MRS. KILWHIPPLE AS A LETTER-WRITER

We hâve heard, as we hâve said elsewhere, many excellent people teU most barefaced lies, but we never heard anybody tell so un-principled a lie as to say that an Income Tax GoUector has a soûl. Of course he hasn't. He doesn't want one. What use would it be to him ? It would only interfère with the pursuit which he -describes as his profession, and might get him

394 CRITIQUE ET GONFéRENCES

into trouble. He wouldn't be able to go far enoTigh to satisfy his masters. If anyone said the Income Tax CoUector had claws, we should say at once, « Yves, he bas ; he can't send us a letter without a nasty claws or two in it. » But as to soûl he bas no soûl any more than be bas a conscience. In thèse respects the species which cornes nearest to bini is the publisber.

When we speak of publishers we are always carried away by the warmtb of ourfeelings, and launch into anti-panegyrics at great lengtb — therefore we had better stop short hère and say ail this is a digression.

We had intended when w^e took up our pen to talk about letter-writing, and since so far we bave wandered from the point we will proceed to make amends by a strict attention to brevity ; and hope by carefully combining business principles with literary style, to give every satisfaction.

Letter-writing. — Our landlady, Mrs. Kilwhipple, bas, we consider, a great gift for letterwriting. Sheis fluent, candid, artless, andabsor> bing. She is above grammar, and she wanders through the mazes of prose.

I do not know whether appearances now more than at other times are not deceplive. For my own part, 1 must own that — poetical and

mournful el poeta doliente as I hâve lately been called in a too flattering dedication of the wellknown General Marsilla of the Argentine Republic — since I know my own mind, I am more inclined*to like rather than to esteem and admire the man, so upright, forcible and brilliant, so sceptical and so good-natured, who has struck me ever since my birth as a literary genius.

Tnily by instinct I liked theman before being able to appreciate the writer, and I liked the writer before being able to thoroughly appreciate him, which 1 hâve only comparatively lately, too lately, succeeded in doing. One cannot be more accurate or perhaps more précise in expressing a frankness which is not dif&cult to me and still less troublesome since it contributes in an infinitésimal degree to the just glory, the glory which naturally belongs and will always be associated with one whose sole efforts were to be amiable, and who finally foimd sympathy and approbation except amongst the weak-minded, who must not be counted, although they are imfortunately in such lai^e numbers.

I cannot boast of what mîght be called an acquaintance with Alexandre Dumas the younger, but I hâve often seen him under the circumstances which I will hère relate. Chance has

caused me always tô take a great interest in him and to hear frequently about hiro I might almost say ever since my childhood.

Every Sunday morning after hearîng mass în the wooden church of the Trinity in the Rue Cliehy, which has been puUed down and rebnilt, I used to start off furnished with an exeat in due form from the principal of the school, who conducted me to the Lycée Bonaparte, and quickly emerged from the Rue Chaptol, where the scholastic, establishment, which has now been replaced by private houses, was situated, in order to find my way to BatignoUes, some distance off, where my family resided, and running more than walking, I used to reach the Rue de Boulogne, now, I believe, the Rue Ballu. In that same street, the Rue de Boulogne, near the top as you go from the Rue Blanche on the right, and pass a row^ of small private hôtels, more or less artistic, with frontages in the Renaissance style, and « terra- cottaed » according to the latest bad taste, with Windows of doubtful mediaeval style, stood an almost imperceptible house, with one window on the groimd floor, one on the fîrst floor, and a garret at the top. A story recently resuscitated says that Old Dumas (the only one, as Lecomte de Lisle said thoughtlessly when h© was informed that he was about

to be received into the Acadamy by Alexandre Dumas the younger) was once dining with his son on a very bot summer day in the small garden, when even the flowers were wretcbedly drooping, and he opened the window of the house in order to get some fresh air. As I bave never been in the house 1 cannot vouch for the authenticity of the story, but I can certify as to the small size of the résidence : it was nicelv appointed and prettily furnished. as I knew through catching a passing glimpse when slackening pace at that part of the trottoir of the Rue de Boulogne now called Rue Ballu. I can still remember seeing the ever lively and vivacious occupier walking up and down the room which looked on to the street and occasionally going out for a walk, or returning to lunch. He was then a man of about thirty years of âge, tall, his face had rather a créole appearance, but it gradually became more Europeanised until at last he became the fine old Parisian of late days : well formed, rather thin, and a fast walker. In a Word, his appearance w^as that of a vigorous man, and one who would be considered as a serions nature. At the time about which we are speaking he was already the famous author of the Dame aux Camélias^ this Manon Lescaut, who it seems really existed, and who was cer-

tainly idealised by this illustrious and severe dramatic author of the demi-monde. It was with curiosity that I then contemplated with my fourteen-yearold eyes the son of old Alexandre Dumas, at the same time, however, not too admiringly. He was no poet, and that fact of his not being a poet — that is to say of not writing verses — was to be deplored from my point of view, for mind you, the man whatever he may be who writes verses, the man who goes to the absurd trouble of versifying is in a sensé somewhat of a poet.

The lif e which made Dumas the younger considerably and deservinlgy rich has made of me poet who now writes thèse Unes. His work, 60 severe and even decidedly austère, with occasional flashes of terrible logic, raises him to the highest rank of writers of no extraordinary style, but it also possesses higher ilights which in his case are perhaps more suitable

He was passionate during the calm course of his work, which he aimed at making fîrst good and afterwards better if possible — passionate for the good and for the better — I know the proverb about the Good and his foe the Better : spare me from speaking of it. But his Lettres sur les choses du jour are really extrême, .and I was astonished when 1 read the signature.

The brochure Tue-la, however, brought me back to my original ideas concerning the febrility of this man, that the apparent serenity of the numerous gifts spread through them in the form of genius and subtlety of mind, was to me up till then sacred, impassable, and it, the brochure, brought back to my memory the cruel pamphlet written with a good motive, so brutal in its frankness, full of insupportable hypocrisy, respecting the very sensitive and good man necessarily irritable, somestimes imprudent when it was a matter of esteem or love.

With the younger Dumas I hâve only had dealings of courtesy, of which the last vsras his sending me a postdarc in acknowledgment of my latest book Les Confessions de Paul Verlaine ■which contained the following vv^ords, so precious perhaps to my justifiable vanity — Merci bien affectueusement. (Thank you very kindly). Alexandre Dumas, 37, Rue Descarbes, Paris,

The Senate RevieWj décembre 1895.

DESSINS DE PAUL VERLAINE

DESSINS DB PAUL VERLAINE 403

)I«»I1« »E ►iri VEKLalNE

DESSINS DE PAUL VEHLAIN'E 405

Na^ouSo:! III.

DESSINS DE PAUL VERLAINE

ll«A«(* ''^

Le Princr Impérial.

Mttt IIï:>8I\« PE PAVL VERLAINE