LA VILLE
It would be impossible to form a precise topographical itinerary of the
scenes of Dumas' romances and the wanderings of his characters, even in
Paris itself. The area is so very wide, and the number of localities,
which have more than an incidental interest, so very great, that the
futility of such a task will at once be apparent.
Probably the most prominent of all the romances, so far as identifying the
scenes of their action goes, are the Valois series.
As we know, Dumas was very fond of the romantic house of Valois, and,
whether in town or country, he seemed to take an especial pride in
presenting details of portraiture and place in a surprisingly complete,
though not superfluous, manner.
The Louvre has the most intimate connection with both the Valois and the
D'Artagnan romances, and is treated elsewhere as a chapter by itself.
Dumas' most marked reference to the Hotel de Ville is found in the taking
of the Bastille, and, though it is not so very great, he gives prominence
to the incident of the deputation of the people who waited upon De
Flesselles, the prevot, just before the march upon the Bastille.
In history we know the same individual as "Messire Jacques de Flesselles,
Chevalier, Conseiller de la Grande Chambre, Maitre Honoraire des Requetes,
Conseiller d'Etat." The anecdote is recorded in history, too, that Louis
XVI., when he visited the Hotel de Ville in 1789, was presented with a
cockade of blue and red, the colours of the ville--the white was not added
till some days later.
_"Votre Majeste," dit le maire, "veut-elle accepte le signe distinctif des
Francais?"_
For reply the king took the cockade and put it on his chapeau, entered the
_grande salle_, and took his place on the throne.
All the broils and turmoils which have taken place since the great
Revolution, have likewise had the Hotel de Ville for the theatre where
their first scenes were represented.
It was invaded by the people during the Revolutions of 1830 and 1848, as
well as in the Commune in 1871, when, in addition to the human fury, it
was attacked by the flames, which finally brought about its
destruction. Thus perished that noble structure, which owed its inception
to that art-loving monarch, Francois I.
[Illustration: PLACE DE LA GREVE]
The present-day Quai de l'Hotel de Ville is the successor of the Quai des
Ormes, which dates from the fourteenth century, and the Quai de la Greve,
which existed as early as 1254, and which descended by an easy slope to
the strand from which it took its name.
Adjoining the quai was the Place de la Greve, which approximates the
present Place de l'Hotel de Ville.
A near neighbour of the Hotel de Ville is the Tour de St. Jacques la
Boucherie, where sits to-day Paris's clerk of the weather.
It was here that Marguerite de Valois, in company with the Duchesse de
Nevers, repaired from their pilgrimage to the Cimetiere des Innocents, to
view the results of the Huguenot massacre of the preceding night.
"'And where are you two going?' inquired Catherine, the queen's mother.
'To see some rare and curious Greek books found at an old Protestant
pastor's, and which have been taken to the Tour de St. Jacques la
Boucherie,' replied the inquisitive and erudite Marguerite. For, be it
recalled, her knowledge and liking of classical literature was most
profound."
This fine Gothic tower, which is still a notable landmark, is the only
_relique_ of the Church of St. Jacques. A bull of Pope Calixtus II., dated
1119, first makes mention of it, and Francois I. made it a royal parish
church.
The tower itself was not built until 1508, having alone cost 1,350 livres.
It has often been pictured and painted, and to-day it is a willing or
unwilling sitter to most snap-shot camerists who come within focus of it,
but no one has perceived the spirit of its genuine old-time flavour as did
Meryon, in his wonderful etching--so sought for by collectors--called "Le
Stryge."
The artist's view-point, taken from the gallery of Notre Dame,--though in
the early nineteenth century,--with the grotesque head and shoulders of
one of those monstrous figures, half-man, half-beast, with which the
galleries of Notre Dame are peopled, preserves, with its very simplicity
and directness, an impression of _Vieux Paris_ which is impossible to
duplicate to-day.
The Place de la Greve was for a time, at least, the most famous or
infamous of all the places of execution in Paris. One reads of it largely
in "Marguerite de Valois" in this connection, and in "Le Vicomte de
Bragelonne" it again crops up, but in a much more pleasant manner.
[Illustration: TOUR DE ST. JACQUES LA BOUCHERIE
(Meryon's Etching, "Le Stryge")]
Dumas, ever praiseful of good wine and good food, describes Vatel, the
_maitre d'hotel_ of Fouquet, as crossing the square with a hamper filled
with bottles, which he had just purchased at the _cabaret_ of the sign of
"L'Image de Notre Dame;" a queer name for a wine-shop, no doubt, and,
though it does not exist to-day, and so cannot be authenticated, it may
likely enough have had an existence outside the novelist's page. At all
events, it is placed definitely enough, as one learns from the chapter of
"Le Vicomte de Bragelonne," entitled "The Wine of M. de la Fontaine."
"'What the devil are you doing here, Vatel?' said Fouquet. 'Are you buying
wine at a _cabaret_ in the Place de Greve?'... 'I have found here,
monsieur, a "_vin de Joigny_" which your friends like. This I know, as
they come once a week to drink it at the "Image de Notre Dame."'"
In the following chapter Dumas reverts to the inglorious aspect of the
Place and the Quai de la Greve as follows:
"At two o'clock the next day, fifty thousand spectators had taken their
position upon the place, around two gibbets which had been elevated
between the Quai de la Greve and Quai Pelletier; one close to the other,
with their backs to the parapet of the river. In the morning, also, all
the sworn criers of the good city of Paris had traversed the quarters of
the city, particularly the Halles and the faubourgs, announcing with their
hoarse and indefatigable voices the great justice done by the king upon
two peculators; two thieves, devourers of the people. And these people,
whose interests were so warmly looked after, in order not to fail in
respect for their king, quitted shops, stalls, and ateliers, to go and
evince a little gratitude to Louis XIV., absolutely like invited guests,
who feared to commit an impoliteness in not repairing to the house of him
who invited them. According to the tenor of the sentence, which the criers
read loudly and badly, two farmers of the revenues, monopolists of money,
dilapidators of the royal provisions, extortioners and forgers, were about
to undergo capital punishment on the Place de Greve, with their names
affixed over their heads, according to their sentence. As to those names,
the sentence made no mention of them. The curiosity of the Parisians was
at its height, and, as we have said, an immense crowd waited with feverish
impatience the hour fixed for the execution."
D'Artagnan, who, in the pages of "Le Vicomte de Bragelonne," was no more a
young man, owned this very _cabaret_, the "Image de Notre Dame." "'I will
go, then,' says he, 'to the "Image de Notre Dame," and drink a glass of
Spanish wine with my tenant, which he cannot fail to offer me.'"
_En route_ to the _cabaret_, D'Artagnan asked of his companion, "Is there
a procession to-day?" "It is a hanging, monsieur." "What! a hanging on the
Greve? The devil take the rogue who gets himself hung the day I go to take
my rent," said D'Artagnan.
The old _mousquetaire_ did not get his rent, there was riot and bloodshed
galore, "L'Image de Notre Dame" was set on fire, and D'Artagnan had one
more opportunity to cry out "_A moi, Mousquetaires_," and enter into a
first-class fight; all, of course, on behalf of right and justice, for he
saved two men, destined to be gibbeted, from the more frightful death of
torture by fire, to which the fanatical crowd had condemned them.
The most extensive reference to the Place de la Greve is undoubtedly in
the "Forty-Five Guardsmen," where is described the execution of Salcede,
the coiner of false money and the co-conspirator with the Guises.
"M. Friard was right when he talked of one hundred thousand persons as the
number of spectators who would meet on the Place de la Greve and its
environs, to witness the execution of Salcede. All Paris appeared to have
a rendezvous at the Hotel de Ville; and Paris is very exact, and never
misses a fete; and the death of a man is a fete, especially when he has
raised so many passions that some curse and others bless him.
"The spectators who succeeded in reaching the place saw the archers and a
large number of Swiss and light horse surrounding a little scaffold raised
about four feet from the ground. It was so low as to be visible only to
those immediately surrounding it, or to those who had windows overlooking
the place. Four vigorous white horses beat the ground impatiently with
their hoofs, to the great terror of the women, who had either chosen this
place willingly, or had been forcibly pushed there.
"These horses were unused, and had never done more work than to support,
by some chance, on their broad backs, the chubby children of the peasants.
After the scaffold and the horses, what next attracted all looks was the
principal window of the Hotel de Ville, which was hung with red velvet and
gold, and ornamented with the royal arms. This was for the king. Half-past
one had just struck when this window was filled. First came Henri III.,
pale, almost bald, although he was at that time only thirty-five, and with
a sombre expression, always a mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw
him appear, never knew whether to say '_Vive le roi!_' or to pray for his
soul. He was dressed in black, without jewels or orders, and a single
diamond shone in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes. He
carried in his hand a little black dog that his sister-in-law, Marie
Stuart, had sent him from her prison, and on which his fingers looked as
white as alabaster.
"Behind the king came Catherine de Medici, almost bowed by age, for she
might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm and
erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. At her
side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise de
Touraine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a punishment. Behind them
came two handsome young men, brothers, the eldest of whom smiled with
wonderful beauty, and the younger with great melancholy. The one was Anne,
Duc de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de Joyeuse, Comte de Bouchage. The
people had for these favourites of the king none of the hatred which they
had felt toward Maugiron, Quelus, and Schomberg.
"Henri saluted the people gravely; then, turning to the young men, he
said, 'Anne, lean against the tapestry; it may last a long time.'...
"Henri, in anger, gave the sign. It was repeated, the cords were
refastened, four men jumped on the horses, which, urged by violent blows,
started off in opposite directions. A horrible cracking and a terrible cry
was heard. The blood was seen to spout from the limbs of the unhappy man,
whose face was no longer that of a man, but of a demon.
"'Ah, heaven!' he cried; 'I will speak, I will tell all. Ah! cursed
duch--'
"The voice had been heard above everything, but suddenly it ceased.
"'Stop, stop,' cried Catherine, 'let him speak.'
"But it was too late; the head of Salcede fell helplessly on one side, he
glanced once more to where he had seen the page, and then expired."
* * * * *
Near the Hotel de Ville is "Le Chatelet," a name familiar enough to
travellers about Paris. It is an omnibus centre, a station on the new
"Metropolitan," and its name has been given to one of the most modern
theatres of Paris.
Dumas, in "Le Collier de la Reine," makes but little use of the old Prison
du Grand Chatelet, but he does not ignore it altogether, which seems to
point to the fact that he has neglected very few historic buildings, or,
for that matter, incidents of Paris in mediaeval times, in compiling the
famous D'Artagnan and Valois romances.
The Place du Chatelet is one of the most celebrated and historic open
spots of Paris. The old prison was on the site of an old Caesarian forum.
The prison was destroyed in 1806, but its history for seven centuries was
one of the most dramatic.
One may search for Planchet's shop, the "Pilon d'Or," of which Dumas
writes in "The Vicomte de Bragelonne," in the Rue des Lombards of to-day,
but he will not find it, though there are a dozen _boutiques_ in the
little street which joins the present Rue St. Denis with the present
Boulevard Sebastopol, which to all intents and purposes might as well have
been the abode of D'Artagnan's old servitor.
The Rue des Lombards, like Lombard Street in London, took its names from
the original money-changers, who gathered here in great numbers in the
twelfth century. Planchet's little shop was devoted to the sale of green
groceries, with, presumably, a sprinkling of other attendant garnishings
for the table.
To-day, the most notable of the shops here, of a similar character, is the
famous _magasin de confiserie_, "Au Fidele Berger," for which Guilbert,
the author of "Jeune Malade," made the original verses for the wrappers
which covered the products of the house. A contemporary of the poet has
said that the "_enveloppe etait moins bonne que la marchandaise_."
The reader may judge for himself. This is one of the verses:
"Le soleil peut s'eteindre et le ciel s'obscurcir,
J'ai vu ma Marita, je n'ai plus qu'a mourir."
Every lover of Dumas' romances, and all who feel as though at one time or
another they had been blessed with an intimate acquaintance with that
"King of Cavaliers,"--D'Artagnan,--will have a fondness for the old narrow
ways in the Rue d'Arbre Sec, which remains to-day much as it always was.
It runs from the Quai de l'Hotel de Ville,--once the unsavoury Quai de la
Greve,--toward Les Halles; and throughout its length, which is not very
great, it has that crazy, tumble-down appearance which comes, sooner or
later, to most narrow thoroughfares of mediaeval times.
It is not so very picturesque nor so very tumble-down, it is simply
wobbly. It is not, nor ever was, a pretentious thoroughfare, and, in
short, is distinctly commonplace; but there is a little house, on the
right-hand side, near the river, which will be famous as long as it
stands, as the intimate scene of much of the minor action of "Marguerite
de Valois," "Chicot the Jester," and others of the series.
[Illustration: HOTEL DES MOUSQUETAIRES, RUE D'ARBRE SEC]
This _maison_ is rather better off than most of its neighbours, with its
white-fronted lower stories, its little balcony over the Cremerie, which
now occupies the ground-floor, and its escutcheon--a blazing sun--midway
in its facade.
Moreover it is still a lodging-house,--an humble hotel if you like,--at
any rate something more than a mere house which offers "_logement a
pied_." Indeed its enterprising proprietor has erected a staring blue and
white enamel sign which advertises his house:
HOTEL
DES MOUSQUETAIRES
There is, perhaps, no harm in all this, as it would seem beyond all
question to have some justification for its name, and it is above all
something more tangible than the sites of many homes and haunts which may
to-day be occupied with a modern _magasin_, _a tous genres_, or a great
tourist caravanserai.
This house bears the name of "Hotel des Mousquetaires," as if it were
really a lineal descendant of the "Hotel de la Belle Etoile," of which
Dumas writes.
Probably it is not the same, and if it is, there is, likely enough, no
significance between its present name and its former glory save that of
perspicacity on the part of the present patron.
From the romance one learns how Catherine de Medici sought to obtain that
compromising note which was in possession of Orthon, the page. Dumas says
of this horror-chamber of the Louvre:
"Catherine now reached a second door, which, revolving on its hinges,
admitted to the depths of the _oubliette_, where--crushed, bleeding, and
mutilated, by a fall of more than one hundred feet--lay the still
palpitating form of poor Orthon; while, on the other side of the wall
forming the barrier of this dreadful spot, the waters of the Seine were
heard to ripple by, brought by a species of subterraneous filtration to
the foot of the staircase.
"Having reached the damp and unwholesome abyss, which, during her reign,
had witnessed numerous similar scenes to that now enacted, Catherine
proceeded to search the corpse, eagerly drew forth the desired billet,
ascertained by the lantern that it was the one she sought, then, pushing
the mangled body from her, she pressed a spring, the bottom of the
_oubliette_ sank down, and the corpse, borne by its own weight,
disappeared toward the river.
"Closing the door after her, she reascended; and, returning to her closet,
read the paper poor Orthon had so valiantly defended. It was conceived in
these words:
"'This evening at ten o'clock, Rue de l'Arbre-Sec, Hotel de la Belle
Etoile. Should you come, no reply is requisite; if otherwise, send
word back, _No_, by the bearer.
"'DE MOUY DE SAINT-PHALE.'
"At eight o'clock Henri of Navarre took two of his gentlemen, went out by
the Porte St. Honore, entered again by the Tour de Bois, crossed the Seine
at the ferry of the Nesle, mounted the Rue St. Jacques, and there
dismissed them, as if he were going to an amorous rendezvous. At the
corner of the Rue des Mathurins he found a man on horseback, wrapped in a
large cloak; he approached him.
"'Mantes!' said the man.
"'Pau!' replied the king.
"The horseman instantly dismounted. Henri wrapped himself in his splashed
mantle, sprang on his steed, rode down the Rue de la Harpe, crossed the
Pont St. Michel, passed the Rue Barthelemy, crossed the river again on
the Pont au Meunier, descended the quais, reached the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec,
and knocked at Maitre la Huriere's."
The route is easily traced to-day, and at the end of it is the Hotel des
Mousquetaires, so it will not take much imagination to revivify the
incident which Dumas conceived, though one may not get there that "good
wine of Artois" which the innkeeper, La Huriere, served to Henri.
The circumstance is recounted in "Marguerite de Valois," as follows:
"'La Huriere, here is a gentleman wants you.'
"La Huriere advanced, and looked at Henri; and, as his large cloak did not
inspire him with very great veneration:
"'Who are you?' asked he.
"'Eh, _sang Dieu_!' returned Henri, pointing to La Mole. 'I am, as the
gentleman told you, a Gascon gentleman come to court.'
"'What do you want?'
"'A room and supper.'
"'I do not let a room to any one, unless he has a lackey.'
"'Oh, but I will pay you a rose noble for your room and supper.'
"'You are very generous, worthy sir,' said La Huriere, with some distrust.
"'No; but expecting to sup here, I invited a friend of mine to meet me.
Have you any good wine of Artois?'
"'I have as good as the King of Navarre drinks.'
"'Ah, good!'"
The Rue de l'Arbre-Sec is of itself historic, though it was baptized as
l'Arbre-Sel. Two legends of more than ordinary interest are connected with
this once important though unimposing street. The first applies to its
early nomenclature, and is to the effect that in the thirteenth century it
contained an oak-tree, which, in the snows of winter, always remained free
of the white blanket which otherwise covered everything around about. For
this reason the tree was said to be so full of salt that the snow that
fell upon it melted immediately, and the name was created for the
thoroughfare, which then first rose to the dignity of a recognized _rue_.
The second legend in a similar way accounts for the change of name to
_arbre-sec_. At a certain rainy period, when the pavements and the walls
of the houses were "_ruisselants d'eau_," the same tree remained
absolutely dry. It is curious, too, to note that the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec is
identified with a certain personage who lived in Mazarin's time, by the
name of Mathieu Molle, whose fame as the first president of the
_Parlement_ is preserved in the neighbouring Rue Mathieu Molle. It was in
the hotel of "La Belle Etoile" that Dumas ensconced his character De la
Mole--showing once again that Dumas dealt with very real characters.
Opposite the colonnade of the Louvre is the Eglise St. Germain
l'Auxerrois. From this church--founded by Childebert in 606--rang out the
tocsin which was the signal for that infamous massacre of the Protestants
in the time of Charles IX. In "Marguerite de Valois" Dumas has vividly
described the event; not, perhaps, without certain embroidered
embellishment, but, nevertheless, with a graphicness which the dry-as-dust
historian of fact could hardly hope to equal.
This cruel inspiration of Catherine de Medici's is recorded by Dumas thus:
"'Hush!' said La Huriere.
"'What is it?' inquired Coconnas and Maurevel together.
"They heard the first stroke of the bell of St. Germain de l'Auxerrois
vibrate.
"'The signal!' exclaimed Maurevel. 'The time is put ahead, for it was
agreed for midnight. So much the better. When it is the interest of God
and the king, it is better that the clock should be put forward than
backward.' And the sinister sound of the church-bell was distinctly heard.
Then a shot was fired, and, in an instant, the light of several flambeaux
blazed up like flashes of lightning in the Rue de l'Arbre-Sec."
There is much more of moment that happened before and afterward "on this
bloody ground;" all of which is fully recounted by the historians.
* * * * *
At No. 7 Rue du Helder, just off the Boulevard des Italiens, in a region
so well known to Dumas and his associates, lived De Franchi, the hero of
the "Corsican Brothers." The _locale_ and the action of that rapid review
of emotions to which Dumas gave the name of the "Corsican Brothers" ("Les
Freres du Corse"), was not of the mean or sordid order, but rather of the
well-to-do, a sort of semi-luxuriousness of the middle-class life of the
time.
The scene of the novelette bears the date of 1841, and Paris, especially
in many of what are known as the newer parts, has changed but little
since. A new shop-front here and there, the addition of a huge gilt sign,
of which the proprietors of Parisian establishments are so fond, somewhat
changes the outside aspect of things, but, on the whole, the _locale_
often remains much as it was before, and, in this case, with but scarce
three-quarters of a century past, the view down the Rue du Helder from
its junction with Rue Taitbout differs little.
"Hotel Picardie," in the Rue Tiquetonne,--still to be seen,--may or may
not be the "La Chevrette" of "Twenty Years After," to which D'Artagnan
repaired in the later years of his life. D'Artagnan's residence in the Rue
Tiquetonne has, in the minds of many, made the street famous. It was
famous, though, even before it was popularized by Dumas, and now that we
are not able even to place the inn where D'Artagnan lived after he had
retired from active service--it is still famous.
At No. 12 and 16 are two grand habitations of former times. The former
served as a residence to Henri de Talleyrand, who died in 1626, and later
to the Marquis de Mauge, then to Daubonne, a _tapissier_, much in the
favour of Louis XIII.
The other is known as the "Hotel d'Artagnan," but it is difficult to trace
its evolution from the comfortable inn of which Dumas wrote.
[Illustration: D'ARTAGNAN'S LODGINGS, RUE TIQUETONNE]
At No. 23 is about the only _relique_ left which bespeaks the gallant days
of D'Artagnan and his fellows. It is a square tower of five _etages_, and,
from the character of its architecture, we know it to be of the fourteenth
or fifteenth century. It is known as the "Tour de Jean-sans-Peur."
Jean-sans-Peur was the grandfather of Charles-le-Temeraire. Monstrelet
has said that it was built to contain a strong chamber, in which its owner
might sleep safely at night. It formed originally a part of the Hotel de
Bourgogne, but to-day, though but partially disengaged from the
neighbouring houses, it is evidently the only member of the original
establishment which remains.
Not far from the precincts of the Louvre was the Rue de la Martellerie,
where lived Marie Touchet.
The portraiture of Dumas forms a wonderfully complete list of the
royalties and nobilities of France. Both the D'Artagnan gallery and the
Valois series literally reek with the names of celebrated personages, and
this, too, in the mere romances, for it must be remembered that, in spite
of his reputation as a romancist, Dumas' historical sketches and travels
were both numerous and of great extent.
One significant portrait, though it is not one of noble birth, is that of
Marie Touchet, extracted from "Marguerite de Valois," and reprinted here.
"When Charles IX. and Henri of Navarre visited the Rue de la Martellerie,
it was to see the celebrated Marie, who, though 'only a poor, simple
girl,' as she referred to herself, was the Eve of Charles' paradise.
'Your Eden, Sire,' said the gallant Henri.
"'Dearest Marie,' said Charles, 'I have brought you another king happier
than myself, for he has no crown; more unhappy than me, for he has no
Marie Touchet.'
"'Sire, it is, then, the King of Navarre?'
"'It is, love.'
"Henri went toward her, and Charles took his right hand.
"'Look at this hand, Marie,' said he; 'it is the hand of a good brother
and a loyal friend; and but for this hand--'
"'Well, Sire!'
"'But for this hand, this day, Marie, our boy had been fatherless.'
"Marie uttered a cry, seized Henri's hand, and kissed it.
"The king went to the bed where the child was still asleep.
"'Eh!' said he, 'if this stout boy slept in the Louvre, instead of
sleeping in this small house, he would change the aspect of things at
present, and perhaps for the future.'
"'Sire,' said Marie, 'without offence to your Majesty, I prefer his
sleeping here; he sleeps better.'"
This illustrates only one phase of Dumas' power of portraiture, based on
historical fact, of course, and casting no new light on matters which are
otherwise well known, but still a very fresh and vivifying method of
projecting the features of those famous in the history of France, and a
method, perhaps, which will serve to impress them upon the reader in a
more nearly indelible fashion than any other.
"It was this child of Marie Touchet and Charles IX. who afterward was the
famous Duke d'Angouleme, who died in 1650; and, had he been legitimate,
would have taken precedence of Henri III., Henri IV., Louis XIII., Louis
XIV., etc., and altered the whole line of the royal succession of France."
It was a pleasurable visit for all three, that of which Dumas writes.
Charles, Henri, and Marie supped together, and the accomplished Prince of
Bearn made the famous anagram from the letters of the lady's name, "_Je
charme tout_," which Charles declared he would present to her worked in
diamonds, and that it should be her motto.
History does not state that he did so, but no doubt that was a detail
which the chroniclers have overlooked, or, of course, it may have been an
interpolation of Dumas'.
* * * * *
Dumas' pen-pictures of the great Napoleon--whom he referred to as "The
Ogre of Corsica"--will hardly please the great Corsican's admirers, though
it is in no manner contemptuous. The following is from "The Count of Monte
Cristo":
"'Monsieur,' said the baron to the count, 'all the servants of his Majesty
must approve of the latest intelligence which we have from the island of
Elba. Bonaparte--' M. Dandre looked at Louis XVIII., who, employed in
writing a note, did not even raise his head. 'Bonaparte,' continued the
baron, 'is mortally wearied, and passes whole days in watching his miners
at work at Porto-Longone.'
"'And scratches himself for amusement,' added the king.
"'Scratches himself?' inquired the count. 'What does your Majesty mean?'
"'Yes, indeed, my dear count. Did you forget that this great man, this
hero, this demigod, is attacked with a malady of the skin which worries
him to death, _prurigo_?'
"'And, moreover, M. le Comte,' continued the minister of police, 'we are
almost assured that, in a very short time, the usurper will be insane.'
"'Insane?'
"'Insane to a degree; his head becomes weaker. Sometimes he weeps
bitterly, sometimes laughs boisterously; at other times he passes hours on
the seashore, flinging stones in the water, and when the flint makes
"ducks and drakes" five or six times, he appears as delighted as if he had
gained another Marengo or Austerlitz. Now, you must agree these are
indubitable symptoms of weakness?'
"'Or of wisdom, M. le Baron--or of wisdom,' said Louis XVIII., laughing;
'the greatest captains of antiquity recreated themselves with casting
pebbles into the ocean--see Plutarch's life of Scipio Africanus.'"
Again, from the same work, the following estimate of Napoleon's position
at Elba was, if not original, at least opinionated:
"The emperor, now king of the petty isle of Elba, after having held
sovereign sway over one-half of the world, counting us, his subjects, a
small population of twenty millions,--after having been accustomed to hear
the '_Vive Napoleons_' of at least six times that number of human beings,
uttered in nearly every language of the globe,--was looked upon among the
_haute societe_ of Marseilles as a ruined man, separated for ever from
any fresh connection with France or claim to her throne."
* * * * *
Firstly the Faubourg St. Denis is associated with Dumas' early life in
Paris. He lived at No. 53 of the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis in 1824.
When one walks past the Porte St. Denis and looks up at that
seventeenth-century arch of triumph, built to commemorate the German
victories of Louis Quatorze, one just misses the historical significance
and architectural fitness of the arch. It is not merely an incident in the
boulevard. It belongs not so much to the newer boulevard, as to the
ancient Rue St. Denis, and it is only by proceeding some distance up this
street, the ancient route of the pilgrims to the tomb of the saint, that
the meaning of the Porte St. Denis can truly be appreciated. The arch may
be heavy,--it has been described as hideous, and it truly is,--but seen in
the Rue St. Denis, whose roadway passes under it, it forms a typical view
even to-day of Old Paris, and of the Paris which entered so largely into
Dumas' romances of the Louis.
The more ancient Porte St. Denis, the gateway which lay between the
faubourg, the plain, and the ville, performed a function quite different
from that of the Renaissance gateway which exists to-day; in just what
manner will be readily inferred when it is recalled that, with the Porte
St. Antoine, the Porte St. Denis was the scene of much riot and bloodshed
in the early history of Paris.
[Illustration: 109 RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. DENIS (DESCAMPS' STUDIO)]
There are no tram-cars or omnibuses passing through its arch, as through
the Place du Carrousel, or the courtyards of the Louvre, to take away the
sentiment of romance; though the traffic which swirls and eddies around
its sturdy piers and walls is of a manifest up-to-date, twentieth-century
variety.
Through its great arch runs the Rue du Faubourg St. Denis, where, at No.
109, was the studio of Gabriel Descamps, celebrated in "Capitaine
Pamphile."
* * * * *
In "Marguerite de Valois" we have a graphic reference--though rather more
sentimental than was the author's wont--to the Cimetiere des Innocents:
"On the day which succeeded that terrible massacre of St. Bartholomew's
night, in 1572, a hawthorn-tree," said Dumas, and it is also recognized
history, as well, "which had blossomed in the spring, and which, according
to custom, had lost its odorous flower in the month of June, had strangely
reblossomed during the night, and the Catholics, who saw in this even a
miracle, and who by rendering this miracle popular made the Deity their
accomplice, went in procession, cross and banner at their head, to the
Cemetery of the Innocents, where this hawthorn was blooming."
Amidst the cries of "_Vive le roi!_" "_Vive la messe!_" "_Mort aux
Huguenots_," the accomplished Marguerite herself went to witness the
phenomenon.
"When they reached the top of the Rue des Prouvelles, they met some men
who were dragging a carcass without any head. It was that of 'the admiral'
(Coligny).... The men were going to hang it by the feet at Montfaucon...."
"They entered the Cemetery of St. Innocents, and the clergy, forewarned of
the visit of the king and the queen mother, awaited their Majesties to
harangue them."
The cemetery--or signs of it--have now disappeared, though the mortal
victims of the massacre, and countless other souls besides, rest beneath
the flagstones adjacent to Les Halles, the great market-house of Paris.
The Fontaine des Innocents formerly marked the site, but now it is removed
to the other side of Les Halles.
This graceful Renaissance fountain was first erected in 1550, from designs
of Pierre Lescot and Jean Goujon. It stood formerly before the Eglise des
Innocents, which was demolished in 1783.
The Fontaine des Innocents, in spite of its migrations, is a charming
oasis of green trees and running water, in the midst of the rather
encumbered market-square of Les Halles. Not that the region around about
is at all unsavoury; far from it. There is debris of green vegetables and
ripe fruits everywhere about, but it has not yet reached the unsavoury
stage; before it does all will be swept away, and on the morrow the
clamour and traffic will start fresh anew.
The Place Royale, now called the Place des Vosges, is so largely
identified with "La Comtesse de Charny" that no special mention can well
be made of any action which here took place.
At No. 21, now of course long since departed, lived "a gentleman entirely
devoted to your Majesty," said Dumas, and the adventuress, Lady de Winter,
whom D'Artagnan was wont to visit, was given domicile by Dumas at No. 6.
Likely enough it was her true residence, though there is no opportunity of
tracing it to-day, and one perforce must be satisfied with locating the
houses of Madame de Sevigne and Victor Hugo, each of which bear tablets to
that effect.
The Place des Vosges is a charming square, reminiscent, in a way, of the
courtyard of the Palais Royal, though lacking its splendour. The iron
gateway to the central garden was a gift of Louis XIV., in 1685, when the
square was known as the Place Royale. Richelieu caused to be set up here a
magnificent equestrian statue of Louis XIII., which, however, was
overturned in the Revolution, though it has since been replaced by another
statue. The horse was the work of Ricciarelli de Volterre, a pupil of
Michelangelo, and the figure was by Biard.
The first great historical event held here was the _carrousel_ given in
1612, two years after the tragic death of Henri IV. at the hands of the
assassin Ravaillac. It was a function of Marie de Medici's to celebrate
the alliance of France and Spain.
Under Richelieu, the place became a celebrated duelling-ground, the most
famous duel being that between the Duc de Guise and Coligny _fils_, the
son of the admiral.
The Place Royale soon became the most fashionable _quartier_, the houses
around about being greatly in demand of the _noblesse_.
Among its illustrious inhabitants have been the Rohans, the D'Alegres,
Corneille, Conde, St. Vincent de Paul, Moliere, Turenne, Madame de
Longueville, Cinq-Mars, and Richelieu.
By _un arrete_ of the 17th Ventose, year VII., it was declared that the
name of the department which should pay the largest part of its
contributions by the 20th Germinal would be given to that of the principal
place or square of Paris. The Department of the Vosges was the first to
pay up, and the Place Royale became the Place des Vosges.
A great deal of the action of the D'Artagnan romances took place in the
Place Royale, and in the neighbouring _quartiers_ of St. Antoine and La
Bastille, the place being the scene of the notable reunion of the four
gallants in "Vingt Ans Apres."
La Roquette, the prison, has disappeared, like the Bastille itself, but
they are both perpetuated to-day, the former in the Rue Roquette, and the
latter in the Place de la Bastille.
Dumas does not project their horrors unduly, though the Bastille crops up
in many of the chapters of the Valois romances, and one entire volume is
devoted to "The Taking of the Bastille."
D'Artagnan himself was doomed, by an order of arrest issued by Richelieu,
to be incarcerated therein; but the gallant _mousquetaire_, by a subtle
scheme, got hold of the warrant and made a present of it to the intriguing
cardinal himself.
The sombre and sinister guillotine, since become so famous, is made by
Dumas subject of a weirdly fascinating chapter in "La Comtesse de
Charny." Dumas' description is as follows:
"When Guilbert got out of the carriage he saw that he was in the court of
a prison, and at once recognized it as the Bicetre. A fine misty rain fell
diagonally and stained the gray walls. In the middle of the court five or
six carpenters, under the direction of a master workman, and a little man
clad in black, who seemed to direct everybody, put a machine of a hitherto
strange and unknown form. Guilbert shuddered; he recognized Doctor
Guillotin, and the machine itself was the one of which he had seen a model
in the cellar of the editor of '_l'ami du peuple_.'... The very workmen
were as yet ignorant of the secret of this novel machine. 'There,' said
Doctor Guillotin, ... 'it is now only necessary to put the knife in the
groove.'... This was the form of the machine: a platform fifteen feet
square, reached by a simple staircase, on each side of this platform two
grooved uprights, ten or twelve feet high. In the grooves slid a kind of
crescent-shaped knife. A little opening was made between two beams,
through which a man's head could be passed.... 'Gentlemen,' said
Guillotin, 'all being here, we will begin.'"
Then follows the same vivid record of executing and blood-spurting that
has attracted many other writers perhaps as gifted as Dumas, but none
have told it more graphically, simply, or truthfully.
* * * * *
Every one knows the Mount of Martyrs, its history, and its modern aspect,
which has sadly degenerated of late.
To-day it is simply a hilltop of cheap gaiety, whose patrons are catered
for by the Moulin Rouge, the Moulin de la Galette, and a score of
"eccentric cafes," though its past is burdened with Christian tragedy. Up
its slope St. Denis is fabulously supposed to have carried his head after
his martyrdom, and the quiet, almost forlorn Rue St. Eleuthere still
perpetuates the name of his companion in misery. Long afterward, in the
chapel erected on this spot, Ignatius Loyola and his companions solemnly
vowed themselves to their great work. So here on sinful Montmartre, above
Paris, was born the Society of Jesus. The Revolution saw another band of
martyrs, when the nuns of the Abbaye de Montmartre, old and young, chanted
their progress to the guillotine, and little more than thirty years ago
the Commune precipitated its terrible struggle in Montmartre. It was in
the Rue des Rosiers, on the 18th of March, 1871, that the blood of
Generals Lecomte and Clement-Thomas was shed.
Hard by, in the Parc Monceau, is the statue of Guy de Maupassant, and so
the memory of the sinful mount is perpetuated to us.
Dumas did not make the use of this banal attribute of Paris that many
other realists and romancists alike have done, but he frequently refers to
it in his "Memoires."
Madame de la Motte, the scheming adventuress of the "Collier de la Reine,"
lived at No. 57 Rue Charlot, in the Quartier des Infants-Rouges. It was
here, at the Hotel Boulainvilliers, where the Marquise de Boulainvilliers
brought up the young girl of the blood royal of the Valois, who afterward
became known as Madame de la Motte.
Near by, in the same street, is the superb hotel of Gabrielle d'Estrees,
who herself was not altogether unknown to the court. The Rue de Valois,
leading from the Rue St. Honore to the Rue Beaujolais, beside the Palais
Royal, as might be supposed, especially appealed to Dumas, and he laid one
of the most cheerful scenes of the "Chevalier d'Harmental" in the hotel,
No. 10, built by Richelieu for L'Abbe Metel de Bois-Robert, the founder of
the Academie Francaise.
Off the Rue Sourdiere, was the Couloir St. Hyacinthe, where lived Jean
Paul Marat--"the friend of the people," whose description by Dumas, in
"La Comtesse de Charny," does not differ greatly from others of this
notorious person.
In the early pages of "The Count of Monte Cristo," one's attention is
transferred from Marseilles to Paris, to No. 13 Rue Coq-Heron, where lived
M. Noirtier, to whom the luckless Dantes was commissioned to deliver the
fateful packet, which was left in his care by the dying Captain Leclerc.
The incident of the handing over of this letter to the depute procureur du
roi is recounted thus by Dumas:
"'Stop a moment,' said the deputy, as Dantes took his hat and gloves. 'To
whom is it addressed?'
"'To M. Noirtier, Rue Coq-Heron, Paris.' Had a thunderbolt fallen into the
room, Villefort could not have been more stupefied. He sank into his seat,
and, hastily turning over the packet, drew forth the fatal letter, at
which he glanced with an expression of terror.
"'M. Noirtier, Rue Coq-Heron, No. 13,' murmured he, growing still paler.
"'Yes,' said Dantes; 'do you then know him?'
"'No,' replied Villefort; 'a faithful servant of the king does not know
conspirators.'
"'It is a conspiracy, then?' asked Dantes, who, after believing himself
free, now began to feel a tenfold alarm. 'I have already told you,
however, sir, I was ignorant of the contents of the letter.'
"'Yes, but you knew the name of the person to whom it was addressed,' said
Villefort.
"'I was forced to read the address to know to whom to give it.'
"'Have you shown this letter to any one?' asked Villefort, becoming still
more pale.
"'To no one, on my honour.'
"'Everybody is ignorant that you are the bearer of a letter from the isle
of Elba, and addressed to M. Noirtier?'
"'Everybody, except the person who gave it to me.'"
* * * * *
The Rue Coq-Heron is one of those whimsically named streets of Paris,
which lend themselves to the art of the novelist.
The origin of the name of this tiny street, which runs tangently off from
the Rue du Louvre, is curious and naive. A shopkeeper of the street, who
raised fowls, saw, one day, coming out of its shell, a _petit coq_ with a
neck and beak quite different, and much longer, than the others of the
same brood. Everybody said it was a heron, and the neighbours crowded
around to see the phenomenon; and so the street came to be baptized the
Rue Coq-Heron.
In the Rue Chaussee d'Antin, at No. 7, the wily Baron Danglars had
ensconced himself after his descent on Paris. It was here that Dantes
caused to be left his first "_carte de visite_" upon his subsequent
arrival.
Among the slighter works of Dumas, which are daily becoming more and more
recognized--in English--as being masterpieces of their kind, is "Gabriel
Lambert." It deals with the life of Paris of the thirties; much the same
period as does "Captain Pamphile," "The Corsican Brothers," and "Pauline,"
and that in which Dumas himself was just entering into the literary life
of Paris.
Like "Pauline" and "Captain Pamphile," too, the narrative, simple though
it is,--at least it is not involved,--shifts its scenes the length and
breadth of the continent of Europe, and shows a versatility in the
construction of a latter-day romance which is quite the equal of that of
the unapproachable mediaeval romances. It further resembles "The Corsican
Brothers," in that it purveys a duel of the first quality--this time in
the Allee de la Muette of the Bois de Boulogne, and that most of the
Parisians in the story are domiciled in and about the Boulevard des
Italiens, the Rue Taitbout, and the Rue du Helder; all of them localities
very familiar to Dumas in real life. In spite of the similarity of the
duel of Gabriel to that of De Franchi, there is no repetition of scene or
incident detail.
The story deals frankly with the brutal and vulgar malefactor, in this
case a counterfeiter of bank notes, one Gabriel, the son of a poor peasant
of Normandy, who, it would appear, was fascinated by the ominous words of
the inscription which French bank notes formerly bore.
LA LOI PUNIT DE MORT
LE CONTREFACTEUR
Dumas occasionally took up a theme which, unpromising in itself, was yet
alluring through its very lack of sympathy. "Gabriel Lambert" is a story
of vulgar rascality unredeemed by any spark of courage, wit, or humanity.
There is much of truth in the characterization, and some sentiment, but
little enough of romance of the gallant vagabond order.
Dumas never attempted a more difficult feat than the composition of an
appealing story from this material.
Twenty years after the first appearance of "Gabriel Lambert," in 1844, M.
Amedee de Jallais brought Dumas a "scenario" taken from the romance.
Unsuitable and unsympathetic though the principal character was, Dumas
found the "scenario" so deftly made that he resolved to turn the book into
a drama. This was quickly done, and the rehearsals promised a success. On
the evening of the first performance Dumas showed himself full of
confidence in the play--confidence which amounted almost to certainty; for
he said to a friend with whom he promenaded the corridors of the theatre
while awaiting the rise of the curtain: "I am sure of my piece; to-night,
I can defy the critics." Some of these gentlemen, unfortunately
overhearing him, were provoked to hostility, and, finding unhappy phrases
here and there in the piece, they laid hold of them without mercy. Only
the comic part of the drama, a scene introduced by Dumas, in which a
vagabond steals a clock in the presence of its owner with superb audacity,
disarmed their opposition. But the verve of this comic part could not save
the play, says Gabriel Ferry, in narrating this anecdote. The antipathy
aroused by the principal character doomed it, and the career of the piece
was short.
It remains, however,--in the book, at any rate,--a wonderful
characterization, with its pictures of the blue Mediterranean at Toulon,
the gay life of the Parisian boulevards, its miniature portrait of the
great Vidocq, and the sinister account of the prison of Bicetre, which,
since the abandonment of the Place de la Greve, had become the last resort
of those condemned to death.
The tale is a short one, but it vibrates between the _rues_ and the
boulevards, from the Hotel de Venise in the Rue des Vieux-Augustins (now
the Rue Herold), where Gabriel, upon coming to Paris, first had his
lodgings, to the purlieus of the fashionable world,--the old Italian Opera
in the Rue Pelletier,--and No. 11 Rue Taitbout, where afterward Gabriel
had ensconced himself in a luxurious apartment.
[Illustration: NOTRE DAME DE PARIS]