CARMELITE FRIARY, RUE VAUGIRARD

Both sides of the river, and, indeed, the CitÉ itself, are alive with the association of the King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guards; so much so that one, with even a most superficial knowledge of Paris and the D’Artagnan romances, cannot fail to follow the shifting of the scenes from the neighbourhood of the Palais du Luxembourg, in “Les Trois Mousquetaires,” to the neighbourhood of the Palais Royal, in “Vingt Ans AprÈs” and the “Vicomte de Bragelonne.”

In “Le Vicomte de Bragelonne,” the fraternal mousquetaires take somewhat varying paths from those which they pursued in the first two volumes of the series. Porthos and Athos had arrived at distinction and wealth, and surrounded themselves accordingly; though, when they came to Paris, they were doubtless frequenters—at times—of their old haunts, but they had perforce to live up to their exalted stations.

With D’Artagnan and Aramis this was not so true. D’Artagnan, it would seem, could not leave his beloved Palais Royal quarter, though his lodgings in the hÔtel in the Rue Tiquetonne could have been in no way luxurious, judging from present-day appearances.In the UniversitÉ quarter, running squarely up from the Seine is a short, unpretentious, though not unlovely, street—the Rue Guenegard.

It runs by the HÔtel de la Monnaie, and embouches on the Quai Conti, but if you ask for it from the average stroller on the quais, he will reply that he never heard of it.

It was here, however, at “Au Grand Roi Charlemagne,” “a respectable inn,” that Athos lived during his later years.

In the course of three hundred years this inn has disappeared,—if it ever existed,—though there are two hÔtels, now somewhat decrepit, on the short length of the street.

Perhaps it was one of these,—the present HÔtel de France, for instance,—but there are no existing records to tell us beyond doubt that this is so.

There is another inn which Dumas mentions in “The Forty-Five Guardsmen,” not so famous, and not traceable to-day, but his description of it is highly interesting and amusing.

“Near the Porte Buci,” says Chapter VII. of the book before mentioned, “where we must now transport our readers, to follow some of their acquaintances, and to make new ones, a hum, like that in a beehive at sunset, was heard proceeding from a house tinted rose colour, and ornamented with blue and white pointings, which was known by the sign of ‘The Sword of the Brave Chevalier,’ and which was an immense inn, recently built in this new quarter. This house was decorated to suit all tastes. On the entablature was painted a representation of a combat between an archangel and a dragon breathing flame and smoke, and in which the artist, animated by sentiments at once heroic and pious, had depicted in the hands of ‘the brave chevalier,’ not a sword, but an immense cross, with which he hacked in pieces the unlucky dragon, of which the bleeding pieces were seen lying on the ground. At the bottom of the picture crowds of spectators were represented raising their arms to heaven, while from above angels were extending over the chevalier laurels and palms. Then, as if to prove that he could paint in every style, the artist had grouped around gourds, grapes, a snail on a rose, and two rabbits, one white and the other gray.

“Assuredly the proprietor must have been difficult to please, if he were not satisfied, for the artist had filled every inch of space—there was scarcely room to have added a caterpillar. In spite, however, of this attractive exterior, the hÔtel did not prosper—it was never more than half full, though it was large and comfortable. Unfortunately, from its proximity to the PrÉ-aux-Clercs, it was frequented by so many persons either going or ready to fight, that those more peaceably disposed avoided it. Indeed, the cupids with which the interior was decorated had been ornamented with moustaches in charcoal by the habituÉs; and Dame Fournichon, the landlady, always affirmed that the sign had brought them ill-luck, and that, had her wishes been attended to, and the painting represented more pleasing things, such as the rose-tree of love surrounded by flaming hearts, all tender couples would have flocked to them.

“M. Fournichon, however, stuck to his sign, and replied that he preferred fighting men, and that one of them drank as much as six lovers.”

Dumas’ reference to this curiously disposed “happy family” calls to mind the anecdote which he recounts in “The Taking of the Bastille,” concerning salamanders:

“The famous trunk, which had now been dignified with the name of desk, had become, thanks to its vastness, and the numerous compartments with which Pitou had decorated its interior, a sort of Noah’s ark, containing a couple of every species of climbing, crawling, or flying reptiles. There were lizards, adders, ant-eaters, beetles, and frogs, which reptiles became so much dearer to Pitou from their being the cause of his being subjected to punishment more or less severe.

“It was in his walks during the week that Pitou made collections for his menagerie. He had wished for salamanders, which were very popular at Villers-CotterÊts, being the crest of FranÇois I., and who had them sculptured on every chimneypiece in the chÂteau. He had succeeded in obtaining them; only one thing had strongly preoccupied his mind, and he ended by placing this thing among the number of those which were beyond his intelligence; it was, that he had constantly found in the water these reptiles which poets have pretended exist only in fire. This circumstance had given to Pitou, who was a lad of precise mind, a profound contempt for poets.”

Here, at “The Sword of the Brave Chevalier,” first met the “Forty-Five Guardsmen.” In the same street is, or was until recently, a modernized and vulgarized inn of similar name, which was more likely to have been an adaption from the pages of Dumas than a direct descendant of the original, if it ever existed. It is the HÔtel la TrÉmouille, near the Luxembourg, that figures in the pages of “Les Trois Mousquetaires,” but the hÔtel of the Duc de Treville, in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, has disappeared in a rebuilding or widening of this street, which runs from the Place de St. Sulpice to the Place de la Croix-Rouge.

All these places centre around that famous affaire which took place before the Carmelite establishment on the Rue Vaugirard: that gallant sword-play of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis,—helped by the not unwilling D’Artagnan,—against Richelieu’s minions, headed by Jussac.

Within the immediate neighbourhood, too, is much of the locale of “Les Trois Mousquetaires.” Here the four friends themselves lodged, “just around the corner, within two steps of the Luxembourg,” though Porthos more specifically claimed his residence as in the Rue de Vieux-Colombier. “That is my abode,” said he, as he proudly pointed to its gorgeous doorway.

The HÔtel de Chevreuse of “la Frondeuse duchesse,” famed alike in history and the pages of Dumas, is yet to be seen in somewhat changed form at No. 201 Boulevard St. Germain; its garden cut away by the Boulevard Raspail.

At No. 12 or 14 Rue des Fossoyeurs, beside the PanthÉon,—still much as it was of yore,—was D’Artagnan’s own “sort of a garret.” One may not be able to exactly place it, but any of the decrepitly picturesque houses will answer the description.

It is a wonderfully varied and interesting collection of buildings which is found on the height of Ste. GeneviÈve, overlooking the Jardin and Palais du Luxembourg: the hybrid St. Etienne du Mont, the pagan PanthÉon, the tower of the ancient Abbaye de Ste. GeneviÈve, and the BibliothÈque, which also bears the name of Paris’s patron saint.

The old abbey must have had many and varied functions, if history and romance are to be believed, and to-day its tower and a few short lengths of wall, built into the LycÉe Henri Quatre, are all that remain, unless it be that the crypt and dungeons, of which one reads in “Chicot the Jester,” are still existent. Probably they are, but, if so, they have most likely degenerated into mere lumber-rooms.

The incident as given by Dumas relates briefly to the plot of the Guises to induce Charles IX., on the plea of some religious ceremony, to enter one of the monkish caches, and there compel him to sign his abdication. The plot, according to the novelist, was frustrated by the ingenious Chicot.

At all events, the ensemble to-day is one most unusual, and the whole locality literally reeks with the associations of tradition.

Architecturally it is a jumble, good in parts, but again shocking in other parts.

The Église St. Etienne du Mont is a weird contrast of architectural style, but its interior is truly beautiful, and on the wall near the south transept are two tablets, on which one may read the facts concerning Ste. GeneviÈve, which likely enough have for the moment been forgotten by most of us.

The old abbey must have been a delightful place, in spite of the lurid picture which Dumas draws of it.

Probably in none of Dumas’ romances is there more lively action than in “The Queen’s Necklace.” The characters are in a continual migration between one and another of the faubourgs. Here, again, Dumas does not forget or ignore the Luxembourg and its environment. He seems, indeed, to have a special fondness for its neighbourhood. It was useful to him in most of the Valois series, and doubly so in the D’Artagnan romances.

Beausire, one of the thieves who sought to steal the famous necklace, “took refuge in a small cabaret in the Luxembourg quarter.” The particular cabaret is likely enough in existence to-day, as the event took place but a hundred years ago, and Dumas is known to have “drawn from life” even his pen-portraits of the locale of his stories. At any rate, there is many a cabaret near the Luxembourg which might fill the bill.

The gardens of the Luxembourg were another favourite haunt of the characters of Dumas’ romances, and in “The Queen’s Necklace” they are made use of again, this time, as usual, as a suitable place for a promenade or a rendezvous of the fair Oliva, who so much resembled Marie Antoinette.

Like the Rue du Helder, celebrated in “The Corsican Brothers,” the Rue de Lille, where lived, at No. 29, De Franchi’s friend, Adrien de Boissy, is possessed of an air of semi-luxuriousness, or, at any rate, of a certain middle-class comfort.

It lies on the opposite side of the Seine from the river side of the Louvre, and runs just back of the site formerly occupied by the Duc de Montmorenci, where was held the gorgeous ceremony of the marriage of the Marquis St. Luc, of which one reads in “Chicot the Jester.”

There is not much of splendour or romance about the present-day Rue de Lille; indeed, it is rather commonplace, but as Dumas places the particular house in which De Boissy lived with definiteness, and, moreover, in that it exists to-day practically unaltered, there seems every good reason why it should be catalogued here.

THE BUILDERS OF THE LOUVRE

(1) FranÇois I., 1546; (2) Catherine de Medici, 1566-1578; (3) Catherine de Medici, 1564 (destroyed at the Commune); (4) Louis XIII., 1524; (5) Louis XIV., 1660-1670; (6) Napoleon I., 1806; (7) Louis XVIII., 1816; (8) Napoleon III., 1852-1857; (9) Napoleon III., 1863-1868.