From his critics we learn that “he lacked the grace of a popular author; that he was quite incapable of interesting the reader by a charm of manner; and that his style was meagre, harsh, and grating, but epigrammatic.” No Frenchman could possibly be otherwise.
Dumas relates, again, the story of Sir Walter Scott’s visit to Paris, seeking documents which should bear upon the reign of Napoleon. Dining with friends one evening, he was invited the next day to dine with Barras. But Scott shook his head. “I cannot dine with that man,” he replied. “I shall write evil of him, and people in Scotland would say that I have flung the dishes from his own table at his head.”
It is not recorded that Dumas’ knowledge of swordsmanship was based on practical experience, but certainly no more scientific sword-play of passe and touche has been put into words than that wonderful attack and counter-attack in the opening pages of “Les Trois Mousquetaires.”
Of the duel d’honneur there is less to be said, though Dumas more than once sought to reconcile estranged and impetuous spirits who would have run each other through, either by leaden bullet or the sword. A notable instance of this was in the memorable affaire between Louis Blanc of L’Homme-Libre and Dujarrier-Beauvallon of La Presse. The latter told Dumas that he had no alternative but to fight, though he went like a lamb to the slaughter, and had no knowledge of the code nor any skill with weapons.
Dumas père was implored by the younger Dumas – both of whom took Dujarrier’s interests much to heart – to go and see Grisier and claim his intervention. “I cannot do it,” said the elder; “the first and foremost thing to do is to safeguard his reputation, which is the more precious because it is his first duel.” The Grisier referred to was the great master of fence of the time who was immortalized by Dumas in his “Maître d’Armes.”
Dumas himself is acknowledged, however, on one occasion, at least, to have acted as second – co-jointly with General Fleury – in an affaire which, happily, never came off.
It was this Blanc-Dujarrier duel which brought into further prominent notice that most remarkable and quasi-wonderful woman, Lola Montez; that daughter of a Spaniard and a Creole, a native of Limerick, pupil of a boarding-school at Bath, and one-time resident of Seville; to which may be added, on the account of Lord Malmesbury, “The woman who in Munich set fire to the magazine of revolution which was ready to burst forth all over Europe.”
She herself said that she had also lived in Calcutta as the wife of an officer in the employ of the East India Company; had at one time been reduced to singing in the streets at Brussels; had danced at the Italian Opera in London, – “not much, but as well as half the ugly wooden women who were there,” – and had failed as a dancer in Warsaw.
“This illiterate schemer,” says Vandam, “who probably knew nothing of geography or history, had pretty well the Almanach de Gotha by heart.” “Why did I not come earlier to Paris?” she once said. “What was the good? There was a king there bourgeois to his finger-nails, tight-fisted besides, and notoriously the most moral and the best father in all the world.”
This woman, it seems, was a beneficiary in the testament of Dujarrier, who died as a result of his duel, to the extent of eighteen shares in the Théâtre du Palais Royal, and in the trial which followed at Rouen, at which were present all shades and degrees of literary and professional people, Dumas, Gustave Flaubert, and others, she insisted upon appearing as a witness, for no reason whatever, apparently, than that of further notoriety. “Six months from this time,” as one learns from Vandam, “her name was almost forgotten by all of us except Alexandre Dumas, who once and again alluded to her.” “Though far from superstitious, Dumas, who had been as much smitten with her as most of her admirers, avowed that he was glad that she had disappeared. ‘She has the evil eye,’ said he, ‘and is sure to bring bad luck to any one who closely links his destiny with hers.’”
There is no question but that Dumas was right, for she afterward – to mention but two instances of her remarkably active career – brought disaster “most unkind” upon Louis I. of Bavaria; committed bigamy with an English officer who was drowned at Lisbon; and, whether in the guise of lovers or husbands, all, truly, who became connected with her met with almost immediate disaster.
The mere mention of Lola Montez brings to mind another woman of the same category, though different in character, Alphonsine Plessis, more popularly known as La Dame aux Camélias. She died in 1847, and her name was not Marie or Marguérite Duplessis, but as above written.
Dumas fils in his play did not idealize Alphonsine Plessis’ character; indeed, Dumas père said that he did not even enlarge or exaggerate any incident – all of which was common property in the demi-monde– “save that he ascribed her death to any cause but the right one.” “I know he made use of it,” said the father, “but he showed the malady aggravated by Duval’s desertion.”
We learn that the elder Dumas “wept like a baby” over the reading of his son’s play. But his tears did not drown his critical faculty. “At the beginning of the third act,” said Dumas père, “I was wondering how Alexandre would get his Marguérite back to town, … but the way Alexandre got out of the difficulty proves that he is my son, every inch of him, and at the very outset of his career he is a better dramatist than I am ever likely to be.”
“Alphonsine Plessis was decidedly a real personage, but not an ordinary one in her walk of life,” said Doctor Véron. “A woman of her refinement might not have been impossible in a former day, because the grisette – and subsequently the femme entretenue– was not then even surmised. She interests me much; she is the best dressed woman in Paris, she neither conceals nor hides her vices, and she does not continually hint about money; in short, she is wonderful.”
“La Dame aux Camélias” appeared within eighteen months of the actual death of the heroine, and went into every one’s hands, interest being whetted meanwhile by the recent event, and yet more by much gossip – scandal if you will – which universally appeared in the Paris press. Her pedigree was evolved and diagnosed by Count G. de Contades in a French bibliographical journal, Le Livre, which showed that she was descended from a “guénuchetonne” (slattern) of Longé, in the canton of Brionze, near Alençon; a predilection which the elder Dumas himself had previously put forth when he stated that, “I am certain that one might find taint either on the father’s side, or on the mother’s, probably on the former’s, but more probably still on both.”
The following eulogy, extracted from a letter written to Dumas fils by Victor Hugo upon the occasion of the inhumation of the ashes of Alexandre Dumas at Villers-Cotterets, whither they were removed from Puits, shows plainly the esteem in which his literary abilities were held by the more sober-minded of his compeers:
“Mon cher Confrère: – I learn from the papers of the funeral of Alexandre Dumas at Villers-Cotterets… It is with regret that I am unable to attend… But I am with you in my heart… What I would say, let me write… No popularity of the past century has equalled that of Alexandre Dumas. His successes were more than successes: they were triumphs… The name of Alexandre Dumas is more than ‘Français, il est Européen;’ and it is more than European, it is universal. His theatre has been given publicity in all lands, and his romances have been translated into all tongues. Alexandre Dumas was one of those men we can call the sowers of civilization… Alexandre Dumas is seducing, fascinating, interesting, amusing, and informing… All the emotions, the most pathetic, all the irony, all the comedy, all the analysis of romance, and all the intuition of history are found in the supreme works constructed by this great and vigorous architect.
“… His spirit was capable of all the miracles he performed; this he bequeathed and this survives… Your renown but continues his glory.
“… Your father and I were young together… He was a grand and good friend… I had not seen him since 1857… As I entered Paris Alexandre Dumas was leaving. I did not have even a parting