because all I have blessed have fallen.' -It seemed like a letter of Bossuet. Monsieur de Lamartine, who is his KING,' wrote also, from the centre of the paternal forest wherein he has found so many inspirations and wandering melodies, Wait, that I may answer for you before heaven.""

We confess we do not quite understand this last command: it is only quite clear to us, from the temporal and spiritual rank here conferred, that Monsieur de Lamartine's dog, and Monsieur de Chateaubriand's blessing, have been put out to very good interest.

"Such were the men who stood responsible for our critic. At the same time, the noblest hands were stretched forth to him-the most rare and cultivated minds came to his aid; the leaders of jarring opinions met in the same saloon to receive benevolently the young bride. She, meanwhile, astonished and trembling, and very happy to receive these suffrages arriving from so high, looked timidly around her; only from time to time her limpid, chaste glances, gained more confidence, and seemed to say, 'You see that I was right.' He (our critic) could not believe that all these men, the pride of the tribune, the power of the institute of France, the flower of the magistracy and the bar, the honour of the press, the glory of the two chambers, the strength of the government of to-day and the government of yesterday, had come hither purposely for him. Meanwhile, the church was ready-the altar ornamented the crowd thickening; only the young bride looked for; and heaven knows how she was looked for! appeared at last; appeared all that she was-young, beautiful, serious, sincere. It was impossible to be more interesting, more modest, calmer. At the sight of this fair young girl coming with so firm a step to recognise, at her risk and peril, in the person of its humblest representative, the fifth power of the state, called The Press," - at the sight of this noble devotion of a child to the art which we all exercise in the midst of such furibund clamours, evil passions became hushed,-the harmony was general in this world of authors, critics, artists. To look on her, calm and convinced, was to admire her courage. They said, A nobler triumph had never been achieved by letters and by the arts. This child, the glory and the honour of such a father and such a mother a daughter so fortunately born, so happy, so surrounded with respect

She

and deference-this fair and white little band, all this accomplished grace, the serene and lovely face, this beautiful creature, to whom two important personages deigned serve for cortegegiven to a mere writer, a dreamer, a man whose name was not ever inscribed

in the Royal Almanack. At this moment the joy was unanimous. It seemed that the whole press clapped its hands as it sung the terrible Hosanna in Excelsis,' which casts down thrones, and crumbles the most ancient monarchies to nothing."

Supposing it conceded that Monsieur Janin's marriage was, indeed, the most signal triumph ever achieved by literature, we may be allowed to say, that we think him rather grateful than delicate, in the descriptive pages, of which we extract so small a part, and that the blush and the tear of his young bride, should not be made such marketable commodities as to fill a feuilleton. We fear, also, that her valuable qualities, enumerated therein with auctioneer precision, may have failed to have the promised effect of softening Monsieur Janin. Perhaps the lady showed, after marriage, less taste for newspaper criticism than her husband had expected. We certainly see no trace of her soft hand in the dispute between Alexander Dumas and Monsieur Janin. It took place apropos of the former's last comedy, The Demoiselles de St. Cyr," acted at the Theatre Francais in July, and afterwards produced in the feuilleton of the Presse, so that it paid a double debt. The attack and retort filled four long feuilletons in the Presse and Debats, considered sufficiently amusing to be collected by some speculator, in one small pamphlet, entitled, "The Critic Janin and the Dramatist Dumas," and bearing for epigraph Moliere's apposite line, "Ne pretons pas a rire aux hommes en nous disant nos verités." There can be no possible indiscretion in referring to letters which have already so courted publicity. Making an individual known by his "right hand's cunning," we give the fairest picture possible; premising, however, that these portraits, resembling individuals, bear no likeness to a class. We, who saw the comedy in its early representations, have no idea of becoming its cham. pion. Monsieur Janin was not singular in his disapprobation. Well

acted and gay, and witty sometimes, impossible to read as to see twice, we do not deny the coarseness and levity so unsuited to its title of "Demoiselles de St. Cyr," or say that the St. Cyr and Philip of Spain of the piece, bear any analogy with the school of Madame de Maintenon, or the grandson of Louis the Fourteenth. Monsieur Janin attacked, with more than common malignity, not only the play but its author. Monsieur Dumas wrote his comment on this attack, reproducing it, sentence by sentence :—

"Jules Janin wrote, 'that if the dearth continued, the Theatre Français must close.' The Demoiselles de St. Cyr' had been announced, he said, noisily. The writer was a singular problem of the most untiring fecundity and verbose sterility; quick repartee, and tiresome declamation; belonging to the inventors from whom people never know what to expect; remembering, as they do, the very flimsiest jokes set down in jest-books, copying the bestknown scenes, contenting themselves with the most vulgar characters. This time again all this noise was made for nothing to recite, for the hundredth time the tale of Boccacio."

Accusing him thus of the plunder of Gélette de Narbonne, and of mistakes concerning Madame de Montbazon, Monsieur Janin goes on to call Monsieur Dumas "vulgar, trivial, caring only to lodge here and there a few effects, every one seeing the strings which pull them into their places, his dialogue dull and valueless;" he says that after the third act, which is insupportable, nothing can be more out of nature, more easy to see through, or colder, than the fourth act, unless it be the fifth; and he quits with a parting sarcasm, this "insipid and abortive comedy." But Monsieur Dumas was not to be left behind in this newly-imagined race. His reply appeared in the Presse of the 30th of July, 1843, and we extract a part of it, to show how far men like these, and violence of this nature, may proceed innocuously:—

or unfortunately, I have kind friends, who read them for me; who, in virtue of the Napoleonic maxim, make sure for bad news only, since it will always be time to tell me the good, and who would hasten, I believe, to rouse me at two in the morning, to announce a feuilleton of yours. Thus, the same evening of the day when your article appeared, I was informed of the event, by three or four of my friends, who enjoined me to read it. You will comprehend their pressing-you, who comprehend every thing so well. It gave them an opportunity of speaking ill of you, while saying you spoke ill of me. Friends are a charming invention, dear Monsieur Janin. At first I would not believe them. Thursday, not being the day appointed for your weekly executions, I even confess that bringing out my play on Tuesday, I rather reckoned on the long interval, which was to intervene between the first performance, and the report you are charged to make of it. During these five days, methought, the success will be consolidated. Ah! what a ninny was 1, to fail to foresee, that, the feuilleton wanting, wherein the Mystères de Paris leave you no room, my friend, Armand Bertin, would fling wide for you the folding doors of the column des Varieties. On the pressing invitation of my friends, I determined to read the feuilleton-but there arose a difficulty. I do not subscribe to the Journal des Débats. I abhor all reading-rooms. Not one of the persons present had about him the number of the day; I resolved to buy it. Luckily, the Journal des Débats is a paper which can be bought. I had not trod four paces in the gardens of the Palais Royal, ere I possessed what I wanted. I shut myself within the cabinet of the Commissaire Royal, and read the three columns and-a-half you have done me the honour of consecrating to me. You understand, dear Monsieur Janin, that if I abandoned myself to this occupation, so very contrary to my habits, it was neither for my instruction or amusement. I have long known you, and the marvellous carelessness with which you form your judgements. I hoped to find in this, one recorded against me some of the historic blunders-the errors in analysis-the social paradoxes, which have made of you the funniest critic in Paris! I was not mistaken. Happy subscribers to the Journal des Debats, who, instead of one feuilleton, which they expected, will find twofor I presume that this time you will honour me with a reply. Let us begin by the beginning. You deplore in the premium of your article, (the word is your own, I am not learned enough to

·

really study him in a bad French translation, which, for this solemn occasion, you have had re-translated into Italian ? But the proof, you will say? The proof, dear Monsieur Janin, is-that you have made, in this phrase, composed of eleven words, three faults in orthography.— Only three! Shall I tell you where? For, searching yourself, you would probably not find. There is an h too much in havutala,' and another in hebbene;' but it is true, there is an o wanting in figliuli. Now, make of your two h's, an o, not difficult to you, who can do what you will with parts of speech, slip the o between the u and 7, making 'figliuoli.' See, as I do now, and there will remain but one reproach to address to you, which is, that the sentence quoted as Boccacio's, was not written by Boccacio. Here is his- E lei abraccio e baccio, reper la sua moglie riconobbe, e guegli per suoi figliuoli.' Tell us, dear Monsieur Janin, did you seriously think that Boccacio had grown so old that the moment was come to re-translate him into Italian? There is another thing, I do not comprehend. How did you, who have already suffered from Italy, touch an Italian again; for you must remember this is not your first error. As touching Tuscany, you married Cosmo the First to Bianca Capello. You attributed to Rembrandt, the vision of Ezechiel by the divine Sanzio of Urbino. To conclude, to the gentle Leonardo da Vinci, you gave the three terrible fates of the terrible Michael Angelo. You have perhaps forgotten these mistakes; but the Florentines have not. There is one, above all, dear Monsieur Janin, which wakens their hilarity, and deserves particular mention. You say, that travelling from Genoa to Lucca, you had the mountains on your right, and the sea on your left hand. It was so great an innovation in geography-so tremendous a geological overthrow that all the learned ultramontanes were startled. You will allow it was enough to startle them. Throughout the six thousand years or thereabouts, which have passed, since God created the world, the Italians, from generation to generation, had become accustomed, travelling this same road, to see, on the contrary, the mountains on the left and the sea on the right hand. But, as you are a mighty master, and as you write all these fine things in a journal of weight, one day or other I doubt not the transposition will be universally acknowledged, and the Italians will admit they were wrong. Let us pass to the analysis."

This, saving a few observations, we pass over :

"Forgive me, dear Monsieur Janin, it appeared to me, who settled the stage business, that the actor you notice as entering at the window, came in at the door; it is true, that at that moment you were conversing, in the corridor, with your witty associate, Monsieur Merle, who asked you whether you would not soon publish a second edition of Barnave? an edition the more wanted, as, long since, the mere preface which preceded this fine historical novel, which procured you the cross, exhausted the first, to the very last volume. . . I beg your pardon again, dear Monsieur Janin, but you had, doubtless, not re. turned to your box, when the events you tell took place on the stage-and the result is, that having failed to hear my dialogue, you are so generous as to lend me yours. But when you are inclined to lend, you should, above all, know whether people will borrow. Your dialogue is all taste and wit, but I may as well keep my own, since it is written.

But, what wounds you most,

you, the man of facts and dates, the historical writer par excellence, is that which concerns Madame de Montbazon. 'Certainly, you say the lady possessed less authority when the Cardinal de Richelieu took off the head of her brother-in-law, the Chevalier de Rohan, in 1764, just thirty years before, which says little for her youth.' Glory to you, dear Monsieur Janin, you are an unique, unheard-of, inappreciable man. After discovering that, going from Genoa to Lucca, you have the mountains on the right, and the sea on the left, which we may convince ourselves of by casting our eyes on the map a very new geographical combination; here do you set forth, an historical fact, as miraculous, to say the least of it. It is that the Cardinal de Richelieu, deceased the 4th of December, 1642, should have condemned to death, the Chevalier de Rohan, decapitated before the Bastille the 27th of November, 1674, that is to say, thirty-two years after his interment. What an abominable tyrant was this Cardinal of Richelieu-and how far behind does he leave the clement Tiberius, whose executions were prolonged only to the second day after his death. I understand, dear Monsieur Janin, that a man, who, like you, has his facts and dates at his fingers' ends, should be difficult regarding history, who know much, exact muchand woe to the ablest pupil of the school

of Chartes, if ever he came under your hand. He would learn all at once that Smyrna is an island-that Napoleon landed on the battle-field of Cannesthat the passage of the Portes de Fer is a suite of triumphal arches raised by the Romans-that the Saone runs from Lyons to St. Etienne, your birthplace— that the Rhine passes through Marseilles-that hares earth themselvesthat partridges go to roost-that la Chasse à courre' is written chasse à cours;' all, things which you have printed in this same Journal des Debats, so grave, learned, and literary a paper, that its readers have not yet found out that you, the sceptic-you, who mock at the whole creation, have gently arrived at making fools of your subscribers.

"Nevertheless, I confess it, notwithstanding the careless air I affect, one of your three reproaches moved me, that of having allowed myself to be outdone by my friend and comrade Victor Hugo. Certainly no one more than myself feels attachment and admiration for our great poet, whom, not being able to sting publicly in your Journal des Debats, (you know it very well, the thing is forbidden you by higher authority,) you have so often laid wait for, in the obscure feuilleton of some little, unknown paper, to inflict on him your small bite as he passed, hoping that if he did not die of the wound, he might of the venom. This reproach, I say, annoyed me-because, on the contrary, I had thought to find, in the Ruy Blas, which you quote, an absence of etiquette rather remarkable. It is, that the masters of the art, dear Monsieur Janin, have not noticed that art consisted in the bow of an ambassador, the surveillance of a duenna, or the place occupied by a fautueil. Art is a prouder personage than you would make him. He is a noble Roman patrician, a proud Castilian Hidalgo, a grand French seigneur-and when he finds on his path any poor little barrier, planted there by a slave, an eunuch, or a lackey, he breaks it down, if he has timepasses over it, if he is in a hurry.

What a

"You are so profound, so enlightened a critic, that not only nothing which is in the piece escapes you, but you see besides, what is not there. thing it is to be short-sighted. But, shortness of sight is not all. You are rather deaf besides. You heard St. Kerem say to Philip the single word, 'sortons,' because, at that moment, a box-door was opened. For, at that moment, dear Monsieur Janin, as I know well, who did not lose sight of you the whole evening-at this moment, I say, you were talking in the corridor to your witty comrade, Monsieur Rolle, who

asked you if you were not writing, on the occasion of your marriage, a little anniversary feuilleton. Now, dear Monsieur Janin, as you have done with me, so will I end with you. Yes; you were right when, in the charming feuilleton which you wrote on yourself, you announced you were not deceased-when you re-assured the amateurs of Yrick, by promising them they would see you re-appear on your wire. Yes, Mondays, and sometimes Tuesdays, you give them the proof of your suppleness and equi. librium. But, take care, dear Monsieur Janin, in continuing your acrobatic exercises, as you call them yourself, take care not to touch with your balancing stick, those who need only lay a finger on your rope, to break your neck for you. So, now, farewell till my first comedy, dear Monsieur Janin, for I give you notice that, as the Theatre Francais waits for me, even if you did me the honour to reply, I should not find, between this time and that of the first performance, a moment to occupy myself

with you, with the pen, I mean. I remain, dear Monsieur Janin, your very obedient, humble servant,

"ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

"30th July, 1843."

66

Monsieur Janin answered this letter the 7th of August. Why should I not reply to a certain epistle, in three columns, price 226 francs, at the rate of ten centimes the line," commences the critic, who goes on to quote the unfavourable opinions of the newspapers, proving his own more benevolent intentions since he had criticised the work seriously, and copying the assertion of the Nation, that the demoiselles de St. Cyr, under the name of the two Mousquetaires, was first offered and refused at the Varietês, whence the authors carried it to Monsieur Alexandre Dumas, who changed the title, probably, the scene of action, cut, clipped, filed, added, remoulded, scattered it all over with epigrams, with jokes rather broad, with witticisms which cost him little, till the deux Mousquetaires made their entry under a title much too virginal for their success, and the manner in which it was obtained.

Farther on, Monsieur Janin speaks of Dumas as a madman, who employs the slang of the markets, adding gravely, that criticism is on the decline by reason of its over-indulgence. "Monsieur Dumas affirms he has the wholesome habit of never reading the papers, which make their comment on