Part 2 (1/2)
”To Bourg, in Bresse.”
”What are you going to do there?”
”Study the neighborhood and consult with the inhabitants who saw Lepretre, Amiet, Guyon and Hyvert executed.”
There are two roads to Bourg--from Paris, of course; one may leave the train at Macon, and take stage from Macon to Bourg, or, continuing as far as Lyons, take train again from Lyons to Bourg.
I was hesitating between these two roads when one of the travellers who was temporarily occupying my compartment decided me. He was going to Bourg, where he frequently had business. He was going by way of Lyons; therefore, Lyons was the better way.
I resolved to travel by the same route. I slept at Lyons, and on the morrow by ten in the morning I was at Bourg.
A paper published in the second capital of the kingdom met my eye. It contained a spiteful article about me. Lyons has never forgiven me since 1833, I believe, some twenty-four years ago, for a.s.serting that it was not a literary city. Alas! I have in 1857 the same opinion of Lyons as I had in 1833. I do not easily change my opinion. There is another city in France that is almost as bitter against me as Lyons, that is Rouen.
Rouen has hissed all my plays, including Count Hermann.
One day a Neapolitan boasted to me that he had hissed Rossini and Malibran, ”The Barbiere” and ”Desdemona.”
”That must be true,” I answered him, ”for Rossini and Malibran on their side boast of having been hissed by Neapolitans.”
So I boast that the Rouenese have hissed me. Nevertheless, meeting a full-blooded Rouenese one day I resolved to discover why I had been hissed at Rouen. I like to understand these little things.
My Rouenese informed me: ”We hiss you because we are down on you.”
Why not? Rouen was down on Joan of Arc. Nevertheless it could not be for the same reason. I asked my Rouenese why he and his compatriots were ill-disposed to me; I had never said anything evil of apple sugar, I had treated M. Barbet with respect during his entire term as mayor, and, when a delegate from the Society of Letters at the unveiling of the statue of the great Corneille, I was the only one who thought to bow to him before beginning my speech. There was nothing in that which could have reasonably incurred the hatred of the Rouenese.
Therefore to this haughty reply, ”We hiss you because we have a grudge against you,” I asked humbly:
”But, great Heavens! why are you down on me?”
”Oh, you know very well,” replied my Rouenese.
”I?” I exclaimed.
”Yes, you.”
”Well, never mind; pretend I do not know.”
”You remember the dinner the city gave you, in connection with that statue of Corneille?”
”Perfectly. Were they annoyed because I did not return it?”
”No, it is not that.”
”What is it then?”
”Well, at that dinner they said to you: 'M. Dumas, you ought to write a play for Rouen based upon some subject taken from its own history.'”
”To which I replied: 'Nothing easier; I will come at your first summons and spend a fortnight in Rouen. You can suggest the subject, and during that fortnight I will write the play, the royalties of which I shall devote to the poor.'”