B ALEXIS PIRON (1689-1773) ORN a hundred years later, he would have been an ideal journalist," says Saintsbury of Piron. The brilliant ill-natured satirist, who sneered at everything and everybody, was out of sympathy with his age. He was always on the alert for flaws in existing conditions. He was a revolutionist, despising classical platitudes, yet with no new creed to advance. Voltaire and his brother philosophers, as well as dead poets, were butts for his ridicule. A Alexis Piron, born at Dijon in 1689, was the son of the gentle Burgundian poet Aimé Piron, popular for his Noëls, or Christmas songs. From him Piron inherited a love of verse; and at an early age he deserted the profession of law for that of poetry. licentious ode, written when he was twenty, started him with an unfortunate reputation; and many years later incurred the heavy retribution of exclusion from the French Academy. Although immoral, the poem was witty. "If Piron wrote the famous ode," said Fontenelle, "he should be scolded but admitted. If he did not write it, he should be excluded." Others thought the reverse; and although he softened the disappointment with a pension, the King refused to sanction Piron's election. ALEXIS PIRON In 1819 Piron left Dijon for Paris, where he spent years as a hardworking playwright, sometimes in collaboration with Le Sage. An attempt was made to suppress the theatre, by forbidding dramatists to introduce more than one character on the stage at a time. His fellows despaired; but Piron's ingenuity was equal to the emergency, and he produced 'Arlequin Deukalion,' a lively monologue in three acts, which charmed all Paris. He also wrote many pot-boiling dramas, forgotten now; and he produced one masterpiece,- a five-act comedy, La Métromanie.' The self-delusions of a vain would-be poet, who is struggling for fame and also for academic prizes, is not an emotional theme. Yet the skillful intrigue and graceful malice of the verse give it permanent charm. 'La Métromanie' is still revived occasionally on the French stage, as a model of eighteenth-century wit. But Piron's name stands above all for epigram; for sharp retort and satiric witticism at the expense of the Academy, of Voltaire,— the man he envied and disliked,- and of nearly every one who fell in his way. Samples of these lighter, more spontaneous compositions are included in every collection of French bons mots. Crisp and subtle, most of them are too essentially French to be caught in English without a knowledge of the occasion which prompted them. An acquaintance who had written a poem full of plagiarisms insisted upon reading it to him. From time to time Piron took off his hat, until at last the poet demanded the reason. "It is my habit to greet acquaintances," said Piron. The Archbishop of Paris said graciously to him: "Have you read my last mandate, Monsieur Piron?" "Have you?" retorted Piron. One day the Abbé Desfontaines, seeing Piron richly dressed, exclaimed: "What a costume for such a man!” "What a man for the costume!" quickly answered the poet. This irrepressible wit constantly embroiled him with others. It was swift and direct, going straight to its target with a malicious twang. So in spite of lovable qualities, which came out best in his home life, this wittiest of Frenchmen made few friends, and lived in constant dissension with his fellow-writers. There is caustic bitterness in the epitaph he himself composed: - "Here lies Piron, who was nothing, Not even Academician!» FROM LA MÉTROMANIE> [Damis, a visionary young man devoted to writing verse, has escaped from his creditors in Paris, and under an assumed name is enjoying himself in the country, where Mondor, his valet, discovers and reasons with him.] M ONDOR [handing Damis a letter]-Ah! Thank Heaven, I've unearthed you at last! [Damis takes the letter and reads it to himself.] Monsieur, I've been hunting for you a whole week. I've been all over Paris a hundred times. I was afraid of the river; lest in your extravagant visions, hunting some rhyme and reading in the clouds, Pegasus with loose bridle should have boldly borne your Muse to the nets of Saint Cloud. Damis [aside, indicating the letter he has read]-Oh! Oh! Shall I, shall I? Here's what keeps me back. Mondor Listen, monsieur: my conscience, be careful! Some fine day Damis [interrupting]- Some fine day will you hold your tongue ? Mondor-As you please. Speech is free, anyway. Well, some one told me you might be here, but no one seemed to know you. I've been all over this great place, but if you hadn't appeared I'd have missed you again. Damis-This whole inclosure is swarming with my admirers. But didn't you ask for me by my family name? Mondor- Of course. How should I have asked? Damis-That is no longer my name. Mondor-You've changed it? Damis-Yes. For a week I've been imitating my confrères. They rarely distinguish themselves under their true names, and it is the common custom of such people to adopt or invent a new name. Mondor-Your name then is? Damis-De l'Empirée. And I'll vouch it shall live! Mondor-De l'Empirée ? Ah! As there is nothing under heaven to make your name longer, as you don't possess anything under the heavenly vault, you have nothing left but the name of the envelope. So your mind has become a great land-owner? Space is vast, so it has plenty of room. But when it ascends alone to its domain, will your body allow you to go too? Damis-Do you think that a man of my talents can rule his own course and dispose of himself? The destiny of people like me is like that of drawing-room belles: all the world wants. them. I allowed myself to be brought here to Monsieur Francalen's by an impudent fellow whom I scarcely know. He presents me, and, dupe of the household, I serve as passport to the puppy who protects me. They were still at table, and made room for us. I grew joyful, and so did we all. I became excited and took fire. Uttered lightnings and thunders. My flight was so rapid and prodigious that those who tried to follow me were lost in the heavens. Then the company with acclamations bestowed upon me the name which descending from Pindus shall enrich the archives. Mondor-And impoverish us both! Damis-Then a comfortable sumptuous carriage rolled me in a quarter of an hour to this delightful spot, where I laugh, sing, and drink; and all from complaisance! Mondor - From complaisance-so be it. But don't you know— Damis- Eh, what? Mondor - While you are sporting in the fields, Fortune in the city is a little jealous: Monsieur Balirois,— Damis [interrupting] - What? Mondor-Your uncle from Toulouse, Damis-Well? Mondor-Is at Paris. Damis Let him stay there! Mondor - Very well. Without thinking or wishing that you should know anything about it. Damis-Why do you tell me, then? Mondor-Ah! what indifference! Well, is nothing of any consequence to you any more? A rich old uncle upon whom your lot depends, who is continually repenting of the good he means to do you, who is trying to regulate your genius according to his own taste, who detests your devilish verses, and who has kept us for five good years, thank God, for you to study! You may expect some horrible storms! He is coming incognito to find out what you're about. Perhaps he has already discovered that in your soaring you have not taken any license yet except those he feared,— what you call in your rubrics poetical licenses. Dread his indignation, I tell you! You will be disinherited. That word ought to move you if you're not very hardened! Damis [calmly offering Mondor a paper]— Mondor, take these verses to the Mercury. Mondor [refusing the paper]—Fine fruits of my sermon! Mondor What? How much is this paper worth to us? Damis-Honor! Mondor [shaking his head]-Hum! honor! Damis-Do you think I'm telling fictions? Mondor-There's no honor in not paying one's debts; and with honor alone you pay them very ill. Damis-What a silly beast is an argumentative valet! Well, do what I tell you. Mondor-Now, not wishing to offend, you are a little too much at your ease, monsieur. You have all the pleasure, and I have all the annoyance. I have you and your creditors both on my back. I have to hear them and get rid of them. I'm tired of playing the comedy for you, of shielding you, of putting off till another day so as brazenly to borrow again. This way of living is repugnant to my honesty. I am tired of trying to deliver you from this barking crew. I give it up. I repent. I won't lie any more. Let them all come,- the bath-keeper, the merchant, the tailor, your landlord. Let them nose you out and pursue you. Get yourself out of it if you can; and let's see Damis [interrupting, and again holding out the paper] — You may get me the last Mercury. Do you hear? Mondor [still refusing the paper] — Will it suit you to have me come back with all the people I've just named? Mondor [taking a few steps toward the door]-Oh, well, they'll give you diversion. Damis And you that of seeing them overcome with joy. Mondor [coming back]- Will you pay them? Damis-Certainly. Mondor-With what money? Damis- Don't trouble yourself. Mondor [aside]- Heyday! Can he be in funds? Damis- Let us settle now how much we owe each other. Mondor [aside]-Zounds! he'd teach me to weigh my words! Damis-To the tutor? Mondor [in a gentler voice]—Thirty or forty pistoles. Damis-To the draper, the hair-dresser, the landlord? |