With my inclinations already biased towards the theatre, I set myself to dissect, to relate and to put these historical scenes into dialogues from the _Histoire des ducs de Bourgoyne._ They were taken from one of the most dramatic periods of France, the reign of Charles VI.; they provided me with the dishevelled personage of the mad king, with the poetic figure of Odette, the imperious and licentious character of Isabel of Bavaria, the careless one of Louis d'Orléans, the terrible character of John of Burgundy, the pale and romantic one of Charles VII.; they gave me l'Ile-Adam and his sword, Tanneguy-Duchatel and his axe, the Sire de Giac and his horse, the Chevalier de Bois-Bourdon and his gold doublet and Perinet-Leclerc and his keys. But they offered me still more; I, who was already a creator of scenes, they provided with a well-known stage upon which to plan my characters, since the events all took place in the neighbourhood of Paris or in Paris itself. I began to compose my book, driving it before me as a labourer urges forward his plough, without knowing exactly what is going to happen. The result was _Isabeau de Bavière._ As fast as I finished these scenes, I took them to Buloz, who carried them to the printing office, and printed them, and, every fortnight, the subscribers read them. From that time there sprang up in my work my two chief qualities, those which will give a value to my books and to my theatrical works in the future; dialogue, which is the groundwork of drama; and the gift of narrative, which is the foundation of romance. These qualifications--you know how frankly and unguardedly I talk of myself--I have in a superior degree. At that period, I had not yet discovered two other qualities in myself, none the less important, which are derived from one another--gaiety and a lively imagination People are lighthearted because they are in good health, because they have a good digestion, because they have no reason for sadness. That is the cheerfulness of most people. But with me gaiety of heart is persistent, not the light-heartedness which shines through grief--all sorrow, on the contrary, finds me either full of compassion for others, or profoundly depressed with myself--but which shines through all the worries, material vexations and even lesser dangers of life. One has a lively imagination because one is lighthearted; but this imagination often evaporates like the flame of spirits or the foam on champagne. A merry man, spirited and animated of speech, is, at times, dull and morose when alone in front of his paper with pen in hand. Now work, on the contrary, excites me; directly I have a pen in my hand, reaction sets in; my most freakish fancies have often sprung out of my dullest days, like fiery lightnings out of a storm. But, as I have said, at this period of my youth, I did not recognise in myself either this imagination or this lightness of spirit.