And
Philippe
read these words, written hastily by the King
himself:
«M.
himself:
«M.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v09 - Dra to Eme
“It takes a quarter of an hour to
get from here to the town, so it takes a quarter of an hour to
get from the town here. That is more than enough time for us
to arrange our plans. If we leave this, we shall never find such
a good position.
But I must first give Grimaud his
orders; and Athos made a sign to his servant.
Grimaud,” said he, pointing to the dead who were lying on
the bastion, you will take these gentlemen and prop them up
against the wall, and put their hats on their heads and their guns
in their hands. "
“Great man! ” ejaculated D'Artagnan; "I begin to see. '
« You do ? » asked Porthos.
"Do you understand, Grimaud ? ” said Aramis.
Grimaud nodded.
“Then we are all right,” said Athos.
«On guard! ” cried D'Artagnan. Look at those red and
black points moving down there! A regiment, did you call it,
Athos ? — it is a perfect army! ”
“My word, yes! ” said Athos, “there they come! How cunning
to beat neither drums nor trumpets. Are you ready, Grimaud ? ”
Grimaud silently nodded, and showed them a dozen dead men,
arranged skillfully in various attitudes, some porting arms, some
taking aim, others drawing their swords.
(
## p. 4991 (#159) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4991
« Well done! ” exclaimed Athos, “it does honor to your imagi-
nation. ”
“If it is all the same to you,” said Porthos, “I should like to
understand what is going on. ”
«Let us get away first,” replied D'Artagnan, and you will
understand after. ”
"One moinent, please! Give Grimaud time to clear away the
breakfast. ”
“Ah! ” said Aramis; "the red and black specks are becoming
more distinct, and I agree with D'Artagnan that we have no time
to lose before we regain the camp. ”
“Very well,” rejoined Athos, “I have nothing to say against
retreating. The wager was for an hour, and we have been here
an hour and a half. Let us be off at once. ”
The four comrades went out at the back, following Grimaud,
who had already departed with the basket.
"Oh! ” cried Athos, stopping suddenly, “what the devil is to
be done ? »
"Has anything been forgotten ? ” asked Aramis.
“Our flag, man, our flag! We can't leave our flag in the
enemy's hands, if it is nothing but a napkin. ” And Athos dashed
again into the bastion, and bore away the flag unhurt, amid a
volley of balls from the Rochellois.
He waved his flag, while turning his back on the troops of
the town, and saluting those of the camp. From both sides arose
great cries, of anger on the one hand and enthusiasm on the
other, and the napkin, pierced with three bullet-holes, was in
truth transformed into a flag. “Come down, come down! they
shouted from the camp.
Athos came down, and his friends, who had awaited him
anxiously, received him with joy.
"Be quick, Athos,” said D'Artagnan; “now that we have got
everything but money, it would be stupid to get killed. ”
But Athos would not hurry himself, and they had to keep
pace with him.
By this time Grimaud and his basket were well beyond bullet
range, while in the distance the sounds of rapid firing might be
heard.
“What are they doing? ” asked Porthos; «what are they
firing at? ”
“At our dead men,” replied Athos.
## p. 4992 (#160) ###########################################
4992
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
"But they don't fire back. ”
“Exactly so; therefore the enemy will come to the conclusion
that there is an ambuscade. They will hold a council, and send
an envoy with a flag of truce, and when they at last find out the
joke, we shall be out of reach. So it is no use getting apoplexy
by racing. ”
“Oh, I understand,” said Porthos, full of astonishment.
« That is a mercy! ” replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders, as
they approached the camp, which was watching their progress in
a ferment of admiration.
This time a new fusillade was begun, and the balls whistled
close to the heads of the four victors and fell about their ears.
The Rochellois had entered the bastion.
“What bad shooting! ” said D'Artagnan. "How many was it
we killed ? Twelve ? ”
« Twelve or fifteen. ”
“And how many did we crush ? ”
"Eight or ten. ”
“And not a scratch to show for it. ”
“Ah, what is that on your hand, D'Artagnan ? It looks to me
like blood. ”
« It's nothing,” replied D'Artagnan.
"A spent ball ? ”
“Not even that. ”
“But what is it, then ? ” As we have said, the silent and reso-
lute Athos loved D'Artagnan like his own son, and showed every
now and then all the anxiety of a father.
« The skin is rubbed off, that is all,” said D'Artagnan. “My
fingers were caught between two stones the stone of the wall
and the stone of my ring. ”
« That is what comes of having diamonds,” remarked Athos
disdainfully.
“Here we are at the camp, and they are coming to meet us
and bring us in triumphantly. ”
And he only spoke the truth, for the whole camp was in a
turmoil. More than two thousand people had gazed, as at a play,
at the lucky bit of braggadocio of the four friends,— braggadocio
of which they were far from suspecting the real motive. The
cry of “Long live the musketeers," resounded on all sides, and
M. De Busigny was the first to hold out his hand to Athos and
to declare that he had lost his wager. The dragoon and the
## p. 4993 (#161) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4993
Swiss had followed him, and all the others had followed the
dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but congratulations,
hand-shakings, embraces; and the tumult became so great that
the Cardinal thought there must be a revolt, and sent La Hou-
dinière, his captain of guards, to find out what was the matter.
« Well ? » asked the Cardinal, as his messenger returned.
“Well, monseigneur,” replied La Houdinière, it is about
three musketeers and a guardsman who made a bet with M. De
Busigny to go and breakfast at the Bastion Saint-Gervais, and
while breakfasting, held it for two hours against the enemy, and
killed I don't know how many Rochellois. ”
«You asked the names of these gentlemen ? ”
“Yes, monseigneur. ”
«What are they? ”
"Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. ”
"Always my three heroes,” murmured the Cardinal. “And
the guardsman ? ”
«M. D'Artagnan. ”
Always my young rogue! I must gain over these men. ”
And the same evening, the Cardinal had a conversation with
M. De Treville about the morning's exploit, with which the whole
camp was still ringing. M. De Treville, who had heard it all
at first hand, gave his Eminence all the details, not forgetting
the episode of the napkin.
“Very good, M. De Treville,” said the Cardinal; “but you
must get me that napkin, and I will have three golden lilies em-
broidered on it, and give as a banner to your company. "
"Monseigneur," replied M. De Treville, «that would be an
injustice to the guards. M. D'Artagnan does not belong to me,
but to M. Des Essarts. ”
« Then you must take him," said the Cardinal. “As these
four brave soldiers love each other so much, they ought certainly
to be in the same regiment. ”
That evening M. De Treville announced the good news to the
three musketeers and to D'Artagnan, and invited them all to
breakfast the following day.
D'Artagnan was nearly beside himself with joy. As we know,
it had been the dream of his life to be a musketeer.
IX-313
## p. 4994 (#162) ###########################################
4994
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
From «The Viscount of Bragelonne)
[Dumas adopts the theory that the Man in the Iron Mask was the sup
pressed twin brother of Louis XIV. ]
*W**
HAT is all this noise ? ” asked Philippe, turning towards
the door of the concealed staircase. And as he spoke
a voice was heard saying, “This way, this way.
Still a
few steps, sire. "
“It is M. Fouquet's voice,” said D'Artagnan, who was stand-
ing near the Queen Mother.
“Then M. D'Herblay will not be far off,” added Philippe;
but little did he expect to see the person who actually entered.
All eyes were riveted on the door, from which the voice of
M. Fouquet proceeded; but it was not he who came through.
A cry of anguish rang through the room, breaking forth
simultaneously from the King and the spectators, and surely
never had been seen a stranger sight.
The shutters were half closed, and only a feeble light strug-
gled through the velvet curtains, with their thick silk linings,
and the eyes of the courtiers had to get accustomed to the dark-
ness before they could distinguish between the surrounding ob-
jects. But once discerned, they stood out as clear as day.
So, looking up, they saw Louis XIV. in the doorway of the
private stair, his face pale and his brows bent; and behind him
stood Fouquet.
The Queen Mother, whose hand held that of Philippe, uttered
a shriek at the sight, thinking that she beheld a ghost.
Monsieur staggered for a moment and turned away his head,
looking from the King who was facing him to the King who was
by his side.
Madame on the contrary stepped forward, thinking it must
be her brother-in-law reflected in a mirror. And indeed, this
seemed the only rational explanation of the double image.
Both young men, agitated and trembling, clenching their
hands, darting flames of fury from their eyes, dumb, breathless,
ready to spring at each other's throats, resembled each other so
exactly in feature, figure, and even, by pure accident, in dress,
that Anne of Austria herself stood confounded. For as yet the
truth had not dawned on her. There are some torments that we
## p. 4995 (#163) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4995
all instinctively reject. It is easier far to accept the supernatu-
ral, the impossible.
That he should encounter such obstacles had never for one
moment occurred to Louis. He imagined he had only to show
himself, for the world to fall at his feet. The Sun-king could
have no rival; and where his rays did not fall, there must be
darkness -
As to Fouquet, who could describe his bewilderment at the
sight of the living portrait of his master? Then he thought
that Aramis was right, and that the new-comer was every whit
as much a king as his double, and that after all, perhaps he
had made a mistake when he had declined to share in the coup
d'état so cleverly plotted by the General of the Jesuits.
And then, it was equally the blood royal of Louis XIII, that
Fouquet had determined to sacrifice to blood in all respects iden-
tical; a' noble ambition, to one that was selfish. And it was the
mere aspect of the pretender which showed him all these things.
D'Artagnan, leaning against the wall and facing Fouquet, was
debating in his own mind the key to this wonderful riddle. He
felt instinctively, though he could not have told why, that in
the meeting of the two Louis XIV. s lay the explanation of all
that had seemed suspicious in the conduct of Aramis during the
last few days.
Suddenly Louis XIV. , by nature the most impatient of the
two young men, and with the habit of command that was the
result of training, strode across the room and flung open one of
the shutters. The flood of light that streamed through the win-
dow caused Philippe involuntarily to recoil, and to step back
into the shelter of an alcove.
The movement struck Louis, and turning to the Queen he said:
Mother, do you not know your own son, although every one
else has denied his King ? ”
Anne trembled at his voice and raised her arms to heaven,
but could not utter a single word.
« Mother,” retorted Philippe in his quietest tones,“ do you
not know your own son ? ”
And this time it was Louis who stepped back.
As for Anne, pierced to the heart with grief and remorse,
she could bear it no longer. She staggered where she stood, and
unaided by her attendants, who seemed turned into stone, she
sank down on a sofa with a sigh.
CC
## p. 4996 (#164) ###########################################
4996
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
This spectacle was too much for Louis. He rushed to D'Ar-
tagnan, whose brain was going round with bewilderment, and who
clung to the door as his last hope.
“To me, musketeer! Look us both in the face, and see
which is the paler, he or I. ”
The cry awoke D'Artagnan from his stupor, and struck the
chord of obedience strong in the bosom of every soldier. He
lifted his head, and striding straight up to Philippe laid his hand
on his shoulder, saying quietly:-
"Monsieur, you are my prisoner. "
Philippe remained absolutely still, as if nailed to the floor,
his eyes fixed despairingly on the King who was his brother.
His silence reproached him as no words could have done, with
the bitterness of the past and the tortures of the future.
And the King understood, and his soul sank within him. His
eyes fell, and drawing his brother and sister-in-law with him, he
hastily quitted the room; forgetting in his agitation even his
mother, lying motionless on the couch beside him, not three
paces from the son whom for the second time she was allowing
to be condemned to a death in life.
Philippe drew near to her, and said softly:-
“If you had not been my mother, madame, I must have
cursed you for the misery you have caused me. ”
D'Artagnan overheard, and a shiver of pity passed through
him. He bowed respectfully to the young prince, and said:-
“Forgive me, monseigneur; I am only a soldier, and my faith
is due to him who has left us. ”
“Thank you, M. D'Artagnan. But what has become of M.
D'Herblay ? ”
“M. D’Herblay is safe, monseigneur,” answered a voice behind
them; "and while I am alive and free, not a hair of his head
shall be hurt. ”
“M. Fouquet! ” said the prince, smiling sadly.
“Forgive me, monseigneur,” cried Fouquet, falling on his
knees; but he who has left the room was my guest. ”
«Ah! ” murmured Philippe to himself with a sigh, "you are
loyal friends and true hearts. You make me regret the world I
am leaving. M. D'Artagnan, I will follow you. ”
As he spoke, Colbert entered and handed to the captain of
the musketeers an order from the King; then bowed, and went
out.
## p. 4997 (#165) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4997
D'Artagnan glanced at the paper, and in a sudden burst of
wrath crumpled it in his hand.
“What is the matter ? ” asked the prince.
“Read it, monseigneur,” answered the musketeer.
And Philippe read these words, written hastily by the King
himself:
«M. D'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Îles Sainte-
Marguerite. He will see that his face is covered with an iron
mask, which must never be lifted on pain of death. ”
«It is just,” said Philippe; “I am ready. ”
“Aramis was right,” whispered Fouquet to D'Artagnan, “this
is as good a king as the other. ”
"Better," replied D'Artagnan; "he only needed you and me. ”
A TRICK IS PLAYED ON HENRY III. BY AID OF CHICOT
From "The Lady of Monsoreau)
T.
He King and Chicot remained quiet and silent for the next
ten minutes. Then suddenly the King sat up, and the
noise he made roused Chicot, who was just dropping off to
sleep.
The two looked at each other with sparkling eyes.
< What is it? » asked Chicot in a low voice.
“Do you hear that sighing sound ? ” replied the King in a
lower voice still. « Listen! »
As he spoke, one of the wax candles in the hand of the
golden satyr went out; then a second, then a third. After a
moment, the fourth went out also.
Oh, oh! ” cried Chicot, “that is more than a sighing sound. ”
But he had hardly uttered the last word when in its turn the
lamp was extinguished, and the room was in darkness, save for
the flickering glow of the dying embers.
“Look out! » exclaimed Chicot, jumping up.
«He is going to speak," said the King, shrinking back into
his bed.
« Then listen and let us hear what he says,” replied Chicot,
and at the same instant a voice which sounded at once both
piercing and hollow, proceeded from the space between the bed
and the wall.
(c
## p. 4998 (#166) ###########################################
4998
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
“Hardened sinner, are you there? ”
“Yes, yes, Lord,” gasped Henri with chattering teeth.
“Dear me! ” remarked Chicot, “that is a very hoarse voice
to have come from heaven! I feel dreadfully frightened; but
never mind! »
“Do you hear me ? » asked the voice.
“Yes, Lord,” stammered Henri; and I bow before your
anger. ”
“Do you think you are carrying out my will by performing
all the mummeries you have taken part in to-day, while your
heart is full of the things of this world?
“Well said! ” cried Chicot; "you touched him there! ”
The King's hands shook as he clasped them, and Chicot went
up to him.
“Well, murmured Henri, “are you convinced now? ”
“Wait a bit,” answered Chicot.
“What do you want more ? ”
“ Hush! listen to me. Creep softly out of bed, and let me
take your place.
“Why? ”
"Because then the anger of the Lord will fall first upon me. ”
And do you think I shall escape ? ”
“We will try, anyway;” and with affectionate persistence he
pushed the King out of bed, and took his place.
"Now, Henri,” he said, "go and lie on my sofa, and leave all
to me. ”
Henri obeyed; he began to understand Chicot's plan.
“You are silent, continued the voice, “which proves that
your heart is hardened. ”
"Oh, pardon, pardon, Lord! ” exclaimed Chicot, imitating the
King's nasal twang. Then, stretching himself out of bed, ne
whispered to the King, "It is very odd, but the heavenly voice
does not seem to know that it is Chicot who is speaking. ”
“Oh! ” replied Henri, “what do you suppose is the meaning
of that? »
“Don't be in a hurry; plenty of strange things will happen
((
yet! ”
"Miserable creature that you are! ” went on the voice.
“Yes, Lord, yes! ” answered Chicot. “I am a horrible sinner,
hardened in crime. ”
« Then confess your sins, and repent. ”
## p. 4999 (#167) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4999
“I acknowledge,” said Chicot, "that I dealt wickedly by my
cousin Condé, whose wife I betrayed; and I repent bitterly. ”
“What is that you are saying? ” cried the King. « There
is no good in mentioning that. It has all been forgotten long
ago. ”
« Oh, has it ? ” replied Chicot; "then we will pass on to some-
thing else. ”
Answer,” said the voice.
"I acknowledge,” said the false Henri, that I behaved like a
thief toward the Poles, who had elected me their king, in steal-
ing away to France one fine night, carrying with me all the
crown jewels; and I repent bitterly. ”
“Idiot! ” exclaimed Henri, “what are you talking about now?
Nobody remembers anything about that. ”
“Let me alone,” answered Chicot, “I must go on pretending
to be the King. ”
“Speak,” said the voice.
“I acknowledge, continued Chicot, «that I snatched the
throne from my brother D'Alençon, who was the rightful heir,
since I had formally renounced my claims when I was elected
King of Poland; I repent bitterly. ”
« Rascal! » cried the King.
“There is yet something more,” said the voice.
"I acknowledge to have plotted with my excellent mother,
Catherine de' Medicis, to hunt from France my brother-in-law
the King of Navarre, after first destroying all his friends, and
my sister Queen Marguerite, after first destroying all her lovers;
and I repent bitterly. ”
"Scoundrel! Cease! ” muttered the King, his teeth clenched
in anger.
“Sire, it is no use trying to hide what Providence knows as
well as we do. ”
« There is a crime unconfessed that has nothing to do with
politics,” said the voice.
“Ah, now we are getting to it,” observed Chicot dolefully; «it
is about my conduct, I suppose ? ”
"It is,” answered the voice.
"I cannot deny,” continued Chicot, always speaking in the
name of the King, “that I am very effeminate, very lazy; a
hopeless trifler, an incorrigible hypocrite. ”
“It is true," said the voice.
## p. 5000 (#168) ###########################################
5000
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
“I have behaved ill to all women, to my own wife in par-
ticular; and such a good wife too. "
"A man should love his wife as himself, and above all the
world,” cried the voice angrily.
"Oh dear! ” wailed Chicot in despairing tones; "then I cer-
tainly have sinned terribly. ”
"And by your example you have caused others to sin. ”
« That is true, sadly true. ”
«You very nearly sent that poor Saint-Luc to perdition. ”
“Bah! ” said Chicot, "are you sure I did not send him there
quite ? »
«No; but such a fate may befall both of you if you do not
let him go back to his family at break of day. ”
“Dear me! ” said Chicot to the King, “the voice seems to
take a great interest in the house of Cossé. ”
"If you disobey me, you will suffer the same torments as
Sardanapalus, Nabuchodnosor, and the Marshal De Retz. ”
Henry III. gave a loud groan; at this threat he became more
frightened than ever.
"I am lost,” he ejaculated wildly; "I am lost. That voice
from on high will be my death-warrant. ”
## p. 5001 (#169) ###########################################
5001
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
(1824-1895)
BY FRANCISQUE SARCEY
MS
E SHALL not say much about the life of Alexandre Dumas the
younger. The history of a great writer is the history of his
works. He was born in Paris, on July 27th, 1824. His name
on the register of births appears as “Alexandre, son of Marie Cath-
erine Lebay, seamstress. ” He was not acknowledged by his father
until he had reached his sixth year, March 7th, 1830. I emphasize
this particular because it had great influence on the bent of his
genius. During all his life Dumas was haunted by a desire of re-
habilitating illegitimate children, of creating a reaction against their
treatment by the Civil Code and the prejudice which makes of them
something little better than outcasts in society.
«When seven years old,” he himself says, “I entered as a boarder
the school of Monsieur Vauthier, on Rue Montagne Saint-Geneviève.
Thence I passed, about two years later, to the Saint-Victor School;
the principal was Monsieur Goubaux, a friend of my father, with
whom he collaborated under the nom de plume of Dinaux. This
school, which numbered two hundred and fifty boarding pupils, and
with the rather strange habits which I tried to depict in (The Clém-
enceau Case,' occupied all the ground covered to-day by the Casino
de Paris and the Pôle-Nord' establishment. When about fifteen I left
the Saint-Victor School for Monsieur Hénon's school, which was situ-
ated in the Rue de Courcelles and has now disappeared. It is in the
Collège Bourbon (now the Lycée Condorcet) that I received all my
instruction, as the pupils of the two schools where I lived attended
the college classes. I never belonged to any of the higher State
schools,- I have not even the degree of bachelor. ”
At the end of his years of study he returned to his father. He
did not stay there more than six months. The rather tumultuous life
which he saw in the house disturbed his proud mind, already filled
with serious yearnings.
“You have debts, his father said to him. « Do as I do: work,
and you will pay them. ”
Such was indeed the young man's intention. His first work was a
one-act play in verse, "The Queen's Jewel,' which no one, assuredly,
## p. 5002 (#170) ###########################################
5002
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
would mention to-day but for his signature. The date was 1845, and
the author was then twenty-one. Other works by him were published
at various times in the Journal des Demoiselles.
“I was,” he has said, “the careless, lazy, and spoilt child of all
my father's friends. I believed in the eternity of youth, of strength,
of joy. I spent the whole day laughing, the whole night sleeping,
unless I had some reason for writing verses. ”
About 1846 he set resolutely to work. He turned to novel-writing,
which seemed to him to offer greater facilities for reaching the
public and greater chances of immediate income than dramatic com-
position. Only two of his novels have survived: La Dame aux
Camélias' (Camille: 1848), because from this book came the immor-
tal drama by the same title; and (The Clémenceau Case,' because the
author wrote it when he was in complete possession of his talent,
and because moreover it is a first-rate work.
It was in 1852 that the Vaudeville Theatre gave the first perform-
ance of Camille,' the fortune of which was to be so extraordinary.
For two or three years the play had been tossed from theatre to
theatre. Nobody wanted it. To the ideas of the time it seemed
simply shocking, and the play was still forbidden in London after its
performances in France were numbered by the hundreds.
There is this special trait in Camille '- it was a work all instinct
with the spirit of youth. Dumas twenty years later sadly said:
“I might perhaps make another Demi-Monde'; I could not make
another Camille. ) » There existed, indeed, other works which have
all the fire and charm of the twentieth year. Polyeucte) is Cor-
neille's masterpiece; his Cid breathes the spirit of youth : Corneille
at forty could not have written the Cid. ' Racine's first play is
(Andromaque': Beaumarchais's is the Barber of Seville'; Rossini,
when young, enlivened it with his light and sparkling airs. Fifteen
years later he himself wrote his William Tell,' a higher work, but a
work which was not young.
If the theatrical managers had recoiled from Camille ' in spite of
the great names that recommended it, it is because it was cut after
a pattern to which neither they nor the public were accustomed; it
is because it contained the germ. of a whole dramatic revolution.
Now, the author was not a theatrical revolutionist. He had not said
to himself, “I am going to throw down the old fabric of the drama,
and erect a new one on its ruins. ” To tell the truth, he had no
idea of what he was doing. He had witnessed a love drama. He
had thrown it still throbbing upon the stage, without any regard for
the dramatic conventions which were then imposed upon playwrights,
and which were almost accepted as laws. He had simply depicted
what he had seen. All the managers, attached as they were to the
## p. 5003 (#171) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5003
old customs, and respectful of the traditions, had trembled with hor-
ror when they saw moving around Camille the ignoble Prudence, the
idiotic Duc de Varville, the silly Saint-Gaudens. But the public —
though the fact was suspected neither by them nor by the public
itself-yearned for more truth upon the boards. When Camille )
was presented to them, the play-goers uttered a cry of astonishment
and joy: that was the thing! that was just what they wanted !
From that day, which will remain as a date in the history of the
French stage, the part of Camille has been performed by all the
celebrated actresses. The part has two sides: one may see in it a
degraded woman who has fallen profoundly in love, rather late in
life; one may also see in it a woman, already poetical in her own
nature, suddenly carried away by a great passion into the sacred
regions of the Ideal.
Almost any young man in Dumas's place would have lost his head
after so astounding a success, and might not have resisted the temp-
tation of at once working out the vein. For on coming out of the
theatre after the first performance, the author had all the managers
at his feet, and the smallest trifle was sure to be accepted if it only
had his signature. But he had learned, by the side of “a prodigal
father,” the art of husbanding his talent. He declined to front the
footlights again, save with a work upon which he had been able to
bestow all the care and labor it deserved: he waited a year before
he gave, at the Gymnase theatre, Diane de Lys. ?
Diane de Lys' undoubtedly pleased the public, but its success was
not exactly brilliant. It is full of great qualities, it is strongly con-
ceived, constructed with rare power and logic, but it added nothing
to his reputation. The play as a whole seemed long and melancholy.
It is a curious subject for critical study, as one of the stages in which
the genius of the author stopped awhile, on its way to higher works.
It will leave no great trace in his career.
Two years later he gave at the Gymnase theatre – I do not dare
to say his masterpiece, but certainly the best constructed and most
enjoyable play he ever wrote, “Le Demi-Monde) (The Other Half-
World). In this play he discovered and defined the very peculiar
world of those women who live on the margin of regular “society,”
and try to preserve its tone and demeanor. What scientific and
strong construction are here! What an admirable disposition of the
scenes, both fexible and logical! And through the action, which
moves on with wonderful straightforwardness and breadth, how many
portraits, drawn with a steady hand, each one bearing such distinctive
features that you would know them if you met them on the street!
Olivier de Jalin, the refined Parisian, the dialectician of the play,
who is no other than Dumas himself; Raymond de Nanjac, handsome
## p. 5004 (#172) ###########################################
5004
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
and honest, but not keen or Parisian; and that giddy Valentine de
Sanctis, whose head turns with the wind, whose tongue cannot rest
one moment; and especially Suzanne d'Ange, so witty, so complex, so
devious in her motions, so roublarde, as a Parisian of to-day would say.
Between The Demi-Monde,' and La Question d'Argent' (The
Money Question), which followed, Dumas spent two years at work.
La Question d'Argent' is a favorite play with the connoisseurs; but
its reception by the public was of the coldest. It is a noteworthy
fact that plays turning upon money have never been successful.
Le Sage's (Turcaret' is a dramatic masterpiece: it never had the
luck to please the crowd. Dumas's Jean Giraud is, however, a very
curiously studied character. The author has represented in him the
commonest type of the shady money-man, the unconscious rascal.
And very skillfully he made an individual out of that general type,
by giving to Jean Giraud a certain rough good-nature; the appear-
ance of a good fellow, with a certain degree of fineness; a mixture
of humility and self-conceit, of awkwardness and impudence, and
even some ideas as to the power of money that do not lack dig-
nity, and some real liberality of sentiment and act,— for wealth alone,
though acquired by ignominious means, suggests and dictates to the
great robbers, some advantageous movements which the small rascal
cannot indulge in: and around this Turcaret of the Second Empire
how many pictures of honest people, every one of whom, in his or
her way, is good and fine!
One year later Dumas carried to the Gymnase, his favorite theatre,
(Le Fils Naturel' (The Natural Son); and the next year Un Père
Prodigue' (A Prodigal Father; known also in English through a free
adaptation as My Awful Dad').
In “Le Fils Naturel’ Dumas for the first time wrote a theme-play,
a kind of work in which he was to become a master. Hitherto we
have seen him drawing pictures of manners. To be sure, philosoph-
ical considerations on the period depicted are not wanting, but the
play has not the form and does not assume the movement of a thesis.
It does not take up one special trait of our social order, one of our
worldly prejudices, in order to show its strong and weak sides. Le
Fils Naturel’ is the work of a moralist as well as of a playwright; or
rather, it is the work of a playwright who was a born moralist.
l'n Père Prodigue' originally excited great curiosity. It escaped
no one that in his Count Fernand de la Rivonnière, Dumas had shown
us some traits of his illustrious father, who had been a prodigal father;
and that he had depicted himself in Viscount André. Every one made
comparisons; some, of course, accused the author of filial disrespect.
The accusation was ridiculous, and he did not even answer it. He
had so well disguised the persons, he had transported them into such
## p. 5005 (#173) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5005
different surroundings, that no one could recognize in them their
true prototypes.
get from here to the town, so it takes a quarter of an hour to
get from the town here. That is more than enough time for us
to arrange our plans. If we leave this, we shall never find such
a good position.
But I must first give Grimaud his
orders; and Athos made a sign to his servant.
Grimaud,” said he, pointing to the dead who were lying on
the bastion, you will take these gentlemen and prop them up
against the wall, and put their hats on their heads and their guns
in their hands. "
“Great man! ” ejaculated D'Artagnan; "I begin to see. '
« You do ? » asked Porthos.
"Do you understand, Grimaud ? ” said Aramis.
Grimaud nodded.
“Then we are all right,” said Athos.
«On guard! ” cried D'Artagnan. Look at those red and
black points moving down there! A regiment, did you call it,
Athos ? — it is a perfect army! ”
“My word, yes! ” said Athos, “there they come! How cunning
to beat neither drums nor trumpets. Are you ready, Grimaud ? ”
Grimaud silently nodded, and showed them a dozen dead men,
arranged skillfully in various attitudes, some porting arms, some
taking aim, others drawing their swords.
(
## p. 4991 (#159) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4991
« Well done! ” exclaimed Athos, “it does honor to your imagi-
nation. ”
“If it is all the same to you,” said Porthos, “I should like to
understand what is going on. ”
«Let us get away first,” replied D'Artagnan, and you will
understand after. ”
"One moinent, please! Give Grimaud time to clear away the
breakfast. ”
“Ah! ” said Aramis; "the red and black specks are becoming
more distinct, and I agree with D'Artagnan that we have no time
to lose before we regain the camp. ”
“Very well,” rejoined Athos, “I have nothing to say against
retreating. The wager was for an hour, and we have been here
an hour and a half. Let us be off at once. ”
The four comrades went out at the back, following Grimaud,
who had already departed with the basket.
"Oh! ” cried Athos, stopping suddenly, “what the devil is to
be done ? »
"Has anything been forgotten ? ” asked Aramis.
“Our flag, man, our flag! We can't leave our flag in the
enemy's hands, if it is nothing but a napkin. ” And Athos dashed
again into the bastion, and bore away the flag unhurt, amid a
volley of balls from the Rochellois.
He waved his flag, while turning his back on the troops of
the town, and saluting those of the camp. From both sides arose
great cries, of anger on the one hand and enthusiasm on the
other, and the napkin, pierced with three bullet-holes, was in
truth transformed into a flag. “Come down, come down! they
shouted from the camp.
Athos came down, and his friends, who had awaited him
anxiously, received him with joy.
"Be quick, Athos,” said D'Artagnan; “now that we have got
everything but money, it would be stupid to get killed. ”
But Athos would not hurry himself, and they had to keep
pace with him.
By this time Grimaud and his basket were well beyond bullet
range, while in the distance the sounds of rapid firing might be
heard.
“What are they doing? ” asked Porthos; «what are they
firing at? ”
“At our dead men,” replied Athos.
## p. 4992 (#160) ###########################################
4992
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
"But they don't fire back. ”
“Exactly so; therefore the enemy will come to the conclusion
that there is an ambuscade. They will hold a council, and send
an envoy with a flag of truce, and when they at last find out the
joke, we shall be out of reach. So it is no use getting apoplexy
by racing. ”
“Oh, I understand,” said Porthos, full of astonishment.
« That is a mercy! ” replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders, as
they approached the camp, which was watching their progress in
a ferment of admiration.
This time a new fusillade was begun, and the balls whistled
close to the heads of the four victors and fell about their ears.
The Rochellois had entered the bastion.
“What bad shooting! ” said D'Artagnan. "How many was it
we killed ? Twelve ? ”
« Twelve or fifteen. ”
“And how many did we crush ? ”
"Eight or ten. ”
“And not a scratch to show for it. ”
“Ah, what is that on your hand, D'Artagnan ? It looks to me
like blood. ”
« It's nothing,” replied D'Artagnan.
"A spent ball ? ”
“Not even that. ”
“But what is it, then ? ” As we have said, the silent and reso-
lute Athos loved D'Artagnan like his own son, and showed every
now and then all the anxiety of a father.
« The skin is rubbed off, that is all,” said D'Artagnan. “My
fingers were caught between two stones the stone of the wall
and the stone of my ring. ”
« That is what comes of having diamonds,” remarked Athos
disdainfully.
“Here we are at the camp, and they are coming to meet us
and bring us in triumphantly. ”
And he only spoke the truth, for the whole camp was in a
turmoil. More than two thousand people had gazed, as at a play,
at the lucky bit of braggadocio of the four friends,— braggadocio
of which they were far from suspecting the real motive. The
cry of “Long live the musketeers," resounded on all sides, and
M. De Busigny was the first to hold out his hand to Athos and
to declare that he had lost his wager. The dragoon and the
## p. 4993 (#161) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4993
Swiss had followed him, and all the others had followed the
dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but congratulations,
hand-shakings, embraces; and the tumult became so great that
the Cardinal thought there must be a revolt, and sent La Hou-
dinière, his captain of guards, to find out what was the matter.
« Well ? » asked the Cardinal, as his messenger returned.
“Well, monseigneur,” replied La Houdinière, it is about
three musketeers and a guardsman who made a bet with M. De
Busigny to go and breakfast at the Bastion Saint-Gervais, and
while breakfasting, held it for two hours against the enemy, and
killed I don't know how many Rochellois. ”
«You asked the names of these gentlemen ? ”
“Yes, monseigneur. ”
«What are they? ”
"Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. ”
"Always my three heroes,” murmured the Cardinal. “And
the guardsman ? ”
«M. D'Artagnan. ”
Always my young rogue! I must gain over these men. ”
And the same evening, the Cardinal had a conversation with
M. De Treville about the morning's exploit, with which the whole
camp was still ringing. M. De Treville, who had heard it all
at first hand, gave his Eminence all the details, not forgetting
the episode of the napkin.
“Very good, M. De Treville,” said the Cardinal; “but you
must get me that napkin, and I will have three golden lilies em-
broidered on it, and give as a banner to your company. "
"Monseigneur," replied M. De Treville, «that would be an
injustice to the guards. M. D'Artagnan does not belong to me,
but to M. Des Essarts. ”
« Then you must take him," said the Cardinal. “As these
four brave soldiers love each other so much, they ought certainly
to be in the same regiment. ”
That evening M. De Treville announced the good news to the
three musketeers and to D'Artagnan, and invited them all to
breakfast the following day.
D'Artagnan was nearly beside himself with joy. As we know,
it had been the dream of his life to be a musketeer.
IX-313
## p. 4994 (#162) ###########################################
4994
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
From «The Viscount of Bragelonne)
[Dumas adopts the theory that the Man in the Iron Mask was the sup
pressed twin brother of Louis XIV. ]
*W**
HAT is all this noise ? ” asked Philippe, turning towards
the door of the concealed staircase. And as he spoke
a voice was heard saying, “This way, this way.
Still a
few steps, sire. "
“It is M. Fouquet's voice,” said D'Artagnan, who was stand-
ing near the Queen Mother.
“Then M. D'Herblay will not be far off,” added Philippe;
but little did he expect to see the person who actually entered.
All eyes were riveted on the door, from which the voice of
M. Fouquet proceeded; but it was not he who came through.
A cry of anguish rang through the room, breaking forth
simultaneously from the King and the spectators, and surely
never had been seen a stranger sight.
The shutters were half closed, and only a feeble light strug-
gled through the velvet curtains, with their thick silk linings,
and the eyes of the courtiers had to get accustomed to the dark-
ness before they could distinguish between the surrounding ob-
jects. But once discerned, they stood out as clear as day.
So, looking up, they saw Louis XIV. in the doorway of the
private stair, his face pale and his brows bent; and behind him
stood Fouquet.
The Queen Mother, whose hand held that of Philippe, uttered
a shriek at the sight, thinking that she beheld a ghost.
Monsieur staggered for a moment and turned away his head,
looking from the King who was facing him to the King who was
by his side.
Madame on the contrary stepped forward, thinking it must
be her brother-in-law reflected in a mirror. And indeed, this
seemed the only rational explanation of the double image.
Both young men, agitated and trembling, clenching their
hands, darting flames of fury from their eyes, dumb, breathless,
ready to spring at each other's throats, resembled each other so
exactly in feature, figure, and even, by pure accident, in dress,
that Anne of Austria herself stood confounded. For as yet the
truth had not dawned on her. There are some torments that we
## p. 4995 (#163) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4995
all instinctively reject. It is easier far to accept the supernatu-
ral, the impossible.
That he should encounter such obstacles had never for one
moment occurred to Louis. He imagined he had only to show
himself, for the world to fall at his feet. The Sun-king could
have no rival; and where his rays did not fall, there must be
darkness -
As to Fouquet, who could describe his bewilderment at the
sight of the living portrait of his master? Then he thought
that Aramis was right, and that the new-comer was every whit
as much a king as his double, and that after all, perhaps he
had made a mistake when he had declined to share in the coup
d'état so cleverly plotted by the General of the Jesuits.
And then, it was equally the blood royal of Louis XIII, that
Fouquet had determined to sacrifice to blood in all respects iden-
tical; a' noble ambition, to one that was selfish. And it was the
mere aspect of the pretender which showed him all these things.
D'Artagnan, leaning against the wall and facing Fouquet, was
debating in his own mind the key to this wonderful riddle. He
felt instinctively, though he could not have told why, that in
the meeting of the two Louis XIV. s lay the explanation of all
that had seemed suspicious in the conduct of Aramis during the
last few days.
Suddenly Louis XIV. , by nature the most impatient of the
two young men, and with the habit of command that was the
result of training, strode across the room and flung open one of
the shutters. The flood of light that streamed through the win-
dow caused Philippe involuntarily to recoil, and to step back
into the shelter of an alcove.
The movement struck Louis, and turning to the Queen he said:
Mother, do you not know your own son, although every one
else has denied his King ? ”
Anne trembled at his voice and raised her arms to heaven,
but could not utter a single word.
« Mother,” retorted Philippe in his quietest tones,“ do you
not know your own son ? ”
And this time it was Louis who stepped back.
As for Anne, pierced to the heart with grief and remorse,
she could bear it no longer. She staggered where she stood, and
unaided by her attendants, who seemed turned into stone, she
sank down on a sofa with a sigh.
CC
## p. 4996 (#164) ###########################################
4996
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
This spectacle was too much for Louis. He rushed to D'Ar-
tagnan, whose brain was going round with bewilderment, and who
clung to the door as his last hope.
“To me, musketeer! Look us both in the face, and see
which is the paler, he or I. ”
The cry awoke D'Artagnan from his stupor, and struck the
chord of obedience strong in the bosom of every soldier. He
lifted his head, and striding straight up to Philippe laid his hand
on his shoulder, saying quietly:-
"Monsieur, you are my prisoner. "
Philippe remained absolutely still, as if nailed to the floor,
his eyes fixed despairingly on the King who was his brother.
His silence reproached him as no words could have done, with
the bitterness of the past and the tortures of the future.
And the King understood, and his soul sank within him. His
eyes fell, and drawing his brother and sister-in-law with him, he
hastily quitted the room; forgetting in his agitation even his
mother, lying motionless on the couch beside him, not three
paces from the son whom for the second time she was allowing
to be condemned to a death in life.
Philippe drew near to her, and said softly:-
“If you had not been my mother, madame, I must have
cursed you for the misery you have caused me. ”
D'Artagnan overheard, and a shiver of pity passed through
him. He bowed respectfully to the young prince, and said:-
“Forgive me, monseigneur; I am only a soldier, and my faith
is due to him who has left us. ”
“Thank you, M. D'Artagnan. But what has become of M.
D'Herblay ? ”
“M. D’Herblay is safe, monseigneur,” answered a voice behind
them; "and while I am alive and free, not a hair of his head
shall be hurt. ”
“M. Fouquet! ” said the prince, smiling sadly.
“Forgive me, monseigneur,” cried Fouquet, falling on his
knees; but he who has left the room was my guest. ”
«Ah! ” murmured Philippe to himself with a sigh, "you are
loyal friends and true hearts. You make me regret the world I
am leaving. M. D'Artagnan, I will follow you. ”
As he spoke, Colbert entered and handed to the captain of
the musketeers an order from the King; then bowed, and went
out.
## p. 4997 (#165) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4997
D'Artagnan glanced at the paper, and in a sudden burst of
wrath crumpled it in his hand.
“What is the matter ? ” asked the prince.
“Read it, monseigneur,” answered the musketeer.
And Philippe read these words, written hastily by the King
himself:
«M. D'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Îles Sainte-
Marguerite. He will see that his face is covered with an iron
mask, which must never be lifted on pain of death. ”
«It is just,” said Philippe; “I am ready. ”
“Aramis was right,” whispered Fouquet to D'Artagnan, “this
is as good a king as the other. ”
"Better," replied D'Artagnan; "he only needed you and me. ”
A TRICK IS PLAYED ON HENRY III. BY AID OF CHICOT
From "The Lady of Monsoreau)
T.
He King and Chicot remained quiet and silent for the next
ten minutes. Then suddenly the King sat up, and the
noise he made roused Chicot, who was just dropping off to
sleep.
The two looked at each other with sparkling eyes.
< What is it? » asked Chicot in a low voice.
“Do you hear that sighing sound ? ” replied the King in a
lower voice still. « Listen! »
As he spoke, one of the wax candles in the hand of the
golden satyr went out; then a second, then a third. After a
moment, the fourth went out also.
Oh, oh! ” cried Chicot, “that is more than a sighing sound. ”
But he had hardly uttered the last word when in its turn the
lamp was extinguished, and the room was in darkness, save for
the flickering glow of the dying embers.
“Look out! » exclaimed Chicot, jumping up.
«He is going to speak," said the King, shrinking back into
his bed.
« Then listen and let us hear what he says,” replied Chicot,
and at the same instant a voice which sounded at once both
piercing and hollow, proceeded from the space between the bed
and the wall.
(c
## p. 4998 (#166) ###########################################
4998
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
“Hardened sinner, are you there? ”
“Yes, yes, Lord,” gasped Henri with chattering teeth.
“Dear me! ” remarked Chicot, “that is a very hoarse voice
to have come from heaven! I feel dreadfully frightened; but
never mind! »
“Do you hear me ? » asked the voice.
“Yes, Lord,” stammered Henri; and I bow before your
anger. ”
“Do you think you are carrying out my will by performing
all the mummeries you have taken part in to-day, while your
heart is full of the things of this world?
“Well said! ” cried Chicot; "you touched him there! ”
The King's hands shook as he clasped them, and Chicot went
up to him.
“Well, murmured Henri, “are you convinced now? ”
“Wait a bit,” answered Chicot.
“What do you want more ? ”
“ Hush! listen to me. Creep softly out of bed, and let me
take your place.
“Why? ”
"Because then the anger of the Lord will fall first upon me. ”
And do you think I shall escape ? ”
“We will try, anyway;” and with affectionate persistence he
pushed the King out of bed, and took his place.
"Now, Henri,” he said, "go and lie on my sofa, and leave all
to me. ”
Henri obeyed; he began to understand Chicot's plan.
“You are silent, continued the voice, “which proves that
your heart is hardened. ”
"Oh, pardon, pardon, Lord! ” exclaimed Chicot, imitating the
King's nasal twang. Then, stretching himself out of bed, ne
whispered to the King, "It is very odd, but the heavenly voice
does not seem to know that it is Chicot who is speaking. ”
“Oh! ” replied Henri, “what do you suppose is the meaning
of that? »
“Don't be in a hurry; plenty of strange things will happen
((
yet! ”
"Miserable creature that you are! ” went on the voice.
“Yes, Lord, yes! ” answered Chicot. “I am a horrible sinner,
hardened in crime. ”
« Then confess your sins, and repent. ”
## p. 4999 (#167) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
4999
“I acknowledge,” said Chicot, "that I dealt wickedly by my
cousin Condé, whose wife I betrayed; and I repent bitterly. ”
“What is that you are saying? ” cried the King. « There
is no good in mentioning that. It has all been forgotten long
ago. ”
« Oh, has it ? ” replied Chicot; "then we will pass on to some-
thing else. ”
Answer,” said the voice.
"I acknowledge,” said the false Henri, that I behaved like a
thief toward the Poles, who had elected me their king, in steal-
ing away to France one fine night, carrying with me all the
crown jewels; and I repent bitterly. ”
“Idiot! ” exclaimed Henri, “what are you talking about now?
Nobody remembers anything about that. ”
“Let me alone,” answered Chicot, “I must go on pretending
to be the King. ”
“Speak,” said the voice.
“I acknowledge, continued Chicot, «that I snatched the
throne from my brother D'Alençon, who was the rightful heir,
since I had formally renounced my claims when I was elected
King of Poland; I repent bitterly. ”
« Rascal! » cried the King.
“There is yet something more,” said the voice.
"I acknowledge to have plotted with my excellent mother,
Catherine de' Medicis, to hunt from France my brother-in-law
the King of Navarre, after first destroying all his friends, and
my sister Queen Marguerite, after first destroying all her lovers;
and I repent bitterly. ”
"Scoundrel! Cease! ” muttered the King, his teeth clenched
in anger.
“Sire, it is no use trying to hide what Providence knows as
well as we do. ”
« There is a crime unconfessed that has nothing to do with
politics,” said the voice.
“Ah, now we are getting to it,” observed Chicot dolefully; «it
is about my conduct, I suppose ? ”
"It is,” answered the voice.
"I cannot deny,” continued Chicot, always speaking in the
name of the King, “that I am very effeminate, very lazy; a
hopeless trifler, an incorrigible hypocrite. ”
“It is true," said the voice.
## p. 5000 (#168) ###########################################
5000
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR
“I have behaved ill to all women, to my own wife in par-
ticular; and such a good wife too. "
"A man should love his wife as himself, and above all the
world,” cried the voice angrily.
"Oh dear! ” wailed Chicot in despairing tones; "then I cer-
tainly have sinned terribly. ”
"And by your example you have caused others to sin. ”
« That is true, sadly true. ”
«You very nearly sent that poor Saint-Luc to perdition. ”
“Bah! ” said Chicot, "are you sure I did not send him there
quite ? »
«No; but such a fate may befall both of you if you do not
let him go back to his family at break of day. ”
“Dear me! ” said Chicot to the King, “the voice seems to
take a great interest in the house of Cossé. ”
"If you disobey me, you will suffer the same torments as
Sardanapalus, Nabuchodnosor, and the Marshal De Retz. ”
Henry III. gave a loud groan; at this threat he became more
frightened than ever.
"I am lost,” he ejaculated wildly; "I am lost. That voice
from on high will be my death-warrant. ”
## p. 5001 (#169) ###########################################
5001
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
(1824-1895)
BY FRANCISQUE SARCEY
MS
E SHALL not say much about the life of Alexandre Dumas the
younger. The history of a great writer is the history of his
works. He was born in Paris, on July 27th, 1824. His name
on the register of births appears as “Alexandre, son of Marie Cath-
erine Lebay, seamstress. ” He was not acknowledged by his father
until he had reached his sixth year, March 7th, 1830. I emphasize
this particular because it had great influence on the bent of his
genius. During all his life Dumas was haunted by a desire of re-
habilitating illegitimate children, of creating a reaction against their
treatment by the Civil Code and the prejudice which makes of them
something little better than outcasts in society.
«When seven years old,” he himself says, “I entered as a boarder
the school of Monsieur Vauthier, on Rue Montagne Saint-Geneviève.
Thence I passed, about two years later, to the Saint-Victor School;
the principal was Monsieur Goubaux, a friend of my father, with
whom he collaborated under the nom de plume of Dinaux. This
school, which numbered two hundred and fifty boarding pupils, and
with the rather strange habits which I tried to depict in (The Clém-
enceau Case,' occupied all the ground covered to-day by the Casino
de Paris and the Pôle-Nord' establishment. When about fifteen I left
the Saint-Victor School for Monsieur Hénon's school, which was situ-
ated in the Rue de Courcelles and has now disappeared. It is in the
Collège Bourbon (now the Lycée Condorcet) that I received all my
instruction, as the pupils of the two schools where I lived attended
the college classes. I never belonged to any of the higher State
schools,- I have not even the degree of bachelor. ”
At the end of his years of study he returned to his father. He
did not stay there more than six months. The rather tumultuous life
which he saw in the house disturbed his proud mind, already filled
with serious yearnings.
“You have debts, his father said to him. « Do as I do: work,
and you will pay them. ”
Such was indeed the young man's intention. His first work was a
one-act play in verse, "The Queen's Jewel,' which no one, assuredly,
## p. 5002 (#170) ###########################################
5002
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
would mention to-day but for his signature. The date was 1845, and
the author was then twenty-one. Other works by him were published
at various times in the Journal des Demoiselles.
“I was,” he has said, “the careless, lazy, and spoilt child of all
my father's friends. I believed in the eternity of youth, of strength,
of joy. I spent the whole day laughing, the whole night sleeping,
unless I had some reason for writing verses. ”
About 1846 he set resolutely to work. He turned to novel-writing,
which seemed to him to offer greater facilities for reaching the
public and greater chances of immediate income than dramatic com-
position. Only two of his novels have survived: La Dame aux
Camélias' (Camille: 1848), because from this book came the immor-
tal drama by the same title; and (The Clémenceau Case,' because the
author wrote it when he was in complete possession of his talent,
and because moreover it is a first-rate work.
It was in 1852 that the Vaudeville Theatre gave the first perform-
ance of Camille,' the fortune of which was to be so extraordinary.
For two or three years the play had been tossed from theatre to
theatre. Nobody wanted it. To the ideas of the time it seemed
simply shocking, and the play was still forbidden in London after its
performances in France were numbered by the hundreds.
There is this special trait in Camille '- it was a work all instinct
with the spirit of youth. Dumas twenty years later sadly said:
“I might perhaps make another Demi-Monde'; I could not make
another Camille. ) » There existed, indeed, other works which have
all the fire and charm of the twentieth year. Polyeucte) is Cor-
neille's masterpiece; his Cid breathes the spirit of youth : Corneille
at forty could not have written the Cid. ' Racine's first play is
(Andromaque': Beaumarchais's is the Barber of Seville'; Rossini,
when young, enlivened it with his light and sparkling airs. Fifteen
years later he himself wrote his William Tell,' a higher work, but a
work which was not young.
If the theatrical managers had recoiled from Camille ' in spite of
the great names that recommended it, it is because it was cut after
a pattern to which neither they nor the public were accustomed; it
is because it contained the germ. of a whole dramatic revolution.
Now, the author was not a theatrical revolutionist. He had not said
to himself, “I am going to throw down the old fabric of the drama,
and erect a new one on its ruins. ” To tell the truth, he had no
idea of what he was doing. He had witnessed a love drama. He
had thrown it still throbbing upon the stage, without any regard for
the dramatic conventions which were then imposed upon playwrights,
and which were almost accepted as laws. He had simply depicted
what he had seen. All the managers, attached as they were to the
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ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
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old customs, and respectful of the traditions, had trembled with hor-
ror when they saw moving around Camille the ignoble Prudence, the
idiotic Duc de Varville, the silly Saint-Gaudens. But the public —
though the fact was suspected neither by them nor by the public
itself-yearned for more truth upon the boards. When Camille )
was presented to them, the play-goers uttered a cry of astonishment
and joy: that was the thing! that was just what they wanted !
From that day, which will remain as a date in the history of the
French stage, the part of Camille has been performed by all the
celebrated actresses. The part has two sides: one may see in it a
degraded woman who has fallen profoundly in love, rather late in
life; one may also see in it a woman, already poetical in her own
nature, suddenly carried away by a great passion into the sacred
regions of the Ideal.
Almost any young man in Dumas's place would have lost his head
after so astounding a success, and might not have resisted the temp-
tation of at once working out the vein. For on coming out of the
theatre after the first performance, the author had all the managers
at his feet, and the smallest trifle was sure to be accepted if it only
had his signature. But he had learned, by the side of “a prodigal
father,” the art of husbanding his talent. He declined to front the
footlights again, save with a work upon which he had been able to
bestow all the care and labor it deserved: he waited a year before
he gave, at the Gymnase theatre, Diane de Lys. ?
Diane de Lys' undoubtedly pleased the public, but its success was
not exactly brilliant. It is full of great qualities, it is strongly con-
ceived, constructed with rare power and logic, but it added nothing
to his reputation. The play as a whole seemed long and melancholy.
It is a curious subject for critical study, as one of the stages in which
the genius of the author stopped awhile, on its way to higher works.
It will leave no great trace in his career.
Two years later he gave at the Gymnase theatre – I do not dare
to say his masterpiece, but certainly the best constructed and most
enjoyable play he ever wrote, “Le Demi-Monde) (The Other Half-
World). In this play he discovered and defined the very peculiar
world of those women who live on the margin of regular “society,”
and try to preserve its tone and demeanor. What scientific and
strong construction are here! What an admirable disposition of the
scenes, both fexible and logical! And through the action, which
moves on with wonderful straightforwardness and breadth, how many
portraits, drawn with a steady hand, each one bearing such distinctive
features that you would know them if you met them on the street!
Olivier de Jalin, the refined Parisian, the dialectician of the play,
who is no other than Dumas himself; Raymond de Nanjac, handsome
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ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
and honest, but not keen or Parisian; and that giddy Valentine de
Sanctis, whose head turns with the wind, whose tongue cannot rest
one moment; and especially Suzanne d'Ange, so witty, so complex, so
devious in her motions, so roublarde, as a Parisian of to-day would say.
Between The Demi-Monde,' and La Question d'Argent' (The
Money Question), which followed, Dumas spent two years at work.
La Question d'Argent' is a favorite play with the connoisseurs; but
its reception by the public was of the coldest. It is a noteworthy
fact that plays turning upon money have never been successful.
Le Sage's (Turcaret' is a dramatic masterpiece: it never had the
luck to please the crowd. Dumas's Jean Giraud is, however, a very
curiously studied character. The author has represented in him the
commonest type of the shady money-man, the unconscious rascal.
And very skillfully he made an individual out of that general type,
by giving to Jean Giraud a certain rough good-nature; the appear-
ance of a good fellow, with a certain degree of fineness; a mixture
of humility and self-conceit, of awkwardness and impudence, and
even some ideas as to the power of money that do not lack dig-
nity, and some real liberality of sentiment and act,— for wealth alone,
though acquired by ignominious means, suggests and dictates to the
great robbers, some advantageous movements which the small rascal
cannot indulge in: and around this Turcaret of the Second Empire
how many pictures of honest people, every one of whom, in his or
her way, is good and fine!
One year later Dumas carried to the Gymnase, his favorite theatre,
(Le Fils Naturel' (The Natural Son); and the next year Un Père
Prodigue' (A Prodigal Father; known also in English through a free
adaptation as My Awful Dad').
In “Le Fils Naturel’ Dumas for the first time wrote a theme-play,
a kind of work in which he was to become a master. Hitherto we
have seen him drawing pictures of manners. To be sure, philosoph-
ical considerations on the period depicted are not wanting, but the
play has not the form and does not assume the movement of a thesis.
It does not take up one special trait of our social order, one of our
worldly prejudices, in order to show its strong and weak sides. Le
Fils Naturel’ is the work of a moralist as well as of a playwright; or
rather, it is the work of a playwright who was a born moralist.
l'n Père Prodigue' originally excited great curiosity. It escaped
no one that in his Count Fernand de la Rivonnière, Dumas had shown
us some traits of his illustrious father, who had been a prodigal father;
and that he had depicted himself in Viscount André. Every one made
comparisons; some, of course, accused the author of filial disrespect.
The accusation was ridiculous, and he did not even answer it. He
had so well disguised the persons, he had transported them into such
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ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5005
different surroundings, that no one could recognize in them their
true prototypes.
