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Everything in my youth seemed calculated to keep me far removed from romanticism. Those about me talked only of the great classics and I saw them welcome Ponsard's Lucrece as a sort of Minerva whose lance was to route Victor Hugo and his foul crew, of whom they never spoke save with detestation.
During the run of M. Ponsard's "Lucrece", I had the following dialogue with M. Viennet at a meeting of the Academy: M. VIENNET. Have you seen the "Lucrece" that is being played at the Odeon? M. VIENNET. It is very good. MYSELF. Really, is it good? M. VIENNET. It is more than good, it is fine. MYSELF. Really, is it fine? M. VIENNET. It is more than fine, it is magnificent.
George Sand's village novels, in contrast with her novels on Marriage. The popular tone and the landscape drawing here, which, for that matter, are all derived from Rousseau, lead on into a tranquil idyl. Works like Ponsard's Lucrece and Augier's Gabrielle show the reaction from Romanticism. In the tragedy it is Lucrece, in the modern play, Gabrielle, upon whom the action hinges.
Then it was I first beheld that extraordinary veteran of the stage, Mademoiselle Pierson, almost immemorially attached, for later generations, to the Théâtre Français, the span of whose career thus strikes me as fabulous, though she figured as a very juvenile beauty in the small féerie or allegory forming M. Ponsard's second act.
On his return to Paris he became organist of the Missions Étrangères, and for a time seriously thought of taking orders. In 1851, however, he brought out his first opera, "Sappho," which met with success. At this point his active career began. In 1852 he became conductor of the Orphéon, and wrote the choruses for Ponsard's tragedy of "Ulysse."
I was present at the Theatre Francais on the occasion of the unveiling of Ponsard's bust. To the Romanticists, Ponsard was nothing less than the ass's jawbone with which the Philistines attempted to slay Hugo.
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