e "Vicomte" a reader who was in quest of what
we may call puritan morality. The ventripotent mulatto, the great eater,
worker, earner and waster, the man of much and witty laughter, the man
of the great heart, and alas! of the doubtful honesty, is a figure not
yet clearly set before the world; he still awaits a sober and yet genial
portrait; but with whatever art that may be touched, and whatever
indulgence, it will not be the portrait of a precisian. Dumas was
certainly not thinking of himself, but of Planchet, when he put into the
mouth of d'Artagnan's old servant this excellent profession: "_Monsieur,
j'etais une de ces bonnes pates d'hommes que Dieu a faits pour s'animer
pendant un certain temps et pour trouver bonnes toutes choses qui
accompagnent leur sejour sur la terre._" He was thinking, as I say, of
Planchet, to whom the words are aptly fitted; but they were fitted also
to Planchet's creator; and perhaps this struck him as he wrote, for
observe what follows: "_D'Artagnan s'assit alors pres de la fenetre, et,
cette philosophie de Planchet lui ayant paru solide, il y reva._" In a
man who finds all things good, you will scarce expect much zeal for
negative virtues: the active alone will have a charm for him;
abstinence, however wise, however kind, will always seem to such a judge
entirely mean and partly impious. So with Dumas. Chastity is not near
his heart; nor yet, to his own sore cost, that virtue of frugality which
is the armour of the artist. Now, in the "Vicomte," he had much to do
with the contest of Fouquet and Colbert. Historic justice should be all
upon the side of Colbert, of official honesty, and fiscal competence.
And Dumas knew it well: three times at least he shows his knowledge;
once it is but flashed upon us, and received with the laughter of
Fouquet himself, in the jesting controversy in the gardens of Saint
Mande; once it is touched on by Aramis in the forest of Senart; in the
end, it is set before us clearly in one dignified speech of the
triumphant Colbert. But in Fouquet, the waster, the lover of good cheer
and wit and art, the swift transactor of much business, "_l'homme de
bruit, l'homme de plaisir, l'homme qui n'est que parceque les autres
sont_," Dumas saw something of himself and drew the figure the more
tenderly. It is to me even touching to see how he insists on Fouquet's
honour; not seeing, you might think, that unflawed honour is impossible
to spendthrifts; but rather, perhaps, in th