  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. In history we know the same individual as “Messire Jacques de Flesselles, Chevalier, Conseiller de la Grande Chambre, MaÎtre Honoraire des RequÊtes, Conseiller d’Etat.” The anecdote is recorded in history, too, that Louis XVI., when he visited the HÔtel 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 MajestÉ,” dit le maire, “veut-elle accepte le signe distinctif des FranÇais?” 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 HÔtel 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 PLACE DE LA GRÈVE The present-day Quai de l’HÔtel de Ville is the successor of the Quai des Ormes, which dates from the fourteenth century, and the Quai de la GrÈve, 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 GrÈve, which approximates the present Place de l’HÔtel de Ville. A near neighbour of the HÔtel 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 CimetiÈre 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 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 FranÇois 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 MÉryon, in his wonderful etching—so sought for by collectors—called “Le Stryge.” The artist’s view-point, taken from the gallery of NÔtre 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 NÔtre 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 GrÈve 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 TOUR DE ST. JACQUES LA BOUCHERIE Dumas, ever praiseful of good wine and good food, describes Vatel, the maÎtre d’hÔtel 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 NÔtre 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 GrÈve?’... ‘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 NÔtre Dame.”’” In the following chapter Dumas reverts to the inglorious aspect of the Place and the Quai de la GrÈve 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 GrÈve and Quai Pelletier; one close D’Artagnan, who, in the pages of “Le Vicomte de Bragelonne,” was no more a young man, owned 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 GrÈve? 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 NÔtre 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 GrÈve is undoubtedly in the “Forty-Five Guardsmen,” where is described the execution of SalcÈde, 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 GrÈve and “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 HÔtel 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 “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.’... “‘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 SalcÈde fell helplessly on one side, he glanced once more to where he had seen the page, and then expired.” Near the HÔtel de Ville is “Le ChÂtelet,” 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 ChÂtelet, 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 The Place du ChÂtelet is one of the most celebrated and historic open spots of Paris. The old prison was on the site of an old CÆsarian 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 FidÈle Berger,” for which Guilbert, the author of “Jeune Malade,” made the original verses The reader may judge for himself. This is one of the verses: “Le soleil peut s’eteindre et le ciel s’obscurcir, 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’HÔtel de Ville,—once the unsavoury Quai de la GrÈve,—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 mediÆval 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 HÔTEL 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 CrÉmerie, which now occupies the ground-floor, and its escutcheon—a blazing sun—midway in its faÇade. 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 À pied.” Indeed its enterprising proprietor has erected a staring blue and white enamel sign which advertises his house: HÔTEL 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, À tous gÉnres, or a great tourist caravanserai. This house bears the name of “HÔtel des 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 “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, HÔtel 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. HonorÉ, 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, The route is easily traced to-day, and at the end of it is the HÔtel 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 HuriÈre, served to Henri. The circumstance is recounted in “Marguerite de Valois,” as follows: “‘La HuriÈre, here is a gentleman wants you.’ “La HuriÈre 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 HuriÈre, with some distrust. “‘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 MollÉ, whose fame as the first president of the Parlement is preserved in the Opposite the colonnade of the Louvre is the Église 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 HuriÈre. “‘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 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 FrÈres 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 “HÔtel 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 “HÔtel d’Artagnan,” but it is difficult to trace its evolution from the comfortable inn of which Dumas wrote. 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 Étages, 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.” 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’ “‘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.’” “It was this child of Marie Touchet and Charles IX. who afterward was the famous Duke d’AngoulÊme, 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 BÉarn 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 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. DandrÉ 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 “‘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 NapolÉons’ of at least six times that number of human beings, uttered in nearly every language of the globe,—was looked upon among the haute sociÉtÉ of Marseilles as a 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; 109 RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. DENIS (DÉSCAMPS’ 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 DÉscamps, 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 CimetiÈre 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 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 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 dÉbris 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 SÉvignÉ and Victor Hugo, each of which bear tablets to that effect. The Place des Vosges is a charming square, 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’AlÉgres, Corneille, CondÉ, St. Vincent de Paul, MoliÈre, Turenne, Madame de Longueville, Cinq-Mars, and Richelieu. 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 AprÈs.” 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 “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 BicÊtre. 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 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 cafÉs,” 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. EleuthÈre 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 ClÉment-Thomas was shed. 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 “MÉmoires.” 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 HÔtel 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 hÔtel of Gabrielle d’EstrÉes, who herself was not altogether unknown to the court. The Rue de Valois, leading from the Rue St. HonorÉ 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’AbbÉ Metel de Bois-Robert, the founder of the AcadÉmie FranÇaise. Off the Rue SourdiÈre, was the Couloir St. Hyacinthe, where lived Jean Paul Marat—“the friend of the people,” whose description by Dumas, In the early pages of “The Count of Monte Cristo,” one’s attention is transferred from Marseilles to Paris, to No. 13 Rue Coq-HÉron, where lived M. Noirtier, to whom the luckless DantÈs 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 dÉputÉ procureur du roi is recounted thus by Dumas: “‘Stop a moment,’ said the deputy, as DantÈs took his hat and gloves. ‘To whom is it addressed?’ “‘To M. Noirtier, Rue Coq-HÉron, 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-HÉron, No. 13,’ murmured he, growing still paler. “‘Yes,’ said DantÈs; ‘do you then know him?’ “‘No,’ replied Villefort; ‘a faithful servant of the king does not know conspirators.’ “‘It is a conspiracy, then?’ asked DantÈs, who, “‘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-HÉron 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 naÏve. 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 In the Rue ChaussÉe d’Antin, at No. 7, the wily Baron Danglars had ensconced himself after his descent on Paris. It was here that DantÈs 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 mediÆval romances. It further resembles “The Corsican Brothers,” in that it purveys a duel of the first quality—this time in the AllÉe 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 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 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. AmÉdÉe de Jallais It remains, however,—in the book, at any rate,—a wonderful characterization, with its pictures of the blue Mediterranean at Toulon, the gay life The tale is a short one, but it vibrates between the rues and the boulevards, from the HÔtel 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. NÔTRE DAME DE PARIS |
|
