The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1870-10-13

circles attracted his attention. lie, said
very earnestly
''MessieuIs les Cures are wrong. They
should be glad of any evidence that goes to
prove the immortality OF the soul" He
turned to me to ask about these manifesto
tions in America. In the course of the con-
versation which ensued l urged him to visit
America to observe for himself the remarka-
BILE developments now making in the spiritual
and material life of the people.
He looked steadily at me for a moment,
then taking tuft of his snow-white wool in
his fin gers, he said:-
"And this 2"
] thought of Revels, and replied,
cit would make you Senator"
He looked dazed for a moment. He had
not heard of emancipation. He had but a
vague idea of the war. This is not uncom-
mon in France. Dumas, the younger, in his
powerful novel "L'Afaire Clemeneeau, in
PRODUCES a young Bostonisn named Andre
Minati, who amuses himself by attending the
fogging of his fathers slaves.
''Eh bien !" he sighed. ''This has come
too late for me- When was young, it kept
me away from America And now am old"
"Ah, Mr.. Dumas" said Madame, ''you
grow younger every day. How do you
manage it ?"
A spark of the old exquisite wit frightened
in the eye of Dumas, as he answered.
-. "Dame! jig NETS Ie temps" q give all my
time to it,
We spoke of his son, and asked what he
was doing in these years of silence. The old
gentleman answered with some reserve, "He
never speaks to me, or consults with me, as
to anything he is doing, and for this he gives
a reason full of courtesy and charm. He says
he reverences my judgment so highly that if
1 criticized his work he would be discouraged
and destroy it. In reply to remark OF
more personal character, he said, with cyni-
cism which was deliciously French,
"There is one great difference between my
son and me. love the ladies, and he does
not which accounts for his being married,
while am bachelor"
1t was evident that he did not greatly ad-
mire the productions of his son. His robust
and eminently practical mind saw no merit
in those painfully elaborate analyses of char
acter in which the younger Dumas so delights.
To the elder it seemed absurd that a man
should waste two years on volume he would
have produced in week. And when it was
finished it was a small affair-no fighting, no
intrigue, and no honest, square loving of the
old-fashioRed kind-nothing but curious dig
ging and delving into the useless mysteries of
the heart of man.
'Balzac set the bad example which has
carried away Monsieur mon .tlS and other
clever lads. Everybody who writes seems to
think it necessary now to indulge in these
labors of moral vivisection-to pick heart
in pieces with the pen."
"Were you intimate with Balzac ?"
'No," with energy. Nobody was intimate
with him. He was cold, greedy, and selfish.
do not deny his great genius. But he made
bad use of it. He is the apostle of disgust
and despair. He breaches the gospel of hol-
lowness end hopelessness. He leaves bad
taste in YOUR mouth.
"Yet he is called the French Shakespeare. "
| "CeSt 6ete ca. Shakespeare is great, gene
rous, and cordial. He breathes the air with
full lungs. In the great romances of Balzac
there is nothing to breathe but miasms. You
in America-you have great and hearty
| genius, Monsieur Fenimore. What life, what
air, what movement in those Leather Stock
ing books The Prairie, it is the finest
poetical conception of the age. 1t is enough
| to make one believe in the Immortality of the
SOUL"
This was the second time he had referred
| to immortality-the doctrine cOnsOl0trice of
| Robespierre-as relief at once desirable and
difficult.
| He seemed to have heard of no American
writer but Cooper, whom he, like most
Frenchmen, called Fenimore. He had never
heard the name of Hawthorne mentioned. ]
gave him the ''Scarlet Letter" which he said
|
vate information that the custom-house pre-
face cast him into deep and refreshing
! slumber, as often as it was attacked, and SO
he never became acquainted with Hester
Prynne. If he had, she would have amused
him very little. To his taste there was too
little wickedness to spice so much remorse.
After the ice was broken he thawed very
rapidly, and soon became very communica-
tive in regard to his own writings. He said
H. b. l.. l.,
especially the serious ones. His publishers
wanted him, at one time, to write sequel to
''Monte Cristo, and he began to read the
romance to see what was to be done about it,
but gave it up at the end of the first volume,
and wrote the sequel, trusting to luck. He
said he excepted one work from the general
rule, Lies Trois Mousquetaires. "Tbis,
he said, frankly, ''has always remained a
model for myself. l have read it over many
times, and never without profit"
This romance owes its title not to the
author, but the'publisher. Dumas called il
"Orthos, Porthos and Aramis;" but the
readers of the feuilleton complained that the
name was too classical and promised nothing,
so that the publisher changed the name tC
The Three Guardsmen," to the consterna
tion of Dumas, who reminded him, when il
was too late, that there were four fighting
men in that story.
In few weeks the untiring old man haG
covered his allotted portion of stationery will
the most appalling mass of trash, and hat
gone back to Paris serenely to superinten(
the publication of his history. have never
heard of its being printed. Perhaps it neve
will be. His imperial colleague, as he one,
wittily styled Napoleon, has pied many form
since the summer opened, and Moltke ha
been making history so fast that even tn
lightniAg-like pen of the greatest of story
| faIlarc fnilc in nnrnnafitinn