The record-union., 1898-11-28
JEAN RlCHEP|N.
THE ECCENTRIC AUTHOR OF
LIE CHEMINEAU."
The Nomad's Instinct is in Riche-
pins Blood and Once
Ruled Him.

Was it not a Bishop who, meeting a
criminal on his way to Tyburn to be
hanged exclaimed: But for the grace
of God, here goes ''; mentioning
his own name. The prelate had been
the reverse of an exemplary character
in his early manhood, but had reformed
in time. lie Chemineau," who has no
other appellation in the play, is not a
criminal, he simply suffers from an in
vincible spirit of unrest. Jean Richie
pin was until very recently similarly
afflicted, and but for different edu-
cation and the grace of literature he
would have ended as ends the charac-
ter he has so powerfully portrayed.
1t would not have been Richepin's
fault, any more than it is the fault of
the irreclaimable but withal sympa-
thetic vagabond whose fortunes We are
to follow. tonight. The nomad's in
stinct is in Richepin's blood he inherit
ed it, though not in the first degree. His
parents We're sober, prosaic, stay-at-
home folks, and only too happy to re-
main under their own roof tree when
ever they could secure one, which was
not often, inasmuch as his father was
an army surgeon, and as such bound to
follow his regiment in it's frequent
change of quarters.
A single glance at Jean Richepin Suf-
fees to explain the irresistible craving
for change, for no man ever bore the
unmistakable stamp of his gypsy orr
gin on his face as he does. The swarthy
skin, the strongly marked features,
crowned by mass of semi-lustrous,
fuzzy hair absolve the genealogist from
all further inquiry in that respect, even
if the metallic but nevertheless me-
lodious voice, the Asiatic poise of the
figure, and, above all, the love of bright
colors. left doubt on the subject in
the genealogists mind.
/ remember as if it were yesterday
the effect of Richepin's gorgeous
plumage" on me. Even at the period OF
my first meeting withihim, the students
of the Latin Quarter had ceased to
make themselves conspicuous by eccen-
tricity of attire. There were still a
few who paid grudging and rare visits
to the barber, and a few more who, like
a certain head master of Elton, dress
ed, but didn't wash" Upon the whole,
though the brasseries where a friend
and | were spending part of the evening
offered little or no vestural variety, as
far as its male patrons went. Sudden
ly the door was flung open, and there
entered magnificent specimen Of man
hood, facially and bodily like warrior
figure from the antique Greek friezes.
A COMIC OPERA COSTUME.
His dress might have been designed
by the costumer of9the Opera Comique;
no other sartorial artist could have in
vented it. Theatrical as it; looked, ii be-
came its wearer admirably. His splen-
didly shaped lower limbs were cased in
tight fitting cashmere breeches and
patent leather hessians; the statuesque
head was covered with a grayish Tyro-
lese hat, adorned with crimson cord
and tassels the upper part of his fine
ly proportioned frame in a dazzingly
white shirt of soft material. it's collar
thrown back over al black velvet or vel
veteen jacket. The human athlete was.
accompanied by canine one, a colossal
Great Dane, as 1.-the and supple as his
master, and a comely young woman,
particularly trim and neat, who, how
ever passed unnoticed between the two.
Without being told, knew that this
was Jean Richepin. / had seen several
of his portraits five years previously,
when he made his first hit with La
Chanson des Gueux,'' which not only
led to fame, but also to prison-for one
calendar month. The poet came up to
our table and shook hands with my
friend, NJ. Leon Cadart, who, although
young, was then already the head of
the we'll known art publishers which
disappeared with him. Leon Cadart
was Richepin's junior only couple of
years, and had some knowledge of him
which was denied to me and also to 9TH
ers. His fathers establishment, which
devolved upon the son at the sire's
death, had been for long time the
daily resort of every one distinguished
in art and literature and their satel-
lites. I ceased to be a constant visi-
tor in the latter capacity almost ifnme
ditely after the war, when I took up
my quarters in London. My exit from
the pleasant scene of Paris life coin
cided with Jean Richepin's entrance
on it; that was the reason why we had
not met before that evening.
From our long conversation, which
was prolonged to the small hours, and
AlOii "Adl lcdIuSQ subsequently,,
fell justified in my belief that lie
Chemineau" is fragment of an auto
biography
Born under the burning sun of Africa,
christened by an erstwhile Zouave who
had become a priest, his certificate of
birth made out by staff Captain dis
charging the duties of departmental
register, the lad Richepin practically
led the life of a wild colt up to the
age of five, when his father, having
gone to the Crirnea, left his mother and
him in a modest lodging in the some
what unsavory quarter of Belleville.
then mere suburb of Paris, but then
as now hotbed of ever simmering Sc
dition and blatant demagogism It was
not an ideal home for a future poet
but such as it was the recollection of
the squalor and poverty witnessed there
stood him in good stead when he wrote
La Chanson des Gueux." For, while
not keeping aloof from his fellow ur-
chins, the lad did not neglect his les
sons, and, one feels sure, observed
keenly for his age. Then his father
returned from Russia, and the boy
accompanied him from one barracks
to another, apparently learning nothing
but to beat the drum in mastery
fashion. Apparently only; at sixteen
he stood first on the list of the Lycee
Napoleon, and the distinction gained
him scholarship at the Ecole Normale
NOT A PROMISING OUTFIT.
The literary, philosophical and Hath-
ematical baggage he brought gaway.
from that institution did not promise
to be fruitful in results. 1t only pro-
cured him an appointment as third or
fourth master in an obscure nrnyinciaI