CALL ME STENDHAL
It is a well known fact that everything written about the death of Henri Beyle, otherwise known as Stendhal, is invention. Even his cousin Romain Colomb tampered with the facts. Even Mérimée, his longstanding friend, distorted the truth to create a scandal.
There was however an eye witness to the event, Joseph Lingay. This former pupil of Fouché’s was the power behind the throne of the July monarchy and called himself the “most corrupt of corrupters”. He had total control over the secret funds of four ministers, and used those funds to the benefit of Gautier, Nerval and the young prostitutes whom Stendhal often shared with him. He was so powerful that he was about to send his companion in debauchery to join the ranks of the Académie française.
The two men were in fact coming out of a brothel on 22nd March 1842 when the writer collapsed and was almost run over in the streets of Paris. In the following hours and days, Lingay set about ensuring his legendary status with the help of Old Nick, the man who discovered The Charterhouse of Parma, the young Gobineau who was devoted to the cause of Mathilde de La Mole, and Balzac who was far from scrupulous whenever money was at stake.
In writing this book Gérard Guégan had access to Lingay’s secret notebooks which have always been thought lost. On the advice of Stendhal’s ghost (unless is was Nimier’s or Cendras’s), he has taken the liberty of getting up close and personal with history for this last waltz – the last waltz of romanticism. The women featured here (Alberthe, Jules, Monelle and Clémentine) are audacious and the men brilliant. That’s how it was in (almost) real life.
Gérard Guégan has written some thirty books, both novels and historical accounts, such as Fontenoy ne reviendra plus (2011) which won the prix Renaudot for an essay. He has also been managing editor for the reviews Contre-Champ, Subjectif and Cahiers du Futur. Having set up the publishing company Éditions Champ Libre he also relaunched Éditions du Sagittaire. He is an actor and film director, and has directed five films including the iconic Toutes les histoires de dragons ont un fond de vérité and 68/89.
Chacun le sait, tout ce qui s’est écrit sur la mort d’Henri Beyle, alias Stendhal, relève de l’invention. Même son cousin Romain Colomb a biseauté les cartes. Même Mérimée, ami de longue date, a cherché le scandale en déformant les faits.
L’événement a pourtant eu un témoin direct, Joseph Lingay. Éminence grise de la monarchie de Juillet, cet élève de Fouché, qui se disait « le plus corrompu des corrupteurs », régnait sur les fonds secrets de cinq ministères. Il en fit ainsi profiter Gautier, Nerval, Heine. Et, fort de son pouvoir, il était sur le point en mars 1842 d’envoyer à l’Académie son cher Stendhal, avec qui il avait partagé plus d’un plaisir.
Tous les deux, d’ailleurs, sortaient d’un bordel le soir où, foudroyé par l’apoplexie, l’écrivain manqua s’écraser sur le pavé parisien. Dans les heures, les jours suivants, Lingay s’employa à assurer sa légende, en s’aidant d’Old Nick, le découvreur de La Chartreuse, du jeune Gobineau, Ultra rallié à la cause de Mathilde de La Mole, et de Balzac, pas des plus rigoureux quand il y allait de l’argent.
Parce qu’il a pu consulter les carnets secrets de Lingay, réputés perdus, et un inédit de Gobineau connu du seul Aragon, Gérard Guégan s’est autorisé à tutoyer l’Histoire le temps d’une dernière valse. La dernière valse du romantisme. Les femmes y sont audacieuses et les hommes brillants.
C’est la vie. La vraie. La belle.
