rlhood than
Lola Montes, but she had a natural tact, and an instinctive refinement
which no education could have enhanced. She never made grammatical
mistakes, no coarse expression ever passed her lips. Lola Montes could
not make friends; Alphonsine Plessis could not make enemies. She never
became riotous like the other, not even boisterous; for amidst the most
animated scenes she was haunted by the sure knowledge that she would die
young, and life, but for that knowledge, would have been very sweet to
her. Amidst these scenes, she would often sit and chat to me: she liked
me, because I never paid her many compliments, although I was but six
years older than the most courted woman of her time. The story of her
being provided for by a foreign nobleman because she was so like his
deceased daughter, was not a piece of fiction on Dumas' part; it was a
positive fact. Alphonsine Plessis, after this provision was made for
her, might have led the most retired existence; she might, like so many
demi-mondaines have done since, bought herself a country-house,
re-entered "the paths of respectability," have had a pew in the parish
church, been in constant communication with the vicar, prolonged her
life by several years, and died in the odour of sanctity: but,
notwithstanding her desperate desire to live, her very nature revolted
at such self-exile. When Alexandre Dumas read the "Dame aux Camelias" to
his father, the latter wept like a baby, but his tears did not drown the
critical faculty. "At the beginning of the third act," he said
afterwards, "I was wondering how Alexandre would get his Marguerite back
to town without lowering her in the estimation of the spectator.
Because, if such a woman as he depicted was to remain true to nature--to
her nature--and consequently able to stand the test of psychological
analysis, she could not have borne more than two or three months of such
retirement. This does not mean that she would have severed her
connection with Armand Duval, but he would have become 'un plat dans le
menu' after a little while, nothing more. The way Alexandre got out of
the difficulty proves that he is my son every inch of him, and that, at
the very outset of his career, he is a better dramatist than I am ever
likely to be. But depend upon it, that if, in real life and with such a
woman, le pere Duval had not interfered, la belle Marguerite would have
taken the 'key of the street' on some pretext--and that, notwithstandin