opean craftsman, Dumas. His
great works endured; the plays which renewed the youth of the French
stage, the novels which Thackeray loved to praise, these remain, and we
trust they may always remain, to the delight of mankind and for the
sorrow of prigs.

* * * * *

So much has been written of Dumas' novels that criticism can hardly hope
to say more that is both new and true about them. It is acknowledged
that, in such a character as Henri III., Dumas made history live, as
magically as Scott revived the past in his Louis XI., or Balfour of
Burley. It is admitted that Dumas' good tales are told with a vigour and
life which rejoice the heart; that his narrative is never dull, never
stands still, but moves with a freedom of adventure which perhaps has no
parallel. He may fall short of the humour, the kindly wisdom, the genial
greatness of Sir Walter at his best, and he has not that supernatural
touch, that tragic grandeur, which Scott inherits from Homer and from
Shakespeare. In another Homeric quality, [Greek text], as Homer himself
calls it, in the "delight of battle" and the spirit of the fray, Scott
and Dumas are alike masters. Their fights and the fights in the
Icelandic sagas are the best that have ever been drawn by mortal man.
When swords are aloft, in siege or on the greensward, or in the midnight
chamber where an ambush is laid, Scott and Dumas are indeed themselves.
The steel rings, the bucklers clash, the parry and lunge pass and answer
too swift for the sight. If Dumas has not, as he certainly has not, the
noble philosophy and kindly knowledge of the heart which are Scott's, he
is far more swift, more witty, more diverting. He is not prolix, his
style is not involved, his dialogue is as rapid and keen as an assault at
arms. His favourite virtues and graces, we repeat it, are loyalty,
friendship, gaiety, generosity, courage, beauty, and strength. He is
himself the friend of the big, stupid, excellent Porthos; of Athos, the
noble and melancholy swordsman of sorrow; of D'Artagnan, the indomitable,
the trusty, the inexhaustible in resource; but his heart is never on the
side of the shifty Aramis, with all his beauty, dexterity, bravery, and
brilliance. The brave Bussy, and the chivalrous, the doomed La Mole, are
more dear to him; and if he embellishes their characters, giving them
charms and virtues that never were theirs, history loses nothing, and
romance and we are the gainers. In all he does, at hi