Of interest to Americans is the fact which has been recorded by some one who was _au courant_ with Parisian affairs of the day, "that the United States Minister to France, Mr. John Bigelow, breakfasted with Dumas at St. Gratien, near Paris," when it came out that he (Dumas) had a notion to go out to America as a war correspondent for the French papers; the Civil War was not then over. Unhappily for all of us, he did not go, and so a truly great book was lost to the world. In this same connection it has been said that Dumas' "quadroon autographs" were sold in the United States, to provide additional funds for the widows and orphans of slain abolitionists. As it is apocryphally said that they sold for a matter of a hundred and twenty dollars each, the sum must have reached considerable proportions, if their number was great. CHAPTER VI. OLD PARIS The Paris of Dumas was Méryon's--though it is well on toward a half-century since either of them saw it. Hence it is no longer theirs; but the master romancer and the master etcher had much in common. They both drew with a fine, free hand, the one in words that burn themselves in the memory, and the other in lines which, once bitten on the copper plate, are come down to us in indelible fashion. The mention of Méryon and his art is no mere rambling of the pen. Like that of Dumas, his art depicted those bold, broad impressions which rebuilt "old Paris" in a manner which is only comparable to the background which Dumas gave to "Les Trois Mousquetaires." The iconoclastic Haussman caused much to disappear, and it is hard to trace the footsteps of many a character of history and romance, whose incomings and outgoings are otherwise very familiar to us. There are many distinct cities which go to make up Paris itself, each differing from the other, but Dumas and Méryon drew them each and all with unerring fidelity: Dumas the University Quarter and the faubourgs in "Les Trois Mousquetaires," and Méryon the Cité in "The Stryge." The sheer beauty and charm of old-world Paris was never more strongly suggested than in the work of these two masters, who have given a permanence to the abodes of history and romance which would otherwise have been wanting. It is a pleasurable occupation to hunt up the dwellings of those personages who may, or may not, have lived in the real flesh and blood. The mere fact that they lived in the pages of a Dumas--or for that matter of a Balzac or a Hugo--is excuse enough for most of us to seek to follow in their footsteps.