"They are both landscapes, connected with episodes in Walter Scott's
novels. One represents the charge of Claverhouse in the Covenanters, and
the other the Army of Charles the Bold crossing the Alps. Come!" added
Scheffer, turning to me. "Be good-natured. If you have six hundred
francs, give them to me!"

I chanced to have the money, and gave it him. "What's your protege's
name?" asked I

"Theodore Rousseau." Fancy that great artist selling his pictures in
pairs, as furniture, in fact--for bread!

In 1836, too, on February 28, I was present at the first performance of
Les Huguenots, an opera which enchanted me. The action, the music, the
stage setting, the interpretation, made an ensemble that was unique, a
work of art that defied comparison. Nothing on the stage to my mind, has
ever surpassed the duet in the fourth act as created and sung by Nourrit
and Mlle. Falcon. Inspired by the musical and dramatic situation, these
two artists were completely carried away, and their emotion was as
infectious as it was apparent. Mlle. Falcon had a way of interrupting
her singing, to speak the words, "Raoul, ils te tueront!" with an
expression into which her whole soul was thrown, which was the very
embodiment of passion. Ah! Passion indeed! Passion it is that thrills in
every page of that admirable book of Merimee's, La Chronique de Charles
IX., which has given birth in succession to those two masterpieces, Le
Pre aux Clercs and Les Huguenots. And what indeed would life be without
passion? If Fieschi's crime marked the year 1835 with a crimson letter,
1836 was the year of Alibaud's attempt. The history of my father's reign
is nothing but an innumerable succession of such attempts, some of which