world," he wrote, "and during these three thousand years mankind has been hissing it." "A young man," he wrote to Béranger, "always makes his entry into public life with an old woman on his arm, and into the world of literature with an old thought in his head. One needs to have much experience before young ideas will come."
There was human truth, too, in this: "When the prodigal son returned to his father's house after three years they killed a calf; if he had not returned for six years they would have killed an ox." Again, take this passage from his "Mémoires" as a sample of the style of their contents: "I have been confessing the ridiculous weaknesses of my childhood; I shall be equally frank about those of my youth. I shall be more courageous than Rousseau: Rousseau confessed only his vices."
There is no room here for a volume of jeux d'esprit, spoken or written, and we must be merciful, too; in the matter of the stories told by Dumas; for he was a famous raconteur, and his autobiographical writings are enriched with capital anecdotes, neatly told. There are two, however, which we cannot bring ourselves to omit. One is of M. de Sesmaisons, "the fattest man in politics," who was so stout that he found it necessary when he travelled to reserve two places in the diligence for himself. On one occasion when he took this precaution, he discovered
