Alexandre Dumas, Père
(Inc.)

When kids first broach the books from the 19th century, they wonder. Did people actually read those massive and text-dense tomes and for enjoyment?

Indeed they did. The books of Charles Dickens, George Sand, and - yes - Alexandre Dumas were consumed by the average Joe and Josephine Blow of their day - and consumed mit gern.

So why, you ask, do so many people today find it so hard to get through Page 1, much less the whole book?

Well, before we begin you should sit back, put down the remote, and relax.

No, we're not saying it's because we're less literate than the average Victorian era European. In fact, given the sales of books today - not counting the myriad of electronic books you can now read for nothing - our per capita literata beats them by over 90%. More books are consumed today than ever before.

Instead the reasons are a bit more complex, albeit fairly obvious.

First of all, the style of the authors was tailored for their readers. And in those less visual days, readers wanted detailed descriptions of settings and action. This produced fat paragraphs with fat sentences and even fatter books.

Also the dialog was often long-winded. Alexandre, for instance, gave his characters considerable loquacity, and their well-rounded phrases ring off as a bit fatuous and overlong.

But the most important reason why the older books fail to connect today is best seen if you look at the opening paragraph of Alexandre's most famous novel, The Three Musketeers.

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE [capitals in the original] was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the women flying toward the High Street, leaving their children crying at the open doors, hastened to don the cuirass, and supporting their somewhat uncertain courage with a musket or a partisan, directed their steps toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, before which was gathered, increasing every minute, a compact group, vociferous and full of curiosity.

Now if you are a buff on the French Renaissance, you'll know that a cuirass is. It's that fore-and-aft metal garb that you see the Three Musketeers wear: protective armor that protects the chest and back. But you'll probably have to look up what a partisan is (a spear-like weapon), and the reference to the Hugenots making a "second La Rochelle" is also obscure to the average Joe and Josephine Blow on the streets. But you'll guess it has something to do with the Hugenots making problems. And indeed in 1625 there was revolt in La Rochelle.

So you see the problem. References that needed no explanation back then make comprehension difficult today. Or at least they interrupt the flow of the story. Even with heavy annotations, reading becomes dull and tortuous if you have to flip back and forth between the texts and a glossary. Particularly if you're on Page 1 and you have 500 more to go.

And yes, the books are long. The Three Musketeers does indeed run 500 or more pages depending on text and page size. And so the books aren't that suitable for whiling away a couple of hours on a Sunday afternoon.

But that was their purpose when they were first printed. That's because - and pardon us if we shout -

THE 19TH CENTURY BOOKS WERE NOT BOOKS!

Ha? (To quote Shakespeare.) So what were they? Television?

Pretty close. They were serials. That is they were first printed in bits and pieces in magazines and newspapers.

Nor were all of the chapters written first and then serialized. The authors would usually write the story as they went along, and sometimes the editors had to go pounding on the author's doors to get the next installment.

But this modus had its advantages. If the author didn't know what was going to happen, then you can bet the readers didn't. The result was the meandering and convoluted and often ludicrous plots that kept people lining up for the next issue to see what would happen. The more serial chapters, the more papers and magazines would be sold. The publishers were happy and so were the authors since they got paid by how much they wrote.

And after the serial finally ended? Well, you put all the chapters together and printed the book, a book with the meandering and convoluted and often ludicrous plot preserved.

So that is why the 19th century books are so long. And convoluted, meandering, and often ludicrous and the bane of today's middle and high school students.

But you say, long and convoluted plots were still with us well into the 20th century. Look at Mika Waltari's The Egyptian. This is in effect a serial although it wasn't published as such. And it still is a readable and enjoyable book.

The 19th century books, though, have the drawback that they were successful a long time ago. And one wee little problem with literary success is what was innovative back then becomes trite and corny today. Just like the lady who said she didn't see what was so great about Hamlet as it was nothing but a bunch of famous quotations put together.

So if you crack a 19th century book, you'll likely find it - and we'll say it - corny. Both the plots and the writing. After all, how many times do we have to read about some upstanding honest young man who is cheated out of fame, fortune, or freedom, and after many and impossibly complex adventures with God-knows how many incidental characters and multiple reverses of fortunes, ends up living happily ever after with his lady love? For instance, Alexandre's book The Count of Monte Crisco is a tale where a young man named Edmond Dantès is falsely accused and falsely imprisoned. Naturally he escapes and after an impossibly complex plot, he and his girlfriend live - yes - happily ever after.

Still, if properly presented the nineteenth century novels can be made palatable for today's readers and the modern media. You either edit them down to reasonable size or you offer them as they were intended - as serials to be viewed a bit at a time. The Count of Monte Crisco has been filmed at least nine times - two silent movies, three from the "classic" era, two from the 1960's and 1970's (one a made-for-TV movie starring Richard Chamberlain), even a 21st century theatrical release, and a made for TV mini-series. And the book has also directly inspired a quite recent television series - where the hero is a lady.

The answer to the question, then, if you pick up a work of Alexandre or Charles or Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters and say "And from this they made a living?" is yes, they did. And some people still like the books fine. But the times they have a-changed, and don't feel bad if you don't like the books that Alexandre wrote.

Or that some people think he didn't write.

It has been long acknowledged that Alexandre did not write his books by himself. He had assistants and ghost writers which led to the old chestnut about how Alexandre Père met his namesake son (himself a famous and successful author) on the street.

"Ah, Alex," Dumas Père said. "Have you read my latest novel?"

"Why, no," smiled Dumas Fils, "Have you?"

You'll read some places that make it sound like Alexandre was practically a corporate entity, standing in front of rows and rows of ghostwriters cranking out his books. Instead, we know he had two primary assistants, Paul Lacroix and Auguste Maquet.

It's Auguste - the "Fourth Musketeer" - who has been the subject of the most attention and has even had a movie made about him. Auguste's job wasn't as cushy as you may think, and at least once he had to dun Aleandre for his fee.

Even in his lifetime, people sneered that Alexadre wasn't really the author of the books, and even then people rose to his defense. William Thackeray, the author of Vanity Fair, wrote:

They say that all the works bearing Dumas's name are not written by him. Well? Does not the chief cook have aides under him? Did not Rubens's pupils paint on his canvases? Had not Lawrence assistants for his backgrounds? [...] Sir Christopher is the architect of St. Paul's. He has not laid the stones or carried up the mortar. There is a great deal of carpenter's and joiner's work in novels which surely a smart professional hand might supply. A smart professional hand? I give you my word, there seem to me parts of novels - let us say the love-making, the "business," the villain in the cupboard, and so forth, which I should like to order John Footman to take in hand, as I desire him to bring the coals and polish the boots.

And as you can expect from something written in the early 19th century, William is using allusions that are not entirely clear to the modern reader. But all in all he is saying we should accept that Alexandre Dumas is the real author.

Auguste, though, didn't agree. He later demanded that he be acknowledged as a co-author. And of course, that he should be paid his fee.

Although Alexandre was one of the most successful and well-paid authors of the time, he also was one of the most extravagant as well. Like today the nineteenth century expenses were handled largely by credit and like today, a lot of people - including Alexandre - did their best to milk the system.

Alexandre Dumas was born in 1802 in Villers-Cotterêts, about 50 miles northeast of Paris. His father, Thomas-Alexandre Dumas, had been a general for the Republican forces during the French Revolution and had served with Napoleon on the important but ultimately ill-fated expedition to Egypt. However, after Thomas-Alexandre's return to France, his fortunes declined - some say this was because he was involved in a plot to restore the Republic, some that he had a difference of opinion about the Egyptian expedition, and still others say because Napoleon proclaimed no black men were to be generals.

Yes, although Alexandre's grandfather was of the nobility, Marquis Alexandre-Antoine Davy de la Pailleterie, his grandmother, Marie-Cessette Dumas, was a slave. She was from Haiti, then called Saint Domingue. Although the Marquis and Marie-Cessette weren't married, Alexandre-Antoine agreed to support his son and get him into the army - that is, provided he use his mothers name.

One thing we do know. For a successful military career, you did not get on Napoleon's bad side. Thomas-Alexandre spent almost two years in prison and when he was released he was not in good shape.

Thomas-Alexandre died in 1806. He had married a woman named Marie Louise Labouret who sent their son - our Alexandre - to a local school where he learned to write in a beautiful hand. At that time such a skill was a real boon as one reasonably steady job was as a clerk. Young Alexandre got a job working for a notary.

Marie Louise, though, hoped for better things for her offspring and gave him a letter of introduction to some of her husband's former buddies. Letters of introduction are virtually never used today, but in the 19th century they were the standard way to get connected with the high and mighty. If someone you knew was a friend of some influential figure, you got them to write you a letter telling who you were. You would show up at the fat-cat's home or office, hand them the letter, and hoped they could find you a job or connect you with someone who would.

In this case, Alexandre got a job working as clerk for the Duke of Orleans. He became interested in writing and turned out some plays. With his high placed connections, Alexandre was able to get these staged and they were quite popular although they are almost never performed today. But then he hit real success with his novels.

Alexandre died in 1870 famous, honored, and incredibly in debt.

References

Alexandre Dumas: Genius of Life, Claude Schopp, Franklin Watts, 1988.

The Bartlett's Book of Anecdotes, Clifton Fadiman and Andre Bernard (Editors), Little, Brown, 2000.

Alexandre Dumas: A Biography And Study, A. Craig Bell, Cassell, 1950.

Alexandre Dumas: The King of Romance, F. W. J. Hemmings, Published by Encore Editions (1980) Encore Editions, 1980

Shake Well Before Using, Bennett Cerf, Garden City Books, 1948.

"Alexandre Dumas novels penned by 'fourth musketeer' ghost writer", Henry Samuel, Telegraph, February 19,2010.

Société des Amis d'Alexandre Dumas.

Fabrique de Romans. Maison Alexandre Dumas et Compagnie, Eugène de Mirecourt , Chez tous les marchands de nouveautés, Paris, 1845

Models of Collaboration in Nineteenth-Century French Literature: Several Authors, One Pen, Seth Whidden, Taylor Francis Ltd., 2009