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.
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.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v09 - Dra to Eme
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. Then - and this is no small praise — if Count de la
Rivonnière is guilty of one fault, that of throwing to the wind his
fortune, he is a most amiable nobleman, full of broad ideas and gen-
erous sentiments, has a warm heart. The fourth act, in which the
father sacrifices himself in order to save his son's life, is pathetic in
the extreme. But nothing equals the first act, which is a model of
animated and picturesque composition. No one ever painted in more
vivid colors the pillage of a household, and a family without so much
as a shadow of discipline. It is an accumulation of small details, not
one of which is of an indifferent nature, and which, taken together,
drive into our minds the idea that this nobleman, so well-mannered,
so charming in conversation, so sober for himself, is running to ruin
as gayly as he can.
For four years after the production of 'Un Père Prodigue' Dumas
wrote nothing. But in 1864 he reappeared at the Gymnase with a
strange play, “L'Ami des Femmes) (A Friend of the Sex), which
completely failed. After L'Ami des Femmes there was another
interruption, not of Dumas's labors but of his dramatic production.
Perhaps he was sick of an art which had caused him a cruel disap-
pointment. He turned again to novel-writing, and published (1866)
L'Affaire Clémenceau' (The Clémenceau Case), the success of which
was not as great as he had hoped. In France, when a man is supe-
rior in one specialty people will not let him leave it. He is not al-
lowed to be at once an unequaled novelist and a first-rate dramatist.
At that time Dumas hesitated which road to follow. An incident
which created a great deal of comment threw him back towards the
stage, and towards a new form of comedy.
M. Émile de Girardin, one of the best known publicists of the Sec-
ond Empire, had bethought himself, when over fifty years of age, and
knowing nothing of this kind of work, to write a play. He had been
a great friend of Dumas père, and had kept up the most affectionate
intercourse with his son. He had asked him to fit his play for the
stage. It possessed one really dramatic idea. Dumas, in order to
oblige his father's friend, made out of it (Le Supplice d'une Femme)
(A Woman's Torture). Émile de Girardin, who was self-conceited and
somewhat despotic, refused to recognize his offspring in the bear that
Dumas had licked. He declined to sign the play: “Neither shall I,”
Dumas retorted.
A Woman's Torture) was acted at the Comédie Française with
extraordinary success. This success was for Dumas a warning and a
lesson. A Woman's Torture) was a three-act play, short, concise,
panting, which hurried to the coup de théâtre of the second act, upon
which the drama revolved, and rushed to its conclusion. The time
## p. 5006 (#174) ###########################################
5006
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
of five-act comedies, with ample expositions, copious developments,
philosophical disquisitions, curious and fanciful episodes, was gone.
Henceforth the dramatist had to deal with a hurried and blasé public,
which, taking dinner at eight, could give to the theatre but a short
time, and an attention disturbed by the labor of digestion. A Wo-
man's Torture,' which lasted only an hour and a half, and proceeded
only by rapid strokes, was exactly what that public wanted. After
that time Dumas wrote only three-act and one-act plays; using four
acts only for (Les Idées de Madame Aubray) (Madame Aubray's
Ideas); and these four acts are very short. In 1867 this play an-
nounced Dumas's return to the stage; and Dumas is here more para-
doxical than he had ever been. His theme looked like a wager not
simply against bourgeois prejudices, but even against good sense, and,
I dare to say, against justice. This wager was won by Dumas, thanks
to an incredible display of skill. He took up the thesis a second
time in 'Denise,' and won his wager again, but with less difficulty.
In Denise) the lover struggles only against social prejudices, and
allows himself to be carried away by one of those emotional fits
which disturb and confound human reason. In Madame Aubray's
Ideas) the triumph is one of pure logic.
Une Visite de Noces' (A Wedding Call) and 'La Princesse
Georges' followed rather closely on Madame Aubray's Ideas. ' (A
Wedding Call’! — what a thunderbolt then! It was of but one act,
but one act the effect of which was prodigious, the echo of which is
still heard. Time and familiarity have now softened for us the too
sharp outlines of this bitter play. It has been acknowledged a
masterpiece. It is certainly one of the boldest works of this extraor-
dinary magician, who, thanks to his unerring skill and to the daz-
zling wit of his dialogue, brought the public to listen to whatever he
chose to put upon the stage. It seemed that, like a lion tamer in
the arena, Dumas took pleasure in belaboring and exasperating this
many-headed monster, in order to prove to his own satisfaction that
he could subdue its revolts.
'La Princesse Georges) is a work of violent and furious passion.
We find in it Madame de Terremonde, the good woman who adores
her husband, but who adores him with fury, who wants him all to
herself, and who, when sure that she is betrayed, passes from the
most exasperated rage to tears and despair. There is in the first
act a scene of exposition which has become celebrated. No one ever
so rapidly mastered the public; no one ever from the first stroke so
painfully twisted the heart of the spectators.
Let us pass rapidly over La Femme de Claude (Claude's Wife:
1873). Of all his plays it is the one Dumas said he liked best, the
one he most passionately defended with all sorts of commentaries,
## p. 5007 (#175) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5007
letters, prefaces, etc. ; the one which he insisted on having revived, a
long time after it had failed. To my mind that play was a mistake:
and the public, in spite of Dumas's arguments, in spite of the pro-
tests of the critics, who are often very glad to distinguish themselves
by not yielding to the common voice,– the public insisted on agree-
ing with me.
Only a few months later, Dumas brilliantly retrieved himself with
(Monsieur Alphonse. His Madame Guichard is the most cheerfully
vulgar type of the parvenue which any one ever dared to put upon
the stage. She can hardly read and write; she is no longer young,
and she is “to boot” very proud of her money; she has no tact and
no taste; but at heart she is a good sort of woman. Her morality is
as primitive as her education. But deceit disgusts her; she hates but
one thing, she says, - lying. She is not troubled by conventionalities,
and her speech has all the color and energy of popular speech. But
see! Dumas in depicting this woman preserved exquisite measure.
Madame Guichard says many pert and droll things; she never utters
a coarse word. Her language is picturesque; it is free from slang.
Hers is a vulgar nature, but she does not offend delicate ears by the
grossness of her utterance. Dumas never drew a more living picture;
she is the joy of this rather sad play.
All that remain to be reviewed are “L'Étrangère,' 'La Princesse
de Bagdad,' and 'Françillon’; all of which were given at the Comédie
Française. L'Étrangère' is indeed a melodrama, with an admixture
of comedy. Had he gone further in that direction, Dumas might have
made a new sort of play, which would perhaps have reigned a long
time on the stage. But after this trial, successful though it was, he
stopped. "La Princesse de Bagdad' entirely failed. Françillon
was Dumas's last success at the Comédie Française.
After 1887 Dumas gave nothing to the stage. He had completed
a great five-act play, (The Road to Thebes,' which the manager of
the Comédie Française hoped every year to put on the boards.
Dumas kept promising it; but either from distrust of himself or of
the public, or from fatigue, or fear of meeting with failure, he asked
for new delays, until the day when he declared that not only the
play would not be acted during his life, but that he would not even
allow it to be acted after his death.
This death he saw coming, with sad but calm eyes. It was
sorrow for us to see this man, whom we had known so quick and
alert, grow weaker every day, showing the progress of disease in his
shriveled features and body. The complexion had lost all color, the
cheeks had become flaccid, the eye had no life left.
On October ist, 1895, he wrote to his friend Jules Claretie :-
“Do not depend upon me any more; I am vanquished. There are
a
## p. 5008 (#176) ###########################################
5008
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
moments when I mourn my loss, as Madame D'Houdetot said when
dying. ” He was at Puys, by the seaside, when he wrote that de-
spairing letter. He returned to Marly, there to die, surrounded by his
family, on November 28th, 1895. , in a house which he loved and
which had been bequeathed to him years before by an intimate
friend.
His loss threw into mourning the world of letters, and the whole
of Paris. People discovered then – for death loosens every tongue
and every pen
– how kind and generous in reality was Dumas, who
had often been accused of avarice by those who contrasted him with
his father; how many services he had discreetly rendered, how open
his hand always was. His constant cheerfulness and good-nature
had finally caused him to be forgiven for his wit, which was sarcastic
and cutting, and for his success, which had thrown so many rivals
into the shade. This witty man, who was always obliging and even
tender-hearted, had no envy, and gave his applause without a shadow
of reserve to the successes of others. Every young author found in
him advice and support; he did not expect gratitude, and therefore
was soured by no disappointment. He was a good man, partly from
nature, partly from determination; for he deemed that, after all, the
best way to live happy in this world is to make happy as many
people as possible.
If in this long essay I have not spoken of Dumas as a moralist, it
is because, in my opinion, in spite of all that has been said, Dumas
was a dramatist a great deal more than a philosopher. In his com-
edies he discussed a great many moral and social questions, without
giving a solution for any; or rather, the solutions that he gave were
due not to any set of fixed principles, but to the conclusion which he
was preparing for this play or that. He said, indifferently, “Kill her >>
or «Forgive her,” according to the requirements of the subject which
he had selected; and he would afterwards write a sensational preface
with a view to demonstrate that the solution this time given by him
was the only legitimate one. These prefaces are very amusing read-
ing; for he wrote them with all the fire of his nature, and he had
the gift of movement. But they were a strange medley of incongru-
ous and contradictory statements. Every idea that he expresses can
be grasped and understood; but it is impossible to see how it agrees
with those that precede and follow. It is a chaos of clear ideas.
Dumas was not a philosopher, but an agitator. He stirred up a
great many questions; he drew upon them our distracted attention;
he compelled us to think of them. Therein he did his duty as a
dramatist.
He gave much thought to the fate of woman in our civilization.
We may say, however, that though loving her much, he still more
## p. 5009 (#177) ###########################################
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5009
feared her, and I shall even add, despised her. All his characters
who have the mission of defending morality and good sense are very
attentive to her, but keep her at arın’s-length. They are affectionate
counselors, not lovers. They hold her to be a frail being, who must
be controlled and guided. Some one has said that there was in
Dumas something of the Catholic priest. It is true. He was to
women a lay director of conscience.
He was a great connoisseur of pictures and a great art lover.
Music, I think, is the only art that did not affect him much. He was
a dazzling talker; his plays teem with bright sayings; his conversa-
tion sparkled with them. I did not know him in his prime, when he
delighted his friends and companions by his unceasing flow of spirits.
I became intimate with him only later. If you knew how to start
him, he simply coruscated. I never knew any one, save Edmond
About, who was as witty, and who, like About, always paid you back
in good sounding coin.
Dumas was a member of the French Academy. He had not
wished for that honor, because it had been denied to his father. He
desired, in his reception speech, to call up the great spirit of this
illustrious father and make it share his academician's chair. He had
this joy; the two Dumas were received on the same day. Their two
names will never perish.
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
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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
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ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5005
different surroundings, that no one could recognize in them their
true prototypes. Then - and this is no small praise — if Count de la
Rivonnière is guilty of one fault, that of throwing to the wind his
fortune, he is a most amiable nobleman, full of broad ideas and gen-
erous sentiments, has a warm heart. The fourth act, in which the
father sacrifices himself in order to save his son's life, is pathetic in
the extreme. But nothing equals the first act, which is a model of
animated and picturesque composition. No one ever painted in more
vivid colors the pillage of a household, and a family without so much
as a shadow of discipline. It is an accumulation of small details, not
one of which is of an indifferent nature, and which, taken together,
drive into our minds the idea that this nobleman, so well-mannered,
so charming in conversation, so sober for himself, is running to ruin
as gayly as he can.
For four years after the production of 'Un Père Prodigue' Dumas
wrote nothing. But in 1864 he reappeared at the Gymnase with a
strange play, “L'Ami des Femmes) (A Friend of the Sex), which
completely failed. After L'Ami des Femmes there was another
interruption, not of Dumas's labors but of his dramatic production.
Perhaps he was sick of an art which had caused him a cruel disap-
pointment. He turned again to novel-writing, and published (1866)
L'Affaire Clémenceau' (The Clémenceau Case), the success of which
was not as great as he had hoped. In France, when a man is supe-
rior in one specialty people will not let him leave it. He is not al-
lowed to be at once an unequaled novelist and a first-rate dramatist.
At that time Dumas hesitated which road to follow. An incident
which created a great deal of comment threw him back towards the
stage, and towards a new form of comedy.
M. Émile de Girardin, one of the best known publicists of the Sec-
ond Empire, had bethought himself, when over fifty years of age, and
knowing nothing of this kind of work, to write a play. He had been
a great friend of Dumas père, and had kept up the most affectionate
intercourse with his son. He had asked him to fit his play for the
stage. It possessed one really dramatic idea. Dumas, in order to
oblige his father's friend, made out of it (Le Supplice d'une Femme)
(A Woman's Torture). Émile de Girardin, who was self-conceited and
somewhat despotic, refused to recognize his offspring in the bear that
Dumas had licked. He declined to sign the play: “Neither shall I,”
Dumas retorted.
A Woman's Torture) was acted at the Comédie Française with
extraordinary success. This success was for Dumas a warning and a
lesson. A Woman's Torture) was a three-act play, short, concise,
panting, which hurried to the coup de théâtre of the second act, upon
which the drama revolved, and rushed to its conclusion. The time
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5006
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
of five-act comedies, with ample expositions, copious developments,
philosophical disquisitions, curious and fanciful episodes, was gone.
Henceforth the dramatist had to deal with a hurried and blasé public,
which, taking dinner at eight, could give to the theatre but a short
time, and an attention disturbed by the labor of digestion. A Wo-
man's Torture,' which lasted only an hour and a half, and proceeded
only by rapid strokes, was exactly what that public wanted. After
that time Dumas wrote only three-act and one-act plays; using four
acts only for (Les Idées de Madame Aubray) (Madame Aubray's
Ideas); and these four acts are very short. In 1867 this play an-
nounced Dumas's return to the stage; and Dumas is here more para-
doxical than he had ever been. His theme looked like a wager not
simply against bourgeois prejudices, but even against good sense, and,
I dare to say, against justice. This wager was won by Dumas, thanks
to an incredible display of skill. He took up the thesis a second
time in 'Denise,' and won his wager again, but with less difficulty.
In Denise) the lover struggles only against social prejudices, and
allows himself to be carried away by one of those emotional fits
which disturb and confound human reason. In Madame Aubray's
Ideas) the triumph is one of pure logic.
Une Visite de Noces' (A Wedding Call) and 'La Princesse
Georges' followed rather closely on Madame Aubray's Ideas. ' (A
Wedding Call’! — what a thunderbolt then! It was of but one act,
but one act the effect of which was prodigious, the echo of which is
still heard. Time and familiarity have now softened for us the too
sharp outlines of this bitter play. It has been acknowledged a
masterpiece. It is certainly one of the boldest works of this extraor-
dinary magician, who, thanks to his unerring skill and to the daz-
zling wit of his dialogue, brought the public to listen to whatever he
chose to put upon the stage. It seemed that, like a lion tamer in
the arena, Dumas took pleasure in belaboring and exasperating this
many-headed monster, in order to prove to his own satisfaction that
he could subdue its revolts.
'La Princesse Georges) is a work of violent and furious passion.
We find in it Madame de Terremonde, the good woman who adores
her husband, but who adores him with fury, who wants him all to
herself, and who, when sure that she is betrayed, passes from the
most exasperated rage to tears and despair. There is in the first
act a scene of exposition which has become celebrated. No one ever
so rapidly mastered the public; no one ever from the first stroke so
painfully twisted the heart of the spectators.
Let us pass rapidly over La Femme de Claude (Claude's Wife:
1873). Of all his plays it is the one Dumas said he liked best, the
one he most passionately defended with all sorts of commentaries,
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ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
5007
letters, prefaces, etc. ; the one which he insisted on having revived, a
long time after it had failed. To my mind that play was a mistake:
and the public, in spite of Dumas's arguments, in spite of the pro-
tests of the critics, who are often very glad to distinguish themselves
by not yielding to the common voice,– the public insisted on agree-
ing with me.
Only a few months later, Dumas brilliantly retrieved himself with
(Monsieur Alphonse. His Madame Guichard is the most cheerfully
vulgar type of the parvenue which any one ever dared to put upon
the stage. She can hardly read and write; she is no longer young,
and she is “to boot” very proud of her money; she has no tact and
no taste; but at heart she is a good sort of woman. Her morality is
as primitive as her education. But deceit disgusts her; she hates but
one thing, she says, - lying. She is not troubled by conventionalities,
and her speech has all the color and energy of popular speech. But
see! Dumas in depicting this woman preserved exquisite measure.
Madame Guichard says many pert and droll things; she never utters
a coarse word. Her language is picturesque; it is free from slang.
Hers is a vulgar nature, but she does not offend delicate ears by the
grossness of her utterance. Dumas never drew a more living picture;
she is the joy of this rather sad play.
All that remain to be reviewed are “L'Étrangère,' 'La Princesse
de Bagdad,' and 'Françillon’; all of which were given at the Comédie
Française. L'Étrangère' is indeed a melodrama, with an admixture
of comedy. Had he gone further in that direction, Dumas might have
made a new sort of play, which would perhaps have reigned a long
time on the stage. But after this trial, successful though it was, he
stopped. "La Princesse de Bagdad' entirely failed. Françillon
was Dumas's last success at the Comédie Française.
After 1887 Dumas gave nothing to the stage. He had completed
a great five-act play, (The Road to Thebes,' which the manager of
the Comédie Française hoped every year to put on the boards.
Dumas kept promising it; but either from distrust of himself or of
the public, or from fatigue, or fear of meeting with failure, he asked
for new delays, until the day when he declared that not only the
play would not be acted during his life, but that he would not even
allow it to be acted after his death.
This death he saw coming, with sad but calm eyes. It was
sorrow for us to see this man, whom we had known so quick and
alert, grow weaker every day, showing the progress of disease in his
shriveled features and body. The complexion had lost all color, the
cheeks had become flaccid, the eye had no life left.
On October ist, 1895, he wrote to his friend Jules Claretie :-
“Do not depend upon me any more; I am vanquished. There are
a
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5008
ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR
moments when I mourn my loss, as Madame D'Houdetot said when
dying. ” He was at Puys, by the seaside, when he wrote that de-
spairing letter. He returned to Marly, there to die, surrounded by his
family, on November 28th, 1895. , in a house which he loved and
which had been bequeathed to him years before by an intimate
friend.
His loss threw into mourning the world of letters, and the whole
of Paris. People discovered then – for death loosens every tongue
and every pen
– how kind and generous in reality was Dumas, who
had often been accused of avarice by those who contrasted him with
his father; how many services he had discreetly rendered, how open
his hand always was. His constant cheerfulness and good-nature
had finally caused him to be forgiven for his wit, which was sarcastic
and cutting, and for his success, which had thrown so many rivals
into the shade. This witty man, who was always obliging and even
tender-hearted, had no envy, and gave his applause without a shadow
of reserve to the successes of others. Every young author found in
him advice and support; he did not expect gratitude, and therefore
was soured by no disappointment. He was a good man, partly from
nature, partly from determination; for he deemed that, after all, the
best way to live happy in this world is to make happy as many
people as possible.
If in this long essay I have not spoken of Dumas as a moralist, it
is because, in my opinion, in spite of all that has been said, Dumas
was a dramatist a great deal more than a philosopher. In his com-
edies he discussed a great many moral and social questions, without
giving a solution for any; or rather, the solutions that he gave were
due not to any set of fixed principles, but to the conclusion which he
was preparing for this play or that. He said, indifferently, “Kill her >>
or «Forgive her,” according to the requirements of the subject which
he had selected; and he would afterwards write a sensational preface
with a view to demonstrate that the solution this time given by him
was the only legitimate one. These prefaces are very amusing read-
ing; for he wrote them with all the fire of his nature, and he had
the gift of movement. But they were a strange medley of incongru-
ous and contradictory statements. Every idea that he expresses can
be grasped and understood; but it is impossible to see how it agrees
with those that precede and follow. It is a chaos of clear ideas.
Dumas was not a philosopher, but an agitator. He stirred up a
great many questions; he drew upon them our distracted attention;
he compelled us to think of them. Therein he did his duty as a
dramatist.
He gave much thought to the fate of woman in our civilization.
We may say, however, that though loving her much, he still more
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5009
feared her, and I shall even add, despised her. All his characters
who have the mission of defending morality and good sense are very
attentive to her, but keep her at arın’s-length. They are affectionate
counselors, not lovers. They hold her to be a frail being, who must
be controlled and guided. Some one has said that there was in
Dumas something of the Catholic priest. It is true. He was to
women a lay director of conscience.
He was a great connoisseur of pictures and a great art lover.
Music, I think, is the only art that did not affect him much. He was
a dazzling talker; his plays teem with bright sayings; his conversa-
tion sparkled with them. I did not know him in his prime, when he
delighted his friends and companions by his unceasing flow of spirits.
I became intimate with him only later. If you knew how to start
him, he simply coruscated. I never knew any one, save Edmond
About, who was as witty, and who, like About, always paid you back
in good sounding coin.
Dumas was a member of the French Academy. He had not
wished for that honor, because it had been denied to his father. He
desired, in his reception speech, to call up the great spirit of this
illustrious father and make it share his academician's chair. He had
this joy; the two Dumas were received on the same day. Their two
names will never perish.
