"I have, however, a little quarrel on my own account with Monsieur Jules Claretie.  Nothing can be more brilliantly original than the introductory chapter of Monsieur le Ministre_.  Sulpice Vaudrey makes his first appearance behind the scenes of the Opera, and from the sides of the stage, in the stage boxes, opera-glasses are turned upon him, and he hears whispered:_

"’It is the new Minister of the Interior.’

"’Nonsense!  Monsieur Vaudrey?’

"’Yes, Monsieur Vaudrey—­’

"In short, the appearance of his Excellency creates a sensation, and it is against this statement that I protest.  I go frequently to the Opera, very frequently.  During the last ten years I have seen defile before me in the wings, at least fifty Ministers of State, all just freshly ground out.  Curiosity had brought them there and the desire to see the dancers at close quarters, and also the vague hope that by exhibiting themselves there in all their glory, they would create a sensation in this little world.

"Well, this hope of theirs was never realized.  Nobody took the trouble to look at them.  A minister nowadays is nobody of importance.  Formerly to rise to such a position, to take in hand the reins of one of the great departments, it was necessary to have a certain exterior, a certain prominence, something of a past—­to be a Monsieur Thiers, Monsieur Guizot, Monsieur Mole, Monsieur de Remusat, Monsieur Villemain, Monsieur Duchatel, Monsieur de Falloux or Monsieur de Broglie—­that is to say, an orator, an author, a historian, somebody in fact.  But nowadays, all that is necessary to be a minister is the votes of certain little combinations of groups and subsidiary groups, who all expect a share of the spoils.  Therefore we are ruled by certain personages illustrious perhaps at Gap or at Montelimar but who are quite unknown in the genealogical records of the Boulevard Haussmann.  Why should you imagine that public attention would be attracted by news like this:

"’Look!—­There is Monsieur X, or Monsieur Y, or Monsieur Z.’

"One person only during these last years ever succeeded in attracting the attention of the songstresses and ballet-girls of the Opera.  And that was Gambetta.  Ah! when he came to claim Monsieur Vaucorbeil’s hospitality, it was useless to crouch behind the cherry-colored silk curtains of the manager’s box, many glances were directed toward him, and many prowling curiosities were awakened in the vicinity of the manager’s box.  Little lassies of ten or twelve came and seized your hand, saying:

"’Please, monsieur, point out Monsieur Gambetta to me—­he is here—­I would so much like to see him.’

"And then Gambetta was pointed out to them during the entr’acte—­after which, delighted, they went off caracoling and pirouetting behind the scenes:

"’You did not see Monsieur Gambetta, but I saw him!’