The San Francisco call., 1895-12-15
What Bah Learned About the
Late Alexander Dumas
Life Story.
READER OF THE HUMAN HEART
He Had a Strange Life, Full of Ex.
citing Incidents and Strug.
giles.

writers OF the day, but, better still, IL pears
upon it these words: 'L'ami DIES femmes"
the friend of women-Alexandre Dumas.
a great man, a great writer, great
reader of the human heart, great reader,
that most difficult of all things, of the
heart of woman. And more than that,
student, and successful one, of the heart,
brain and body of women, for be well
knew the effect that the one had on the
other. He pictured woman as she is, but
always he was pitiful to her. Always he
forgave, and always he recognized that,
when she committed the sin which women
look upon as the sin of all sins, it was be-
cause she loved too much, and he main
tanned that, first of all, the man should be
the one to forgive her. Every one OF his
plays teaches that. Always there is the
friend who looks at things clearly, and
who says, in some way or other, 'Forglye,
my friend, forgive this woman. Pardon is
an attribute of God; try to reach close to
God"
DUMAS STRANGE LIFE.
And yet, if ever there was strange
story, it was that of Alexandra Dumas.
Until he was grown man he had no
name except that which had been given to
him in baptism, for he was one among the
thousands of children who cannot say
"My mother" without blushing. The day
came when his father recognized him and
was proud of him; was generous to him
and assisted him but always there hung
over him this dark cloud that enveloped
him from his birth. And even before
his birth. Do you believe in hereditY?
1t seems to me that, if you think, you
must.
Years ago in Paris there was young
man, ambitious, imaginative, magniti-
Gently strong physically, and poor. All his
days were spent in the public libraries,
studying out the histories of France, find
ing out each little story connected with
the kings and queens, and building q ro-
nance about it. Full of life, he soon
spent the small amount of money he had.
Occasionally a few francs were earned by
q story or an essay sold to one of the jour-
nails of the day. This young man grew
poorer and poorer. The publishers laughed
at his novels and refused to read them.
The day came when there was nothing left.
Before him there seemed only starvation.
That he would not submit to. All of one
long day he worked in the library and went
home only because he knew there was q
pistol there. Such a home! A garret
room at the top of miserable house, ten
anted by poor writer's like himself, thieves
and wretched women. He entered his
room, found a match-the last one-struck
it to light the bit of candle that was to
show him how to aim correctly. The
match went out. 1t was fate. He laughed
long and loudly. Just then he heard
voice in the hall, for he had not thought to
close the door.
woMAN's VOICE IT WAS THAT SPOKE.
She said: "My neighbor, do you wish
lightP Take one from my candle" A lit
tie seamstress, a trim grisette, stood before
him and pleased his eyes. He chatted
laugh merrily. He was still young. She
followed him into his room. The door
was closed. Alexandra Dumas, pere, never
forgot that night, when all the world was
reading the "Three MousquetaIres, but
can you blame Alexandra Dumas, fills, for
having in his nature much that was dark,
since his father was thinking of killing
himself and his mother was unhappy and
half starved?
But always this child OF a great author
and poor seamstress pleaded for women;
always his pity went out to those little
children against whom the worlds hand
is raised before they are born; and surely
no better words can be put Upon the tomb
stone of Alexandra Dumas than those
which formed the title of great play
"L'ami des Eemmes."
1t seems strange that while we are all
thinking and talking of this great writer
his plays should be put upon the stage and
the leading parts played by woman
whose rendition of them would have
pleased their creator. Can more than this
be said? She is an interesting woman, al
most as much of a girl as Juliet, and yet
with Juiiet's ability to read the human
heart.
LOVELY ENGLISH WOMAN.
You know whom l mean-Olga Neither
sole. She comes to US from England, and
when you look at her, when you hear her
speak, and some one says English, you
smile in disdain. Then there is a hint of
Snn NICh hrrt IL
just the same. Once, years ago, l visited
in the North, and with the early spring
time went out to look for arbutus. One in
our search party came TO me awe-stricken
and held in his hand what was strange to
him in this cold country, but which knew
as the bloom of the Sopih-the passion
flower. How did it come there? Who
can say? By chance on the wings of
heaven, brought by balmy wind. That
is Olga Nethersole.
She is the best type of French woman,
and she comes from England. The voice
is soft and sweet, without any accent. The
eyes are pitiful. They look UP to you and
ask for your love and sympathy, and
never word is spoken. They are won-
derful eyes, pure eyes; eyes that tell their
own story of goodness and of seeing good
ness in other people, which is so much
better than announcing ones own virtue.
But "the plays the thing" Last night it
was Camille. Before that it was "Frou-
Frou,' and before that it was Denise"
Such wonderful women! And each SO un-
like the other. 1 say to this citizen of the
world, for England can no more claim
Olga Nethersole than can France or Amer
lea: "How do you feel when you play
part? Are you Denise?'
There was no hesitancy-the answer
came quickly. Honestly, I could not saw
to myself l will be Denise, / will be Frou-
Frou, or will be Camille, but, when say
their words, when | am living her life,
before I know it am overcome by the
strong personality and become another
woman. It seems as if, whether willed
it or not, the spirit of the one woman came
into me, filled my heart, brain and body,
and / speak and move as if l were her,
because for the time being / am that
woman. If You said to me Cough |
could not do it. But when / am Camille l
never give it thought. The cough
comes naturally because know / am dying
of consumption, and that cough is one of
my pains and one of its terrors. Then
there is Frou-Frou. l have been asked
why l did not conceal or gloss over the
unlovable side of her nature. I couldn't.
l would not DO Frou-Frou. That was the
woman lust as she had won vour love