At his Abbotsford, "Monte Cristo," the gates were
open to everybody but bailiffs. His dog asked other dogs to come
and stay: twelve came, making thirteen in all. The old butler
wanted to turn them adrift, and Dumas consented, and repented.
"Michel," he said, "there are some expenses which a man's social
position and the character which he has had the ill-luck to receive
from heaven force upon him. I don't believe these dogs ruin me.
Let them bide! But, in the interests of their own good luck, see
they are not thirteen, an unfortunate number!"
"Monsieur, I'll drive one of them away."
"No, no, Michel; let a fourteenth come. These dogs cost me some
three pounds a month," said Dumas. "A dinner to five or six friends
would cost thrice as much, and, when they went home, they would say
my wine was good, but certainly that my books were bad." In this
fashion Dumas fared royally "to the dogs," and his Abbotsford ruined
him as certainly as that other unhappy palace ruined Sir Walter.
He, too, had his miscellaneous kennel; he, too, gave while he had
anything to give, and, when he had nothing else, gave the work of
his pen. Dumas tells how his big dog, Mouton once flew at him and
bit one of his hands, while the other held the throat of the brute.
"Luckily my hand, though small, is powerful; what it once holds it
holds long--money excepted." He could not "haud a guid grip o' the
gear.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29