Balzac, Honoré de, 1799-1850; Novelists, French -- 19th century -- Biography
Balzac’s last play, “Le Faiseur,” was produced for the first time at
the Gymnase, a year after his death, under the title of “Mercadet.” Its
success was immediate, and its hundredth performance was the occasion
of an article by Albéric Second in “Le Constitutionnel,” 18 June, 1852,
which is at once so graceful and fantastic that its reproduction here
cannot fail to afford some pleasure to the readers of the “Comédie
Humaine:”—
The hundredth performance of “Mercadet” was given the other evening at
the Gymnase-Dramatique. “Mercadet” is, it will be remembered, the
posthumous piece of M. de Balzac, which at the time of its production
excited such great curiosity. Without any previous agreement, but none
the less certain of meeting, a dozen of us, all passionate admirers of
the illustrious deceased, found ourselves, that evening, intermingled
with the line which from six o’clock in the evening had been undulating
from the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle to the door of the theatre. We had
all assisted ten months before at the first representation of the play,
and we piously reassembled at this jubilee of glory and genius in the
same manner as we had gone the year before, and in the same manner that
each year we shall go, on the 18th of August, to wreathe with
immortelles the tomb of the great writer.
M. de Balzac was not one of those who inspire lukewarm affection, and
they who have had the honor of knowing him preserve his memory
religiously in their hearts. That life of his, full of struggles
incessantly renewed, the hourly and truceless combat which he waged,
sum up so completely the existence of the literary men of the
nineteenth century that it is impossible for us to consider his grand
and mournful figure otherwise than as the personification of an entire
class. It is for this reason that God, who is sovereignly just, will
accord to him hereafter a glory as great and incontestable as his life
was tormented and sad. It is for this reason that it behooves us, who
are the humble sacristans of the temple in which he was the radiant
high priest, to see that his altars are ever adorned with fresh flowers
and that the incense ceaselessly burns in the censers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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