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That poor old pantaloon, Villemessant, the proprietor and editor of the Figaro, who is somewhat roughly handled by them, attempts to defend himself in his paper this morning, but utterly fails to do so.
Villemessant and Buloz, who will do all they can to be disagreeable to me. Villemessant reproaches me for not "having been killed by the Prussians." All that is nauseous! And you beg me not to notice human folly, and to deprive myself of the pleasure of depicting it! But the comic is the only consolation of virtue.
General Ambert has been cashiered. Figaro announces that Villemessant has returned. We are given a dozen paragraphs about this humbug of humbugs, his uniform, &c., &c. I do not think that he will be either killed or wounded. The latest telegram from the outer world announces that "Sir Campbell" médecin Anglais has arrived at Dieppe with despatches to the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and of Marine.
This method of calling attention to the merits of wares was a French one a sort of reclame introduced by Villemessant in his journal La Sylphide. Thus "Pickwick" was quite "up-to-date." After Jingle had gone off to Doctors Commons for his license, Sam renewed his efforts, "burnishing a pair of painted tops, worn by a farmer."
"Not a mere artist" writes M. de Villemessant, founder of the Figaro, "he has nevertheless been able to seize on those dramatic effects which have so much distinguished his theatrical career, and to give those sharp and distinct reproductions of character which alone can present to the reader the mind and spirit of an age.
"Not a mere artist" writes M. de Villemessant, founder of the Figaro, "he has nevertheless been able to seize on those dramatic effects which have so much distinguished his theatrical career, and to give those sharp and distinct reproductions of character which alone can present to the reader the mind and spirit of an age.
"Can any one tell me where Jules Favre has gone?" I asked. Nobody could, though everybody seemed to think that he had gone to the Prussian headquarters. After playing a few rubbers, I went home to bed at about one o'clock. The streets were absolutely deserted. All the cafés were shut. Nothing in the papers this morning. In the Figaro an article from that old humbug Villemessant.
Many people were anxious to try the scheme, but rival newspapers denounced it as being a means of acquainting the Prussians with everything which was occurring in Paris Villemessant, who they declared had taken bribes from the fallen Empire, being probably one of Bismarck's paid agents. Thus the enterprise speedily collapsed without even being put to the proof.
In the Figaro, Villemessant blunders through three columns over being again disappointed in his expectations of embracing his wife, and plaintively tells "William" that though he may not be anxious to see "his Augusta," this is no reason why he, Villemessant, should not be absolutely wild to see Madame. A more utter and complete collapse of all "heroism" I never did witness.
The founder and editor of that well-known journal Le Figaro, Hippolyte de Villemessant, as he called himself, though I believe that his real Christian name was Auguste, declared in his paper that he would willingly allow his veins to be opened in return for a few lines from his beloved and absent wife. Conjugal affection could scarcely have gone further.
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