wish to 
 pay you is, not that of a feeling of gratitude, foimded 
 on gratified vanity, but of sincere admiration. A great 
 poet, whatever the form in which he may develop his 
 ideas, is always a writer of genius. Pierre de Eeranger 
 chooses to surname himself the soug-writer, even as Jean 
 de la Fontaine has taken his place amongst those who live 
 eternally in the popular memory, under the title of The 
 Fabulist. I predict, sir, that your renown, already un- 
 rivalled, wall still become more widely spread. Few, in the 
 present day, are capable of appreciating the exquisite finish 
 of your verses ; few have ears sufliciently delicate to relish 
 their harmony. Completeness of execution is hidden in 
 your poems under the most charming natural grace. 
 
 " Let me add, sir, that in the preface to my Etudes, con- 
 sidering you as a historian, I have remarked that the 
 following strophe was worthy of Tacitus, who also made 
 verses : — 
 
 ' Once a conqueror, (bunk with great good luck, 
 Laughed at sceptres, and laws, and all such things, 
 And we still may see where his feet with dust 
 Stained the purple robes of degraded Kings.' 
 
 " "When you sing the praises of the King of Yvetot 
 and the hymn to the Ventru ; when you celebrate the 
 Marquis de Oar abas and the Myrmidoiis ; when you dic- 
 tate the prophetic letter of a Little King to a great DuTce ; 
 when, to my great regret, you laugh at the Gerontacratie ; 
 you are a politician after the fashion of Catvillus, Horace, 
 and Juvenal. Pardon in me one of the inconsistencies 
 common to human nature. An admirer and extoller of the 
 new generation, I am, nevertheless, devotedly attached to the 
 
282 APPENDIX. 
 
 JBarlons. You liave lost, in tlie sight of justice, tlic action 
 you have brought against them ; would that I could gain 
 one for them in the exalted court of your muse ! &c. 
 
 " Chateaulriand.'''' 
 
 Chateaubriand pleads, we see, the cause of the 
 discomfited Bourbons; and endeavours to incline his 
 old opponent in their favour by flattering him as his 
 new friend. Beranger replied by a letter which has 
 never been published, and which may fairly be re- 
 garded as one of his happiest efforts. To what an 
 elevated position had now arrived, unaided by any 
 guiding hand, the former apprentice in the printing 
 office at Peronne ! For we finding him bravely holding 
 his own in a correspondence to which he had been pro- 
 voked by the author of the Genie du Christianisme. 
 
 " 4th October, 1831. 
 " SiE, — Tour letter has affected me greatly, and I have 
 anxiously weighed every word, that I might be able to thank 
 you duly for those which your kindness has induced you to 
 address to me. But oh ! sir, why am I not one of those 
 who are able to allow themselves to be easily deceived ? 
 However exalted may be the quarter from whence I receive 
 praise — ^however brilliant the form may be in which it is 
 couched, my only gratification at it arises from my feeling 
 of regard for the person by whom it is bestowed upon me. 
 It never has the power, imfortunately, to alter the oj)inion 
 I have formed of my own talent. My reputation, extensive 
 and popular as it is, having descended, probably, to ranks 
 of society which no other reputation in Prance has ever yet 
 reached — my reputation, I say, has in no way altered the 
 opinion I have formed of my productions. I am a good 
 little poet, a clever workman, a conscientious labourer, 
 
APPENDIX. 283 
 
 whom a few old tunes and the snug corner in which I have 
 taken up my abode have rendered happy, and that is all. 
 That being the case, you may understand how grateful I 
 am to thosewho may be ^^^lliug to throw down from their own 
 elevated position a few flowers upon my poor hurdy-giu'dy. 
 I say hurdy-gurdy, for whenever I have made use of the word 
 l)Te, as I sometimes have, I have always done so with bluslies; 
 the fact being that I strike my songs, not out of a lyre, but out 
 of a hurdy-gurdy. Hurdy-gurdy, as it is, however, it has ever 
 been independent, and has helped to afford some consolation 
 to those humble folk whom, perhaps, our high-class literature 
 has somewhat too much disdained, I have somewhere said ; 
 
 " WTien, still a boy, I wandered all imknown, 
 And ancient castles met my wondering eyes, 
 I never strove to make their lialls mine o^vn, 
 Or mate their vastness with my pigmy size. 
 But to myself I whispered — long ago, 
 Those walls lost love, and poetry and song ! 
 Besides, I am a citizen I know, 
 And to the jieople all my loves belong." 
 
 " It is, then, from below, that the sound of my songs has 
 reached your ears ; and this fact renders me only tlie more 
 proud, when I find that some of them have induced you to 
 employ your pen in favour of the Chansonnier. I shall 
 have a line in the page, of history. From how many great 
 men has even this tribute been withheld ! 
 
 " The passages of your letter in which you reply to the 
 political portion of my couplets, compel me to lay before 
 you my candid belief on this head. JN'or must you complain, 
 sir, of this species of garrulity on my part. Blame rather 
 the interest you have shown in me, although you have known 
 me so short a time, and have so long misunderstood me ; 
 and in part attribute it also to the kind manner in which 
 you are pleased to express your regret for this latter 
 circumstance. 
 
 " Endowed by nature with an exalted spirit of patriotism, 
 I was cradled in the lap of the Eepublic, in a country which 
 
^84 APPENDIX. 
 
 had little to lament the misfortunes of '93. When I was 
 eighteen years of age chance threw nic in the way of the 
 relics of the Koyalist party, and the result was but to attach 
 me the more firmly to what I may call my first opinions. 
 My admiration for Xapoleon did not render me blind to any of 
 the inconveniences of the Imperial Government. When 
 tlie. Restoration^ Avhich I regarded at first with more surprise 
 than dislike, had reigned five or six months, I was able to 
 foresee that it must sooner or later be overthrown. You 
 may well understand, therefore, that my ideas must be now 
 more strongly fixed than ever— so strongly, indeed, that I 
 sometimes think it unnecessary to make them known. So 
 far as I have been able I have assisted in bringing about the 
 Eevolution of Jvdy, and I rejoice in having done so. It is 
 now long since I adopted the idea that representative 
 monarchies are but a transitory form. Constitutional 
 thrones appear to me to be but bridges thrown over a stream 
 across which we cannot swim and certaiidy cannot jump. I 
 believe that I thoroughly imderstand the present generation 
 of the rreneli people ; and I consider that its education is 
 far from being complete. The faults of the Eestoration 
 afforded it the chief elements ; but it wants completion, and 
 that completion it is now, I believe, obtaining. But, never- 
 theless, the faults committed during the last year are 
 calculated to re-open the lists to all parties. And to you, 
 sir, Avho, whilst remaining faithful to your own party, have too 
 lofty a character and are too patriotic not to repel intrigues ; 
 permit me to say, it seems to me that you must deceive 
 yourself with respect to the consequences of its eflects. In 
 my opinion, the hopes which the Legitimists entertain of 
 peaceably inheriting the spoils of the other factions, can 
 only be realized by means of foreign aid. Yes ! to succeed, 
 it must once more have recourse to the Cossacks, and, 
 should it tear France to pieces, its triumph will be but a 
 brief one. And at this point, where, I fear, our opinions 
 are entirely dissimilar, I ought to stop. Far be it from me, 
 sir, to indulge in any desire to induce you to abjure the 
 
APPENDIX. 285 
 
 opinions which you have professed during the whole of your 
 glorious career. You may remember, perhaps, what I had 
 the honour of saying to you on this subject on the occasion of 
 your last address to the Chamber of Peers, and this expression 
 of my song, ' Go, serve the People.'' I never, it is quite 
 certain, exhorted you to serve the Ministry. Ah! sir, I 
 am not fond of assuming the character of a prophet, 
 although some have wished to make me pass for such. 
 But, if your voice were still sufficiently powerful to set a 
 skeleton upon the ruins, you would perceive a considerable 
 augmentation of size in that thicket of tombs amongst 
 which you say, in such touching terms, tliat your life closes 
 its career. And, lowly as I am, mine might well be of the 
 number ; for, so far from fleeing from persecutions, I only 
 fly from those which entreat me to avoid them. Do yoii 
 not think, then, that it would be pleasant to see you passing 
 by the resting place of the Chansormier's bones ? This 
 hypothesis makes me smile, and deprives me of the gravity 
 necessary to enable me to continue my letter in the serious 
 tone it has assumed. Let us return to songs. The one 
 which I have addressed to you, appears to have given satis- 
 faction. Some printer's errors have crept into the published 
 copy, which Ladvocat will correct in liis volume. Since I 
 have received your reply, my regret at not having done 
 better has been much increased. All that falls from your 
 pen, has a peculiar charm, which explains to me far better 
 than talent the influence over me which your works have 
 ever had, and still possess. I am, therefore, grieved that 
 you should in you^r letter have expressed yourself as very 
 doubtful with respect to the effect of the perusal of your 
 immortal works on my youth. Had it not been incon- 
 venient to express in precise terms in my couplets the 
 nature of this effect, I could not have made use of any 
 more appropriate words than those of a verse which has not, 
 perhaps, been generally understood. And, then, the course 
 of us poor rhymsters is as strictly limited to certain 
 bounds as is that of the horse of the circus. A3 for 
 
286 APPENDIX. 
 
 the quotation you make of the Deux Cousins, if the readers 
 recall to mind all its verses, they wiU admire the good 
 taste and grace of this quotation. I must not, however, 
 here attempt to enter into an examination of this letter, 
 which will he no less prized hy the puhlic than by myself, 
 but rather conclude my own, which is already too long. 
 
 " Hasten to return, that you may convince yourself that 
 I have even there faithfully represented the greater number 
 of your compatriots, and in the meantime accept, sir, the 
 expression of my ardent wishes for your return and the 
 assurance of my entire devotion. " JBerangery 
 
 Chateaubriand was an older man than Beranger ; 
 he had been, so to speak, the master who had guided 
 his first literary efforts, and the respectful and grateful 
 friendship which Beranger testified for him was 
 sincere, faithful, and constant. 
 
 Into the soul of Lamennais, so sadly enthusiastic, 
 and so cruelly wasted, Beranger threw a glance in 
 which were blended both more emotion and greater 
 penetration. He had often attempted to release him 
 from his chimeras, and to convince him of the 
 groundlessness of his fears. No record has been kept 
 of their conversations, but their letters still exist. 
 And how much argumentative and consoling elo- 
 quence do these letters display on the one side ! How 
 much spirit-torturing and restless eloquence on the 
 other ! These two men appeared to hold the same 
 faith in their old age ; but Beranger had clung to it 
 from his childhood, and Lamennais had only attained 
 to it after a long and hazardous voyage. 
 
APPENDIX. 287 
 
 We quote here one of the earliest of Lamennais' 
 letters, in which may be seen how these two in- 
 tellectual friends conversed and wrote. There is a 
 species of philosophical tenderness in this free in- 
 terchange of ideas which is not without its own 
 
 pecuhar grandeur. 
 
 " La Cheuaie, 2nd June, 1834. 
 
 " Very good and sweet are your words, my friend, and 
 tliey have gone straiglit to my lieart. I will bless God who 
 has reserved this consolation for me in my sorrow ; and I 
 have had, indeed, as you say, much to sufter. Many men 
 who used formerly to clasp my hand, and many times sat at 
 the same table with me, now pass me by, saying ; ' I do not 
 know him.' Some have even thought that I deserved this 
 species of outrage at their hands ; and this, as you will 
 readily imderstaud, has been the severest blow of all. But 
 how is it possible to enter into public explanations with 
 respect to such matters as these ? It cannot be done, of 
 course ; and the evil impression consequently remains ; and 
 this is just what the bad-hearted men desire. But after 
 all, one cannot hope to serve one's fellow citizens without 
 encoimtering much trial and suftering. And no one can 
 know this better than yourself. Por have you not been 
 persecuted by those in power, dragged before the tribunals, 
 torn from your home, imprisoned, and exposed to every 
 species of tyrannical abuse ? And in all ages this has been 
 the lot of all who love, beyond anything else, truth and 
 justice, and devote themselves to the defence of humanity. 
 Jesus said to his own followers, for the purpose of 
 encouraging them, ' Vous n'avez pas encore resiste jiisq* 
 au sang' The whole instinct of self-sacrifice is involved 
 in these words, nothing either good or great can be 
 brought to light in this world except through sacrifice. 
 True Christianity is but a sacrifice of love. Tiu'u to the 
 divine drama of the passion of Christ, and you will find that, 
 
288 APPENDIX. 
 
 whilst no sorrow is wanting to it, the final impression pro- 
 duced by it is of the salvation of the world. "What a life 
 was that which began in a manger of Bethlehem, and ended 
 on a cross at Jerusalem ! And then suddenly commences 
 that marvellous struggle Avhich is to change the whole 
 aspect of the world — that struggle which continues from age 
 to age — of mind against matter, of right against might, of 
 peoples against their tyrants. Who could fail to be proud, 
 my friends, of taking part in this glorious contest ? And 
 who can fail to be rendered utterly forgetful of his woimds 
 in the joy of the triumph, of which the heart, in its depths, 
 is so prophetically conscious ? In my last work I gave ex- 
 pression to emotions which I could no longer restrain. In 
 the work on which I am now employed, I shall confine 
 myself to cold and philosophical reason. It appears to me 
 that there is a whole world of truths remaining to be deve- 
 loped — of truths not new, but which, in the growth of the 
 human mind, endeavour to blossom — even as the flowers in 
 spring-time. I believe that the social science, in particular, 
 is far from having, as yet, a perfect theory, and that this 
 theory, when it shall have been formed, will be of great use in 
 hastening the advent of the perfect future. Whatever some 
 may say to the contrary, we are evidently advancing towards 
 a magnificent unity. Let us take courage, then, and hope. 
 And even should these hopes be unfounded, is it nothing to 
 work for one's fellow-men, and to endeavour to lessen their 
 sufferuigs ? And whenever we are sincerely desirous of 
 doing anything, we are always sure to succeed to a certain 
 extent. Let us now exert ourselves, therefore, that when 
 we are no more, our descendants may say of us, " They 
 thought of us — they endeavoured to smooth our path 
 through life." Our lives will not, in that case, have been 
 spent in vain. Adieu, my friend, and believe that if, in 
 common with all the world, I admire you in your character 
 of a great poet, I love you still more as the good man, the 
 defender of the people, and of humanity. 
 
 *' F. de Zamennais,'^ 
 
APPENDIX. 289 
 
 Almost all the celebrated men of the age made 
 Beranger's acquaintance. We cannot give a list of 
 these men, but Dupont (de I'Eure), M, Thiers, M. 
 Mignet, M. Lebriin, and M. Cousin, may be mentioned 
 as being among his old friends. M. Michclet and 
 M. Lamartine, who visited him somewhat later than 
 these, were no less cordially welcomed at his modest 
 hearth. Many others of less note surrounded him 
 with their homage ; and he even granted both his 
 confidence and his friendship to some of the young 
 writers whom his renown had attracted to his dwelling, 
 and whom his kindness of heart had made at home 
 there. 
 
 Beranger bus praised in his Biography the most 
 intimate of his friends, those with whom alone he 
 was thoroughly well acquainted — with whom he passed 
 his life, and in whose arms he died. They will be 
 envied both for their \'anished joy and the place 
 Beranger has given them in his writings. Time, in 
 fact, will have henceforth no power over them. That 
 future which the philosopher has foreseen, and the 
 generations of humanity which the poet has sung 
 before their birth, v^'ill be faithful to his glory. Each 
 successive age will learn to worship his memory, and 
 renew the recollection of the popular pomp which 
 attended his hasty obsequies. Long will fresh flowers 
 flourish on his tomb. 
 
 U 
 
290 APPENDIX. 
 
 This excellent writer has written in verse, as Jean 
 Jacques Rousseau in prose, uneducated and unin- 
 structed. The story of the one is like the story of 
 the other ; each sprang from the lowest ranks of the 
 people ; each gained knowledge hy intuition ; alike 
 they waited long for the opportunity of entering upon 
 their true careers ; alike they acquired the most 
 mysterious secrets of their art, and hecame the rivals 
 of the great mastere ; whilst at the same time they 
 excited the spirit of their age, and gave it an increased 
 development. 
 
 Look then upon this man, who has had no exemplar, 
 at the first hour of his debut, when he was humble 
 in spite of his hope, and incapable in spite of the 
 vigour of his intellect, which was to be at a future 
 time regarded as one of the largest and most en- 
 lightened ever know^n. Nature has given him a 
 generous heart and powers of reason which nothing 
 can pervert. Chance has given him the parentage 
 and education of one of the humblest of the people. 
 Let us add that he comes into the world at a moment 
 when the world is stirred with the spirit of rejuve- 
 nescence. Suppose, now, he should become fond of 
 poetry, and learn to make verses ; that gradually 
 he should learn, by a species of miracle, to write 
 really well ; that he should meet with encourage- 
 ment ; that he should have talent ; that he should 
 
APPENDIX. 291 
 
 peruse and re-peruse Moliere and Voltaire ; that he 
 should endeavour to find or discover a new mode 
 of writing verse for a new age ; that he should 
 possess such powers of study and observation as to 
 be enabled to analyse and appropriate as formulae 
 the bold flights of inspiration ; that, finally, the 
 French Revolution should appear to be threatened, 
 and that France should be in danger of losing both 
 its principles and its glory. Under these circumstances 
 he could not be but what he has been. Endowed 
 with the keenness, the gaiety, the good sense of the 
 people, he sported with his youth so long as he re- 
 mained young ; published, at more than thirty years 
 of age, a collection of songs, celebrated for their 
 gaiety ; and suddenly passed from the praise of 
 wine and love to satires upon kings ; from satires 
 upon kings to eulogiums on the armies of the 
 Republic and the Empire ; and by these steps 
 attained to a species of poesy which was at once 
 startling and subhme. Borne on the wings of re- 
 nown, he has gazed face to face on the future. He 
 has foreseen that which will come to pass in the 
 future, and by flattering their dreams will console those 
 who suffer in the present. 
 
 In his first songs, he is not Panard, but Ohvier 
 Basselin, or, if you please, the fuller of Vire. But 
 soon the epicurean arouses himself. As soon as free- 
 
 V 2 
 
292 APPENDIX. 
 
 dom requires a champion, he throws off the chains 
 of pleasure, runs to the people's rostrum, and there 
 inaugurates the dominion of a hitherto unknown 
 poesie, which is at once sonorous, terrible, and grand. 
 His song is not the old song, but rather a species of 
 strange lyric ode, which must be sung, however, and 
 not declaimed. It is not, however — as were the odes 
 of the poets who were before him — inaccessible to 
 the understandings of the crowd, for the mass of the 
 people, on the contrary, immediately comprehends it, 
 learns it intuitively, and immediately repeating it, 
 sends it forth into the air as though it were the natural 
 expression of its heart. His song, in fact, is song 
 regenerated, crowned, and roused by the genius of the 
 French Revolution. 
 
 His songs have two leading characteristics ; the 
 memory of our wounded glory, and the presentiment 
 of an age of universal peace. 
 
 We have already said with what care he had pre- 
 pared, from the period of the Revolution of 1830, and 
 with what energy he thenceforward defended his che- 
 rished independence and the simplicity of his retreat 
 He has himself said, that he hoped to find there both 
 the inclination and, perhaps, the time to become a 
 historian, and neither the time nor the inclination 
 failed him. We have seen what were the reasons 
 which led him to abandon his commenced undertak- 
 ing. He prepared himself for it, at first, with an 
 
APPENDIX. 293 
 
 ardour which alone tempered the intense fondness he 
 always felt for the open sky and the beauties of 
 nature. 
 
 " I am mucli touched," he wrote to Lamennais ; by " the 
 encouraging manner in which you speak of the work of 
 which I have submitted to you a sketch. Unfortunately, trees 
 and flowers are powerful attractions, and I have spent more 
 time in my garden, than at my desk. Ah ! my dear Lamennais, 
 Diocletian was no fool, although he never made songs, I 
 believe ; and he was very much in the right, when he pre- 
 ferred his lettuces to the Empire of the World. You 
 pretend that I might be useful in Paris. "Well ! and did 
 I not remain there as long as I could suppose myself to be 
 of any use to any one or anything ? When have I ever 
 refused to give either my services, or my advice ? But 
 any little credit I might have possessed has vanished on 
 the one side, and on the other, I have seen neglect paid to 
 my advice — advice, which the progress of events but too 
 fully justified. What could I do, then, but what I have 
 done ? In my little retreat I collect my ideas, and pass 
 my observations ; and as the struggles of each day do not 
 affect me, living alone as I do, and far from its tumults, I 
 endeavour to devote to the service of my country and 
 humanity, the fruit of a life which has not been without 
 experience, since it has not been without pain." 
 
 His resolution was taken, however, not to publish 
 anything more during his life. " And this resolution," 
 he said to his old friend, Perrotin, " I shall only break 
 in case you or I be ruined." He worked slowly, just as 
 he felt inclined, and he never worked in any other way. 
 
 In one of the letters written by him to his young 
 friends, occurs the phrase so full of excellent sense ; 
 
294 APPENDIX. 
 
 " I am especially anxious that you should not make 
 me your only model. Rememher that I have heen a 
 nurse child twenty years with the eighteenth century, 
 and that these twenty years have influenced all the 
 rest." This was, in fact, to say to those who in the 
 name of the new style, blamed so mal a propos the 
 classic simplicity and logic of his own, that it was not 
 his fault that he was born in the year 1780, and that 
 his education had given him the tendency to pay less 
 regard to the abundance of words than to their 
 quality and vigour. A fine sense of exactness in all 
 things was the first of his literary instincts. He 
 would not for any consideration have attempted to 
 accelerate his regular method of composition, or to 
 improvise even the most airy productions of his pen. 
 Nevertheless, how many and long letters has he 
 written to humble correspondents, who demanded of 
 him advice or encouragement ! With such as these, 
 he entered into heartfelt relations, treating them as 
 his friends as soon as he found that their want was 
 real. Such letters could, probably, be collected by 
 thousands. One of these disinterested and touching 
 series of letters is already partly known, and consists 
 of the letters written by Beranger to a poor working 
 printer, whom incurable infirmities had sent to the 
 Bicetre, and who had attempted to help himself to 
 bear up against his misfortunes by making verses. 
 
APPENDIX. 295 
 
 The series consists of moro than thirty letters, written 
 in ten years, and full of an exquisite delicacy and 
 inexhaustihle generosity, of which it is impossible to 
 form any idea without perusing them. Beranger at 
 once took an interest in this stranger — enquired of 
 him whether he was anxious to change his place of 
 asylum, and offered him assistance, which speedily 
 took the foi'm of a little pension paid out of the 
 poet's own small income. Beranger's next step was 
 to endeavour to procure for his new friend, a bed 
 at the Recollets, and after having made a thousand 
 fruitless efforts, he was at length delighted by suc- 
 ceeding in his object. Nor was tliis all ; for when 
 his protegee had found a better lodging, he spoke to 
 him of his verses, encouraged him to continue to 
 compose them, and took the trouble to correct his 
 style and his rhymes, word by word. He scolded him 
 if he did not send for his pension punctually every 
 quarter-day, or offered apologies for not having him- 
 self already sent it. To read any of this series of 
 letters singly, one might well suppose that Beranger 
 was a debtor in arrears, instead of a charitable 
 patron. 
 
 This poor poet was not the only one who had the 
 honour of being consoled by Beranger. After his 
 death were discovered many other instances of his 
 secret and prodigal generosity. He was the sole 
 
296 APPENDIX. 
 
 support to several destitute persons,* and yet never 
 allowed this circumstance to interfere with the casual 
 assistance which he never refused to any who went to 
 ask bread of him. But he was averse to what ap- 
 peared to take the form of almsgiving, and felt a kind 
 of shame when he met with want so extreme and 
 desperate. 
 
 Of his time as well as his money Beranger gave 
 liberally. He made every day, as long as he was able, 
 numerous visits ; and whenever he was anxious to 
 obtain for some friend a favour for wliich he could 
 fiiirly ask, he did not scruple to enter the abodes 
 of the most opulent and powerful. When M. 
 LafRtte was alive, Beranger gave gifts out of the 
 bankci-'s money chests. " My dear friend," he said, 
 on one occasion, " you will lend 500 francs to X? 
 I know him, and will be his surety. You must 
 also lend 500 francs to B. L. But although 1 know 
 him, also, I can't be his surety." The sums were 
 advanced without hesitation. 
 
 But it must not be supposed that Beranger knew 
 Only how to give, for he knew also how to lose — which 
 is a species of knowledge far more difficult of attain- 
 ment and much more rare. Hereafter will be known 
 what incomparable disinterestedness he displayed on 
 
 * lie paid, for example, regular pensions of -ISO francs to 
 each of two old women — wlio will continue to receive the 
 same annual sum as though Beranger were still alive. 
 
APPENDIX. 297 
 
 more than one occasion. The sums of money which 
 he gave away or lost, and refused to attempt to recover, 
 amount to a considerable total. 
 
 B6*anger, who was unwilling to be burdened with 
 a fortune, and took such bad care of the little income 
 he did possess, was indebted to the watchful care and 
 prudent severity of an old friend for the preservation 
 of his small pittance to the end of his days. He 
 was also indebted on the same score to his publisher, 
 who, in spite of his strenuous objections, several 
 times increased the annual sum which he paid him ; 
 Beranger has clearly shown, by making him his ex- 
 ecutor and sole legatee, with what friendly esteem 
 he regarded him. 
 
 Persons who were entirely unacquainted with it, 
 have frequently taken upon themselves to make the 
 public acquainted with Beranger's home. Some have 
 been pleased to describe it as the retreat of an an- 
 chorite ; and others have made of it an Ahhey de 
 Thclime. Bdranger's home was simply the home of 
 the wise man ; the simplicity of his mode of hfe being 
 at the same time not without a certain grace and 
 frank gaiety which charmed all hearts. It was not 
 until his very last days that Beranger ceased to enter- 
 tain his chosen friends at his table : for the adornment 
 of which other friends who lived at a distance v^'ere 
 proud to send delicate presents. Horace, on the 
 banks of the Tiber, was richer, perhaps, but he could 
 
29 B APPENDIX. 
 
 not have been happier or led a life of greater enjoyment. 
 Beranger made attempts at various periods to live 
 in the country. In 1835 he quitted Passy for Fon- 
 tainebleau ; and he then wrote to a friend to inform 
 him that he should thenceforth live with his old 
 aunt Merlot and Mademoiselle Judith Fr^ro. 
 
 " I am accompanied by my old aunt and a good old friend, 
 who would die of hunger if I did not aid her as she herself 
 aided my poverty-stricken youth. It costs less to make one 
 kettle boil than three. I have seen Fontainebleaii and I 
 intend to make it the scene of the retreat of my old age. 
 The two women will assist me in managing a home which 
 the little property remaining to me will be sufficient, I hope, 
 to support. 
 
 " Pray do not be too ready to admire what you Avill not 
 fail to call my disinterestedness. You knoAV that I am 
 weary of the world ; every day I withdraw myself further 
 away from it ; and it is with the world as with the theatre, 
 when once one loses the habit of frequenting it, one ceases 
 to care to visit it at all. Retirement is the object of all my 
 desires. I am anxious to end my days far from the tumult 
 of a society which would at length, probably, render me 
 misanthropical. It is my great desire to be able to preserve 
 my faith in humanity. As for material privations you must 
 know that I am quitting Paris for the purpose of rendering 
 them as small as possible. I wish to secure my sugar and 
 coffee from shipwreck ; and besides, when I am far from 
 the world I shall have time to work. Who knows if it be 
 not there that awaits me what I have yet to do ? 
 
 " Tou see then that the step I am about to take will not 
 be so much a fall as a simple change of position. I turn 
 myself in my bed — that's all." 
 
 Beranger went next to reside at Tours, in a house 
 
APPENDIX. 299 
 
 called the Grenadi^re, and which Balzac has de- 
 scribed in one of his romances. He soon quitted 
 the Grenadifere, which is outside the town, to go to 
 live in the Rue Chanoineau. It was at Tours that 
 he made the acquaintance of the talented and cele- 
 brated doctor, M. Bretonneau, who united to a 
 profound knowledge of his art, and a happy skill in 
 its practice, the rarest qualities of mind. A firm 
 friendship sprang up between these two excellent 
 men from the very first moment of their meeting ; 
 and M. Bretonneau continued to the last hour of his 
 life to be Beranger's medical attendant. Whenever 
 he was summoned to attend a great consultation at 
 Paris, he never failed to visit his friend and give him 
 the advice his state of health appeared to require. 
 There was, also, an occasion when he visited Paris, on 
 his friend's account solely. It was a few days before 
 Beranger's death, and he burst into tears when he 
 saw that there was no hope of his living. 
 
 Formerly it had been Dr. Antoine Dubois who had 
 been the poet's medical attendant and friend. 
 
 Beranger quitted Tours because his health, threat- 
 ened by fever, was not good there ; and because his 
 constitution appeared to require the air, or at least 
 the neighbourhood of Paris. We may see in his last 
 songs how deeply he regretted to be separated from 
 his old friends, and how faithfully he had always loved 
 
500 APPENDIX. 
 
 them. He went for some time to Fontenay-sous- 
 bois, from whence he returned to Passy, where he 
 inhabited a little house in the Rue Vineuse. At a 
 later period he removed to another house in Passy.* 
 
 He had now lost his aunt, and his household was 
 under the management of his old friend Judith. 
 
 The anecdote-collectors are wrong when they say 
 that Mademoiselle Judith Frere was the niece of M. 
 Valois, maUre cVarmes in the school in which 
 Beranger was brought up, and that her uncle made 
 use of her as an assistant to give lessons to his pupils. 
 The professor of fencing alluded to was named Leval- 
 
 * The following are the places in wliicli Beranger lodged 
 from 182G : — Eue des Martyrs (in Marmel's house), No. 21 
 or 23 ;— Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, No. 28 or 30 ;— 
 (1833) Eue Basse, at Passy, No. 22 ;— (1833) Eue des 
 Petits- Champs, at Poutaineblcau ; — (1838) At the G-reua- 
 diere, at Toui's ; — (1839) Eue Chanoineau, at Tours : 
 (1840) At Madame Lacroix's, at Poutenay-sous-Bois 
 (1840) In a private house, at Pontenay-sous-Bois 
 (1811) Eue Vineuse, at Passy ;— Eue des Moulins, at Passy ; 
 — Avenue Sainte-Marie, at Paris ; — (1850) Eue d'Enfer, 
 No. 113, at Madame Mugnier's ;— (1853) Avenue Chateau- 
 briand, No. 5 ; (1855) Eue de Yendome, No. 5. 
 
 Born and brought up in the Eue Montorgueil, at the old 
 No. 50, Beranger removed from there with his mother to 
 the Boulevard du Temple. He was put to school in the 
 Eue des Boulets, in the faubourg Saint- Antoine. On his 
 return from Peronne, he lodged with his father near the 
 Palais-Eoyal ; in 1800 he lived in the Eue Saint-Nicaise, 
 and from thence he went to the Boulevard Saint-Martin, 
 where he found his garret. Pander the Empire he lodged in 
 the Eue du Poi't Mahon, No. 12 (1808), and from there 
 went to No. 20, in the Eue de Bellefonds. 
 
APPENDIX. 30 1 
 
 lois, and he had, in fact, a niece with whom Beranger 
 was well acquainted, and who was Madame Redoute, 
 also the niece of the flower painter of that name ; 
 Judith was her cousin-german. Neither the one nor 
 the other, however, touched the foils of M. Levallois. 
 Mademoiselle Judith was the most amiable and the 
 best brought up. Beranger did not become ac- 
 quainted with her until 1796, when she was about 
 eighteen, and was with an aunt, a very respectable 
 woman, Mademoiselle Robe, who brought her up, 
 and left her, in 1818, the small remains of a fortune 
 which had been ruined by the Revolution. Although 
 she did not reside under his roof until 1835, it is not 
 too much to say that this friend, who died only three 
 months before him, shared his whole life. She was 
 very handsome, and preserved even in old age the 
 power of singing with purity and grace. She was 
 possessed of great good sense, and was for the poet a 
 most worthy companion. Need we say, that this 
 woman whom he loved all his life with so respectful 
 a tenderness, is not the coquettish and light Lisette 
 of his songs ? There are only two of his songs in 
 which any record remains engraven of Mademoiselle 
 Judith. These are the Bonne Vieille, one of the 
 most tender and moving pieces he has ever written, 
 and the exquisite romance of which the refrain is — 
 
 "Grand Dicii, cooibicn die est Julie !" 
 
 The most refined delicacy of sentiment breathes 
 
302 APPENDIX. 
 
 through every verse ; and it is, certainly, a serious 
 mistake to endeavour to make this excellent friend — 
 this high-spirited and devoted woman, the heroine of 
 some frivolous couplets. It is only necessary, it seems 
 to us, to read attentively Beranger's old songs, to 
 avoid falling into such mistakes. The new songs 
 show clearly enough that the Lisette mentioned in 
 them was nothing more than an imaginary personage 
 whom Beranger had borrowed from the Eighteenth 
 century. 
 
 " Va rcvoir chaquc Lisette 
 Qui Fa dcvance la — bas " 
 
 says he in one place. Again, in another place, he 
 says — 
 
 " Et la beaute tendrc ct rieusc 
 Qui de CCS flcm-s me couronna jadis, 
 Vieille, dit-on, cllc est pieuse ; 
 Tous nos baisers, les a-t-ellc maudits ? 
 J'ai cru que Dieu jtour moi I'avait fait naitre ; 
 Mais I'age accourt qui vient tout efFacer ; 
 O honte ! ct sans la rcconuaitrc, 
 Je la vcrrais ijassev !'' 
 
 It is impossible to apply these verses which the poet 
 devotes to the memory of his fugitive loves, to the 
 tender friend with whom he lived uninterruptedly at 
 the time when he wrote his last songs. He has never 
 afforded to any one the opportunity of placing any 
 name which he respected on the margin of his book. 
 Mademoiselle Judith continued to the close of her life 
 to delight aU with whom she came in contact by the 
 
APPENDIX. 303 
 
 delicacy of her mind and the severe grace of her 
 language. There came a day when Beranger was 
 compelled to speak of her to the pubUc. The strange 
 idea had occurred to some one of announcing that 
 Beranger had married his servant. Beranger did 
 not express all the indignation he experienced at the 
 rumour, but he made it felt through the irony with 
 which he contradicted the statement. 
 
 "Sir, — You have had the kindness to send me the numbers 
 of your journal since the 1st June, but it is by mere 
 chance that I have seen to-day your number published on 
 the 30th of May. 
 
 " The public is informed in that number that I have j\ist 
 been mai*ried, that I have espoused my servant, and that 
 all Passy has been the happy witness of the nuptials. 
 
 " Amongst all the pieces of false information which 
 enrich our journals, I have never yet met with anything 
 which surprised me more than this announcement ; but yet, 
 had the article referred only to myself, I should have allowed 
 the news it contains to proceed uncontradicted to Passy, 
 which but little suspects the pleasiu-e which has been 
 procured for it by this marriage in extremis. 
 
 " But it is necessary that you should know, sir, that the 
 person whom your informant styles my servant, and whose 
 name even he ventures to give, a serious addition to the 
 inconvenience of the publication of such a fable, is one who 
 was the friend of my earliest youth, and a person to whom 
 I am under obligations. Pifty years ago, when she occupied 
 a position much more favourable than my own, she more 
 than once alleviated my poverty by gifts of money. And 
 now, to be still of service to me at a time when we are sixty 
 years of age, she is kind enough to superintend the little 
 household which I am obliged to keep up on account of an 
 infirm female relative whose old age I wish to cherish. 
 
304 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Old friends as we are, and constantly intimate as we 
 have been, we little suspected that the fact of our hundred 
 and sixteen years being under the same roof, would fviruish 
 matter for newspaper slanders ; and certainly my old 
 friend herself Avas far from supposing, strictly modest 
 though she be, that by devoting herself to the task of car- 
 rying on my housekeeping with that economy which the 
 circumstances of each of us render so iudispeusable, she 
 would be taken for a servant — a circumstance which, how- 
 ever, could be no very great wound, either to her democratic 
 sentiments or my own. 
 
 " For my own part I never supposed that her name was 
 known to any but our common friends and a few indigent 
 persons. It is because your informant has thought proper 
 to make this name public that I find myself compelled to 
 make known also her to whom it belongs. 
 
 " You will consider then, I hope, sir, that the insertion of 
 this letter in your journal will be but an act of justice, and 
 is necessary to nulUfy the eftect of an article which I am 
 sorry not to have seen sooner. As far as the matter affects 
 myself I have no wish to complain ; but I consider it my 
 duty to let your readers know that my old friend has always 
 had too much good sense to have ever been willing to be the 
 wife of a poor fool who has placed all his happiness in songs 
 and surrendered his life to the discretion of the journalists. 
 
 " Finding, as I do, that so many different anecdotes are 
 invented with respect to me, all of which are about as 
 probable as that of my asserted marriage, I conclude, sir, 
 that their growth is in some degree attributable to myself. 
 
 " In spite of my love of retirement, the desire of obliging 
 has been the cause of my receiving too many visitors. I 
 now see that it is necessary to refuse admittance to all 
 but those whom delicacy and good taste prevent from cross- 
 ing those walls with which, it has been said, the law sur- 
 rounds a man's private life. I shall henceforth take care 
 to have a bolt on my door, and shall have to thank j our 
 sjpirituel contributor for a little additional repose. 
 
APPENDIX. 305 
 
 " Thank him, then, in my name, sir, and accept, I beg of 
 yon, the assurance of my deep regard. 
 
 " Your very humble servant, 
 
 "Beranger. 
 "Passy, 5th June, 1848." 
 
 The circumstances of a hou?i'holcl so hosnit ibl'^ ^nd 
 gcruTous as th;it of Beranger, speedily became erri- 
 barrassed, and in 1850 i;e quitted Fassy, and took 
 lip his abode in a boarding-house which was situated 
 at the top of the Rue (TJilnfer, near the Luxem- 
 bourg. Shortly afterwards, he went to hvo at Beaujon, 
 where he passed his three last years of health and 
 happiness. He still retained the full use of his 
 limbs and his memory, was as gay as ever, and as 
 glad as he had ever been to receive visits from his 
 friends. 
 
 Beranger was fond of young people, and was ahvays 
 pleased to see them. His patriotism and faith in the 
 future made him regard them with affection ; and 
 they on their side venerated him even more than they 
 admired him. 
 
 During more than twenty years, the patronage of 
 youthful intelligence was his most earnest care and 
 sweetest pleasure. If it thrust itself upon his notice 
 bold and ignorant, he did not treat it harshly, but by 
 a thousand ingenious wiles endeavoured to induce it 
 to engage in wise studies, or to forget useless dreams ; 
 if it came before him suppliant and showing in its 
 
 X 
 
306 APPENDIX. 
 
 very prayer for his notice, that it held out hope of 
 future worth, he that moment became its tutor and 
 guide ; other poets have thought proper to reward 
 their admirers with ironical exaggerations ; but 
 Beranger entertained a far different idea with respect 
 to the duties of his glory. To a man who had re- 
 solved from his twentieth year to bear his father's 
 name with credit, he wrote : 
 
 " Passy, 6th August, 1834. 
 
 "To M. Ernest Legouve.— Do you know, sir, how 
 embarrassing and even dismaying is the confidence with 
 which you desire to honor me ? What ! you wish me to 
 become the director of your literary life ? I must acknow- 
 ledge that the expression of this wish on your part is a 
 great testimony of esteem for me, and that I am much 
 touched by it; but that, u ifortuuately, is., no suiBcient 
 reason why I should accept a Mentorship of this nature. 
 Tou accuse yourself of having been to see me but seldom. 
 Well, sir ! you at the same time explain the cause of my 
 hesitation to respond to the wishes expressed in your letter, 
 amiable as it is. 
 
 " How, in fact, is it possible to trace out a rule of life for a 
 man whom one has not had time to study ? But, you will say, 
 you have read my various literary exercises ! Yes ! but is 
 that sufficient ? A few productions more or less clever 
 (I am not so severe a critic of your writings as yourself), 
 can make one acquainted with a man s talent only, and 
 afford no insight into his character. Well! and what 
 matter ? the young people vsdll reply. And I answer, that 
 in my opinion, it matters much, especially in an age like 
 ours, when a man can only find his point d'appui in him- 
 self. But setting aside the subject of character, have you 
 no predominant tastes calculated to exercise an influence over 
 your mind ? If you have, I am ignorant of them. You have 
 
At>PENDIX. 307 
 
 had the misfortune to be what the world calls a fortunate 
 young man; and from the moment of your birth, the 
 world lias smiled upon you. You admit that at the pre- 
 sent time, you would be perfectly happy if you were not 
 tormented by an ambition for glory. In what empty 
 cofi'er, alas ! are you endeavouring to find that which, 
 according to you, is necessary to your happiness ? How- 
 ever, it is your mania, and it would be vain to attempt to 
 cure you of it. When Fortune refuses us nothing, she 
 ever bestows upon us one gift too much. Ah ! well, my 
 poor child, hunt after glory. It is a mirage which rises 
 up before your eyes, from the depths of deserts ; take care 
 that it does not tempt you into them. There is only one 
 way by which you can escape this misfortune. Employ 
 yourself in being useful. That we should be so, is a law 
 imposed by G-od upon us all, and in literature it is more 
 than ever an obligation. Do not be one of those who are 
 contented with tbe literary art for its own sake. En- 
 deavour to find out whether there do not exist in you some 
 belief, with respect either to your country or your fellow- 
 men, to which you may direct your eftorts and your 
 thoughts. Possessed, as you are, of a noble and good 
 heart and a generous mind, it is scarcely possible that 
 society which has been unable to corrupt you by its 
 caresses, should not have left you still endowed with 
 some feelings of afi"ection for your kind. 
 
 " "Well ; consult those feelings and they will be a surer 
 guide for you in your studies and your labours than all that 
 the most learned of men could tell you. Such feelings have 
 had the power to make something of a pitifid wretch like 
 me — something which is not of much account, I dare say, 
 but still something. 
 
 " I am speaking to you in a language, sir, which will, 
 doubtless, astonish you ; for it is little in accordance with 
 that which your world has accustomed you to hear. But 
 be quite satisfied that I am giving you the true explanation 
 of all my principles of conduct since I attained the age of 
 
 X 2 
 
308 APPENDIX. 
 
 reason ; an age wliicli I readied somewhat early, because 
 when I was fifteen years old I was compelled to be a man 
 and to conduct my own education. To those who may be 
 willing to oppose the example of a great poet to that of a 
 poor song-wi'iter, and who may tell you that Byron had 
 no faith, I will reply that Byron, representing a falling 
 and decaying aristocracy could not have any but negative 
 beliefs ; but they are still beliefs, and certainly these of 
 Byron were as strong in this way as his genius was grand. 
 Believing the aristocracy to be the flower of the Uni- 
 verse, and seeing it to be stained with vices, he has been led 
 to curse the whole and to plunge into that misanthropy, 
 sometimes fierce and sometimes ironical, which has been so 
 ridiculously aped amongst ourselves. But what was this 
 misanthropy of his ? A love deceived ! 
 
 Tour age is the age of happy loves ; your heart is young. 
 Do not employ it solely about yourself. Extend the circle 
 of yoiir investigations ; and distrust, above all things, that 
 fictitious woi'ld in which fortune has placed you. Your 
 mind, your soul will speedily find food for these medita- 
 tions, and the direction in which you ought to throw their 
 energies will become manifest at the moment when you 
 least expect it. Nature has appointed a fit employment for 
 all the faculties she bestows on us ; we have but to seek 
 what it is. As you are capable of learning, learn ; as you 
 are able to enjoy repose, indulge in meditation ; but above 
 all things employ your thoughts about others than yourself. 
 I am quite aware that all this babbling will appear to you 
 very vague and, perhaps, even ridiculous. There is no ob- 
 jection to your thinking so, but as you liave asked my advice, 
 I have imparted to you my own secret ; I could not have be- 
 haved more fairly towards you ; I liave given you confidence 
 for confidence. I trust that you will see in this letter some 
 proof of my friendship and consideration. Believe, I pray you, 
 that I entertain those sentiments in all sincerity, and 
 command me as often as I can serve you ; it can never be 
 too often. " Most truly yours, 
 
 " Beranger^ 
 
APPENDIX, 309 
 
 It was after he had left Beaujon that Beranger's 
 health began to fail. His last dwelling-place was in 
 the Rue de Vendome. Fresh pecuniary losses and 
 bodily sickness compelled him to give up the little 
 reunions which he so much enjoyed ; he became still 
 worse, and found himself, with real grief, obliged to 
 renounce also his daily walks. 
 
 This was the moment in which inconsiderate men 
 thought proper to calumniate, in a foreign journal, 
 the man who was already in the grasp of death ; 
 accusing him of being secretly in receipt of a pension 
 from the Court. 
 
 To this calumny, Perrotin replied by the following 
 unanswerable letter : 
 
 " Mr. Editor, 
 
 " One of the foreign journals* which fill their columns 
 with all sorts of rumours collected from — it is impossible to 
 say where — has attacked our poet Beranger, in its number 
 of the 5th of January, 1857, by reproaching him with re- 
 ceiving secretly, and as though he were committing a bad 
 action, a pension from a certain august personage. 
 
 " Even had my name not been mentioned in this miserable 
 paragraph, which is so unworthy of any respectable paper, 
 1 should still have the right to reply to it in Beranger's 
 name. If he do not deign to rebut calumny, he cannot pre- 
 vent his friends from doing so in his name. 
 
 " Let me inform you, then, of the simple fact, from whence 
 has arisen this grossly false and malicious report. 
 
 " Last year the Empress, feeling anxious with respect to 
 
 * The Journal des Bmxelles, 
 
.11 ' ' ! NDIX 
 
 Beranger's health and fortunes, had a proposal made to me 
 through a confidential person (the Secretary de ses Comman- 
 dements), under promise of the strictest secrecy, that a 
 sum, of which I was to fix the amount, should be yearly 
 placed in my hands, that I might offer it to Beranger in my 
 owu name. Certainly, the proposition was one worthy of a 
 noble heart, but I could not consider that I had the right 
 to accept it. Beranger alone had this right, and when I 
 had obtained permission to inform him of the proposal 
 which had been made to me, he entirely approved of 
 the course I had pursued, saying that he did not see how I 
 could have acted otherwise. He did more ; for he wrote 
 me a letter in which he expressed in the most admirable 
 terms his sense of the kindness shown to him ; adding that 
 he had never been richer than he was at that time — that he 
 had never had need of any larger fortune — and that the fact 
 of his declining to accept the favours offered to him, waa 
 only a reason for his regarding their offer with the more 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Tou are now acquainted, sir, with the precise details of 
 the transaction alluded to, and you will share the indigna- 
 tion which has been excited in my breast, by the anonymous 
 censor, who, whilst affecting to treat Beranger with 
 affectionate familiarity, has reproached him with having 
 stretched out his hand for alms ; and who completes his lie 
 by saying to him ; ' Sois cousu d'or.'' 
 
 "It has appeared to me, that ovir honour demands, that 
 an explanation should be given with respect to the circum- 
 stances which have been the occasion of these calumnies, 
 and that you would not be unwilling to have still another 
 opportunity of honouring a man whose disinterestedness 
 has never been equalled but by his charity. 
 
 " Accept the best respects of your devoted servant, 
 
 " Ferroiin.'' 
 " Publisher of Beranger's Songs. 
 " Paris, 14th January, 1857." 
 
APPENDIX. 311 
 
 B^ranger's disease now assumed a more serious 
 phase ; his memory sometimes failed him ; and M. 
 Charles Bernard, his devoted medical attendant, the 
 son of his old friend, M, Joseph Bernard, already began 
 to study his countenance with anxiety. M. Trousseau, 
 who was called in to remove, if possible, the unknown 
 malady under which the poet was sinking, declared 
 that it could not be removed, and that it was water 
 on the heart, complicated by a liver complaint. At 
 the same time he promised to make the utmost 
 exertions to keep the complaint at bw, and he kept 
 his promise. In the midst of the most incessant labours, 
 he always found time to visit and tend the sick man, 
 the approach of whose death he had pronounced to 
 be so certain ; and, during the last days of his life, 
 visited him twice a day. 
 
 Beranger continued to drag out his existence only 
 by a species of miracle, and at the beginning of the 
 winter of 1856, his friends had great fears that they 
 were about to lose him. His excfllent constitution 
 still enabled him to bear up, however, and sometimes 
 he even regained his wonted liveliness. His spirit of 
 generosity never abandoned him ; and when confined 
 to the house, and almost bedridden, his only grief was 
 that he could not carry out such and such kind inten- 
 tions ; and he would write, whilst his hand could 
 scarcely guide the pen, to obtain assistance for his 
 friends and proteges. 
 
312 APPENDIX. 
 
 Mademoiselle Judith, who had been in good health 
 up to the close of the year 1856, became suddenly 
 seriously ill, being afflicted by a cancer in the stomach. 
 She soon became unable to take any kind of nourish- 
 ment ; but her air of resignation and the gentleness 
 of her voice proved at this very time how serenely 
 steadfast was her spirit. On the 8th April, 1857, 
 she died, almost without pain, and with almost 
 unexampled courage and calmness. She gave sufficient 
 evidence, on her death-bed, of her worthiness to be 
 the life-long companion of her friend ; and her name 
 deserves to be inscribed beside that of Beranger 
 himself. 
 
 She was about two ycrirs older than the poet; but 
 there had been reason to suppose that she would have 
 survived him, and he had made her his heir. 
 
 Funeral sconces now gather round us, and every- 
 thing speaks of the dcuth of the illiistrious poet. 
 
 In the year j844, he had a])pointed M. Pcnotin his 
 executor. 
 
 " Ai'termatm'e reflectioii and notwitbstandiug the interest 
 wliicli M. Perrotiu will have in my property after my 
 decease, in accordance with the terms of agreements which 
 I have entered into with him, I am so convinced of his high 
 sense of honour and his unbounded devotion, that I apjDoint 
 the said M. Perrotiu executor of my will. 
 
 " Done at Passy, June 7th, 1844, 
 
 " Ficrrc Jean cle Beranger.'''' 
 
APPENDIX. 31 3 
 
 Three years later, he sent to M. Perrotin the copy 
 of his will, and accompanied it by the following 
 letter : — 
 
 " To Monsieur Perrotin, — T send you herewith, my 
 dear Perrotin, the copy of my will, together with a codicil 
 to it, in which I appoint you my executor. I authorize 
 you, immediately after my decease, to open it, and to carry 
 out its directions in behalf of Judith, wliom I have left my 
 sole legatee ; and also, in behalf of your own interests, to 
 take possession of my papers and draughts of songs, the 
 MS. books which I shall not have already forwarded 
 to you, the preface for the posthimious volume, and my 
 Biography, which will be in the large drawer of my secretaire. 
 
 " Many letters which I have not yet burned will be fou.nd 
 amongst my papers, and these of course must be destroyed ; 
 unless there shoidd be any imperious necessity to the con- 
 trary. Above all things take care that none fall into the 
 hands of autograph-collectors. As for those which I have 
 tied up in parcels, and which are in my secretaire, it will 
 probably be advisable to burn them also, but they should 
 be first carefully examined to make svu'e that they are of 
 no i'ui'ther use. Should you come upon any old manuscript 
 compositions of mine, whether in prose or verse, let none of 
 them be published, I entreat you ; my songs are quite 
 enough, and the publication of other productions from my 
 pen would probably ouly injure them. There is a manu- 
 script of mine in the Lands of M. F , which I gave him 
 
 on condition that it should not be published ; and the 
 subject of Avhich is " Fontaine's Fables." I hereby continue 
 
 the prohibition against its publication, to which M. F 
 
 has promised to submit. 
 
 " I must now speak of the publication of the voliune which 
 I leave behind me — the sougs of my old age. I should tell 
 you which of my friends you should consult with respect to 
 the value of those songs, and the corrections they may require, 
 if I did not imow, as I do, that you are well aAvare which of 
 
314 APPENDIX. 
 
 my friends you ought to communicate with on this matter. 
 But let me beg of you, above all things, to take care that 
 your printer has my verses seen through the press by a 
 careful reader, and by one who luiows, at least, how a verse 
 shoidd rhyme. 
 
 " I am especially anxious that immediately after my death, 
 you should persuade Juditli to make her will, for the sake 
 of those of our friends whom she will doubtless be desirous 
 of benefiting, and whose interests I should" myself take 
 care of, should I die after her. For her to indulge in tears, 
 instead of fulfilling my intentions in this matter, would be 
 simply to show a disregard for my memory. 
 
 " With respect to my funeral, I have to entreat you, my 
 dear Perrotin, to avoid, if possible, making it the object of 
 public attention. In the case of the friends whom I have 
 myself lost, I have always felt a great horror of the at- 
 tendance of crowds, and the delivery of orations at their 
 funerals ; and if my own could be conducted quite privately, 
 the fact Avould be the fulfilment of one of my Avishes. 
 Annexed to my will, in my own possession, in the form of 
 a codicil, is a paper in which I declare my satisfaction with 
 the terms of the bargain made between us ; and this formal 
 approbation, although quite unnecessary, contains a complete 
 account of the rights you possess with respect to my 
 manuscripts, and may at some time or other be of use. 
 
 " It remains for me to recommend to your care Antier, 
 the oldest of my friends, and one whose old age may, pro- 
 bably, be far from prosperous. Take care, I beseech you, 
 that he does not want, and if the Biography which I am 
 leaving behind me should obtain some small success, and he 
 should lose his employment, secure a pension to him. 
 Judith might do something for his eldest daughter, and 
 thus help both of them. 
 
 " This is about all that I have to say to you on the 
 occasion of my sending you a copy of my will, with the codicil 
 annexed to it, both of which are of somewhat old date. 
 
 " As it is said that the cholera is likely to return, I have 
 thought it as well to re-consider the terms of my will ; but 
 
APPENDIX. 315 
 
 I have found notliiag to alter in them. At the same time, 
 however, I have determined to carry into execvition an idea 
 I have long entertained, and to place in your hands the 
 duplicates of those papers which you will require to enable 
 you to fulfil your duties, as executor of my will. I accor- 
 dingly now transmit them to you, and have too much faith 
 in your friendship to think it necessary to offer any apologies 
 for the trouble I may thus cause you. 
 
 " Entirely yours, 
 
 " Ber anger. 
 " Paris, 14th November, 1847." 
 
 It may be desirable, perhaps, to take note of 
 the recommendations which Beranger made to his 
 publisher with respect to his posthumous songs. 
 
 In 1851 Beranger added to his first will a codicil, 
 in which he made a formal demand that his obsequies 
 should be conducted with all simplicity and in such a 
 manner as to avoid giving cause for any excitement 
 around his tomb. 
 
 " When the moment of my death shall have come, I beg 
 that two of ray friends who shall be present at my decease 
 will prevent any means being taken for preserving my 
 remains. I beg them, also, to have me interred in the 
 simplest possible manner, in the nearest cemetery. Further, 
 I express it as my distinct wish that they should not give any 
 intimation of my death to the public journals, until after 
 my burial. I also express it as my wish," he added, " or 
 even command, if I may employ such a word, that all the 
 letters which may be foiuid in the drawers of my secretaire, 
 de commode, or in any other corner of my lodging, may be 
 burnt at my death ; exception being made only with 
 respect to those which may refer to my own private 
 affairs." 
 
316 APPENDIX. 
 
 This codicil is dated the 1st March, 1851. After 
 the death of Mademoiselle Judith, Beranger wrote a 
 second will with a hand which was ah-eady trembling. 
 
 « Paris, 18th May, 1857. 
 
 " This is my wiU, 
 
 " I appoint and nominate by these presents M. Perrotin 
 (Charles Aristide) my sole legatee, and give him accordingly 
 all the property of which I shall die possessed.* 
 
 " P. de Beranger" 
 
 These sad words having been written, he awaited the 
 approaching hour. On the occasion of Mademoiselle 
 Judith's funeral, he was anxious to follow her remains 
 to the tomb. Supporting himself with difficulty on 
 the arm of a friend, he could only go as far as the 
 church, from whence he returned to his now lonely 
 lodging, with his great heart overwhelmed with grief. 
 The devoted attention and consolations of his friends 
 soothed him to apparent resignation, and strengthened 
 him still to support his wounded and shattered lile ; 
 but sickness and sorrow were to allow bis life to 
 continue but for a few more short, sad days. 
 
 He began to fall into a state of torpor, which was 
 
 * The little fortune Avhich Beranger left behind him has Lecn divi- 
 ded, by the sole legatee, amongst the persons -with whom Beranger 
 himself shared it. The pensions which some poor old persons 
 calculated upon receiving each month have been secured to them; 
 and the price of the furniture of the chamber in which the poet 
 died, the dispersion of which woidd have been too cruel, has been 
 given to the Commime de ChatiUon, 
 
APPENDIX. 317 
 
 very distressing to those about him. Frequently, in 
 the middle of a conversation he would suddenly forget 
 the subject on which he was speaking and fix the 
 whole attention of that mind which never forgot any- 
 thing, upon invisible imairos. Sometimes, again, he 
 would bi'Pak tVt^e fro'O those inw^u'd contemplations, 
 and arouse himself to address his companions with 
 the gentlest words. From the time these symptoms 
 appeared, the anxiety of his friends w^as constantly on 
 the alert. It was necessary that a private physician, 
 M. Jabin, should devote his constant attention to the 
 sick poet, and it was also thought advisable to have 
 recourse to the special experience of M. Brouillard, 
 who called once or twice, and confirmed the opinion 
 which M. Trousseau had already formed on the case. 
 
 Towards the end of June the extreme heat of the 
 weather hastened the crisis of the poet's malady. His 
 bright intellect had already at moments been clouded 
 — his vigorous spirit had become enfeebled, and his 
 keen eyes become dim. The public anxiety was un- 
 bounded when the journals announced the state of 
 danger in v^^hich he lay. 
 
 His old friends, his new friends, his intimate friends, 
 his unknown friends, the whole of Paris, in short, 
 hastened to the Rue de Vendome. From the earliest 
 dawn crowds hastened to consult the bulletins of his 
 health, and the least adverse sign in them caused 
 universal grief. 
 
3 1 8 APPENDIX. 
 
 M M. Lamartine, Odillon Barrot, Barthelemy, 
 Saint Hilaire, visited Beranger ; and his older friends 
 MM. Thiers, Mignet, Lehrun, and Cousin, went to 
 see him almost every day. They had been bound 
 with him in the ties of friendship for many long years. 
 
 When he saw his old friends around him, Beran- 
 ger's spirit shook off its torpor, and his malady lost 
 its bitterness, and he conversed with them with 
 tenderness and enjoyment. One day when he was 
 speaking with modest distrust respecting his poems, 
 M. Thiers said to him, " Do you know, Beranger, I 
 call you the French Horace." " What would the 
 other say ?" replied he, with a smile. On another 
 occasion, he spoke of God and the future with wondrous 
 words and an inspired voice. 
 
 But these moments when his intellect resumed its 
 vigour were very rare. 
 
 Beranger's sister, who was a cloistered nun, had only 
 seen him once since she had taken the vows. She 
 now came to see him, being authorized to do so by the 
 Archbishop, and accompanied by another religieuse. 
 She entered his bed-room, embraced him, and received 
 his embrace, and then retired, and could not return. 
 But she expressed the gratitude she felt towards her 
 brother's friends, and sent every day to enquire after 
 him. M. the Abbe Jousselin, formerly curate of 
 Passy, and now curate of Sainte-Elisabeth, had found 
 
APPENDIX. 3l9 
 
 Beranger once more in his parish. Their conversation 
 had still been about their poor friends. When 
 Beranger's illness appeared to be drawing near its 
 close, he was visited by M. le Cure. Their conversa- 
 tions were few, brief, and unimportant ; but there is 
 one of them, the last, which has been reported in the 
 most various forms. At the moment when the Abbe 
 Jousselin was about to withdraw, Beranger said to 
 him in a clear voice, " Your character gives you the 
 right to bless me. And I, on my part, bless you. 
 Pray for me, and for all unfortunates ! My life has 
 been that of a honest man. I remember no action 
 for which I have cause to blush before God." 
 
 On the 28tb June, it was supposed that Beranger 
 must die in the course of the day, the excessive heat 
 so aggravated his sufferings. But the weather became 
 cooler, and he still survived some days. 
 
 Many ladies, when his disease was at its height, 
 claimed the privilege of their old friendship, and 
 envied Madame Antier the fatigues of her admirable 
 and constant devotion during the long days and longer 
 nights. 
 
 * The following are the names of the persons who 
 watched by Beranger's side during his last illness : — 
 
 M. and Madame Antier, and M. Perrotin, every 
 day ; Doctors Charles Bernard, Jabin, Charles Lasegue, 
 M. M. Edmond Arnould, Paul Boiteau, Victor 
 Bonnet, Onesime Borgnon, Broc, Chevallon, Don- 
 neau, Gallet, Savinien Lapointe, Charles Thomas. 
 
320 APPENDlJf. 
 
 On the 15th July, towards noon, B^ranger found 
 himself a little better, and recognizing his friends, 
 addressed a few words to them. With a gleam of 
 his wonted gentle gaiety, he smiled when M. Jegaeas 
 feeling his pulse, spoke to him of the crowd around 
 his house — Hie crowd vvhich was never weary of he- 
 sieging the staircase, and which withdrew with so 
 much unwillingness. The sun was at its highest 
 point in the heavens, and threw a brilhant glow upon 
 the windows. As Goethe, on his death bed, so poor 
 B^ranger signed that the windows should be opened, 
 and sought the light with an eager glance. He could 
 not believe himself mortally ill; he murmured "^ 
 month, a month and a half^^ when the doctor told 
 him that he must patiently await a cure, which was 
 now, alas ! impossible. 
 
 There is one name which we might have expected to 
 find in this list which is wanting to it, that of Eejot; 
 who was confined to his bed by a painful complaint 
 which only left him after Beranger's death. 
 
 Among other old friends, M. M. Cauchois-Lemaire, 
 Bernard de Rennes and Joseph Bernard, may be men- 
 tioned as having been unwilling to leave even for a 
 moment the side of the illustrious friend whose dying 
 hours they watched. 
 
 * From the time that Beranger lived in the Rue 
 Vendome, M. Segalas always offered his services 
 whenever he had need of medical advice. He had 
 already attended Beranger through a hemorrhage ; 
 and he watched by him during the last days of his life 
 with the utmost zeal. 
 
APPENDIX. 321 
 
 In the morning M. Mignet had found him sleeping 
 heavily, his head resting on a pallet attached to his 
 elhow chair. Some moments after, Manin entered ; 
 but Beranger, who awoke in a state of stupor, neither 
 recognised nor addressed him — at which Manin wept. 
 
 The night was melancholy. Doctor Lesigue, 
 one of his friends, watched the sick man. On the 
 I 6th, from early morning, the heat was very great. 
 The air was heavy with storm. Through the court 
 yard, which was filled with persons, a sad presen- 
 timent had already spread ; and on all faces was 
 expressed the fact that the pubHc sorrow was no 
 longer consoled by even a shadow of hope. Dr. 
 Trousseau announced that the pulse was failing, and 
 that the last hour was not far distant. At the top 
 of the staircase, subdued voices breathed in scarcely 
 audible whispers. The wind w^ailed through the 
 corridors, and the open doors and closed shutters 
 trembled in the shade. There were in B granger's 
 chamber but his intimate friends, M. and Madame 
 Antier, M. Perrotin, M. Vernet (who had arrived 
 the same morning), Madame Vernet, M. Thomas, 
 (the Paymaster-General of the Minister of Finance), 
 M. Lebrun (of the French Academy), M. Paul 
 Boiteau (the youngest of his friends) and two servants. 
 They awaited the bursting of the storm and the ap- 
 proach of death. 
 
325 APPENDIX. 
 
 Seated in his great arm-chair, in the midst of his 
 chamber, his back turned to the windows, his head 
 inclined to the right, Beranger sank under the grasp 
 of death ; his limbs, covered with drapery, struggled 
 with the pain which afflicted them ; his respiration 
 was choked ; his lips, half closed, only gave utterance 
 to empty words ; his forehead was covered with a 
 dreadful sweat ; his hands trembled with involuntary 
 movements ; and his dulled eyes, struggling against 
 the night which had suddenly fallen upon them, 
 seemed to wander restlessly about in search of his old 
 friends. At the same time there was not even a trace 
 of complaining upon the countenance which had so 
 long been animated with the highest intelligence. 
 
 The thunder echoed ; the rain fell in floods ; the 
 lightning, darting across the lofty trees in the garden, 
 threw its glare into the silent chamber. Beranger 
 began to breathe with a little less difficulty. The sign 
 of the cross which one of his nurses, kneeling before 
 him, made at each thunder-clap, caused him no 
 astonishment. He appeared as though he were un- 
 conscious of the storm, and supporting his head upon 
 his right hand, vaguely gazed on those around him. 
 
 The refreshed air had the effect of giving him an 
 appearance of recovered strength, which sadly soothed 
 the despair of the friends by whom he was sur- 
 rounded — for he was to die before sunset ! 
 
 From time to time he bestowed upon his friends 
 
APPENDIX. 323 
 
 fond and gentle glances. They gave him drink, and 
 placed a morsel of ice, his last food, upon his lips ; 
 once again they placed his hand on the platinum snuff 
 box, of which he was so fond, and once more his 
 fingers assumed the wonted gesture. But those 
 glances and those gestures were but blind, involuntary 
 motions. His friends then embraced him, and holding 
 his hand, his too inert hand, wept behind his chair ; and 
 still in spite of themselves they could not but forget the 
 dying man in the contemplation of his living glory. 
 
 Towards two o'clock Beranger was attacked by 
 spasms of severe bodily pain. He suffered much 
 before he died. M. Lebrun, overcome by his grief, 
 retired into a neighbouring chamber. A few moments 
 before MM. Mignet, Thiers, and Cousin, had seen their 
 friend for the last time. At thirty-five minutes past 
 four, Beranger died in the arms of his friends, pressing 
 M. Antier's hand. One of his physicians counted the 
 last beatings of his pulse. The pulse stopped. All 
 was over ! 
 
 An extraordinary sadness spread throughout Paris 
 at the close of the evening, and seemed to foretell 
 some solemn manifestation of feeling on the morrow. 
 
 A few hours after Beranger's decease, the Minister 
 of State informed his friends that the Government, 
 desirous of bestowing upon the poet a pubhc mark of 
 respect, would itself conduct his obsequies. The 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 APPENDIX. 
 
 State took upon itself the place of the absent re- 
 lations, and the executor had no longer any duties to 
 fulfil. He transmitted to the minister a copy of the 
 letter in which Beranger, expressing his last wishes, 
 desired that his obsequies should resemble in their 
 simplicity the habits of his life. The Government 
 immediately took its measures, and armed by this 
 the poet's expressed wish, had the following notice 
 posted up throughout the city that same night : — 
 
 " Obsequies of BEKANaEE. 
 
 " France lias lost her national poet. 
 
 "The Emperor has been anxious that public honours 
 should be bestowed upon Beranger's memory; this pious 
 homage being due to the poet whose songs, consecrated to 
 patriotism, have aided to perpetuate in the heart of the 
 people the memory of the Imperial glory. 
 
 " I have learned that the members of a particular faction 
 regard this sad solemnity only as an opportunity of renew- 
 ing the disorders which, at other times, have characterized 
 similar ceremonies. 
 
 " The Government will not permit a tumultuous demon- 
 stration to take the place of that respectfid and patriotic 
 expression of sorrow which ought to attend the burial of 
 Beranger. 
 
 *' Moreover, the will of the deceased has been expressed 
 in these touching words : — 
 
 " ' With regard to my funeral, I have to entreat you to 
 avoid, if possible, making it the object of public attention. 
 In the case of the friends whom I have myself lost, I have 
 always felt a great horror of the attendance of crowds, and 
 the delivery of orations at their funerals.' 
 
 "It has been resolved, then, with the sanction of the 
 
APPENDIX. 325 
 
 testamentary executor, that the funeral cortege shall be 
 exclusively composed of official deputations and persons 
 specially invited to it by letter. 
 
 " I call upon the people to conform to these orders. 
 Measures have been taken to secure the observance of 
 perfect and religious respect for the AviU of the Govern- 
 ment and that of the deceased. 
 
 " The Senator, Prefect of Police, 
 " Fietri." 
 
 Whilst preparations were being made for his fune- 
 ral, the poet's friends watched beside his mortal 
 remains. At half-past eleven in the evening, M. 
 Perrotin obtained the necessary authorization to take 
 a cast of Beranger's features. His body had been 
 placed on the bed — death had removed all the outward 
 signs of disease, and had calmed and ennobled the 
 countenance.* 
 
 On the morning of the following day Beranger's 
 friends buried him.f 
 
 * A talented sculptor has been directed by M. Perrotin to 
 make a memorial-bust of Beranger, which shaU be both 
 exact and authentic, No one but this gentleman was ad- 
 mitted on that last evening to take a copy of the poet's 
 features, and none of the likenesses, whether engravings or 
 photographs which have been hitherto published, have the 
 slightest resemblance to the reality. 
 
 t Proces-Verbal of the death and burial of Beranger. 
 
 " On the 16th of July, 1857, at thirty-five minutes past 
 four in the afternoon, after a short but excessive agony, 
 Beranger breathed his last sigh. 
 
 "The Government, immediately informed of this sad event, 
 determined, as is known, that the burial should take place 
 
326 APPENDIX. 
 
 The streets were crowded on the occasion. An 
 army was drawn up along the road, and a whole 
 population was present as spectators. The public 
 grief, surprised as it had been by the rapidity of the 
 ceremony, was but the more profound. The mass of 
 the people, the whole nation, comprehended that they 
 had lost their dearest friend, their purest glory. 
 
 From the first steps taken by the funeral cortege 
 from the house of death, it was apparent how great 
 a day was to be this day of mourning. From the 
 middle of the Rue Vendome, the heights of the Rue 
 Meslay resembled a circus completely filled with 
 spectators. Every head was uncovered. A throng 
 
 at noon on the follo^^•ing day, aud under the direction of 
 the State. 
 
 " All the necessary measures had to be taken with the 
 greatest rapidity ; aud that very evening at nine o'clock, the 
 Medical Inspector examined the corpse. 
 
 " On the 17th July, at half-past nine in the morning. 
 MM. Perrotiu and Antier, and Dr. Charles Bernard, being 
 assembled. Dr. Charles Bernard, in concert with Doctors 
 Trousseau and Jabin, convinced himself once more of the 
 fact of a death which was sufficiently indicated by all the 
 usual signs. MM. Perrotiu aud Antier, and Dr. Charles 
 Bernard, proceeded alone to the burial and entombing of 
 their old friend, P. J. de Beranger. 
 
 " Done at Paris, 5, Eue de Vendume, the 17th July 
 1857, at ten o'clock in the morning. 
 
 " rSigned) 
 
 " Perrotiu, Antier, and Charles Bernard." 
 
APPENDIX. 327 
 
 of recollections imposed silence upon all. No picture 
 could represent the moving scenes of these obsequies : 
 the swarms of men, women, and children which 
 surged on to pay their homage to the funeral car, and 
 which a long line of soldiers could scarcely keep upon 
 the boulevard. Posts, balconies, roofs, were all 
 covered by a sighing and sorrowing crowd. Cries 
 of ' Honour ! honour to Beranger ! ' (What a 
 funeral oration !) would be succeeded by profound 
 silence. Expressions of respect and admiration burst 
 forth by turns with constant unanimity. The finest 
 scene of the day was when the cortege was slowly 
 passing along the banks of the canal Saint Martin. 
 An entire population covered the whole of the space 
 which the eye could take in. The houses and streets 
 had been insufficient to contain it. The boats on the 
 canal trembled beneath the weight of the innumerable 
 crowd which on each side was arranged en amphi- 
 theatre, and in which throbbed so many beating hearts. 
 
 Fear appears to have been entertained of some 
 great tumult; but Paris religiously respected the 
 obsequies of its illustrious poet and dearest child. 
 
 For his epitaph, we need but engrave upon his 
 tomb, the following verses which he has himself 
 written for us. 
 
 " The tempests which have wrecked our lives 
 For you shall be the winds of Fame, 
 
328 APPENDIX. 
 
 The lightning which destroys, revives 
 Taint nature with its flame. 
 It is for your sakes God has brought 
 Such sorrow in our days." 
 
 These verses will bear witness to the sufferings, 
 the etforts, the genius of our ancestors, and will 
 support our hopes. Tliey will tell posterity, in the 
 morning of what disastrous days was born the 
 singer whom to-day we weep, and upon what visions 
 of a glad future he ever bent his gaze. 
 
NOTES. 
 I. 
 
 Be RANGER resembled but very slightly the greater 
 number of the portraits which have pretended to 
 represent him. We have prefixed to this volume 
 an etching of a drawing by Charlet, which was 
 made in 1834, and is a very truthful sketch. A 
 bas-relief, which has been modelled after this design, 
 has been very well received, under the supposition 
 that it was copied from the life ; but it has, really, 
 no historical value. 
 
 It appears as though writers have endeavoured to 
 be less truthful in their descriptions of Beranger 
 than the artists in their representations of his 
 appearance ; and if we were to judge by certain 
 recent sketches, we should be very much deceived 
 with respect to Beranger's private life and habits. 
 He had none of the characteristics, as has been 
 asserted, of the man who desired to live in too strict 
 a retirement ; nor had he anything of the rustic in 
 his appearance beyond that indescribable air of frank- 
 ness which beamed from his countenance, and which 
 Chateaubriand has praised 
 
 His stature, which was perfectly proportioned, was 
 
330 NOTES. 
 
 about five feet one inch in height, but his head increased 
 it by a cubit ; and it was on this head alone that all 
 looks were fastened. It was strongly framed, and 
 altogether of an extraordinary structure; the bony boss 
 of the brain being of singular size,* and bulging for- 
 ward as though it contained with difficulty a too active 
 thought. In his twenty-third year Beranger had 
 become bald, and had acquired by that circumstance 
 the air — which makes youth appear so calm, and old 
 age so venerable — of a man whom life has wearied, 
 of a patriarch who is reposing after his struggles. At 
 the same time, the few locks which still remained, 
 and which were of a blonde colour, scarcely blanched, 
 being suffered to grow and fall upon his shoulders, 
 framed his gentle countenance in a manner which 
 could not fail to please. 
 
 Firmness of character was evident in every trait of 
 his countenance; but it also gave equal evidence of 
 sweetness of disposition. His great blue eyes, pro- 
 jecting somewhat from their orbits, had an expression 
 which none who had ever seen it could forget. 
 Towards the close of his life they were veiled and 
 obscured ; but even when their powers of sight were 
 diminished, their glance retained its serenity ; and 
 when his lips were mute, they still spoke the language 
 of goodness. As a lofty thought shot across his soul 
 
 * Circumference Om. 59 ; greatest length, Om, 21, 
 
NOTES. 331 
 
 a brilliant gleam illumined them, and the fire of indig- 
 nation could inflame them. The outline of his mouth 
 was especially remarkable ; and its arched lips as 
 readily opened with the smile of benevolence as with the 
 smile of irony. Ever flowed from them, thrilling and 
 harmonious, gentle words. Yet his voice, which was 
 almost always agreeable and sweet, could give utterance, 
 if need were, to the tones of severity. During his 
 latter days every one who heard him speak, remarked 
 his prophetic accent. It still echoes in our ears. 
 
 Long sickly, Beranger had been in his youth 
 very delicate, even pitifully so, and, as he has himself 
 said, subject to very frequent and cruel headaches, 
 from which he became partly free as he became older. 
 His air, which was voluptuous and punctilious, and 
 very graceful, was not without a tinge of melancholy. 
 It was never negligent : it was simple. His hand 
 was small, supple, and finely formed. He was a 
 great walker, and his step was at once firm and light. 
 Almost all his songs were composed during his 
 walks. 
 
 His dress was that of a Protestant clergyman. 
 His clothes, which were all of simple cut and of a 
 dark colour, and his large hat of soft felt, suited 
 him precisely. He kept to old fashions, and tied 
 his cravat round a great, raised shirt-collar, as he 
 had done in his vouth. But there was no atFec- 
 
332 NOTES. 
 
 tation in the simplicity of his costurne. His only 
 object in adhering to it was to obtain perfect ease. 
 
 II. 
 
 Beranger has inserted in his Biography some of 
 the songs of his youth. We should have been able, 
 by searching the literary collections of the period 
 of the Empire, to discover some other songs and 
 morceaux, which then appeared, and vvhich would 
 have formed a curious collection ; but we have 
 thought it necessary to cite here only those which are 
 of especial interest. 
 
 The Idyl of Glycere, which is very short, is very 
 characteristic of what was Beranger's first style. It 
 appeared in 1805, in the Saisons du Parnasse, and 
 in the Almanack des Muses. Mademoiselle Pauline 
 de Meulan (who afterwards became Madame Guizot) 
 was the first to call attention, in the Publiciste, to 
 the grace and natural manner of these verses. 
 
 G L Y C E E E. 
 Idyl. 
 
 An Old Body — 
 
 Tell me, thou little laughing maid, 
 What seek you iu this gloomy shade ? 
 
 A Young Gikl — 
 
 I come, good sir, for blossoms sweet 
 To wi'eathe among my hair, 
 For all the folk this morning meet, — 
 Eor 'tis the village fair \ 
 
NOTES. 333 
 
 And there's tlie fiddle ! don't you hear its droou ? 
 Oh ! there'll be dancing in the meadow soon ! 
 Glycere is there of course, to-day ; — 
 The belle, if you'll beheve them ! 
 But see, now, don't these blossoms say 
 That I'll soon undeceive them ! 
 
 The Old Body — 
 
 Maiden, maiden ! know you not, 
 Where you ai-e in this dull spot ? 
 
 The YouNa Girl — 
 
 Of course ! And yet, since last I came, 
 It isn't quite, I think, the same ! 
 
 The Old Body — 
 
 Maiden, maiden ! here lies low 
 
 She who was the village belle ; 
 Above your rival's death-bed grow. 
 
 The flowers which grace your locks so well ! 
 
 To the same year (1805) must be referred the 
 following couplets, which appeared in that year hi 
 the Almanack Litteraire. They were written as 
 the preface of a volume of songs which Beranger 
 appears to have wished to publish at this time, and 
 which was eventually pubhshed in 1815. 
 
 Mes amis, accueillez ce livre ; 
 Au triste oubli ma muse y livre 
 
 Ses joyeux sons. 
 Des siecles bravons la memoire ; 
 De la votre j 'attends la gloire 
 
 Des mes chansons. 
 
 Eappelez-vous qu'elles sont nees 
 Au sein des heures fortuneea 
 Que nous passons ; 
 
334 KOTES. 
 
 Soit cle jeunesse ou cle folie, 
 Un souvenir toujours se lie 
 A des chansons. 
 
 Qii'aux lieux ou regne I'etiquette 
 On dedaigne la chansounette : 
 
 Xargue aux fa9ons. 
 Chantons, et dans son vol rapide 
 Que du temps le front se deride 
 
 A nos chansons. 
 
 La vie est une longue enfance ; 
 Nous sommes tous de I'esperance 
 
 Les noux'rissons : 
 Pleurons-nous berce un hochet frivol 
 Elle nous berce et nous console. 
 
 Par des chansons. 
 
 Pour nous que I'amitie rassemble, 
 Nous devona de chanter ensemble 
 
 A ses le9ons ; 
 Chant d'amour, de peine ou d'ivresse. 
 Sa douce voix s'unit sans cesse 
 
 A nos chansons. ' 
 
 Avant vous s'il faut que je nieure, 
 Separcs au plus pour une heure, 
 
 Point d'oraisons ; 
 Dansez tous en rond sur ma cendre, 
 Amis, et ne faites entendre. 
 
 Que des chansons. 
 
 Beranger has himself quoted in his biography 
 three verses of 2 he Meditation, which he read to 
 Lucien Bonaparte, and in this elegy, written about 
 1802, we find the following beautiful passage : — 
 
 Nor greatness, nor its dreams, nor high emprise, 
 Are in the power of human hearts alone ; 
 
NOTES. 335 
 
 God rules all destinies — then ne'er despise 
 
 A low estate, nor glory in a throne. 
 
 Eight centuries ago to rule the world 
 
 God raised a family of lordly men ; 
 
 And now his arm with sudden stroke has hurled 
 
 Its princes to inglorious lives again. 
 
 Some have been slain, and some about the Earth 
 
 Wander like pilgrims whom no shrine can claim, 
 
 In all lands finding only empty dearth, 
 
 Eepulse from every heart, and constant shame. 
 
 At length, regardless of this ruin vast, 
 
 A man arose whose brilliant actions seemed 
 
 To tell the world that in the distant past 
 
 Its heart of his high destiny had dreamed. 
 
 He fought, he conquered, bound in chains, relieved ; 
 
 And all he wished, his glorious arms achieved — 
 
 Whilst still his aims were scarcely half surmised, 
 
 His iron grasp astonished realms comprised ; 
 
 And now his arm, tired out with deeds of Eame, 
 
 Supports a world that glories in his name. 
 
 Thus will'd high Heaven, and Avho that mortal be 
 
 Can venture to oppose its firm decree ? 
 
 When such there are, 'neath Fate's gi-im chariot thrust, 
 
 They soon bleed out their life-blood in the dust. 
 
 Amidst the tombs, with blackest midnight fraught, 
 Thus speaks my heart by their stern silence taught. 
 Here come the children to rejoin their sires, 
 Here lately brought and here no longer found, — 
 I miirmured, as the day star's earliest fires 
 Awoke to song the solitudes around. 
 Day after day, from his eternal dome 
 The sun beholds fresh families arise, 
 Who make of each old palace a new home. 
 And still in turn each new-born ruler dies ! 
 Erom human ashes human races grow 
 In long succession underneath the sun, 
 Whose rays like grim funereal torches glow 
 Above this human sepulchre below ; 
 
336 NOTES. 
 
 And as each People, when its course is run, 
 Fades out before him, so shall he in turn, 
 Weary of gazing on continuous woe, 
 Before its Maker its last moment burn. 
 
 M. Sainte-Beuve has highly praised some other 
 pieces which Beranger wrote about 1533, and which 
 then came under his notice. Of these \ve may 
 mention an idyllic poem in four parts, entitled A Pil- 
 grimage and 2Vie Courtesan ; which latter poem, 
 consisting of about a hundred and thirty verses, 
 expresses, says M. Sainte-Beuve, with feeling, naivete 
 and elegance, the remorse and tears of a ruined vil- 
 lage girl, who revisits for a moment her native fields, 
 and beholds afar off the smoke rising from her 
 mother's roof. And this poem, The Courtesan, we 
 might safely give without changing a verse, and it 
 would not disgrace its younger sisters of high renown 
 
 We will here present to the reader a curious couplet 
 which we transcribe with great pleasure, not on 
 account of its literary value, but because it was written 
 in 1795. 
 
 It was at Peronne, when he was fifteen years 
 of age, that Beranger wrote these verses, and 
 on the following occasion. The young girls of the 
 village were to give to the young men, on Saint 
 Nicolas day, a little fete, in return for one which had 
 been given them on that of Saint-Catherine. A 
 female cousin of B Granger's, of about the same age 
 
NOTES. 337 
 
 as himself, entrusted him to compose some verses on 
 the occasion, and he wrote the following : — 
 
 AiE : Avec le jeii. dans le village. 
 
 " Grentles all ! we briug to-day, 
 Instead of common flowers, 
 The virtues in a neat bouquet, 
 And eomplimeuts in showers. 
 Old custom bids us friendship grant, 
 To-day, and we'll not break it ; 
 But if there's something more you want. 
 You'd better come and take it ! " 
 
 These verses were sung and applauded. " Well ! 
 Ftlicite," asked Beranger of his cousin on the fol- 
 lowing morning, " did you sing them ? " " Yes ! 
 and your friends praised them ! " " And when you 
 had sung them ?" " They made us sing them again ! " 
 " And did they ask nothing hut that ? " " No ! 
 what could they ask ? " And Beranger did not fail to 
 laugh at the young men of Peronne who had not 
 known how to take a kiss offered so graciously. 
 
 These verses, written at fifteen years of age in the 
 work room of the printer Laisnez, were, there is little 
 doubt, Beranger's fi.rst composition. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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