devote myself at the first leisure moment I get, and which will be one of my best books. Indeed, I have only one fear—that I may die without having written it."
In this case, "l'auteur propose, le censeur dispose." Parigot is facetious, but misleading, when he writes: "Dumas, in commencing 'Isaac Laquedem,' thought to write the romance of the world's history. He soon stopped, as there did not seem sufficient material."
The story was interdicted by the censor of the Second Empire, probably as profane. It promised, says Henley, to fulfil its author's pledge, and be one of his best romances. M. de Bury devotes considerable space to it in his study of Dumas. It was, in truth, a gigantic task to undertake: "Isaac Laquedem" was telling us the story of the early days of the world and of the Bible with all sincerity and reverence, and in Dumas's most vivid and enthralling manner. The trial of Jesus; His encounter with the Jew and the terrible curse He laid upon him—all was as powerful as it was audacious. But the idea of the Passion told en feuilleton was too much for the authorities, and all that we possess of "Isaac Laquedem" is a fragment—a few scattered columns of one of the most daring literary edifices ever mortal man designed to erect. The MS.—all in Dumas's own handwriting—was presented by his son to the town of Villers-Cotterets.
