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

Manner of Lvins and worltinR-His Literary
Tastes, Etc.
A correspondent Of the New York Tribune
gives the following interesting account of
recent visit of Alexandra Dumas the elder to
Madrid
In the spring of this year Alexandra
Dumas, the father, came down to Madrid to
collect material for his work entitled "The
Past Present and Future of the Revolution in
Spain" 1t is rare that a French feuilletoniste
knows anything outside of the Boulevard des
Italiens, but this veteran romancer used to
bring to the discussion of historical subjects
profound and thorough ignorance of the
matters treated, which put to shame the
sketchy misinformation of his frivolous imi-
tators. He came to Spain, utterly ignorant
of the history, the language the custome of
the people, in write in some six weeks the
story and intrigues and incidents of life
time, which have resulted in the destruction
of the Bourbon dynasty in the Peninsula.
He was SO absurdly lacking in the commonest
knowledge of current events that he ad-
dressed letter to Don Cruz Ochoa the fiery
Carlist shoulder-htter of the Cortes, on q
matter of literary inquiry, mistaking him for
Don Eugenio do Ochoa the famous scholar
and ademician--exactly if you should
write to ask Senator Wilson to expound his
true meaning in contested point of the
''Noctes AmbrosianR."
There were more especial reasons why Du-
mas should have thought twice before coming
down to Madrid to write history at a hand
gallop. He has said, in an unfortunately
spiritual hour, that Africa began at the Pyre-
nees and the Castilian heart never forgave
him. He also carried the curse of Canaan on
his face and hair, and a nation of slave
holders could not receive him without embar-
rassment.
Still, he had many friends in Madrid, and
Mr.. and Mrs. Percy gave him the use of their
beautiful rose-colored quinta in the suburbs,
where the old man set up his tabernacle,
working by day, and dining in the evening in
his own sybaritic style.
was invited to meet him one evening at
the house of Senior Ochoa-who delighted to
honor the old romancer, after Dumas had as
certained that there more Ochoas than one in
Spain. found brilliant company of lite
rary and artistic people and some few of the
aristocracy who yielded sufficiently to the
spirit of the age to read novels But to my
dismay, when 1 asked for the lion, was in
formed by the genial savant who entertained
us, that he had gone off to bed Immediately
after feeding. But the next night was more
fortunate. The tenor Tamberlik was singing
at the opera for something's benefit and
everybody went. In the first entr 'acte I
noticed that the whole audience was facing
one way. followed the general stare and
saw the author of ''Monte Cristo." 1 recog-
nized him instantly, not from hisportraits but
from Madras grotesque caricature, which is
more like him than himself. There was such
preposterous stock of white wool covering
the enormous red face, with the broad humor-
Gus negro smile that ran over the counte-
nance from the thick lips, such a tremendous
breadth of shoulder and depth of chest, so
ponderous stomach and trunk supported on
thin legs that bent with their burden, that no
Ill 1.
think that outlandish figure was the get-up
not the person, of Alexandra Dumas The
whole house stared at him, with all their eyes
and lorgnettes, and chartered with as
brutal an unreserve as an English or
American crowd would have exhibited
which is not usual in Latin
country. The veteran did not seem to mind
them. He spoke from time to time to the
ladies in the box, with faint light of the old
gallantry shining through his heavy face
Sometimes, when the still glorious voice of
Tamberlik seemed to burn through the
vail that age has cast over it, and soar up to
that electrical climax of the ut de p0it7Tne 1
could see in the kindling eye of the old ro-
mancer a sign of the sympathy that existed
between the two battered and life-worn giants
of art. But usually he was sunk in sluggish
revery,, or peacefully snoring in that sweet
sleep of age and childhood, with which nature
kindly soothes and guards the weakness of
our beginning and our end.
/ was so interested in him that evening
that l readily accepted Mr.. Perry's kind in
vitation to call with him at the quinta II
stood just outside the barrio Salamanca, to
the left of the bull-ring, on that hot, arid
plateau, where the sunshine drives all pedes.
trians into the scanty shadow of the walls
1t seems like changing your latitude with q
thought, when you open the rickety gate and
step into the cool, lush, fragrant garden. II
is full of winding walks and heavy tufts OF
verdure, arbors, and wayward vines, and @
little way back stands the old farmhouse,
completely buried in clambering roses. We
found Dumas in a delicious summer-house in
the garden. His niece, an exquisitely pretty
and winsome school girl, as innocent and
modest as school girls are in those effete and
degenerate lands, sat near him, and opposite
him at the rustic table was Carolina Coronado
the Spanish poet.
Dumas began talking at once about his
work. He did not get on very well, he said
he could not accomplish more than ter
printed pages per day; the Spanish was hare
to read, and he had either to consult the die
tionary or guess at the meaning of the words
both these processes took time. We listened
with amusement, and Madame Coronado will
horror, at this novel exposition of the histo
rian's method. l asked him how he disposed
of his day. 81 rise late-about ten break
fast. work until four. then indulge il
the debauch of a walk in the garden. dine
and if Madame is so good as to bring her Car
riage / take the air in the Prado. com,
back and go chastely to bed" He was in th
habit of sleeping fourteen hours out of th
twenty-four. His dinners were gastronomi
phenomena. He prepared them himself. HI
OF ut M oh in a6; -