LIBRARY 
 
 University of California. 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/dumasparisOOmiltrich 
 
JJLEXANDRE T>UMAS 
 
K'a.'f=^ 
 
 Francis Miltoun 
 
 Jluthor of ' ' Dickens' London, " * * Cathedrals of 
 
 France. " " gambles in Normandy, " " Castles and 
 
 Chateaux of Old Touraine, " etc. 
 
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 3(Uuatratm 
 
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 LC PAGE- £f COMPANY p-] ,» 
 BOSTON iS> PUBLISHERS i '^^^ 
 
|J.<v.--^A-- 
 
 Copyright, igo4 
 By L. C. Page & Company 
 
 (incorporated) 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Third Impression, April, 1908 
 
 COLONIAL PRESS 
 
 ElectrotyPed and Printed by C. //. Simonds &* Co. 
 
 Bosto7i, U. S. A. 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 PAGfc 
 
 I. 
 
 A General Introduction . . . . 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 Dumas' Early Life in Paris . 
 
 H 
 
 III. 
 
 Dumas' Literary Career . , . , 
 
 33 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dumas' Contemporaries . . , , 
 
 68 
 
 V. 
 
 The Paris of Dumas 
 
 83 
 
 VI. 
 
 Old Paris 
 
 126 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ways and Means of Communication 
 
 147 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Banks of the Seine . 
 
 i6s 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Second Empire and After 
 
 178 
 
 X. 
 
 La Ville 
 
 195 
 
 XI. 
 
 La CiTt 
 
 235 
 
 XII. 
 
 L'Universit6 Quartier 
 
 . 244 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Louvre 
 
 . 257 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Palais Royal .... 
 
 . 266 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Bastille . . . . 
 
 . 278 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Royal Parks and Palaces 
 
 . 297 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The French Provinces 
 
 . 321 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Les Pays Strangers .... 
 
 . 359 
 
 
 Appendices 
 
 . 373 
 
 
 Index 
 
 . 377 
 
 219136 
 
Xfst of IFUustrations 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Alexandre Dumas ..... Frontispiece 
 
 Statue of Dumas at Villers-Cotterets . . 14 
 
 D'Artagnan 48 
 
 Two Famous Caricatures of Alexandre Dumas 68 
 D'Artagnan, from the Dumas Statue by Gus- 
 
 tave Dore 123 
 
 Pont Neuf — Pont au Change . . . .135 
 
 The Odeon in 1818 167 
 
 Palais Royal, Street Front 183 
 
 Place de la Greve 197 
 
 D'Artagnan's Lodgings, Rue Tiquetonne . .214 
 
 Plan of La CiTfe 236 
 
 Carmelite Friary, Rue Vaugirard . . . 246 
 
 Plan of the Louvre 257 
 
 The Gardens of the Tuileries .... 265 
 
 The Fall of the Bastille 284 
 
 Bois DE Boulogne — Bois de Vincennes — Foret 
 
 de Villers-Cotterets 3^5 
 
 Notre Dame de Chartres 329 
 
 Castle of Angers — Chateau of Blois . . 333 
 
2)uma0' Paris 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 rHERE have been many erudite works, 
 in French and other languages, describ- 
 ing the antiquities and historical annals 
 of Paris from the earliest times; and in English 
 the mid- Victorian era turned out — there are no 
 other words for it — innumerable " books of 
 travel " which recounted alleged adventures, strewn 
 here and there with bits of historical lore and anec- 
 dotes, none too relevant, and in most cases not of 
 undoubted authenticity. 
 
 Of the actual life of the people in the city of 
 light and learning, from the times of Napoleon 
 onward, one has to go to the fountainhead of writ- 
 ten records, the acknowledged masterworks in the 
 
2 2)ttmas' Paris 
 
 language of the country itself, the reports and aw- 
 nuaires of various societes, commissions^ and what 
 not, and collect therefrom such information as he 
 finds may suit his purpose. 
 
 In this manner may be built up a fabric which 
 shall be authentic and proper, varied and, most 
 likely, quite different in its plan, outline, and scope 
 from other works of a similar purport, which may 
 be recalled in connection therewith. 
 
 Paris has been rich in topographical historians, 
 and, indeed, in her chroniclers in all departments, 
 and there is no end of relative matter which may 
 be evolved from an intimacy with these sources 
 of supply. In a way, however, this information 
 ought to be supplemented by a personal knowledge 
 on the part of the compiler, which should make 
 localities, distances, and environments — to say 
 nothing of the actual facts and dates of history 
 
 — appear as something more than a shrine to be 
 worshipped from afar. 
 
 Given, then, these ingredients, with a love of the 
 subject, — no less than of the city of its domicile, 
 
 — it has formed a pleasant itinerary in the expe- 
 riences of the writer of this book to have followed 
 in the footsteps of Dumas pere, through the streets 
 that he knew and loved, taking note meanwhile 
 of such contemporary shadows as were thrown 
 
a General ITntrobuctton 3 
 
 across his path, and such events of importance or 
 significance as blended in with the scheme of the 
 Hterary Hfe of the times in which he Hved, none 
 the less than of those of the characters in his 
 books. 
 
 Nearly all the great artists have adored Paris — 
 poets, painters, actors, and, above all, novelists. 
 
 From which it follows that Paris is the ideal city 
 for the novelist, who, whether he finds his special 
 subjects in her streets or not, must be inspired by 
 this unique fulness and variety of human life. 
 Nearly all the great French novelists have adored 
 Paris. Dumas* loved it; Victor Hugo spent years 
 of his time in riding about her streets on omni- 
 buses ; Daudet said splendid things of it, and nearly, 
 if not quite, all the great names of the artistic 
 world of France are indissolubly linked with it. 
 
 Paris to-day means not " La Ville," "La Cite," 
 or " L'Universite," but the whole triumvirate. 
 Victor Hugo very happily compared the three cities 
 to a little old woman between two handsome, strap- 
 ping daughters. 
 
 It was Beranger who announced his predilection 
 for Paris as a birthplace. Dumas must have felt 
 something of the same emotion, for he early gravi- 
 tated to the " City of Liberty and Equality/' in 
 
4 Dumas' Paris 
 
 which — even before the great Revolution — mis- 
 fortune was at all times alleviated by sympathy. 
 
 From the stones of Paris have been built up many 
 a lordly volume — and many a slight one, for that 
 matter — which might naturally be presumed to 
 have recounted the last word which may justifiably 
 have been said concerning the various aspects of 
 the life and historic events which have encircled 
 around the city since the beginning of the moyen 
 age. 
 
 This is true or not, according as one embraces a 
 wide or a contracted horizon in one's view. 
 
 For most books there is, or was at the time of 
 their writing, a reason for being, and so with 
 familiar spots, as with well-worn roads, there is 
 always a new panorama projecting itself before 
 one. 
 
 The phenomenal, perennial, and still growing in- 
 terest in the romances of Dumas the elder is the 
 excuse for the present work, which it is to be hoped 
 is admittedly a good one, however far short of 
 exhaustiveness — a much overworked word, by the 
 way — the volume may fall. 
 
 It were not possible to produce a complete or 
 " exhaustive " work on any subject of a historical, 
 topographical or aesthetic nature: so why claim it? 
 
H General 1rntto^uction 5 
 
 The last word has not yet been said on Dumas him- 
 self, and surely not on Paris — no more has it on 
 Pompeii, where they are still finding evidences of 
 a long lost civilization as great as any previously 
 unearthed. 
 
 It was only yesterday, too (this is written in the 
 month of March, 1904), that a party of frock- 
 coated and silk-hatted benevolent-looking gentlemen 
 were seen issuing from a manhole in the Universite 
 quartier of Paris. They had been inspecting a newly 
 discovered thermale etablissement of Roman times, 
 which led off one of the newly opened subterranean 
 arteries which abound beneath Paris. 
 
 It is said to be a rival of the Roman bath which 
 is enclosed within the walls of the present Musee 
 Cluny, and perhaps the equal in size and splendour 
 of any similar remains extant. 
 
 This, then, suggests that in every land new 
 ground, new view-points, and new conditions of 
 life are making possible a record which, to have its 
 utmost value, should be a progressively chrono- 
 logical one. 
 
 And after this manner the present volume has 
 been written. There is a fund of material to draw 
 upon, historic fact, pertinent and contemporary 
 side-lights, and, above all, the environment which 
 haloed itself around the personality of Dumas, 
 
6 H)uma0' Paris 
 
 which Hes buried in many a cache which, if not 
 actually inaccessible, is at least not to be found in 
 the usual books of reference. 
 
 Perhaps some day even more will have been col- 
 lected, and a truly satisfying biographical work 
 compiled. If so, it will be the work of some ardent 
 Frenchman of a generation following that in which 
 Alexandre Dumas lived, and not by one of the 
 contemporaries of even his later years. Albert 
 Vandam, perhaps, might have done it as it should 
 have been done; but he did not do so, and so an 
 intimate personal record has been lost. 
 
 Paris has ever been written down in the book 
 of man as the city of light, of gaiety, and of a 
 trembling vivacity which has been in turn profli- 
 gate, riotous, and finally criminal. 
 
 All this is perhaps true enough, but no more in 
 degree than in most capitals which have endured 
 so long, and have risen to such greatness. 
 
 With Paris it is quantity, with no sacrifice of 
 quality, that has placed it in so preeminent a posi- 
 tion among great cities, and the life of Paris — 
 using the phrase in its most commonly recognized 
 aspect — is accordingly more brilliant or the re- 
 verse, as one views it from the boulevards or from 
 the villettes. 
 
 French writers, the novelists in particular, have 
 
H General fntro^uctton 7 
 
 well known and made use of this; painters and 
 poets, too, have perpetuated it in a manner which 
 has not been applied to any other city in the world. 
 
 To realize the conditions of the life of Paris 
 to the full one has to go back to Rousseau — perhaps 
 even farther. His observation that " Les maisons 
 font la ville, mats le citoyens font la cite/' was true 
 when written, and it is true to-day, with this modi- 
 fication, that the delimitation of the confines of 
 la ville should be extended so far as to include all 
 workaday Paris — the shuffling, bustling world of 
 energy and spirit which has ever insinuated itself 
 into the daily life of the people. 
 
 The love and knowledge of Alexandre Dumas 
 pere for Paris was great, and the accessory and 
 detail of his novels, so far as he drew upon the 
 capital, was more correct and apropos. It was 
 something more than a mere dash of local colour 
 scattered upon the canvas from a haphazard 
 palette. In minutice it was not drawn as fine as the 
 later Zola was wont to accomplish, but it showed 
 no less detail did one but comprehend its full mean- 
 ing. 
 
 Though born in the provincial town Villers- 
 Cotterets, — seventy-eight kilometres from Paris on 
 the road to Soissons, — Dumas came early in touch 
 with the metropolis, having in a sort of runaway 
 
8 Dumas' Paris 
 
 journey broken loose from his old associations and 
 finally becoming settled in the capital as a clerk 
 in the Bureau d'Orleans, at the immature age of 
 twenty. Thus it was that his impressions and 
 knowledge of Paris were founded upon an ex- 
 perience which was prolonged and intimate, ex- 
 tending, with brief intervals of travel, for over 
 fifty years. 
 
 He had journeyed meantime to Switzerland, 
 England, Corsica, Naples, the Rhine, Belgium, — 
 with a brief residence in Italy in 1840 — 42, — then 
 visiting Spain, Russia, the Caucasus, and Germany. 
 
 This covered a period from 1822, when he first 
 came to Paris, until his death at Puys, near Dieppe, 
 in 1870; nearly a full half-century amid activities 
 in matters literary, artistic, and social, which were 
 scarce equalled in brilliancy elsewhere — before or 
 since. 
 
 In spite of his intimate association with the 
 affairs of the capital, — he became, it is recalled, 
 a candidate for the Chamber of Deputies at the time 
 of the Second Republic, — Dumas himself has 
 recorded, in a preface contributed to a " Histoire 
 de I'Eure," by M. Charpillon ( 1879), that if he were 
 ever to compile a history of France he should first 
 search for les pierres angulaires of his edifice in the 
 provinces. 
 
H Ocnetal Ifntro^uctton 9 
 
 This bespeaks a catholicity which, perhaps, after 
 all, is, or should be, the birthright of every his- 
 torical novelist. 
 
 He said further, in this really valuable and in- 
 teresting contribution, which seems to have been 
 entirely overlooked by the bibliographers, that '' to 
 write the history of France would take a hundred 
 volumes " — and no doubt he was right, though 
 it has been attempted in less. 
 
 And again that " the aggrandizement of Paris 
 has only been accomplished by a weakening process 
 having been undergone by the provinces." The 
 egg from which Paris grew was deposited in the 
 nest of la cite, the same as are the eggs laid par 
 un cygne. 
 
 He says further that in writing the history of 
 Paris he would have founded on " Lutetia (or 
 Louchetia) the Villa de Jules, and would erect in 
 the Place de Notre Dame a temple or altar to 
 Ceres; at which epoch would have been erected 
 another to Mercury, on the Mount of Ste. Gene- 
 vieve; to Apollo in the Rue de la Barillerie, where 
 to-day is erected that part of Tuileries built by 
 Louis XIV., and which is called Le Pavilion de 
 Flore. 
 
 " Then one would naturally follow with Les 
 Thermes de Julien, which grew up from the Villa 
 
lo 2)uma5' parts 
 
 de Jules; the reunion under Charlemagne which 
 accompUshed the Sordonne (^Sora bona), which 
 in turn became the favourite place of residence of 
 Hugues Capet, the stronghold of Philippe-Auguste, 
 the bibliotheque of Charles V., the monumental 
 capital of Henri VI. d'Angleterre ; and so on 
 through the founding of the first printing estab- 
 lishment in France by Louis XL; the new school 
 of painting by Frangois L; of the Academic by 
 Richelieu; ... to the final curtailment of monar- 
 chial power with the horrors of the Revolution and 
 the significant events which centred around the 
 Bastille, Versailles, and the Tuileries." 
 
 Leaving the events of the latter years of the 
 eighteenth century, and coming to the day in which 
 Dumas wrote (1867), Paris was truly — and in 
 every sense — 
 
 " The capital of France, and its history became 
 not only the history of France but the history of 
 the world. . . . The city will yet become the capital 
 of humanity, and, since Napoleon repudiated his 
 provincial residences and made Paris sa residence 
 imperiale, the man of destiny who reigns in Paris 
 in reality reigns throughout the universe." 
 
 There may be those who will take exception to 
 these brilliant words of Dumas. The Frenchman 
 has always been an ardent and soi-disant bundle of 
 
H General IFntrobuctton " 
 
 enthusiasm, but those who love him must pardon 
 his pride, which is harmless to himself and others 
 alike, and is a far more admirable quality than 
 the indifference and apathy born of other lands. 
 
 His closing words are not without a cynical 
 truth, and withal a pride in Paris : 
 
 "It is true that if we can say with pride, we 
 Parisians, * It was Paris which overthrew the Bas- 
 tille,' you of the provinces can say with equal pride, 
 * It was we who made the Revolution/ " 
 
 As if to ease the hurt, he wrote further these two 
 lines only: 
 
 " At this epoch the sister nations should erect 
 a gigantic statue of Peace. This statue will be 
 Paris, and its pedestal will represent La Province." 
 
 His wish — it was not prophecy — did not, how- 
 ever, come true, as the world in general and France 
 and poor rent Alsace et Lorraine in particular 
 know to their sorrow; and all through a whim of 
 a self-appointed, though weakling, monarch. 
 
 The era of the true peace of the world and the 
 monument to its glory came when the French 
 nation presented to the New World that grand work 
 of Bartholdi, "Liberty Enlightening the World,'' 
 which stands in New York harbour, and whose 
 smaller replica now terminates the Allee des Cygnes. 
 
 The grasp that Dumas had of the events o^ ro- 
 
12 Dumas' parts 
 
 mance and history served his purpose well, and in 
 the life of the fifties in Paris his was a name and 
 personality that was on everybody's lips. 
 
 How he found time to live the full life that he 
 did is a marvel; it certainly does not bear out the 
 theory of heredity when one considers the race of 
 his birth and the " dark-skinned " languor which 
 was supposedly his heritage. 
 
 One edition of his work comprises two hundred 
 and seventy-seven volumes, and within the year a 
 London publisher has announced some sixty vol- 
 umes " never before translated." Dumas himself 
 has said that he was the author of over seven hun- 
 dred works. 
 
 In point of time his romances go back to the 
 days of the house of Valois and the Anglo-French 
 wars (1328), and to recount their contents is to 
 abstract many splendid chapters from out the pages 
 of French history. 
 
 It would seem as though nearly every personage 
 of royalty and celebrity (if these democratic times 
 will allow the yoking together of the two; real 
 genuine red republicans would probably link royalty 
 and notoriety) stalked majestically through his 
 pages, and the record runs from the fourteenth 
 nearly to the end of the nineteenth century, with 
 the exception of the reign of Louis XL 
 
a (3eneral IFntro^uction 13 
 
 An ardent admirer of Sir Walter Scott has com- 
 mented upon this lapse as being accounted for by 
 the apparent futility of attempting to improve upon 
 " Quentin Durward." This is interesting, signifi- 
 cant, and characteristic, but it is not charitable, 
 generous, or broad-minded. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 DUMAS' EARLY LIFE IN PARIS 
 
 yfT fifteen (1817), Dumas entered the law- 
 yTj office of one Mennesson at Villers-Cot- 
 terets as a saute-ruisseau (gutter-snipe), 
 as he himself called it, and from this time on he 
 was forced to forego what had been his passion 
 heretofore : bird-catching, shooting, and all manner 
 of woodcraft. 
 
 When still living at Villers-Cotterets Dumas had 
 made acquaintance with the art of the dramatist, 
 so far as it was embodied in the person of Adolphe 
 de Leuven, with whom he collaborated in certain 
 immature melodramas and vaudevilles, which De 
 Leuven himself took to Paris for disposal. 
 
 " No doubt managers would welcome them with 
 enthusiasm," said Dumas, " and likely enough we 
 shall divert a branch of that Pactolus River which 
 is irrigating the domains of M. Scribe" (1822). 
 
 Later on in his " Memoires " he says : " Complete 
 humiliation; we were refused everywhere." 
 
 14 
 
STATUE OF DUMAS AT VILLERS -COTTERETS 
 
Dumas' jEarl^ %itc in Paris i^ 
 
 From Villers-Cotterets the scene of Dumas' 
 labours was transferred to Crepy, three and a half 
 leagues distant, a small town to which he made 
 his way on foot, his belongings in a little bundle 
 " not more bulky than that of a Savoyard when he 
 leaves his native mountains/' 
 
 In his new duties, still as a lawyer's clerk, Dumas 
 found life very wearisome, and, though the ancient 
 capital of the Valois must have made an impress 
 upon him, — as one learns from the Valois ro- 
 mances, — he pined for the somewhat more free 
 life which he had previously lived; or, taking the 
 bull by the horns, deliberated as to how he might 
 get into the very vortex of things by pushing on 
 to the capital. 
 
 As he tritely says, " To arrive it was necessary 
 to make a start," and the problem was how to 
 arrive in Paris from Crepy in the existing con- 
 dition of his finances. 
 
 By dint of ingenuity and considerable activity 
 Dumas left Crepy in company with a friend on a 
 sort of a runaway holiday, and made his third en- 
 trance into Paris. 
 
 It would appear that Dumas' culinary and gas- 
 tronomic capabilities early came into play, as we 
 learn from the " Memoires " that, when he was not 
 yet out of his teens, and serving in the notary's 
 
1 6 Dumas' patt0 
 
 office at Crepy, he proposed to his colleague that 
 they take this three days' holiday in Paris. 
 
 They could muster but thirty-five francs between 
 them, so Dumas proposed that they should shoot 
 game en route. Said Dumas, " We can kill, shall 
 I say, one hare, two partridges, and a quail. . . . 
 We reach Dammartin, get the hinder part of our 
 hare roasted and the front part jugged, then we 
 eat and drink." "And what then?" said his 
 friend. "What then? Bless you, why we pay 
 for our wine, bread, and seasoning with the two 
 partridges, and we tip the waiter with the 
 quail." 
 
 The journey was accomplished in due order, and 
 he and his friend put up at the Hotel du Vieux- 
 Augustins, reaching there at ten at night. 
 
 In the morning he set out to find his collab- 
 orateur De Leuven, but the fascination of Paris 
 was such that it nearly made him forswear regard 
 for the flight of time. 
 
 He says of the Palais Royale : " I found myself 
 within its courtyard, and stopped before the Theatre 
 Franqais, and on the bill I saw : 
 
 " * Demain, Lundi 
 
 Sylla 
 
 Tragddie dans cinq Actes 
 
 Par M. de Jouy* 
 
Dumas' Barl^ Xite In parts 17 
 
 " I solemnly swore that by some means or other 
 ... I would see Sylla, and all the more so because, 
 in large letters, under the above notice, were the 
 words, * The character of Sylla will be taken by 
 M. Talma/ " 
 
 In his " Memoires " Dumas states that it was at 
 this time he had the temerity to call on the great 
 Talma. " Talma was short-sighted," said he, " and 
 was at his toilet; his hair was close cut, and his 
 aspect under these conditions was remarkably un- 
 poetic. . . . Talma was for me a god — a god 
 unknown, it is true, as was Jupiter to Semele." 
 
 And here comes a most delicious bit of Dumas 
 himself, Dumas the egotist: 
 
 " Ah, Talma ! were you but twenty years younger 
 or I twenty years older! I know the past, you 
 cannot foretell the future. . . . Had you known. 
 Talma, that the hand you had just touched would 
 ultimately write sixty or eighty dramas ... in 
 each of which you would have found the material 
 for a marvellous creation. . . ." 
 
 Dumas may be said to have at once entered the 
 world of art and letters in this, his third visit to 
 Paris, which took place so early in life, but in the 
 years so ripe with ambition. 
 
 Having seen the great Talma in Sylla, in his 
 dressing-room at the Theatre Frangais, he met 
 
i8 S)uma0' Paris 
 
 Delavigne, who was then just completing his " Ecole 
 des Viellards/' Lucien Arnault, who had just 
 brought out " Regulus ; " Soumet, fresh from the 
 double triumph of ''Saul" and " Clymnestre ; " 
 here, too, were Lemercier, Delrien, Viennet, and 
 Jouy himself; and he had met at the Cafe du Roi, 
 Theadlon, Francis, Rochefort, and De Merle; in- 
 deed by his friend De Leuven he was introduced 
 to the assemblage there as a " future Corneille," 
 in spite of the fact that he was but a notary's clerk. 
 
 Leaving what must have been to Dumas the pres- 
 ence, he shot a parting remark, " Ah, yes, I shall 
 come to Paris for good, I warrant you that." 
 
 In " The Taking of the Bastille " Dumas traces 
 again, in the characters of Pitou and old Father 
 Billot, much of the route which he himself took on 
 his first visit to Paris. The journey, then, is re- 
 counted from first-hand information, and there will 
 be no difficulty on the part of any one in tracing the 
 similarity of the itinerary. 
 
 Chapter I., of the work in question, brings us at 
 once on familiar ground, and gives a description of 
 Villers-Cotterets and its inhabitants in a manner 
 which shows Dumas* hand so unmistakably as to 
 remove any doubts as to the volume of assistance 
 he may have received from others, on this particular 
 book at least. 
 
Bumas' iBaxl^ Xite in parts 19 
 
 " On the borders of Picardy and the province of 
 Soissons, and on that part of the national territory 
 which, under the name of the Isle of France, formed 
 a portion of the ancient patrimony of our kings, 
 and in the centre of an immense crescent, formed 
 by a forest of fifty thousand acres, which stretches 
 its horns to the north and south, rises, almost 
 buried amid the shades of a vast park planted by 
 Francois I. and Henri 11. , the small city of Villers- 
 Cotterets. This place is celebrated from having 
 given birth to Charles Albert Demoustier, who, at 
 the period when our present history commences, 
 was there writing his Letters to Emilie on Myth- 
 ology, to the unbounded satisfaction of the pretty 
 women of those days, who eagerly snatched his 
 publications from each other as soon as printed. 
 
 " Let us add, to complete the poetical reputa- 
 tion of this little city, whose detractors, notwith- 
 standing its royal chateau and its two thousand 
 four hundred inhabitants, obstinately persist in call- 
 ing it a mere village — let us add, we say, to com- 
 plete its poetical reputation, that it is situated at 
 two leagues distance from Laferte-Milan, where 
 Racine was born, and eight leagues from Chateau- 
 Thierry, the birthplace of La Fontaine. 
 
 " Let us also state that the mother of the author 
 
20 Bumas' Paris 
 
 of ' Britannicus ' and * Athalie ' was from Villers- 
 Cotterets. 
 
 *' But now we must return to its royal chateau 
 and its two thousand four hundred inhabitants. 
 
 ** This royal chateau, begun by Francois I., whose 
 salamanders still decorate it, and finished by 
 Henri IL, whose cipher it bears entwined with 
 that of Catherine de Medici and encircled by the 
 three crescents of Diana of Poictiers, after having 
 sheltered the loves of the knight king with Madame 
 d'Etampes, and those of Louis Philippe of Orleans 
 with the beautiful Madame de Montesson, had be- 
 come almost uninhabited since the death of this 
 last prince; his son, Philippe d'Orleans, afterward 
 called Egalite, having made it descend from the 
 rank of a royal residence to that of a mere hunt- 
 ing rendezvous. 
 
 " It is well known that the chateau and forest 
 of Villers-Cotterets formed part of the appanage 
 settled by Louis XIV. on his brother Monsieur, 
 when the second son of Anne of Austria married 
 the sister of Charles IL, the Princess Henrietta of 
 England. 
 
 " As to the two thousand four hundred inhab- 
 itants of whom we have promised our readers to 
 say a word, they were, as in all localities where two 
 
DumasMBarli? %itc in parts 21 
 
 thousand four hundred people are united, a heter- 
 ogeneous assemblage. 
 
 " Firstly : Of the few nobles, who spent their 
 summers in the neighbouring chateaux and their 
 winters in Paris, and who, mimicking the prince, 
 had only a lodging-place in the city. 
 
 " Secondly : Of a goodly number of citizens, who 
 could be seen, let the weather be what it might, 
 leaving their houses after dinner, umbrella in hand, 
 to take their daily walk, a walk which was regularly 
 bounded by a deep, invisible ditch which separated 
 the park from the forest, situated about a quarter 
 of a league from the town, and which was called, 
 doubtless on account of the exclamation which the 
 sight of it drew from the asthmatic lungs of the 
 promenaders, satisfied at finding themselves not too 
 much out of breath, the ' Ha, ha ! ' 
 
 " Thirdly : Of a considerably greater number of 
 artisans who worked the whole of the week and 
 only allowed themselves to take a walk on the 
 Sunday; whereas their fellow townsmen, more 
 favoured by fortune, could enjoy it every day. 
 
 " Fourthly and finally : Of some miserable prole- 
 tarians, for whom the week had not even a Sab- 
 bath, and who, after having toiled six days in the 
 pay of the nobles, the citizens, or even of the ar- 
 tisans, wandered on the seventh day through the 
 
22 Dumas' parts 
 
 forest to gather up dry wood or branches of the 
 lofty trees, torn from them by the storm, that 
 mower of the forest, to whom oak-trees are but 
 ears of wheat, and which it scattered over the 
 humid soil beneath the lofty trees, the magnificent 
 appanage of a prince. 
 
 " If Villers-Cotterets ( Villerii ad Cotiam Retise) 
 had been, unfortunately, a town of sufficient im- 
 portance in history to induce archaeologists to ascer- 
 tain and follow up its successive changes from a 
 village to a town and from a town to a city — the 
 last, as we have said, being strongly contested, they 
 would certainly have proved this fact, that the vil- 
 lage had begun by being a row of houses on either 
 side of the road from Paris to Soissons; then 
 they would have added that its situation on the 
 borders of a beautiful forest having, though by 
 slow degrees, brought to it a great increase of in- 
 habitants, other streets were added to the first, di- 
 verging like the rays of a star and leading toward 
 other small villages with which it was important 
 to keep up communication, and converging toward 
 a point which naturally became the centre, that is 
 to say, what in the provinces is called Le Carrefour, 
 — and sometimes even the Square, whatever might 
 be its shape, — and around which the handsomest 
 buildings of the village, now become a burgh, were 
 
2)uma0' Barl^ Xtte In parts 23 
 
 erected, and in the middle of which rises a foun- 
 tain, now decorated with a quadruple dial ; in short, 
 they would have fixed the precise date when, near 
 the modest village church, the first want of a peo- 
 ple, arose the first turrets of the vast chateau, the 
 last caprice of a king; a chateau which, after hav- 
 ing been, as we have already said, by turns a royal 
 and a princely residence, has in our days become 
 a melancholy and hideous receptacle for mendicants 
 under the direction of the Prefecture of the Seine, 
 and to whom M. Marrast issues his mandates 
 through delegates of whom he has not, nor prob- 
 ably will ever have, either the time or the care to 
 ascertain the names." 
 
 The last sentence seems rather superfluous, — if 
 it was justifiable, — but, after all, no harm probably 
 was done, and Dumas as a rule was never vitupera- 
 tive. 
 
 Continuing, these first pages give us an account 
 of the difiliculties under which poor Louis Ange 
 Pitou acquired his knowledge of Latin, which is 
 remarkably like the account which Dumas gives in 
 the " Memoires '* of his early acquaintance with the 
 classics. 
 
 When Pitou leaves Haramont, his native village, 
 and takes to the road, and visits Billot at " Bruyere 
 aux Loups," knowing well the road, as he did that 
 
24 Dumas' lPari5 
 
 to Damploux, Compiegne, and Vivieres, he was but 
 covering ground equally well known to Dumas' 
 own youth. 
 
 Finally, as he is joined by Billot en route for 
 Paris, and takes the highroad from Villers-Cotte- 
 rets, near Gondeville, passing Nanteuil, Dammartin, 
 and Ermenonville, arriving at Paris at La Villette, 
 he follows almost the exact itinerary taken by the 
 venturesome Dumas on his runaway journey from 
 the notary's office at Crepy-en-Valois. 
 
 Crepy-en-Valois was the near neighbour of Vil- 
 lers-Cotterets, which jealously attempted to rival it, 
 and does even to-day. In " The Taking of the 
 Bastille " Dumas only mentions it in connection 
 with Mother Sabot's ane, " which was shod," — 
 the only ass which Pitou had ever known which 
 wore shoes, — and performed the duty of carrying 
 the mails between Crepy and Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 At Villers-Cotterets one may come into close 
 contact with the chateau which is referred to in the 
 later pages of the " Vicomte de Bragelonne." 
 " Situated in the middle of the forest, where we 
 shall lead a most sentimental life, the very same 
 where my grandfather," said Monseigneur the 
 Prince, " Henri IV. did with ' L2i Belle Gabrielle.' " 
 
 So far as lion-hunting goes, Dumas himself at 
 an early age appears to have fallen into it. > He 
 
Dumas' JEarl^ Xite in parts 25 
 
 recalls in " Mes Memoires " the incident of Napo- 
 leon I. passing through Villers-Cotterets just 
 previous to the battle of Waterloo. 
 
 " Nearly every one made a rush for the emperor's 
 carriage," said he; "naturally I was one of the 
 first. . . . Napoleon's pale, sickly face seemed a 
 block of ivory. . . . He raised his head and asked, 
 * Where are we? ' * At Villers-Cotterets, Sire,' said 
 a voice. * Go on.' " Again, a few days later, as we 
 learn from the " Memoires," " a horseman coated 
 with mud rushes into the village; orders four horses 
 for a carriage which is to follow, and departs. . . . 
 A dull rumble draws near ... a carriage stops. 
 . . . * Is it he — the emperor ? ' Yes, it was the 
 emperor, in the same position as I had seen him 
 before, exactly the same, pale, sickly, impassive; 
 only the head droops rather more. ... * Where 
 are we?' he asked. 'At Villers-Cotterets, Sire.' 
 ' Go on.' " 
 
 That evening Napoleon slept at the Elysee. It 
 was but three months since he had returned from 
 Elba, but in that time he came to an abyss which 
 had engulfed his fortune. That abyss was Water- 
 loo; only saved to the alHes — who at four in the 
 afternoon were practically defeated — by the com- 
 ing up of the Germans at six. 
 
 Among the books of reference and contemporary 
 
26 Dumas' iparis 
 
 works of a varying" nature from which a writer in 
 this generation must build up his facts anew, is 
 found a wide difference in years as to the date of 
 the birth of Dumas pere. 
 
 As might be expected, the weight of favour hes 
 with the French authorities, though by no means 
 do they, even, agree among themselves. 
 
 His friends have said that no unbiassed, or even 
 complete biography of the author exists, even in 
 French; and possibly this is so. There is about 
 most of them a certain indefiniteness and what 
 Dumas himself called the " colour of sour grapes." 
 
 The exact date of his birth, however, is unques- 
 tionably 1802, if a photographic reproduction of 
 his natal certificate, published in Charles Glinel's 
 " Alex. Dumas et Son CEuvre," is what it seems 
 to be. 
 
 Dumas' aristocratic parentage — for such it truly 
 was — has been the occasion of much scofifing and 
 hard words. He pretended not to it himself, but it 
 was founded on family history, as the records 
 plainly tell, and whether Alexandre, the son of the 
 brave General Dumas, the Marquis de la Pailleterie, 
 was prone to acknowledge it or not does not matter 
 in the least. The " feudal particle " existed plainly 
 in his pedigree, and with no discredit to any con- 
 cerned. 
 
j5)ttma5' j6arl^ %iU in parts 
 
 27 
 
 General Dumas, his wife, and his son are buried 
 in the cemetery of Villers-Cotterets, where the ex- 
 citing days of the childhood of Dumas, the ro- 
 mancer, were spent, in a plot of ground " con- 
 ceded in perpetuity to the family." The plot forms 
 a rectangle six metres by five, surrounded by tower- 
 ing pines. 
 
 The three monuments contained therein are of 
 the utmost simplicity, each consisting of an in- 
 clined slab of stone. 
 
 The inscriptions are as follows: 
 
 FAMILLE 
 
 Thomas- Alexandre 
 
 Dumas 
 
 Davy de la Pailleterie 
 
 gdn^ral d^ division 
 
 n^ k Jeremie 
 
 He et Cote de Saint 
 
 Dominique 
 
 le 25 mars 1762, 
 
 dec^d^ 
 
 k Villers-Cotterets 
 
 le 27 f^vrier 1806 
 
 ALEXANDRE 
 
 Marie-Louise-Eliza- 
 beth Labouret 
 Epouse 
 du g^n^ral de division 
 Dumas Davy 
 de la Pailleterie 
 nde 
 k Villers-Cotterets 
 le 4 juillet 1769 
 
 d^cdd^e 
 le ler aout 1838 
 
 DUMAS 
 
 Alexandre Dumas 
 
 n^ k Villers-Cotterets 
 
 le 24 juillet i8o2 
 
 d^c^d^ 
 
 le 5 d^cembre 1870 
 
 iPuys 
 
 transf^r^ 
 
 k 
 
 Villers-Cotterets 
 
 le 
 
 15 avril 1872 
 
 There would seem to be no good reason why 
 a book treating of Dumas' Paris might not be 
 composed entirely of quotations from Dumas' own 
 works. For a fact, such a work would be no less 
 valuable as a record than were it evolved by any 
 
28 S)umas' Paris 
 
 other process. It would indeed be the best record 
 that could possibly be made, for Dumas' topography- 
 was generally truthful if not always precise. 
 
 There are, however, various contemporary side- 
 lights which are thrown upon any canvas, no matter 
 how small its area, and in this instance they seem 
 to engulf even the personality of Dumas himself, 
 to say nothing of his observations. 
 
 Dumas was such a part and parcel of the literary 
 life of the times in which he lived that mention 
 can scarce be made of any contemporary event that 
 has not some bearing on his life or work, or he 
 with it, from the time when he first came to the 
 metropolis (in 1822) at the impressionable age of 
 twenty, until the end. 
 
 It will be difficult, even, to condense the relative 
 incidents which entered into his life within the 
 confines of a single volume, to say nothing of a 
 single chapter. The most that can be done is to 
 present an abridgment which shall follow along 
 the lines of some preconceived chronological ar- 
 rangement. This is best compiled from Dumas* 
 own words, leaving it to the additional references 
 of other chapters to throw a sort of reflected glory 
 from a more distant view-point. 
 
 The reputation of Dumas with the merely casual 
 reader rests upon his best-known romances, " Monte 
 
Dumas' lEavl^ %itc in Paris 29 
 
 Cristo," 1841; " Les Trois Mousquetaires," 1844; 
 " Vingt Ans Apres," 1845 ; *' Le Vicomte de Brage- 
 lonne," 1847; "La Dame de Monsoreau," 1847; 
 and his dramas of " Henri III. et Sa Cour," 1829, 
 "Antony," 1831, and " Kean," 1836. 
 
 His memoirs, " Mes Memoires," are practically 
 closed books to the mass of English readers — the 
 word books is used advisedly, for this remarkable 
 work is composed of twenty stout volumes, and they 
 only cover ten years of the author's life. 
 
 Therein is a mass of fact and fancy which may 
 well be considered as fascinating as are the *' ro- 
 mances " themselves, and, though autobiographic, 
 one gets a far more satisfying judgment of the man 
 than from the various warped and distorted ac- 
 counts which have since been published, either in 
 French or English. 
 
 Beginning with " Memories of My Childhood " 
 (1802 — 06), Dumas launches into a few lines 
 anent his first visit to Paris, in company with his 
 father, though the auspicious — perhaps significant 
 — event took place at a very tender age. It seems 
 remarkable that he should have recalled it at all, 
 but he was a remarkable man, and it seems not 
 possible to ignore his words. 
 
 " We set out for Paris, ah, that journey ! I 
 recollect it perfectly. ... It was August or Sep- 
 
30 2)uma6' iParlB 
 
 tember, 1805. We got down in the Rue Thiroux 
 at the house of one DoUe. ... I had been em- 
 braced by one of the most noble ladies who ever 
 lived, Madame la Marquise de Montesson, widow 
 of Louis-Philippe d'Orleans. . . . The next day, 
 putting Brune's sword between my legs and Murat's 
 hat upon my head, I galloped around the table; 
 when my father said, ' Never forget this, my boy/ 
 . . . My father consulted Corvisart, and attempted 
 to see the emperor, but Napoleon, the quondam 
 general, had now become the emperor, and he re- 
 fused to see my father. ... To where did we re- 
 turn? I believe Villers-Cotterets." 
 
 Again on the 26th of March, 18 13, Dumas en- 
 tered Paris in company with his mother, now 
 widowed. He says of this visit : 
 
 " I was delighted at the prospect of this my 
 second visit. ... I have but one recollection, full 
 of light and poetry, when, with a flourish of 
 trumpets, a waving of banners, and shouts of 
 * Long live the King of Rome,* was lifted up above 
 the heads of fifty thousand of the National Guard 
 the rosy face and the fair, curly head of a child of 
 three years — the infant son of the great Napoleon. 
 . . . Behind him was his mother, — that woman 
 so fatal to France, as have been all the daughters 
 of the Caesars, Anne of Austria, Marie Antoinette, 
 
Dumas' iBatl^ %itc in parts 31 
 
 and Marie Louise, — an indistinct, insipid face. 
 . . . The next day we started home again." 
 
 Through the influence of General Foy, an old 
 friend of his father's, Dumas succeeded in obtaining 
 employment in the Orleans Bureau at the Palais 
 Royal. 
 
 His occupation there appears not to have been 
 unduly arduous. The offices were in the right-hand 
 corner of the second courtyard of the Palais Royal. 
 He remained here in this bureau for a matter of 
 five years, and, as he said, " loved the hour when 
 he came to the office," because his immediate supe- 
 rior, Lassagne, — - a contributor to the Drapeau 
 Blanc, — was the friend and intimate of Desau- 
 giers, Theaulon, Armand Gouffe, Brozier, Rouge- 
 mont, and all the vaudevillists of the time. 
 
 Dumas' meeting with the Due d'Orleans — after- 
 ward Louis-Philippe — is described in his own 
 words thus : " In two words I was introduced. 
 * My lord, this is M. Dumas, whom I mentioned 
 to you, General Foy's protege.' * You are the son 
 of a brave man,' said the due, ' whom Bonaparte, 
 it seems, left to die of starvation.' . . . The due 
 gave Oudard a nod, which I took to mean, ' He will 
 do, he's by no means bad for a provincial.' " And 
 so it was that Dumas came immediately under the 
 
32 Dumas' Paris 
 
 eye of the due, engaged as he was at that time on 
 some special clerical work in connection with the 
 due's provincial estates. 
 
 The affability of Dumas, so far as he himself was 
 concerned, was a foregone conclusion. In the 
 great world in which he moved he knew all sorts 
 and conditions of men. He had his enemies, it is 
 true, and many of them, but he himself was the 
 enemy of no man. To English-speaking folk he 
 was exceedingly agreeable, because, — quoting his 
 own words, — said he, " It was a part of the debt 
 which I owed to Shakespeare and Scott." Some^ 
 thing of the egoist here, no doubt, but gracefully 
 done nevertheless. 
 
 With his temperament it was perhaps but natural 
 that Dumas should have become a romancer. This 
 was of itself, maybe, a foreordained sequence of 
 events, but no man thinks to-day that, leaving con- 
 tributary conditions, events, and opportunities out 
 of the question, he shapes his own fate; there are 
 accumulated heritages of even distant ages to con- 
 tend with. In Dumas' case there was his heritage 
 of race and colour, refined, perhaps, by a long 
 drawn out process, but, as he himself tells in " Mes 
 Memoires," his mother's fear was that her child 
 would be born black, and he was, or, at least, pur- 
 ple, as he himself afterward put it. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 DUMAS" LITERARY CAREER 
 
 JUST how far Dumas' literary ability was 
 an inheritance, or growth of his early en- 
 vironment, will ever be an open question. 
 It is a manifest fact that he had breathed some- 
 thing of the spirit of romance before he came to 
 Paris. 
 
 Although it was not acknowledged until 1856, 
 " The Wolf-Leader '' was a development of a 
 legend told to him in his childhood. Recalling 
 then the incident of his boyhood days, and calling 
 into recognition his gift of improvisation, he wove a 
 tale which reflected not a little of the open-air life 
 of the great forest of Villers-Cotterets, near the 
 place of his birth. 
 
 Here, then, though it was fifty years after his 
 birth, and thirty after he had thrust himself 
 on the great world of Paris, the scenes of his child- 
 hood were reproduced in a wonderfully romantic 
 
 33 
 
34 Bumas' lParl6 
 
 and weird tale — which, to the best of the writer's 
 behef, has not yet appeared in EngHsh. 
 
 To some extent it is possible that there is not a 
 little of autobiography therein, not so much, per- 
 haps, as Dickens put into " David Copperfield," but 
 the suggestion is thrown out for what it may be 
 worth. 
 
 It is, furthermore, possible that the historic asso- 
 ciations of the town of Villers-Cotterets — which 
 was but a little village set in the midst of the sur- 
 rounding forest — may have been the prime cause 
 which influenced and inspired the mind of Dumas 
 toward the romance of history. 
 
 In point of chronology, among the earliest of the 
 romances were those that dealt with the fortunes of 
 the house of Valois (fourteenth century), and here, 
 in the little forest town of Villers-Cotterets, was 
 the magnificent manor-house which belonged to the 
 Dues de Valois; so it may be presumed that the 
 sentiment of early associations had somewhat to do 
 with these literary efforts. 
 
 All his life Dumas devotedly admired the senti- 
 ment and fancies which foregathered in this forest, 
 whose very trees and stones he knew so well. 
 From his "Memoires" we learn of his indignation at 
 the destruction of its trees and much of its natural 
 beauty. He says: 
 
Dumas' Xiterar^ Career 35 
 
 " This park, planted by Francois L, was cut 
 down by Louis-Philippe. Trees, under whose 
 shade once reclined Frangois I. and Madame 
 d'Etampes, Henri II. and Diane de Poitiers, 
 Henri IV. and Gabrielle d'Estrees — you would 
 have believed that a Bourbon would have respected 
 you. But over and above your inestimable value 
 of poetry and memories, you had, unhappily, a 
 material value. You beautiful beeches with your 
 polished silvery cases ! you beautiful oaks with your 
 sombre wrinkled bark! — you were worth a hun- 
 dred thousand crowns. The King of France, who, 
 with his six milHons of private revenue, was too 
 poor to keep you — the King of France sold you. 
 For my part, had you been my sole possession, I 
 would have preserved you; for, poet as I am, one 
 thing that I would set before all the gold of the 
 earth: the murmur of the wind in your leaves; 
 the shadow that you made to flicker beneath my 
 feet ; the visions, the phantoms, which, at eventide, 
 betwixt the day and night, in the doubtful hour of 
 twilight, would glide between your" age-long trunks 
 as glide the shadows of the ancient Abencerrages 
 amid the thousand columns of Cordova's royal 
 mosque." 
 
 What wonder, with these lines before one, that 
 the impressionable Dumas was so taken with the 
 
36 2)ttma5' parts 
 
 romance of life and so impracticable in other 
 ways. 
 
 From the fact that no thorough biography of 
 Dumas exists, it will be difficult to trace the fluctua- 
 tions of his literary career with preciseness. It is 
 not possible even with the twenty closely packed vol- 
 umes of the " Memoires " — themselves incomplete 
 
 — before one. All that a biographer can get from 
 this treasure-house are facts, — rather radiantly 
 coloured in some respects, but facts nevertheless, 
 
 — which are put together in a not very coherent 
 or compact form. 
 
 They do, to be sure, recount many of the inci- 
 dents and circumstances attendant upon the writing 
 and publication of many of his works, and because 
 of this they immediately become the best of all 
 sources of supply. It is to be regretted that these 
 " Memoires " have not been translated, though it is 
 doubtful if any publisher of English works could 
 get his money back from the transaction. 
 
 Other clues as to his emotions, and with no un- 
 certain references to incidents of Dumas' literary 
 career, are found in " Mes Betes,'' " Ange Pitou," 
 the " Causeries," and the " Travels." These com- 
 prise many volumes not yet translated. 
 
 Dumas was readily enough received into the folds 
 
Dumas* Xiterari? Career 37 
 
 of the great. Indeed, as we know, he made his 
 entree under more than ordinary, if not exceptional, 
 circumstances, and his connection with the great 
 names of literature and statecraft extended from 
 Hugo to Garibaldi. 
 
 As for his own predilections in literature, Dumas' 
 own voice is practically silent, though we know that 
 he was a romanticist pure and simple, and drew no 
 inspiration or encouragement from Voltairian senti- 
 ments. If not essentially religious, he at least be- 
 lieved in its principles, though, as a warm admirer 
 has said, " He had no liking for the celibate and 
 bookish life of the churchman." 
 
 Dumas does not enter deeply into the subject 
 of ecclesiasticism in France. His most elaborate 
 references are to the Abbey of Ste. Genevieve — 
 since disappeared in favour of the hideous pagan 
 Pantheon — and its relics and associations, in " La 
 Dame de Monsoreau." Other of the romances 
 from time to time deal with the subject of religion 
 more or less, as was bound to be, considering the 
 times of which he wrote, of Mazarin, Richelieu, De 
 Rohan, and many other churchmen. 
 
 Throughout the thirties Dumas was mostly oc- 
 cupied with his plays, the predominant, if not the 
 most sonorous note, being sounded by " Antony." 
 
 As a novelist his star shone brightest in the dec- 
 
38 H)uma6' pads 
 
 ade following, commencing with " Monte Cristo," 
 in 1 84 1, and continuing through " Le Vicomte de 
 Bragelonne " and *' La Dame de Monsoreau," in 
 
 1847. 
 
 During these strenuous years Dumas produced 
 the flower of his romantic garland — omitting, of 
 course, certain trivial and perhaps unworthy trifles, 
 among which are usually considered, rightly enough, 
 " Le Capitaine Paul" (Paul Jones) and "Jeanne 
 d'Arc." At this period, however, he produced the 
 charming and exotic " Black Tulip," which has 
 since come to be a reality. The best of all, though, 
 are admittedly the Mousquetaire cycle, the volumes 
 dealing with the fortunes of the Valois line, and, 
 again, " Monte Cristo." 
 
 By 1830, Dumas, eager, as it were, to experience 
 something of the valiant boisterous spirit of the 
 characters of his romances, had thrown himself 
 heartily into an alliance with the opponents of 
 Louis-Philippe. Orleanist successes, however, left 
 him to fall back upon his pen. 
 
 In 1844, having finished " Monte Cristo," he fol- 
 lowed it by " Les Trois Mousquetaires," and before 
 the end of the same year had put out forty 
 volumes, by what means, those who will read the 
 scurrilous " Fabrique des Romans " — and properly 
 discount it — may learn. 
 
2)ttma6' Xiterari? Career 39 
 
 The publication of " Monte Cristo " and " Les 
 Trois Mousquetaires '* as newspaper feuilletons, in 
 1844 — 45, met with amazing success, and were, 
 indeed, written from day to day, to keep pace with 
 the demands of the press. 
 
 Here is, perhaps, an opportune moment to digress 
 into the ethics of the profession of the " Hterary 
 ghost," and but for the fact that the subject has 
 been pretty well thrashed out before, — not only 
 with respect to Dumas, but to others as well, — 
 it might justifiably be included here at some length, 
 but shall not be, however. 
 
 The busy years, from 1840 — 50 could indeed be 
 " explained " — if one were sure of his facts ; but 
 beyond the circumstances, frequently availed of, it 
 is admitted, of Dumas having made use of secre- 
 tarial assistance in the productions which were ulti- 
 mately to be fathered by himself, there is little but 
 jealous and spiteful hearsay to lead one to sup- 
 pose that he made any secret of the fact that he 
 had some very considerable assistance in the pro- 
 duction of the seven hundred volumes which, at 
 a late period in his life, he claimed to have pro- 
 duced. 
 
 The " Maquet affaire/' of course, proclaims the 
 whilom Augustus Mackeat as a collaborateur; still 
 the ingenuity of Dumas shines forth through the 
 
40 Dumas' pati0 
 
 warp and woof in an unmistakable manner, and he 
 who would know more of the pros and cons is re- 
 ferred to the " Maison Dumas et Cie" 
 
 Maquet was manifestly what we have come to 
 know as a " hack," though the species is not so 
 very new — nor so very rare. The great libraries 
 are full of them the whole world over, and very 
 useful, though irresponsible and ungrateful persons, 
 many of them have proved to be. Maquet, at any 
 rate, served some sort of a useful purpose, and he 
 certainly was a confidant of the great romancer dur- 
 ing these very years, but that his was the mind and 
 hand that evolved or worked oi^t the general plan 
 and detail of the romances is well-nigh impossible 
 to believe, when one has digested both sides of the 
 question. 
 
 An English critic of no inconsiderable knowledge 
 has thrown in his lot recently with the claims of 
 Maquet, and given the sole and entire production 
 of " Les Trois Mousquetaires," " Monte Cristo," 
 " La Dame de Monsoreau,'' and many other of 
 Dumas' works of this period, to him, placing him, 
 indeed, with Shakespeare, whose plays certain gulli- 
 ble persons believe to have been written by Bacon. 
 The flaw in the theory is apparent when one realizes 
 that the said Maquet was no myth — he was, in fact, 
 a very real person, and a literary personage of a cer- 
 
Bumas' Xltcran? Career 41 
 
 tain ability. It is strange, then, that if he were 
 the producer of, say " Les Trois Mousquetaires," 
 which was issued ostensibly as the work of Dumas, 
 that he wrote nothing under his own name that 
 was at all comparable therewith; and stranger 
 still, that he was able to repeat this alleged success 
 with " Monte Cristo," or the rest of the Mousque- 
 taire series, and yet not be able to do the same sort 
 of a feat when playing the game by himself. One 
 instance would not prove this contention, but sev- 
 eral are likely to not only give it additional strength, 
 but to practically demonstrate the correct conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 The ethics of plagiarism are still greater and more 
 involved than those which make justification for 
 the employment of one who makes a profession of 
 library research, but it is too involved and too vast 
 to enter into here, with respect to accusations of its 
 nature which were also made against Dumas. 
 
 As that new star which has so recently risen 
 out of the East — Mr. Kipling — has said, " They 
 took things where they found them." This is per- 
 haps truthful with regard to most literary folk, who 
 are continually seeking a new line of thought. 
 Scott did it, rather generously one might think; 
 even Stevenson admitted that he was greatly in- 
 debted to Washington Irving and Poe for certain 
 
42 Dumas* parts 
 
 of the details of " Treasure Island '* — though 
 there is absolutely no question but that it was a 
 sort of unconscious absorption, to put it rather 
 unscientifically. The scientist himself calls it the 
 workings of the subconscious self. 
 
 As before said, the Maquet affaire was a most 
 complicated one, and it shall have no lengthy con- 
 sideration here. Suffice to say that, when a case 
 was made by Maquet in court, in 1856 — 58, Maquet 
 lost. " It is not justice that has won," said Maquet, 
 " but Dumas." 
 
 Edmond About has said that Maquet lived to 
 speak kindly of Dumas, " as did his legion of other 
 collahorateurs; and the proudest of them congrat- 
 ulate themselves on having been trained in so good 
 a school." This being so, it is hard to see anything 
 very outrageous or preposterous in the proce- 
 dure. 
 
 Blaze de Bury has described Dumas* method 
 thus: 
 
 " The plot was worked over by Dumas and his 
 colleague, when it was finally drafted by the other 
 and afterward rewritten by Dumas." 
 
 M. About, too, corroborates Blaze de Bury's 
 statement, so it thus appears legitimately explained. 
 Dumas at least supplied the ideas and the esprit. 
 
 In Dumas* later years there is perhaps more jus- 
 
2)uma6' Xtterars Career 43 
 
 tification for the thought that as his indolence in- 
 creased — though he was never actually inert, at 
 least not until sickness drew him down — the au- 
 thorship of the novels became more complex. Blaze 
 de Bury put them down to the " Dumas-Legion," 
 and perhaps with some truth. They certainly have 
 not the vim and fire and temperament of individ- 
 uality of those put forth from 1840 to 1850. 
 
 Dumas wrote fire and impetuosity into the veins 
 of his heroes, perhaps some of his very own viva- 
 cious spirit. It has been said that his moral code 
 was that of the camp or the theatre; but that is 
 an ambiguity, and it were better not dissected. 
 
 Certainly he was no prude or Puritan, not more 
 so, at any rate, than were Bums, Byron, or Poe, 
 but the virtues of courage, devotion, faithfulness, 
 loyalty, and friendship were his, to a degree hardly 
 excelled by any of whom the written record of 
 cameraderie exists. 
 
 Dumas has been jibed and jeered at by the super- 
 cilious critics ever since his first successes appeared, 
 but it has not leavened his reputation as the first 
 romancer of his time one single jot; and within 
 the past few years we have had a revival of the 
 character of true romance — perhaps the first true 
 revival since Dumas' time — in M. Rostand's 
 " Cyrano de Bergerac." 
 
44 Dumas' parts 
 
 We have had, too, the works of Zola, who, indom- 
 itable, industrious, and sincere as he undoubtedly 
 was, will have been long forgotten when the master- 
 pieces of Dumas are being read and reread. The 
 Mousquetaire cycle, the Valois romances, and 
 " Monte Cristo " stand out by themselves above 
 all others of his works, and have had the appro- 
 bation of such discerning fellow craftsmen as 
 George Sand, Thackeray, and Stevenson, all of 
 whom may be presumed to have judged from en- 
 tirely different points of view. Thackeray, indeed, 
 plainly indicated his greatest admiration for " La 
 Tulipe Noire,'* a work which in point of time came 
 somewhat later. At this time Dumas had built his 
 own Chalet de Monte Cristo near St. Germain, a 
 sort of a Gallic rival to Abbotsford. It, and the 
 " Theatre Historique," founded by Dumas, came to 
 their disastrous end in the years immediately fol- 
 lowing upon the Revolution of 1848, when Dumas 
 fled to Brussels and began his " Memoires." He 
 also founded a newspaper called Le Mousqtietaire, 
 which failed, else he might have retrenched and 
 satisfied his creditors — at least in part. 
 
 He travelled in Russia, and upon his return wrote 
 of his journey to the Caspian. In i860 he obtained 
 an archaeological berth in Italy, and edited a Gari- 
 baldian newspaper. 
 
Dumas' Xiterari^ Career 4S 
 
 By 1864, the " Director of Excavations at 
 Naples," which was Dumas' official title, fell out 
 with the new government which had come in, and 
 he left his partisan journal and the lava-beds of 
 Pompeii for Paris and the literary arena again; 
 but the virile power of his early years was gone, 
 and Dumas never again wielded the same pen 
 which had limned the features of Athos, Porthos, 
 Aramis, and D'Artagnan. 
 
 In 1844 Dumas participated in a sort of person- 
 ally-conducted Bonapartist tour to the Mediter- 
 ranean, in company with the son of Jerome Napo- 
 leon. On this journey Dumas first saw the island of 
 Monte Cristo and the Chateau d'lf, which lived so 
 fervently in his memory that he decided that their 
 personality should be incorporated in the famous 
 tale which was already formulating itself in his 
 brain. 
 
 Again, this time in company with the Due de 
 Montpensier, he journeyed to the Mediterranean, 
 " did " Spain, and crossed over to Algiers. When 
 he returned he brought back the celebrated vulture, 
 " Jugurtha,'' whose fame was afterward perpet- 
 uated in " Mes Betes." 
 
 That there was a deal of reality in the character- 
 ization and the locale of Dumas' romances will not 
 be denied by any who have acquaintance therewith. 
 
46 Dumas' pads 
 
 Dumas unquestionably took his material where he 
 found it, and his wonderfully retentive memory, his 
 vast capacity for work, and his wide experience 
 and extensive acquaintance provided him material 
 that many another would have lacked. 
 
 M. de Chaffault tells of his having accompanied 
 Dumas by road from Sens to Joigny, Dumas being 
 about to appeal to the republican constituency of 
 that place for their support of him as a candidate 
 for the parliamentary elections. 
 
 '* In a short time we were on the road," said the 
 narrator, " and the first stage of three hours seemed 
 to me only as many minutes. Whenever we passed 
 a country-seat, out came a lot of anecdotes and 
 legends connected with its owners, interlarded with 
 quaint fancies and epigrams.'* 
 
 Aside from the descriptions of the country around 
 about Crepy, Compiegne, and Villers-Cotterets 
 which he wove into the Valois tales, " The Taking 
 of the Bastille," and " The Wolf -Leader," there is 
 a strong note of personality in " Georges ; " some 
 have called it autobiography. 
 
 The tale opens in the far-distant Isle of France, 
 called since the English occupation Mauritius, and 
 in the narrative of the half-caste Georges Munier 
 are supposed to be reflected many of the personal 
 incidents of the life of the author. 
 
2)ttmas' Xitetari? Career 47 
 
 This story may or may not be a mere repetition of 
 certain of the incidents of the struggle of the 
 mulatto against the barrier of the white aristocracy, 
 and may have been an echo in Dumas' own life. 
 It is repeated it may have been this, or it may have 
 been much more. Certain it is, there is an under- 
 lying motive which could only have been realized 
 to the full extent expressed therein by one who 
 knew and felt the pangs of the encounter with a 
 world which only could come to one of genius 
 who was by reason of race or creed outclassed by 
 his contemporaries; and therein is given the most 
 vivid expression of the rise of one who had every- 
 thing against him at the start. 
 
 This was not wholly true of Dumas himself, to 
 be sure, as he was endowed with certain influential 
 friends. Still it was mainly through his own efforts 
 that he was able to prevail upon the old associates 
 and friends of the dashing General Dumas, his 
 father, to give him his first lift along the rough' 
 and stony literary pathway. 
 
 In this book there is a curious interweaving of 
 the life and colour which may have had not a little 
 to do with the actual life which obtained with 
 respect to his ancestors, and as such, and the various 
 descriptions of negro and Creole life, the story be- 
 
48 Dumas' Paris 
 
 comes at once a document of prime interest and 
 importance. 
 
 Since Dumas himself has explained and justified 
 the circumstance out of which grew the conception 
 of the D'Artagnan romances, it is perhaps advisable 
 that some account should be given of the original 
 D'Artagnan. 
 
 Primarily, the interest in Dumas' romance of 
 " Les Trois Mousquetaires " is as great, if not 
 greater, with respect to the characters as it is with' 
 the scenes in which they lived and acted their stren- 
 uous parts. In addition, there is the profound 
 satisfaction of knowing that the rollicking and gal- 
 lant swashbuckler has come down to us from the 
 pages of real life, as Dumas himself recounts in 
 the preface to the Colman Levy edition of the book. 
 The statement of Dumas is explicit enough; there 
 is no mistaking his words which open the preface: 
 
 " Dans laquelle 
 II est ^tabli que, malgrd leurs noms en os et en /j, 
 Les hdros de I'histoire 
 Que nous allons avoir I'honneur de raconter k nos lecteurs 
 N'ont rien de mythologique." 
 
 The contemporary facts which connect the real 
 Comte d'Artagnan with romances are as follows : 
 Charles de Batz de Castlemore, Comte d'Arta- 
 
d'artagnan 
 
Dumas' Xiterar^ Career 49 
 
 gnan, received his title from the little village of 
 Artagnan, near the Gascon town of Orthez in the 
 present department of the Hautes-Pyrenees. He 
 was born in 1623. Dumas, with an author's license, 
 made his chief figure a dozen years older, for the 
 real D'Artagnan was but five years old at the time 
 of the siege of La Rochelle of which Dumas makes 
 mention. On the whole, the romance is near enough 
 to reality to form an ample endorsement of the 
 author's verity. 
 
 The real D'Artagnan made his way to Paris, as 
 did he of the romance. Here he met his fellow 
 Bearnais, one M. de Treville, captain of the king's 
 musketeers, and the illustrious individuals, Armand 
 de Sillegue d'Athos, a Bearnais nobleman who died 
 in 1645, and whose direct descendant. Colonel de 
 Sillegue, commanded, according to the French army 
 lists of a recent date, a regiment of French cavalry ; 
 Henry d'Aramitz, lay abbe of Oloron; and Jean 
 de Portu, all of them probably neighbours in D'Ar- 
 tagnan's old home. 
 
 D'Artagnan could not then have been at the siege 
 of La Rochelle, but from the " Memoires de M. 
 d' Artagnan," of which Dumas writes in his preface, 
 we learn of his feats at arms at Arras, Valenciennes, 
 Douai, and Lille, all places where once and again 
 Dumas placed the action of the novels. 
 
50 Dumas' Paris 
 
 The real D'Artagnan died, sword in hand, " in 
 the imminent deadly breach " at Maestricht, in 1673. 
 He served, too, under Prince Rupert in the Civil 
 War, and frequently visited England, where he had 
 an affaire with a certain Milady, which is again 
 reminiscent of the pages of Dumas. 
 
 This D'Artagnan in the flesh married Charlotte 
 Anne de Chanlecy, and the last of his direct de- 
 scendants died in Paris in the latter years of the 
 eighteenth century, but collateral branches of the 
 family appear still to exist in Gascony, and there 
 was a certain Baron de Batz, a Bearnais, who made 
 a daring attempt to save Marie Antoinette in 1793. 
 
 The inception of the whole work in Dumas' mind, 
 as he says, came to him while he was making re- 
 search in the " Bibliotheque Royale " for his his- 
 tory of Louis XIV. 
 
 Thus from these beginnings grew up that series 
 of romances which gave undying fame to Alexandre 
 Dumas, and to the world of readers a series of 
 characters and scenes associated with the mediaeval 
 history of France, which, before or since, have not 
 been equalled. 
 
 Alexandre Dumas has been described as some- 
 thing of the soldier, the cook, and the traveller, 
 more of the journalist, diplomatist, and poet, and, 
 more than all else, the dramatist, romancer, and 
 
Dumas' Xttetat^ Career si 
 
 raconteur. He himself has said that he was a ** veri- 
 table Wandering Jew of literature." 
 
 His versatility in no way comprised his abilities, 
 and, while conceit and egoism played a not unim- 
 portant share in his make-up, his affability — when 
 he so chose — caused him to be ranked highly in 
 the estimation of his equals and contemporaries. 
 By the cur-dogs, which always snap at the heels 
 of a more splendid animal, he was not ranked so 
 high. 
 
 Certain of these were for ever twitting him pub- 
 licly of his creed, race, and foibles. It is recorded 
 by Theodore de Bauville, in his " Odes," that one 
 Jacquot hailed Dumas in the open street with a 
 ribald jeer, when, calmly turning to his detractor, 
 Dumas said, simply : " Hast thou dined to-day, 
 Jacquot? " Then it was that this said Jacquot pub- 
 lished the slanderous brochure, '*" La Maison Dumas 
 et Cie" which has gone down as something con- 
 siderable of a sensation in the annals of literary 
 history; so much so, indeed, that most writers 
 who have had occasion to refer to Dumas' literary 
 career have apparently half-believed its accusa- 
 tions, which, truth to tell, may have had some bear- 
 ing on " things as they were," had they but been put 
 forward as a bit of temperate criticism rather than 
 as a sweeping condemnation. 
 
52 Dumas' parts 
 
 To give the reader an idea of the Dumas of 1840, 
 one can scarcely do better than present his portrait 
 as sketched by De Villemessant, the founder and 
 brilHant editor of the Figaro, when Dumas was at 
 the height of his glory, and a grasp of his hand 
 was better than a touch of genius to those receiv- 
 ing it : 
 
 ** At no time and among no people had it till then 
 been granted to a writer to achieve fame in every 
 direction; in serious drama and in comedy, and 
 novels of adventure and of domestic interest, in 
 humourous stories and in pathetic tales, Alexandre 
 Dumas had been alike successful. The frequenters 
 of the Theatre Frangais owed him evenings of 
 delight, but so did the general public as well. 
 Dumas alone had had the power to touch, interest, 
 or amuse, not only Paris or France, but the whole 
 world. If all other novelists had been swallowed 
 up in an earthquake, this one would have been able 
 to supply the leading libraries of Europe. If all 
 other dramatists had died, Alexandre Dumas could 
 have occupied every stage; his magic name on a 
 playbill or affixed to a newspaper feuilleton en- 
 sured the sale of that issue or a full house at the 
 theatre. He was king of the stage, prince of feuil- 
 letonists, the literary man par excellence, in that 
 Paris then so full of intellect. When he opened 
 
Dumas' aitteratp Career 53 
 
 his lips the most eloquent held their breath to listen ; 
 when he entered a room the wit of man, the beauty 
 of woman, the pride of life, grew dim in the ra- 
 diance of his glory ; he reigned over Paris in right 
 of his sovereign intellect, the only monarch who 
 for an entire century had understood how to draw 
 to himself the adoration of all classes of society, 
 from the Faubourg St. Germain to the Batignolles. 
 
 " Just as he united in himself capabilities of many 
 kinds, so he displayed in his person the perfection 
 of many races. From the negro he had derived the 
 frizzled hair and those thick lips on which Europe 
 had laid a delicate smile of ever-varying meaning; 
 from the southern races he derived his vivacity of 
 gesture and speech, from the northern his solid 
 frame and broad shoulders and a figure which, 
 while it showed no lack of French elegance, was 
 powerful enough to have made green with envy 
 the gentlemen of the Russian Life-Guards." 
 
 Dumas' energy and output were tremendous, as 
 all know. It is recorded that on one occasion, — in 
 the later years of his life, when, as was but natural, 
 he had tired somewhat, — after a day at la chasse, 
 he withdrew to a cottage near by to rest until the 
 others should rejoin him, after having finished their 
 sport. This they did within a reasonably short 
 time, — whether one hour or two is not stated with 
 
54 Dumas' parts 
 
 definiteness, — when they found him sitting before 
 the fire " twirhng his thumbs.'' On being interro- 
 gated, he repHed that he had not been sitting there 
 long; in fact, he had just written the iirst act of 
 a new play. 
 
 The French journal, La Revue, tells the following 
 incident, which sounds new. Some years before his 
 death, Dumas had written a somewhat quaint letter 
 to Napoleon III., apropos of a play which had been 
 condemned by the French censor. In this epistle 
 he commenced: 
 
 "Sire: — In 1830, and, indeed, even to-day, 
 there are three men at the head of French literature. 
 These three men are Victor Hugo, Lamartine, and 
 myself. Although I am the least of the three, the 
 five continents have made me the most popular, 
 probably because the one was a thinker, the other 
 a dreamer, while I am merely a writer of common- 
 place tales." 
 
 This letter goes on to plead the cause of his 
 play, and from this circumstance the censorship 
 was afterward removed. 
 
 A story is told of an incident which occurred 
 at a rehearsal of " Les Trois Mousquetaires " at the 
 " Ambigu.'' This story is strangely reminiscent of 
 another incident which happened at a rehearsal of 
 Halevy's " Guido et Genevra," but it is still worth 
 
Bumas' Xiterarp Career ss 
 
 recounting here, if only to emphasize the indom- 
 itable energy and perspicacity of Dumas. 
 
 It appears that a pompier — that gaudy, glisten- 
 ing fireman who is always present at functions of 
 all sorts on the continent of Europe — who was 
 watching the rehearsal, was observed by Dumas to 
 suddenly leave his point of vantage and retire. 
 Dumas followed him and inquired his reason for 
 withdrawing. " What made you go away ? " Dumas 
 asked of him. " Because that last act did not in- 
 terest me so much as the others," was the answer. 
 Whereupon Dumas sent for the prompt-book and 
 threw that portion relating to that particular tableau 
 into the fire, and forthwith set about to rewrite it 
 on the spot. " It does not amuse the pompier," 
 said Dumas, " but I know what it wants." An hour 
 and a half later, at the finish of the rehearsal, the 
 actors were given their new words for the seventh 
 tableau. 
 
 In spite of the varied success with which his 
 plays met, Dumas was, we may say, first of all a 
 dramatist, if construction of plot and the moving 
 about of dashing and splendid figures counts for 
 anything; and it most assuredly does. 
 
 This very same qualification is what makes the 
 romances so vivid and thrilling; and they do not 
 falter either in accessory or fact. 
 
56 Dumas' iPatia 
 
 The cloaks of his swashbucklering heroes are 
 always the correct shade of scarlet; their rapiers, 
 their swords, or their pistols are always rightly 
 tuned, and their entrances and their exits correctly 
 and most appropriately timed. 
 
 When his characters represent the poverty of a 
 tatterdemalion, they do it with a sincerity that is 
 inimitable, and the lusty throatings of a D'Artagnan 
 are never a hollow mockery of something they are 
 not. 
 
 Dumas drew his characters of the stage and his 
 personages of the romances with the brilliance and 
 assurance of a Velasquez, rather than with the 
 finesse of a Praxiteles, and for that reason they live 
 and introduce themselves as cosmopolitans, and are 
 to be appreciated only as one studies or acquires 
 something of the spirit from which they have been 
 evolved. 
 
 Of Dumas' own uproarious good nature many 
 have written. Albert Vandam tells of a certain 
 occasion when he went to call upon the novelist 
 at St. Germain, — and he reckoned Dumas the most 
 lovable and genial among all of his host of ac- 
 quaintances in the great world of Paris, — that he 
 overheard, as he was entering the study, " a loud 
 burst of laughter." " I had sooner wait until mon- 
 sieur's visitors are gone," said he. " Monsieur has 
 
Dumas' Xtterati^ Career 57 
 
 no visitors," said the servant. " Monsieur often 
 laughs like that at his work." 
 
 Dumas as a man of affairs or as a politician was 
 not the success that he was in the world of letters. 
 His activities were great, and his enthusiasm for 
 any turn of affairs with which he allied himself 
 remarkable; but, whether he was en voyage on a 
 whilom political mission, at work as " Director of 
 Excavations " at Pompeii, or founding or conduct- 
 ing a new journal or a new playhouse, his talents 
 were manifestly at a discount. In other words, he 
 was singularly unfit for public life; he was not 
 an organizer, nor had he executive ability, though 
 he had not a little of the skill of prophecy and fore- 
 sight as to many turns of fortune's wheel with 
 respect to world power and the comity of nations. 
 
 Commenting upon the political state of Europe, 
 he said : " Geographically, Prussia has the form of 
 a serpent, and, like it, she appears to be asleep, in 
 order to gain strength to swallow everything around 
 her." All of his prophecy was not fulfilled, to be 
 sure, but a huge slice was fed into her maw from 
 out of the body of France, and, looking at things 
 at a time fifty years ahead of that of which Dumas 
 wrote, — that is, before the Franco-Prussian War, 
 — it would seem as though the serpent's appetite 
 was still unsatisfied. 
 
58 Dumas' pads 
 
 In 1847, when Dumas took upon himself to wish 
 for a seat in the government, he besought the sup- 
 port of the constituency of the borough in which he 
 had hved — St. Germain. But St. Germain denied 
 it him — " on moral grounds." In the following 
 year, when Louis-Philippe had abdicated, he made 
 the attempt once again. 
 
 The republican constituency of Joigny challenged 
 him with respect to his title of Marquis de la Paille- 
 terie, and his having been a secretary in the Or- 
 leans Bureau. The following is his reply — verba- 
 tim — as publicly delivered at a meeting of electors, 
 and is given here as illustrating well the earnest- 
 ness and devotion to a code which many Puritan 
 and prudish moralists have themselves often ig- 
 nored : 
 
 " I was formerly called the Marquis de la Paille- 
 terie, no doubt. It was my father's name, and one 
 of which I was very proud, being then unable to 
 claim a glorious one of my own make. But at 
 present, when I am somebody, I call myself Alex- 
 andre Dumas, and nothing more; and every one 
 knows me, yourselves among the rest — you, you 
 absolute nobodies, who have come here merely to 
 boast, to-morrow, after having given me insult to- 
 night, that you have known the great Dumas. If 
 §uch were your avowed ambition, you could have 
 
Dumas' OLitcrarp Career 59 
 
 satisfied it without having failed in the common 
 courtesies of gentlemen. There is no doubt, either, 
 about my having been a secretary to the Due 
 d'Orleans, and that I have received many favours 
 from his family. If you are ignorant of the mean- 
 ing of the phrase, * The memories of the heart,' 
 allow me, at least, to proclaim loudly that I am not, 
 and that I entertain toward this family of royal 
 blood all the devotion of an honourable man." 
 
 That Dumas was ever accused of making use of 
 the work of others, of borrowing ideas wherever he 
 found them, and, indeed, of plagiarism itself, — 
 which is the worst of all, — has been mentioned 
 before, and the argument for or against is not in- 
 tended to be continued here. 
 
 Dumas himself has said much upon the subject 
 in defence of his position, and the contemporary 
 scribblers of the time have likewise had their say 
 — and it was not brief; but of all that has been 
 written and said, the following is pertinent and 
 deliciously naive, and, coming from Dumas himself, 
 has value: 
 
 " One morning I had only just opened my eyes 
 when my servant entered my bedroom and brought 
 me a letter upon which was written the word urgent. 
 He drew back the curtains; the weather — doubt 
 
6o 2)uma0' lPari0 
 
 less by some mistake — was fine, and the brilliant 
 sunshine entered the rcK)m like a conqueror. I 
 rubbed my eyes and looked at the letter to see who 
 had sent it, astonished at the same time that there 
 should be only one. The handwriting was quite 
 unknown to me. Having turned it over and over 
 for a minute or two, trying to guess whose the 
 writing was, I opened it and this is what I found : 
 
 " * Sir : — I have read your " Three Musketeers," 
 being well to do, and having plenty of spare time 
 on my hands — * 
 
 "(* Lucky fellow!' said I; and I continued 
 reading. ) 
 
 " * I admit that I found it fairly amusing ; but, 
 having plenty of time before me, I was curious 
 enough to wish to know if you really did find them 
 in the " Memoirs of M. de La Fere." As I was 
 living in Carcassonne, I wrote to one of my friends 
 in Paris to go to the Bibliotheque Royale, and ask 
 for these memoirs, and to write and let me know 
 if you had really and truly borrowed your facts 
 from them. My friend, whom I can trust, replied 
 that you had copied them word for word, and that 
 it is what you authors always do. So I give you 
 fair notice, sir, that I have told people all about it 
 
Dumas' Xlterarp Career 6i 
 
 at Carcassonne, and, if it occurs again, we shall 
 cease subscribing to the Siecle. 
 
 " * Yours sincerely, 
 
 "I rang the bell. 
 
 " ' If any more letters come for me to-day,' said 
 I to the servant, * you will keep them back, and only 
 give them to me sometime when I seem a bit too 
 happy/ 
 
 " * Manuscripts as well, sir ? ' 
 
 " ' Why do you ask that question ? ' 
 
 " * Because some one has brought one this very 
 moment/ 
 
 " * Good ! that is the last straw ! Put it some- 
 where where it won't be lost, but don't tell me 
 where.' 
 
 " He put it on the mantelpiece, which proved that 
 my servant was decidedly a man of intelligence. 
 
 " It was half-past ten ; I went to the window. As 
 I have said, it was a beautiful day. It appeared as 
 if the sun had won a permanent victory over the 
 clouds. The passers-by all looked happy, or, at 
 least, contented. 
 
 " Like everybody else, I experienced a desire to 
 take the air elsewhere than at my window, so I 
 dressed, and went out. 
 
 " As chance would have it — for when I go out 
 
62 Dumas' parts 
 
 for a walk I don't care whether it is in one street 
 or another — as chance would have it, I say, I 
 passed the Bibliotheque Royale. 
 
 " I went in, and, as usual, found Paris, who came 
 up to me with a charming smile. 
 
 " * Give me,' said I, ' the " Memoirs of La Fere." ' 
 
 " He looked at me for a moment as if he thought 
 I was crazy; then, with the utmost gravity, he 
 said, * You know very well they don't exist, because 
 you said yourself they did ! ' 
 
 " His speech, though brief, was decidedly pithy. 
 
 " By way of thanks I made Paris a gift of the 
 autograph I had received from Carcassonne. 
 
 " When he had finished reading it, he said, * If 
 it is any consolation to you to know it, you are not 
 the first who has come to ask for the " Memoirs of 
 La Fere " ; I have already seen at least thirty people 
 who came solely for that purpose, and no doubt 
 they hate you for sending them on a fool's errand.' 
 
 " As I was in search of material for a novel, and 
 as there are people who declare novels are to be 
 found ready-made, I asked for the catalogue. 
 
 " Of course, I did not discover anything." 
 
 Every one knows of Dumas' great fame as a 
 gastronome and epicure; some recall, also, that he 
 himself was a cuisinier of no mean abilities. How 
 
H)umas' Xiterari? Careet 63 
 
 far his capacities went in this direction, and how 
 wide was his knowledge of the subject, can only be 
 gleaned by a careful reading of his great " Diction- 
 naire de Cuisine." Still further into the subject 
 he may be supposed to have gone from the fact that 
 he also published an inquiry, or an open letter, 
 addressed to the gourmands of all countries, on the 
 subject of mustard. 
 
 It is an interesting subject, to be sure, but a tri- 
 fling one for one of the world's greatest writers to 
 spend his time upon ; say you, dear reader ? Well ! 
 perhaps ! But it is a most fascinating contribution to 
 the literature of epicurism, and quite worth looking 
 up and into. The history of the subtle spice is 
 traced down through Biblical and Roman times to 
 our own day, chronologically, etymologically, bo- 
 tanically, and practically. It will be, and doubtless 
 has been, useful to other compilers of essays on good 
 cheer. 
 
 Whatever may be the subtle abilities which make 
 the true romancer, or rather those which make his 
 romances things of life and blood, they were pos- 
 sessed by Alexandre Dumas. 
 
 Perhaps it is the more easy to construct a ro- 
 mantic play than it is to erect, from matter-of-fact 
 components, a really engrossing romantic novel. 
 Dumas' abilities seem to fit in with both varieties 
 
6d Dumas' pads 
 
 alike, and if he did build to order, the result was 
 in most cases no less successful than if evolved 
 laboriously. 
 
 It is a curious fact that many serial contributions 
 — if we are to believe the literary gossip of the 
 time — are only produced as the printer is waiting 
 for copy. The formula is manifestly not a good 
 one upon which to build, but it has been done, and 
 successfully, by more writers than one, and with 
 scarce a gap unbridged. 
 
 Dickens did it, — if it is allowable to mention 
 him here, — and Dumas himself did it, — many 
 times, — and with a wonderful and, one may say, 
 inspired facility, but then his facility, none the less 
 than his vitality, made possible much that was not 
 granted to the laborious Zola. 
 
 Dumas was untiring to the very last. His was a 
 case of being literally worked out — not worked to 
 death, which is quite a different thing. 
 
 It has been said by Dumas His that in the latter 
 years of the elder's life he would sit for length upon 
 length of time, pen in hand, and not a word would 
 flow therefrom, ere the ink had dried. 
 
 An interesting article on Dumas' last days ap- 
 peared in La Revue in 1903. It dealt with the sad- 
 ness and disappointments of Dumas' later days, in 
 spite of which the impression conveyed of the great 
 
Dumas' Xitctar^ Career 65 
 
 novelist's personality is very vivid, and he emerges 
 from it much as his books would lead one to expect 
 — a hearty, vigorous creature, surcharged with 
 vitality, with desire to live and let live, a man 
 possessed of almost equally prominent faults and 
 virtues, and generous to a fault. 
 
 Money he had never been able to keep. He had 
 said himself, at a time when he was earning a for- 
 tune, " I can keep everything but money. Money 
 unfortunately always slips through my fingers." 
 The close of his life was a horrible struggle to make 
 ends meet. When matters came to a crisis Dumas 
 would pawn some of the valuable oh jets d'art he had 
 collected in the opulent past, or ask his son for 
 assistance. But, though the sum asked was always 
 given, there were probably few things which the 
 old man would not have preferred to this appeal 
 to the younger author. 
 
 As he grew old, Dumas pere became almost 
 timid in his attitude toward the son, whose disap- 
 proval had frequently found expression in advice 
 and warning. But Dumas could not settle down, 
 and he could not become careful. Neither of these 
 things was in his nature, and there was conse- 
 quently always some little undercurrent of friction 
 between them. To the end of his days his money 
 was anybody's who liked to come and ask for it, 
 
66 Dumas' Paris 
 
 and nothing but the final clouding of his intellectual 
 capacity could reduce his optimism. Then, it is 
 true, he fell into a state of sustained depression. 
 The idea that his reputation would not last haunted 
 him. 
 
 In 1870, when Dumas was already very ill, his 
 son, anxious that he should not be in Paris during 
 its investment by the Germans, took him to a house 
 he had at Puys, near Dieppe. Here the great man 
 rapidly sank, and, except at meal-times, passed his 
 time in a state of heavy sleep, until a sudden attack 
 of apoplexy finally seized him. He never rallied 
 after it, and died upon the day the Prussian soldiers 
 took possession of Dieppe. 
 
 Many stories are rife of Dumas the prodigal. 
 Some doubtless are true, many are not. Those 
 which he fathers himself, we might well accept as 
 being true. Surely he himself should know. 
 
 The following incident which happened in the 
 last days of his life certainly has the ring of truth 
 about it. 
 
 When in his last illness he left Paris for his 
 son's country house near Dieppe, he had but twenty 
 francs, the total fortune of the man who had earned 
 millions. 
 
 On arriving at Puys, Dumas placed the coin on 
 
Dumas' Xtterarp Career 67 
 
 his bedroom chimneypiece, and there it remained all 
 through his illness. 
 
 One day he was seated in his chair near the 
 window, chatting with his son, when his eye fell 
 on the gold piece. 
 
 A recollection of the past crossed his mind. 
 
 " Fifty years ago, when I went to Paris," he 
 said, " I had a louis. Why have people accused 
 me of prodigality? I have always kept that louis. 
 See — there it is." 
 
 And he showed his son the coin, smiling feebly 
 as he did so. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DUMAS CONTEMPORARIES 
 
 ^MONG those of the world's great names 
 y1 in literature contemporary with Dumas, 
 but who knew Paris ere he first descended 
 upon it to try his fortune in its arena of letters, 
 were Lamartine, who already, in 1820, had charmed 
 his public with his " Meditations ; " Hugo, who 
 could claim but twenty years himself, but who had 
 already sung his " Odes et Ballades,'* and Chateau- 
 briand. 
 
 Soulie and De Vigny won their fame with poems 
 and plays in the early twenties, De Musset and 
 Chenier followed before a decade had passed, and 
 Gautier was still serving his apprenticeship. 
 
 It was the proud Goethe who said of these young 
 men of the twenties, " They all come from Chateau- 
 briand." Beranger, too, " the little man," even 
 though he was drawing on toward the prime of 
 
 life, was also singing melodiously : it was his chan- 
 
 68 
 
Bumas' Contemporaries 69 
 
 sons, it is said, that upset the Bourbon throne and 
 made way for the " citizen-king." Nodier, of 
 fanciful and fantastic rhyme, was already at work, 
 and Merimee had not yet taken up the administra- 
 tive duties of overseeing the preserving process 
 which at his instigation was, at the hands of a 
 paternal government, being applied to the historical 
 architectural monuments throughout France; a 
 glory which it is to be feared has never been wholly 
 granted to Merimee, as was his due. 
 
 Guizot, the bete noire of the later Louis-Philippe, 
 was actively writing from 1825 to 1830, and his 
 antagonist, Thiers, was at the same period pro- 
 ducing what Carlyle called the " voluminous and 
 untrustworthy labours of a brisk little man in his 
 way; " which recalls to mind the fact that Carlylean 
 rant — like most of his prose — is a well-nigh in- 
 sufferable thing. 
 
 At this time Mignet, the historian, was hard at 
 work, and St. Beauve had just deserted materia 
 medica for literature. Michelet's juvenile histories 
 were a production of the time, while poor, un- 
 honoured, and then unsung, Balzac was grinding 
 out his pittance — in after years to grow into a 
 monumental literary legacy — in a garret. 
 
 Eugene Sue had not yet taken to literary path- 
 ways, and was scouring the seas as a naval surgeon. 
 
70 Dumas' Paris 
 
 The drama was prolific in names which we 
 have since known as masters, Scribe, Halevy, and 
 others. 
 
 George Sand, too, was just beginning that grand 
 literary life which opened with " Indiana " in 1832, 
 and lasted until 1876. She, like so many of the 
 great, whose name and fame, like Dumas' own, has 
 been perpetuated by a monument in stone, the 
 statue which was unveiled in the little town of her 
 birth on the Indre, La Chatre, in 1903. 
 
 Like Dumas, too, hers was a cyclopean industry, 
 and so it followed that in the present twentieth 
 century (in the year 1904), another and a more 
 glorious memorial to France's greatest woman 
 writer was unveiled in the Garden of the Luxem- 
 bourg. 
 
 Among the women famous in the monde of Paris 
 at the time of Dumas' arrival were Mesdames 
 Desbordes-Valmore, Amable Tastu, and Delphine 
 Gay. 
 
 " For more than half a century this brilliant 
 group of men and women sustained the world of 
 ideas and poetry," said Dumas, in his " Memoires," 
 " and I, too," he continued, " have reached the 
 same plane . . . unaided by intrigue or coterie, and 
 using none other than my own work as the stepping- 
 stone in my pathway." 
 
2)ttma6^ (Tontemporarlcs 7^ 
 
 Dumas cannot be said to have been niggardly 
 with his praise of the work of others. He said of 
 a sonnet of Arnauh's — " La Feuille " — that it 
 was a masterpiece which an Andre Chenier, a 
 Lamartine, or a Hugo might have envied, and that 
 for himself, not knowing what his " literary 
 brothers " might have done, he would have given 
 for it *' any one of his dramas/' 
 
 It was into the office of Arnault, who was chief 
 of a department in the Universite, that Beranger 
 took up his labours as a copying-clerk, — as did 
 Dumas in later years, — and it was while here that 
 Beranger produced his first ballad, the " Roi 
 d'Yvetot." 
 
 In 185 1 Millet was at his height, if one con- 
 siders what he had already achieved by his " great 
 agrarian poems," as they have been called. Gautier 
 called them " Georgics in paint," and such they 
 undoubtedly were. Millet would hardly be called 
 a Parisian; he was not of the life of the city, but 
 rather of that of the countryside, by his having 
 settled down at Barbizon in 1849, ^^^ practically 
 never left it except to go to Paris on business. 
 
 His life has been referred to as one of " sublime 
 monotony," but it was hardly that. It was a life 
 devoted to the telling of a splendid story, that of 
 
72 Dumas' parts 
 
 the land as contrasted with that of the paved city 
 streets. 
 
 Corot was a real Parisian, and it was only in his 
 early life in the provinces that he felt the bitterness 
 of life and longed for the flagstones of the quais, 
 for the Tuileries, the Seine, and his beloved Rue de 
 Bac, where he was born on loth Thermidor, 
 Year IV. (July 28, 1796). Corot early took to 
 painting the scenes of the metropolis, as we learn 
 from his biography, notably at the point along the 
 river bank where the London steamer moors to-day. 
 But these have disappeared; few or none of his 
 juvenile efforts have come down to us. 
 
 Corot returned to Paris, after many years spent 
 in Rome, during the reign of Louis-Philippe, when 
 affairs were beginning to stir themselves in liter- 
 ature and art. In 1839 his " Site d'ltalie " and a 
 " Soir " were shown at the annual Salon, — though, 
 of course, he had already been an exhibitor there, 
 — and inspired a sonnet of Theophile Gautier, 
 which concludes: 
 
 « Corot, ton nom modest, ^crit dans un coin noir." 
 
 Corot's pictures were unfortunately hung in the 
 darkest corners — for fifteen years. As he himself 
 has said, it was as if he were in the catacombs. 
 
Dumas' Contempotartes 73 
 
 In 1855 Corot figured as one of the thirty-four 
 judges appointed by Napoleon III. to make the 
 awards for paintings exhibited in the world's first 
 Universal Exhibition. It is not remarked that 
 Corot had any acquaintance or friendships with 
 Dumas or with Victor Hugo, of whom he remarked, 
 " This Victor Hugo seems to be pretty famous in 
 literature." He knew little of his contemporaries, 
 and the hurly-burly knew less of him. He was 
 devoted, however, to the genius of his superiors — 
 as he doubtless thought them. Of Delacroix he said 
 one day, " He is an eagle, and I am only a lark 
 singing little songs in gray clouds." 
 
 A literary event of prime importance during the 
 latter years of Dumas* life in Paris, when his own 
 purse was growing thin, was the publication of the 
 " Histoire de Jules Cesar," written by Napo- 
 leon III. 
 
 Nobody ever seems to have taken the second 
 emperor seriously in any of his finer expressions of 
 sentiment, and, as may be supposed, the publication 
 of this immortal literary effort was the occasion 
 of much sarcasm, banter, violent philippic, and 
 sardonic criticism. 
 
 Possibly the world was not waiting for this work, 
 but royalty, no less than other great men, have 
 their hobbies and their fads; Nero fiddled, and the 
 
74 2)umas' Paris 
 
 first Napoleon read novels and threw them forth- 
 with out of the carriage window, so it was quite 
 permissible that Napoleon III. should have perpet- 
 uated this life history of an emperor whom he may 
 justly and truly have admired — perhaps envied, in 
 a sort of impossible way. 
 
 Already Louis Napoleon's collection of writings 
 was rather voluminous, so this came as no great 
 surprise, and his literary reputation was really 
 greater than that which had come to him since 
 fate made him the master of one of the foremost 
 nations of Europe. 
 
 From his critics we learn that " he lacked the 
 grace of a popular author; that he was quite in- 
 capable of interesting the reader by a charm of 
 manner; and that his style was meagre, harsh, and 
 grating, but epigrammatic." No Frenchman could 
 possibly be otherwise. 
 
 Dumas relates, again, the story of Sir Walter 
 Scott's visit to Paris, seeking documents which 
 should bear upon the reign of Napoleon. Dining 
 with friends one evening, he was invited the next 
 day to dine with Barras. But Scott shook his head. 
 " I cannot dine with that man," he replied. " I 
 shall write evil of him, and people in Scotland 
 would say that I have flung the dishes from his 
 own table at his head." 
 
2)uma5' Contemporaries 75 
 
 It is not recorded that Dumas' knowledge of 
 swordsmanship was based on practical experience, 
 but certainly no more scientific sword-play of passe 
 and touche has been put into words than that won- 
 derful attack and counter-attack in the opening 
 pages of "Les Trois Mousquetaires." 
 
 Of the duel d'honneur there is less to be said, 
 though Dumas more than once sought to reconcile 
 estranged and impetuous spirits who would have 
 run each other through, either by leaden bullet or the 
 sword. A notable instance of this was in the mem- 
 orable affaire between Louis Blanc of UHomme- 
 Lihre and Dujarrier-Beauvallon of La Presse. The 
 latter told Dumas that he had no alternative but 
 to fight, though he went like a lamb to the slaughter, 
 and had no knowledge of the code nor any skill 
 with weapons. 
 
 Dumas pere was implored by the younger Dumas 
 — both of whom took Dujarrier*s interests much 
 to heart — to go and see Grisier and claim his 
 intervention. " I cannot do it," said the elder ; 
 " the first and foremost thing to do is to safeguard 
 his reputation, which is the more precious because 
 it is his first duel." The Grisier referred to was the 
 great master of fence of the time who was immor- 
 talized by Dumas in his " Maitre d*Armes." 
 
 Dumas himself is acknowledged, however, on one 
 
76 Dumas' parts 
 
 occasion, at least, to have acted as second — co- 
 jointly with General Fleury — in an affaire which, 
 happily, never came off. 
 
 It was this Blanc-Dujarrier duel which brought 
 into further prominent notice that most remarkable 
 and quasi-wonderful woman, Lola Montez; that 
 daughter of a Spaniard and a Creole, a native of 
 Limerick, pupil of a boarding-school at Bath, and 
 one-time resident of Seville ; to which may be added, 
 on the account of Lord Malmesbury, " The woman 
 who in Munich set fire to the magazine of revolution 
 which was ready to burst forth all over Europe." 
 
 She herself said that she had also lived in Cal- 
 cutta as the wife of an officer in the employ of 
 the East India Company; had at one time been 
 reduced to singing in the streets at Brussels; had 
 danced at the Italian Opera in London, — " not 
 much, but as well as half the ugly wooden women 
 who were there," — and had failed as a dancer in 
 Warsaw. 
 
 " This illiterate schemer," says Vandam, " who 
 probably knew nothing of geography or history, had 
 pretty well the Almanach de Gotha by heart." 
 " Why did I not come earlier to Paris ? " she once 
 said. " What was the good ? There was a king 
 there bourgeois to his finger-nails, tight-fisted be- 
 
H)uma6' dontemporaries 77 
 
 sides, and notoriously the most moral and the best 
 father in all the world." 
 
 This woman, it seems, was a beneficiary in the 
 testament of Dujarrier, who died as a result of his 
 duel, to the extent of eighteen shares in the Theatre 
 du Palais Royal, and in the trial which followed 
 at Rouen, at which were present all shades and 
 degrees of literary and professional people, Dumas, 
 Gustave Flaubert, and others, she insisted upon 
 appearing as a witness, for no reason whatever, 
 apparently, than that of further notoriety. " Six 
 months from this time," as one learns from Van- 
 dam, " her name was almost forgotten by all of us 
 except Alexandre Dumas, who once and again al- 
 luded to her." " Though far from superstitious, 
 Dumas, who had been as much smitten with her as 
 most of her admirers, avowed that he was glad 
 that she had disappeared. * She has the evil eye,' 
 said he, * and is sure to bring bad luck to any one 
 who closely links his destiny with hers.' " 
 
 There is no question but that Dumas was right, 
 for she afterward — to mention but two instances 
 of her remarkably active career — brought disaster 
 " most unkind " upon Louis I. of Bavaria ; com- 
 mitted bigamy with an English officer who was 
 drowned at Lisbon; and, whether in the guise of 
 
78 Dumas' Paris 
 
 lovers or husbands, all, truly, who became connected 
 with her met with almost immediate disaster. 
 
 The mere mention of Lola Montez brings to mind 
 another woman of the same category, though differ- 
 ent in character, Alphonsine Plessis, more popularly 
 known as La Dame aux Camelias. She died in 
 1847, ^^^ ^^^ name was not Marie or Marguerite 
 Duplessis, but as above written. 
 
 Dumas His in his play did not idealize Alphonsine 
 Plessis* character; indeed, Dumas pire said that he 
 did not even enlarge or exaggerate any incident — 
 all of which was common property in the demi- 
 monde — " save that he ascribed her death to any 
 cause but the right one." " I know he made use 
 of it," said the father, " but he showed the malady 
 aggravated by Duval's desertion." 
 
 We learn that the elder Dumas "wept like a 
 baby" over the reading of his son's play. But 
 his tears did not drown his critical faculty. " At 
 the beginning of the third act," said Dumas p^re, 
 " I was wondering how Alexandre would get his 
 Marguerite back to town, . . . but the way Alex- 
 andre got out of the difficulty proves that he is 
 my son, every inch of him, and at the very outset 
 of his career he is a better dramatist than I am 
 ever likely to be." 
 
 " Alphonsine Plessis was decidedly a real per- 
 
Dumas* ContemppratiCB 79 
 
 sonage, but not an ordinary one in her walk of 
 life," said Doctor Veron. " A woman of her re- 
 finement might not have been impossible in a former 
 day, because the grisette — and subsequently the 
 femme entretenue — was not then even surmised. 
 She interests me much; she is the best dressed 
 woman in Paris, she neither conceals nor hides her 
 vices, and she does not continually hint about 
 money; in short, she is wonderful." 
 
 " La Dame aux Camelias " appeared within eight- 
 een months of the actual death of the heroine, and 
 went into every one's hands, interest being whetted 
 meanwhile by the recent event, and yet more by much 
 gossip — scandal if you will — which universally 
 appeared in the Paris press. Her pedigree was 
 evolved and diagnosed by Count G. de Contades 
 in a French bibliographical journal, Le Livre, which 
 showed that she was descended from a " guenuche- 
 tonne" (slattern) of Longe, in the canton of 
 Brionze, near Alengon; a predilection which the 
 elder Dumas himself had previously put forth when 
 he stated that, " I am certain that one might find 
 taint either on the father's side, or on the mother's, 
 probably on the former's, but more probably still 
 on both." 
 
 The following eulogy, extracted from a letter 
 written to Dumas His by Victor Hugo upon the 
 
8o Dumas' parts 
 
 occasion of the inhumation of the ashes of Alex- 
 andre Dumas at Villers-Cotterets, whither they were 
 removed from Puits, shows plainly the esteem in 
 which his literary abilities were held by the more 
 sober-minded of his compeers : 
 
 " MoN CHER Confrere : — I learn from the 
 papers of the funeral of Alexandre Dumas at Vil- 
 lers-Cotterets. ... It is with regret that I am un- 
 able to attend. . . . But I am with you in my heart. 
 . . . What I would say, let me write. . . . No 
 popularity of the past century has equalled that of 
 Alexandre Dumas. His successes were more than 
 successes: they were triumphs. . . . The name of 
 Alexandre Dumas is more than * Frangais, il est 
 Europeen ; ' and it is more than European, it is 
 universal. His theatre has been given publicity in 
 all lands, and his romances have been translated 
 into all tongues. Alexandre Dumas was one of 
 those men we can call the sowers of civilization. . . . 
 Alexandre Dumas is seducing, fascinating, interest- 
 ing, amusing, and informing. ... All the emo- 
 tions, the most pathetic, all the irony, all the comedy, 
 all the analysis of romance, and all the intuition 
 of history are found in the supreme works con- 
 structed by this great and vigorous architect. 
 
 "... His spirit was capable of all the miracles 
 
2)uma0' Contemporaries Si 
 
 he performed; this he bequeathed and this sur- 
 vives. . . . Your renown but continues his glory. 
 
 "... Your father and I were young together. 
 . . . He was a grand and good friend. ... I had 
 not seen him since 1857. . . . As I entered Paris 
 Alexandre Dumas was leaving. I did not have 
 even a parting shake of the hand. 
 
 " The visit which he made me in my exile I will 
 some day return to his tomb. 
 
 *' Cher confrere, His de mon ami, je vous em- 
 brasse. Victor Hugo." 
 
 Of Dumas, Charles Reade said : " He has never 
 been properly appreciated; he is the prince of 
 dramatists, the king of romancists, and the emperor 
 of good fellows." 
 
 Dumas £ls he thought a " vinegar-blooded icon- 
 oclast — shrewd, clever, audacious, introspective, 
 and mathematically logical." 
 
 The Cimetiere du Pere La Chaise has a contem- 
 porary interest with the names of many who were 
 contemporaries of Dumas in the life and letters 
 of his day. 
 
 Of course, sentimental interest first attaches itself 
 to the Gothic canopy — built from the fragments 
 of the convent of Paraclet — which enshrines the 
 
82 Dumas' parts 
 
 remains of Abelard and Heloise (1142 — 64), and 
 this perhaps is as it should be, but for those who 
 are conversant with the life of Paris of Dumas* 
 day, this most " famous resting-place " has far 
 more interest because of its shelter given to so many 
 of Dumas' contemporaries and friends. 
 
 Scribe, who was buried here 186 1 ; Michelet, d. 
 1874; Delphine Cambaceres, 1867; Lacham- 
 beaudie, 1872; Soulie, 1847; Balzac, 1850; Ch. 
 Nodier, 1844; C. Delavigne, 1843; Delacroix, the 
 painter, 1865; Talma, the tragedian, 1826; Boiel- 
 dieu, the composer, 1834; Chopin, 1849; Herold, 
 1833; General Foy, 1825; David d' Angers, 1856; 
 Hugo, 1828 (the father of Victor Hugo) ; David, 
 the painter, 1825; Alfred de Musset, i^SZJ Ros- 
 sini, 1868. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PARIS OF DUMAS 
 
 I'^UMAS' real descent upon the Paris of 
 g B letters and art was in 1823, when he had 
 given up his situation in the notary's 
 office at Crepy, and after the eventful holiday jour- 
 ney of a few weeks before. His own account of 
 this, his fourth entrance into the city, states that 
 he was " landed from the coach at five a. m. in the 
 Rue Bouloi, No. 9. It was Sunday morning, and 
 Bourbon Paris was very gloomy on a Sunday." 
 
 Within a short time of his arrival the young 
 romancer was making calls, of a nature which he 
 hoped would provide him some sort of employ- 
 ment until he should make his way in letters, upon 
 many bearers of famous Bourbon names who lived 
 in the Faubourgs St. Germain and St. Honore — 
 all friends and compatriots of his father. 
 
 He had brought with him letters formerly writ- 
 ten to his father, and hoped to use them as a means 
 
 83 
 
84 Dumas' Paris 
 
 of introduction. He approached Marshal Jourdain, 
 General Sebastiani, the Due de Bellune, and others, 
 but it was not until he presented himself to General 
 Foy, at 64 Rue du Mont Blanc, — the deputy for 
 his department, — that anything to his benefit re- 
 sulted. 
 
 Finally, through the kindly aid of General Foy, 
 Dumas — son of a republican general though he 
 was — found himself seated upon a clerk's stool, 
 quill in hand, writing out dictation at the secretary's 
 bureau of the Due d'Orleans. 
 
 " I then set about to look for lodgings," said 
 Dumas, " and, after going up and down many stair- 
 cases, I came to a halt in a little room on a fourth 
 story, which belonged to that immense pile known 
 as the * Pate des Italiens.' The room looked out on 
 the courtyard, and I was to have it for one hundred 
 and twenty francs per annum." 
 
 From that time on Dumas may be said to have 
 known Paris intimately — its life, its letters, its 
 hotels and restaurants, its theatres, its salons, and 
 its boulevards. 
 
 So well did he know it that he became a part and 
 parcel of it. 
 
 His literary affairs and relations are dealt with 
 elsewhere, but the various aspects of the social and 
 economic life of Paris at the time Dumas knew 
 
Ubc parts of Dumas 85 
 
 its very pulse-beats must be gleaned from various 
 contemporary sources. 
 
 The real Paris which Dumas knew — the Paris 
 of the Second Empire — exists no more. The order 
 of things changeth in all but the conduct of the 
 stars, and Paris, more than any other centre of 
 activity, scintillates and fluctuates like the changings 
 of the money-markets. 
 
 The life that Dumas lived, so far as it has no 
 bearing on his literary labours or the evolving of his 
 characters, is quite another affair from that of his 
 yearly round of work. 
 
 He knew intimately all the gay world of Paris, 
 and fresh echoes of the part he played therein are 
 being continually presented to us. 
 
 He knew, also, quite as intimately, certain politi- 
 cal and social movements which took place around 
 about him, in which he himself had no part. 
 
 It was in the fifties of the nineteenth century that 
 Paris first became what one might call a coherent 
 mass. This was before the days of the application 
 of the adjective " Greater '* to the areas of munic- 
 ipalities. Since then we have had, of course, a 
 " Greater Paris " as we have a " Greater London " 
 and a " Greater New York," but at the commence- 
 ment of the Second Empire (1852) there sprang 
 into being, — " jumped at one's eyes," as the French 
 
86 Dumas' Paris 
 
 say, — when viewed from the heights of the towers 
 of Notre Dame, an immense panorama, which 
 showed the results of a prodigious development, 
 radiating far into the distance, from the common 
 centre of the lie de la Cite and the still more ancient 
 Lutece, 
 
 Up to the construction of the present fortifica- 
 tions, — under Louis-Philippe, — Paris had been 
 surrounded, at its outer confines, by a simple octroi 
 barrier of about twenty-five kilometres in circum- 
 ference, and pierced by fifty-four entrances. Since 
 i860 this wall has been raised and the limits of what 
 might be called Paris proper have been extended up 
 to the fortified lines. 
 
 This fortification wall was thirty-four kilome- 
 tres in length ; was strengthened by ninety- four bas- 
 tions, and surrounded and supported by thirteen de- 
 tached forts. Sixty-five openings gave access to the 
 inner city, by which the roadways, waterways, and 
 railways entered. These were further distinguished 
 by classification as follows : portes — of which there 
 were fifty; poternes — of which there were five; and 
 passages — of which there were ten. Nine railways 
 entered the city, and the '' Ceinture" or girdle rail- 
 way, which was to bind the various gares, was 
 already conceived. 
 
 At this time, too, the Quais received marked at- 
 
Ubc pariB of 2)umas 87 
 
 tention and development; trees were planted along 
 the streets which bordered upon them, and a vast 
 system of sewerage was planned which became — 
 and endures until to-day — one of the sights of 
 Paris, for those who take pleasure in such unsavoury 
 amusements. 
 
 Lighting by gas was greatly improved, and street- 
 lamps were largely multiplied, with the result that 
 Paris became known for the first time as " La Ville 
 Lumidre." 
 
 A score or more of villages, or bourgs, before 
 i860, were between the limits of these two bar- 
 riers, but were at that time united by the loi d'an- 
 flexion, and so " Greater Paris " came into being. 
 
 The principle bourgs which lost their identity, 
 which, at the same time is, in a way, yet preserved, 
 were Auteuil, Passy, les Ternes, Batignolles, Mont- 
 martre, la Chapelle, la Villette, Belleville, Menilmon- 
 tant, Charenton, and Bercy ; and thus the population 
 of Paris grew, as in the twinkling of an eye, from 
 twelve hundred thousand to sixteen hundred thou- 
 sand; and its superficial area from thirty- four 
 hundred hectares to more than eight thousand — a 
 hectare being about the equivalent of two and a 
 half acres. 
 
 During the period of the " Restoration,'* which 
 extended fiom the end of the reign of the great 
 
88 Dumas' parts 
 
 Napoleon to the coming of Louis-Philippe (1814 — 
 30), Paris may be said to have been in, or at least 
 was at the beginning of, its golden age of pros- 
 perity. 
 
 In a way the era was somewhat inglorious, but 
 in spite of liberal and commonplace opinion, there 
 was made an earnest effort to again secure the 
 pride of place for French letters and arts; and it 
 was then that the romantic school, with Dumas at 
 its very head, attained its first importance. 
 
 It was not, however, until Louis-Philippe came 
 into power that civic improvements made any nota- 
 ble progress, though the Pont des Invalides had 
 been built, and gas-lamps, omnibuses, and side- 
 walks, had been introduced just previously. 
 
 Under Louis-Philippe were completed the figlise 
 de la Madeleine and the Arc de Triomphe d'Etoile. 
 The Obelisk, — a gift from Mohammed Ali, Vice- 
 roy of Egypt, to Louis-Philippe, — the Colonne de 
 Juillet, and the Ponts Louis-Philippe and du Car- 
 rousel were built, as well as the modern fortifica- 
 tions of Paris, with their detached forts of Mont 
 Valerien, Ivry, Giarenton, Nogent, etc. 
 
 There existed also the encircling boulevards just 
 within the fortifications, and yet another parallel 
 series on the north, beginning at the Madeleine and 
 extending to the Colonne de Juillet. 
 
Ube Paris ot Dumas 89 
 
 It was not, however, until the Second Republic 
 and the Second Empire of Napoleon III. that a 
 hitherto unparallelled transformation was under- 
 taken, and there sprung into existence still more 
 broad boulevards and spacious squares, and many 
 palatial civic and private establishments, the Bourse, 
 the New Opera, and several theatres, the Ceinture 
 Railway, and the Bois de Boulogne and the Bois de 
 Vincennes. 
 
 By this time Dumas* activities were so great, or 
 at least the product thereof was so great, that even 
 his intimate knowledge of French life of a more 
 heroic day could not furnish him all the material 
 which he desired. 
 
 It was then that he produced those essentially 
 modern stories of life in Paris of that day, which, 
 slight though they are as compared with the longer 
 romances, are best represented by the " Corsican 
 Brothers," " Captain Pamphile," and " Gabriel 
 Lambert." 
 
 Among the buildings at this time pulled down, on 
 the Place du Carrousel, preparatory to the termina- 
 tion of the Louvre, was the Hotel Longueville, the 
 residence of the beautiful duchess of that name, 
 celebrated for her support of the Fronde and her 
 gallantries, as much as for her beauty. Dumas 
 
90 Bumaa' Iparis 
 
 would have revelled in the following incident as 
 the basis of a tale. In the arched roof of one of 
 the cellars of the duchess' hotel two skeletons of 
 a very large size and in a perfect state of preserva- 
 tion were discovered, which have since been the 
 object of many discussions on the part of the anti- 
 quarians, but adhuc sub judice lis est. Another dis- 
 covery was made close by the skeletons, which is 
 more interesting from a literary point of view; 
 namely, that of a box, in carved steel, embellished 
 with gilded brass knobs, and containing several 
 papers. Among them was an amatory epistle in 
 verse, from the Prince de Marsillac to the fair 
 duchess. The other papers were letters relating to 
 the state of affairs at that time; some from the 
 hand of the celebrated Turenne, with memorandums, 
 and of the Prince de Conti, "of great value to 
 autograph collectors," said the newspaper accounts 
 of the time, but assuredly of still more value to 
 historians, or even novelists. 
 
 At this time Paris was peopled with many hun- 
 dreds — perhaps thousands — of mauvais sujets, 
 and frequent robberies and nightly outrages were 
 more numerous than ever. The government at last 
 hit on the plan of sending to the hagnes of Toulon 
 and Brest for several of the turnkeys and gaolers 
 of those great convict depots ^ to whom the features 
 
XTbc Paris ot Dumas 91 
 
 of all their former prisoners were perfectly known. 
 These functionaries, accompanied by a policeman in 
 plain clothes, perambulated every part of Paris by 
 day, and by night frequented all the theatres, from 
 the Grand Opera downward, the low cafes and wine- 
 shops. It appears that more than four hundred of 
 these desperadoes were recognized and retransferred 
 to their old quarters at Toulon. Some of these 
 worthies had been carrying on schemes of swin- 
 dling on a colossal scale, and more than one is de- 
 scribed as having entered into large speculations on 
 the Bourse. Perhaps it was from some such cir- 
 cumstance as this that Dumas evolved that wonder- 
 ful narrative of the life of a forger, " Gabriel Lam- 
 bert." One of the most noted in the craft was 
 known by the soubriquet of Pierre Mandrin, the 
 name of that celebre being conferred on account 
 of his superiority and skill in assuming disguises. 
 When arrested he was figuring as a Polish count, 
 and covered with expensive rings and jewelry. 
 The career of this ruffian is interesting. In 1839, 
 while undergoing an imprisonment of two years 
 for robbery, he attempted to make his escape by 
 murdering the gaoler, but failed, however, and was 
 sent to the galleys at Toulon for twenty years. In 
 1848 he did escape from Brest, and, notwithstand- 
 ing the greatest exertions on the part of the police, 
 
92 Dumas' parts 
 
 he succeeded in crossing the whole of France and 
 gaining Belgium, where he remained for some time. 
 Owing to the persecutions of the Belgian police, 
 he subsequently returned to France. He was so 
 unfortunate as to be captured in the very act of 
 breaking into a house at Besangon, but his prodig- 
 ious activity enabled him once again to escape while 
 on his way to prison, and he came to Paris. Being 
 possessed of some money, he resolved to abandon 
 his evil courses, and set up a greengrocer's shop in 
 the Rue Rambuteau, which went on thrivingly for 
 some time. But such an inactive life was insup- 
 portable to him, and he soon resumed his former 
 exciting pursuits. Several robberies committed 
 with consummate skill soon informed the police of 
 the presence in Paris of some great master of the 
 art of Mercury. The most experienced officers were 
 accordingly sent out, but they made no capture until 
 one of the Toulon gaolers fancied he recollected the 
 convict under the features of an elegantly attired 
 lion on the Boulevard des Italiens. A few hours 
 afterward the luckless echappe was safely lodged 
 at the Conciergerie. At his lodgings, besides the 
 usual housebreaking implements, a complete assort- 
 ment of costumes of every kind was discovered — 
 from that of the dandy of the first water to the 
 blouse of the artisan. 
 
TLbc Paris of Bumas 93 
 
 There is something more than a morbid interest 
 which attaches itself to the former homes and 
 haunts of a great author or artist. The emotion 
 is something akin to sentiment, to be sure, but it 
 is pardonable; far more so than the contemplation 
 of many more popular and notorious places. 
 
 He who would follow the footsteps of Alexandre 
 Dumas about Paris must either be fleet of foot, or 
 one who can sustain a long march. At any rate, 
 the progress will take a considerable time. 
 
 It is impossible to say in how many places he 
 lived, though one gathers from the " Memoires," 
 and from contemporary information, that they num- 
 bered many score, and the uncharitable have further 
 said that he found it more economical to move than 
 to pay his rents. Reprehensible as this practice may 
 be, Dumas was no single exponent of it — among 
 artists and authors; and above all in his case, as 
 we know, it resulted from imprudence and ofttimes 
 misplaced confidence and generosity. 
 
 One of Dumas' early homes in Paris, jocularly 
 called by him "La Pate d'ltalie," was situated in 
 that famous centre of unconventionality, the Boule- 
 vard des Italiens, a typical tree-shaded and cafe- 
 lined boulevard. 
 
 Its name was obviously acquired from its re- 
 semblance to, or suggestion of being constructed of, 
 
94 Dumas' Paris 
 
 that mastic which is known in Germany as noodles, 
 in Italy as macaroni, and in English-speaking 
 countries as dough. 
 
 To-day the structure, as it then was, exists no 
 more, though the present edifice at the corner of 
 the Rue Louis le Grand, opposite the vaudeville 
 theatre, has been assuredly stated as in no wise 
 differing in general appearance from its prototype, 
 and, as it is after the same ginger-cake style of 
 architecture, it will serve its purpose. 
 
 Albert Vandam, in " An Englishman in Paris," 
 that remarkable book of reminiscence whose author- 
 ship was so much in doubt when the work was first 
 published, devoted a whole chapter to the intimacies 
 of Dumas pere; indeed, nearly every feature and 
 character of prominence in the great world of Paris 
 — at the time of which he writes — strides through 
 the pages of this remarkably illuminating book, in 
 a manner which is unequalled by any conventional 
 volume of " Reminiscence," " Observations," or 
 "Memoirs" yet written in the English language, 
 dealing with the life of Paris — or, for that matter, 
 of any other capital. 
 
 His account, also, of a " literary cafe " of the 
 Paris of the forties could only have been written 
 by one who knew the life intimately, and, so far 
 as Dumas* acquaintances and contemporaries are 
 
Ube parts ot Dumas 95 
 
 concerned, Vandam's book throws many additional 
 side-lights on an aspect which of itself lies in no 
 perceptible shadow. 
 
 Even in those days the " boulevards " — the pop- 
 ular resort of the men of letters, artists, and musical 
 folk — meant, as it does to-day, a somewhat re- 
 stricted area in the immediate neighbourhood of the 
 present Opera. At the corner of the Rue Lafitte was 
 a tobacconist's shop, whose genius was a " splendid 
 creature," of whom Alfred de Musset became so 
 enamoured that his friends feared for an " impru- 
 dence on his part." The various elements of so- 
 ciety and cliques had their favourite resorts and 
 rendezvous ; the actors under the trees in the court- 
 yard of the Palais Royal ; the ouvrier and his family 
 meandered in the Champs Elysees or journeyed 
 country ward to Grenelle; while the soldiery mostly 
 repaired to La Plaine de St. Denis. 
 
 A sister to Thiers kept a small dining establish- 
 ment in the Rue Drouet, and many journalistic and 
 political gatherings were held at her tables d'hote. 
 When asked whether her delicious pheasants were 
 of her illustrious brother's shooting, she shook her 
 head, and replied : " No, M. the President of the 
 Council has not the honour to supply my estab- 
 lishment." 
 
 Bohemia, as Paris best knew it in the fifties, was 
 
96 Dumas' Paris 
 
 not that pleasant land which lies between the Mora- 
 vian and the Giant Mountains; neither were the 
 Bohemians of Paris a Slavonic or Teutonic people 
 of a strange, nomad race. 
 
 But the history of the Bohemia of arts and letters 
 — which rose to its greatest and most prophetic 
 heights in the Paris of the nineteenth century — 
 would no doubt prove to be as extensive a work 
 as Buckle's " History of Civilization/' though the 
 recitation of tenets and principles of one would be 
 the inevitable reverse of the other. 
 
 The intellectual Bohemian — the artist, or the 
 man of letters — has something in his make-up of 
 the gipsy's love of the open road; the vagabond 
 who instinctively rebels against the established rules 
 of society, more because they are established than 
 for any other reason. 
 
 Henri Miirger is commonly supposed to have 
 popularized the " Bohemia " of arts and letters, and 
 it is to him we owe perhaps the most graphic pic- 
 tures of the life which held forth in the Quartier 
 Latin, notorious for centuries for its lack of dis- 
 cipline and its defiance of the laws of Church, state, 
 and society. It was the very nursery of open 
 thought and liberty against absolutism and the con- 
 ventional proprieties. 
 
 Gustave Nadaud described this " unknown land " 
 
Ube parts of Dumas 97 
 
 in subtle verse, which loses not a little in attempted 
 paraphrase : 
 
 " There stands behind Ste. Genevieve, 
 A city where no fancy paves 
 
 With gold the narrow streets, 
 But jovial youth, the landlady 
 On gloomy stairs, in attic high. 
 Gay hope, her tenant, meets. 
 
 'Twas there that the Pays Latin stood, 
 *Twas there the world was really good, 
 'Twas there that she was gay." 
 
 Of the freedom and the unconventionality of the 
 life of the Bohemian world of Paris, where the lives 
 of literature and art blended in an almost imper- 
 ceptible manner, and the gay indifference of its in- 
 habitants, one has but to recall the incident where 
 George Sand went to the studio of the painter 
 Delacroix to tell him that she had sad news for 
 him; that she could never love him; and more 
 of the same sort. " Indeed," said Delacroix, who 
 kept on painting. — " You are angry with me, are 
 you not? You will never forgive me?'' — "Cer- 
 tainly I will,'* said the painter, who was still at his 
 work, "but Tve got a bit of sky here that has 
 caused me a deal of trouble and is just coming 
 right. Go away, or sit down, and I will be through 
 
98 2)umas' parts 
 
 in ten minutes." She went, and of course did not 
 return, and so the affaire closed. 
 
 Dumas was hardly of the Pays Latin. He had 
 little in common with the Bohemianism of the 
 poseur, and the Bohemia of letters and art has been 
 largely made up of that sort of thing. 
 
 More particularly Dumas' life was that of the 
 boulevards, of the journalist, of tremendous energy 
 and output rather than that of the dilettante, and so 
 he has but little interest in the south bank of the 
 Seine. 
 
 Michelet, • while proclaiming loudly for French 
 literature and life in Le Peuple, published in 1846, 
 desponds somewhat of his country from the fact 
 that the overwhelming genius of the popular novel- 
 ists of that day — and who shall not say since then, 
 as well — have sought their models, too often, in 
 dingy cabarets, vile dens of iniquity, or even in the 
 prisons themselves. 
 
 He said : " This mania of slandering oneself, of 
 exhibiting one's sores, and going, as it were, to look 
 for shame, will be mortal in the course of time." 
 
 This may, to a great extent, have been true then 
 — and is true to-day — manifestly, but no lover of 
 the beautiful ought to condemn a noisome flower 
 if but its buds were beautiful, and Paris — the Paris 
 
Ube lPari0 ot Bumas 99 
 
 of the Restoration, the Empire, or the RepubHc — is 
 none the worse in the eyes of the world because of 
 the iniquities which exist in every large centre of 
 population, where creeds and intellects of all shades 
 and capacities are herded together. 
 
 The French novelist, it is true, can be very sordid 
 and banal, but he can be as childlike and bland as 
 an unsophisticated young girl — when he has a 
 mind to. 
 
 Dumas' novels were not lacking in vigour, valour, 
 or action, and he wrote mostly of romantic times; 
 so Michelet could not have referred to him. Per- 
 haps he had the " Mysteries of Paris " or " The 
 Wandering Jew " in mind, whose author certainly 
 did give full measure of sordid detail; but then, 
 Sue has been accused before now as not presenting 
 a strictly truthful picture. 
 
 So much for the presentation of the tableaux. 
 But what about the actual condition of the people 
 at the time? 
 
 Michelet's interest in Europe was centred on 
 France and confined to le peuple; a term in which he 
 ofttimes included the bourgeois, as well he might, 
 though he more often regarded those who worked 
 with their hands. He repeatedly says : " I myself 
 have been one of those workmen, and, although I 
 
loo Dumas' pads 
 
 have risen to a different class, I retain the sym- 
 pathies of my early conditions/' 
 
 Michelet's judgment was quite independent and 
 original when he compared the different classes; 
 and he had a decided preference for that section 
 which cultivates the soil, though by no means did 
 he neglect those engaged in trade and manufacture. 
 The ouvrier industriel was as much entitled to 
 respect as the labourer in the fields, or even the 
 small tenant-farmer. He regretted, of course, the 
 competition which turned industrialisme into a cut- 
 throat policy. He furthermore had this to say con- 
 cerning foreign trade: 
 
 " Alsace and Lyons have conquered art arid 
 science to achieve beauty for others. . . . The 
 * fairy of Paris ' (the modiste) meets, from minute 
 to minute, the most unexpected flights of fancy — 
 and she or he does to-day, be it recalled. Les 
 Strangers come in spite of themselves, and they buy 
 of her (France); ^7^ achetent — but what? — pat- 
 terns, and then go basely home and copy them, to 
 the loss, hut to the glory, of France. 
 
 " The Englishman or the German buys a few 
 pieces of goods at Paris or Lyons ; just as in letters 
 France writes and Belgium sells." 
 
 On the whole, Michelet thought that the popu- 
 lation was more successful in tilling the soil than 
 
Ube Paris of Dumas loi 
 
 in the marts of the world; and there is this to be 
 said, there is no question but what France is a 
 self-contained country, though its arts have gone 
 forth into the world and influenced all nations. 
 
 Paris is, ever has been, and proudly — perhaps 
 rightly — thinks that it ever will be, the artistic 
 capital of the world. 
 
 Georges Avenel has recently delivered himself 
 of a screed on the " Mechanism of Modem Life," 
 wherein are many pertinent, if sometimes trite, ob- 
 servations on the more or less automatic processes 
 by which we are lodged, fed, and clothed to-day. 
 
 He gives rather a quaint, but unquestionably true, 
 reason for the alleged falling-off in the cookery 
 of French — of course he means Parisian — res- 
 taurants. It is, he says, that modern patrons will 
 no longer pay the prices, or, rather, will not spend 
 the money that they once did. In the first half 
 of the last century — the time of Dumas' activities 
 and achievements — he tells us that many Parisian 
 lovers of good fare were accustomed to " eat a 
 napoleon " daily for their dinner. Nowadays, the 
 same persons dine sufficiently at their club for eight 
 and a half francs. Perhaps the abatement of 
 modern appetites has something to say to this, as 
 many folk seldom take more than thirty-five or 
 forty minutes over their evening meal. How would 
 
 UNIVERSITY I 
 
I02 Bumas' parts 
 
 this compare with the Gargantuan feasts described 
 by Brillat-Savarin and others, or the gastronomic 
 exploits of those who ate two turkeys at a sitting? 
 
 Clearly, for comfort, and perhaps luxury, the 
 Parisian hotels and restaurants of a former day 
 compare agreeably with those of our own time; 
 not so much, perhaps, with regard to time and 
 labour-saving machinery, which is the equipment 
 of the modern batterie de cuisine, but with the re- 
 sults achieved by more simple, if more laborious, 
 means, and the appointments and surroundings 
 amid which they were put upon the board. " The 
 proof of the pudding is in the eating " is still appli- 
 cable, whether its components be beaten or kneaded 
 by clockwork or the cook's boy. 
 
 With the hotels himself, Avenel is less concernc'd, 
 though he reminds us again that Madame de Sevigne 
 had often to lie upon straw in the inns she met 
 with in travelling, and looked upon a bed in a 
 hotel, which would allow one to undress, as a 
 luxury. We also learn that the travellers of those 
 days had to carry their own knives, the innkeeper 
 thinking that he did enough in providing spoons 
 and forks. Nor were hotels particularly cheap, a 
 small suite of rooms in a hotel of the Rue Riche- 
 lieu costing 480 francs a week. It was Napoleon III. 
 who, by his creation of the Hotel de Louvre, — 
 
Ubc Paris ot Bumas 103 
 
 not the present establishment of the same name, 
 but a much larger structure, — first set the fashion 
 of monster hostelries. But what was this com- 
 pared with the Elysees Palace, which M. d'Avenel 
 chooses as his type of modem luxury, with its 
 forty-three cooks, divided into seven brigades, each 
 commanded by an officer drawing 3,750 francs a 
 year, and its thirty-five hundred pairs of sheets and 
 fifty thousand towels, valued together at little short 
 of 250,000 francs? Yet, as we well know, even 
 these totals pale before some of the hotels of Amer- 
 ica, in which M. d'Avenel sees the ne plus ultra of 
 organization and saving of labour by the ingenious 
 use of machinery, and incidentally a great deal of 
 the sentiment of good cheer, which was as much an 
 ingredient of former hospitality as was the salt 
 and pepper of a repast. 
 
 It is pleasant to read of Alexandre Dumas' culi- 
 nary skill, though the repetition of the fact has 
 appeared in the works of well-nigh every writer 
 who has written of the Paris of the fifties and 
 sixties. The dinners at his apartments in the Boule- 
 vard Malesherbes were worthy of Soyer or even 
 of Brillat-Savarin himself in his best days. In his 
 last " Causeries Culinaires," the author of " Monte 
 Cristo " tells us that the Bourbon kings were 
 specially fond of soup. " The family," he writes, 
 
104 2)uma5' lPari5 
 
 " from Louis XIV. to the last of their race who 
 reigned in France, have been great eaters. The 
 Grand Monarque commenced his dinner by two and 
 sometimes three different kinds of soup; Louis- 
 PhiHppe by four plates of various species of this 
 comestible; in the fifth plate his Majesty usually 
 mixed portions of the four varieties he had eaten, 
 and appeared to enjoy this singular culinary com- 
 bination." 
 
 Dumas' reputation as an epicure must have been 
 formed early; he describes in his " Memoires " how, 
 on a certain occasion, when he had first become 
 installed in Paris, he met a gentleman, Charles 
 Nodier, in the stalls of the Porte St. Martin, who 
 was reading a well-worn Elzevir entitled " La Pas- 
 tissier Frangaise." He says, " I address him. . . . 
 * Pardon my impertinence, but are you very fond 
 of eggs ? ' * Why so ? ' * That book you are read- 
 ing, does it not give recipes for cooking eggs in 
 sixty different ways?' ' It does.' * If I could but 
 procure a copy.' * But this is an Elzevir,' says my 
 neighbour." 
 
 The Parisian is without a rival as an epicure 
 and a gastronome, and he associates no stigma with 
 the epithet. In Anglo-Saxon lands the reverse is 
 the case, though why it is hard to see. 
 
 "Frog-legs" came to be a tidbit in the tables 
 
XTbe Paris of Dumas 105 
 
 d'hote of New York and London many years ago, 
 but sympathy has been withheld from the luscious 
 escargot. There be those fearless individuals who 
 by reason of the entente cordiale have tasted of him 
 and found him good, but learning that in the cook- 
 shops of Paris they have at last learned to fabricate 
 them to equal the native grown article of Bour- 
 gogne, have tabooed them once for all, and threaten 
 to withdraw their liking for that other succulent 
 dainty, the frog. 
 
 At any rate, the schoolboy idea that the Parisian's 
 staple fare is snails and frogs is quite exploded, and 
 small wonder it is that Anglo-Saxon palates never 
 became wholly inured to them. But what about 
 England's peculiar dishes? Marrow-bones and 
 stewed eels, for instance? 
 
 Dumas' familiarity with the good things of the 
 table is nowhere more strongly advanced than in the 
 opening chapter of " The Queen's Necklace," 
 wherein the author recounts the incident of " the 
 nobleman and his mattre d' hotel." 
 
 The scene was laid in 1784, and runs as follows: 
 
 " The marshal turned toward his mattre d' hotel, 
 and said, * Sir, I suppose you have prepared me a 
 good dinner?' 
 
io6 Dumas' Paris 
 
 " * Certainly, your Grace/ 
 
 " * You have the list of my guests ? ' 
 
 " * I remember them perfectly/ 
 
 " ' There are two sorts of dinners, sir,' said the 
 marshal. 
 
 " * True, your Grace, but — ' 
 
 " ' In the first place, at what time do we dine? * 
 
 " * Your Grace, the citizens dine at two, the bar 
 at three, the nobility at four — ' 
 
 "'And I, sir?' 
 
 " * Your Grace will dine to-day at five/ 
 
 "*0h, at five!' 
 
 " * Yes, your Grace, like the king — ' 
 
 " ' And why like the king? ' 
 
 " * Because, on the list of your guests is the name 
 of a king/ 
 
 " * Not so, sir, you mistake; all my guests to-day 
 are simple noblemen/ 
 
 " ' Your Grace is surely jesting; the Count Haga, 
 who is among the guests — ' 
 
 "'Well, sir!' 
 
 " ' The Count Haga is a king/ (The Count 
 Haga was the well-known name of the King of 
 Sweden, assumed by him when travelling in France. ) 
 
 " * In any event, your Grace cannot dine before 
 five o'clock.' 
 
xrbe parts of Dumas 107 
 
 " ' In heaven's name, do not be obstinate, but let 
 us have dinner at four/ 
 
 " * But at four o'clock, your Grace, what I am 
 expecting will not have arrived. Your Grace, I 
 wait for a bottle of wine.' 
 
 " * A bottle of wine! Explain yourself, sir; the 
 thing begins to interest me.' 
 
 " * Listen, then, your Grace ; his Majesty, the 
 King of Sweden — I beg pardon, the Count 
 Haga, I should have said — drinks nothing but 
 Tokay.' 
 
 " * Well, am I so poor as to have no Tokay in 
 my cellar ? If so, I must dismiss my butler.' 
 
 " * Not so, your Grace; on the contrary, you have 
 about sixty bottles.' 
 
 " * Well, do you think Count Haga will drink 
 sixty bottles with his dinner ? ' 
 
 " * No, your Grace ; but when Count Haga first 
 visited France when he was only prince royal, he 
 dined with the late king, who had received twelve 
 bottles of Tokay from the Emperor of Austria. You 
 are aware that the Tokay of the finest vintages is 
 reserved exclusively for the cellar of the emperor, 
 and that kings themselves can only drink it when he 
 pleases to send it to them.' 
 
 " * I know it.' 
 
 " * Then, your Grace, of these twelve bottles of 
 
io8 2)umas' parts 
 
 which the prince royal drank, only two remain. One 
 is in the cellar of his Majesty Louis XVI. — ' 
 
 "*And the other? ^ 
 
 " * Ah, your Grace ! * said the maitre d'hotel, with 
 a triumphant smile, for he felt that, after the long 
 battle he had been fighting, the moment of victory 
 was at hand, ' the other one was stolen.' 
 
 "'By whom, then?' 
 
 " ' By one of my friends, the late king's butler, 
 who was under great obligations to me.' 
 
 " * Oh ! and so he gave it to you.' 
 
 " * Certainly, your Grace,' said the maitre d' hotel, 
 with pride. 
 
 " * And what did you do with it? ' 
 
 " * I placed it carefully in my master's cellar.' 
 
 " * Your master ? And who was your master 
 at that time?' 
 
 " ' His Eminence the Cardinal de Rohan.' 
 
 " * Ah, mon Dieu! at Strasbourg? ' 
 
 " ' At Saverne.' 
 
 " * And you have sent to seek this bottle for me ! * 
 cried the old marshal. 
 
 ** ' For you, your Grace,' replied the maitre 
 d' hotel J in a tone which plainly said, * ungrateful 
 as you are.' 
 
 " The Duke de Richelieu seized the hand of the 
 
Ube Ipaci0 ot Bumas 109 
 
 old servant, and cried, * I beg pardon ; you are the 
 king of maitres d' hotel/ " 
 
 The French noblesse of the eighteenth century 
 may have had retainers of the perspicacity and free- 
 dom of manners of this servant of the Marechal de 
 Richelieu, but it is hard to picture them in real life 
 to-day. At any rate, it bespeaks Dumas' fondness 
 of good eating and good drinking that he makes 
 so frequent use of references thereto, not only in 
 this novel of a later day, but throughout the 
 mediaeval romances as well. 
 
 Dumas* knowledge of gastronomy again finds its 
 vent in " The Count of Monte Cristo," when the 
 unscrupulous Danglars is held in a dungeon pending 
 his giving up the five millions of francs which he 
 had fraudulently obtained. 
 
 It is not a very high-class repast that is dis- 
 cussed, but it shows at least Dumas' familiarity with 
 the food of man. 
 
 " At twelve the guard before Danglars' cell was 
 replaced by another functionary, and, wishing to 
 catch sight of his new guardian, Danglars ap- 
 proached the door again. He was an athletic, gi- 
 gantic bandit, with large eyes, thick lips, and a flat 
 nose; his red hair fell in dishevelled masses like 
 
no 2)umas' ©arts 
 
 snakes around his shoulders. ' Ah ! ah ! ' cried 
 Danglars, ' this fellow is more like an ogre than any- 
 thing else; however, I am rather too old and tough 
 to be very good eating ! ' We see that Danglars 
 was quite collected enough to jest ; at the same time, 
 as though to disprove the ogreish propensities, the 
 man took some black bread, cheese, and onions from 
 his wallet, which he began devouring voraciously. 
 
 * May I be hanged,' said Danglars, glancing at the 
 bandit's dinner through the crevices of the door, 
 
 * may I be hanged if I can understand how people 
 can eat such filth ! ' and he withdrew to seat himself 
 upon his goatskin, which recalled to him the smell 
 of the brandy. . . . 
 
 " Four hours passed by, the giant was replaced 
 by another bandit. Danglars, who really began to 
 experience sundry gnawings at the stomach, rose 
 softly, again applied his eye to the crack of the 
 door, and recognized the intelligent countenance of 
 his guide. It was, indeed, Peppino, who was pre- 
 paring to mount guard as comfortably as possible 
 by seating himself opposite to the door, and placing 
 between his legs an earthen pan, containing chick- 
 pease stewed with bacon. Near the pan he also 
 placed a pretty little basket of grapes and a bottle 
 of Vin d'Orvieto. Peppino was decidedly an epi- 
 cure. While witnessing these preparations. Dang- 
 
Ubc ipatts ot Dumas m 
 
 lars' mouth watered. ... * I can almost imagine/ 
 said he, * that I were at the Cafe de Paris.' " 
 
 Dumas, like every strong personality, had his 
 friends and his enemies. It is doubtful which class 
 was in the ascendency as to numbers. When asked, 
 on one occasion, when he had been dining at the 
 Cafe de Paris, if he were an archaeologist, — he had 
 been admiring a cameo portrait of Julius Caesar, — 
 he replied, " No, I am absolutely nothing." His 
 partisans were many, and they were as devoted as 
 his enemies were jealous and uncharitable. Con- 
 tinuing, he said, " I admire this portrait in the 
 capacity of Caesar's historian." " Indeed," said his 
 interlocutor, " it has never been mentioned in the 
 world of savants." " Well," said Dumas, " the 
 world of savants never mentions me." 
 
 This may be conceit or modesty, accordingly as 
 one takes one view or another. Dumas, like most 
 people, was not averse to admiration. Far from it. 
 He thrived exceedingly on it. But he was, as he 
 said, very much alone, and quite felt a nobody at 
 times. Of his gastronomic and epicurean abilities 
 he was vainly proud. 
 
 The story is told of the sole possession by Dumas 
 of a certain recipe for stewed carp. Veron, the 
 director of the opera, had instructed his own cook 
 
112 
 
 Dumas' iparis 
 
 to serve the celebrated dish ; she, unable to concoct 
 it satisfactorily, announced her intention of going 
 direct to the novelist to get it from his own lips. 
 Sophie must have been a most ingenious and well- 
 informed person, for she approached Dumas in all 
 hostility and candour. She plunged direct into 
 the subject, presuming that he had acquired the 
 knowledge of this special tidbit from some outside 
 source. 
 
 Dumas was evidently greatly flattered, and gave 
 her every possible information, but the experiment 
 was not a success, and the fair cordon-hleu began 
 to throw out the suspicion that Dumas had acquired 
 his culinary accomplishments from some other 
 source than that he had generally admitted. It was 
 at this time that Dumas was at the crux of his 
 affairs with his collaborators. 
 
 Accordingly Sophie made her pronouncement 
 that it was with Dumas* cooking as it was with his 
 romances, and that he was " un grand diable de 
 vaniteux" 
 
 At his home in the Rue Chaussee d'Antin Dumas 
 served many an epicurean feast to his intimates; 
 preparing, it is said, everything with his own hands, 
 even to the stripping of the cabbage-leaves for the 
 soupe aux choux, " sleeves rolled up, and a large 
 apron around his waist." 
 
XTbc lParl0 of Dumas 113 
 
 A favourite menu was soupe omx choux, the now 
 famous carp, a ragout de mouton, a VHongroise; 
 roti de faisans, and a salade Japonaise — whatever 
 that may have been; the ices and gateaux being 
 sent in from a pdtissier's. 
 
 The customs of the theatre in Paris are, and 
 always have been, pecuHar. Dumas himself tells 
 how, upon one occasion, just after he had come 
 permanently to live there, he had placed himself 
 beside an immense queue of people awaiting ad- 
 mission to the Porte St. Martin. 
 
 He was not aware of the procedure of lining up 
 before the entrance-doors, and when one well up in 
 the line offered to sell him his place for twenty 
 sous — held since midday — Dumas willingly paid 
 it, and, not knowing that it did not include ad- 
 mission to the performance, was exceedingly dis- 
 traught when the time came to actually pay for 
 places. This may seem a simple matter in a later 
 day, arid to us who have become familiar with similar 
 conditions in Paris and elsewhere; but it serves to 
 show the guilelessness of Dumas, and his little re- 
 gard for business procedure of any sort. 
 
 The incident is continued in his own words, to 
 the effect that he " finally purchased a bit of paste- 
 board that once had been white, which I presented 
 
114 2)umas' parts 
 
 to the check-taker and received in return another of 
 red. . . . My appearance in the amphitheatre of the 
 house must have been astonishing. I was the very 
 latest Villers-Cotterets fashion, but a revolution had 
 taken place in Paris which had not yet reached my 
 native place. My hair was long, and, being frizzled, 
 it formed a gigantic aureole around my head. I was 
 received with roars of laughter. ... I dealt the 
 foremost scoffer a vigorous slap in the face, and 
 said, at the same time, * My name is Alexandre 
 Dumas. For to-morrow, I am staying at the Hotel 
 des Vieux-Augustins, and after that at No. i Place 
 des Italiens.' '' 
 
 By some incomprehensible means Dumas was 
 hustled out of the theatre and on to the sidewalk — 
 for disturbing the performance, though the perform- 
 ance had not yet begun. He tried his luck again, 
 however, and this time bought a place at two francs 
 fifty centimes. 
 
 Every visitor to Paris has recognized the pre- 
 eminence of the " Opera " as a social institution. 
 The National Opera, or the Theatre Imperial de 
 rOpera, as it was originally known, in the Rue 
 Lepelletier, just off the Boulevard des Italiens, was 
 the progenitor of the splendid establishment which 
 now terminates the westerly end of the Avenue 
 de rOpera. The more ancient " Grand Opera " was 
 
TTbe Paris ot Dumas 115 
 
 uncontestably the most splendid, the most pompous, 
 and the most influential of its contemporary institu- 
 tions throughout Europe. 
 
 The origin of the " Grand Opera " was as remote 
 as the times of Anne of Austria, who, it will be re- 
 called, had a most passionate regard for musique 
 and spectacle, and Mazarin caused to be brought 
 from Italy musicians who represented before the 
 queen " musical pieces " which proved highly suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 Later, in 1672, Louis XIV. accorded the privilege 
 of the Opera to Lulli, a distinguished musician of 
 Florence, and the theatre of the Palais Royal was 
 ceded to the uses of Academic de Musique. 
 
 After the fire of 1763, the Opera was transferred 
 to the Tuileries, but removed again, because of 
 another fire, to the Porte St. Martin, where it re- 
 mained until 1794, when it was transferred to a 
 new house which had been constructed for it in the 
 Rue Richelieu. 
 
 Again in 1820 it was removed to a new estab- 
 lishment, which had been erected on the site of 
 the former Hotel de Choiseul. 
 
 This house had accommodations for but two 
 thousand spectators, and, in spite of its sumptuous- 
 ness and rank, was distinctly inferior in point of 
 size to many opera-houses and theatres elsewhere. 
 
ii6 Dumas' parts 
 
 Up to this time the management had been gov- 
 erned after the manner of the old regime, " by 
 three gentlemen erf the king's own establishment, in 
 concurrence with the services of a working di- 
 rector," and the royal privy purse was virtually re- 
 sponsible for the expenses. Louis-Philippe astutely 
 shifted the responsibility to the public exchequer. 
 
 In 1 83 1, Dr. Louis Veron, the founder of the 
 Revue de Paris, — since supplanted by the Revue 
 des Deux Mondes, — became the manager and 
 director. Doctor Veron has been called as much the 
 quintessence of the life of Paris of the first half of 
 the nineteenth century as was Napoleon L of the 
 history of France. 
 
 Albert Vandam, the author of " An Englishman 
 in Paris," significantly enough links Veron's name 
 in his recollections with that of Dumas, except that 
 he places Dumas first. 
 
 " Robert le Diable " and Taglioni made Veron's 
 success and his fortune, though he himself was a 
 master of publicity. From 183 1 onward, during 
 Veron's incumbency, the newspapers contained col- 
 umn after column of the " puff personal," not only 
 with respect to Veron himself, but down through the 
 galaxy of singers and dancers to the veriest stage- 
 carpenter, scenic artist, and call-boy. 
 
 The modern managers have advanced somewhat 
 
Ube lpari5 ot 2)ttma5 n; 
 
 upon these premature ejfforts; but then the art was 
 in its infancy, and, as Veron himself was a joumahst 
 and newspaper proprietor, he probably well under- 
 stood the gentle art of exchanging favouring puffs 
 of one commodity for those of another. 
 
 These were the days of the first successes of 
 Meyerbeer, Halevy, Auber, and Duprez; of Ta- 
 glioni, who danced herself into a nebula of glory, 
 and later into a shadow which inspired the spiteful 
 critics into condemnation of her waning power. 
 
 It has been said that Marie Taglioni was by no 
 means a good-looking woman. Indeed, she must 
 have been decidedly plain. Her manners, too, were 
 apparently not affable, and " her reception of French- 
 men was freezing to a degree — when she thawed it 
 was to Russians, Englishmen, or Viennese." " One 
 of her shoulders was higher than the other, she 
 limped slightly, and, moreover, waddled like a 
 duck." Clearly a stage setting was necessary to 
 show off her charms. She was what the French 
 call " une pimheche." 
 
 The architectural effect produced by the exterior 
 of this forerunner of the present opera was by no 
 means one of monumental splendour. Its archi- 
 tect, Debret, was scathingly criticized for its anom- 
 alies. A newspaper anecdote of the time recounts 
 the circumstance of a provincial who, upon asking 
 
ii8 Dumas' ©arts 
 
 his way thither, was met with the direction, " That 
 way — the first large gateway on your right." 
 
 Near by was the estabHshment of the famous 
 Italian restaurateur, Paolo Broggi, the resort of 
 many singers, and the Estaminet du Divan, a sort 
 of humble counterpart of the Cafe Riche or the 
 Cafe des Anglais, but which proclaimed a much 
 more literary atmosphere than many of the bigger 
 establishments on the boulevards. Vandam relates 
 of this house of call that " it is a positive fact that 
 the gargon would ask, * Does monsieur desire Sue's 
 or Dumas' feuilleton with his cafe? ' " 
 
 Of the Opera which was burned in 1781, Dumas, 
 in " The Queen's Necklace," has a chapter devoted 
 to " Some Words about the Opera." It is an. 
 interesting, albeit a rather superfluous, interpola- 
 tion in a romance of intrigue and adventure: 
 
 " The Opera, that temple of pleasure at Paris, 
 was burned in the month of June, 1781. Twenty 
 persons had perished in the ruins; and, as it was 
 the second time within eighteen years that this had 
 happened, it created a prejudice against the place 
 where it then stood, in the Palais Royal, and the 
 king had ordered its removal to a less central spot. 
 The place chosen was La Porte St. Martin. 
 
 " The king, vexed to see Paris deprived for so 
 
XTbe Paris ot H)ttma0 119 
 
 long of its Opera, became as sorrowful as if the 
 arrivals of grain had ceased, or bread had risen 
 to more than seven sous the quartern loaf. It was 
 melancholy to see the nobility, the army, and the 
 citizens without their after-dinner amusement ; and 
 to see the promenades thronged with the unem- 
 ployed divinities, from the chorus-singers to the 
 prima donnas. 
 
 " An architect was then introduced to the king, 
 full of new plans, who promised so perfect a ventila- 
 tion, that even in case of fire no one could be 
 smothered. He would make eight doors for exit, 
 besides five large windows placed so low that any 
 one could jump out of them. In the place of the 
 beautiful hall of Moreau he was to erect a building 
 with ninety-six feet of frontage toward the boule- 
 vard, ornamented with eight caryatides on pillars 
 forming three entrance-doors, a bas-relief above the 
 capitals, and a gallery with three windows. The 
 stage was to be thirty-six feet wide, the theatre 
 seventy-two feet deep and eighty across, from one 
 wall to the other. He asked only seventy-five days 
 and nights before he opened it to the public. 
 
 " This appeared to all a mere gasconade, and was 
 much laughed at. The king, however, concluded 
 the agreement with him. Lenoir set to work, and 
 kept his word. But the public feared that a building 
 
I20 Dumas' parts 
 
 so quickly erected could not be safe, and when it 
 opened no one would go. 
 
 " Even the few courageous ones who did go to 
 the first representation of ' Adele de Ponthieu ' made 
 their wills first. The architect was in despair. He 
 came to the king to consult him as to what was to 
 be done. 
 
 " It was just after the birth of the dauphin; all 
 Paris was full of joy. The king advised him to 
 announce a gratuitous performance in honour of the 
 event, and give a ball after. Doubtless plenty would 
 come, and if the theatre stood, its safety was estab- 
 lished. 
 
 " * Thanks, Sire,* said the architect. 
 
 " * But reflect, first,' said the king, * if there be a 
 crowd, are you sure of your building ? ' 
 
 " * Sire, I am sure, and shall go there myself.' 
 
 " * I will go to the second representation,' said 
 the king. 
 
 " The architect followed this advice. They played 
 * Adele de Ponthieu ' to three thousand spectators, 
 who afterward danced. After this there could be 
 no more fear." 
 
 It was three years after that Madame and the car- 
 dinal went to the celebrated ball, the account of which 
 follows in the subsequent chapter of the romance. 
 
XTbc Paris ot Dumas 121 
 
 Dumas as a dramatist was not so very different 
 from Dumas the novelist. When he first came to 
 Paris the French stage was by no means at a low 
 and stagnant ebb — at least, it was not the thin, 
 watery concoction that many English writers would 
 have us believe ; and, furthermore, the world's great 
 dramatist — Shakespeare — had been and was still 
 influencing and inspiring the French playwright and 
 actor alike. 
 
 It was the " Hamlet " of Ducis — a very French 
 Hamlet, but still Hamlet — and the memory of 
 an early interview with Talma that first set fire 
 to the fuel of the stage-fever which afterward 
 produced Dumas the dramatist. 
 
 Dumas was not always truthful, or, at least, cor- 
 rect, in his facts, but he did not offend exceedingly, 
 and he was plausible; as much so, at any rate, as 
 Scott, who had erred to the extent of fifteen years 
 in his account of the death of Amy Robsart. 
 
 In 1824 was born Alexandre Dumas iils, and at 
 this time the parent was collaborating with Soulie 
 in an attempted, but unfinished, dramatization of 
 Scott's " Old Mortality." 
 
 By 1830, after he had left official work, Dumas 
 had produced that drama of the Valois, " Henri 
 III.," at the Theatre Frangais, where more 
 than a century before Voltaire had produced his 
 
122 H)umas' Paris 
 
 first play, " CEdipe," and where the " Hemani " of 
 Victor Hugo had just been produced. 
 
 It was a splendid and gorgeous event, and the 
 adventures of the Duchesse de Guise, St. Megrin, 
 Henri HI. and his satellites proved to the large 
 and distinguished audience present no inconspic- 
 uous element in the success of the future king of 
 romance. It was a veritable triumph, and for the 
 time the author was more talked of and better 
 known than was Hugo, whO' had already entered the 
 arena, but whose assured fame scarcely dates from 
 before " Hemani," whose first presentation — 
 though it was afterward performed over three hun- 
 dred times in the same theatre — was in February 
 of the same year. 
 
 Voltaire had been dead scarce a half-century, 
 but already the dust lay thick on his dramatic 
 works, and the world of Paris was looking eagerly 
 forward to the achievements of the new school. 
 One cannot perhaps claim for Dumas that he was 
 in direct lineage of Shakespeare, — as was claimed 
 for Hugo, and with some merit, — but he was un- 
 doubtedly one of the first of the race of the popular 
 French playwrights whose fame is perpetuated to- 
 day by Sardou. At any rate, it was a classic 
 struggle which was inaugurated in France — by 
 literature and the drama — in the early half of the 
 
d'artagnan 
 
 From the Dumas Statue by Gustave Dore 
 
XTbe Paris ot Bumas 123 
 
 nineteenth century, and one which was a frank 
 rebellion against the rigid rules by which their arts 
 had been restrained — especially dramatic art. 
 
 With all due credit, then, to Hugo, it was Dumas 
 who led the romanticists through the breach that 
 was slowly opening; though at the same time one 
 may properly enough recall the names of Alfred 
 de Musset, Theophile Gautier, and Gerard de 
 Nerval. 
 
 Dumas' next play was in " classical form " — 
 " Christine." 
 
 Mere chance brought Dumas into an acquaint- 
 ance with the history of Christine of Sweden, and, 
 though the play was written and accepted before 
 *' Henri IH. et Sa Cour," it was not until some 
 time later that it was produced at the Odeon; the 
 recollection of which also brings up the name of 
 Mile. Mars. 
 
 The statue in Paris in the Place Malesherbes, 
 erected to the memory of Dumas, has been highly 
 commended in conception and execution. It was 
 the work of Gustave Dore, and, truth to tell, it 
 has some wonderfully effective sculptures in bronze. 
 A group of three symbolical figures en face, and a 
 lifelike and life-sized representation of the coura- 
 geous D'Artagnan d'arriere. These details are 
 
124 Dumas* pads 
 
 charming when reproduced on paper by process of 
 photography or the hand of an artist. Indeed, 
 they are of much the same quaHty when viewed as 
 details, but in the ensemble, combined with a cold, 
 inartistic base or pedestal, which is crowned by a 
 seated effigy of Dumas — also life-size — clad in 
 the unlovely raiment of the latter nineteenth cen- 
 tury, there is much to be desired. 
 
 Statues, be they bronze or marble, are often ar- 
 tistically successful when their figures are covered 
 with picturesque mediaeval garments, but they are 
 invariably a failure, in an artistic sense, when 
 clothed in latter-day garb. Doublet and hose, and 
 sword and cloak lend themselves unmistakably to 
 artistic expression. Trousers and top-hats do not. 
 Just back of the Place Malesherbes is the Avenue 
 de Villiers — a street of fine houses, many of them 
 studio apartments, of Paris's most famous artists. 
 Here at No. 94 lived Alexandre Dumas during the 
 later years of his life ; so it is fitting that his monu- 
 ment should be placed in this vicinity. The house 
 was afterward occupied by Dumas His, and more 
 lately by his widow, but now it has passed into 
 other hands. 
 
 Of interest to Americans is the fact which has 
 been recorded by some one who was au couranf 
 with Parisian affairs of the day, " that the United 
 
Ube parts ot 2)umas 125 
 
 States Minister to France, Mr. John Bigelow, 
 breakfasted with Dumas at St. Gratien, near Paris," 
 when it came out that he (Dumas) had a notion 
 to go out to America as a war correspondent for 
 the French papers; the Civil War was not then 
 over. Unhappily for all of us, he did not go, and 
 so a truly great book was lost to the world. 
 
 In this same connection it has been said that 
 Dumas' " quadroon autographs " were sold in the 
 United States, to provide additional funds for the 
 widows and orphans of slain abolitionists. As it is 
 apocryphally said that they sold for a matter of a 
 hundred and twenty dollars each, the sum must 
 have reached considerable proportions, if their 
 number was great. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OLD PARIS 
 
 rHE Paris of Dumas was Meryon's — 
 though it is well on toward a half-cen- 
 tury since either of them saw it. Hence 
 it is no longer theirs ; but the master romancer and 
 the master etcher had much in common. 
 
 They both drew with a fine, free hand, the one 
 in words that bum themselves in the memory, and 
 the other in lines which, once bitten on the copper 
 plate, are come down to us in indelible fashion. 
 The mention of Meryon and his art is no mere 
 rambling of the pen. Like that of Dumas, his art 
 depicted those bold, broad impressions which re- 
 built " old Paris " in a manner which is only 
 comparable to the background which Dumas gave to 
 " Les Trois Mousquetaires." 
 
 The iconoclastic Haussman caused much to dis- 
 appear, and it is hard to trace the footsteps of many 
 a character of history and romance, whose incom- 
 
 126 
 
©lb Paris 127 
 
 ings and outgoings are otherwise very familiar to 
 us. 
 
 There are many distinct cities which go to make 
 up Paris itself, each differing from the other, but 
 Dumas and Meryon drew them each and all with 
 unerring fidelity: Dumas the University Quarter 
 and the faubourgs in " Les Trois Mousquetaires," 
 and Meryon the Cite in " The Stryge." 
 
 The sheer beauty and charm of old-world Paris 
 was never more strongly suggested than in the work 
 of these two masters, who have given a perma- 
 nence to the abodes of history and romance w^hich 
 would otherwise have been wanting. It is a pleas- 
 urable occupation to hunt up the dwellings of 
 those personages who may, or may not, have lived 
 in the real flesh and blood. The mere fact that they 
 lived in the pages of a Dumas — or for that matter 
 of a Balzac or a Hugo — is excuse enough for most 
 of us to seek to follow in their footsteps. 
 
 In spite of the splendour of the present and the 
 past, Paris is by no means too great to prevent 
 one's tracing its old outlines, streets, and landmarks, 
 even though they have disappeared to-day, and the 
 site of the famous Hotel Chevreuse or the Carmelite 
 establishment in the Rue Vaugirard — against 
 whose wall D'Artagnan and his fellows put up that 
 gallant fight against the cardinal's guard — are in 
 
128 Dumas' Paris 
 
 the same geographical positions that they always 
 were, if their immediate surroundings have changed, 
 as they assuredly have. 
 
 Indeed, the sturdy wall which kept the Carmelite 
 friars from contact with the outer world has be- 
 come a mere hoarding for gaudily coloured posters, 
 and the magnificent Hotel Qievreuse on the Boule- 
 vard St. Germain has been incorporated into a 
 modem apartment-house, and its garden cut 
 through by the Boulevard Raspail. 
 
 The destruction of " Old Paris " — the gabled, 
 half-timbered, mediaeval city — is not only an ar- 
 tistic regret, but a personal one to all who know 
 intimately the city's history and romance. It was 
 inevitable, of course, but it is deplorable. 
 
 Meryon, too, like Dumas, etched details with a 
 certain regard for effect rather than a colder pre- 
 ciseness, which could hardly mean so much as an 
 impression of a mood. They both sought the pic- 
 turesque element, and naturally imparted to every- 
 thing modern with which they came into contact 
 the same charm of reality which characterized the 
 tangible results of their labours. 
 
 Nothing was left to chance, though much may 
 — we have reason to think — have been sponta- 
 neous. The witchery of a picturesque impression 
 
01^ Paris 129 
 
 is ever great, but the frequency of its occurrence 
 is growing less and less. 
 
 To-day we have few romancers, few painters or 
 etchers of fleeting moods or impressions, and are 
 fast becoming schooled in the tenets of Zola and 
 Baudry, to the glorification of realism, but to the 
 death and deep burial of the far more healthy ro- 
 manticism of the masters of a few generations 
 since. 
 
 To the Roman occupation of Paris succeeded 
 that of the Franks, and Clovis, son of Childerie 
 and grandson of Merovee, after his conversion to 
 Christianity at Reims, established the seat of his 
 empire at Paris. 
 
 Childebert, the descendant of Clovis, — who had 
 taken unto himself the title King of Paris, — in 
 524 laid the foundation of the first £glise de Notre 
 Dame. 
 
 The kings of the second race lived in Paris but 
 little, and under the feeble successors of Charle- 
 magne the city became the particular domain of 
 the hereditary counts. In the year 845 the Nor- 
 mans came up the river by boat and razed all of 
 that part known even to-day as La Cite, hence the 
 extreme improbability of there being existing re- 
 mains of an earlier date than this, which are to-day 
 
I30 Dumaa' pads 
 
 recognizable. After successive disasters and inva- 
 sions, it became necessary that new quartiers and 
 new streets should be formed and populated, and 
 under the reign of Louis VII. the walls were ex- 
 tended to include, on the right bank, Le Bourg 
 I'Abbe, Le Bourg Thibourg, Le Beau-Bourg, Le 
 Bourg St. Martin, — regions which have since been 
 occupied by the Rues St. Martin, Beaubourg, Bour- 
 tebourg, and Bourg TAbbe, — and, on the left 
 bank, St. Germain des Pres, St. Victor, and St. 
 Michel. 
 
 Since this time Paris has been divided into three 
 distinct parts : La Ville, to the north of the Seine, 
 La Cite, in the centre, and L^Universite, in the 
 south. 
 
 The second enceinte did not long suffice to en- 
 close the habitations of the people, and in the year 
 1 190 Philippe- Auguste constructed the third wall, 
 which was strengthened by five hundred towers 
 and surrounded by a deep fosse, perpetuated to-day 
 as the Rempart des Fosses. At this time the first 
 attempts were made at paving the city streets, prin- 
 cipally at the instigation of the wealthy Gerard de 
 Poissy, whose name has since been given to an 
 imposing street on the south bank. 
 
 Again, in 1356, the famous Etienne Marcel 
 commenced the work of the fourth enceinte. On 
 
01^ parid 131 
 
 the south, the walls were not greatly extended, but 
 on the north they underwent a considerable ag- 
 grandizement. Fortified gateways were erected at 
 the extremity of the Rue de St. Antoine, and others 
 were known variously as the Porte du Temple and 
 Porte St. Denis. Other chief features of the time 
 — landmarks one may call them — were the Porte 
 St. Honore, which was connected with the river- 
 bank by a prolonged wall, the Tour du Bois, and 
 a new fortification — as a guardian against inter- 
 nal warfare, it would seem — at the upper end of 
 the He de la Cite. 
 
 Toward the end of the reign of Louis XL the 
 city had become repeopled, after many preceding 
 years of flood, ravage, and famine, and contained, 
 it is said, nearly three hundred thousand souls. 
 
 From this reign, too, dates the establishment of 
 the first printing-shop in Paris, the letter-post, and 
 the poste-chaise. Charles VIII., the son of Louis 
 XL, united with the Bibliotheque Royal those of 
 the Kings of Naples. 
 
 Louis XII., who followed, did little to beautify 
 the city, but his parental care for the inhabitants 
 reduced the income of the tax-gatherer and en- 
 deared his name to all as the Pere du Peuple. 
 
 Frangois I. — whose glorious name as tHe insti- 
 gator of much that has since become national in 
 
132 Dumas' lPar(5 
 
 French art — considerably enlarged the fortifica- 
 tions on the west, and executed the most momen- 
 tous embellishments which had yet taken place in 
 the city. In public edifices he employed, or caused 
 his architects to employ, the Greek orders, and the 
 paintings by Italian hands and the sculptures of 
 Goujon were the highest expressions of the art of 
 the Renaissance, which had grown so abundantly 
 from the seed sown by Charles VIII. upon his re- 
 turn from his wanderings in Italy. 
 
 It may be questioned if the art of the Renais- 
 sance is really beautiful; it is, however, unde- 
 niably effective in its luxuriant, if often ill-assorted, 
 details; so why revile it here? It was the prime 
 cause, more than all others put together, of the 
 real adornment of Paris; and, in truth, was far 
 more successful in the application of its principles 
 here than elsewhere. 
 
 During the reign of Frangois I. were built, or 
 rebuilt, the great ^figlises de St. Gervais, St. Ger- 
 main TAuxerrois, and St. Merry, as well as the 
 Hotel de Ville. The Louvre was reconstructed on 
 a new plan, and the Faubourg St. Germain was 
 laid out anew. 
 
 Under Henri II. the work on the Louvre was 
 completed, and the Hopital des Petites Maisons 
 constructed. It was Henri II., too, who first or- 
 
Olb parts 133 
 
 dained that the effigies of the kings should be placed 
 upon all coins. 
 
 The principal edifices built under Charles IX. 
 were the Palais des Tuileries, Hotel de Soissons, 
 the Jesuit College, and the Hopital du St. Jacques 
 du Haut Pas. 
 
 Henri HI. erected the church of the Jesuits in the 
 Rue St. Antoine, the %lise de St. Paul et St. 
 Louis, the Monastere des Feuillants, the Hotel de 
 Bourgogne, and the Theatre Italien. 
 
 Under Henri IV. was achieved the Pont Neuf, 
 whose centre piers just impinge upon the lower end 
 of the He de la Cite; the Quais de T Arsenal, de 
 THorloge, des Orphelins, de I'Ecole, de la Megis- 
 serie, de Conti, and des Augustins; la Place 
 Dauphine, and the Rue Dauphine. The Place 
 Royale came to replace — in the Quartier du 
 Marais — the old Palais des Tournelles, the pleasure 
 of so many kings, Frangois I. in particular. 
 
 Louis XIII., the feeble king who reigned with- 
 out governing, saw many improvements, which, 
 however, grew up in spite of the monarch rather 
 than because of him. 
 
 There was a general furbishing up of the streets 
 and quais. Marie de Medicis built the Palais du 
 Luxembourg and planted the Cours la Reine ; many 
 new bridges were constructed and new monuments 
 
134 Dumas' parts 
 
 set up, among others the Palais Royal, at this time 
 called the Palais Cardinal ; the £glise St. Roch ; the 
 Oratoire; le Val-de-Grace ; les Madelonnettes ; la 
 Salpetriere; the Sorbonne, and the Jardin des 
 Plantes. Many public places were also decorated 
 with statues: the effigy of Henri IV. was placed 
 on the Pont Neuf, and of Louis XII. in the Place 
 Royale. 
 
 By this time the population had overflowed the 
 walls of Philippe-Auguste, already enlarged by 
 Frangois L, and Louis XIV. overturned their 
 towers and ramparts, and filled their fosses, be- 
 lieving that a strong commimity needed no such 
 protections. 
 
 These ancient fortifications were replaced by the 
 boulevards which exist even unto to-day — not only 
 in Paris, but in most French towns and cities — 
 unequalled elsewhere in all the world. 
 
 Up to the reign of Louis XIV. the population 
 of Paris had, for the most part, been lodged in 
 narrow, muddy streets, which had subjected them 
 to many indescribable discomforts. Meanwhile, 
 during the glorious reign of Louis XIV., Paris 
 achieved great extension of area and splendour; 
 many new streets were opened in the different qiuir- 
 tiers, others were laid out anew or abolished alto- 
 gether, more than thirty churches were built, — 
 
PONT NEUF. — PONT AU CHANGE 
 
01^ IPartB 135 
 
 " all highly beautiful," say the guide-books. But 
 they are not: Paris churches taken together are a 
 decidedly mixed lot, some good in parts and yet 
 execrable in other parts, and many even do not 
 express any intimation whatever of good architec- 
 tural forms. 
 
 The Pont au Change was rebuilt, and yet four 
 other bridges were made necessary to permit of 
 better circulation between the various faubourgs 
 and quartiers. 
 
 To the credit of Louis XIV. must also be put 
 down the Hotel des Invalides, the Observatoire, the 
 magnificent colonnade of the Louvre, the Pont 
 Royal, the College des Quatre Nations, the Biblio- 
 theque Royale, numerous fountains and statues, the 
 royal glass, porcelain, and tapestry manufactories, 
 the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, and the Boule- 
 vards St. Denis and St. Martin. 
 
 Saint Foix (in his " Essais sur Paris ") has said 
 that it was Louis XIV. who first gave to the reign 
 of a French monarch the eclat of grandeur and 
 magnificence, not only for his court, but for his 
 capital and his people. 
 
 Under the succeeding reign of Louis XV. the 
 beautifying of Paris took another flight. On the 
 place which first bore the name of the monarch 
 himself, but which is to-day known as the Place 
 
136 S)uma5' Paris 
 
 de la Concorde, were erected a pair of richly dec- 
 orated monuments which quite rivalled in achieve- 
 ment the superb colonnaded Louvre of the previous 
 reign, the Champs Elysees were replanted, the ficole 
 Militaire, the ficole de Droit, and the Hotel de la 
 Monnaie were erected, and still other additional 
 boulevards and magnificent streets were planned 
 out. 
 
 A new church came into being with St. Gene- 
 vieve, which afterward became the Pantheon. 
 
 The reign following saw the final achievement of 
 all these splendid undertakings; then came the 
 Revolution, that political terror which would have 
 upset all established institutions; and if Paris, the 
 city of splendid houses, did not become merely a 
 cemetery of tombs, it was not because maniacal 
 fanaticism and fury were lacking. 
 
 Religious, civic, and military establishments were 
 razed, demolished, or burnt, regardless of their 
 past associations or present artistic worth. 
 
 In a way, however, these sacrilegious demoli- 
 tions gave cause to much energetic rebuilding and 
 laying out of the old city anew, in the years 
 immediately succeeding the period of the Revolu- 
 tion, which as an historical event has no place in 
 this book other than mere mention, as it may have 
 been referred to by Dumas. 
 
®l^ parts 137 
 
 It was Napoleon who undertook the rehabiHtation 
 of Paris, with an energy and foresight only equalled 
 by his prowess as a master of men. 
 
 He occupied himself above all with what the 
 French themselves would call those monuments et 
 decorations utiles, as might be expected of his abil- 
 ities as an organizer. The canal from the river Ourcq 
 through La Villette to the Seine was, at the Fosses 
 de la Bastille, cleared and emptied of its long stag- 
 nant waters; abattoirs were constructed in con- 
 venient places, in order to do away with the vast 
 herds of cattle which for centuries had been paraded 
 through the most luxurious of the city's streets; 
 new markets were opened, and numerous fountains 
 and watering-troughs were erected in various parts 
 of the city; four new and ornate bridges were 
 thrown across the Seine, the magnificent Rues Cas- 
 tiglione and de la Paix, extending from the Tuile- 
 ries to the interior boulevards, were opened up; 
 the Place Vendome was then endowed with its 
 bronze column, which stands to-day; the splendid 
 and utile Rue de Rivoli was made beside the garden 
 of the Tuilerles (it has since been prolonged 
 to the Hotel de Ville). 
 
 Napoleon also founded the Palais de la Bourse 
 (1808), and caused to be erected a superb iron 
 
13S Dumas' Paris 
 
 grille which should separate the Place du Carrousel 
 from the Tuileries. 
 
 Under the Restoration little happened with re- 
 gard to the beautifying and aggrandizing of the city, 
 though certain improvements of a purely economic 
 and social nature made their own way. 
 
 The literature and art of Dumas and his compeers 
 were making such sturdy progress as to give Paris 
 that preeminence in these finer elements of life, 
 which, before or since, has not been equalled else- 
 where. 
 
 Since the Revolution of 1830 have been com- 
 pleted the Arc de Triomphe de I'Etoile (com- 
 menced by Napoleon I.), the figlise de la Madeleine, 
 the fine hotel of the Quai d'Orsay, the Palais des 
 Beaux Arts, the restoration of the Chambre des 
 Deputes (the old Palais Bourbon), and the statues 
 set up in the Place de la Concorde; though it is 
 only since the ill-starred Franco-Prussian affaire of 
 187 1 that Strasbourg's doleful figure has been 
 buried in jet and alabaster sentiments, so dear to 
 the Frenchman of all ranks, as an outward ex- 
 pression of grief. 
 
 At the commencement of the Second Empire the 
 fortifications, as they then existed, possessed a cir- 
 cumference of something above thirty-three kilo- 
 metres — approximately nineteen miles. The walls 
 
Qlb iparts 139 
 
 are astonishingly thick, and their fosses wide and 
 deep. The surrounding exterior forts '' de distance 
 en distance" are a unique feature of the general 
 scheme of defence, and played, as it will be recalled, 
 no unimportant part in the investiture of the city 
 by the Germans in the seventies. 
 
 A French writer of the early days of the last 
 Empire says : " These new fortifications are in their 
 ensemble a gigantic work." They are, indeed — 
 though, in spite of their immensity, they do not 
 impress the lay observer even as to impregnability 
 as do the wonderful walls and ramparts of Car- 
 cassonne, or dead Aigues-Mortes in the Midi of 
 France; those wonderful somnolent old cities of a 
 glorious past, long since departed. 
 
 The fortifications of Paris, however, are a won- 
 derfully utile thing, and must ever have an un- 
 fathomable interest for all who have followed their 
 evolution from the restricted battlements of the 
 early Roman city. 
 
 The Parisian has, perhaps, cause to regret that 
 these turf-covered battlements somewhat restrict 
 his '^ promenades environnantes" but what would 
 you? Once outside, through any of the gateways, 
 the Avenue de la Grande Armee, — which is the most 
 splendid, — or the Porte du Canal de I'Ourcq, — 
 which is the least luxurious, though by no means 
 
I40 Dumas' Paris 
 
 is it unpicturesque ; indeed, it has more of that 
 variable quaHty, perhaps, than any other, — one 
 comes into the charm of the French countryside; 
 that is, if he knows in which direction to turn. 
 At any rate, he comes immediately into contact 
 with a life which is quite different from any phase 
 which is to be seen within the barrier. 
 
 From the Revolution of 1848 to the first years 
 of the Second Empire, which ought properly to be 
 treated by itself, — and so shall be, — there came 
 into being many and vast demolitions and improve- 
 ments. 
 
 Paris was a vast atelier of construction, where 
 agile minds conceived, and the artisan and crafts- 
 man executed, monumental glories and improve- 
 ments which can only be likened to the focusing 
 of the image upon the ground glass. 
 
 The prolongation of the Rue de Rivoli was put 
 through; the Boulevards Sebastopol, Malesherbes, 
 — where in the Place Malesherbes is that appealing 
 monument to Dumas by Gustave Dore, — du Prince 
 Eugene, St. Germain, Magenta, the Rue des ficoles, 
 and many others. All of which tended to change 
 the very face and features of the Paris the world 
 had known hitherto. 
 
 The " Caserne Napoleon " had received its guests, 
 and the Tour St. Jacques, from which point of 
 
®l^ parts 141 
 
 vantage the " clerk of the weather " to-day prognos- 
 ticates for Paris, had been restored. Magnificent 
 estabHshments of all sorts and ranks had been built, 
 the Palais de I'lndustrie (since razed) had opened 
 its doors to the work of all nations, in the exhibition 
 of 1855. 
 
 Of Paris, one may well concentrate one's estimate 
 in five words : " Each epoch has been rich," also 
 prolific, in benefits, intentions, and creations of all 
 manner of estimable and admirable achievements. 
 
 By favour of these efforts of all the reigns and 
 governments which have gone before, the Paris 
 of to-day in its architectural glories, its monuments 
 in stone, and the very atmosphere of its streets, 
 places, and boulevards, is assuredly the most mar- 
 vellous of all the cities of Europe. 
 
 It may not be an exceedingly pleasant subject, but 
 there is, and always has been, a certain fascination 
 about a visit to a cemetery which ranks, in the 
 minds of many well-informed and refined persons, 
 far above even the contemplation of great churches 
 themselves. 
 
 It may be a morbid taste, or it may not. Cer- 
 tainly there seems to be no reason why a consid- 
 erable amount of really valuable facts might not 
 be impressed upon the retina of a traveller who 
 
142 Dumas' Paris 
 
 should do the round of Campos Santos, Cimetiires 
 and burial-grounds in various lands. 
 
 In this respect, as in many others, Paris leads 
 the way for sheer interest in its tombs and sepul- 
 chres, at Montmartre and Pere la Chaise. 
 
 In no other burial-ground in the world — unless 
 it be Mount Auburn, near Boston, where, if the 
 world-wide name and fame of those there buried 
 are not so great as those at Paris, their names are 
 at least as much household words to English-speak- 
 ing folk, as are those of the old-world resting- 
 place to the French themselves — are to be found 
 so many celebrated names. 
 
 There are a quartette of these famous resting- 
 places at Paris which, since the coming of the nine- 
 teenth century, have had an absorbing interest for 
 the curiously inclined. Pere la Chaise, Montmartre, 
 the royal sepulchres in the old abbey church of St. 
 Denis, and the churchyard of St. Innocents. 
 
 " Man," said Sir Thomas Brown, " is a noble 
 animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the 
 grave." Why this should be so, it is not the prov- 
 ince of this book to explain, nor even to justify 
 the gorgeous and ill-mannered monuments which 
 are often erected over his bones. 
 
 The catacombs of Paris are purposely ignored 
 here, as appealing to a special variety of morbidity 
 
Olt> parts 143 
 
 which is as unpleasant to deal with and to contem- 
 plate as are snakes preserved in spirit, and as would 
 be — were we allowed to see them — the sacred 
 human reliques which are preserved, even to-day, at 
 various pilgrims' shrines throughout the Christian 
 world. That vast royal sepulchre of the abbey church 
 of St. Denis, which had been so outrageously de- 
 spoiled by the decree of the Convention in 1793, 
 was in a measure set to rights by Louis XVI 1 1., 
 when he caused to be returned from the Petits 
 Augustins, now the Palais des Beaux Arts, and 
 elsewhere, such of the monuments as had not been 
 actually destroyed. The actual spoliation of these 
 shrines belongs to an earlier day than that of which 
 this book deals. 
 
 The history of it forms as lurid a chapter as 
 any known to the records of riot and sacrilege in 
 France; and the more the pity that the motion of 
 Barrere {" La main puissante de la Republique doit 
 eifacer inpitoyahlement ces epitaphes^') to destroy 
 these royal tombs should have had official endorse- 
 ment. 
 
 The details of these barbarous exhumations were 
 curious, but not edifying; the corpse of Turenne 
 was exhibited around the city ; Henri IV. — " his 
 features still being perfect " — was kicked and 
 bunted about like a football; Louis XIV. was 
 
144 H)uma5' parts 
 
 found in a perfect preservation, but entirely black; 
 Louis VIII. had been sewed up in a leather sack; 
 and Frangois I. and his family " had become much 
 decayed ; " so, too, with many of the later Bour- 
 bons. 
 
 In general these bodies were deposited in a com- 
 mon pit, which had been dug near the north en- 
 trance to the abbey, and thus, for the first time in 
 the many centuries covered by the period of their 
 respected demises, their dust was to mingle in a 
 common blend, and all factions were to become one. 
 
 Viollet-le-Duc, at the instruction of Napoleon III., 
 set up again, following somewhat an approxima- 
 tion of the original plan, the various monuments 
 which had been so thoroughly scattered, and which, 
 since their return to the old abbey, had been herded 
 together without a pretence at order in the crypt. 
 
 Paris had for centuries been wretchedly supplied 
 with cimetieres. For long one only had existed, 
 that of the churchyard of St. Innocents', originally 
 a piece of the royal domain lying without the walls, 
 and given by one of the French kings as a burial- 
 place for the citizens, when interments within the 
 city were forbidden. 
 
 It has been calculated that from the time of 
 Philippe-Auguste over a million bodies had been 
 interred in these fosses communes. 
 
©lb Paris 145 
 
 In 1785 the Council of State decreed that the 
 cemetery should be cleared of its dead and con- 
 verted into a market-place. Cleared it was not, 
 but it has since become a market-place, and the 
 waters of the Fontaine des Innocents filter briskly 
 through the dust of the dead of ages. 
 
 Sometime in the early part of the nineteenth 
 century the funeral undertakings of Paris were 
 conducted on a sliding scale of prices, ranging 
 from four thousand francs in the first class, to as 
 low as sixteen francs for the very poor ; six classes 
 in all. 
 
 This law-ordered tarif would seem to have been 
 a good thing for posterity to have perpetuated. 
 
 The artisan or craftsman who fashions the 
 funeral monuments of Paris has a peculiar flight 
 of fancy all his own; though, be it said, through- 
 out the known world, funeral urns and monuments 
 have seldom or never been beautiful, graceful, or 
 even austere or dignified : they have, in fact, mostly 
 been shocking travesties of the ideals and thoughts 
 they should have represented. 
 
 It is remarkable that the French architect and 
 builder, who knows so well how to design and 
 construct the habitation of living man, should ex- 
 press himself so badly in his bizarre funeral mon- 
 
146 Dumas' IParts 
 
 uments and the tawdry tinsel wreaths and flowers 
 of their decorations. 
 
 An English visitor to Paris in the thirties de- 
 plored the fact that her cemeteries should be made 
 into mere show-places, and perhaps rightly enough. 
 At that time they served as a fashionable and polite 
 avenue for promenades, and there was (perhaps 
 even is to-day) a guide-book published of them, 
 and, since grief is paradoxically and proverbially 
 dry, there was always a battery of taverns and 
 drinking-places flanking their entrances. 
 
 It was observed by a writer in a Parisian journal 
 of that day that " in the Cimetiere du Montmartre 
 — which was the deposit for the gay part of the 
 city — nine tombs out of ten were to the memory 
 of persons cut off in their youth ; but that in Pere 
 la Chaise — which served principally for the sober 
 citizens of Paris — nine out of ten recorded the 
 ages of persons who had attained a good old age." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WAYS AND MEANS OF COMMUNICATION 
 
 ^I^^HE means of communication in and about 
 a Paris in former 'days was but a trav- 
 esty on the methods of the *' Metropoli- 
 tain/* which in our time literally whisks one like 
 the wings of the morning, from the Arc de 
 Triomphe to the Bois de Vincennes, and from the 
 Place de la Nation to the Trocadero. 
 
 In 1850 there were officially enumerated over 
 twenty-eight hundred boulevards, avenues, rues, and 
 passages, the most lively being St. Honore, Riche- 
 lieu, Vivienne, Castiglione, de TUniversite, — 
 Dumas lived here at No. 25, in a house formerly 
 occupied by Chateaubriand, now the Magazin St. 
 Thomas, — de la Chaussee d'Antin, de la Paix, de 
 Crenelle, de Bac, St. Denis, St. Martin, St. Antoine, 
 and, above all, the Rue de Rivoli, — with a length 
 of nearly three miles, distinguished at its westerly 
 end by its great covered gallery, where the dwell- 
 
 147 
 
148 Dumas' ipatis 
 
 ings above are carried on a series of 287 
 arcades, flanked by boutiques, not very sumptuous 
 to-day, to be sure, but even now a promenade of 
 great popularity. At No. 22 Rue de Rivoli, near 
 the Rue St. Roch, Dumas himself lived from 1838 
 to 1843. 
 
 There were in those days more than a score of 
 passages, being for the most part a series of fine 
 galleries, in some instances taking the form of a 
 rotunda, glass-covered, and surrounded by shops 
 with appartements above. The most notable were 
 those known as the Panoramas Jouffroy, Vivienne, 
 Colbert, de I'Opera, Delorme, du Saumon, etc. 
 
 There were more than a hundred squares, or 
 places — most of which remain to-day. The most 
 famous on the right bank of the Seine are de la 
 Concorde, Vendome, du Carrousel, du Palais Royal, 
 des Victoires, du Chatelet, de I'Hotel de Ville, 
 Royale, des Vosges, and de la Bastille; on the left 
 bank, du Pantheon, de St. Sulpice, du Palais Bour- 
 bon. Most of these radiating centres of life are 
 found in Dumas' pages, the most frequent mention 
 being in the D'Artagnan and Valois romances. 
 
 Among the most beautiful and the most fre- 
 quented thoroughfares were — and are — the tree- 
 bordered quais, and, of course, the boulevards. 
 
 The interior boulevards were laid out at the end 
 
TRIla^5 anb /iDeans of Communication 149 
 
 of the seventeenth century on the ancient ramparts 
 of the city, and extended from the Madeleine to 
 La Bastille, a distance of perhaps three miles. They 
 are mostly of a width of thirty-two metres (105 
 feet). 
 
 This was the boulevard of the time par excel- 
 lence, and its tree-bordered allies — sidewalks and 
 roadways — bore, throughout its comparatively 
 short length, eleven different names, often changing 
 meanwhile as it progressed its physiognomy as 
 well. 
 
 On the left bank, the interior boulevard was ex- 
 tended from the Jardin des Plantes to the Hotel 
 des Invalides ; while the " boulevards exterieurs " 
 formed a second belt of tree-shaded thoroughfares 
 of great extent. 
 
 Yet other boulevards of ranking greatness cut 
 the riies and avenues tangently, now from one 
 bank and then from the other; the most splendid 
 of all being the Avenue de I'Opera, which, however, 
 did not come into being until well after the middle 
 of the century. Among these are best recalled 
 Sebastopol, St. Germain, St. Martin, Magenta, 
 Malesherbes, and others. The Place Malesherbes, 
 which intersects the avenue, now contains the 
 celebrated Dumas memorial by Dore, and the 
 
15° Dumas' pads 
 
 neighbouring thoroughfare was the residence of 
 Dumas from 1866 to 1870. 
 
 Yet another class of thoroughfares, while con- 
 ceived previous to the chronological limits which 
 the title puts upon this book, were the vast and 
 splendid promenades and rendezvous, with their 
 trees, flowers, and fountains; such as the gardens 
 of the Tuileries and the Luxembourg, the Champs 
 Elysees, the Esplanade des Invalides, and the Bois 
 de Boulogne and de Vincennes. 
 
 Dibdin tells of his entree into Paris in the early 
 days of the nineteenth century, having journeyed 
 by " malle-poste " from Havre, in the pages of his 
 memorable bibliographical tour. 
 
 His observations somewhat antedate the Paris of 
 Dumas and his fellows, but changes came but 
 slowly, and therein may be found a wealth of 
 archaeological and topographical information con- 
 cerning the French metropolis; though he does 
 compare, detrimentally, the panorama of Paris 
 which unrolls from the heights of Passy, to that 
 of London from Highgate Woods. 
 
 On the contrary, his impressions change after 
 passing the barriers. " Nothing in London," says 
 he, " can enter into comparison with the imposing 
 spectacle which is presented by the magnificent 
 Champs Elysees, with the Chateau of the Tuileries 
 
TOlaps an^ /Deans ot Communicatiott 151 
 
 en face, and to the right the superb dome of the 
 Invalides gUstening in the rays of the setting 
 sun." 
 
 Paris had at this time 2,948 "voitures de louage/* 
 which could be hired for any journey to be made 
 within reasonable distance ; and eighty-three which 
 were run only on predetermined routes, as were 
 the later omnibuses and tram-cars. These 2,948 
 carriages were further classified as follows; 900 
 fiacres; 765 cabriolets, circulating in the twelve 
 interior arrondissements ; 406 cabriolets for the ex- 
 terior; 489 carrosses de remise (livery-coaches), 
 and 388 cabriolets de remise. 
 
 The prefet de police. Count Angles, had re- 
 ceived from one Godot, an entrepreneur, — a sort of 
 early edition of what we know to-day as a company 
 promoter, — a proposition to establish a line of 
 omnibuses along the quais and boulevards. Au- 
 thorization for the scheme was withheld for the 
 somewhat doubtful reason that " the constant stop- 
 page of the vehicles to set down and take up pas- 
 sengers would greatly embarrass other traffic ; " and 
 so a new idea was still-born into the world, to come 
 to life only in 1828, when another received the 
 much coveted authority to make the experiment. 
 
 Already such had been established in Bordeaux 
 and Nantes, by an individual by the name of Baudry, 
 
153 Dumas' Paris 
 
 and he it was who obtained the first concession in 
 Paris. 
 
 The first line inaugurated was divided into two 
 sections : Rue de Lancry — Madeleine, and Rue de 
 Lancry — Bastille. 
 
 It is recorded that the young — but famous — 
 Duchesse de Berry was the first to take passage in 
 these " intramural diligences/^ which she called 
 " le carrosse des malheureux; " perhaps with some 
 truth, if something of snobbishness. 
 
 There seems to have been a considerable difficulty 
 in attracting a clientele to this new means of com- 
 munication. The public hesitated, though the prices 
 of the places were decided in their favour, so much 
 so that the enterprise came to an untimely end, or, 
 at least, its founder did; for he committed suicide 
 because of the non-instantaneous success of the 
 scheme. 
 
 The concession thereupon passed into other hands, 
 and there was created a new type of vehicle of 
 sixteen places, drawn by two horses, and priced at 
 six sous the place. The new service met with imme- 
 diate, if but partial, success, and with the estab- 
 lishment of new routes, each served by carriages 
 of a distinctive colour, its permanence was as- 
 sured. 
 
 Then came the " Dames Blanches" — the name 
 
Wia^Q anb /IDeans ot Communication 153 
 
 being inspired by Boieldieu's opera, — which made 
 the journey between the Porte St. Martin and the 
 Madeleine in a quarter of an hour. They were 
 painted a cream white, and drawn by a pair of 
 white horses, coiffed with white plumes. 
 
 After the establishment of the omnibus came 
 other series of vehicles for public service: the 
 '' Ecossaises" with their gaudily variegated colours, 
 the '' Carolines" the " Bearnaises" and the " Tri- 
 cycles," which ran on three wheels in order to escape 
 the wheel-tax which obtained at the time. 
 
 In spite of the rapid multiplication of omnibus 
 lines under Louis-Philippe, their veritable success 
 came only with the ingenious system of transfers, 
 or " la correspondance; " s. system and a convenience 
 whereby one can travel throughout Paris for the 
 price of one fare. From this reason alone, perhaps, 
 the omnibus and tram system of Paris is unexcelled 
 in all the world. This innovation dates, moreover, 
 from 1836, and, accordingly, is no new thing, as 
 many may suppose. 
 
 Finally, more recently, — though it was during 
 the Second Empire, — the different lines were 
 fused under the title of the " Compagnie Generale 
 des Omnibus.*' 
 
 '' La malle-poste " was an institution of the great- 
 est importance to Paris, though of course no more 
 
IS4 Dumas' parts 
 
 identified with it than with the other cities of 
 France between which it ran. It dated actually 
 from the period of the Revolution, and grew, and 
 was modified, under the Restoration. It is said 
 that its final development came during the reign of 
 Louis XVIIL, and grew out of his admiration for 
 the " elegance et la rapidite des malles anglaises," 
 which had been duly impressed upon him during 
 his sojourn in England. 
 
 This may be so, and doubtless with some justi- 
 fication. En passant it is curious to know, and, one 
 may say, incredible to realize, that from the G. P. O. 
 in London, in this year of enlightenment, there 
 leaves each night various mail-coaches — for Dover, 
 for Windsor, and perhaps elsewhere. They do not 
 carry passengers, but they do give a very bad serv- 
 ice in the delivery of certain classes of mail matter. 
 The marvel is that such things are acknowledged 
 as being fitting and proper to-day. 
 
 In 1836 the '' malle-poste " was reckoned, in 
 Paris, as being elegante et rapide, having a speed 
 of not less than sixteen kilometres an hour over 
 give-and-take roads. 
 
 Each evening, from the courtyard of the Hotel 
 des Postes, the coaches left, with galloping horses 
 and heavy loads, for the most extreme points of 
 the frontier; eighty-six hours to Bordeaux at first, 
 
Wia^s an^ /Deans ot Communtcatton 15s 
 
 and finally only forty- four (in 1837) ; one hundred 
 hours to Marseilles, later but sixty-eight. 
 
 Stendhal tells of his journey by '' malle-poste " 
 from Paris to Marseilles in three days, and Victor 
 Hugo has said that two nights on the road gave one 
 a high idea of the solidite of the human machine; 
 and further says, of a journey down the Loire, that 
 he recalled only a great tower at Orleans, a candle- 
 lit salle of an auberge en route, and, at Blois, a 
 bridge with a cross upon it. " In reality, during 
 the journey, animation was suspended." 
 
 What we knew, or our forefathers knew, as the 
 " poste-chaise/' properly "chaise de poste" came 
 in under the Restoration. All the world knows, or 
 should know, Edouard Thierry's picturesque descrip- 
 tion of it. " Le reve de nos vingt ans, la voiture ou 
 Von n'est que deux . . . devant vous le chemin 
 lihre, la plaine, la pente rapide, le pont." " You 
 traverse cities and hamlets without number, by the 
 grands rues, the grande place, etc." 
 
 In April, 1837, Stendhal quitted Paris under 
 exactly these conditions for his tour of France. He 
 bought " une bonne caleche,*' and left via Fontaine- 
 bleau, Montargis, and Cosne. Two months after, 
 however, he returned to the metropolis via Bourges, 
 having refused to continue his journey en caliche. 
 
156 2)uma6' Paris 
 
 preferring the " malle-poste " and the diligence of 
 his youth. 
 
 Public diligences, however, had but limited ac- 
 commodation on grand occasions; Victor Hugo, 
 who had been invited to the consecration of 
 Charles X. at Reims, and his friend, Charles Nodier, 
 the bibliophile, — also a friend of Dumas, it is re- 
 called, — in company with two others, made the 
 attempt amid much discomfort in a private car- 
 riage, — of a sort, — and Nodier wittily tells of 
 how he and Hugo walked on foot up all the hills, 
 each carrying his gripsack as well. 
 
 More than all others the " Coches d'Eau " are 
 especially characteristic of Paris; those fly-boats, 
 whose successors ply up and down the Seine, to the 
 joy of Americans, the convenience of the Parisian 
 public, and — it is surely allowable to say it — 
 the disgust of Londoners, now that their aged and 
 decrepit " Thames steamboats " are no more. 
 
 These early Parisian " Coches d'Eau " carried 
 passengers up and down river for surprisingly low 
 fares, and left the city at seven in the morning in 
 summer, and eight in winter. 
 
 The following is a list of the most important 
 routes : 
 
 Paris — Nogent-sur-Seine 2 days en route 
 Paris — Briare 3 " « " 
 
Wia^e ant> /fteans of Communt cation 157 
 
 Paris — Montereau i day en route 
 
 Paris — Sens 2 days " " 
 
 Paris — Auxerre 4 " " « 
 
 All of these services catered for passengers and 
 goods, and were, if not rapid, certainly a popular 
 and comfortable means of communication. 
 
 An even more popular journey, and one which 
 partook more particularly of a pleasure-trip, was 
 that of the galiote, which left each day from below 
 the Pont-Royal for St. Cloud, giving a day's outing 
 by river which to-day, even, is the most fascinating 
 of the many petits voyages to be undertaken around 
 Paris. 
 
 The other recognized public means of communi- 
 cation between the metropolis and the provincial 
 towns and cities were the " Messageries Royales," 
 and two other similar companies, "La Compagne 
 Lafitte et Caillard " and " Les Frangaises." 
 
 These companies put also before the Parisian 
 public two other classes of vehicular accommoda- 
 tion, the " pataches suspendues/' small carriages 
 with but one horse, which ran between Paris and 
 Strasburg, Metz, Nancy, and Lyons at the price of 
 ten sous per hour. 
 
 Again there was another means of travel which 
 originated in Paris ; it was known as the " Mes- 
 sageries a Cheval." Travellers rode on horses, 
 
15^ Dumas* pads 
 
 which were furnished by the company, their ba- 
 gages being transported in advance by a '' chariot/' 
 In fine weather this must certainly have been an 
 agreeable and romantic mode of travel in those 
 days; what would be thought of it to-day, when 
 one, if he does not fly over the kilometres in a Sud 
 — or Orient — Express, is as likely as not cover- 
 ing the Route Nationale at sixty or more kilometres 
 the hour in an automobile, it is doubtful to say. 
 
 Finally came the famous diligence, which to-day, 
 outside the " Rollo '' books and the reprints of old- 
 time travel literature, is seldom met with in print. 
 
 " These immense structures," says an observant 
 French writer, " which lost sometimes their centre 
 of gravity, in spite of all precaution and care on 
 the part of the driver and the guard, were, by an 
 Ordonnance Roy ale of the i6th of July, 1828, lim- 
 ited as to their dimensions, weight, and design." 
 
 Each diligence carried as many spare parts as 
 does a modern automobile, and workshops and 
 supply-depots were situated at equal distances 
 along the routes. Hugo said that the complexity 
 of it all represented to him "the perfect image of 
 a nation; its constitution and its government. In 
 the diligence was to be found, as in the state, the 
 aristocracy in the coupe, the bourgeoisie in the in- 
 terior, the people in la rotonde, and, finally, 'the 
 
Tiaiai20 an& /iDeans ot Communication 159 
 
 artists, the thinkers, and the unclassed* in the ut- 
 most height, the imperiale, beside the condttctear, 
 who represented the law of the state. 
 
 " This great diligence, with its body painted 
 in staring yellow, and its five horses, carries one in 
 a diminutive space through all the sleeping villages 
 and hamlets of the countryside." 
 
 From Paris, in 1830, the journey by diligence 
 to Toulouse — 182 French leagues — took eight 
 days; to Rouen, thirteen hours; to Lyons, par 
 Auxerre, four days, and to Calais, two and a half 
 days. 
 
 The diligence was certainly an energetic mode of 
 travel, but not without its discomforts, particularly 
 in bad weather. Prosper Merimee gave up his 
 winter journey overland to Madrid in 1859, ^"^ 
 took ship at Bordeaux for Alicante in Spain, be- 
 cause, as he says, " all the inside places had been 
 taken for a month ahead." 
 
 The coming of the chemin de fer can hardly be 
 dealt with here. Its advent is comparatively modern 
 history, and is familiar to all. 
 
 Paris, as might naturally be supposed, was the 
 hub from which radiated the great spokes of iron 
 which bound the uttermost frontiers intimately with 
 the capital. 
 
 There were three short lines of rail laid down 
 
i6o Bumas' Paris 
 
 in the provinces before Paris itself took up with 
 the innovation: at Roanne, St. Etienne-Andre- 
 zieux, Epinac, and Alais. 
 
 By la loi du p Juillet, 1835, a line was built from 
 Paris to St. Germain, seventeen kilometres, and its 
 official opening for traffic, which took place two 
 years later, was celebrated by a dejeuner de cir- 
 constance at the Restaurant du Pavilion Henri 
 Quatre at St. Germain. 
 
 Then came " Le Nord " to Lille, Boulogne, and 
 Calais ; " L'Ouest " to Havre, Rouen, Cherbourg, 
 and Brest; " UEst " to Toul and Nancy ; " L' Or- 
 leans " to Orleans and the Loire Valley ; and, 
 finally, the "P. L. M." (Paris-Lyon et Mediter- 
 ranee) to the south of France. " Then it was that 
 Paris really became the rich neighbour of all the 
 provincial towns and cities. Before, she had been 
 a sort of pompous and distant relative'* — as a 
 whimsical Frenchman has put it. 
 
 The mutability of time and the advent of mechan- 
 ical traction is fast changing all things — in 
 France and elsewhere. The Chevaux Blancs, Deux 
 Pigeons, Cloches d'Or, and the Hotels de la Poste, 
 de la Croix, and du Grand Cerf are fast disap- 
 pearing from the large towns, and the way of iron 
 is, or will be, a source of inspiration to the poets 
 of the future, as has the postilion, the diligence. 
 
ma^s anb /»ean6 ot (Tommunication i6i 
 
 and the chaise de poste in the past. Here is a 
 quatrain written by a despairing aubergiste of the 
 little town of Salons, which indicates how the in- 
 novation was received by the provincials — in spite 
 of its undeniable serviceability : 
 
 " En Tan neuf cent, machine lourde 
 A tretous farfit damne et mal, 
 Gens moult rioient d'icelle bourde, 
 Au campas renovoient cheval." 
 
 The railways which centre upon Paris are indeed 
 the ties that bind Paris to the rest of France, and 
 vice versa. Their termini — the great gares — are 
 at all times the very concentrated epitome of the 
 life of the day. 
 
 The new gares of the P. L. M. and the Orleans 
 railways are truly splendid and palatial establish- 
 ments, with — at first glance — little of the odour 
 of the railway about them, and much of the cere- 
 monial appointments of a great civic institution; 
 with gorgeous salles a manger, waiting-rooms, and 
 — bearing the P. L. M. in mind in particular — 
 not a little of the aspect of an art-gallery. 
 
 The other emharcaderes are less up-to-date — 
 that vague term which we twentieth-century folk 
 are wont to make use of in describing the latest 
 innovations. The Gare St. Lazare is an enormous 
 
1 62 Dumas' parts 
 
 establishment, with a hotel appendage, which of 
 itself is of great size; the Gare du Nord is equally 
 imposing, but architecturally unbeautiful ; while the 
 Gare de I'Est still holds in its tympanum the melan- 
 choly symbolical figure of the late lamented Ville 
 de Strasbourg, the companion in tears, one may say, 
 of that other funereally decorated statue on the 
 Place de la Concorde. 
 
 Paris, too, is well served by her tramways pro- 
 pelled by horses, — which have not yet wholly dis- 
 appeared, — and by steam and electricity, applied 
 in a most ingenious manner. By this means Paris 
 has indeed been transformed from its interior 
 thoroughfares to its uttermost hanlieu. 
 
 The last two words on the subject have reference 
 to the advent and development of the bicycle and 
 the automobile, as swift, safe, and economical means 
 of transport. 
 
 The reign of the bicycle as a pure fad was com- 
 paratively short, whatever may have been its charm 
 of infatuation. As a utile thing it is perhaps more 
 worthy of consideration, for it cannot be denied 
 that its development — and of its later gigantic 
 offspring, the automobile — has had a great deal to 
 do with the better construction and up-keep of 
 modem roadways, whether urban or suburban. 
 
 "La petite reine bicyclette" has been feted in 
 
XKDlaps an^ jflDeans ot Communtcation 163 
 
 light verse many times, but no one seems to have 
 hit off its salient features as did Charles Monselet. 
 Others have referred to riders of the " new means 
 of locomotion " as " cads on casters," and a writer 
 in Le Gaulois stigmatized them as '' imbeciles 
 a roulettes/' which is much the same ; while no less 
 a personage than Francisque Sarcey demanded, in 
 the journal La France, that the police should sup- 
 press forthwith this eccentricite. 
 
 Charles Monselet's eight short lines are more ap- 
 preciative : 
 
 " Instrument raide 
 En fer battu 
 Qui depossede 
 Le char torlu ; 
 VelocipMe 
 Rail impromptu, 
 Fils d'Archimdde, 
 D'oii nous viens-tu ? ** 
 
 Though it is apart from the era of Dumas, this 
 discursion into a phase of present-day Paris is, 
 perhaps, allowable in drawing a comparison between 
 the city of to-day and that even of the Second 
 Empire, which was, at its height, contemporary 
 with Dumas' prime. 
 
 If Paris was blooming suddenly forth into beauty 
 and grace in the period which extended from the 
 
i64 Dumas' parta 
 
 Revolution to the Franco-Prussian War, she has 
 certainly, since that time, not ceased to shed her 
 radiance ; indeed, she flowers more abundantly than 
 ever, though, truth to tell, it is all due to the patron- 
 age which the state has ever given, in France, to 
 the fostering of the arts as well as industries. 
 
 And so Paris has grown, — beautiful and great, — 
 and the stranger within her gates, whether he come 
 by road or rail, by automobile or railway-coach, is 
 sure to be duly impressed with the fact that Paris 
 is for one and all alike a city founded of and for 
 the people. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE SEINE 
 
 rHE city of the ancient Parisii is the 
 one particular spot throughout the length 
 of the sea-green Seine — that " winding 
 river " whose name, says Thierry, in his " Histoire 
 des Gaulois," is derived from a Celtic word hav- 
 ing this signification — where is resuscitated the 
 historical being of the entire French nation. 
 
 Here it circles around the He St. Louis, cutting 
 it apart from the He de la Cite, and rushing up 
 against the northern bank, periodically throws up 
 a mass of gravelly sand, just in the precise spot 
 where, in mediaeval times, was an open market- 
 place. 
 
 Here the inhabitants of the city met the country 
 
 dealers, who landed produce from their boats, 
 
 traded, purchased, and sold, and departed whence 
 
 they came, into the regions of the upper Seine or 
 
 the Marne, or downward to the lower river cities 
 
 of Meulan, Mantes, and Vernon. 
 
 i6s 
 
i66 2)uma6' Paris 
 
 At this time Paris began rapidly to grow on 
 each side of the stream, and became the great market 
 or trading-place where the swains who lived up- 
 river mingled with the hewers of wood from the 
 forests of La Brie and the reapers of corn from the 
 sunny plains of La Beauce. 
 
 These country folk, it would appear, preferred 
 the northern part of Paris to the southern — it was 
 less ceremonious, less ecclesiastical. If they ap- 
 proached the city from rearward of the Universite, 
 by the Orleans highroad, they paid exorbitant toll 
 to the Abbot of St. Germain des Pres. Here they 
 paid considerably less to ^the Prevot of Paris. And 
 thus from very early times the distinction was made, 
 and grew with advancing years, between the town, 
 or La Ville, which distinguished it from the Cite 
 and the Universite. 
 
 This sandy river-bank gradually evolved itself into 
 the Quai and Place de la Greve, — its etymolog}' 
 will not be difficult to trace, — and endured in the 
 full liberty of its olden functions as late as the day 
 of Louis XV. Here might have been seen great 
 stacks of firewood, charcoal, corn, wine, hay, and 
 straw. 
 
 Aside from its artistic and economic value, the 
 Seine plays no great part in the story of Paris. It 
 does not divide what is glorious from what is sordid, 
 
Ubc JSanfts ot tbc Seine 167 
 
 as does " London's river." When one crosses any 
 one of its numerous bridges, one does not exchange 
 thriftiness and subHmity for the commonplace. Les 
 Invalides, L'Institut, the Luxembourg, the Pan- 
 theon, the Odeon, the Universite, — whose build- 
 ings cluster around the ancient Sorbonne, — the 
 Hotel de Cluny, and the churches of St. Sulpice, 
 St. Etienne du Mont, and St. Severin, and, last but 
 not least, the Chamber of Deputies, all are on the 
 south side of Paris, and do not shrink greatly in 
 artistic or historical importance from Notre Dame, 
 the Louvre, the Tour St. Jacques, the Place de la 
 Bastille, the Palais Royal, or the Theatre-Frangais. 
 
 The greatest function of the Seine, when one 
 tries to focus the memory on its past, is to recall 
 to us that old Paris was a trinity. Born of the 
 river itself rose the Cite, the home of the Church 
 and state, scarce finding room for her palaces and 
 churches, while close to her side, on the south bank, 
 the Universite spread herself out, and on the right 
 bank the Ville hummed with trade and became the 
 home of the great municipal institutions. 
 
 Dumas shifts the scenes of his Parisian romances 
 first from one side to the other, but always his 
 mediaeval Paris is the same grand, luxurious, and 
 lively stage setting. Certainly no historian could 
 hope to have done better. 
 
1 68 2)uma0' iPatia 
 
 Intrigue, riot, and bloodshed of course there 
 were; and perhaps it may be thought in undue 
 proportions. But did not the history of Paris itself 
 furnish the romancer with these very essential de- 
 tails? 
 
 At all events, there is no great sordidness or 
 squalor perpetuated in Dumas' pages. Perhaps it is 
 for this reason that they prove so readable, and 
 their wearing qualities so great. 
 
 There is in the reminiscence of history and the 
 present aspect of the Seine, throughout its length, 
 the material for the constructing a volume of bulk 
 which should not lack either variety, picturesque- 
 ness, or interest. It furthermore is a subject which 
 seems to have been shamefully neglected by writers 
 of all ranks. 
 
 Turner, of the brilliant palette, pictured many of 
 its scenes, and his touring-companion wrote a more 
 or less imaginative and wofully incorrect running 
 commentary on the itinerary of the journey, as he 
 did also of their descent of the Loire. Philip Gil- 
 bert Hamerton, accompanied by a series of charm- 
 ing pictures by Joseph Pennell (the first really 
 artistic topographical illustrations ever put into the 
 pages of a book), did the same for the Saone; and, 
 of course, the Thames has been " done '* by many 
 writers of all shades of. ability, but manifestly the 
 
Ube BarikB ot tbe Seine 169 
 
 Seine, along whose banks lie the scenes of some 
 of the most historic and momentous events of 
 mediaeval times, has been sadly neglected. 
 
 Paris is divided into practically two equal parts 
 by the swift-flowing current of the Seine, which 
 winds its way in sundry convolutions from its 
 source beyond Chatillon-sur-Seine to the sea at 
 Honfleur. 
 
 The praises of the winding river which connects 
 Havre, Rouen, Vernon, Mantes, and Paris has often 
 been sung, but the brief, virile description of it in 
 the eighty-seventh chapter of Dumas' " Le Vicomte 
 de Bragelonne " has scarcely been equalled. Apro- 
 pos of the journey of Madame and Buckingham 
 Paris-ward, after having taken leave of the English 
 fleet at Havre, Dumas says of this greatest of 
 French waterways : 
 
 " The weather was fine. Spring cast its flowers 
 and its perfumed foliage upon the path. Normandy, 
 with its vast variety of vegetation, its blue sky, and 
 silver rivers, displayed itself in all its loveliness." 
 
 Through Paris its direction is from the south- 
 east to the northwest, a distance, within the forti- 
 fications, of perhaps twelve kilometres. 
 
 Two islands of size cut its currents : the He 
 St. Louis and the He de la Cite. A description of 
 
I70 Dumas' Paris 
 
 its banks, taken from a French work of the time, 
 better defines its aspect immediately after the Rev- 
 olution of 1848 than any amount of conjecture or 
 present-day observation, so it is here given: 
 
 " In its course through the metropolis, the Seine 
 is bordered by a series of magnificent quais, which 
 in turn are bordered by rows of sturdy trees. 
 
 " The most attractive of these quais are those 
 which flank the Louvre, the Tuileries, D'Orsay, Vol- 
 taire, and Conti. 
 
 ** Below the quais are deposed nine ports, or 
 gares, each devoted to a special class of merchan- 
 dise, as coal, wine, produce, timber, etc. 
 
 " The north and south portions of the city are 
 connected by twenty-six ponts (this was in 1852; 
 others have since been erected, which are mentioned 
 elsewhere in the book). 
 
 " Coming from the upper river, they were known 
 as follows : the Ponts Napoleon, de Bercy, d'Auster- 
 litz, the Passer elle de I'Estacade; then, on the right 
 branch of the river, around the islands, the Ponts 
 Maril, Louis-Philippe, d'Arcole, Notre Dame, and 
 the Pont au Change ; on the left branch, the Passer- 
 elle St. Louis or Constantine, the Ponts Toumelle, 
 de la Cite, de I'Archeveche, le Pont aux Doubles, 
 le Petit Pont, and the Pont St. Michel; here the 
 two branches join again: le Pont Neuf, des Arts, 
 
XTbe 3Banfts ot tbc Seine 171 
 
 du Carrousel, Royal, Solferino, de la Concorde, des 
 Invalides, de TAIma, de Jena, and Crenelle. 
 
 " Near the Pont d'Austerlitz the Seine receives 
 the waters of the petite Riviere de Bievre, or des 
 Gobelins, which traverses the faubourgs/* 
 
 Of the bridges of Paris, Dumas in his romances 
 has not a little to say. It were not possible for 
 a romanticist — or a realist, for that matter — to 
 write of Paris and not be continually confronting 
 his characters with one or another of the many 
 splendid bridges which cross the Seine between 
 Conflans-Charenton and Asnieres. 
 
 In the " Mousquetaires " series, in the Valois 
 romances, and in his later works of lesser import, 
 mention of these fine old bridges continually recurs ; 
 more than all others the Pont Neuf, perhaps, or the 
 Pont au Change. 
 
 In " Pauline " there is a charming touch which 
 we may take to smack somewhat of the author's 
 own predilections and experiences. He says, con- 
 cerning his embarkation upon a craft which he had 
 hired at a little Norman fishing-village, as one jobs 
 a carriage in Paris : " I set up to be a sailor, and 
 served apprenticeship on a craft between the Pont 
 des Tuileries and the Pont de la Concorde." 
 
 Of the Seine bridges none is more historic than 
 the Pont Neuf, usually reckoned as one of the 
 
172 Dumas' pari0 
 
 finest in Europe; which recalls the fact that the 
 French — ecclesiastic and laymen architects alike — 
 were master bridge-builders. For proof of this one 
 has only to recall the wonderful bridge of St. 
 Benezet d' Avignon, the fortified bridges of Orthos 
 and Cahors, the bridge at Lyons, built by the 
 Primate of Gaul himself, and many others through- 
 out the length and breadth of France. 
 
 The Pont Neuf was commenced in the reign of 
 Henri III. (1578), and finished in the reign of 
 Henri IV. (1604), and is composed of two un- 
 equal parts, which come to their juncture at the 
 extremity of the He de la Cite. 
 
 In the early years a great bronze horse, known 
 familiarly as the " Cheval de Bronze,'* but with- 
 out a rider, was placed upon this bridge. During 
 the Revolution, when cannon and ammunition were 
 made out of any metal which could be obtained, 
 this curious statue disappeared, though later its 
 pedestal was replaced — under the Bourbons — 
 by an equestrian statue of the Huguenot king. 
 
 The Pont des Arts, while not usually accredited 
 as a beautiful structure, — and certainly not com- 
 parable with many other of its fellows, — is inter- 
 esting by reason of the fact that its nine iron arches, 
 which led from the Quai du Louvre to the Quai 
 de la Monnai, formed the first example of an iron 
 
Ubc JSanfts ot tbe ^cinc 173 
 
 bridge ever constructed in France. Its nomen- 
 clature is derived from the Louvre, which was then 
 called — before the title was applied to the College 
 des Quatre Nations — the Palais des Arts. In 
 Restoration times it was one of the fashionable 
 promenades of Paris. 
 
 The Pont au Change took its name from the 
 changeurs, or money-brokers, who lived upon it 
 during the reign of Louis le Jeune in 1141. It 
 bridged the widest part of the Seine, and, after 
 being destroyed by flood and fire in 1408, 16 16, and 
 1 62 1, was rebuilt in 1647. The houses which orig- 
 inally covered it were removed in 1788 by the order 
 of Louis XVI. In " The Conspirators," Dumas 
 places the opening scene at that end of the Pont 
 Neuf which abuts on the Quai de I'ficole, and is 
 precise enough, but in " Marguerite de Valois " he 
 evidently confounds the Pont Neuf with the Pont 
 au Change, when he puts into the mouth of Co- 
 connas, the Piedmontese : " They who rob on the 
 Pont Neuf are, then, like you, in the service of the 
 king. Mordil I have been very unjust, sir; for 
 until now I had taken them for thieves." 
 
 The Pont Louis XV. was built in 1787 out of 
 part of the material which was taken from the ruins 
 of the Bastille. 
 
 Latterly there has sprung up the new Pont Alex- 
 
174 Dumas' IParis 
 
 andre, commemorative of the Czar's visit to Paris, 
 which for magnificent proportions, beauty of de- 
 sign and arrangement, quite overtops any other of 
 its kind, in Paris or elsewhere. 
 
 The quais which Hne the Seine as it runs through 
 Paris are hke no other quais in the known world. 
 They are the very essence and epitome of certain 
 phases of life which find no counterpart else- 
 where. 
 
 The following description of a bibliomaniac from 
 Dumas' " Memoires " is unique and apropos : 
 
 " Bibliomaniac, evolved from book and mania, is 
 a variety of the species man — species hipes et genus 
 homo. 
 
 " This animal has two feet and is without features, 
 and usually wanders about the quais and boule- 
 vards, stopping in front of every stall and finger- 
 ing all the books. He is generally dressed in a 
 coat which is too long and trousers which are too 
 short, his shoes are always down at heel, and on 
 his head is an ill-shapen hat. One of the signs by 
 which he may be recognized is shown by the fact 
 that he never washes his hands." 
 
 The booksellers' stalls of the quais of Paris are 
 famous, though it is doubtful if genuine bargains 
 exist there in great numbers. It is significant, 
 however, that more volumes of Dumas' romances 
 
XTbe Banfts ot tbe Seine 175 
 
 are offered for sale — so it seems to the passer-by 
 — than of any other author. 
 
 The Seine opposite the Louvre, and, indeed, 
 throughout the length of its flow through Paris, 
 enters largely into the scheme of the romances, 
 where scenes are laid in the metropolis. 
 
 Like the throng which stormed the walls of the 
 Louvre on the night of the i8th of August, 1527, 
 during that splendid royal fete, the account of 
 which opens the pages of " Marguerite de Valois," 
 the Seine itself resembles Dumas' description of 
 the midnight crowd, which he likens to " a dark 
 and rolling sea, each swell of which increases to a 
 foaming wave; this sea, extending all along the 
 quai, spent its waves at the base of the Louvre, on 
 the one hand, and against the Hotel de Bourbon, 
 which was opposite, on the other." 
 
 In the chapter entitled " What Happened on the 
 Night of the Twelfth of July," in " The Taking 
 of the Bastille," Dumas writes of the banks of the 
 Seine in this wise: 
 
 " Once upon the quai, the two countrymen saw 
 glittering on the bridge near the Tuileries the arms 
 of another body of men, which, in all probability, 
 was not a body of friends; they silently glided to 
 the end of the quai, and descended the bank which 
 
176 2)uma5' pads 
 
 leads along the Seine. The clock of the Tuileries 
 was just then striking eleven. 
 
 " When they had got beneath the trees which 
 line the banks of the river, fine aspen-trees and 
 poplars, which bathe their feet in its current, when 
 they were lost to the sight of their pursuers, hid by 
 their friendly foliage, the farmers and Pitou threw 
 themselves on the grass and opened a council of 
 war." 
 
 Just previously the mob had battered down the 
 gate of the Tuileries, as a means of escape from the 
 pen in which the dragoons had crowded the popu- 
 lace. 
 
 " * Tell me now, Father Billot,' inquired Pitou, 
 after having carried the timber some thirty yards, 
 * are we going far in this way ? ' 
 
 " ' We are going as far as the gate of the Tuile- 
 ries.' 
 
 " * Ho, ho ! * cried the crowd, who at once divined 
 his intention. 
 
 " And it made way for them more eagerly even 
 than before. 
 
 " Pitou looked about him, and saw that the gate 
 was not more than thirty paces distant from them. 
 
 " * I can reach it,' said he, with the brevity of 
 a Pythagorean. 
 
 " The labour was so much the easier to Pitou 
 
XCbe 3Banft0 ot tbe Seine 177 
 
 from five or six of the strongest of the crowd taking 
 their share of the burden. 
 
 " The result of this was a very notable accelera- 
 tion in their progress. 
 
 " In five minutes they had reached the iron gates. 
 
 " * Come, now/ cried Billot, * clap your shoulders 
 to it, and all push together.' 
 
 " ' Good ! ' said Pitou. * I understand now. We 
 have just made a warlike engine; the Romans used 
 to call it a ram.' 
 
 " ' Now, my boys,' cried Billot, ' once, twice, 
 thrice,' and the joist, directed with a furious im- 
 petus, struck the lock of the gate with resounding 
 violence. 
 
 " The soldiers who were on guard in the in- 
 terior of the garden hastened to resist this invasion. 
 But at the third stroke the gate gave way, turning 
 violently on its hinges, and through that gaping and 
 gloomy mouth the crowd rushed impetuously. 
 
 " From the movement that was then made, the 
 Prince de Lambesq perceived at once that an open- 
 ing had been effected which allowed the escape of 
 those whom he had considered his prisoners. He 
 was furious with disappointment." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SECOND EMPIRE AND AFTER 
 
 rHE Revolution of 1848 narrowed itself 
 down to the issue of Bourbonism or 
 Bonapartism. Nobody had a good word 
 to say for the constitution, and all parties took 
 liberties with it. It was inaugurated as the most 
 democratic of all possible charters. It gave a vote 
 to everybody, women and children excepted. It 
 affirmed liberty with so wide a latitude of inter- 
 pretation as to leave nothing to be desired by the 
 reddest Republican that ever wore pistols in his 
 belt at the heels of the redoubtable M. Marc Caus- 
 sidiere, or expressed faith in the social Utopia of 
 the enthusiastic M. Proudhon. Freedom to speak, 
 to write, to assemble, and to vote, — all were se- 
 cured to all Frenchmen by this marvellous charter. 
 When it became the law of the land, everybody 
 began to nibble at and destroy it. The right of 
 
 speaking was speedily reduced to the narrowest 
 
 178 
 
Zbc Secon^ jEmplre anb Httet 179 
 
 limits, and the liberty of the press was pared down 
 to the merest shred. The right of meeting was 
 placed at the tender mercies of the prefect of police, 
 and the right of voting was attacked with even 
 more zeal and fervour. The Revolution proved 
 more voracious than Saturn himself, in devouring 
 Its children, and it made short work of men and 
 reputations. It reduced MM. de Lamartine, Armand 
 Marrast, and General Cavaignac into nothingness; 
 sent MM. Louis Blanc, Ledru Rollin, and Caus- 
 sidiere into the dreary exile of London, and con- 
 signed the fiery Barbes, the vindictive Blanqui, the 
 impatient Raspail, and a host of other regenerators 
 of the human race, to the fastnesses of Vincennes. 
 Having done this, the Revolution left scarcely a 
 vestige of the constitution, — nothing but a few 
 crumbs, and those were not crumbs of comfort, 
 which remained merely to prove to the incredulous 
 that such a thing as the constitution once existed. 
 The former king and queen took hidden refuge 
 in a small cottage at Honfleur, whence they were 
 to depart a few days later for England — ever a 
 refuge for exiled monarchists. Escape became very 
 urgent, and the king, with an English passport in 
 the name of William Smith, and the queen as 
 Madame Lebrun, crossed over to Le Havre and 
 ultimately to England. Lamartine evidently mis- 
 
i8o 5)uma5' pari6 
 
 takes even the time and place of this incident, but 
 newspaper accounts of the time, both French and 
 English, are very full as to the details. On land- 
 ing at the quai at Le Havre, the ex-royal party was 
 conducted to the " Express " steam-packet, which 
 had been placed at their disposal for the cross-chan- 
 nel journey. Dumas takes the very incident as a 
 detail for his story of " Pauline," and his treat- 
 ment thereof does not differ greatly from the facts 
 as above set forth. Two years later (August 26, 
 1850), at Claremont, in Surrey, in the presence of 
 the queen and several members of his family, Louis- 
 Philippe died. He was the last of the Bourbons, with 
 whom Dumas proudly claimed acquaintanceship, 
 and as such, only a short time before, was one of 
 the mightiest of the world's monarchs, standing on 
 one of the loftiest pinnacles of an ambition which, 
 in the mind of a stronger or more wilful person- 
 ality, might have accomplished with success much 
 that with him resulted in defeat. 
 
 After the maelstrom of discontent — the Revo- 
 lution of 1848 — had settled down, there came a 
 series of events well-nigh as disturbing. Events 
 in Paris were rapidly ripening for a change. The 
 known determination of Louis Napoleon to prolong 
 his power, either as president for another term of 
 four years, or for life, or as consul or emperor of 
 
Ubc Seconb Bmptte anb Httet iSi 
 
 the French, and the support which his pretensions 
 received from large masses of the people and from 
 the rank and file of the army, had brought him into 
 collision with a rival — General Changamier — al- 
 most as powerful as himself, and with an ambition 
 quite as daring as his own. 
 
 What Louis Napoleon wanted was evident. There 
 was no secret about his designs. The partisans 
 of Henri V. looked to Changarnier for the restora- 
 tion of peace and legitimacy, and the Orleanists 
 considered that he was the most likely man in 
 France to bring back the house of Orleans, and 
 the comfortable days of bribery, corruption, and a 
 thriving trade; while the fat bourgeoisie venerated 
 him as the unflinching foe of the disturbers of 
 order, and the great bulwark against Communism 
 and the Red Republic. 
 
 Still, this was manifestly not to be, though no 
 one seemed to care a straw about Louis Napoleon's 
 republic, or whether or no he dared to declare him- 
 self king or emperor, or whether they should be 
 ruled by Bonapartist, Bourbon, or Orleanist. 
 
 These were truly perilous times for France ; and, 
 though they did not culminate in disaster until 
 twenty years after, Louis Napoleon availed himself 
 of every opportunity to efface from the Second 
 Republic, of which he was at this time the head, 
 
i82 Dumas' pati5 
 
 every vestige of the democratic features which it 
 ought to have borne. 
 
 At the same time he surrounded himself with 
 imposing state and pomp, so regal in character 
 that it was evidently intended to accustom the pub- 
 lic to see in him the object of that homage which 
 is usually reserved for crowned heads alone, and 
 thus gradually and imperceptibly to prepare the 
 nation to witness, without surprise, his assuming, 
 when the favourable occasion offered, the purple 
 and diadem of the empire. 
 
 For instance, he took up his residence in the 
 ancient palace of the sovereigns of France, the 
 Tuileries, and gave banquets and balls of regal 
 magnificence; he ordered his effigy to be struck 
 upon the coinage of the nation, surrounded by the 
 words "Louis Napoleon Bonaparte," without any 
 title, whether as president or otherwise, being 
 affixed. He restored the imperial eagles to the 
 standards of the army; the official organ, the 
 Moniteur, recommended the restoration of the titles 
 and orders of hereditary nobility; the trees of lib- 
 erty were uprooted everywhere; the Republican 
 motto, " Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," was erased 
 from the public edifices; the colossal statue of 
 Liberty, surmounted by a Phrygian cap, which 
 stood in the centre of the Place de Bourgogne, 
 
Ube Secont) Bmpire anb Httet 183 
 
 behind the Legislative Assembly, was demoHshed; 
 and the old anti-Republican names of the streets 
 were restored, so that the Palais National again 
 became the Palais Royal ; the Theatre de la Nation, 
 the Theatre Frangais ; the Rue de la Concorde, the 
 Rue Royal, etc.; and, in short, to all appearances, 
 Louis Napoleon began early in his tenure of office 
 to assiduously pave the way to the throne of the 
 empire as Napoleon III. 
 
 The London Times correspondent of that day 
 related a characteristic exercise of this sweeping 
 instruction of the Minister of the Interior to erase 
 the words " Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite " from all 
 public buildings. (The three revolutionary watch- 
 words had, in fact, been erased the previous year 
 from the principal entrance to the Elysee, and the 
 words " Republique Frangaise," in large letters, 
 were substituted.) 
 
 " There is, I believe, only one public monument 
 in Paris — the Ecole de Droit — where the work- 
 men employed in effacing that inscription will have 
 a double duty. They will have to interfere with the 
 * Liberalism ' of two generations. Immediately 
 under the coat of yellow paint which covered the 
 fagade of the building, and on which time and 
 the inclemency of the seasons have done their work, 
 may still be traced, above the modem device, the 
 
i84 2)uma0' Paris 
 
 following words, inscribed by order of the Com- 
 mune of Paris during the Reign of Terror : * Lib- 
 erte, Egalite, Fraternite, Unite, Indivisibilite de la 
 Republique Frangaise ! * As the effacing of the in- 
 scription of 1848 is not now by means of white- 
 wash or paint, but by erasure, both the inscriptions 
 will disappear at the same moment." 
 
 Among the most important demolitions and reno- 
 vations of the sixties was the work undertaken on 
 the Louvre at the orders of the ambitious emperor, 
 Napoleon III. The structure was cloven to the 
 foundations, through the slated roof, the gilded and 
 painted ceiling, the parqueted floors; and, where 
 one formerly enjoyed an artistic feast that had 
 taken four centuries to provide, one gazed upon, 
 from the pavement to the roof, a tarpaulin that 
 closed a vista which might otherwise have been a 
 quarter of a mile in length. 
 
 Builders toiled day and night to connect the 
 Louvre with the main body of the Palace of the 
 Tuileries, which itself was to disappear within so 
 short a time. Meanwhile so great a displacement 
 of the art treasures was undergone, that habitues 
 knew not which way to turn for favourite pictures, 
 with which the last fifty years had made them so 
 familiar. 
 
 To those of our elders who knew the Paris of 
 
TTbe Secon^ JEmptre an^ Httet 185 
 
 the early fifties, the present-day aspect — in spite of 
 all its glorious wealth of boulevards and architec- 
 tural splendour — will suggest the mutability of all 
 things/ 
 
 It serves our purpose, however, to realize that 
 much of the character has gone from the Quartier 
 Latin; that the Tuileries disappeared with the 
 Commune, and that the old distinctions between 
 Old Paris, the faubourgs, and the Communal 
 Annexes, have become practically non-existent with 
 the opening up of the Haussman boulevards, at the 
 instigation of the wary Napoleon III. Paris is still, 
 however, an " ancienne ville et une ville neuve" 
 and the paradox is inexplicable. 
 
 The differences between the past and the present 
 are indeed great, but nowhere — not even in the 
 Tower of London, which is usually given as an 
 example of the contrast and progress of the ages — 
 is a more tangible and specific opposition shown, 
 than in what remains to-day of mediaeval Paris, in 
 juxtaposition with the later architectural embellish- 
 ments. In many instances is seen the newest of 
 the "art nouveau" — as it is popularly known — 
 cheek by jowl witH some mediaeval shrine. 
 
 It is difficult at this time to say what effect these 
 swirls and blobs, which are daily thrusting them- 
 selves into every form of architectural display 
 
i86 Dumas' parts 
 
 throughout Continental Europe, would have had on 
 these masters who built the Gothic splendours of 
 France, or even the hybrid rococo style, which, be 
 it not denied, is in many instances beautiful in spite 
 of its idiosyncrasies. 
 
 To those who are familiar with the " sights " of 
 Paris, there is nothing left but to study the aspects 
 of the life of the streets, the boulevards, the quais, 
 the gardens, the restaurants, and the cafes. Here 
 at least is to be found daily, and hourly, new sen- 
 sations and old ones, but at all events it is an 
 ever-shifting scene, such as no other city in the 
 world knows. 
 
 The life of the fauhowrgs and of the quar tiers 
 has ever been made the special province of artists 
 and authors, and to wander through them, to sit 
 beneath the trees of the squares and gardens, or 
 even outside a cafe, is to contemplate, in no small 
 degree, much of the incident and temperament of 
 life which others have already perpetuated and 
 made famous. 
 
 There is little new or original effort which can 
 be made, though once and again a new performer 
 comes upon the stage, — a poet who sings songs of 
 vagabondage, a painter who catches a fleeting im- 
 pression, which at least, if not new, seems new. 
 
XTbe Secont) Bmptre anb Htter 1S7 
 
 But in the main one has to hark back to former 
 generations, if one would feel the real spirit of 
 romance and tradition. There are few who, like 
 Monet, can stop before a shrine and see in it forty- 
 three varying moods — or some other incredible 
 number, as did that artist when he limned his im- 
 pressions of the fagade of the Cathedral of Notre 
 Dame de Rouen. 
 
 Such landmarks as the Place de la Bastille, the 
 Pantheon, — anciently the site of the Abbey de Ste. 
 Genevieve, — the Chambre des Deputes, — the 
 former Palais Bourbon, — the Tour St. Jacques, 
 the Fountain des Innocents, St. Germain FAuxer- 
 rois, the Palais du Luxembourg, the Louvre, and 
 quite all the historic and notable buildings one sees, 
 are all pictured with fidelity, and more or less 
 minuteness, in the pages of Dumas' romances. 
 
 Again, in such other localities as the Boulevard 
 des Italiens, the Cafe de Paris, the Theatre Fran- 
 9ais, the Odeon, the Palais Royal, — where, in the 
 " Orleans Bureau," Dumas found his first occupa- 
 tion in Paris, — took place many incidents of 
 Dumas' life, which are of personal import. 
 
 For recollections and reminders of the author's 
 contemporaries, there are countless other localities 
 too numerous to mention. In the Rue Pigallc, at 
 No. 12, died Eugene Scribe; in the Rue de Douai 
 
i88 Dumas' Paris 
 
 lived Edmond About, while in the Rue d' Amster- 
 dam, at No. "jy, lived Dumas himself, and in the 
 Rue St. Lazare, Madame George Sand. Mont- 
 martre is sacred to the name of Zola in the minds 
 of most readers of latter-day French fiction, while 
 many more famous names of all ranks, of litter- 
 ateurs, of actors, of artists and statesmen, — all 
 contemporaries and many of them friends of Dumas, 
 — will be found on the tombstones of Pere la 
 Chaise. 
 
 The motive, then, to be deduced from these pages 
 is that they are a record of many things associated 
 with Alexandre Dumas, his life, and his work. 
 Equally so is a fleeting itinerary of strolls around 
 and about the Paris of Dumas' romances, with 
 occasional journeys into the provinces. 
 
 Thus the centuries have done their work of ex- 
 tending and mingling, — " le jeu est fait/' so to 
 speak, — but Paris, by the necessities of her growth 
 and by her rather general devotion to one stately, 
 towering form of domestic architecture, has often 
 made the separation of old from new peculiarly 
 difficult to a casual eye. It is indeed her way to 
 be new and splendid, to be always the bride of 
 cities, espousing human destiny. And, truly, it is 
 in this character that we do her homage with our 
 visits, our money, and our admiration. Out of 
 
Ubc Second) lEmpite anb Htter 189 
 
 gray, unwieldy, distributed London one flies from a 
 vast and romantic camp to a city exact and beauti- 
 ful. So exact, so beautiful, so consistent in her 
 vivacity, so neat in her industry, so splendid in her 
 display, that one comes to think that the ultimate 
 way to enjoy Paris is to pass unquestioning and 
 unsolicitous into her life, exclaiming not " Look 
 here," and " Look there " in a fever of sight- 
 seeing, but rather baring one's breast, like Daudet's 
 ouvrier, to her assaults of glistening life. 
 
 The Paris of to-day is a reconstructed Paris ; its 
 old splendours not wholly eradicated, but changed 
 in all but their associations. The life of Paris, 
 too, has undergone a similar evolution, from what 
 it was even in Dumas' time. 
 
 The celebrities of the Cafe de Paris have mostly, 
 if not quite all, passed away. No more does the 
 eccentric Prince Demidoff promulgate his eccen- 
 tricities into the very faces of the onlookers; no 
 more does the great Dumas make omelettes in 
 golden sugar-bowls ; and no more does he pass his 
 criticisms — or was it encomiums? — on the veau 
 saute. 
 
 The student revels of the quartier have become 
 more sedate, if not more fastidious, and there is 
 no such Mardi Gras and Mi-Careme festivities as 
 
I90 2)uma0' Paris 
 
 used to hold forth on the boulevards in the forties. 
 And on the Buttes Chaumont and Montmartre are 
 found batteries of questionable amusements, — es- 
 pecially got up for the delectation of les Anglais, 
 provincials, and soldiers off duty, — in place of the 
 cabarets, which, if of doubtful morality, were at 
 least a certain social factor. 
 
 New bridges span the Seine, and new thorough- 
 fares, from humble alleys to lordly and magnificent 
 boulevards, have clarified many a slum, and bright- 
 ened and sweetened the atmosphere; so there is 
 some considerable gain there. 
 
 The Parisian cabby is, as he always was, a devil- 
 may-care sort of a fellow, who would as soon run 
 you down with his sorry old outfit as not; but 
 perhaps even his characteristics will change sooner 
 or later, now that the automobile is upon us in all 
 its proclaimed perfection. 
 
 The " New Opera," that sumptuous structure 
 which bears the inscription " Academic Nationale de 
 Musique," begun by Gamier in 1861, and completed 
 a dozen years later, is, in its commanding situation 
 and splendid appointments, the peer of any other 
 in the world. In spite of this, its fame will hardly 
 rival that of the Comedie Frangaise, or even the 
 Opera Comique of former days, and the names of 
 latter-day stars will have difficulty in competing 
 
Ubc Scconb Bmptrc an& Httcr 19^ 
 
 with those of Rachel, Talma, and their fellow actors 
 on the stage of other days. 
 
 Whom, if you please, have we to-day whose name 
 and fame is as wide as those just mentioned ? None, 
 save Madame Bernhardt, who suggests to the well- 
 informed person — who is a very considerable body 
 — ' the preeminent influences which formerly em- 
 anated from Paris in the fifties. But this of itself 
 is a subject too vast for inclusion here, and it were 
 better passed by. So, too, with the Parisian artists 
 who made the art of the world in the latter half of 
 the nineteenth century. Decamps, Delacroix, Corot, 
 and Vernet are names with which to conjure up 
 reminiscences as great as those of Rubens, Titian, 
 and Van Dyke. This may be disputed, but, if one 
 were given the same familiarity therewith, it is 
 possible that one's contrary opinion would be greatly 
 modified. 
 
 To-day, in addition to the glorious art collection 
 of former times, there are the splendid, though ever 
 shifting, collections of the Musee du Luxembourg, 
 the mural paintings of the Hotel de Ville, which 
 are a gallery in themselves, and the two spring 
 Salon exhibitions, to say nothing of the newly at- 
 tempted Salon d'Automne. Curiously enough, some 
 of us find great pleasure in the contemplation of 
 the decorations in the interiors of the great gares 
 
192 Dumas' ©arts 
 
 of the Lyons or the Orleans railways. Certainly 
 these last examples of applied art are of a lavish- 
 ness — and even excellence — which a former gen- 
 eration would not have thought of. 
 
 The Arc de Triomphe d'fitoile, of course, remains 
 as it always has since its erection at the instigation 
 of Napoleon I. ; while the Bois de Boulogne came 
 into existence as a municipal pleasure-ground only 
 in the early fifties, and has since endured as the 
 great open-air attraction of Paris for those who 
 did not wish to go farther afield. 
 
 The churches have not changed greatly in all this 
 time, except that they had some narrow escapes 
 during the Franco-Prussian War, and still narrower 
 ones during the Commune. It may be remarked 
 here en passant that, for the first time in seventy 
 years, so say the records, there has just been taken 
 down the scaffolding which, in one part or another, 
 has surrounded the church of St. Eustache. Here, 
 then, is something tangible which has not changed 
 until recently (March, 1904), since the days when 
 Dumas first came to Paris. 
 
 The Paris of the nineteenth century is, as might 
 naturally be inferred, that of which the most is 
 known; the eighteenth and seventeenth are indeed 
 difficult to follow with accuracy as to the exact 
 locale of their events; but the sixteenth looms up 
 
Zbc Second jEmpire an& Htter 193 
 
 — curiously enough — more plainly than either of 
 the two centuries which followed. The histories, 
 and even the guide-books, will explain why this is 
 so, so it shall have no place here. 
 
 Order, of a sort, immediately came forth from 
 out the chaos of the Revolution. The great Napo- 
 leon began the process, and, in a way, it was con- 
 tinued by the plebeian Louis-Philippe, elaborated 
 in the Second Empire, and perfected — if a great 
 capital such as Paris ever really is perfected — 
 under the Third Republic. 
 
 Improvement and demolition — which is not 
 always improvement — still go on, and such of 
 Old Paris as is not preserved by special effort is 
 fast falling before the stride of progress. 
 
 A body was organized in 1897, under the name 
 of the " Commission du Vieux Paris" which is 
 expected to do much good work in the preservation 
 of the chronicles in stone of days long past. 
 
 The very streets are noisy with the echo of an 
 unpeaceful past ; and their frequent and unexpected 
 turnings, even in these modem days, are suggestive 
 of their history in a most graphic manner. 
 
 The square in front of the Fontaine des Inno- 
 cents is but an ancient burial-ground; before the 
 Hotel de Ville came Etienne Marcel; and Charle- 
 magne to the cathedral; the Place de la Concorde 
 
194 Dumas' IPatis 
 
 was the death-bed of the Girondins, and the Place 
 de la Madeleine the tomb of the Capetians; and 
 thus it is that Paris — as does no other city — 
 mingles its centuries of strife amid a life which is 
 known as the most vigorous and varied of its age. 
 
 To enter here into a detailed comparison between 
 the charm of Paris of to-day and yesterday would 
 indeed be a work of supererogation; and only in 
 so far as it bears directly upon the scenes and inci- 
 dents amid which Dumas lived is it so made. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 LA VILLE 
 
 /T 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 ro- 
 mantic house of Valois, and, whether in town or 
 country, he seemed to take an especial pride in pre- 
 senting details of portraiture and place in a sur- 
 prisingly 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. 
 
 195 
 
196 Dumas' Paris 
 
 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 " Mes- 
 sire 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 cock- 
 ade of blue and red, the colours of the ville — the 
 white was not added till some days later. 
 
 " Voire Majeste" dit le maire, '' veut-elle accepte 
 le signe distinctif des Frangaisf" 
 
 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 Revolu- 
 tions of 1830 and 1848, as well as in the Commune 
 in 1 87 1, when, in addition to the human fury, it 
 was attacked by the flames, which finally brought 
 
Xa Dille 197 
 
 about its destruction. Thus perished that noble 
 structure, which owed its inception to that art- 
 loving monarch, Frangois I. 
 
 The present-day Quai de I'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 I'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 com- 
 pany 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 
 
19S 2)uma0' pads 
 
 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 11 19, 
 first makes mention of it, and Frangois 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 
 
%a mile 199 
 
 in " Le Vicomte de Bragelonne " it again crops up, 
 but in a much more pleasant manner. 
 
 Dumas, ever praiseful of good wine and good 
 food, describes Vatel, the maUre 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 can- 
 not 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 Brage- 
 lonne," 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 ?'...*! have found here, 
 monsieur, a "" mn 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 
 
200 Dumas' Paris 
 
 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 fau- 
 bourgs, announcing with their hoarse and inde- 
 fatigable 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 punish- 
 ment 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 
 
Xa IDille 20I 
 
 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, Mousque- 
 taires" 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 Guards- 
 men," 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 specta- 
 tors who would meet on the Place de la Greve and 
 
^o2 Dumas' parts 
 
 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 HI., pale, 
 almost bald, although he was at that time only 
 thirty-five, and with a sombre expression, always a 
 
Xa IDille 203 
 
 mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw him 
 appear, never knew whether to say ' Vive le roil ' 
 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 melan- 
 choly but sweet face of the queen, Louise de Tou- 
 raine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a pun- 
 ishment. Behind them came two handsome young 
 men, brothers, the eldest of whom smiled with won- 
 derful beauty, and the younger with great melan- 
 choly. The one was Anne, Due 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, turn- 
 ing to the young men, he said, * Anne, lean against 
 the tapestry ; it may last a long time.' . . . 
 
204 Dumas' iparts 
 
 " Henri, in anger, gave the sign. It was re^ 
 peated, 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 " Metro- 
 politain," 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 
 
Xa iDilie 205 
 
 Paris in mediaeval times, in compiling the famous 
 D'Artagnan and Valois romances. 
 
 The Place du Chatelet is one of the most cele- 
 brated 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 Planchefs 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 Sebas- 
 topol, 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. Planchef s little shop was 
 devoted to the sale of green groceries, with, pre- 
 sumably, a sprinkling of other attendant gamishings 
 for the table. 
 
 To-day, the most notable of the shops here, of a 
 similar character, is the famous magasin de con- 
 Userie, " Au Fidele Berger," for which Guilbert, the 
 author of " Jeune Malade," made the original verses 
 
2o6 2)uma0' parts 
 
 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 mwrchan- 
 daise/' 
 
 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'k 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 1' 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 appear- 
 ance 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 dis- 
 tinctly commonplace; but there is a little house, 
 on the right-hand side, near the river, which will 
 
Xa IDflle 207 
 
 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. 
 
 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 occu- 
 pies the ground-floor, and its escutcheon — a blazing 
 sun — midway in its fagade. 
 
 Moreover it is still a lodging-house, — an hum- 
 ble 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 adver- 
 tises 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 maga- 
 sin, a tous genres, or a great tourist caravanserai. 
 
 This house bears the name of Hotel des Mous- 
 
2o8 Dumas' parts 
 
 quetaires," 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 muti- 
 lated, 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 subter- 
 raneous 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, Cath- 
 erine 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 
 
Xa IDtlle 209 
 
 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 TArbre- 
 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, en- 
 tered 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 comer 
 of the Rue des Mathurins he found a man on horse- 
 ^'back, 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, 
 
210 2)umas' parts 
 
 crossed the river again on the Pont au Meunier, 
 descended the quais, reached the Rue de TArbre-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 inn- 
 keeper, 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. 
 
Xa mile 211 
 
 " * 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 TArbre-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 re- 
 mained absolutely dry. It is curious, too, to note 
 that the Rue de I'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 
 
212 Dumas' Paris 
 
 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 figlise 
 St. Germain I'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 de- 
 scribed 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 I'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 
 
Xa mile 213 
 
 a shot was fired, and, in an instant, the light of 
 several flambeaux blazed up like flashes of lightning 
 in the Rue de r 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 
 1 84 1, 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 addi- 
 tion 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 
 
214 Dumas* pads 
 
 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 Che- 
 vrette " 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 popu- 
 larized 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 i6 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 XHL 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Stages, 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- 
 
d*artagnan's lodgings, rue tiquetonne 
 
Xa tDille 215 
 
 sans-Peur was the grandfather of Charles-le-Teme- 
 raire. Monstrelet has said that it was buih to con- 
 tain 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 estab- 
 lishment 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 cele- 
 brated 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' 
 

 2i6 2)ttma0' pad0 
 
 paradise. ' Your Eden, Sire/ said the gallant 
 Henri. 
 
 " * Dearest Marie/ said Qiarles, ' 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.* *' 
 
Xa IDille 217 
 
 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, per- 
 haps, 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 Giarles 
 IX. who afterward was the famous Duke d'An- 
 gouleme, who died in 1650; and, had he been le- 
 gitimate, would have taken precedence of Henri III., 
 Henri IV., Louis XIIL, 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 Beam 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 
 
2i8 Dumas' pads 
 
 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 XVIIL, 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 
 
Xa Dille 219 
 
 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 XVIIL, laughing; * the greatest captains 
 of antiquity recreated themselves with casting peb- 
 bles into the ocean — see Plutarch's life of Scipio 
 Africanus.' " 
 
 Again, from the same work, the following esti- 
 mate 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 3 
 
2 20 DumaB' parts 
 
 ruined man, separated for ever from any fresh con- 
 nection 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 vic- 
 tories of Louis Quatorze, one just misses the his- 
 torical 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 diflFerent from that 
 of the Renaissance gateway which exists to-day; 
 
Xa Dtlle 221 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Fau- 
 bourg 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 Inno- 
 cents: 
 
 " On the day which succeeded that terrible massa- 
 cre 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 re- 
 blossomed during the night, and the Catholics, who 
 
222 Bumas' parts 
 
 saw in this even a miracle, and who by rendering 
 this miracle popular made the Deity their accom- 
 plice, 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 rot! ^' " 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 dis- 
 appeared, 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 
 
%a mile 223 
 
 Jean Goujon. It stood formerly before the figlise 
 des Innocents, which was demoHshed in 1783. 
 
 The Fontaine des Innocents, in spite of its mi- 
 grations, is a charming oasis of green trees and 
 running water, in the midst of the rather encum- 
 bered 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 per- 
 force 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. 
 
224 Dumas' parts 
 
 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 XIIL, 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 161 2, 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 Due de Guise and Coligny His, the son 
 of the admiral. 
 
 The Place Royale soon became the most fashion- 
 able qimrtier, the houses around about being greatly 
 in demand of the noblesse. 
 
 Among its illustrious inhabitants have been the 
 Rohans, the D'Alegres, Comeille, Conde, St. Vin- 
 cent de Paul, Moliere, Turenne, Madame de Longue- 
 ville, Cinq-Mars, and Richelieu. 
 
Xa IDille 225 
 
 By un arrets of the 17th' Ventose, year VIL, 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 
 
2 26 Dumas' Paris 
 
 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 rec- 
 ognized 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 direc- 
 tion 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 ' rami du 
 peuple/ . . . The very workmen were as yet igno- 
 rant of the secret of this novel machine. * There,' 
 said Doctor Guillotin, ... * it is now only neces- 
 sary 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 
 
Xa IDUle 227 
 
 writers perhaps as gifted as Dumas, but none have 
 told it more graphically, simply, or truthfully. 
 
 Every one knows the Mount of Martyrs, its his- 
 tory, and its modem aspect, which has sadly de- 
 generated 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 fab- 
 ulously supposed to have carried his head after his 
 martyrdom, and the quiet, almost forlorn Rue St. 
 Eleu there still perpetuates the name of his com- 
 panion in misery. Long afterward, in the chapel 
 erected on this spot, Ignatius Loyola and his com- 
 panions solemnly vowed themselves to their great 
 work. So here on sinful Montmartre, above Paris, 
 was bom 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 ter- 
 rible stmggle in Montmartre. It was in the Rue 
 des Rosiers, on the i8th of March, 1871, that the 
 blood of Generals Lecomte and Clement-Thomas 
 was shed. 
 
228 Dumas' parts 
 
 Hard by, in the Pare 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 attri- 
 bute of Paris that many other reaHsts and roman- 
 cists aHke 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 
 Chariot, 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 after- 
 ward 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 alto- 
 gether unknown to the court. The Rue de Valois, 
 leading from the Rue St. Honore to the Rue Beau- 
 jolais, beside the Palais Royal, as might be sup- 
 posed, 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 Riche- 
 lieu for L'Abbe Metel de Bois-Robert, the founder 
 of the Academic Franqaise. 
 
 Off the Rue Sourdiere, was the Couloir St. 
 Hyacinthe, where lived Jean Paul Marat — "the 
 friend of the people," whose description by Dumas, 
 
Xa mile 229 
 
 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 Mar- 
 seilles 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 ad- 
 dressed ? ' 
 
 "'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,' mur- 
 mured 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, 
 
230 2)umas' parts 
 
 after believing himself free, now began to feel a ten- 
 fold 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 
 
 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 dif- 
 ferent, and much longer, than the others of the 
 same brood. Everybody said it was a heron, and 
 the neighbours crowded around to see the phe- 
 
Xa iDtllc 231 
 
 nomenon; and so the street came to be baptized 
 the Rue Coq-Heron. 
 
 In the Rue Qiaussee 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 " Cap- 
 tain 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 medi- 
 aeval romances. It further resembles " The Corsi- 
 can 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 Boule- 
 vard des Italiens, the Rue Taitbout, and the Rue 
 
232 Dumas' lPart0 
 
 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 omi- 
 nous words of the inscription which French bank 
 notes formerly bore. 
 
 LA LOI PUNIT DE MORT 
 LE CONTREFACTEUR 
 
 Dumas occasionally took up a theme which, un- 
 promising 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 
 
Xa IDille 233 
 
 brought Dumas a " scenario " taken from the ro- 
 mance. Unsuitable and unsympathetic though the 
 principal character was, Dumas found the " scena- 
 rio " so deftly made that he resolved to turn the book 
 into a drama. This was quickly done, and the re- 
 hearsals 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 oppo- 
 sition. 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 
 
234 Dumas' parts 
 
 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 fash- 
 ionable world, — the old Italian Opera in the Rue 
 Pelletier, — and No. 1 1 Rue Taitbout, where after- 
 ward Gabriel had ensconced himself in a luxurious 
 apartment 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LA CIt6 
 
 /T is difficult to write of La Cite; it is in- 
 deed, impossible to write of it with fulness, 
 unless one were to devote a large volume 
 — or many large volumes — to it alone. 
 
 To the tourists it is mostly recalled as being the 
 berceau of Notre Dame or the morgue. The latter, 
 fortunately, is an entirely modern institution, and, 
 though it existed in Dumas' own time, did not when 
 the scenes of the D'Artagnan or Valois romances 
 were laid. 
 
 Looking toward Notre Dame from the Pont du 
 Carrousel, one feels a veritable thrill of emotion 
 as one regards this city of kings and revolutions. 
 
 The very buildings on the He de la Cite mingle 
 in a symphony of ashen memories. The statue of 
 the great Henri IV., bowered in trees; the two 
 old houses at the apex of the Place Dauphine, in 
 one of which Madame Roland was bom ; the mas- 
 
 235 
 
236 Dumas* Paris 
 
 sive Palais de Justice; the soaring Sainte Chapelle, 
 which St. Louis built for the Crown of Thorns, 
 and " to the glory of God and France," and the 
 towers of the Conciergerie, whose floor is for ever 
 stained with the tears of Marie Antoinette. 
 
 Romance and history have both set their seal 
 upon the locality, and no one better than Dumas 
 has told its story in romance. 
 
 Henri of Navarre being Protestant, the Church 
 would not open its doors to him, and thus his mar- 
 riage to the talented but wicked Margot, sister of 
 Charles IX., took place on a platform erected before 
 its doors. 
 
 In the opening chapter of " Marguerite de 
 Valois," Dumas refers to it thus : 
 
 " The court was celebrating the marriage 
 of Madame Marguerite de Valois, daughter of 
 Henri II. and sister of King Charles IX., with 
 Henri de Bourbon, King of Navarre; and that 
 same morning the Cardinal de Bourbon had united 
 the young couple with the usual ceremonial ob- 
 served at the marriages of the royal daughters of 
 France, on a stage erected at the entrance to Notre 
 Dame. This marriage had astonished everybody, 
 and occasioned much surmise to certain persons who 
 saw clearer than others. They could not compre- 
 
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 -- >.:H^?^iA:s^>:v^:*-xprf;l;:^^^■. 
 
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Xa Cttc 237 
 
 hend the union of two parties who hated each other 
 so thoroughly as did, at this moment, the Protestant 
 party and the CathoHc party; and they wondered 
 how the young Prince de Conde could forgive the 
 Duke d'Anjou, the king's father, for the death of 
 his father, assassinated by Montesquieu at Jarnac. 
 They asked how the young Duke de Guise could 
 pardon Admiral de Coligny for the death of his 
 father, assassinated at Orleans by Poltrot de 
 Mere." 
 
 The Tour de Nesle is one of those bygones of 
 the history of Paris, which as a name is familiar to 
 many, but which, after all, is a very vague mem- 
 ory. 
 
 It perpetuates an event of bloodshed which is 
 familiar enough, but there are no tangible remains 
 to mark the former site of the tower, and only 
 the name remains — now given to a short and un- 
 important rue. 
 
 The use of the title "La Tour de Nesle," by 
 Dumas, for a sort of second-hand article, — as he 
 himself has said, — added little to his reputation 
 as an author, or, rather, as a dramatist. 
 
 In reality, he did no more than rebuild a romantic 
 drama, such as he alone knows how to build, out 
 
238 Dumas' iParta 
 
 of the framework which had been unsuccessfully 
 put together by another — Gaillardet. However, 
 it gives one other historical title to add to the already 
 long list of his productions. 
 
 The history of the Conciergerie is most lurid, 
 and, withal, most emphatic, with regard to the 
 political history of France. For the most part, 
 it is more associated with political prisoners than 
 with mere sordid crime, as, indeed, to a great extent 
 were many of the prisons of France. 
 
 The summer tourist connects it with Marie An- 
 toinette; visits the " Cachot de Marie Antoinette; " 
 the great hall where the Girondists awaited their 
 fate; and passes on to the Palais des Beaux Arts, 
 with never a thought as to the great political part 
 that the old prison played in the monarchial history 
 of France. 
 
 To know it more fully, one should read No- 
 garet's " Histoire des Prisons de Paris." There 
 will be found anecdotes and memoirs, " rares et 
 precieux/' and above all truthful. 
 
 It has been eulogized, or, rather, anathematized 
 in verse by Voltaire, — 
 
 «' Exterminez, grandes Dieux, de la terre ou nous sommes 
 Quiconque avec plaisir repand le sang des hommes," — 
 
Xa Cite 239 
 
 and historians and romancists have made profuse 
 use of the recollections which hang about its grim 
 walls. 
 
 To-day it stands for much that it formerly repre- 
 sented, but without the terrible inquisitorial methods. 
 In fact, in the Palais de Justice, which now entirely 
 surrounds all but the turreted fagade of tourelles, 
 which fronts the Quai de THorloge, has so tem- 
 pered its mercies that within the past year it has 
 taken down that wonderful crucifix and triptych, so 
 that those who may finally call upon the court of 
 last appeal may not be unduly or superstitiously 
 affected. 
 
 The Place de la Greve opposite was famous for 
 something more than its commercial reputation, as 
 readers of the Valois romances of Dumas, and of 
 Hugo's " Dernier Jour d'un Condamne " will recall. 
 It was a veritable Gehenna, a sort of Tower Hill, 
 where a series of events as dark and bloody as those 
 of any spot in Europe held forth, from 13 10, when 
 a poor unfortunate, Marguerite Porette, was burned 
 as a heretic, until 1830, — well within the scope of 
 this book, — when the headsmen, stakesmen, and 
 hangmen, who had plied their trade here for five 
 centuries, were abolished in favour of a less public 
 harriere on the outskirts, or else the platform of the 
 prison near the Cimetiere du Pere la Chaise. 
 
240 2)uma8' Paris 
 
 It was in 1830 that a low thief and murderer, 
 Lacenaire, who was brought to the scaffold for 
 his crimes, published in one of the Parisian papers 
 some verses which were intended to extract sym- 
 pathy for him as un homme de lettres. In reality 
 they were the work of a barrister, Lemarquier by 
 name, and failed utterly of their purpose, though 
 their graphic lines might well have evoked sym- 
 pathy, had the hoax carried : 
 
 " Slow wanes the long night, when the criminal wakes ; 
 And he curses the mom that his slumber breaks ; 
 For he dream'd of other days. 
 
 " His eyes he may close, — but the cold icy touch 
 Of a frozen hand, and a corpse on his couch, 
 Still comes to wither his soul. 
 
 " And the headsman's voice, and hammer'd blows 
 Of nails that the jointed gibbet close, 
 
 And the solemn chant of the dead ! " 
 
 La Conciergerie was perhaps one of the greatest 
 show-places of the city for the morbidly inclined, 
 and permission a visiter was at that time granted 
 avec toutes facilites, being something more than is 
 allowed to-day. 
 
 The associations connected with this doleful build- 
 ing are great indeed, as all histories of France and 
 the guide-books tell. It was in the chapel of this 
 
Xa Cite 241 
 
 edifice that the victims of the Terror foregathered, 
 to hear the names read out for execution, till all 
 should have been made away. 
 
 Miiller's painting in the Louvre depicts, with 
 singular graphicness, this dreadful place of deten- 
 tion, where princes and princesses, counts, mar- 
 quises, bishops, and all ranks were herded amid an 
 excruciating agony. 
 
 In " The Queen's Necklace " we read of the Con- 
 ciergerie — as we do of the Bastille. When that 
 gang of conspirators, headed by Madame de la 
 Motte, — Jeanne de St. Remy de Valois, — ap- 
 peared for trial, they were brought from the Bas- 
 tille to the Conciergerie. 
 
 After the trial all the prisoners were locked for 
 the night in the Conciergerie, sentence not being 
 pronounced till the following day. 
 
 The public whipping and branding of Madame 
 de la Motte in the Cour du Justice, — still the cour 
 where throngs pass and repass to the various 
 court-rooms of the Palais de Justice, — as given by 
 Dumas, is most realistically told, if briefly. It runs 
 thus: 
 
 " * Who IS this man ? ' cried Jeanne, in a fright. 
 
 " ' The executioner, M. de Paris,' replied the 
 registrar. 
 
 " The two men then took hold of her to lead 
 
242 Dumas' parts 
 
 her out. They took her thus into the court called 
 Cour de Justice, where was a scaffold, and which 
 was crowded with spectators. On a platform, raised 
 about eight feet, was a post garnished with iron 
 rings, and with a ladder to mount to it. This place 
 was surrounded with soldiers. . . . 
 
 " Numbers of the partisans of M. de Rohan had 
 assembled to hoot her, and cries of ' A has la Motte, 
 the forger ! ' were heard on every side, and those 
 who tried to express pity for her were soon silenced. 
 Then she cried in a loud voice, * Do you know 
 who I am? I am the blood of your kings. They 
 strike in me, not a criminal, but a rival; not only 
 a rival, but an accomplice. Yes,* repeated she, as 
 the people kept silence to listen, * an accomplice. 
 They punish one who knows the secrets of — ' 
 
 " * Take care,' interrupted the executioner. 
 
 " She turned and saw the executioner with the 
 whip in his hand. At this sight she forgot her 
 desire to captivate the multitude, and even her 
 hatred, and, sinking on her knees, she said, * Have 
 pity ! ' and seized his hand ; but he raised the other, 
 and let the whip fall lightly on her shoulders. She 
 jumped up, and was about to try and throw herself 
 off the scaffold, when she saw the other man, who 
 was drawing from a fire a hot iron. At this sight 
 
Xa Citi 243 
 
 she uttered a perfect howl, which was echoed by 
 the people. 
 
 " ' Help ! help ! ' she cried, trying to shake off the 
 cord with which they were tying her hands. The 
 executioner at last forced her on her knees, and 
 tore open her dress; but she cried, with a voice 
 which was heard through all the tumult, ' Cowardly 
 Frenchmen! you do not defend me, but let me be 
 tortured; oh! it is my own fault. If I had said 
 all I knew of the queen I should have been — ' 
 
 *' She could say no more, for she was gagged by 
 the attendants : then two men held her, while the 
 executioner performed his office. At the touch of 
 the iron she fainted, and was carried back insensible 
 to the Conciergerie.'* 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 L^UNIVERSITE QUARTIER 
 
 L 'UNIVERSITY is the quartier which fore- 
 gathered its components, more or less un- 
 consciously, around the Sorbonne. 
 
 To-day the name still means what it always did; 
 the Ecole de Medicine, the Ecole de Droit, the 
 Beaux Arts, the Observatoire, and the student 
 ateliers of the Latin Quarter, all go to make it some- 
 thing quite foreign to any other section of Paris. 
 
 The present structure known as " The Sor- 
 bonne " was built by Richelieu in 1629, as a sort 
 of glorified successor to the ancient foundation of 
 Robert de Sorbonne, confessor to St. Louis in 1253. 
 The present Universite, as an institution, was 
 founded, among many other good and valuable 
 things, which he has not always been given credit 
 for, by the astute Napoleon I. 
 
 With the work of the romancer, it is the unex- 
 pected that always happens. But this very unexpect- 
 
 244 
 
X'^nivcteitc CJuartier 245 
 
 edness is only another expression of naturalness; 
 which raises the question: Is not the romancist 
 more of a realist than is commonly supposed? 
 
 Dumas often accomplished the unconventional, 
 and often the miraculous, but the gallant attack of 
 D'Artagnan and his three whilom adversaries 
 against the Cardinal's Guard is by no means an 
 impossible or unreasonable incident. Considering 
 Dumas' ingenuity and freedom, it would be un- 
 reasonable to expect that things might not take the 
 turn that they did. 
 
 Of " Les Trois Mousquetaires " alone, the scheme 
 of adventure and incident is as orderly and saga- 
 cious as though it had been laid down by the wily 
 cardinal himself; and therein is Dumas' success as 
 the romancist par excellence of his time. A ro- 
 mancist who was at least enough of a realist to 
 be natural, if unconventional. 
 
 Dumas is supposed to have fallen from the 
 heights scaled by means of " Les Trois Mousque- 
 taires," when he wrote " Vingt Ans Apres." As 
 a piece of literary workmanship, this perhaps is so; 
 as a chronicle of great interest to the reader, who 
 would trace the movement of its plot by existing 
 stones and shrines, it is hardly the case. 
 
 One can get up a wonderful enthusiasm for the 
 old Luxembourg quarter, which the Gascon Don 
 
246 Dumas' Paris 
 
 Quixote entered by one of the southern gates, astride 
 his Rosinante. The whole neighbourhood abounds 
 with reminiscences of the characters of the tale: 
 D'Artagnan, with the Rue des Fossoyeurs, now the 
 Rue Servandoni; Athos with the Rue Ferou; 
 Aramis, with the Rue de la Harpe, and so on. 
 
 There is, however, a certain tangible sentimen- 
 tality connected with the adventures of Athos, 
 Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Porthos in " Twenty 
 Years After,'* that is not equalled by the earlier 
 book, the reputed scenes of which have, to some 
 extent, to be taken on faith. 
 
 In " Vingt Ans Apres," the scene shifts rapidly 
 and constantly : from the Rue Tiquetonne, in Paris, 
 to the more luxurious precincts of the Palais Royal ; 
 countrywards to Compiegne, to Pierrefonds — 
 which ultimately came into the possession of Por- 
 thos; to England, even; and southward as far 
 as Blois in Touraine, near to which was the cotmtry 
 estate of Athos. 
 
 At the comer of the Rue Vaugirard, which passes 
 the front of the Luxembourg Palace, and the Rue 
 Cassette, is the wall of the Carmelite Friary, where 
 D'Artagnan repaired to fulfil his duelling engage- 
 ments with the three musketeers of the company 
 of De Treville, after the incidents of the shoulder 
 

 1 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^pi^^E^Bj^^H^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^I 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 ^^^^^^^HHi^^^' l^^H 
 
 CARMKLITE FRIARY, RUE VAUGIRARD 
 
X'THnipetBitc Quartier 247 
 
 of Athos, the baldric of Porthos, and the hand- 
 kerchief of Aramis. 
 
 Both sides of the river, and, indeed, the Cite 
 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 neigh- 
 bourhood of the Palais du Luxembourg, in " Les 
 Trois Mousquetaires," to the neighbourhood of the 
 Palais Royal, in " Vingt Ans Apres " 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 lodg- 
 ings in the hotel in the Rue Tiquetonne could have 
 been in no way luxurious, judging from present- 
 day appearances. 
 
248 Dumas' ©arts 
 
 In the Universite quarter, running squarely up 
 from the Seine is a short, unpretentious, though 
 not unlovely, street — the Rue Guenegard. 
 
 It runs by the Hotel de la Monnaie, and em- 
 bouches 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 Charle- 
 magne," " a respectable inn," that Athos lived dur- 
 ing his later years. 
 
 In the course of three hundred years this inn has 
 disappeared, — if it ever existed, — though there 
 are two hotels, now somewhat decrepit, on the short 
 length of the street. 
 
 Perhaps it was one of these, — the present Hotel 
 de France, for instance, — but there are no exist- 
 ing 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 trans- 
 port our readers, to follow some of their acquaint- 
 ances, 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 
 
l/'mnivcrsttc (Sittattier 249 
 
 and white pointings, which was known by the sign 
 of * The Sword of the Brave ChevaHer/ 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 diffi- 
 cult 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, how- 
 ever, of this attractive exterior, the hotel did not 
 prosper — it was never more than half full, though 
 it was large and comfortable. Unfortunately, from 
 its proximity to the Pre-aux-Clercs, it was fre- 
 
250 Dumas* ipatts 
 
 quented 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 habitues; and Dame Foumichon, 
 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 sur- 
 rounded 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 aneccjote which 
 he recounts in " The Taking of the Bastille," con- 
 cerning salamanders: 
 
 " The famous trunk, which had now been digni- 
 fied 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 
 
%'TSXnivcxsitc (Siuartier 25* 
 
 their being the cause of his being subjected to pun- 
 ishment 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- 
 Cotterets, being the crest of Frangois I., and who 
 had them sculptured on every chimneypiece in the 
 chateau. He had succeeded in obtaining them; 
 only one thing had strongly preoccupied his mind, 
 and he ended by placing this thing among the num- 
 ber 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 Hotel la Tremouille, 
 near the Luxembourg, that figures in the pages of 
 " Les Trois Mousquetaires," but the hotel of the 
 Due de Treville, in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, 
 
252 2)uma5' Paris 
 
 has disappeared in a rebuilding or widening of 
 this street, which runs from the Place de St. Sul- 
 pice 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 min- 
 ions, 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 comer, within two steps of the Luxem- 
 bourg," 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 Hotel de Chevreuse of ''la Frondeuse 
 dtu:hesse/' 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 gar- 
 den cut away by the Boulevard Raspail. 
 
 At No. 12 or 14 Rue des Fossoyeurs, beside the 
 Pantheon, — 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 de- 
 
%''^nivcv3itc (Sluartiet 253 
 
 crepitly picturesque houses will answer the descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 It is a wonderfully varied and interesting collec- 
 tion of buildings which is found on the height of 
 Ste. Genevieve, overlooking the Jardin and Palais 
 du Luxembourg: the hybrid St. Etienne du Mont, 
 the pagan Pantheon, the tower of the ancient 
 Abbaye de Ste. Genevieve, and the Bibliotheque, 
 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 Lycee 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 Chi- 
 cot. 
 
 At all events, the ensemble to-day is one most 
 
254 Dumas' parts 
 
 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 figlise St. Etienne du Mont is a weird con- 
 trast 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. Genevieve, 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 Neck- 
 lace." The characters are in a continual migration 
 between one and another of the faubourgs. Here, 
 again, Dumas does not forget or ignore the Lux- 
 embourg 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 
 
3L'mnit>ct0tte (Sluarttet 255 
 
 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 Luxem- 
 bourg which might fill the bill. 
 
 The gardens of the Luxembourg were another 
 favourite haunt of the characters of Dumas' ro- 
 mances, 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 Cor- 
 sican 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 Due de Mont- 
 morenci, 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 
 
256 Dumas' Paris 
 
 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. 
 
u a. i d e s T u i I o u i c s 
 
 Q ^ 
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 (I) Fran9ois I., 1346 ; (2) Catherine de Medici, 1J66-1378 ; (3) Catherine de Medici, 1364 { 
 
 1806; (7) Louis XVIII., 18 16; (8) Napole( 
 
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 1<^ :j,;;i;^A-' 
 
 
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 C'M 3b tr.i^v;«:?tf) i), '. >.V^\ ..^ '-.io^ru 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LOUVRE 
 
 ''''Paris renferme beaucoup de palais ; mais le vrai palais 
 de Paris^ le vrai palais de la France^ tout le monde Va 
 nommi^ — c^est le Louvre!''' 
 
 TT "TVO^ the first appearance of "Marguerite 
 I J de Valois," a critic writing in Black- 
 wood's Magazine, has chosen to commend 
 Dumas' directness of plot and purpose in a manner 
 which every lover of Dumas and student of history 
 will not fail to appreciate. He says : " Dumas, 
 according to his custom, introduces a vast array 
 of characters, for the most part historical, all spir- 
 itedly drawn and well sustained. In various respects 
 the author may be held up as an example to our 
 own history-spoilers, and self-styled writers of his- 
 torical romance. One does not find him profaning 
 public edifices by causing all sorts of absurdities 
 to pass, and of twaddle to be spoken, within their 
 precincts; neither does he make his king and 
 beggar, high-born dame and private soldier use 
 
 257 
 
2S8 2)uma0' pari0 
 
 the very same language, all equally tame, colourless, 
 and devoid of character. The spirited and varied 
 dialogue, in which his romances abound, illustrates 
 and brings out the qualities and characteristics of 
 his actors, and is not used for the sole purpose of 
 making a chapter out of what would be better told 
 in a page. In many instances, indeed, it would 
 be difficult for him to tell his story, by the barest 
 narrative, in fewer words than he does by pithy 
 and pointed dialogue." 
 
 No edifice in Paris itself, nor, indeed, in all 
 France, is more closely identified with the characters 
 and plots of Dumas* romances than the Louvre. 
 In the Valois cycle alone, the personages are con- 
 tinually flocking and stalking thither; some mere 
 puppets, — walking gentlemen and ladies, — but 
 many more, even, who are personages so very real 
 that even in the pages of Dumas one forgets that it 
 is romance pure and simple, and is almost ready 
 to accept his word as history. This it is not, as is 
 well recognized, but still it is a pleasant manner 
 of bringing before the omnivorous reader many 
 facts which otherwise he might ignore or perhaps 
 overlook. 
 
 It really is not possible to particularize all the 
 action of Dumas' romances which centred around 
 the Louvre. To do so would be to write the 
 
Zbc Xottvre 259 
 
 mediaeval history of the famous building, or to pro- 
 duce an analytical index to the works of Dumas 
 which woiuld somewhat approach in bulk the cele- 
 brated Chinese encyclopaedia. 
 
 We learn from " Le Vicomte de Bragelonne" 
 of D'Artagnan's great familiarity with the life 
 which went on in the old chateau of the Louvre. 
 " I will tell you where M. d'Artagnan is," said 
 Raoul; "he is now in Paris; when on duty, he 
 is to be met at the Louvre; when not so, in the Rue 
 des Lombards." 
 
 This describes the situation exactly: when the 
 characters of the D'Artagnan and the Valois ro- 
 mances are not actually within the precincts of the 
 Louvre, they have either just left it or are about 
 to return thither, or some momentous event is being 
 enacted there which bears upon the plot. 
 
 Perhaps the most dramatic incident in connection 
 with the Louvre mentioned by Dumas, was that 
 of the massacre of St. Bartholomew's night, " that 
 bloody deed which culminated from the great strug- 
 gle which devastated France in the latter part of 
 the sixteenth century." 
 
 Dumas throws in his lot with such historians 
 as Ranke and Soldain, who prefer to think that 
 the massacre which took place on the fete-day of 
 St. Bartholomew was not the result of a long pre- 
 
26o 2)ttma6' parts 
 
 meditated plot, but was rather the fruit of a 
 momentary fanatical terror aroused by the unsuc- 
 cessful attempt on the life of Coligny. 
 
 This aspect is apart from the question. The 
 principal fact with which the novelist and our- 
 selves are concerned is that the event took place 
 much as stated: that it was from the Lduvre that 
 the plot — if plot it were — emanated, and that 
 the sounding bell of St. Germain I'Auxerrois did, 
 on that fateful night, indicate to those present in the 
 Louvre the fact that the bloody massacre had begun. 
 
 The fabric itself — the work of many hands, at 
 the instigation of so many minds — is an enduring 
 monument to the fame of those who projected it, 
 or who were memorialized thereby: Philippe- Au- 
 guste, Marie de Medici, Frangois L, Charles IX., 
 Henri IV., Louis XIV., Napoleon I., — who did 
 but little, it is true, — and Napoleon III. — who 
 did much, and did it badly. 
 
 Besides history, bloody deeds, and intrigue, there 
 is also much of sentiment to be gathered from an 
 observation of its walls; as witness the sculptures 
 and decorations of Goujon and Lescot, the inter- 
 laced monogram G. H., of Henri and Gabrielle 
 d'Estrees, and the superimposed crescents of the 
 fair Diane de Poitiers. But such romances as these 
 are best read in the pages of Dumas. 
 
Zbc Xouvre 261 
 
 " To the French the Louvre is more than a 
 palace; it is a sanctuary," said an enthusiastic 
 Frenchman. As such it is a shrine to be wor- 
 shipped by itself, though it is pardonable to wish 
 to know to-day just where and when the historic 
 events of its career took place. 
 
 One can trace the outline, in white marble, of 
 the ancient Qiateau du Louvre, in the easterly 
 courtyard of the present establishment ; can admire 
 the justly celebrated eastern colonnade, though so 
 defective was the architect in his original plans 
 that it overlaps the side walls of the connecting 
 buildings some dozen or more feet; can follow 
 clearly all the various erections of monarchs and 
 eras, and finally contemplate the tiny columns set 
 about in the garden of the Tuileries, which mark 
 all that is left of that ambitious edifice. 
 
 The best description of the Tuileries by Dumas 
 comes into the scene in " The Count of Monte 
 Cristo," when Villefort, — who shares with Dan- 
 glars and Fernand the distinction of being the vil- 
 lain of the piece, — after travelling with all speed 
 from Marseilles to Paris, "penetrates the two or 
 three apartments which precede it, and enters the 
 small cabinet of the Tuileries with the arched win- 
 dow, so well known as having been the favourite 
 
262 Bumas' Paris 
 
 cabinet of Napoleon and Louis XVIIL, as also that 
 of Louis-Philippe. 
 
 " There, in this closet, seated before a walnut- 
 tree table he had brought with him from Hartwell, 
 and to which, from one of those fancies not un- 
 common to great people, he was particularly 
 attached, the king, Louis XVIIL, was carelessly 
 listening to a man of fifty or fifty-two years of 
 age, with gray hair, aristocratic bearing, and ex- 
 ceedingly gentlemanly attire, whilst he was making 
 a note in a volume of Horace, Gryphius's edition, 
 which was much indebted to the sagacious observa- 
 tions of the philosophical monarch." 
 
 Of course, an author of to-day would have ex- 
 pressed it somewhat differently, but at the time in 
 which Dumas wrote, the little cabinet did exist, 
 and up to the time of the destruction of the palace, 
 at the Commune, was doubtless as much of a show- 
 place in its way as is the window of the Louvre 
 from which Charles IX. was supposed to have fired 
 upon the fleeing Huguenots — with this difference : 
 that the cabinet had a real identity, while the win- 
 dow in question has been more recently ascertained 
 as not having been built at the time of the event. 
 
 Some one has mentioned Paris, the forgetter, as 
 if modem Paris and its gay life — for assuredly it 
 
Tlbe Xouvte 263 
 
 is gay, regardless of what the blase folk may say 
 or think — had entirely blotted out from its memory 
 the horrors of St. Bartholomew's night, the trage- 
 dies of La Roquette, the Conciergerie, or the 
 Bastille. 
 
 This is so in a measure, however, though one 
 has only to cross the square which lies before Les 
 Halles, La Tour St. Jacques, or Notre Dame, to 
 recall most vividly the tragedies which have before 
 been enacted there. 
 
 The Louvre literally reeks with the intrigue and 
 bloodshed of political and religious warfare; and 
 Dumas' picture of the murder of the admiral, and 
 his version of the somewhat apocryphal incident of 
 Charles IX. potting at the Protestant victims, with 
 a specially made and garnished firearm, is sufficiently 
 convincing, when once read, to suggest the recol- 
 lections, at least, of the heartless act. From the 
 Louvre it is but a step — since the Tuileries has 
 been destroyed — to the Place de la Concorde. 
 
 When this great square, now given over to bird- 
 fanciers, automobilists, and photograph-sellers, was 
 first cleared, it was known as the Place de la Revo- 
 lution. In the later volumes of the Valois romances 
 one reads of a great calendar of scenes and inci- 
 dents which were consummated here. It is too large 
 a list to even catalogue, but one will recollect that 
 
264 Dumas' parts 
 
 here, in this statue surrounded place, with playing 
 fountains glittering in the sunlight, is buried under a 
 brilliance — very foreign to its former aspect — many 
 a grim tragedy of profound political purport. 
 
 It was here that Louis XVI. said, " I die inno- 
 cent; I forgive my enemies, and pray God to avert 
 his vengeance for my blood, and to bless my peo- 
 ple." To-day one sees only the ornate space, the 
 voitures and automobiles, the tricolour floating high 
 on the Louvre, and this forgetful Paris, brilliant 
 with sunlight, green with trees, beautified by good 
 government, which offers in its kiosks, cafes, and 
 theatres the fulness of the moment at every turn. 
 Paris itself truly forgets, if one does not. 
 
 The Louvre as it is known to-day is a highly 
 intricate composition. Its various parts have grown, 
 not under one hand, but from a common root, until 
 it blossomed forth in its full glory when the west- 
 ern front of Catherine de Medici took form. 
 Unfortunately, with its disappearance at the Com- 
 mune the completeness of this elaborate edifice went 
 for ever. 
 
 One is apt to overlook the fact that the old 
 Louvre, the ancienne Palais du Louvre, was a medi- 
 aeval battlemented and turreted structure, which 
 bore little resemblance to the Louvre of to-day, or 
 
THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES 
 
Ube Xouvte 265 
 
 even that of Charles, Henri, Catherine, or Mar- 
 guerite, of whom Dumas wrote in the Valois ro- 
 mances. 
 
 The general ground-plan of the two distinct por- 
 tions is the same, except for some minor additions 
 of Napoleon I. and the connecting links built by 
 Napoleon III., and many of the apartments are 
 of course much the same, but there has been a 
 general laying out of the courts anew, and tree- 
 planting and grading of the streets and quais in the 
 immediate neighbourhood; so much so that almost 
 the entire aspect is changed. In spite of its com- 
 positeness, there is a certain aspect of uniformity 
 of outline, though not of excellence of design. 
 
 The only relics of the Palace of the Tuileries are 
 the colonnettes set about in the garden and sur- 
 mounted by gilded balls. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE PALAIS ROYAL 
 
 /T seems hardly necessary to more than men- 
 tion the name of the Palais Royal, in con- 
 nection with either the life or the writ- 
 ings of Alexandre Dumas, to induce a line of 
 thought which is practically limitless. It was identi- 
 fied with Dumas' first employment in the capital, 
 and it has been the scene of much of the action of 
 both the D'Artagnan and the Valois romances. 
 
 More than all else, however, though one is apt 
 to overlook it somewhat, it is so closely identified 
 with Richelieu that it is difficult to separate it from 
 any event of French political history of the period. 
 
 It was built by Richelieu in 1629, on the site oc- 
 cupied by the Hotels de Mercoeur and Rambouillet, 
 and was originally intended to have borne the name 
 of Hotel Richelieu. Toward 1634 it was enlarged, 
 and was known as the Palais Cardinal. Finally it 
 was presented, in 1642, to Louis XIII., and at his 
 death came to Anne of Austria, when the royal 
 
 266 
 
TLbc lPalaf6 IRoi^al 267 
 
 family removed thither and it became known as the 
 Palais Royal. 
 
 The incident of the flight of the royal family 
 and Mazarin to St Germain is one of the historic 
 and dramatic incidents which Dumas used as one of 
 the events in which D'Artagnan participated. 
 
 The court never returned to make use of the 
 Palais Royal as a royal residence, and it became 
 the refuge of Henriette de France, Queen of Eng- 
 land and widow of Charles I. Thirty years later 
 Louis XIV., who had fled from its walls when a 
 child, gave, it to his nephew Philippe d' Orleans, 
 Due de dartres. 
 
 It was during the Regence that the famous fetes 
 of the Palais Royal were organized, — they even ex- 
 tended to what the unsympathetic have called or- 
 gies, — but it is certain that no town residences 
 of kings were ever as celebrated for their splendid 
 functions as was the Palais Royal in the seven- 
 teenth century. 
 
 In 1763 a fire brought about certain reconstruc- 
 tions at the expense of the city of Paris. In 1781, 
 it became again the prey of fire; and Philippe- 
 figalite, who was then Due de Chartres, constructed 
 the three vast galleries which surround the Palais 
 of to-day. 
 
 The boutiques of the galleries were let to mer- 
 
268 Dumas' Paris 
 
 chants of all manner of foibles, and it became the 
 most lively quarter of Paris. 
 
 The public adopted the galleries as fashionable 
 promenades, which became, for the time, *' un hazar 
 europeen et im rendez-vous d'affaires et de galatv- 
 terie" 
 
 It was in 1783 that the Due d'Orleans constructed 
 '' une salle de spectacle" which to-day is the Theatre 
 du Palais Royal, and in the middle of the garden 
 a cirque which ultimately came to be transformed 
 into a restaurant. 
 
 The purely theatrical event of the history of the 
 Palais Royal came on the 13th of July, 1789, when 
 at midday — as the coup of a petit canon rang out 
 — a young unknown auocat, Camille Desmoulins, 
 mounted a chair and addressed the throng of prom- 
 enaders in a thrilling and vibrant voice : 
 
 '' Citoyens, f arrive de Versailles! — Necker is 
 fled and the Baron Breteuil is in his place. Breteuil 
 is one of those who have demanded the head of 
 Mirabeau . . . there remains but one resource, and 
 that ' to arms ' and to wear the cockade that we 
 may be known. Quelle couleur voulez-vousf " 
 
 With almost a common accord the tricolour was 
 adopted — and the next day the Bastille fell. 
 
 Dumas' account of the incident, taken from " The 
 Taking of the Bastille," is as follows: 
 
Zbc lPalat6 IRo^al 269 
 
 " During this time the procession kept on ad- 
 vancing; it had moved obliquely to the left, and had 
 gone down the Rue Montmartre to the Place des 
 Victoires. When it reached the Palais Royal some 
 great impediment prevented its passing on. A troop 
 of men with green leaves in their hats were shout- 
 ing * To arms ! ' 
 
 " It was necessary to reconnoitre. Were these 
 men who blocked up the Rue Vivienne friends or 
 enemies ? Green was the colour of the Count d'Ar- 
 tois. Why then these green cockades ? 
 
 " After a minute's conference all was explained. 
 
 " On learning the dismissal of Necker, a young 
 man had issued from the Cafe Foy, had jumped 
 upon a table in the garden of the Palais Royal, and, 
 taking a pistol from his breast, had cried * To arms ! ' 
 
 " On hearing this cry, all the persons who were 
 walking there had assembled around him, and had 
 shouted ' To arms ! ' 
 
 " We have already said that all the foreign regi- 
 ments had been collected around Paris. One might 
 have imagined that it was an invasion by the Aus- 
 trians. The names of these regiments alarmed the 
 ears of all Frenchmen; they were Reynac, Salis 
 Samade, Diesbach, Esterhazy, Roemer; the very 
 naming of them was sufficient to make the crowd 
 understand that they were the names of enemies. 
 
2 70 Dumas* parts 
 
 The young man named them; he announced that 
 the Swiss were encamped in the Champs Elysees, 
 with four pieces of artillery, and that they were to 
 enter Paris the same night, preceded by the drag- 
 oons, commanded by Prince Lambesq. He pro- 
 posed a new cockade which was not theirs, snatched 
 a leaf from a chestnut-tree and placed it in the 
 band of his hat. Upon the instant every one present 
 followed his example. Three thousand persons had 
 in ten minutes unleaved the trees of the Palais 
 Royal. 
 
 " That morning no one knew the name of that 
 young man ; in the evening it was in every mouth. 
 
 " That young man's name was Camille Des- 
 moulins." 
 
 After 1793 the Palais Royal was converted, by 
 decree, into the Palais et Jardin de la Revolution, 
 and reunited to the domains of the state. Napo- 
 leon I. granted its use to the Tribunal for its seances, 
 and Lucien Bonaparte inhabited it for the " Hun- 
 dred Days." In 1830 Louis-Philippe, Due d'Or- 
 leans, gave there a fete in honour of the King of 
 Naples, who had come to pay his respects to the 
 King of France. Charles X. assisted as an invited 
 guest at the function, but one month after he had 
 inhabited it as king. 
 
XTbe Ipalais IRoi^al 271 
 
 Under Napoleon III. the Palais Royal was the 
 residence of Prince Jerome, the uncle of the em- 
 peror, afterward that of his son the Prince Napo- 
 leon, when the fleur-de-lis sculptured on the facade 
 gave way before escutcheons bearing the imperial 
 eagles, which in turn have since given way to the 
 Republican device of " '48 " — " Liberte, figalite, 
 Fraternite." 
 
 It is with a remarkable profusion of detail — for 
 Dumas, at any rate — that the fourteenth chapter 
 of " The Conspirators " opens. 
 
 It is a veritable guide-book phraseology and con- 
 ciseness, which describes the streets of the Palais 
 Royal quarter: 
 
 " The evening of the same day, which was Sun- 
 day, toward eight o'clock, at the moment when a 
 considerable group of men and women, assembled 
 around a street singer, who was playing at the same 
 time the cymbals with his knees and the tambourine 
 with his hands, obstructed the entrance to the Rue 
 de Valois, a musketeer and two of the light horse 
 descended a back staircase of the Palais Royal, and 
 advanced toward the Passage du Lycee, which, as 
 every one knows, opened on to that street ; but seeing 
 the crowd which barred the way, the three soldiers 
 stopped and appeared to take counsel. The result 
 
272 Bumas' Paris 
 
 of their deliberation was doubtless that they must 
 take another route, for the musketeer, setting the 
 example of a new manoeuvre, threaded the Cour 
 des Fontaines, turned the comer of the Rue des 
 Bons Enfants, and, walking rapidly, — though he 
 was extremely corpulent, — arrived at No. 22, 
 which opened as by enchantment at his approach, 
 and closed again on him and his two companions. 
 
 "... The crowd dispersed. A great many 
 men left the circle, singly, or two and two, turning 
 toward each other with an imperceptible gesture of 
 the hand, some by the Rue de Valois, some by the 
 Cour des Fontaines, some by the Palais Royal itself, 
 thus surrounding the Rue des Bons Enfants, which 
 seemed to be the centre of the rendezvous." 
 
 The locality has not changed greatly since the 
 times of which Dumas wrote, and if one would see 
 for himself this Rue de Bons Enfants, Numero 22, 
 and try to find out how the Regent of France was 
 able to climb over the roof-tops to the Palais Royal, 
 for a wager, he may still do so, for apparently the 
 roof-tops have changed but little. The especial 
 connection of the Rue des Bons Enfants with liter- 
 ature is perhaps Sylvestre's establishment, which 
 will, for a price, sell you almost any French celeb- 
 rity's autograph, be he king, prince, painter, or 
 litterateur. 
 
XTbe l^alais iRo^al 273 
 
 In the "Vicomte de Bragelonne" there is a 
 wonderfully interesting chapter, which describes 
 Mazarin's gaming-party at the Palais Royal. 
 
 In that it enters somewhat more into detail than 
 is usual with Dumas, it appears worth quoting here, 
 if only for its description of the furnishing of the 
 salle in which the event took place, and its most 
 graphic and truthful picture of the great cardinal 
 himself : 
 
 " In a large chamber of the Palais Royal, cov- 
 ered with a dark-coloured velvet, which threw into 
 strong relief the gilded frames of a great number 
 of magnificent pictures, on the evening of the arrival 
 of the two Frenchmen, the whole court was assem- 
 bled before the alcove of M. le Cardinal de Mazarin, 
 who gave a party, for the purposes of play, to the 
 king and queen. A small screen separated three 
 prepared tables. At one of these tables the king and 
 the two queens were seated. Louis XIV., placed 
 opposite to the young queen, his wife, smiled upon 
 her with an expression of real happiness. Anne of 
 Austria held the cards against the cardinal, and 
 her daughter-in-law assisted her in her game, when 
 she was not engaged in smiling at her husband. 
 As for the cardinal, who was reclining on his bed, 
 his cards were held by the Comtesse de Soissons, 
 
274 Dumas' Paris 
 
 and he watched them with an incessant look of in- 
 terest and cupidity. 
 
 " The cardinal had been painted by Bcmouin ; 
 but the rouge, which glowed only on his cheeks, 
 threw into stronger contrast the sickly pallor of the 
 rest of his countenance and the shining yellow of 
 his brow. His eyes alone acquired a more lively 
 expression from this auxiliary, and upon those sick 
 man's eyes were, from time to time, turned the 
 uneasy looks of the king, the queen, and the court- 
 iers. The fact is, that the two eyes of Mazarin 
 were the stars more or less brilliant in which the 
 France of the seventeenth century read its destiny 
 every evening and every morning. Monseigneur 
 neither won nor lost ; he was, therefore, neither gay 
 nor sad. It was a stagnation in which, full of 
 pity for him, Anne of Austria would not have 
 willingly left him; but in order to attract the at- 
 tention of the sick man by some brilliant stroke, 
 she must have either won or lost. To win would 
 have been dangerous, because Mazarin would have 
 changed his indifference for an ugly grimace; to 
 lose would likewise have been dangerous, because 
 she must have cheated, and the Infanta, who watched 
 her game, would, doubtless, have exclaimed against 
 her partiality for Mazarin. Profiting by this calm, 
 the courtiers were chatting. When not in a bad 
 
Ube ipalats IRopal 275 
 
 humour, M. de Mazarin was a very debonnaire 
 prince, and he, who prevented nobody from sing- 
 ing, provided they paid, was not tyrant enough to 
 prevent people from talking, provided they made 
 up their minds to lose. They were chatting, then. 
 At the first table, the king's younger brother, Philip, 
 Due d'Anjou, was admiring his handsome face in 
 the glass of a box. His favourite, the Chevalier 
 de Lorraine, leaning over the fauteuil of the prince, 
 was listening, with secret envy, to the Comte de 
 Guiche, another of Philip's favourites* who was 
 relating in choice terms the various vicissitudes of 
 fortune of the royal adventurer, Charles II. He 
 told, as so many fabulous events, all the history of 
 his peregrinations in Scotland, and his terrors when 
 the enemy's party was so closely on his track; of 
 nights passed in trees, and days passed in hunger 
 and combats. By degrees, the fate of the unfor- 
 tunate king interested his auditors so greatly, that 
 the play languished even at the royal table, and the 
 young king, with a pensive look and downcast eye, 
 followed, without appearing to give any attention 
 to it, the smallest details of this Odyssey, very 
 picturesquely related by the Comte de Guiche." 
 
 Again mention of the Palais Royal enters into 
 the action of " The Queen's Necklace." When 
 
2 76 2)uma0' lPari5 
 
 Madame de la Motte and her companion were en 
 route to Versailles by cabriolet, " they met a delay 
 at the gates of the Palais Royal, where, in a court- 
 yard, which had been thrown open, were a host 
 of beggars crowding around fires which had been 
 lighted there, and receiving soup, which the servants 
 of M. le Due d'Orleans were distributing to them 
 in earthen basins; and as in Paris a crowd collects 
 to see everything, the number of the spectators of 
 this scene far exceeded that of the actors. 
 
 " Here, then, they were again obliged to stop, 
 and, to their dismay, began to hear distinctly from 
 behind loud cries of * Down with the cabriolet ! 
 down with those that crush the poor ! ' 
 
 " * Can it be that those cries are addressed to us ? ' 
 said the elder lady to her companion. 
 
 " * Indeed, madame, I fear so,' she replied. 
 
 " * Have we, do you think, run over any one? ' 
 
 " ' I am sure you have not.' 
 
 " * To the magistrate ! to the magistrate ! ' cried 
 several voices. 
 
 "'What in heaven's name does it all mean?' 
 said the lady. 
 
 " * The crowd reproaches you, madame, with 
 having braved the police order which appeared this 
 morning, prohibiting all cabriolets from driving 
 through the streets until the spring.' " 
 
Ube Palais IRoi^al 277 
 
 This must have been something considerable of 
 an embargo on pleasure, and one which would 
 hardly obtain to-day, though asphalted pavements 
 covered with a film of frost must offer untold dan- 
 gers, as compared with the streets of Paris as they 
 were then — in the latter years of the eighteenth 
 century. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE BASTILLE 
 
 rHE worshipper at the shrines made famous 
 by Dumas — no less than history — will 
 look in vain for the prison of La Ro- 
 quette, the Bastille, the hotel of the Due de Guise, 
 at No. 12 Rue du Chaume, that of Coligny in the 
 Rue de Bethusy, or of the Montmorencies, " near 
 the Louvre." 
 
 They existed, of course, in reality, as they did 
 in the Valois romances, but to-day they have dis- 
 appeared, and not even the '^ Commission des 
 Monuments Historiques '' has preserved a pictorial 
 representation of the three latter. 
 
 One of Dumas' most absorbing romances deals 
 with the fateful events which culminated at the 
 Bastille on the 14th Thermidor, 1789. "This 
 monument, this seal of feudality, imprinted on the 
 forehead of Paris," said Dumas, " was the Bas- 
 tille," and those who know French history know 
 that he wrote truly. 
 
 278 
 
UDc JSastille 279 
 
 The action of " The Taking of the Bastille," so 
 far as it deals with the actual assault upon it, is 
 brief. So was the event itself. Dumas romances 
 but little in this instance; he went direct to fact 
 for his details. He says : 
 
 " When once a man became acquainted with the 
 Bastille, by order of the king, that man was for- 
 gotten, sequestrated, interred, annihilated. . . . 
 
 " Moreover, in France there was not only one 
 Bastille; there were twenty other Bastilles, which 
 were called Fort I'Eveque, St. Lazare, the Chatelet, 
 the Conciergerie, Vincennes, the Castle of La Roche, 
 the Castle of If, the Isles of St. Marguerite, Pigne- 
 rolles, etc. 
 
 " Only the fortress at the Gate St. Antoine was 
 called the Bastille, as Rome was called the city. . . . 
 
 " During nearly a whole century the governor- 
 ship of the Bastille had continued in one and the 
 same family. 
 
 " The grandfather of this elect race was M. de 
 Chateauneuf; his son Lavrilliere succeeded him, 
 who, in turn, was succeeded by his grandson, St. 
 Florentin. The dynasty became extinct in 1777. . . . 
 
 " Among the prisoners, it will be recollected, the 
 following were of the greatest note : 
 
 " The Iron Mask, Lauzun, Latude. 
 
28o Dumas' lPart0 
 
 " The Jesuits were connoisseurs ; for greater 
 security they confessed the prisoners. 
 
 " For greater security still, the prisoners were 
 buried under supposititious names. 
 
 " The Iron Mask, it will be remembered, was 
 buried under the name of Marchiali. He had re- 
 mained forty-five years in prison. 
 
 " Lauzun remained there fourteen years. 
 
 " Latude, thirty years. . . . 
 
 " But, at all events, the Iron Mask and Lauzun 
 had committed heinous crimes. 
 
 ^ " The Iron Mask, whether brother or not of 
 Louis XIV., it is asserted, resembled King 
 Louis XIV. so strongly, that it was almost im- 
 possible to distinguish the one from the other. 
 
 " It is exceedingly imprudent to dare to resemble 
 a king. 
 
 " Lauzun had been very near marrying, or did 
 actually marry, the Grande Mademoiselle. 
 
 " It is exceedingly imprudent to dare to marry 
 the niece of King Louis XIIL, the granddaughter 
 of Henri IV. 
 
 " But Latude, poor devil, what had he done ? 
 
 " He had dared to fall in love with Mile. 
 Poisson, Dame de Pompadour, the king's mistress. 
 
 " He had written a note to her. 
 
 " This note, which a respectable woman would 
 
Zbc Bastille 281 
 
 have sent back to the man who wrote it, was handed 
 by Madame de Pompadour to M. de Sartines, the 
 Heutenant-general of poHce." 
 
 " To the Bastille ! " was the cry upon which 
 Dumas built up his story. 
 
 "'To the Bastille!' 
 
 " Only that it was a senseless idea, as the soldiers 
 had remarked, that the Bastille could be taken. 
 
 " The Bastille had provisions, a garrison, artil- 
 lery. 
 
 " The Bastille had walls, which were fifteen feet 
 thick at their summit, and forty at their base. 
 
 " The Bastille had a governor, whose name was 
 De Launay, who had stored thirty thousand pounds 
 of gunpowder in his cellars, and who had sworn, 
 in case of being surprised by a coup de main, to 
 blow up the Bastille, and with it half the Faubourg 
 St. Antoine." 
 
 Dumas was never more chary of tiresome de- 
 scription than in the opening chapters of this book. 
 Chapter XVI. opens as follows: 
 
 " We will not describe the Bastille — it would 
 be useless. 
 
 " It lives as an eternal image, both in the memory 
 of the old and in the imagination of the young. 
 
 " We shall content ourselves with merely stating, 
 that, seen from the boulevard, it presented, in front 
 
282 2)uma6' pari0 
 
 of the square then called Place de la Bastille, two 
 twin towers, while its two fronts ran parallel with 
 the banks of the canal which now exists. 
 
 " The entrance to the Bastille was defended, in 
 the first place, by a guard-house, then by two lines 
 of sentinels, and besides these by two drawbridges. 
 
 " After having passed through these several ob- 
 stacles, you came to the courtyard of the govern- 
 ment-house — that is to say, the residence of the 
 governor. 
 
 " From this courtyard a gallery led to the ditches 
 of the Bastille. 
 
 " At this other entrance, which opened upon the 
 ditches, was a drawbridge, a guard-house, and an 
 iron gate." 
 
 Then follow some pages of incident and action, 
 which may be fact or may be fiction. The detail 
 which comes after is picturesque and necessary to 
 the plot: 
 
 " The interior court, in which the governor was 
 waiting for Billot, was the courtyard which served 
 as a promenade to the prisoners. It was guarded 
 by eight towers — that is to say, by eight giants. 
 No window opened into it. Never did the sun 
 shine on its pavement, which was damp and almost 
 muddy. It might have been thought the bottom of 
 an immense well. 
 
Ube Bastille 283 
 
 " In this courtyard was a clock, supported by 
 figures representing enchained captives, which 
 measured the hours, from which fell the regular 
 and slow sounds of the minutes as they passed by, 
 as in a dungeon the droppings from the ceiling eat 
 into the pavement slabs on which they fall. 
 
 " At the bottom of this well, the prisoner, lost 
 amid the abyss of stone, for a moment contemplated 
 its cold nakedness, and soon asked to be allowed to 
 return to his room. ... 
 
 " At the Bastille, all the places were sold to the 
 highest bidder, from that of the governor himself, 
 down to that of the scullion. The governor of the 
 Bastille was a gaoler on a grand scale, an eating- 
 house keeper wearing epaulets, who added to his 
 salary of sixty thousand livres sixty thousand more, 
 which he extorted and plundered. . . . 
 
 " M. de Launay, in point of avarice, far surpassed 
 his predecessors. This might, perhaps, have arisen 
 from his having paid more for the place, and hav- 
 ing foreseen that he would not remain in it so long 
 as they did. 
 
 " He fed his whole house at the expense of his 
 prisoners. He had reduced the quantity of firing, 
 and doubled the hire of furniture in each room. 
 
 " He had the right of bringing yearly into Paris 
 a hundred pipes of wine, free of duty. He sold 
 
284 Dumas' Paris 
 
 his right to a tavern-keeper, who brought in wines 
 of excellent quality. Then, with a tenth part of this 
 duty, he purchased the vinegar with which he sup- 
 plied his prisoners." 
 
 The rest of Dumas* treatment of the fall of the 
 Bastille is of the historical kind. He does not 
 blame De Launay for the fall, but by no means 
 does he make a hero of him. 
 
 " A flash of fire, lost in a cloud of smoke, crowned 
 the summit of a tower; a detonation resounded; 
 cries of pain were heard issuing from the closely 
 pressed crowd ; the first cannon-shot had been fired 
 from the Bastille; the first blood had been spilled. 
 The battle had commenced. . . . 
 
 " On hearing the detonation we have spoken of, 
 the two soldiers who were still watching M. de 
 Launay threw themselves upon him ; a third snatched 
 up the match, and then extinguished it by placing 
 his heel upon it. 
 
 " De Launay drew the sword which was con- 
 cealed in his cane, and would have turned it against 
 his own breast, but the soldiers seized it and snapped 
 it in two. 
 
 " He then felt that all he could do was to resign 
 himself to the result ; he therefore tranquilly awaited 
 it. 
 
 "The people rush forward; the garrison open 
 
Ube ^Bastille 285 
 
 their arms to them; and the Bastille is taken by 
 assault — by main force, without a capitulation. 
 
 " The reason for this was that, for more than a 
 hundred years, the royal fortress had not merely 
 imprisoned inert matter within its walls — it had 
 imprisoned thought also. Thought had thrown 
 down the walls of the Bastille, and the people en- 
 tered by the breach." 
 
 The life-history of the Bastille was more ex- 
 tended than was commonly recalled. Still the great 
 incident in its life covered but fifteen short days, — 
 from the 30th June to the 14th July, 1789, — 
 when it fell before the attack of the Revolutionists. 
 There is rather vague markings in the pavement 
 on the Boulevard Henri Quatre and the Rue St. 
 Antoine, which suggest the former limits of this 
 gruesome building. 
 
 It were not possible to catalogue all the scenes 
 of action celebrated or perpetuated by Alexandre 
 Dumas. 
 
 In his " Crimes Celebres " he — with great 
 definiteness — pictures dark scenes which are known 
 to all readers of history; from that terrible affair 
 of the Cenci, which took place on the terrace of the 
 Chateau de Rocca Petrella, in 1598, to the assassi- 
 nation of Kotzebue by Karl Ludwig Sand in 18 19. 
 
286 2)uma6' Paris 
 
 Not all of these crimes deal with Paris, nor with 
 France. 
 
 The most notable was the poisoning affair of the 
 Marquise de BrinvilHers (1676), who was forced 
 to make the " amende honorable " after the usual 
 manner, on the Parvis du Notre Dame, that little 
 tree-covered place just before the west facade of the 
 cathedral. 
 
 The Chevalier Gaudin de Ste. Croix, captain of 
 the Regiment de Tracy, had been arrested in the 
 name of the king, by process of the '' lettre de 
 cachet/' and forthwith incarcerated in the Bastille, 
 which is once more made use of by Dumas, though 
 in this case, as in many others, it is historic fact 
 as well. The story, which is more or less one of 
 conjugal and filial immorality, as well as political 
 intrigue, shifts its scene once and again to the Cul- 
 de-sac des Marchands des Chevaux, in the Place 
 Maubert, to the Foret de I'Aigue — within four 
 leagues of Compiegne, the Place du Chatelet, the 
 Conciergerie, and the Bastille. 
 
 Here, too, Dumas* account of the " question by 
 water," or, rather, the notes on the subject, which 
 accompanied the first (1839) edition of " Les 
 Crimes Celebres," form interesting, if rather hor- 
 rible, reading. 
 
Zbc Bastille 287 
 
 Not alone in the Bastille was this horrible torture 
 practised, but in most of the prisons of the time. 
 
 '' Pour la ' question ordinaire, quatre coquema/rs 
 pleins d'eau, et contenant chacun deux pintes et 
 demi, et pour ' la question extraordinaire ' huit de 
 meme grandeur." 
 
 This was poured into the victim through a funnel, 
 which entered the mouth, and sooner or later 
 drowned or stifled him or her, or induced con- 
 fession. 
 
 The final act and end of the unnatural Marquise 
 de Brinvilliers took place at the Place de la Greve, 
 which before and since was the truly celebrated 
 place of many noted crimes, though in this case 
 it was justice that was meted out. 
 
 As a sort of sequel to " The Conspirators," 
 Dumas adds " A Postscriptum," wherein is re- 
 counted the arrest of Richelieu, as foreordained 
 by Mile, de Valois. He was incarcerated in the 
 Bastille; but his captivity was but a new triumph 
 for the crafty churchman. 
 
 " It was reported that the handsome prisoner had 
 obtained permission to walk on the terrace of the 
 Bastille. The Rue St. Antoine was filled with most 
 elegant carriages, and became, in twenty- four hours, 
 the fashionable promenade. The regent — who de- 
 clared that he had proofs of the treason of M. de 
 
288 Dumas' parts 
 
 Richelieu, sufficient to lose him four heads if he 
 had them — would not, however, risk his popularity 
 with the fair sex by keeping him long in prison. 
 Richelieu, again at liberty, after a captivity of three 
 months, was more brilliant and more sought after 
 than ever; but the closet had been walled up, and 
 Mile, de Valois became Duchesse de Modena." 
 
 Not only in the " Vicomte de Bragelonne " and 
 " The Taking of the Bastille " does Dumas make 
 mention of *' The Man in the Iron Mask," but, to 
 still greater length, in the supplementary volume, 
 called in the English translations *' The Man in the 
 Iron Mask," though why it is difficult to see, since 
 it is but the second volume of " The Vicomte de 
 Bragelonne." 
 
 This historical mystery has provided penmen 
 of all calibres with an everlasting motive for argu- 
 mentative conjecture, but Dumas without hesitancy 
 comes out strongly for "a prince of the royal 
 blood," probably the brother of Louis XIV. 
 
 It has been said that Voltaire invented " the Man 
 in the Iron Mask." 
 
 There was nothing singular — for the France of 
 that day — in the man himself, his offence, or his 
 punishment; but the mask and the mystery — 
 chiefly of Voltaire's creation — fascinated the public, 
 as the veil of Mokanna fascinated his worshippers. 
 
Ube J5a0tiUe 289 
 
 Here are some of the Voltairean myths about this 
 mysterious prisoner: One day he wrote something 
 with his knife on a silver plate and threw it down 
 to a fisherman, who took it to the governor of the 
 prison. " Have you read it? " asked the governor, 
 sternly. " I cannot read," replied the fisherman. 
 " That has saved your life," rejoined the governor. 
 Another day a young lad found beneath the prison 
 tower a shirt written closely all over. He took it 
 to the governor, who asked, anxiously. " Have you 
 read it?" The boy again and again assured him 
 that he had not. Nevertheless, two days later the 
 boy was found dead in his bed. When the Iron 
 Mask went to mass he was forbidden to speak or 
 unmask himself on pain of being then and there 
 shot down by the invalids, who stood by with 
 loaded carbines to carry out the threat. Here are 
 some of the personages the Iron Mask was supposed 
 to be : An illegitimate son of Anne of Austria ; a 
 twin brother of Louis XIV., put out of the way by 
 Cardinal Richelieu to avoid the risk of a disputed 
 succession; the Count of Vermandois, an illegiti- 
 mate son of Louis XIV. ; Fouquet, Louis* minister ; 
 the Duke of Beaufort, a hero of the Fronde; the 
 Duke of Monmouth, the English pretender; Ave- 
 dick, the Armenian patriarch; and of late it has 
 
290 2)uma0' Paris 
 
 almost come to be accepted that he was Mattioli, a 
 Piedmontese poHtical prisoner, who died in 1703. 
 
 Dumas, at any rate, took the plausible and ac- 
 ceptable popular solution ; and it certainly furnished 
 him with a highly fascinating theme for a romance, 
 which, however, never apparently achieved any 
 great popularity. 
 
 " The clock was striking seven as Aramis passed 
 before the Rue du Petit Muse and stopped at the 
 Rue Tourelles, at the gateway of the Bastille. . . . 
 
 " Of the governor of the prison Aramis — now 
 Bishop of Vannes — asked, * How many prisoners 
 have you ? Sixty ? ' . . . 
 
 " * For a prince of the blood I have fifty francs 
 a day, . . . thirty-six for a marechal de France, 
 lieutenant-generals and brigadiers pay twenty-six 
 francs, and councillors of parliament fifteen, but 
 for an ordinary judge, or an ecclesiastic, I receive 
 only ten francs.' " 
 
 Here Dumas' knowledge and love of good eating 
 again crops out. Continuing the dialogue between 
 the bishop and the governor, he says: 
 
 " * A tolerably sized fowl costs a franc and a 
 half, and a good-sized fish four or five francs. 
 Three meals a day are served, and, as the prisoners 
 have nothing to do, they are always eating. A 
 
Ube IBaatille 291 
 
 prisoner from whom I get ten francs costs me 
 seven francs and a half/ 
 
 " ' Have you no prisoners, then, at less than ten 
 francs ? ' queried Aramis. 
 
 " ' Oh, yes,' said the governor, ' citizens and 
 lawyers/ 
 
 " ' But do they not eat, too? . . . Do not the 
 prisoners leave some scraps ? ' continued Aramis. 
 
 " * Yes, and I delight the heart of some poor little 
 tradesman or clerk by sending him a wing of a 
 red partridge, a slice of venison, or a slice of a 
 truffled pasty, dishes which he never tasted except 
 in his dreams (these are the leavings of the twenty- 
 four- franc prisoners) ; and he eats and drinks, 
 and at dessert cries, " Long live the king ! " and 
 blesses the Bastille. With a couple of bottles of 
 champagne, which cost me five sous, I make him 
 tipsy every Sunday. That class of people call down 
 blessings upon me, and are sorry to leave the prison. 
 Do you know that I have remarked, and it does 
 me infinite honour, that certain prisoners, who have 
 been set at liberty, have almost immediately after- 
 ward got imprisoned again? Why should this be 
 the case, unless it be to enjoy the pleasures of my 
 kitchen ? It is really the fact.' Aramis smiled with 
 an expression of incredulity." 
 
 A visit to the prisoners themselves follows, but 
 
292 Dumas' parts 
 
 the reader of these hnes is referred to " Le Vicomtc 
 de Bragelonne " for further details. 
 
 The following few lines must suffice here: 
 
 " The number of bolts, gratings, and locks for 
 the courtyard would have sufficed for the safety 
 of an entire city. Aramis was neither an imagi- 
 native nor a sensitive man; he had been somewhat 
 of a poet in his youth, but his heart was hard and 
 indifferent, as the heart of every man of fifty-five 
 years of age is, who has been frequently and passion- 
 ately attached to women in his lifetime, or rather 
 who has been passionately loved by them. But when 
 he placed his foot upon the worn stone steps, along 
 which so many unhappy wretches had passed, when 
 he felt himself impregnated, as it were, with the 
 atmosphere of those gloomy dungeons, moistened 
 with tears, there could be but little doubt he was 
 overcome by his feelings, for his head was bowed 
 and his eyes became dim, as he followed Baise- 
 meaux, the governor, without uttering a syllable." 
 
 Dumas gives a further description, of similar 
 import, in " The Regent's Daughter : " 
 
 "And now, with the reader's permission, we 
 will enter the Bastille — that formidable building 
 at which even the passing traveller trembled, and 
 which, to the whole neighbourhood, was an annoy- 
 ance and cause of alarm; for often at night the 
 
TTbc Bastille 293 
 
 cries of the unfortunate prisoners who were under 
 torture might be heard piercing the thick walls, so 
 much so, that the Duchesse de Lesdequieres once 
 wrote to the governor, that, if he did not prevent 
 his patients from making such a noise, she should 
 complain to the king. 
 
 " At this time, however, under the reign of 
 Philippe d'Orleans, there were no cries to be heard ; 
 the society was select, and too well bred to disturb 
 the repose of a lady. 
 
 " In a room in the Du Coin tower, on the first 
 floor, was a prisoner alone. . . . He had, however, 
 been but one day in the Bastille, and yet already 
 he paced his vast chamber, examining the iron- 
 barred doors, looking through the grated windows, 
 listening, sighing, waiting. . . . 
 
 " A noise of bolts and creaking hinges drew the 
 prisoner from this sad occupation, and he saw the 
 man enter before whom he had been taken the 
 day before. This man, about thirty years of age, 
 with an agreeable appearance and polite bearing, 
 was the governor, M. De Launay, father of that 
 De Launay who died at his post in '89. . . . 
 
 " * M. de Chanlay,' said the governor, bowing, * I 
 come to know if you have passed a good night, and 
 are satisfied with the fare of the house and the 
 
294 Dumas' IParis 
 
 conduct of the employes * — thus M. De Launay, in 
 his poHteness, called the turnkeys and jailors. 
 
 " * Yes, monsieur; and these attentions paid to 
 a prisoner have surprised me, I own/ 
 
 " * The bed is hard and old, but yet it is one of 
 the best; luxury being forbidden by our rules. 
 Your room, monsieur, is the best in the Bastille; 
 it has been occupied by the Due d'Angouleme, by 
 the Marquis de Bassompierre, and by the Marshals 
 de Luxembourg and Biron; it is here that I lodge 
 the princes when his Majesty does me the honour 
 to send them to me.' 
 
 " * It is an excellent lodging,' said Gaston, smil- 
 ing, * though ill furnished ; can I have some books, 
 some paper, and pens ? ' 
 
 " * Books, monsieur, are strictly forbidden ; but 
 if you very much wish to read, as many things are 
 allowed to a prisoner who is enniiye, come and 
 see me, then you can put in your pocket one of those 
 volumes which my wife or I leave about ; you will 
 hide it from all eyes ; on a second visit you will take 
 the second volume, and to this abstraction we will 
 close our eyes.' 
 
 " ' And paper, pens, ink ? ' said Gaston. * I wisH 
 most particularly to write.' 
 
 " * No one writes here, monsieur; or, at least, 
 only to the king, the regent, the minister, or to me ; 
 
Ube JSasttlle 295 
 
 but they draw, and I can let you have drawing- 
 paper and pencils.' " 
 
 All of the above is the authenticated fact of his- 
 tory, as written records prove, but it is much better 
 told by Dumas, the novelist, than by most his- 
 torians. 
 
 Still other evidence of the good things set before 
 the guests at the " Hotel de la Bastille " is shown 
 by the following. If Dumas drew the facts from 
 historical records, all well and good; if they were 
 menus composed by himself, — though unconven- 
 tional ones, as all bon vivants will know, — why, 
 still all is well. 
 
 " ' A fifteen-franc boarder does not suffer, my 
 lord,' said De Baisemeaux. — ' He suffers imprison- 
 ment, at all events.' — * No doubt, but his suffering 
 is sweetened for him. You must admit this young 
 fellow was not bom to eat such things as he now 
 has before him. A pasty; crayfish from the river 
 Marne — almost as big as lobsters ; and a bottle of 
 Volnay.' " 
 
 The potency of the Bastille as a preventative, or, 
 rather, a fit punishment for crime, has been nowhere 
 more effectually set forth than by the letter which 
 Cagliostro wrote from London (in the " Queen's 
 Necklace"). 
 
 In this letter, after attacking king, queen, car- 
 
296 2)umaB' Paris 
 
 dinal, an'd even M. de Breteuil, Cagliostro said: 
 " Yes, I repeat, now free after my imprisonment, 
 there is no crime that would not be expiated by- 
 six months in the Bastille. They ask me if I shall 
 ever return to France. Yes, I reply, when the 
 Bastille becomes a public promenade. You have 
 all that is necessary to happiness, you Frenchmen; 
 a fertile soil and" genial climate, good hearts, gay 
 tempers, genius, and grace. You only want, my 
 friends, one little thing — to feel sure of sleeping 
 quietly in your beds when you are innocent." 
 
 To-day " The Bastille," as it is commonly known 
 and referred to, meaning the Place de la Bastille, 
 has become a public promenade, and its bygone 
 terrors are but a memory. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE ROYAL PARKS AND PALACES 
 
 £^INCE the romances of Dumas deal so 
 i\ largely with Paris, it is but natural that 
 much of their action should take place 
 at the near-by country residences of the royalty 
 and nobility who form the casts of these great 
 series of historical tales. 
 
 To-day Fontainebleau, St. Germain, Versailles, 
 and even Chantilly, Compiegne, and Rambouillet 
 are but mere attractions for the tourist of the butter- 
 fly order. The real Parisian never visits them or 
 their precincts, save as he rushes through their tree- 
 lined avenues in an automobile; and thus they have 
 all come to be regarded merely as monuments of 
 splendid scenes, which have been played, and on 
 which the curtain has been rung down. 
 
 This is by no means the real case, and one has 
 
 only to read Dumas, and do the round of the parks 
 
 and chateaux which environ Paris, to revivify many 
 
 of the scenes of which he writes. 
 
 297 
 
298 Dumas' parts 
 
 Versailles is the most popular, Fontainebleau the 
 most grand, St. Germain the most theatrical, Ram- 
 bouillet the most rural-like, and Compiegne and 
 Chantilly the most delicate and dainty. 
 
 Still nearer to Paris, and more under the in- 
 fluence of town life, were the chateaux of Madrid 
 in the Bois de Boulogne, and of Vincennes, at the 
 other extremity of the city. 
 
 All these are quite in a class by themselves; 
 though, of course, in a way, they performed the 
 same functions when royalty was in residence, as the 
 urban palaces. 
 
 Dumas' final appreciation of the charms of Fon- 
 tainebleau does not come till one reaches the last 
 pages of " Le Vicomte de Bragelonne." True, it 
 was not until the period of which this romance 
 deals with Fontainebleau, its chateau, its foret, and 
 its fetes, actually came to that prominence which 
 to this day has never left them. 
 
 When the king required to give his fete at Fon- 
 tainebleau, as we learn from Dumas, and history, 
 too, he required of Fouquet four millions of francs, 
 " in order to keep an open house for fifteen days," 
 said he. How he got them, and with what result, 
 is best read in the pages of the romance. 
 
 " Life at the Palais Royal having become some- 
 what tame, the king had directed that Fontaine- 
 
Ube IRo^al parks anb palaces 299 
 
 bleau should be prepared for the reception of the 
 court." Here, then, took place the fetes which 
 were predicted, and Dumas, with his usual direct- 
 ness and brilliance, has given us a marvellous de- 
 scription of the gaiety of court life, surrounded by 
 the noble forest, over which artists and sentimental- 
 ists have ever rhapsodized. 
 
 Continuing, from the pages of Dumas which im- 
 mediately follow, one reads: 
 
 " For four days, every kind of enchantment 
 brought together in the magnificent gardens of 
 Fontainebleau, had converted this spot into a place 
 of the most perfect enjoyment. M. Colbert seemed 
 gifted with ubiquity. In the morning, there were 
 the accounts of the previous night's expenses to 
 settle; during the day, programmes, essays, en- 
 listments, pa3mients. M. Colbert had amassed four 
 millions of francs, and dispersed them with a pru- 
 dent economy. He was horrified at the expenses 
 which m)rthology involved; every wood-nymph, 
 every dryad, did not cost less than a hundred francs 
 a day. The dresses alone amounted to three hun- 
 dred francs. The expense of powder and sulphur 
 for fireworks amounted, every night, to a hundred 
 thousand francs. In addition to these, the illumi- 
 nations on the borders of the sheet of water cost 
 thirty thousand francs every evening. The fetes 
 
300 2)uma0' pati5 
 
 had been magnificent; and Colbert could not re- 
 strain his delight. From time to time he noticed 
 Madame and the king setting forth on Hunting 
 expeditions, or preparing for the reception of dif- 
 ferent fantastic personages, solemn ceremonials, 
 which had been extemporized a fortnight before, 
 and in which Madame's sparkling wit and the king's 
 magnificence were equally displayed." 
 
 The ** Inn of the Beautiful Peacock," celebrated 
 by Dumas in " Le Vicomte de Bragelonne," is not 
 directly traceable to-day in the many neighbouring 
 hostelries of Fontainebleau. Just what Dumas had 
 in mind is vague, though his description might 
 apply to any house for travellers, wherever it may 
 have been situated in this beautiful wildwood. 
 
 It was to this inn of the " Beau Paon " that 
 Aramis repaired, after he had left Fouquet and had 
 donned the costume of the cavalier once more. 
 " Where," said Dumas, " he (Aramis) had, by let- 
 ters previously sent, directed an apartment or a 
 room to be retained for him. He chose the room, 
 which was on the first floor, whereas the apart- 
 ment was on the second." 
 
 The description of the establishment given by 
 Dumas is as follows: 
 
 " In the first place, let us supply our readers 
 with a few details about the inn called the Beau 
 
tCbe IRo^al parfts anb palaces 301 
 
 Paon. It owed its name to its sign, which repre- 
 sented a peacock spreading out its tail. But, in 
 imitation of some painters who had bestowed the 
 face of a handsome young man upon the serpent 
 which tempted Eve, the painter of this sign had 
 conferred upon the peacock the features of a woman. 
 This inn, a Hving epigram against that half of the 
 human race which renders existence delightful, was 
 situated at Fontainebleau, in the first turning on the 
 left-hand side, which divides on the road from 
 Paris, that large artery which constitutes in itself 
 along the entire town of Fontainebleau. The side 
 street in question was then known as the Rue de 
 Lyon, doubtless because geographically it advanced 
 in the direction of the second capital of the king- 
 dom." 
 
 Lyons itself is treated by Dumas at some length 
 in " Chicot the Jester," particularly with reference 
 to Chicot's interception of the Pope's messenger, 
 who brought the documents which were to estab- 
 lish the Due de Guise's priority as to rights to the 
 throne of France. 
 
 " The inn of the Beau Paon had its principal 
 front toward the main street; but upon the Rue 
 de Lyon there were two ranges of buildings, divided 
 by courtyards, which comprised sets of apartments 
 for the reception of all classes of travellers, whether 
 
302 2)ttma6* pads 
 
 on foot or on horseback, or even with their own 
 carriages, and in which could be suppHed, not only 
 board and lodging, but also accommodation for 
 exercise or opportunities of solitude for even the 
 wealthiest courtiers, whenever, after having re- 
 ceived some check at the court, they wished to shut 
 themselves up with their own society, either to 
 devour an affront or to brood over their revenge. 
 From the windows of this part of the building 
 the travellers could perceive, in the first place, the 
 street with the grass growing between the stones, 
 which were being gradually loosened by it; next, 
 the beautiful hedges of elder and thorn, which em- 
 braced, as though within two green and flowering 
 arms, the houses of which we have spoken; and 
 then, in the spaces between those houses, forming 
 the groundwork of the picture, and appearing like 
 an almost impassable barrier, a line of thick trees, 
 the advanced sentinels of the vast forest, which 
 extends itself in front of Fontainebleau." 
 
 On the road to Versailles, where the Seine is 
 crossed by the not beautiful Pont de Sevres, is the 
 little inn of the Bridge of Sevres, in which the 
 story of "La Comtesse de Chamy" opens, and, 
 indeed, in which all its early action takes place. 
 The inn, or even its direct descendant, is not dis- 
 cernible to-day. The Pont de Sevres is there, linking 
 
Ubc IRo^al lParft0 ant) ipalaces 303 
 
 one of those thumblike peninsulas made by the 
 windings of the Seine with the Bois de Meudon, 
 and the traffic inward and outward from Paris is as 
 great and varied as it always was, probably greater, 
 but there is no inn to suggest that which Dumas 
 had in mind. The rural aspect is somewhat changed, 
 the towering stacks of the china-factory chimneys, 
 the still more towering — though distant — Tour 
 Eiffel, which fortunately is soon to be razed, and 
 the iron rails of the "Ceinture" and the "Quest,'' all 
 tend to estrange one's sentiments from true romance. 
 
 Farther on to the westward lies Versailles, with 
 its theatrical, though splendid, palais and pare, the 
 Trianons and Les Grandes Eaux, beloved by the 
 tourist and the Parisian alike. 
 
 Still farther to the northward by the same road 
 is the pretty town of St. Germain-en-Laye, with the 
 remains of its Chateau Neuf, once the most splendid 
 and gorgeous country residence of Henri II. and 
 Henri IV., continuing, also, in the favour of the 
 court until the birth here of Louis XIV. James II. 
 of England made his residence here after his exile. 
 
 Dumas' references to St. Germain are largely 
 found in " Vingt Ans Apres." 
 
 It was near St. Germain, too, that Dumas set 
 about erecting his famous " Chatelet du Monte 
 Cristo," In fact, he did erect it, on his usual ex- 
 
304 2)ttma6' parts 
 
 travagant ideas, but his tenure there was short-lived, 
 and, altogether, it was not a creditable undertaking, 
 as after-events proved. 
 
 The gaiety of the life at St. Germain departed 
 suddenly, but it is said of Dumas' life there, that 
 he surrounded himself with a coterie which bespoke 
 somewhat its former abandon and luxuriance. It 
 was somewhat of a Bohemian life that he lived 
 there, no doubt, but it was not of the sordid or 
 humble kind; it was most gorgeous and extrava- 
 gant. 
 
 Of all the royal parks and palaces in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Paris, Versailles has the most popu- 
 larly sentimental interest. A whim of Louis XIV., 
 it was called by Voltaire " an abyss of expense," 
 and so it truly was, as all familiar with its history 
 know. 
 
 In the later volumes of Dumas' " La Comtesse de 
 Charnay," "The Queen's Necklace," and "The 
 Taking of the Bastille," frequent mention is made 
 but he does not write of it with the same affec- 
 tion that he does of Fontainebleau or St. Germain. 
 The details which Dumas presents in " The Taking 
 of the Bastille " shows this full well. 
 
 " At half-past ten, in ordinary times, every one in 
 Versailles would have been in bed and wrapped in 
 the prof oundest slumber ; but that night no eye was 
 
Ubc IRo^al parfts ant) palaces 305 
 
 closed at Versailles. They had felt the counter- 
 shock of the terrible concussion with which Paris 
 was still trembling. 
 
 " The French Guards, the body-guards, the Swiss 
 drawn up in platoons, and grouped near the open- 
 ings of all the principal streets, were conversing 
 among themselves, or with those of the citizens 
 whose fidelity to the monarchy inspired them with 
 confidence. 
 
 ** For Versailles has, at all times, been a royalist 
 city. Religious respect for the monarchy, if not for 
 the monarch, is engrafted in the hearts of its inhab- 
 itants, as if it were a quality of its soil. Having 
 always lived near kings, and fostered by their 
 bounty, beneath the shade of their wonders — hav- 
 ing always inhaled the intoxicating perfume of the 
 Heurs-de-lis, and seen the brilliant gold of their 
 garments, and the smiles upon their august lips, the 
 inhabitants of Versailles, for whom kings have built 
 a city of marble and porphyry, feel almost kings 
 themselves ; and even at the present day, even now, 
 when moss is growing around the marble, and grass 
 is springing up between the slabs of the pavement, 
 now that gold has almost disappeared from the 
 wainscoting, and that the shady walks of the parks 
 are more solitary than a graveyard, Versailles must 
 either belie its origin, or must consider itself as a 
 
3o6 2)umas' pads 
 
 fragment of the fallen monarchy, and no longer 
 feeling the pride of power and wealth, must at least 
 retain the poetical associations of regret, and the 
 sovereign charms of melancholy. Thus, as we have 
 already stated, all Versailles, in the night between 
 the 14th and 15th July, 1789, was confusedly agi- 
 tated, anxious to ascertain how the King of France 
 would reply to the insult offered to the throne, and 
 the deadly wound inflicted on his power." 
 
 Versailles was one of the latest of the royal 
 palaces, and since its birth, or at least since the days 
 of " personally " and " non-conducted " tourists, has 
 claimed, perhaps, even more than its share of pop- 
 ular favour. Certainly it is a rare attraction, and its 
 past has been in turn sad, gay, brilliant, and gloomy. 
 Event after event, some significant, others unim- 
 portant, but none mean or sordid, have taken place 
 within its walls or amid its environment. Dumas 
 evidently did not rank its beauties very high, — 
 and perhaps rightly, — for while it is a gorgeous 
 fabric and its surroundings and appointments are 
 likewise gorgeous, it palls unmistakably by reason 
 of its sheer artificiality. Dumas said much the 
 same thing when he described it as " that world of 
 automata, of statues, and boxwood forests, called 
 Versailles." 
 
 Much of the action of " The Queen's Necklace " 
 
XTbe IRo^al iparfts anb f>alace5 307 
 
 takes place at Versailles, and every line relating 
 thereto is redolent of a first-hand observation on 
 the part of the author. There is no scamping detail 
 here, nor is there any excess of it. 
 
 With the fourth chapter of the romance, when 
 Madame de la Motte drove to Versailles in her 
 cabriolet, " built lightly, open, and fashionable, v^ith 
 high wheels, and a place behind for a servant to 
 stand," begins the record of the various incidents 
 of the story, which either took place at Versailles 
 or centred around it. 
 
 " ' Where are we to go? ' said Weber, who had 
 charge of madame's cabriolet. — * To Versailles.' 
 — * By the boulevards ? ' — ' No.' ... * We are at 
 Versailles,' said the driver. * Where must I stop, 
 ladies? ' — ' At the Place d'Armes.' " " At this mo- 
 ment," says Dumas, in the romance, " our heroines 
 heard the clock strike from the church of St. Louis." 
 
 Dumas' descriptions of Versailles are singularly 
 complete, and without verboseness. At least, he 
 suggests more of the splendours of that gay resi- 
 dence of the court than he actually defines, and 
 puts into the mouths of his characters much that 
 others would waste on mere descriptive matter. 
 
 In the chapter headed Vincennes, in " Marguerite 
 de Valois," Dumas gives a most graphic descrip- 
 tion of its one-time chateau-prison : 
 
3o8 H)uma5' Paris 
 
 " According to the order given by Giarles IX., 
 Henri was the same evening conducted to Vincennes, 
 that famous castle of which only a fragment now 
 remains, but colossal enough to give an idea of its 
 past grandeur. 
 
 " At the postern of the prison they stopped. M. 
 de Nancey alighted from his horse, opened the gate 
 closed with a padlock, and respectfully invited the 
 king to follow him. Henri obeyed without a word 
 of reply. Every abode seemed to him more safe 
 than the Louvre, and ten doors, closing on him at 
 the same time, were between him and Catherine de 
 Medici. 
 
 " The royal prisoner crossed the drawbridge be- 
 tween two soldiers, passed the three doors on the 
 ground floor and the three doors at the foot of 
 the staircase, and then, still preceded by M. de 
 Nancey, went up one flight of stairs. Arrived there. 
 Captain de Nancey requested the king to follow 
 him through a kind of corridor, at the extremity 
 of which was a very large and gloomy chamber. 
 
 " Henri looked around him with considerable dis- 
 quietude. 
 
 " * Where are we? ' he inquired. 
 
 " * In the chamber of torture, monseigneur.' 
 
 " * Ah, ah! ' replied the king, looking at it atten- 
 tively. 
 
Zbc IRo^al ipatfts ant> palaces 309 
 
 " There was something of everything in this 
 apartment: pitchers and trestles for the torture by- 
 water; wedges and mallets for the question of the 
 boot; moreover, there were stone benches for tlie 
 unhappy wretches who awaited the question, nearly 
 all around the chamber ; and above these seats, and 
 to the seats themselves, and at the foot of these seats, 
 were iron rings, mortised into the walls with no 
 symmetry but that of the torturing art. 
 
 " * Ah, ah ! ' said Henri, ' is this the way to my 
 apartment ? ' 
 
 " * Yes, monseigneur, and here it is,' said a figure 
 in the dark, who approached and then became dis- 
 tinguishable. 
 
 " Henri thought he recognized the voice, and, 
 advancing toward the individual, said, * Ah, is it 
 you, Beaulieu? And what the devil do you do 
 here?' 
 
 " * Sire, I have been nominated governor of the 
 fortress of Vincennes.' 
 
 " * Well, my dear sir, your debut does you honour; 
 a king for a prisoner is no bad commencement.' 
 
 " * Pardon me. Sire, but before I received you I 
 had already received two gentlemen.' 
 
 "'Who may they be? Ah! your pardon; per- 
 haps I commit an indiscretion.' 
 
3IO Dumas' parts 
 
 " ' Monseigneur, I have not been bound to secrecy. 
 They are M. de la Mole and M. de Coconnas/ 
 
 " ' Poor gentlemen ! And where are they ? ' 
 
 " * High up, in the fourth floor/ 
 
 " Henri gave a sigh. It was there he wished 
 to be. 
 
 " * Now, then, M. de Beaulieu,' said Henri, ' have 
 the kindness to show me my chamber. I am de- 
 sirous of reaching it, as I am very much fatigued 
 with my day's toil.' 
 
 " ' Here, monseigneur,' said Beaulieu, showing 
 Henri an open door. 
 
 " ' No. 2 ! ' said Henri. * And why not No. i ? ' 
 
 " * Because it is reserved, monseigneur.' 
 
 " * Ah ! that is another thing,' said Henri, and he 
 became even more pensive. 
 
 " He wondered who was to occupy No. i. 
 
 " The governor, with a thousand apologies, in- 
 stalled Henri in his apartment, made many excuses 
 for his deficiencies, and, placing two soldiers at the 
 door, retired. 
 
 " ' Now,' said the governor, addressing the turn- 
 key, * let us visit the others.' " 
 
 The present aspect of St. Germain-en-Laye is 
 hardly what it was in the days of which Dumas 
 wrote in " Marguerite de Valois " or in " Vingt 
 
Ube IRoi^al iparfts an& palaces 311 
 
 Ans Apres." Le Bois or Le Foret looks to-day 
 in parts, at least — much as it did in the days when 
 royalty hunted its domain, and the glorious facade 
 chateau has endured well. 
 
 Beyond this, the romance and history have well- 
 nigh evaporated into air. The whole neighbour- 
 hood is quite given over to a holiday, pleasure- 
 making crowd, which, though it is typically French, 
 and therefore interesting, is little in keeping with 
 the splendid scenes of its past. 
 
 To-day peasants from Brittany, heavily booted 
 cavalry and artillery, ouvriers, children and nurse- 
 maids, and touristes of all nationalities throng the 
 allees of the forest and the corridors of the chateau, 
 where once royalty and its retainers held forth. 
 
 Vesinet, on the road from Paris to St. Germain, 
 — just before one reaches Pecq, and the twentieth- 
 century chemin^de-fer begins to climb that long, 
 inclined viaduct, which crosses the Seine and rises 
 ultimately to the platform on which sits the Vieux 
 Chateau, — was a favourite hawking-ground of 
 Charles IX. Indeed, it was here that that monarch 
 was warned of " a fresh calumny against his poor 
 Harry" (Henri de Navarre), as one reads in the 
 pages of " Marguerite de Valois." 
 
 A further description follows of Charles' cele- 
 brated falcon. Bee de Fer, which is assuredly one 
 
312 2)uma0' Paris 
 
 of the most extraordinary descriptions of a hunting- 
 scene extant in the written page of romance. 
 
 Much hunting took place in all of Dumas' ro- 
 mances, and the near-by forests of France, i. e., near 
 either to Paris or to the royal residences elsewhere, 
 were the scenes of many gay meetings, where the 
 stag, the boar, the cerf, and all manner of footed 
 beasts and winged fowl were hunted in pure sport; 
 though, after all, it is not recorded that it was as 
 brutal a variety as the battues of the present day. 
 
 St. Germain, its chateau and its foret, enters once 
 and again, and again, into both the Valois series 
 and the Mousquetaire romances. Of all the 
 royal, suburban palaces, none have been more ad- 
 mired and loved for its splendid appointments and 
 the splendid functions which have taken place there, 
 than St. Germain. 
 
 It had early come into favour as the residence 
 of the French kings, the existing chapel being the 
 foundation of St. Louis, while the Chateau Neuf 
 was built mainly by Henri II. To-day but a solitary 
 pavilion — that known as Henri IV. — remains, 
 while the Vieux Chateau, as it was formerly known, 
 is to-day acknowledged as the Chateau. 
 
 The most significant incident laid here by Dumas, 
 is that of the flight of Anne of Austria, Louis XIV., 
 and the court, from Paris to the Chateau of St 
 
XTbe IRo^al patfta an^ palaces 313 
 
 Germain. This plan was amplified, according to 
 Dumas, and furthered by D'Artagnan and Athos; 
 and since it is an acknowledged fact of history, this 
 points once again to the worth of the historical 
 romance from an exceedingly edifying view-point. 
 At the time of the flight Louis was but a mere boy, 
 and it may be recalled here that he was bom at 
 St. Germain in 1638. 
 
 The architectural glories of St. Germain are 
 hardly so great as to warrant comparison with 
 Versailles, to which Louis subsequently removed 
 his court; indeed, the Chateau Neuf, with the ex- 
 ception of the pavilion before mentioned, is not 
 even a dignified ruin, being but scattered piles of 
 debris, which, since 1776, when the structure was 
 razed, have been left lying about in most desultory 
 fashion. 
 
 The Vieux Chateau was made use of by the great 
 Napoleon as a sort of a barracks, and again as a 
 prison, but has since been restored according to the 
 original plans of the architect Ducercen, who, under 
 Francois I., was to have carried it to completion. 
 
 Once St. Germain was the home of royalty and 
 all the gaiety of the court life of the Louis, and 
 once again it was on the eve of becoming the fash- 
 ionable Paris suburb, but now it is the resort of 
 " trippers," and its chateau, or what was left of it 
 
314 2)ttma5' parts 
 
 after the vandalism of the eighteenth century, is 
 a sad ruin, though the view from its heights is as 
 lovely as ever — that portion which remains being 
 but an aggravation, when one recalls the glories 
 that once were. Save the Vieux Chateau, all that 
 is left is the lovely view. Paris-wards one sees 
 a panorama — a veritable vol-d' oiseaux — of the 
 slender, silvery loops of the Seine as it bends around 
 Port Marly, Argenteuil, Courbevoie, St. Denis, and 
 St. Cloud ; while in the dimmest of the dim distance 
 the Eiffel Tower looms all its ugliness up into the 
 sky, and the domed heights of Montmartre and the 
 Buttes Chaumont look really beautiful — which they 
 do not on closer view. 
 
 The height of St. Germain itself — the ville and 
 the chateau — is not so very great, and it certainly 
 is not giddy, which most of its frequenters, for one 
 reason or another, are ; but its miserable pave is the 
 curse of all automobilists, and the sinuous road 
 which ascends from the Pont du Pecq is now 
 " rushed," up and down, by motor-cars, to the joy 
 of the native, when one gets stalled, as they fre- 
 quently do, and to the danger to life and limb of 
 all other road-users and passers-by. 
 
 In all of the Valois cycle, " la chasse " plays an 
 important part in the pleasure of the court arid the 
 
Zbc IRopal iParfts ant) palace5 sn 
 
 noblesse. The forests in the neighbourhood of Paris 
 are numerous and noted. 
 
 At Villers-Cotterets, Dumas' birthplace, is the 
 Foret de Villers-Cotterets, a dependence of the 
 Valois establishment at Crepy. 
 
 Bondy, Fontainebleau, St. Germain, Vincennes, 
 and Rambouillet are all mentioned, and are too 
 familiar to even casual travellers to warrant the 
 inclusion of detailed description here. 
 
 Next to Fontainebleau, v^hose present-day fame 
 rests v^ith the artists of the Barbizon school, who 
 have perpetuated its rocks and trees, and St. Ger- 
 main, which is mostly revered for the past splendour 
 of its chateau, Rambouillet most frequently comes 
 to mind. 
 
 Even Republican France has its national hunt 
 yearly, at Rambouillet, and visiting monarchs are 
 invariably expected to partake in the shooting. 
 
 Rambouillet, the hameau and the foret, was an- 
 ciently under the feudal authority of the Comtes 
 de Montford, afterward (1300) under Regnault 
 d'Augennes, Capitaine du Louvre under Charles VI., 
 and still later under Jacques d'Augennes, Capitaine 
 du Chateau de Rambouillet in 1547. Louis XVL 
 purchased the chateau for one of his residences, and 
 Napoleon IIL, as well as his more illustrious name^ 
 sake, was specially fond of hunting in its forests. 
 
3i6 2)uma6' Paris 
 
 Since 1870 the chateau and the forest have been 
 under the domination of the state. 
 
 There is a chapter in Dumas' " The Regent's 
 Daughter," entitled " A Room in the Hotel at Ram- 
 bouillet," which gives some little detail respecting 
 the town and the forest. 
 
 There is no hotel in Rambouillet to-day known as 
 the " Royal Tiger," though there is a " Golden 
 Lion." 
 
 " Ten minutes later the carriage stopped at the 
 Tigre-Royal. A woman, who was waiting, came 
 out hastily, and respectfully assisted the ladies to 
 alight, and then guided them through the passages 
 of the hotel, preceded by a valet carrying lights. 
 
 " A door opened, Madame Desroches drew back 
 to allow Helene and Sister Therese to pass and 
 they soon found themselves on a soft and easy sofa, 
 in front of a bright fire. 
 
 " The room was large and well furnished, but 
 the taste was severe, for the style called rococo was 
 not yet introduced. There were four doors; the 
 first was that by which they had entered — the 
 second led to the dining-room, which was already 
 lighted and wanned — the third led into a richly 
 appointed bedroom — the fourth did not open. . . . 
 
 " While the things which we have related were 
 passing in the parlour of the Hotel Tigre-Royal, in 
 
XCbc IRo^al lParft6 an^ palaces 317 
 
 another apartment of the same hotel, seated near a 
 large fire, was a man shaking the snow from his 
 boots, and untying the strings of a large portfolio. 
 This man was dressed in the hunting livery of the 
 house of Orleans; the coat red and silver, large 
 boots, and a three-cornered hat, trimmed with silver. 
 He had a quick eye, a long, pointed nose, a round 
 and open forehead, which was contradicted by thin 
 and compressed lips." 
 
 Compiegne, like Crepy-en-Valois, Dammartin, 
 Villers-Cotterets, and other of the towns and vil- 
 lages of the district, which in the fourteenth century 
 belonged to the younger branch of the royal house, 
 enter largely into the romances of Dumas, as was 
 but natural, seeing that this region was the land 
 of his birth. 
 
 The most elaborate and purely descriptive parts 
 are found in " The Wolf Leader," wherein are pre- 
 sented so many pictures of the forest life of the 
 region, and in " The Taking of the Bastille," in 
 that part which describes the journey of Ange 
 Pitou to Paris. 
 
 Crepy, Compiegne, Senlis, Pierrefonds, are still 
 more celebrated in Dumas' writings for glorious and 
 splendid achievements — as they are with respect 
 to the actual fact of history, and the imposing 
 
3i8 Dumas' Paris 
 
 architectural monuments which still remain to illus- 
 trate the conditions under which life endured in 
 mediaeval times. 
 
 At Crepy, now a sleepy old-world village, is still 
 seen the establishment of the Valois of which Dumas 
 wrote ; and another grande maison of the Valois was 
 at Villers-Cotterets — a still more somnolent re- 
 minder of the past. At Compiegne, only, with its 
 magnificent Hotel de Ville, does one find the ac- 
 tivities of a modem-day life and energy. 
 
 Here in strange juxtaposition with a remarkably 
 interesting and picturesque church, and the dainty 
 Renaissance Hotel de Ville, with its jacquemo/rt, 
 its belfry, its pointed gable, and its ornate fagade, 
 is found a blend of past and present, which combines 
 to produce one of those transformations or stage- 
 settings which throughout France are so often met 
 with and admired. 
 
 No more charming petite ville exists in all France 
 than Compiegne, one of the most favoured of all 
 the country residences of the Kings of France. 
 
 The chateau seen to-day was an erection of 
 Louis XV. 
 
 Le Foret de Compiegne is as beautiful and un- 
 spoiled as any, and is, moreover, not overrun with 
 tourists and trippers, as is Fontainebleau. 
 
XTbe iRoi^al patftB an& palaces 319 
 
 Its area approximates 60,000 acres, and its cir- 
 cumference sixty miles. 
 
 In short, the whole domain forms a charming and 
 delightful place of retreat, which must have been 
 duly appreciated during the troublous times of 
 Louis' reign. 
 
 It was here, in the Foret de Compiegne, that the 
 great hunting was held, which is treated in " Chicot 
 the Jester." 
 
 The Bois de Vincennes was a famous duelling- 
 ground — and is to-day, sub rosa. It was here 
 that Louis de Franchi, in the " Corsican Brothers," 
 who forewarned of his fate, died in the duel with 
 Rene de Chateaurien, just as he had predicted; at 
 exactly " neuf heures dix." 
 
 This park is by no means the rival of the Bois 
 de Boulogne in the affections of the Parisian public, 
 but it is a wide expanse of tree-covered park land, 
 and possesses all the characteristics of the other 
 suburban forets which surround Paris on all sides. 
 
 It has, moreover, a chateau, a former retreat or 
 country residence of the Kings of France, though 
 to-day it has been made over to the ministry of 
 war, whereas the Chateau de Madrid, the former 
 possession of the Bois de Boulogne, has disappeared. 
 The Chateau de Vincennes is. not one of the sights 
 of Paris. For a fact, it is quite inaccessible, being 
 
32 o Dumas' Paris 
 
 surrounded by the ramparts of the Fort de Vin- 
 cennes, and therefore forbidden to the inquisitive. 
 
 It was here in the Chateau de Vincennes that 
 Charles IX. died a hngering death, " by the poison 
 prepared for another/' as Dumas has it in " Mar- 
 guerite de Valois." 
 
 Among the many illustrious prisoners of the 
 Chateau de Vincennes have been the King of Na- 
 varre (1574), Conde (1650), Cardinal de Retz 
 (1652), Fouquet (1661), Mirabeau (1777), the 
 Due d'Enghien (1804), and many others, most of 
 whom have lived and breathed in Dumas' pages, in 
 the same parts which they played in real life. 
 
CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 THE FRENCH PROVINCES 
 
 T^UMAS' acquaintance with the French prov- 
 K i inces was very comprehensive, though it 
 is of the region northeast of Paris that 
 he was most fond; of the beloved forest region 
 around Crepy and Villers-Cotterets ; the road to 
 Calais, and Picardie and Flanders. Dumas was ever 
 fond of, and familiar with, the road from Paris to 
 Calais. The National Route ran through Crepy, and 
 the byroad through his native Villers-Cotterets. In 
 the " Vicomte- de Bragelonne," he calls the region 
 ''The Land of God," a sentiment which mostly 
 has not been endorsed by other writers; still, it 
 IS a beautiful country, and with its thickly wooded 
 plantations, its industrious though conglomerate 
 population, it is to-day — save for the Cantal and 
 the Auvergne — that part of France of which Eng- 
 lish-speaking folk know the least. And this, too, 
 on the direct road between London and Paris! 
 
 321 
 
32 2 2)uma6' Paris 
 
 Dumas, in the above-mentioned book, describes 
 the journey through this region which was made 
 by Buckingham and De Wardes. 
 
 " Arriving at Calais, at the end of the sixth day, 
 they chartered a boat for the purpose of joining 
 the yacht that was to convey them to England, and 
 which was then tacking about in full view." 
 
 The old port of Calais must have been made use 
 of by the personages of whom Dumas wrote, who 
 trafficked forth between England and France. 
 
 Calais has ever been the most important terminus 
 of cross-channel traffic, and there be those who 
 know, who say that the boat service is not improved 
 in comfort in all these ages, and certainly Calais, 
 which most English travellers know only by fleeting 
 glimpses, might with profit be visited more fre- 
 quently, if only to follow in the wake of Sterne's 
 sentimental footsteps. 
 
 The old port, of course, exists no more; new 
 dykes, breakwaters, and the gare maritime have 
 taken the place of the ancient landing-places, where 
 royalties and others used to embark in frail sailing- 
 vessels for the English ports across the channel. 
 
 The old belfry still exists, and forms a beacon 
 by day, at least, much as it did of yore. By night 
 the new electric-light flashes its beams twenty odd 
 miles across the channel on Dover Cliff, in a way 
 
Ubc jfrcncb lPtox>tnce6 323 
 
 which would have astonished our forefathers in the 
 days gone by. 
 
 It was at Calais, too, that was enacted the final 
 scene in the life of Mary Stuart in France. 
 
 The misfortunes of Mary Stuart formed the sub- 
 ject of one of the series of " Les Crimes Celebres." 
 In the opening words of this chapter, Dumas has 
 said, " Of all the names predestined to misfortune 
 in France, it is the name of Henri. Henri I. was 
 poisoned, Henri II. was killed (maliciously, so some 
 one has said) in a tournament, Henri III. and 
 Henri IV. were assassinated." In Scotland it is 
 the name of Stuart. 
 
 The chronicle concerns France only with respect 
 to the farewell of Mary, after having lost her 
 mother and her spouse in the same year (1561). 
 She journeyed to Scotland by Calais, accompanied 
 by the Cardinals de Guise and de Lorraine, her 
 uncles, by the Due and Duchesse de Guise, the Due 
 d'Aumale, and M. de Nemours. 
 
 Here took place that heartrending farewell, 
 which poets and painters, as well as historians and 
 novelists, have done so much to perpetuate. " Adieu, 
 France ! " she sobbed. " Adieu, France ! " And for 
 five hours she continued to weep and sob, " Adieu, 
 France ! Adieu, France ! " For the rest, the well- 
 known historical figures are made use of by Dumas, 
 
324 Dumas' parts 
 
 — Damley, Rizzio, Huntley, and Hamilton, — but 
 the action does not, of course, return to France. 
 
 Not far south of Calais is Arras, whence came 
 the Robespierre who was to set France aflame. 
 
 " The ancestors of the Robespierres," says Dumas, 
 " formed a part of those Irish colonists who came 
 to France to inhabit our seminaries and monasteries. 
 There they received from the Jesuits the good ed- 
 ucations they were accustomed to give to their pupils. 
 From father to son they were notaries ; one branch 
 of the family, that from which this great man de- 
 scends, established himself at Arras, a great centre, 
 as you know, of noblesse and the church. 
 
 " There were in this town two seigneurs, or, 
 rather, two kings; one was the Abbe of St. Waast, 
 the other was the Bishop of Arras, whose palace 
 threw one-half the town into shade." 
 
 The former palace of the Bishop of Arras is 
 to-day the local musee. It is an extensive estab- 
 lishment, and it flanks an atrocious Renaissance 
 cathedral of no appealing charm whatever, and, in- 
 deed, the one-time bishop's palace does not look as 
 though It was ever a very splendid establishment. 
 
 Still farther to the southward of Calais is the 
 feudal Castle of Pierrefonds, so beloved of Porthos 
 in " Vingt Ans Apres." It is, and has ever been 
 since its erection in 1390 by Louis d'Orleans, the 
 
Zbc jfrcncb provinces 325 
 
 brother of Charles VI., one of the most highly im- 
 pregnable and luxurious chateaux of all France. 
 
 Four times it was unsuccessfully besieged, and 
 came finally, in 1617, to be dismantled. 
 
 The great Napoleon purchased it after the Revo- 
 lution, and finally, through the liberality of Napo- 
 leon III., — one of the few acts which redound to 
 his credit, — it was restored, by Viollet-le-Duc, at 
 a cost of over five million francs. 
 
 In " Pauline," that fragment which Dumas ex- 
 tracted from one of his " Impressions du Voyage," 
 the author comes down to modem times, and gives 
 us, as he does in his journals of travel, his " Me- 
 moires," and others of his lighter pieces of fiction, 
 many charming pen-portraits of localities familiar 
 not only to his pen, but to his personal experiences. 
 
 He draws in " Pauline " a delightful picture of 
 the old fishing-village of Trouville — before it be- 
 came a resort of fashion. In his own words he 
 describes it as follows: 
 
 " I took the steamer from Havre, and two hours 
 later was at Honfleur; the next morning I was at 
 Trouville." 
 
 To-day the fly-by-day tourist does the whole 
 journey in a couple of hours — if he does not linger 
 over the attractions of " Les Petits Chevaux " or 
 " Trente et Quarante," at Honfleur's pretty Casino. 
 
326 Dumas' parts 
 
 " You know the little town with its population 
 of fisher-folk. It is one of the most picturesque in 
 Normandy. I stayed there a few days, exploring 
 the neighbourhood, and in the evening I used to 
 sit in the chimney-corner with my worthy hostess, 
 Madame Oseraie. There I heard strange tales of 
 adventures which had been enacted in Calvados, 
 Loiret, and La Manche." 
 
 Continuing, the author, evidently having become 
 imbued with the local colour of the vicinity, de- 
 scribes, more or less superficially, perhaps, but still 
 with vividness, if not minuteness, those treasure- 
 chests of history, the towns and villages of Nor- 
 mandy : — Caen, Lisieux, Falaise, the cradle of the 
 Conqueror William, " the fertile plains " around 
 Pont Audemer, Havre, and Alengon. 
 
 Normandy, too, was the locale of the early life 
 of Gabriel Lambert, the unappealing leading-man of 
 that dramatic story of a counterfeiter's life, which 
 bears the same title. 
 
 Dumas' first acquaintance with the character in 
 real life, — if he had any real personality, as one is 
 inclined to think he had, — was at Toulon, where 
 the unfortunate man was imprisoned and made to 
 work in the galleys. 
 
 In the course of the narrative the scene shifts 
 from prisons, galleys, and chain-gangs, backward 
 
Ubc iprcncb provinces 327 
 
 and forward, until we get the whole gamut of the 
 criminal's life. 
 
 Gabriel, in the days of his early life at Trouville, 
 had acquired the art of skilled penmanship, and 
 used it wherever he could for his own advantage, 
 by fabricating the handwriting of others — and 
 some honest work of a similar nature. 
 
 Finally the call of Paris came strong upon him, 
 and he set forth by Pont TEveque and Rouen to the 
 metropolis, where his downfall was speedily con- 
 summated, to the sorrow and resentment of his old 
 friends of the little Norman fishing-village, and 
 more particularly to Marie Granger, his country 
 sweetheart, who longed to follow him to Paris, not 
 suspecting the actual turn affairs had taken. 
 
 In " The Count of Monte Cristo," Dumas again 
 evinces his fondness for, and acquaintance with, the 
 coast of Normandy. 
 
 It is a brief reference, to be sure, but it shows 
 that Dumas had some considerable liking for the 
 sea, and a more or less minute knowledge of the 
 coast of France. This is further evinced by the 
 details into which he launches once and again, with 
 reference to the littoral of the Mediterranean, Belle 
 He, and its surroundings, and the coasts of Nor- 
 mandy, Brittany, and the Pas de Calais. 
 
328 Dumas' parte 
 
 In " The Count of Monte Cristo," Dantes says to 
 his companion, Bertuccio: 
 
 " ' I am desirous of having an estate by the sea- 
 side in Normandy — for instance, between Havre 
 and Boulogne. You see, I give you a wide range. 
 It will be absolutely necessary that the place you 
 may select have a small harbour, creek, or bay, into 
 which my vessel can enter and remain at anchor. 
 She merely draws fifteen feet water. She must be 
 kept in constant readiness to sail immediately I think 
 proper to give the signal. Make the requisite in- 
 quiries for a place of this description, and when you 
 have met with an eligible spot, visit it, and if it 
 possess the advantages desired, purchase it at once 
 in your own name. The corvette must now, I think, 
 be on her way to Fecamp, must she not? ' " 
 
 With Brittany, Dumas is quite as familiar. In "Le 
 Vicomte de Bragelonne," he gives minute, though 
 not wearisome, details of Belle He and the Breton 
 coast around about. Aramis, it seems, had acquired 
 Belle He, and had risen to high ecclesiastical rank, 
 making his home thereon. 
 
 Dumas' love and knowledge of gastronomy comes 
 to the fore again here. When D'Artagnan under- 
 took his famous journey to Belle He, on the coast 
 of Brittany, as messenger of Louis XIV., whom he 
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 coloured bidet which would have disgraced a cor- 
 poral, and after he had shortened his name to 
 Agnan, — to complete his disguise, — he put in one 
 night at La Roche-Bernard, " a tolerably important 
 city at the mouth of the Vilaine, and prepared to 
 sup at a hotel." And he did sup ; " off a teal and a 
 torteau, and in order to wash down these two dis- 
 tinctive Breton dishes, ordered some cider, which, 
 the moment it touched his lips, he perceived to be 
 more Breton still." 
 
 On the route from Paris to the mouth of the 
 Loire, where D'Artagnan departed for Belle He, is 
 Chartres. Its Cathedral de Notre Dame has not 
 often appeared in fiction. In history and books of 
 travel, and of artistic and archaeological interest, 
 its past has been vigorously played. 
 
 Dumas, in " La Dame de Monsoreau," has re- 
 vived the miraculous legend which tradition has 
 preserved. 
 
 It recounts a ceremony which many will consider 
 ludicrous, and yet others sacrilegious. Dumas de- 
 scribes it thus: 
 
 " The month of April had arrived. The great 
 cathedral of Chartres was hung with white, and 
 the king was standing barefooted in the nave. The 
 religious ceremonies, which were for the purpose 
 of praying for an heir to the throne of France, 
 
330 Dumas' parts 
 
 were just finishing, when Henri, in the midst of 
 the general silence, heard what seemed to him a 
 stifled laugh. He turned around to see if Chicot 
 were there, for he thought no one else would have 
 dared to laugh at such a time. It was not, however, 
 Chicot who had laughed at the sight of the two 
 chemises of the Holy Virgin, which were said to 
 have such a prolific power, and which were just 
 being drawn from their golden box; but it was a 
 cavalier who had just stopped at the door of the 
 church, and who was making his way with his 
 muddy boots through the crowd of courtiers in their 
 penitents' robes and sacks. Seeing the king turn, 
 he stopped for a moment, and Henri, irritated at 
 seeing him arrive thus, threw an angry glance at 
 him. The newcomer, however, continued to ad- 
 vance until he reached the velvet chair of M. le Due 
 d'Anjou, by which be knelt down." 
 
 But a step from Chartres, on the Loire, — though 
 Orleans, the " City of the Maid," comes between, 
 — is Blois. 
 
 In " Le Vicomte de Bragelonne," the last of 
 the D'Artagnan series, the action comes down to 
 later times, to that of the young king Louis XIV. 
 
 In its opening lines its scene is laid in that 
 wonderfully ornate and impressive Chateau of Blois, 
 
XTbe ]ftcncb provinces 331 
 
 which so many have used as a background for all 
 manner of writing. 
 
 Dumas, with his usual directness, wasting no 
 words on mere description, and only considering 
 it as an accessory to his romance, refers briefly to 
 this magnificent building — the combined product 
 of the houses whose arms bore the hedgehog and 
 the salamander. 
 
 " Toward the middle of the month of May, 1660, 
 when the sun was fast absorbing the dew from the 
 ravenelles of the Chateau of Blois, a little cavalcade 
 entered the city by the bridge, without producing 
 any effect upon the passengers of the quai-side, 
 except a movement of the tongue to express, in 
 the purest French then spoken in France (Touraine 
 has ever spoken the purest tongue, as all know), 
 * There is Monsieur returning from the hunt.' . . . 
 It should have been a trifling source of pride to the 
 city of Blois that Gaston of Orleans had chosen it 
 as his residence, and held his court in the ancient 
 chateau of its states." 
 
 It was in the Castle of the States of Blois that 
 Louis XIV. received that unexpected visit from 
 " His Majesty Charles II., King of England, Scot- 
 land, and Ireland," of which Dumas writes in the 
 second of the D'Artagnan series. 
 
 " ' How strange it is you are here,' said Louis. 
 
332 2)umas' Paris 
 
 * I only knew of your embarkation at Brighthelm- 
 stone, and your landing in Normandy.' . . . 
 
 " Blois was peaceful that morning of the royal 
 arrival, at which announcement it was suddenly filled 
 with all the tumult and the buzzing of a swarm of 
 bees. In the lower city, scarce a hundred paces 
 from the castle, is a sufficiently handsome street 
 called the Rue Vieille, and an old and venerable 
 edifice which, tradition says, was habited by a coun- 
 cillor of state, to whom Queen Catherine came, some 
 say to visit and others to strangle.'* 
 
 Not alone is Blois reminiscent of " Les Mous- 
 quetaires," but the numberless references in the 
 series to Langeais, Chambord, — the chateaux and 
 their domains, — bring to mind more forcibly th^n 
 by innuendo merely that Dumas himself must have 
 had some great fondness for what has come to be 
 the touring-ground of France par excellence. 
 
 From " Le Vicomte de Bragelonne," one quotes 
 these few lines which, significantly, suggest much: 
 " Do you not remember, Montalais, the woods of 
 Chavemey, and of Chambord, and the numberless 
 poplars of Blois ? " This describes the country con- 
 cisely, but explicitly. 
 
 Beyond Blois, beyond even Tours, which is Blois' 
 next neighbour, passing down the Loire, is Angers. 
 
 In " La Dame de Monsoreau," more commonly 
 
CASTLE OF ANGERS. CHATEAU OF BLOIS 
 
Ubc jfrencb provinces 333 
 
 known in English translations as " Chicot the 
 Jester," much of the scene is laid in Anjou. 
 
 To Angers, with its wonderful fairylike castle, 
 with its seventeen black-banded towers (recalling, 
 also, that this is the " Black Angers " of Shake- 
 speare's " King John "), repaired the Due d' Anjou, 
 the brother of Charles IX. and Henri III., who then 
 reigned at Paris. 
 
 To this " secret residence " the due came. Dumas 
 puts it thus : 
 
 " * Gentlemen ! ' cried the duke, * I have come to 
 throw myself into my good city of Angers. At 
 Paris the most terrible dangers have menaced my 
 life.' . . . The people then cried out, * Long live 
 our seigneur ! ' " 
 
 Bussy, who had made the way clear for the due, 
 lived, says Dumas, " in a tumble-down old house 
 near the ramparts." The ducal palace was actually 
 outside the castle walls, but the frowning battle- 
 ment was relied upon to shelter royalty when occa- 
 sion required, the suite quartering themselves in the 
 Gothic chateau, which is still to be seen in the 
 debris-cluttered lumber-yard, to which the interior 
 of the fortress has to-day descended. 
 
 In other respects than the shocking care, or, 
 rather, the lack of care, which is given to its interior, 
 the Castle of Angers, with its battalion of tours. 
 
334 Dumas' pads 
 
 now without their turrets, its deep, machicolated 
 walls, and its now dry fosse, presents in every way 
 an awe-inspiring stronghold. 
 
 Beyond Angers, toward the sea, is Nantes, fa- 
 mous for the Edict, and, in " The Regent's Daugh- 
 ter" of Dumas, the massacre of the four Breton 
 conspirators. 
 
 Gaston, the hero of the tale, had ridden post- 
 haste from Paris to save his fellows. He was pre- 
 ceded, by two hours, by the order for their exe- 
 cution, and the reprieve which he held would be 
 valueless did he arrive too late. 
 
 " On reaching the gates of Nantes his horse 
 stumbled, but Gaston did not lose his stirrups, pulled 
 him up sharply, and, driving the spurs into his sides, 
 he made him recover himself. 
 
 " The night was dark, no one appeared upon the 
 ramparts, the very sentinels were hidden in the 
 gloom; it seemed like a deserted city. 
 
 " But as he passed the gate a sentinel said some- 
 thing which Gaston did not even hear. 
 
 " He held on his way. 
 
 " At the Rue du Chateau his horse stumbled and 
 fell, this time to rise no more. 
 
 " What mattered it to Gaston now ? — he had 
 arrived. . . . 
 
 " He passed right through the castle, when he 
 
Ube jfrencb provinces 335 
 
 perceived the esplanade, a scaffold, and a crowd. 
 He tried to cry, but no one heard him ; to wave his 
 handkerchief, but no one saw him. . . . Another 
 mounts the scaffold, and, uttering a cry, Gaston 
 threw himself down below. . . . Four men died 
 who might have been saved had Gaston but ar- 
 rived ^ye minutes before, and, by a remarkable con- 
 tretemps, Gaston himself shared the same fate." 
 
 In " The Regent's Daughter," Dumas describes 
 the journey to Nantes with great preciseness, though 
 with no excess of detail. The third chapter opens 
 thus: 
 
 " Three nights after that on which we have seen 
 the regent, first at Chelles, and then at Meudon, a 
 scene passed in the environs of Nantes which cannot 
 be omitted in this history; we will therefore exer- 
 cise our privilege of transporting the reader to that 
 place. 
 
 " On the road to Clisson, two or three miles from 
 Nantes, — near the convent known as the residence 
 of Abelard, — was a large dark house, surrounded 
 by thick, stunted trees; hedges everywhere sur- 
 rounded the enclosure outside the walls, hedges im- 
 pervious to the sight, and only interrupted by a 
 wicket gate. 
 
 " This gate led into a garden, at the end of which 
 was a wall, having a small, massive, and closed 
 
33^ Dumas' pads 
 
 door. From a distance this grave and dismal resi- 
 dence appeared like a prison; it was, however, a 
 convent, full of young Augustines, subject to a rule 
 lenient as compared with provincial customs, but 
 rigid as compared with those of Paris. 
 
 " The house was inaccessible on three sides, but 
 the fourth, which did not face the road, abutted on 
 a large sheet of water; and ten feet above its sur- 
 face were the windows of the refectory. 
 
 " This little lake was carefully guarded, and was 
 surrounded by high wooden palisades. A single 
 iron gate opened into it, and at the same time gave 
 a passage to the waters of a small rivulet which fed 
 the lake, and the water had egress at the opposite 
 end." 
 
 From this point on, the action of " The Regent's 
 Daughter " runs riotously rapid, until it finally cul- 
 minates, so far as Nantes is concerned, in the quin- 
 tuple execution before the chateau, brought about 
 by the five minutes' delay of Gaston with the re- 
 prieve. 
 
 Dumas' knowledge of and love of the Mediter- 
 ranean was great, and he knew its western shores 
 intimately. 
 
 In 1830 he resolved to visit all the shores of the 
 
Ube ifrcncb IC>ro\>ince0 337 
 
 Mediterranean in a yacht, which he had had specially 
 built for the purpose, called the Emma, 
 
 He arrived in Sicily, however, at the moment of 
 the Garibaldian struggle against the King of Italy, 
 with the result that the heroic elements of that 
 event so appealed to him, that he forewent the other 
 more tranquil pleasure of continuing his voyage, and 
 went over to the mainland. 
 
 In " The Count of Monte Cristo " is given one 
 of Dumas' best bits of descriptive writing. At any 
 rate, it describes one of the aspects of the brilliantly 
 blue Mediterranean, which is only comparable to 
 one's personal contemplation of its charms. It is 
 apropos of the voyage to the island of Monte Cristo 
 — which lies between Elba and Corsica, and has 
 become fabled in the minds of present-day readers 
 solely by Dumas' efforts — that he wrote the follow- 
 ing: 
 
 " It was about six o'clock in the evening ; an opal- 
 coloured light, through which an autumnal sun shed 
 its golden rays, descended on the blue sea. The 
 heat of the day had gradually decreased, and a light 
 breeze arose, seeming like the respiration of nature 
 on awakening from the burning siesta of the south ; 
 a delicious zephyr played along the coasts of the 
 Mediterranean, and wafted from shore to shore the 
 
338 Duntas^ parts 
 
 sweet perfume of plants, mingled with the fresh 
 smell of the sea. 
 
 " A light yacht, chaste and elegant in its form, 
 was gliding amidst the first dews of night over the 
 immense lake, extending from Gibraltar to the Dar- 
 danelles, and from Tunis to Venice. The motion 
 resembled that of a swan with its wings opened 
 toward the wind, gliding on the water. It ad- 
 vanced, at the same time, swiftly and gracefully, 
 leaving behind it a glittering track. By degrees 
 the sun disappeared behind the western horizon; 
 but, as though to prove the truth of the fanciful 
 ideas in heathen mythology, its indiscreet rays re- 
 appeared on the summit of each wave, seeming to 
 reveal that the god of fire had just enfolded himself 
 in the bosom of Amphitrite, who in vain endeav- 
 oured to hide her lover beneath her azure mantle.*' 
 
 Of the island of Monte Cristo itself, Dumas* de- 
 scription is equally gratifying. In the earlier chap- 
 ters he gives it thus: 
 
 " The isle of Monte Cristo loomed large in the 
 horizon. . . . They were just abreast of Mareciana, 
 and beyond the flat but verdant isle of La Pianosa. 
 The peak of Monte Cristo, reddened by the burning 
 sun, was seen against the azure sky. . . . About 
 five o'clock in the evening the island was quite dis- 
 tinct, and everything on it was plainly perceptible. 
 
Ube jftencb provinces 
 
 339 
 
 owing to that clearness of the atmosphere which is 
 pecuHar to the Hght which the rays of the sun cast 
 at its setting. 
 
 '* Edmond gazed most earnestly at the mass of 
 rocks which gave out all the variety of twilight 
 colours, from the brightest pink to the deepest blue ; 
 and from time to time his cheeks flushed, his brow 
 became purple, and a mist passed over his eyes. . . . 
 In spite of his usual command over himself, Dantes 
 could not restrain his impetuosity. He was the first 
 who jumped on shore; and had he dared, he would, 
 like Lucius Brutus, have * kissed his mother earth.' 
 It was dark, but at eleven o'clock the moon rose in 
 the midst of the ocean, whose every wave she sil- 
 vered, and then, * ascending high,' played in floods 
 of pale light on the rocky hills of this second Pelion. 
 
 " The island was familiar to the crew of La 
 Jeune Amelie — it was one of her halting-places. 
 As to Dantes, he had passed it on his voyages to and 
 from the Levant, but never touched at it." 
 
 It is unquestionable that " The Count of Monte 
 Cristo " is the most popular and the best known of 
 all Dumas' works. There is a deal of action, of 
 personality and characterization, and, above all, an 
 ever-shifting panorama, which extends from the 
 boulevards of Marseilles to the faubourgs of Paris, 
 and from the island Chateau d'lf to the equally 
 
340 Dumas' parts 
 
 melancholy allees of Pere la Chaise, which M. de 
 Villefort, a true Parisian, considered alone worthy 
 of receiving the remains of a Parisian family, as 
 it was there only that they would be surrounded by 
 worthy associates. 
 
 All travellers for the East, via the Mediterranean, 
 know well the ancient Phoenician port of Marseilles. 
 One does not need even the words of Dumas to 
 recall its picturesqueness and importance — to-day 
 as in ages past. Still, the opening lines of " The 
 Count of Monte Cristo " do form a word-picture 
 which few have equalled in the pages of romance; 
 and there is not a word too much; nothing super- 
 fluous or extraneous. 
 
 "On the 28th of February, 1815, the watch- 
 tower of Notre Dame de la Garde signalled the 
 three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, 
 and Naples. 
 
 " As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and, 
 rounding the Chateau dTf, got on board the vessel 
 between Cape Morgion and the isle of Rion. 
 
 " Immediately, and according to custom, the plat- 
 form of Fort Saint- Jean was covered with look- 
 ers-on; it is always an event at Marseilles for a 
 ship to come into port, especially when this ship, 
 like the Pharaon, had been built, rigged, and laden 
 
Ube JFtencb lpro\>tnce0 341 
 
 on the stocks of the old Phocee, and belonged to 
 an owner of the city. 
 
 '' The ship drew on : it had safely passed the 
 strait, which some volcanic shock has made between 
 the isle of Calasareigne and the isle of Jaros; had 
 doubled Pomegue, and approached the harbour un- 
 der topsails, jib, and foresail, but so slowly and 
 sedately that the Idlers, with that instinct which 
 misfortune sends before it, asked one another what 
 misfortune could have happened on board. How- 
 ever, those experienced in navigation saw plainly 
 that, if any accident had occurred, it was not to the 
 vessel herself, for she bore down with all the evi- 
 dence of being skilfully handled, the anchor ready 
 to be dropped, the bowsprit-shrouds loose, and, be- 
 side the pilot, who was steering the Pharaon by the 
 narrow entrance of the port Marseilles, was a young 
 man, who, with activity and vigilant eye, watched 
 every motion of the ship, and repeated each direction 
 of the pilot. 
 
 " The vague disquietude which prevailed amongst 
 the spectators had so much affected one of the 
 crowd that he did not await the arrival of the vessel 
 in harbour, but, jumping into a small skiff, desired 
 to be pulled alongside the Pharaon, which he reached 
 as she rounded the creek of La Reserve." 
 
 The process of coming into harbour at Marseilles 
 
342 2)ttma0' Paris 
 
 does not differ greatly to-day from the description 
 given by Dumas. 
 
 New harbour works have been constructed, and 
 saiHng-ships have mostly given way to great steam- 
 ers, but the channel winds and twists as of old 
 under the lofty brow, capped by the sailors' church 
 of Notre Dame de la Garde, which is to-day a 
 tawdry, bizarre shrine, as compared with the motive 
 which inspired the devout to ascend its heights to 
 pray for those who go down to the sea in ships. 
 
 Marseilles, of all cities of France, more even than 
 Bordeaux or Lyons, is possessed of that individual- 
 ity which stands out strong on the background of 
 France — the land and the nation. 
 
 In the commercial world its importance gives it 
 a high rank, and its affaires are regulated by no 
 clues sent each morning by post or by telegraph 
 from the world's other marts of trade. It has, more- 
 over, in the Canebiere, one of the truly great streets 
 of the world. Dumas remarked it, and so, too, have 
 many others, who know its gay cosmopolitan aspect 
 at all the hours of day and night. 
 
 From " The Count of Monte Cristo," the follow- 
 ing lines describe it justly and truly, and in a way 
 that fits it admirably, in spite of the fact that Dumas 
 wrote of it as it was a hundred years ago : 
 
 " The young sailor jumped into the skiff, and 
 
Ube ifrencb iProvince^ 343 
 
 sat down in the stem, desiring to be put ashore at 
 the Canebiere. The two rowers bent to their work, 
 and the little boat glided away as rapidly as possi- 
 ble in the midst of the thousand vessels which choke 
 up the narrow way which leads between the two 
 rows of ships from the mouth of the harbour to the 
 Quai d'Orleans. 
 
 " The ship-owner, smiling, followed him with his 
 eyes until he saw him spring out on the quai and 
 disappear in the midst of the throng, which, from 
 five o'clock in the morning until nine o'clock at 
 night, choke up this famous street of La Canebiere, 
 of which the modem Phoceens are so proud, and 
 say, with all the gravity in the world, and with that 
 accent which gives so much character to what is 
 said, * If Paris had La Canebiere, Paris would be 
 a second Marseilles.' " 
 
 The Chateau d'lf, far more than the island of 
 Monte Cristo itself, is the locale which is mostly re- 
 called with regard to the romance of " Monte 
 Cristo." 
 
 Dumas has, of course, made melodramatic use of 
 it; in fact, it seems almost as if he had built the 
 romance around its own restricted pied a terre, but, 
 nevertheless, it is the one element which we are 
 pleased to call up as representative of the story 
 when mention is made thereof* 
 
344 Dumas' Paris 
 
 Not a line, not a word, is misplaced in the chap- 
 ters in which Dumas treats of Dantes' incarceration 
 in his island prison. Description does not crowd 
 upon action or characterization, nor the reverse. 
 
 " Through the grating of the window of the car- 
 riage, Dantes saw they were passing through the 
 Rue Caisserie, and by the Quai St. Laurent and the 
 Rue Taramis, to the port. They advanced toward 
 a boat which a custom-house officer held by a chain 
 near the quai. A shove sent the boat adrift, and 
 the oarsman plied it rapidly toward the Pilon. At 
 a shout the chain that closes the port was lowered, 
 and in a second they were outside the harbour. . . . 
 They had passed the Tete de More, and were now 
 in front of the lighthouse and about to double the 
 battery. . . . They had left the isle Ratonneau, 
 where the lighthouse stood, on the right, and were 
 now opposite the Point des Catalans. 
 
 " * Tell me where you are conducting me? ' asked 
 Dantes of his guard. 
 
 " * You are a native of Marseilles, and a sailor, 
 and yet you do not know where you are going ? ' 
 
 " * On my honour, I have no idea.' 
 
 " * That is impossible.' 
 
 " * I swear to you it is true. Tell me, I entreat.' 
 
 " * But my orders.' 
 
 *' ' Your orders do not forbid your telling me 
 
Ube jftencb ptoiotnces 345 
 
 what I must know in ten minutes, in half an hour, 
 or an hour. You see, I cannot escape, even if I 
 intended.' 
 
 " * Unless you are blind, or have never been out- 
 side the harbour, you must know.' 
 
 " * I do not.' 
 
 " * Look around you, then.' Dantes rose and 
 looked forward, when he saw rise within a hundred 
 yards of him the black and frowning rock on which 
 stands the Chateau d'lf. This gloomy fortress, 
 which has for more than three hundred years fur- 
 nished food for so many wild legends, seemed to 
 Dantes like a scaffold to a malefactor. 
 
 " ' The Chateau d'lf? ' cried he. ' What are we 
 going there for ? ' The gendarme smiled. 
 
 " * I am not going there to be imprisoned,' said 
 Dantes ; * it is only used for political prisoners. I 
 have committed no crime. Are there any magis- 
 trates or judges at the Chateau d'lf? ' 
 
 " * There are only,' said the gendarme, * a gov- 
 ernor, a garrison, turnkeys, and good thick w^alls. 
 Come, come, do not look so astonished, or you will 
 make me think you are laughing at me in return 
 for my good nature.' Dantes pressed the gen- 
 darme's hand as though he would crush it. 
 
 ** ' You think, then,' said he, ' that I am conducted 
 to the chateau to be imprisoned there ? ' 
 
346 Dumas' lPari5 
 
 " ' It is probable/ " 
 
 The details of Dantes' horrible confinement, at 
 first in an upper cell, and later in a lower dungeon, 
 where, as '' No. 34," he became the neighbour of the 
 old Abbe Faria, " No. 27," are well known of all 
 lovers of Dumas. The author does not weary one, 
 and there are no lengthy descriptions dragged in 
 to merely fill space. When Dantes finally escapes 
 from the chateau, after he had been imprisoned for 
 fourteen years, Dumas again launches into that con- 
 cise, direct word-painting which proclaims him the 
 master. 
 
 " It was necessary for Dantes to strike out to sea. 
 Ratonneau and Pomegue are the nearest isles of 
 all those that surround the Chateau dTf; but Ra- 
 tonneau and Pomegue are inhabited, together with 
 the islet of Daume; Tiboulen or Lemaire were the 
 most secure. The isles of Tiboulen and Lemaire are 
 a league from the Chateau dTf. . . . 
 
 " Before him rose a mass of strangely formed 
 rocks, that resembled nothing so much as a vast 
 fire petrified at the moment of its most fervent com- 
 bustion. It was the isle of Tiboulen. . . . 
 
 "As he rose, a flash of lightning, that seemed 
 as if the whole of the heavens were opened, illu- 
 mined the darkness. By its light, he saw the isle of 
 
Ube jFrencb provinces 347 
 
 Lemaire and Cape Croiselle, a quarter of a league 
 distant." 
 
 In " The Count of Monte Cristo," Dumas makes 
 a little journey up the valley of the Rhone into 
 Provence. 
 
 In the chapter entitled " The Auberge of the Pont 
 du Card," he writes, in manner unmistakably famil- 
 iar, of this land of the troubadours, the roses, and 
 the beautiful women; for the women of Aries — 
 those world-famous Arlesiennes — are the peers, in 
 looks, of all the women of France. 
 
 Dumas writes of Beaucaire, of Bellegarde, of 
 Aries, and of Aigues-Mortes, but not very affec- 
 tionately ; indeed, he seems to think all Provence 
 " an arid, sterile lake," but he comes out strong on 
 the beauty of the women of Aries, and marvels 
 how they can live in the vicinity of the devastating 
 fevers of the Camargue. 
 
 The auberge of the Pont du Garde itself — the 
 establishment kept by the old tailor, Caderousse, 
 whom Dantes sought out after his escape from the 
 Chateau d'lf — the author describes thus: 
 
 " Such of my readers as have made a pedestrian 
 excursion to the south of France may perchance 
 have noticed, midway between the town of Beau- 
 caire and the village of Bellegarde, a small roadside 
 inn, from the front of which hung, creaking and 
 
348 Dumas' Paris 
 
 flapping in the wind, a sheet of tin covered with a 
 caricature resemblance of the Pont du Gard. This 
 modem place of entertainment stood on the left- 
 hand side of the grand route, turning its back upon 
 the Rhone. It also boasted of what in Languedoc 
 is styled a garden, consisting of a small plot of 
 ground, a full view of which might be obtained from 
 a door immediately opposite the grand portal by 
 which travellers were ushered in to partake of the 
 hospitality of mine host of the Pont du Gard. This 
 plaisance or garden, scorched up beneath the ardent 
 sun of a latitude of thirty degrees, permitted nothing 
 to thrive or scarcely live in its arid soil. A few 
 dingy olives and stunted fig-trees struggled hard 
 for existence, but their withered, dusty foliage 
 abundantly proved how unequal was the conflict. 
 Between these sickly shrubs grew a scanty supply 
 of garlic, tomatoes, and eschalots; while, lone and 
 solitary, like a forgotten sentinel, a tall pine raised 
 its melancholy head in one of the corners of this 
 unattractive spot, and displayed its flexible stem 
 and fan-shaped summit dried and cracked by the 
 withering influence of the mistral, that scourge of 
 Provence." 
 
 The great fair of Beaucaire was, and is, — though 
 Beaucaire has become a decrepit, tumble-down river 
 
Xtbe ffrencb provinces 349 
 
 town on the Rhone, with a ruined castle as its chief 
 attraction, — renowned throughout France. 
 
 It was here that the head of the house of Morrel, 
 fearing lest the report of his financial distress should 
 get bruited abroad at Marseilles, came to sell his 
 wife's and daughter's jewels, and a portion of his 
 plate. 
 
 This fair of Beaucaire attracted a great number 
 of merchants of all branches of trade, who arrived 
 by water and by road, lining the banks of the Rhone 
 from Aries to Beaucaire, and its transpontine neigh- 
 bour, Tarascon, which Daudet has made famous. 
 
 Caderousse, the innkeeper, visited this fair, as 
 we learn, " in company with a man who was evi- 
 dently a stranger to the south of France; one of 
 those merchants who come to sell jewelry at the 
 fair of Beaucaire, and who, during the month the 
 fair lasts, and during which there is so great an 
 influx of merchants and customers from all parts 
 of Europe, often have dealings to the amount of 
 one hundred thousand to one hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs (£4,000 to £6,000)." 
 
 That Dumas was a great traveller is well known 
 and substantiated by the records he has left. 
 
 When living at Toulon in the spring of 1835, as 
 he himself tells us, he first came into possession of 
 
3SO 2)uma6' lPati0 
 
 the facts which led to the construction of " Gabriel 
 Lambert/' 
 
 There was doubtless much of truth in the tale, 
 which appears not to be generally known to English 
 readers, and it is more than probable that much of 
 the incident was originally related to Dumas by the 
 " governor of the port." 
 
 Dumas was living at the time in a " small sub- 
 urban house," within a stone's throw of Fort 
 Lamalge, the prison, hard at work on his play of 
 "Captain Paul" — though, as he says, he was greatly 
 abstracted from work by the " contemplation of the 
 blue Mediterranean spangled with gold, the moun- 
 tains that blind in their awful nakedness, and of 
 the sky impressive in its depth and clearness." 
 
 The result of it all was that, instead of working 
 at " Captain Paul " (Paul Jones), he left off work- 
 ing at all, in the daytime, — no infrequent occur- 
 rence among authors, — and, through his acquaint- 
 ance with the governor, evolved the story of the life- 
 history of " Gabriel Lambert." 
 
 " Murat " was the single-worded title given by 
 Dumas to what is perhaps the most subtle of the 
 " Crimes Celebres." He drew his figures, of course, 
 from history, and from a comparatively near view- 
 
XTbe jfrencb provinces 351 
 
 point, considering that but twenty-five years had 
 elapsed since the death of his subject. 
 
 Marseilles, Provence, Hyeres, Toulon, and others 
 of those charming towns and cities of the Mediter- 
 ranean shore, including also Corsica, form the rapid 
 itinerary of the first pages. 
 
 For the action itself, it resembles nothing which 
 has gone before, or which is so very horrible. It 
 simply recounts the adventures and incidents in the 
 life of the Marshal of France which befel his later 
 years, and which culminated in his decapitated head 
 being brought before the King of Naples as the 
 only assurance which would satisfy him that Murat 
 was not an adventurer and intriguer. 
 
 There is a pleasant little town in the Midi of 
 France by the name of Cahors. It is a historic 
 town as well; in fact, it was part of the dowry 
 which! Henri de Navarre was to receive when he 
 married Marguerite. 
 
 The circumstance is recounted by Dumas in " The 
 Forty-Five Guardsmen," and extends to some length 
 in the most marvellously descriptive dialogue. 
 
 " The poor Henri de Navarre," as Dumas called 
 him, " was to receive as his wife's dowry three 
 hundred thousand golden crowns and some towns, 
 among them Cahors. 
 
 " * A pretty town, mordieu! * 
 
352 H)uma0' lPat(0 
 
 " * I have claimed not the money, but Cahors.' 
 
 " * You would much like to hold Cahors, Sire? * 
 
 " * Doubtless; for, after all, what is my princi- 
 pality of Beam ? A poor little place, clipped by the 
 avarice of my mother-in-law and brother-in-law/ 
 
 " ' While Cahors — ' 
 
 " * Cahors would be my rampart, the safeguard 
 of my religion/ 
 
 " ' Well, Sire, go into mourning for Cahors ; for, 
 whether you break with Madame Marguerite or 
 not, the King of France will never give it to you, 
 and unless you take it — ' 
 
 " * Oh, I would soon take it, if it was not so 
 strong, and, above all, if I did not hate war/ 
 
 " * Cahors is impregnable. Sire/ 
 
 " * Oh ! impregnable ! But if I had an army, 
 which I have not — ' 
 
 " * Listen, Sire. We are not here to flatter each 
 other. To take Cahors, which is held by M. de 
 Vezin, one must be a Hannibal or a Caesar; and 
 your Majesty — ' 
 
 " ' Well ? ' said Henri, with a smile. 
 
 " ' Has just said you do not like war.' . . . 
 
 " * Cahors is so well guarded, because it is the 
 key of the south/ " 
 
 Chapter fifty-three of the above book recounts 
 the siege itself, — as we know it in history, — but 
 
Ubc ffrencb provinces 353 
 
 with all that added picturesqueness which Dumas 
 commanded. 
 
 " * Henri will not pay me his sister's dowry, and 
 Margot cries out for her dear Cahors. One must 
 do what one's wife wants, for peace's sake; there- 
 fore I am going to try to take Cahors.' . . . 
 
 " Henri set off at full gallop, and Chicot followed 
 him. On arriving in front of his little army, Henri 
 raised his visor, and cried : 
 
 " * Out with the banner! out with the new 
 banner ! ' 
 
 " They drew forth the banner, which had the 
 double scutcheon of Navarre and Bourbon; it was 
 white, and had chains of gold on one side, and 
 fleurs-de-lis on the other. 
 
 " Again the cannon from Cahors were fired, and 
 the balls tore through a file of infantry near the 
 king. . . . 
 
 " ' Oh ! ' cried M. de Turenne, * the siege of the 
 city is over, Vezin.' And as he spoke he fired at 
 him and wounded him in the arm.' . . . 
 
 " * You are wrong, Turenne,' cried M. de Vezin ; 
 * there are twenty sieges in Cahors ; so, if one is 
 over, there are nineteen to come.' 
 
 " M. de Vezin defended himself during five days 
 and nights from street to street and from house to 
 house. Luckily for the rising fortunes of Henri of 
 
354 2)ttma0' paria 
 
 Navarre, he had counted too much on the walls and 
 garrison of Cahors, and had neglected to send to 
 M. de Biron. . . . 
 
 " During these five days and nights, Henri com- 
 manded like a captain and fought like a soldier, 
 slept with his head on a stone, and awoke sword in 
 hand. Each day they conquered a street or a square, 
 which each night the garrison tried to retake. On 
 the fourth night the enemy seemed willing to give 
 some rest to the Protestant army. Then it was 
 Henri who attacked in his turn. He forced an 
 intrenched position, but it cost him seven hundred 
 men. M. de Turenne and nearly all the officers 
 were wounded, but the king remained untouched." 
 
 The Pyrenean city of Pau is more than once re- 
 ferred to by Dumas in the Valois romances, as was 
 but natural, considering that its ancient chateau 
 was the berceau of that Prince of Beam who later 
 married the intriguing Marguerite, and became ulti- 
 mately Henri IV. 
 
 This fine old structure — almost the only really 
 splendid historical monument of the city — had for 
 long been the residence of the Kings of Navarre; 
 was rebuilt in the fourteenth century by the brilliant 
 Gaston Phoebus ; and enlarged and luxuriously em- 
 bellished by the beautiful Marguerite herself in the 
 
Ube jfrencb provinces 35s 
 
 sixteenth century, after she had become la femme 
 de Henri d' Albert, as her spouse was then known. 
 
 As might be expected, Dumas was exceedingly- 
 familiar with the suburban topography of Paris, 
 and made frequent use of it in his novels. 
 
 It is in " The Count of Monte Cristo," however, 
 that this intimacy is best shown; possibly for the 
 reason that therein he dealt with times less remote 
 than those of the court romances of the " Valois " 
 and the " Capets." 
 
 When Dantes comes to Paris, — as the newly 
 made count, — he forthwith desires to be ensconced 
 in an establishment of his own. Dumas recounts 
 the incident thus : 
 
 " * And the cards I ordered to be engraved as 
 soon as you knew the number of the house ? ' 
 
 " * M. le Comte, it is done already. I have been 
 myself to the best engraver of the Palais Royal, 
 who did the plate in my presence. The first card 
 struck off was taken, according to your orders, to 
 M. le Baron Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, 
 No. 7.' . . . 
 
 " As the steward had said, the notary awaited him 
 in the small salon. He was a simple-looking law- 
 yer's clerk, elevated to the extraordinary dignity 
 of a provincial scrivener. 
 
 " * You are the notary empowered to sell the 
 
35^ Bumaa' parts 
 
 country-house that I wish to purchase, monsieur?* 
 asked Monte Cristo. 
 
 " * Yes, M. le Comte,' returned the notary. 
 
 " * Is the deed of sale ready ? * 
 
 " ' Yes, M. le Comte.' 
 
 " * Have you brought it? ' 
 
 " ' Here it is.' 
 
 " * Very well ; and where is this house that I 
 purchase? ' asked the count, carelessly, addressing 
 himself half to Bertuccio, half to the notary. The 
 steward made a gesture that signified, * I do not 
 know.' The notary looked at the count with' as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " * What ! ' said he, * does not M. le Comte know 
 where the house he purchases is situated ? * 
 
 " * No,' returned the count. 
 
 " * M. le Comte does not know it ? ' 
 
 " * How should I know it ? I have arrived from 
 Cadiz this morning. I have never before been at 
 Paris : and it is the first time I have ever even set 
 my foot in France ! ' 
 
 " * Ah, that is different ; the house you purchase 
 is situated at Auteuil, in the Rue de la Fontaine, 
 No. 28.' At these words Bertuccio turned pale. 
 
 " * And where is Auteuil ? ' asked the count. 
 
 " ' Close here, monsieur,' replied the notary ; * a 
 
Ube iPtencb provinces 357 
 
 little beyond Passy; a charming situation, in the 
 heart of the Bois de Boulogne/ 
 
 " * So near as that? ' said the count. * But that 
 is not in the country. What made you choose a 
 house at the gates of Paris, M. Bertuccio ? ' 
 
 " ' I ? ' cried the steward, with a strange ex- 
 pression. * M. le Comte did not charge me to pur- 
 chase this house. If M. le Comte will recollect — 
 if he will think — ' 
 
 " * Ah, true,' observed Monte Cristo ; ' I recollect 
 now. I read the advertisement in one of the papers, 
 and was tempted by the false title, " a country- 
 house." ' 
 
 " * It is not yet too late,' cried Bertuccio, eagerly ; 
 ' and if your Excellency will entrust me with the 
 commission, I will find you a better at Enghien, at 
 Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at Bellevue.' 
 
 " * Oh, no,' returned Monte Cristo, negligently; 
 ' since I have this, I will keep it' 
 
 " * And you are quite right,' said the notary, who 
 feared to lose his fee. ' It is a charming place, well 
 supplied with spring- water and fine trees; a com- 
 fortable habitation, although abandoned for a long 
 time; without reckoning the furniture, which, al- 
 though old, is yet valuable, now that old things are 
 so much sought after. I suppose M. le Comte has 
 the tastes of the day?'" 
 
35* Dumas' parts 
 
 Whatever may have been Dumas' prodigality 
 with regard to money matters in his personal affairs, 
 he was evidently a good traveller, in the sense that 
 he knew how to plan a journey with the greatest 
 economy. 
 
 One sees evidences of this in the " Count of Monte 
 Cristo," where he describes the journey of Madame 
 de Morcerf from Paris to Marseilles. 
 
 " * I have made inquiries,' said Albert, * respecting 
 the diligences and steamboats, and my calculations 
 are made. You will take your place in the coupe 
 to Chalons. You see, mother, I treat you hand- 
 somely for thirty-five francs.' 
 
 " Albert then took a pen, and wrote: 
 
 Frs. 
 
 Coup^ to Chalons, thirty-five francs . . -35 
 From Chalons to Lyons you will go on by the steam- 
 boat — six francs 6 
 
 From Lyons to Avignon (still by steamboat), sixteen 
 
 francs i6 
 
 From Avignon to Marseilles, seven francs . . 7 
 Expenses on the road, about fifty francs . . .50 
 
 Total . 114 
 
 " ' Let us put down 120,' added Albert, smiling. 
 'You see I am generous; am I not, mother?' 
 " ' But you, my poor child ? * 
 
Zbc ifrcncb iProvfncea 359 
 
 " * I ! do you not see I reserve eighty francs for 
 myself? A young man does not require luxuries; 
 besides, I know what travelling is.' 
 
 " * With a post-chaise and valet de chamhre? ' " 
 The route is practicable even to-day, though prob- 
 ably not at the prices given, and one does not go 
 by steamboat from Chalons to Lyons, though he may 
 from Lyons to Avignon. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 LES PAYS Strangers 
 
 y^UMAS frequently wandered afield for his 
 I M mise-en-scene , and with varying success; 
 from the " Corsican Brothers/' which was 
 remarkably true to its locale, and " La Tulipe 
 Noire/' which was equally so, if we allow for a 
 certain perspective of time, to " Le Capitaine Pam- 
 phile," which in parts, at least, is gross exaggeration 
 or burlesque. 
 
 Once only, to any great extent, did he go to Ger- 
 many for his inspirations, and then only to German 
 legend, — where so many others had been before, — 
 and have since. 
 
 In " Otho the Archer " is found a repetition of the 
 Knight and Swan legend so familiar to all. It has 
 been before — and since — a prolific source of sup- 
 ply to authors of all ranks and nationalities : Goethe, 
 Schiller, Hoffman, Brentano, Fouque, Scott, and 
 others. 
 
 The book first appeared in 1840, before even 
 360 
 
%C0 lPai?5 36ttangcr0 361 
 
 " Monte Cristo " and " Les Trois Mousquetaires " 
 were published as feuilletons, and hence, whatever 
 its merits may be, it is to be classed as one of his 
 immature efforts, rather than as a piece of pro- 
 found romancing. 
 
 The story of adventure, of battle, and of love- 
 making is all there, but his picture of the scenery 
 and life of the middle ages on the Rhine are, of 
 course, as purely imaginary as is the romantic back- 
 ground of myth and legend. 
 
 Of all the works dealing with foreign lands, — 
 or, at least, foreign to his pen, — Dumas' " Black 
 Tulip " will ever take a preeminent rank. Therein 
 are pictures of Holland life and of the Hollandaise 
 which, like the pen-drawings of Stevenson in 
 " Catriona," will live far more vividly in the minds 
 of most readers than volumes of mere dissertation 
 written by others. 
 
 The story opens with a recounting of the tragedy 
 of the brothers Cornelius and Jacobus de Windt, 
 which, though not differing greatly from historical 
 fact, is as vivid and terrible an account of the per- 
 secutions of mortal man as any similar incident in 
 romance itself, of whatever age and by whomever 
 written. 
 
 Dumas was in Amsterdam, in 1849, ^^ the coro- 
 nation of William III., where it has been said — 
 
362 Dumas' IParfs 
 
 by Flotow, the composer — that the king remarked 
 to Dumas that none of the scenes of his romances 
 had as yet been laid in the Netherlands, and there- 
 upon told him what was substantially the story of 
 " La Tulipe Noire." This first appeared as the prod- 
 uct of Dumas' hand and brain in 1850. 
 
 This is perhaps more or less a legendary account 
 of its inception; like many another of the reasons 
 for being of Dumas' romances, but it is sufficiently 
 plausible and well authenticated to warrant accept- 
 ance, though it has been said, too, that it was to 
 Paul Lacroix — ** Bibliophile Jacob " — that Dumas 
 owed the idea of the tale. 
 
 At all events, it is a charming pen-picture of 
 Holland; shows a wonderful love and knowledge 
 of the national flower, the tulip, and is one of the 
 most popular of all Dumas' tales, if we except the 
 three cycles of romances, whose scenes and incidents 
 are based on the history of French court life. 
 
 Not for many years did the translators leave " La 
 Tulipe Noire " unnoticed, and for over a half- 
 century it has enjoyed a vogue which is at least 
 comprehensible. 
 
 Its plot and characters are most ingeniously 
 and dextrously handled, but its greatest charm is 
 incident to the process of evolving the famous black 
 tulip from among the indigenous varieties which, 
 
Xea pai?0 Btrangera 363 
 
 at the time of the scene of the novel, had not g-ot 
 beyond the brilHantly variegated yellows and reds. 
 From the various stages of mauve, purple, brown, 
 and, finally, something very nearly akin to black, 
 the flowering bulb finally took form, as first pre- 
 sented to a wide-spread public by Dumas. 
 
 The celebrated Alphonse Karr, a devoted lover of 
 flowers, took the trouble to make a " romancers' 
 garden," composed of trees and flowers which con- 
 temporary novelists, finding the laws of nature too 
 narrow for them, had described in their books. This 
 imaginary garden owed to George Sand a blue 
 chrysanthemum, to Victor Hugo a Bengal rose 
 without thorns, to Balzac a climbing azalea, to Jules 
 Janin a blue pink, to Madame de Genlis a green 
 rose, to Eugene Sue a variety of cactus growing 
 in Paris in the open air, to Paul Feval a variety of 
 larch which retained its leaves during winter, 
 to Forgues a pretty little pink clematis which flour- 
 ished around the windows in the Latin quarter, to 
 Rolle a scented camellia, and to Dumas the black 
 tulip and a white lotus. The black tulip, it may 
 be remarked, though unknown in Dumas' day, has 
 now become an accomplished fact. 
 
 Dumas, though not a botanist, had charming, if 
 not very precise, notions about flowers, — as about 
 animals, — and to him they doubtless said : 
 
364 Dumas' parts 
 
 " Nous sommes les filles du feu secret, 
 Du feu qui circule dans les veines de la terre ; 
 Nous sommes les filles de I'aurore et de la rosde, 
 Nous sommes les filles de I'air, 
 Nous sommes les filles de I'eau ; 
 Mais nous sommes avant tout les filles du ciel." 
 
 Dumas wandered much farther afield than the 
 land of his beloved Valois. To Italy, to Spain, to 
 Algeria, to Corsica, to Germany, and even to Russia. 
 Mostly he made use of his experiences in his books 
 of travel, of which " Les Impressions du Voyage " 
 is the chief. 
 
 Who would read the narrative of the transactions 
 which took place in Russia's capital in the early 
 nineteenth century, should turn to " Les Memoires 
 d'un Maitre d'Armes," or " Dix-huit Mois a St. 
 Petersburgh.'* It presents a picture of the Russian 
 life of the time, in which — the critics agree — 
 there is but slight disguise. Its story — for it is 
 confessedly fiction — turns upon the fortunes of a 
 young subaltern, who played a considerable part in 
 the conspiracy of 1825, and, it has been said by a 
 contemporary writer of the time, hardly any cir- 
 cumstance but the real name of the young man is 
 disgfuised. 
 
 It is in the main, or, at least, it has for its prin- 
 cipal incident, the story of a political exile, and it 
 
%CB iPapa J6tranget5 3^5 
 
 is handled with Dumas' vivid and consummate skill, 
 which therein proves again that the mere romancist 
 had a good deal of the historian about him. 
 
 Besides the locale of " La Tulipe Noire," Dumas 
 takes the action of " The Forty-Five Guardsmen '* 
 into the Netherlands. Frangois, the Due d'Anjou, 
 had entered Belgium and had been elected Due de 
 Brabant, Sovereign Prince of Flanders. At this 
 time it was supposed that Elizabeth of England 
 saw the opportunity of reuniting the Calvinists of 
 Flanders and France with those of England, and 
 so acquire a triple crown. Then follows an account 
 of the attack on Antwerp, which resulted in final 
 defeat of the French, and presents one of the most 
 graphic descriptions of a battle to be found in 
 the pages of Dumas. The historic incident of the 
 interview in Due Frangois' tent, between that 
 worthy and the French Admiral de Joyeuse, is 
 made much of by Dumas, and presents a most 
 picturesque account of this bloody battle. The 
 topography of Antwerp and the country around 
 about is as graphic as a would-be painting. 
 
 " * But,' cried the prince, * I must settle my posi- 
 tion in the country. I am Duke of Brabant and 
 Count of Flanders, in name, and I must be so in 
 reality. This William, who is gone I know not 
 where, spoke to me of a kingdom. Where is this 
 
366 Dumas' Paris 
 
 kingdom? — in Antwerp. Where is he? — prob- 
 ably in Antwerp also ; therefore we must take Ant- 
 werp, and we shall know how we stand.* 
 
 " * Oh ! monseigneur, you know it now, or you 
 are, in truth, a worse politician than I thought you. 
 Who counselled you to take Antwerp? — the Prince 
 of Orange. Who disappeared at the moment of tak- 
 ing the field ? — the Prince of Orange. Who, while 
 he made your Highness Duke of Brabant, reserved 
 for himself the lieutenant-generalship of the duchy ? 
 
 — the Prince of Orange. Whose interest is it to 
 ruin the Spaniards by you, and you by the Span- 
 iards? — the Prince of Orange. Who will replace 
 you, who will succeed, if he does not do so already? 
 
 — the Prince of Orange. Oh! monseigneur, in 
 following his counsels you have but annoyed the 
 Flemings. Let a reverse come, and all those who do 
 not dare to look you now in the face, will run after 
 you like those timid dogs who run after those who 
 fly.' 
 
 " * What ! you imagine that I can be beaten, by 
 wool-merchants and beer-drinkers?' 
 
 " * These wool-merchants and these beer-drinkers 
 have given plenty to do to Philippe de Valois, the 
 Emperor Charles V., and Philippe II., who were 
 three princes placed sufficiently high, monseigneur, 
 for the comparison not to be disagreeable to you.' " 
 
%CB pai?5 lEtrangets 367 
 
 In " Pascal Bruno," Dumas launched into a story 
 of Sicilian brigandage, which has scarce been 
 equalled, unless it were in his two other tales of 
 similar purport — " Cherubino et Celestine," and 
 " Maitre Adam le Calabrais." 
 
 Originally it formed one of a series which were 
 published in one volume — in 1838 — under the 
 title of "La Salle d'Armes, Pauline, et Pascal 
 Bruno." 
 
 According to the " Memoires," a favourite ren- 
 dezvous of Dumas in Paris, at this period, was 
 Grisier's fencing-room. There it was that the maitre 
 d^armes handed him the manuscript entitled " Eight- 
 teen Months at St. Petersburg," — that remarkable 
 account of a Russian exile, — and it is there that 
 Dumas would have his readers to believe that he 
 collected the materials for " Pauline " and " Murat." 
 
 The great attraction of " The Corsican Brothers " 
 lies not so much with Corsica, the home of the 
 vendetta^ the land of Napoleon, and latterly known 
 politically as the 86me Departement de France, as 
 with the events which so closely and strenuously 
 encircled the lives of the brothers De Franchi in 
 Paris itself. 
 
 Corsican life and topography is limned, however, 
 with a fidelity which has too often been lacking In 
 Dumas' description of foreign parts. Perhaps, as 
 
368 Dumas' Iparis 
 
 has been said before, he extracted this information 
 from others ; but more Hkely — it seems to the 
 writer — it came from his own intimate ac- 
 quaintance with that island, as it is known that he 
 was a visitor there in 1834. 
 
 If this surmise be correct, the tale was a long 
 time in taking shape, — an unusually long time for 
 Dumas, — as the book did not appear until 1845, 
 the same year as the appearance of " Monte Cristo " 
 in book form. 
 
 It was dedicated to Prosper Merimee, whose 
 " Colomba " ranks as its equal as a thrilling tale 
 of Corsican life. 
 
 It has been remarked that, curiously enough, in 
 spite of the fact that the story has been so often 
 dramatized and adapted for the stage, — and acted 
 by persons of all shades and grades of ability, — 
 Dumas never thought well enough of it to have 
 given it that turn himself. 
 
 Dumas* acquaintance with Naples ne\^er pro- 
 duced any more lucid paragraphs descriptive of 
 character, and the local colour and scenic efifect 
 besides, than in the few short pages of " Les Pe- 
 cheurs du Filet." It comes, of course, as a result 
 of Dumas* rather extended sojourn in Italy. 
 
 When Dumas actually did write scenic descrip- 
 tions, they were exceedingly graphic, — though not 
 
%CB paps Btrangers 369 
 
 verbose, — and exceedingly picturesque, — though 
 not sentimental, — as witness the following lines 
 which open the tale — though he does make use a 
 little farther on of the now trite tag, " See Naples 
 and die." 
 
 " Every morning on awakening I was in the 
 habit of resting my elbows on the window-sill and 
 gazing far out over the limpid and sparkling mirror 
 of the Tyrrhenian Sea. ... At night the bay is so 
 intensely blue that, under more favourable con- 
 ditions, it resembles those leaden-hued lakes, such 
 as Avemus, the Fucine Lake, or Lake Agnano, — 
 all in the neighbourhood of Naples, which cover the 
 craters of extinct volcanoes." 
 
 The story gives further a wonderful pen-portrait 
 of Ladislas I. of Hungary, of Jerusalem, and of 
 Sicily, and of the barbaric torture of " The Ques- 
 tion," which was performed upon the aspiring lover 
 of Joanna of Naples. 
 
 Rome figures chiefly in " The Count of Monte 
 Cristo," wherein half a dozen chapters are devoted 
 to the " Eternal City." Here it is that Monte Cristo 
 first meets Albert de Morcerf, son of one of that 
 trio of enemies on whom the count has sworn re- 
 venge. De Morcerf, enjoying the pleasures of the 
 Roman carnival, is captured by bandits, from whom 
 he is rescued by the count, who, in saving the son. 
 
370 Buma6' Paris 
 
 makes the first move of vengeance against the 
 father. 
 
 Various interesting parts of Rome are described 
 and touched upon, — the Teatro Argentino, the 
 Colosseum, the Plaza del Popolo — scene of the 
 public executions of that time, — the catacombs of 
 San Sebastian, and many others. The character- 
 istic and picturesque manners and customs of the 
 Romans, from noblesse to peasants, are set down 
 here in vivid and graphic style; and it is clearly 
 plain that when Dumas sojourned in Rome he " did 
 as the Romans do." 
 
 Dumas' familiarity with Switzerland was no 
 greater or no less than his knowledge of Spain, of 
 Italy, of Russia, or of Corsica. In his volumes of 
 travel, " Impressions du Voyage," are many charm- 
 ing bits of narrative which might well be extracted 
 and elaborated into what is otherwise known as 
 fiction. With regard to " Pauline," this is exactly 
 what did happen, or, rather, the relationship between 
 the Pauline of the novelette and the Pauline of " La 
 Voyage en Suisse" is one based upon a common 
 parentage. 
 
 Switzerland early attracted Dumas' attention. 
 He took his first tour in the cantons in 1832, partly 
 as a means of convalescing from a severe illness, 
 and partly because he was in danger of arrest for 
 
%cs pa^0 36tranaet0 371 
 
 the too active part taken by him in the public funeral 
 of General Lamarque and the riots that followed. 
 No sooner was Dumas en route than the leaves of 
 his note-book were torn asunder and despatched 
 forthwith to the then newly founded Revue des 
 Deux Mondes. 
 
 At Fliielen, that high Alpine pass, the mysterious 
 veiled Pauline de Meulien and her cavalier, Alfred 
 
 de N , make their first appearance. One feels 
 
 intuitively that here are the elements of a drama, 
 of which the author will avail himself before long. 
 The voyages continue, however, and the veiled lady 
 fails to reappear until the end of the journey, when 
 another transitory glimpse of her is had at Pfeffers. 
 
 This Pauline's adventures evidently demanded 
 more space than the travels could afford, and became 
 ultimately a novelette. 
 
 " Pauline " is one of Dumas' early attempts at 
 fiction, and is told with originality, and a very 
 considerable skill. Nearly twenty years after 
 " Pauline " was written, Dumas told us that he met 
 the counterpart of the villain of the story, Horace 
 de Beuzeval, who consigned the beautiful Pauline 
 to a living burial in the old abbey vault on the 
 coast of Normandy, near Trouville. 
 
 Dumas' pictures of Switzerland are more or less 
 conventional; with him the story was the thing, 
 
372 Dumas' pads 
 
 and the minutiae of stage setting but a side 
 issue. 
 
 In " Les Crimes Celebres," Dumas goes back to 
 history, though he sticks to France, with the ex- 
 ception of those deahng with the Borgias and Mary- 
 Stuart. 
 
 The crimes of the Borgias — and they were many 
 — end the series, though they cover but the period 
 1492 — 1507. The most unnatural and quite the 
 most despicable being the throwing into the Tiber 
 by Caesar Borgia the cadaver of his brother. Rome, 
 the Popes, and Italy in general form much of the 
 venue, but the political history of France, Spain, 
 and Austria enter largely into the movement of the 
 chronicle, and such widely separated towns of 
 France as Perpignan, in the Comte de Roussillon in 
 the south, and Hesdin, Etaples, and Bethune in the 
 north, all play their parts in the political treaties of 
 the time. 
 
 THE END. 
 
appeuMx 1I* 
 
 DUMAS' ROMANCES AND HISTORICAL STUDIES CLASSED 
 IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 
 
 B.C. loo C^sar. 
 
 B.C. 64 Gaule et France. 
 
 A.D. 57 Acte. 
 
 740-1425 Les Hommes de Fer. 
 
 740 Pepin. 
 
 748 Charlemagne. 
 1076 Guelfes et Gibelins. 
 1099 Praxede. 
 1 1 57 Ivanhoe. 
 1162 Le Prince de Voleurs. 
 1 162 Robin Hood. 
 1248 Dom Martins de Freytas. 
 1 291-1737 Les Medicis. 
 1324-1672 Italiens et Flamands. 
 1324 Ange Gaddi. 
 1338 La Comtesse de Salisbury. 
 1356 Pierre le Cruel. 
 1385 Monseigneur Gaston Phoe- 
 bus. 
 
 1388 Le Batard de Mauleon. 
 
 1389 Isabel de Baviere. 
 1402 Masaccio. 
 
 141 2 Frere Philippe Lippi. 
 1414 La Peche aux Filets. 
 1425 Le Sire de Giac. 
 1429 Jehanne la Pucelle. 
 1433 Charles le Temeraire. 
 1437 Alexandre Botticelli. 
 1437-1587 Les Stuarts. 
 1446 Le Perugin. 
 1452 Jean Bellin. 
 1470 Quintin Metzys. 
 
 1474-1576 Trois Maitres. 
 1474-1564 Michel-Ange. 
 1477-1576 Titien. 
 1483-1520 Raphael. 
 1484 Andre de Mantegna. 
 i486 Leonard da Vinci. 
 1490 Fra Bartolommeo. 
 1490 Sogliana. 
 1492 Le Pincturiccio. 
 1496 Luca de Cranach. 
 
 1503 Baldassare Peruzzi. 
 
 1504 Giorgione. 
 
 1 51 2 Baccio Bandinelli. 
 1512 Andre del Sarto. 
 1 519 Le Salteador. 
 1523 Jacques de Pontormo. 
 
 1530 Jean Holbein. 
 
 1 531 Razzi. 
 
 1537 Une Nuit a Florence. 
 1540 Jules Remain. 
 1540 Ascanio. 
 1542 Albert Durer. 
 1 531 Les Deux Dianes. 
 1553 Henri IV. 
 
 1555 Le Page du Due de Savoie. 
 1559 L'Horoscope. 
 1572 La Reine Margot. 
 1578 La Dame de Monsoreau. 
 1585 Les Quarante-Cinq. 
 1585 Louis XIII. et Richelieu. 
 1619-1825 Les Drames de la 
 Mer. 
 
 373 
 
374 
 
 appcnMx IF* 
 
 1619 Boutikoe. 
 162 1 Un Courtesan. 
 1625 Les Trois Mousquetaires. 
 1637 La Colombe. 
 1638-1715 Louis XIV. et Son 
 Siecle. 
 
 1639 La Princesse de Monaco. 
 
 1640 Guerard Berck-Heyden. 
 1645 Vingt Ans Apres. 
 1650 La Guerre des Femmes. 
 1660 Le Vicomte de Bragelonne. 
 1672 Fran9ois Mieris, 
 
 1672 La Tulipe Noire. 
 
 1683 La Dame de Volupte. 
 
 1697 Memoires d'une Aveugle. 
 
 1697 Les Confessions de la Mar- 
 quise. 
 
 1703 Les Deux Reines. 
 
 1 7 10-17 74 Louis XV. et Sa 
 Cour. 
 
 17 1 5-1 723 La Regence. 
 
 1718 Le Chevalier d'Harmental. 
 
 17 19 Une Fille du Regent. 
 1729 Olympe de Cleves. 
 1739 La Maison de Glace. 
 1754-1789 Louis XVI. et la 
 
 Revolution. 
 1762-1833 Mes Memoires. 
 1 769-182 1 Napoleon. 
 1770 Joseph Balsamo, 
 1772 Le Capitaine Marion. 
 1779 Le Capitaine Paul. 
 
 1784 Le Collier de la Reine. 
 
 1785 Le Docteur Mysterieux. 
 
 1788 Ingenue. 
 
 1789 Ange Pitou. 
 
 1789 Le Chateau d'Eppstein. 
 
 1790 La Comtesse de Charny. 
 
 1 791 La Route de Varennes. 
 
 1792 Cecile. 
 
 1793 L^ Chevalier de Maison- 
 
 Rouge. 
 1793 La Fille du Marquis. 
 1793 Blanche de Beaulieu. 
 
 1793 Le Drame de' 93. 
 
 1794 Les Blancs et les Bleus. 
 
 1795 La Junon. 
 
 1798 La San Felice. 
 
 1799 Emma Lyonna. 
 
 1799 Les Compagnons de J^hu. 
 
 1800 Souvenirs d'une Favorite. 
 1807 Memoires de Garibaldi. 
 18 1 2 Le Capitaine Richard. 
 
 18 1 5 Murat. 
 
 1824 Le Maitre d'Armes. 
 
 1825 Le Kent. 
 
 1831 Les Louves de Machecoul. 
 1 838- 1 8 58 Les Morts Vont 
 
 Vite. 
 1838 Hegesippe Moreau. 
 1842 Le Due d'Orleans. 
 
 1848 Chateaubriand. 
 
 1849 La Derniere Annee de 
 
 Marie Dorval. 
 1857 Beranger. 
 1857 Eugene Sue. 
 1857 Alfred de Musset. 
 1857 Achille Deveria. 
 
 1857 Lefevre-Deumier. 
 
 1858 La Duchesse d'Orleans. 
 i860 Les Garibaldiens. 
 1866 La Terreur Prussienne. 
 
HppenMx n. 
 
 DUMAS ROMANCES, SKETCHES, AND " NOUVELLES IN- 
 TIMES " CLASSED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 
 
 1469 I?aac Laquedem. 
 
 1828 
 
 1708 S^ ivandire. 
 
 1828 
 
 1754 Le Pasteur d'Ashbourn. 
 
 1829 
 
 1774 Le Testament de M. de 
 
 1829 
 
 Chauvelin. 
 
 1830 
 
 1780 Le Meneur de Loups. 
 
 1830 
 
 1793 La Femme au Collier de 
 
 1831 
 
 Velours. 
 
 1831 
 
 1797 Jacques Qrtis. 
 
 1831 
 
 1799 Souvenirs d' Antony. 
 
 1831 
 
 1805 Un Cadet de Famille. 
 
 1832 
 
 1806 A ventures de John Davys. 
 
 1834 
 
 1 8 10 Les Mariages du Pere 
 
 1835 
 
 Olifus. 
 
 183s 
 
 18 10 Le Trou de I'Enfer. 
 
 1838 
 
 181 2 Jane. 
 
 1841 
 
 18 14 Le Comte de Monte- 
 
 1841 
 
 Cristo. 
 
 1842 
 
 18 1 5 Conscience I'Innocent. 
 
 1846 
 
 1817 Le Pere La Ruine. 
 
 1847 
 
 1824 Georges. 
 
 1856 
 
 1827 Les Mohicans de Paris. 
 
 1856 
 
 1827 Salvator. 
 
 
 Sultanetta. 
 
 Jacquot sans Oreilles. 
 
 Catherine Blum. 
 
 La Princesse Flora. 
 
 Dieu Dispose. 
 
 La Boule de Neige. 
 
 Le Capitaine Pamphile. 
 
 Les Drames Galants. 
 
 Le Fils du For9at. 
 
 Les Mille et un Fantomes. 
 
 Une Vie d'Artiste. 
 
 Pauline. 
 
 Fernande. 
 
 Gabriel Lambert. 
 
 Amaury. 
 
 Les Freres Corses. 
 
 Le Chasseur de Sauvagini. 
 
 Black. 
 
 Parisiens et Provinciaux. 
 
 L'lle de Feu. 
 
 Madame de Chamblay. 
 
 Une Aventure d'Amour. 
 
 375 
 
appenMi IFIFII. 
 
 DUMAS TRAVELS CLASSED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 
 
 1830 Quinze Jours au Sinai. 
 
 1839 La Vie au Desert. (Afrique 
 
 1832 Suisse. 
 
 meridionale.) 
 
 1834 l.e Midi de la France. 
 
 1843 L'Arabie lleureuse 
 
 1835 Une Annee a Florence. 
 
 1846 De Paris k Cadix. 
 
 1835 La Villa Palmieri. 
 
 1846 Le Veloce (Tanger, Alger, 
 
 1835 Le Speronare. (Sicile.) 
 
 Tunis.) 
 
 1835 Le Capitaine Arena. 
 
 1850 Un Gil Bias en California. 
 
 (Sicile.) 
 
 1853 Un Pays Inconnu. (Ha- 
 
 1835 Le Corricolo. (Naples.) 
 
 vana, Bresil.) 
 
 1838 Excursions sur les Bords 
 
 1858 En Kussie. 
 
 du Rhin. 
 
 1858 Le Caucase. 
 
 
 1858 Les Baleiniers. 
 
 376 
 
Unber 
 
 Abbaye de Montmartre, 227. 
 Abbey of Sl Denis, 142, 143. 
 Abbey of St. Genevieve, 37, 
 
 136, 187, 253. 
 Abelard and Heloise, 82. 
 About, Edmond, 42, 188. 
 Academie Frangaise, 228. 
 Aigues-Mortes, 139, 347. 
 Alais, 160. 
 Alegres, D', 224. 
 Alengon, 79, 326. 
 Algiers, 45. 
 Alicante, 159. 
 Allee de la Muette, 231. 
 Allee des Cygnes, 11. 
 Alsace and Lorraine, 11. 
 " Ambigu," The, 54. 
 Amsterdam, 361. 
 " An Englishman in Paris " 
 
 (Vandam). 94, 116. 
 "Ange Pitou," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Angers, 332-334- 
 Angers, Castle of. 333. 
 Angers, David d*, 82. 
 Angles, Count, 151. 
 Anjou, 333. 
 Anjou, Due d*, 365. 
 Anne of Austria, 115. 266, 289, 
 
 312. 
 "Anthony," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Antwerp, 365. 
 
 Aramis, 45, 49, 246, 247, 252, 
 300, 329. 
 
 Aramitz, Henr}' d'. see Ara- 
 mis. 
 
 Arc de Triomphe, 147. 
 
 Arc de Triomphe du Car- 
 rousel, 135. 
 
 Arc de Triomphe d'Etoile, 
 88, 138, 192. 
 
 Argenteuil. 314. 
 
 Aries, 347, 349. 
 
 Arnault, Lucien, 18, 71. 
 
 Arras, 49, 324. 
 
 Artagnan, 49. 
 
 Artagnan, see D'Artagnan. 
 
 Asnieres, 171. 
 
 Athos, 45, 49, 246-248, 252, 
 313- 
 
 Auber. 117. 
 
 " Au Fidele Berger," 205. 
 
 Augennes, Jacques d'. 315. 
 
 Augennes. Regnault d', 315. 
 
 "Au Grand Roi Charle- 
 magne," 248. 
 
 Aumale, D', 323. 
 
 Auteuil, 87. 
 
 Auvergne, 321. 
 
 Auxerre, 159. 
 
 Avedick, 289. 
 
 Avenel, Georges, 101-103. 
 
 Avenue de la Grande Armee, 
 
 139- 
 Avenue de I'Opera, 114, 149, 
 
 377 
 
378 
 
 irn&ex 
 
 Avenue de Villiers, 124. 
 Avignon, 359. 
 
 Balzac, 69, 82, 127, 363. 
 
 Barbes, 179. 
 
 Barbizon, 71. 
 
 Barras, 74. 
 
 Barrere, 143. 
 
 Bartholdi's "Liberty," li. 
 
 Bastille, The, 149, 152, i73, 
 
 196, 225, 241, 263, 268, 278, 
 
 284-287, 292, 29s, 296. 
 Bath, 76. 
 Batignolles, 87. 
 Batz, Baron de, 50. 
 Batz de Castlemore, Charles 
 
 de, see D'Artagnan. 
 Baudry, 129, 151. 
 Bauville, Theodore de, 51. 
 Bavaria, TJ. 
 Beaucaire, 347-349- 
 Beaufort, Duke of, 289. 
 Beausire, 254. 
 Belgium, 8, 92, 365. 
 Bellegarde, 347. 
 Belle He, 327-329. 
 Belleville, 87. 
 Bellune, Due de, 84. 
 Beranger, 3, 68, 71. 
 Bercy, 87. 
 
 Bernhardt, Sara, 191. 
 Berry, Duchesse de, 152. 
 Bertuccio, 328. 
 Besangon, 92. 
 Bethune, 372. 
 Beuzeval, Horace de, 371. 
 Biard, 224. 
 " Bibliotheque Royale," 50, 
 
 131, 135, 253. 
 Bicetre, 234. 
 Bigelow, John, 125. 
 Billot, Father, 18, 23, 24. 
 "Black Tulip," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Blackwood's Magazine, 257. 
 plane, Louis, 75, 179. 
 
 Blanqui, 179. 
 
 Blois, 155, 246, 330-332. 
 
 Blois, Chateau de, 330, 331. 
 
 Bohemia, 95, 96. 
 
 Boieldieu, 82, 153. 
 
 Bois de Boulogne, 89, 150, 
 
 192, 231, 298, 319. 
 Bois de Meudon, 303. 
 Bois de Vincennes, 89, 147, 
 
 150, 319. 
 Boissy, Adrien de, 255, 256. 
 Bondy, 315. 
 
 Bordeaux, 151, 154, 159, 342. 
 Borgias, The, 372. 
 Boulevard des Italiens, 92, 
 
 93, 114, 187, 213, 231. 
 Boulevard du Prince Eu- 
 gene, 140. 
 Boulevard Henri Quatre, 
 
 285. 
 Boulevard Magenta, 140, 149. 
 Boulevard Malesherbes, 103, 
 
 140, 149. 
 Boulevard Raspail, 252. 
 Boulevard Sevastopol, 140, 
 
 149. 
 Boulevard St. Denis, 135, 147. 
 Boulevard St. Germain, 128, 
 
 140, 149, 252. 
 Boulevard St. Martin, 135, 
 
 147, 149. 
 Boulogne, 160. 
 Bourges, 155. 
 Bourg, L'Abbe, 130. 
 Bourgogne, 105. 
 Bourse, The, 89, 91. 
 Brabant, Due de, 365. 
 Brentano, 360. 
 Brest, 90, 91, 160. 
 Breteuil, De, 296. 
 Bridges : 
 
 Cahors, 172. 
 
 Lyons, 172. 
 
 Orthos, 172. 
 
 St. Benezet d'Avignon, 172. 
 
 See under Pont also. 
 
Unbex 
 
 379 
 
 Brillat-Savarin, 102, 103. 
 Brinvilliers, Marquise de, 
 
 286, 287. 
 Brionze, 79. 
 Brittany, 327, 328. 
 Broggi, Paolo, 118. 
 Brown, Sir Thomas, 142. 
 Brozier, 31. 
 Brussels, 44, 'j^. 
 " Bruyere aux Loups," 23. 
 Buckingham, 322. 
 Buckle, 96. 
 Bureau d'Orleans, 8, 31, 58, 
 
 84, 187. 
 Burns, 43. 
 Bussy, 333. 
 
 Buttes Chaumont, 190, 314. 
 Byron, 43. 
 
 " Cachot de Marie Antoi- 
 nette," 238. 
 
 Caderousse, 347, 349. 
 
 Caen, 326. 
 
 Cafe de Paris, iii, 187, 
 189. 
 
 Cafe des Anglais, 118. 
 
 Cafe du Roi, 18. 
 
 Cafe Riche, 118. 
 
 Cagliostro, 295, 296. 
 
 Cahors, 351. 
 
 Cahors, Bridge of, 172. 
 
 Calais, 159, 160, 321-324, 327. 
 
 Calcutta, 76. 
 
 Calixtus IL, 198. 
 
 Cambaceres, Delphine, 82. 
 
 Canebiere, The, 342. 
 
 Cantal, 321. 
 
 Capetians, The, 194. 
 
 " Capitaine Pamphile," see 
 Works of Dumas. 
 
 "Capitaine Paul" (Paul 
 Jones), see Works of Du- 
 mas. 
 
 Carcassonne, 139. 
 
 Carlyle, 69. 
 
 Carmelite Friary, 246, 252. 
 
 " Caserne Napoleon," 140. 
 Caspian Sea, The, 44. 
 Castle of Angers, ^2)3- 
 Castle of Pierrefonds, 324. 
 Cathedral de Notre Dame 
 
 (Chartres), 329. 
 Cathedral of Notre Dame de 
 
 Rouen, 187. 
 " Catriona " ( Stephenson ) , 
 
 361. 
 Caucasus, 8. 
 " Clauseries," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Caussidiere, Marc, 178, 179, 
 Cavaignac, General, 179. 
 Ceinture Railway, 89, 303. 
 Cenci, The, 285. 
 Chaffault, De, 46. 
 Chalet de Monte Cristo, see 
 
 Residences of Dumas. 
 Chalons, 359. 
 Chambord, 332. 
 Chambre des Deputes, 8, 138, 
 
 167, 187. 
 Champs Elysees, 95, 136, 150. 
 Changarnier, General 181. 
 Chanlecy, Charlotte Anne 
 
 de, 50. 
 Chantilly, 297, 298. 
 Charenton, 87. 
 Charlemagne, 129, 193. 
 Charles I., 267. 
 Charles VI., 315, 325. 
 Charles VII., 131. 
 Charles VIII., 132. 
 Charles IX., 133, 212, 217, 
 
 236, 253, 263, 311, 320, 2>2>Z- 
 Charles X., 156, 270. 
 Charles-le-Temeraire, 215. 
 Charpillon, M., 8. 
 Chartres, 329, 330. 
 Chartres, Cathedral de Notre 
 
 Dame, 329. 
 Chartres, Due de (Philippe 
 
 d'Orleans), 267. 
 Chateaubriand, 68, 147. 
 
38o 
 
 fnt)ex 
 
 Chateau de Blois, 330, 331. 
 Chateau d'lf, 45, 339, 340, 
 
 343, 347. 
 Chateau de Rambouillet, 315. 
 Chateau de Rocca Petrella, 
 
 285. 
 Chateau de Vincennes, 319, 
 
 320. 
 Chateau of Madrid, 298, 
 
 319. 
 Chateau Neuf, 303, 312, 313. 
 Chateaurien, Rene de, 319. 
 Chatelet du Monte Cristo, 
 
 303. 
 Chatillon-sur-Seine, 169. 
 Chenier, Andre, 68, 71. 
 Cherbourg, 160. 
 " Cherubino et Celestine," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 " Cheval de Bronze," 172. 
 "Chevalier d'Harmental," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 "Chicot the Jester" (La 
 
 Dame de Monsoreau"), see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Childebert, 129, 212. 
 Childerie, 129. 
 Chopin, 82. 
 
 Christine of Sweden, 123. 
 Churches, see under figlise. 
 Cimetiere des Innocents, 197, 
 
 221. 
 Cimetiere Pere la Chaise, see 
 
 Pere la Chaise. 
 Cinq-Mars, 224. 
 Civil War, The, 50. 
 Claremont, 180. 
 Clement-Thomas, Gen., 227. 
 Clovis, 129. 
 " Clymnestre," 19. 
 "Coches d'Eau," 156. 
 Coconnas, 173. 
 Coligny, 260. 
 Coligny, fils, 224. 
 College des Quatre Nations, 
 
 135, 173. 
 
 " Colomba," 368. 
 Colonne de Juillet, 88. 
 Comedie Frangaise, 190. 
 " Commission des Monu^ 
 
 ments Historiques," 278. 
 " Commission du Vieux 
 
 Paris," 193. 
 Commune, The, 185, 192, 196, 
 
 227, 263, 264. 
 " Compagnie Generale des 
 
 Omnibus," 153. 
 Compiegne, 24, 46, 246, 286, 
 
 297, 298, 317-319. 
 " Comtesse de Charny," see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Conciergerie, 92, 236, 238, 
 
 240, 241, 263, 286. 
 Conde, 224, 320. 
 Conflans-Charenton, 171. 
 Contades, Count G. de, 79. 
 Conti, Prince de, 90. 
 Corneille, 224. 
 Corot, 72, 72,, 191- 
 Corsica, 8, 337, 35 1, 367. 
 " Corsican Brothers," see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Cosne, 155. 
 
 Couloir St. Hyacinthe, 228. 
 Courbevoie, 314. 
 Cour du Justice, 241. 
 " Count of Monte Cristo," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 Cours la Reine, 133. 
 Crepy-en-Valois, 15, 16, 24, 
 
 46, 83, 315, 317, 318, 321. 
 " Crimes Celeb res " (" Cele- 
 brated Crimes"), see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Cul-de-sac des Marchands 
 
 des Chevaux, 286. 
 " Cyrano de Bergerac," 43. • 
 
 Dammartin, 16, 24, 317. 
 Damploux, 24. 
 
 Danglars, Baron, 109, 231, 
 261. 
 
tn^cx 
 
 381 
 
 Dantes, 229, 231, 328, 344. 
 
 346, 347, 355. 
 Darnley, 324. 
 Daubonne, 214. 
 Daudet, 3, 349- 
 David, 82. 
 
 "David Copperfield," 34. 
 D'Alegres, The, 224. 
 D' Angers, David, 82. 
 D'Anjou, Due, 365. 
 D'Aramitz, Henry, see Ara- 
 
 mis. 
 D'Artagnan, 45, 48-50» 5^, 
 
 127, 200, 201, 206, 214, 223, 
 
 225, 245-247, 252, 267, 313, 
 
 328, 329. 
 D'Artagnan Romances, 148, 
 
 171, 195, 205, 215, 225, 235, 
 
 247, 254, 266, 312, 330, 331- 
 D'Augennes, Jacques, 315. 
 D'Augennes, Regnault, 315. 
 D'Aumale, 323. 
 De Batz, Baron, 50. 
 De Batz de Castlemore, 
 
 Charles, see D'Artagnan. 
 De Bauville, Theodore, 51. 
 De Bellune, Due, 84. 
 De Berry, Duchesse, 152. 
 De Beuzeval, Horace, 371. 
 De Boissy, Adrien, 255, 256. 
 De Brabant, Due, 365. 
 De Breteuil, 296. 
 De Brinvilliers, Marquise, 
 
 286, 287. 
 De Chaffault, 46. 
 De Chanlecy, Charlotte Anne, 
 
 50. 
 De Chartres, Due (Philippe 
 
 d'Orleans), 267. 
 De Chateaurien, Rene, 319. 
 De Contades, Count G., 79. 
 De Conti, Prince, 90. 
 D'Enghien, Due, 320. 
 D'Estrees, Gabrielle, 228, 260. 
 De Flesselles, 196. 
 De France, Henriette, 267. 
 
 De Franchi, 213, 232, 255, 
 
 367. 
 De Franchi, Louis, 319. 
 De Genlis, Madame, 363. 
 De Guise, Cardinal, 323. 
 De Guise, Due, 224, 253, 278, 
 
 301, 323. 
 De Guise, Duchesse, 122, 323. 
 De Jallais, Amedee, 232. 
 De Joyeuse, Admiral, 365. 
 De la Mole, 212. 
 De la Motte, Madame, 228, 
 
 241, 307. 
 De Launay, 284. 
 De Leuven, Adolphe, 14, 16, 
 
 18. 
 De Lesdequieres, Duchesse, 
 
 293- 
 De Longueville, Madame, 
 
 224. 
 De Marsillac, Prince, 90. 
 De Mauge, Marquis, 214. 
 De Maupassant, Guy, 228. 
 De Medici, Marie, 133, 224, 
 
 260. 
 De Medici, Catherine, 208, 
 
 212, 264. 
 De Merle, 18. 
 De Meulien, Pauline, 371. 
 De Montford, Comtes, 315. 
 De Montmorenci, Due, 255. 
 De Montpensier, Due, 45. 
 De Morcerf, Albert, 369. 
 De Morcerf, Madame, 358. 
 De Musset, Alfred, 68, 82, 95, 
 
 123. 
 De Nemours, M., 323. 
 De Nerval, Gerard, 123. 
 De Nevers, Duchesse, 197. 
 D'Orleans, Louis, 324. 
 De Poissy, Gerard, 130, 
 De Poitiers, Diane, 260, 
 De Portu, Jean, see Porthos. 
 De Retz, Cardinal, 320. 
 De Richelieu, see Richelieu. 
 De Rohan, 37, 224. 
 
382 
 
 fn^et 
 
 De Sevigne, Madame, 102, 
 
 223. 
 De Sillegue, Colonel, 49. 
 De Sillegue d'Athos, Ar- 
 
 mand, see Athos. 
 De Sorbonne, Robert, 244. 
 De Ste. Croix, Gaudin, 286. 
 De Talleyrand, Henri, 214. 
 De Treville, 49, 246, 251. 
 De Valois, see under Valois. 
 De Vigny, 68. 
 De Villefort, 261, 340. 
 De Villemessant, 52. 
 De Volterre, Ricciarelli, 224. 
 De Wardes, 322. 
 De Windt, Cornelius, 361. 
 De Windt, Jacobus, 361. 
 De Winter, Lady, 223. 
 Debret, 117. 
 Decamps, 191. 
 Delacroix, 73, 82, 97, 191. 
 Delavigne, 18, 82. 
 Delrien, 18. 
 
 Demidoff, Prince, 189. 
 "Dernier Jour d'un Con- 
 
 damne," 239. 
 Desaugiers, 31. 
 Desbordes- Valmore, Ma- 
 dame, 70. 
 Descamps, Gabriel, 221. 
 Desmoulins, Camille, 268. 
 Dibdin, 150. 
 Dickens, Charles, 34. 
 " Dictionnaire de Cuisine," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 Dieppe, 8, 66. 
 "Director of Evacuations at 
 
 Naples," 45, 57. 
 "Dix-huit Mois a St. Pe- 
 
 tersburgh," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Don Quixote, 245. 
 Dore, Gustave, 123, 140, 149. 
 Douai, 49. 
 Dover, 154, 322. 
 Drapeau Blanc, 31. 
 
 Ducercen, 313. 
 Ducis, 121. 
 
 Dujarrier-Beauvallon, 75-77. 
 Dumas : 
 Monuments to, see under 
 
 Monuments. 
 Residences of, see under 
 
 Residences. 
 Title of, see under Title. 
 Travels of, see under 
 
 Travels. 
 Works of, see under 
 Works. 
 Dumas, General, Marquis de 
 
 la Pailleterie, 26, 27, 47. 
 Dumas, fils, 64, 66, 67, 75, 78, 
 
 79, 81, 121, 124. 
 Duprez, 117. 
 
 ficole des Beaux Arts, 244. 
 ficole de Droit, 136, 183, 244. 
 ficole de Medicine, 244. 
 "ficole des Viellards," 18. 
 ficole Militaire, 136. 
 Edict of Nantes, 334. 
 figlise de la Madeleine, 88, 
 
 138, 149, 153- 
 figlise de Notre Dame, 86, 
 
 129, 167, 198, 23s, 263, 286. 
 figlise de St. Gervais, 132. 
 figlise de St. Merry, 132. 
 figlise de St. Paul et St. 
 
 Louis, 133. 
 figlise St. Etienne du Mont, 
 
 167, 253, 254. 
 figlise St. Eustache, 192. 
 figlise St. Germain I'Auxer- 
 
 rois, 132, 212, 260. 
 figlise St. Innocents, 142, 
 
 144, 223. 
 figlise St. Jacques, 198. 
 figlise St. Roch, 134. 
 figlise St. Severin, 167. 
 figlise St. Sulpice, 167. 
 "Eighteen Months at St. 
 
 Petersburg," 367. 
 
fn&ex 
 
 383 
 
 Elba, 25, 219, 337. 
 Elizabeth, 365. 
 Elysee, The, 25, 103. 
 Enghien, Due d', 320. 
 England, 8, 50. 
 Epinac, 160. 
 Ermenonville, 24. 
 Esplanade des Invalides, 150. 
 Estaminet du Divan, 118. 
 Estrees, Gabrielle d', 228, 
 
 260. 
 Etaples, 372. 
 
 "Fabrique des Romans," 38. 
 Falaise, 326. 
 
 Faubourg St. Denis, 220. 
 Faubourg St. Germain, 83, 
 
 132. 
 Faubourg St. Honore, 83. 
 Fernand, 261. 
 Ferry, Gabriel, 233. 
 Feval, Paul, 363. 
 Figaro, The, 52. 
 Flanders, 321. 
 Flaubert, Gustave, 77. 
 Flesselles, De, 196. 
 Fleury, General, 76. 
 Florence, 115. 
 Fontainebleau, 155, 297, 298, 
 
 300, 302, 303, 315. 
 Fontaine des Innocents, 145, 
 
 187, 193, 222. 
 Foret de Compiegne, 318, 
 
 319. 
 Foret de TAigue, 286. 
 Forgues, 363. 
 Fort de Vincennes, 320. 
 Fort Lamalge, 350. 
 " Forty - Five Guardsmen," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 Fosses de la Bastille, 137. 
 Fouque, 360. 
 Fouquet, 199, 289, 298, 300, 
 
 320. 
 Foy, General, 31, 82, 84. 
 France, Henriette de, 267. 
 
 Franchi, De, 213, 232, 255, 
 
 367. 
 Franchi, Louis de, 319. 
 Francis, 18. 
 Frangois L, I3i-I34» I44, I97» 
 
 198, 260, 313. 
 Franco- Prussian War, 57, 
 
 164, 192. 
 Fronde, 89. 
 
 "Gabriel Lambert," see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Gaillardet, 238. 
 Gare de I'Est, 162. 
 Gare du Nord, 162. 
 Gare St. Lazare, 161. 
 Garibaldi, 37. 
 Garnier, 190, 
 Gascony, 50. 
 Gaston of Orleans, 331. 
 Gautier, 68, 71, 72, 123. 
 Gay, Mme. Delphine, 70. 
 Genlis, Madame de, 363. 
 " Georges," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Germany, 8, 360. 
 Girondins, The, 194. 
 Glinel, Charles, 26. 
 Godot, 151. 
 Goethe, 68, 360. 
 "Golden Lion," 316. 
 Gondeville, 24. 
 Gouffe, Armand, 31. 
 Goujon, Jean, 132, 223, 260. 
 Granger, Marie, 327. 
 Grenelle, 95. 
 Grisier, 75, 367. 
 "Guido et Genevra " (Ha- 
 
 levy), 54. 
 Guilbert, 205. 
 Guise, Cardinal de, 323, 
 Guise, Due de, 224, 253, 278, 
 
 301, 323. 
 Guise, Duchesse de, 122, 323. 
 Guizot, 69. 
 
ZH 
 
 fn^ci 
 
 Halevy, 54, 70, 117. 
 Hamerton, Philip Gilbert, 
 
 168. 
 Hamilton, 324. 
 "Hamlet," 121. 
 Haramont, 23. 
 Hautes- Pyrenees, 49. 
 Havre, 150, 160, 169, 179, 
 
 180, 326. 
 Henri L, 323. 
 Henri H., 132, 172, 303, 312, 
 
 323. 
 Henri HI., 122, 133, 172, 323, 
 
 333. 
 Henri IV., 133, I34, H3, 217, 
 
 224, 235, 236, 260, 303, 312, 
 
 320, 323, 351, 354- 
 Henri V., 181. 
 "Henri HI. et Sa Cour," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 "Hernani," 122. 
 Herold, 82. 
 Hesdin, 372, 
 " Histoire de Jules Cesar " 
 
 (Napoleon HI.), 73. 
 " Histoire des Prisons de 
 
 Paris," 238. 
 " History of Civilization " 
 
 (Buckle), 96. 
 Hoffman, 360. 
 Honfleur, 169, 179. 
 Hopital des Petites Maisons, 
 
 132. 
 Hopital du St. Jacques du 
 
 Haut Pas, 133. 
 Hotel Boulainvilliers, 228. 
 Hotel Chevreuse, 127, 128, 
 
 252. 
 Hotel D'Artagnan, 214. 
 Hotel de Bourgogne, 133, 
 
 215. 
 Hotel de Choiseul, 115. 
 Hotel de Cluny, 167. 
 Hotel de Coligny, 278. 
 Hotel de Due de Guise, 
 
 278. 
 
 Hotel de France, 248. 
 Hotel des Invalidcs, 135, 149, 
 
 167. 
 "Hotel de la Belle Etoile," 
 
 208, 212. 
 Hotel de la Monnaie, 136, 
 
 248. 
 Hotel de Louvre, 102, 
 Hotel de MerccEur, 266. 
 Hotel des Montmorencies, 
 
 278. 
 Hotel des Mousquetaires, 
 
 207, 210. 
 Hotel des Postes, 154. 
 Hotel de Soissons, 133. 
 Hotel de Venise, 234. 
 Hotel de Ville, 132, 137, 191, 
 
 196, 197, 204, 318. 
 Hotel du Vieux-Augustins, 
 
 16. 
 Hotel la Tremouille, 251. 
 Hotel Longueville, 89. 
 "Hotel Picardie," 214. 
 Hotel Rambouillet, 266. 
 Hotel Richelieu, 266. 
 Hugo, Victor, 3, 37, 68, 7i» 
 
 73f 79, 82, 122, 127, I55» 
 
 156, 158, 223, 239, 363. 
 Hugo, P^re, 82. 
 Huntley, 324. 
 Hyeres, 351. 
 
 He de la Cite, 86, 131, 133, 
 165, 169, 172, 235. 
 
 He St. Louis, 165, 169. 
 
 " Impressions du Voyage," 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 
 "Inn of the Beautiful Pea- 
 cock," 300. 
 
 Irving, Washington, 41. 
 
 Island of Monte Cristo, 338. 
 
 Isle of France (Mauritius), 
 
 46. 
 Italy, 8, 44. 
 Ivry, 88. 
 
Inbci 
 
 38s 
 
 Jacquot, 51. 
 
 Jallais, Amedee de, 233. 
 
 James II., 303. 
 
 Janin, Jules, 363. 
 
 Jardin des Plantes, 134, 149. 
 
 "Jeanne d'Arc," see Works 
 
 of Dumas. 
 Jean-sans-Peur, 215. 
 Jerome, Prince, 271. 
 Jerusalem, 369. 
 Jesuit College, 132. 
 "Jeune Malade," 205. 
 Joanna of Naples, 369. 
 Joigny, 46, 58. 
 Jourdain, Marshal, 84. 
 Jouy, 18. 
 
 Joyeuse, Admiral de, 365. 
 "Jugurtha," 45. 
 Jussac, 252. 
 
 Karr, Alphonse, 363. 
 "Kean," see Works of Du- 
 mas. 
 Kipling, 41. 
 Kotzebue, 285. 
 
 L'Abbe Metel de Bois-Ro- 
 
 bert, 228. 
 La Beauce, 166. 
 La Brie, 166. 
 Lachambeaudie, 82. 
 Lacenaire, 240. 
 La Chapelle, 87. 
 La Chatre, 70. 
 "La Chevrette," 214. 
 La Cite, 129, 130, 166, 167, 
 
 235, 247. 
 "La Compagne Lafitte et 
 
 Caillard," 157. 
 Lacroix, Paul, 362. 
 " La Dame aux Camelias," 
 
 79. 
 La Dame aux Camelias, see 
 
 Plessis, Alphonsine, 78. 
 " La Dame de Monsoreau " 
 
 ("Chicot the Jester"), see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 
 Ladislas L of Hungary, 369. 
 "La Feuille" (Arnault), 71. 
 La France, 163. 
 Lamartine, 68, 71, 179. 
 Lambert, Gabriel, 326, 327. 
 Langeais, 332. 
 " La Pastissier Frangaise," 
 
 104. 
 "La Pate d'ltalie," 93. 
 La PressCj 75. 
 La Revue, 54, 64. 
 La Rochelle, 49. 
 La Roquette, 263, 278. 
 Lassagne, 31. 
 Latin Quarter, see Quartier 
 
 Latin. 
 "La Tour de Nesle," see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Launay, De, 284. 
 La Ville, 130, 166, 167. 
 La Villette, 24, 87, 137. 
 Lebrun, Madame, 179. 
 "Le Chatelet," 204. 
 Leclerc, Captain, 229. 
 "Le Collier de la Reine" 
 
 (The Queen's Necklace), 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 Lecomte, General, 227. 
 Le Gaulois, 163. 
 Legislative Assembly, 183. 
 Le Livre, 79. 
 Lemarquier, 239. 
 Lemercier, 19. 
 Le Mousquetaire, 44. 
 "Le Nord" Railway, 160. 
 Le Peuple, 98. 
 Lescot, Pierre, 222, 260. 
 Lesdequieres, Duchesse de, 
 
 293. 
 "Les Frangaises," 157. 
 Les Grandes Eaux, 303. 
 Les Halles, 206, 222, 263. 
 "Les Pecheurs du Filet," see 
 
 Works of Dumas, 368. 
 "L'Est" Railway, 160. 
 Les Ternes, 87. 
 
386 
 
 tnt^cx 
 
 " Les Trois Mousquetaires," 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 
 "Le Stryge," 198. 
 
 Leuven, Adolphe de, 14, 16, 
 18. 
 
 L'Homme-Lihre, 75. 
 
 Lille, 49, 160. 
 
 " L' Image de Notre Dame," 
 199, 201, 
 
 Limerick, y6. 
 
 L'Institut, 167. 
 
 Lisbon, yj. 
 
 Lisieux, 326. 
 
 Loire, The, 155, 160, 168, 329- 
 
 331. 
 London, y6, 105, 150, 154, 
 
 179, 189, 321. 
 London Tower, 185. 
 Longe, 79. 
 
 Longueville, Madame de, 
 
 224. 
 " L'Orleans " Railway, 160, 
 
 161, 192. 
 "L'Ouest" Railway, 160. 
 Louis L, yy. 
 Louis IV., 220. 
 Louis VIL, 130, 173. 
 Louis VIIL, 144. 
 Louis XL, 12, 131. 
 Louis XIL, 131, 134. 
 Louis XIIL, 133, 214, 224, 
 
 266. 
 Louis XIV., so, 104, 115, 134, 
 
 135, 143, 224, 260, 267, 288, 
 289, 303, 304, 312, 328, 330, 
 331. 
 
 Louis XV., 135, 166, 318. 
 Louis XVI., 196, 264, 315. 
 Louis XVIII., 143, 154, 262. 
 Louis-Philippe, 31, 38, 58, 69, 
 72, 86, 88, 104, 116, 153, 
 
 180, 193, 268, 270, 
 Louvre, The, 89, 132, 135, 
 
 136, 167, 173, 175, 184, 187, 
 195, 208, 212, 215, 221, 241, 
 255, 258-264, 315. 
 
 Loyola, Ignatius, 227. 
 
 Lulli, 115. 
 
 L'Universite, 127, 130, 166, 
 
 167, 244, 248. 
 Lutece, 86. 
 Luxembourg, The, 133, 167, 
 
 187, 191, 245-247, 251, 253- 
 
 255. 
 Luxembourg, Gardens of the, 
 
 70, 150, 253. 
 Lycee Henri Quatre, 253. 
 Lyons, 157, I59, 172, 301, 342, 
 
 359. 
 
 Mackeat (Maquet), Augus- 
 tus, 39-42. 
 
 Madeleine, The (Church), 
 88, 138, 149, 153. 
 
 Madelonnettes, The, 134. 
 
 Madrid, 159. 
 
 Madrid, Chateau of, 298, 319. 
 
 Maestricht, 50. 
 
 Magazin St. Thomas, 147. 
 
 " Mais on Dumas et tie',' 40, 
 
 51- 
 " Maitre Adam le Calabrais," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 Malmesbury, Lord, 76. 
 Mandrin, Pierre, 91. 
 " Man in the Iron Mask, 
 
 The," 288, 289. 
 Mantes, 165, 169. 
 Marat, Jean Paul, 229. 
 Marcel, Etienne, 130, 193. 
 Margot, 236. 
 " Marguerite de Valois," see 
 
 Works of Dumas. 
 Marie Antoinette, 50, 236, 
 
 238. 
 Mame, 165. 
 Marrast, Armand, 179. 
 Mars, Mile., 123. 
 Marseilles, 155, 219, 229, 261, 
 
 339-342, 349, 351, 358. 
 Marsillac, Prince de, 90. 
 Mattioli, 290. 
 
fn^cjc 
 
 S^7 
 
 Mauge, Marquise de, 214. 
 Maupassant, Guy de, 228. 
 Mauritius (Isle of France), 
 
 46. 
 Mazarin, 37, 115, 211, 267, 
 
 273, 275. 
 " Mechanism of M^od^rn 
 
 Life," loi. 
 Medici, Marie de, 133, 224, 
 
 260. 
 Medici, Catherine de, 208, 
 
 212, 264. 
 " Meditations " (Lamartine), 
 
 68. 
 Mediterranean, The, 45, 327, 
 
 336, 340. 
 " Memoires," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 " Memoires de M. d'Arta- 
 
 gnan," 49. 
 " Memoires d'un Maitre 
 
 d'Armes," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Menilmontant, 87. 
 Mennesson, 14. 
 Merimee, 69, 159, 368. 
 Merle, De, 18. 
 Merovee, 129. 
 Meryon, 126-128, 198. 
 "Mes Betes," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 "Messageries a Cheval," 157. 
 " Messageries Royale," 157. 
 " Metropolitain," 204. 
 Metz, 157. 
 Meulan, 165. 
 
 Meulien, Pauline de, 371. 
 Meyerbeer, 117. 
 Michelangelo, 224. 
 Michelet, 69, 82, 98-100. 
 Mignet, 69. 
 Millet, 71. 
 
 Minister of the Interior, 183. 
 Mirabeau, 320. 
 Mohammed Ali, 88. 
 Mole, De la, 212. 
 
 Moliere, 224. 
 
 Molle, Mathieu, 211. 
 
 Monastere des Feuillants, 
 
 133. 
 Monet, 187. 
 
 Monmouth, Duke of, 289. 
 Monselet, Charles, 163. 
 Monstrelet, 215. 
 Montargis, 155. 
 " Monte Cristo," see Works 
 
 of Dumas. 
 Monte Cristo, Island of, 45, 
 
 338. 
 Montez, Lola, 76, 78. 
 Montford, Comtes de, 315. 
 Montmartre, 87, 142, 146, 
 
 188, 190, 227, 314. 
 Montmartre, Abbaye of, 227. 
 Montmorenci, Due de, 255. 
 Montpensier, Due de, 45. 
 Mont Valerien, 88. 
 Monuments to Dumas, 140, 
 
 149. 
 Morcerf, Mme. de, 358. 
 Morcerf, Albert de, 369. 
 Morrel, House of, 349. 
 Motte, Mme. de la, 228, 241, 
 
 307. 
 Moulin Rouge, 227. 
 Moulin de la Galette, 227. 
 Mount of Martyrs, 227. 
 Miiller, 241. 
 Munier, Georges, 46. 
 Murat, 351. 
 " Murat," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Miirger, Henri, 96. 
 Musee, Cluny, 5. 
 Musset, Alfred de, 68, 82, 
 
 95, 123. 
 " Mysteries of Paris," 99. 
 
 Nadaud, Gustave, 96. 
 Nancy, 157, 160. 
 Nantes, 151, 334-336. 
 Nantes, Edict of, 334. 
 
388 
 
 irnt>cx 
 
 Nanteuil, 24. 
 
 Naples, 8, 368. 
 
 Napoleon L, i, 25, 74, 88, 
 
 116, 137, 138, 192, 193, 218, 
 
 219, 244, 260, 265, 270, 313, 
 325- 367. 
 
 Napoleon III., 54, 73, 74, 
 
 89, 102, 144, 180, 181, 183- 
 
 185, 260, 265, 271, 315, 
 
 325- 
 Napoleon, Jerome, 45. 
 Nemours, De, 323. 
 Nerval, Gerard de, 123. 
 Netherlands, The, 365. 
 Nevers, Duchesse de, 197. 
 New York, 11, 105. 
 Nodier, Charles, 69, 82, 104, 
 
 156. 
 Nogaret, 238. 
 Nogent, 88. 
 Noirtier, M., 229. 
 Normandy, 326, 327. 
 Notre Dame, see under 
 
 figlise. 
 Notre Dame de la Garde 
 
 (Marseilles), 342. 
 
 Obelisk, The, 88. 
 Observatoire, The, 135, 244. 
 Odeon, The, 123, 167, 187. 
 "Odes et Ballades" (Hugo), 
 
 68. 
 " CEdipus," 122. 
 "Old Mortality," 121. 
 Oliva, 255. 
 Oloron, 49. 
 Omnibus, Companies : 
 
 " Compagnie Generale des 
 Omnibus," 153. 
 
 "La Compagne Lafitte et 
 Caillard," 157. 
 
 "Les Frangaises," 157, 
 
 " Messageries Royales," 
 157. 
 
 " Messageries a Cheval," 
 
 .157. 
 
 "Opera," The, 89, 91, 95, 
 
 114, 115, 118, 190. 
 Opera Comique, 190. 
 Oratoire, The, 134. 
 Orleans, 155, 160, 237, 330. 
 Orleans, House of, 181, 324. 
 Orthez, 49. 
 Orthon, 208. 
 Orthos, 172. 
 Orthos, Bridge of, 172. 
 "Otho the Archer," 360. 
 Ourcq (river), 137. 
 
 Pailleterie, Marquis de la, 
 
 see Dumas, General. 
 Palais Bourbon, 187. 
 Palais Cardinal, 134, 266. 
 Palais de Justice, 236, 239, 
 
 241. 
 Palais de la Bourse, 137. 
 Palais de ITndustrie, 141. 
 Palais de la Revolution, 270. 
 Palais des Arts, 173. 
 Palais des Beaux Arts, 138, 
 
 143, 238. 
 Palais des Tournelles, 133. 
 Palais National, 183. 
 Palais Royale, 16, 31, 95, 115, 
 
 134, 167, 183, 187, 224, 228, 
 
 246, 247, 266-273, 275. 
 Panorama Colbert, 148. 
 Panorama Delorme, 148. 
 Panorama de I'Opera, 148. 
 Panorama du Saumon, 148. 
 Panorama Jouffroy, 148. 
 Panorama Vivienne, 148. 
 Pantheon, The, 37, 136, 167, 
 
 187, 252, 253. 
 Paraclet, 81. 
 Pare Monceau, 228. 
 "Paris -Lyon et Mediter- 
 
 ranee" (P. L. M.) Ry., 
 
 160, 161, 192. 
 " Pascal Bruno," see Works 
 
 of Dumas. 
 Passerelle, Constantine, 170. 
 
fn&ex 
 
 389 
 
 Passerelle de TEstacade, 170. 
 
 Passerelle St. Louis, 170. 
 
 Passy, 87, 150. 
 
 Pau, 354. 
 
 " Pauline," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 "Paul Jones" ("Capitaine 
 
 Paul"), see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Pennell, Joseph, 168. 
 Pere la Chaise, 81, 142, 146, 
 
 188, 239, 340. 
 Perpignan, 372. 
 Petit Pont, 170. 
 Petits Augustins, 143. 
 Pfeffers, 371. 
 Philippe-Auguste, 130, I34» 
 
 144, 260, 
 Phoebus, Gaston, 354. 
 Pierrefonds, 246, 317. 
 Pierrefonds, Castle of, 324. 
 Picardie, 321. 
 "Pilon d'Or," 205. 
 Pitou, Louis Ange, 18, 23, 24, 
 
 317. 
 Place Dauphine, 133, 235. 
 Place de Bourgogne, 182. 
 Place de la Bastille, 148, 167, 
 
 187, 225, 296. 
 Place de la Concorde, 136, 
 
 138, 148, 162, 193, 263. 
 Place de la Croix-Rouge, 252. 
 Place de la Greve, 166, 197- 
 
 199, 201, 234, 239, 287. 
 Place de I'Hotel de Ville, 
 
 148, 197. 
 Place de la Madeleine, 194. 
 Place de la Nation, 147. 
 Place de la Revolution, 263. 
 Place de St. Sulpice, 148, 
 
 252. 
 Place des Victoires, 148. 
 Place des Vosges, 148, 223, 
 
 225. 
 Place du Carrousel, 89, 138, 
 
 148, 221. 
 
 Place du Chatelet, 148, 205, 
 
 286. 
 Place du Palais Bourbon, 
 
 148. 
 Place du Palais Royal, 148. 
 Place du Pantheon, 148. 
 Place Malesherbes, 123, 124, 
 
 140, 149. 
 Place Maubert, 286. 
 Place Royale, 133. I34, Ho, 
 
 223-225. 
 Place St. Antoine, 225. 
 Place Vendome, 137, 148. 
 Plaine de St. Denis, 95. 
 Plessis, Alphonsine, (La 
 
 Dame aux Camelias), 78. 
 Poe, E. A., 41, 43- 
 Poissy, Gerard de, 130. 
 Poitiers, Diane de, 260. 
 Pompeii, 5, 45, 57- 
 Pont Alexandre, 173. 
 Pont au Change, 135, 170, 
 
 171, 173. 
 Pont Audemer, 326. 
 Pont aux Doubles, 170. 
 Pont de I'Archeveche, 170. 
 Pont d'Arcole, 170. 
 Pont d'Austerlitz, 170. 
 Pont de Bercy, 170. 
 Pont de la Cite, 170. 
 Pont des Arts, 170, 172. 
 Pont de Sevres, 302. 
 Pont des Invalides, 88. 
 Pont du Carrousel, 88, 171, 
 
 235. 
 Pont du Garde, 347- 
 Pont du Pecq, 31 1» 314- 
 Pont I'Eveque, 327. 
 Pont, le Petit, 168. 
 Pont Louis XV., i73- 
 Pont Louis-Philippe, 88, 170. 
 Pont Maril, 170. 
 Pont Napoleon, 170. 
 Pont Neuf, 133, I34, ^70, 171. 
 
 173. 
 Pont Notre Dame. 170. 
 
39° 
 
 ln^cx 
 
 Pont Royal, 135, 157- 
 Pont St. Michel, 170. 
 Pont Tournelle, 170. 
 Porette, Marguerite, 239. 
 Porte du Canal de I'Ourcq, 
 
 139. 
 Porte du Temple, 131. 
 Porte Marly, 314. 
 Porte St. Antoine, 221. 
 Porte St. Denis, 131, 220, 
 
 221. 
 Porte St. Honore, 131. 
 Porte St. Martin, 104, 113, 
 
 115, 153. 
 Porthos, 45, 49, 246, 247, 252, 
 
 324. 
 Portu, Jean de, see Porthos. 
 Prison du Grand Chatelet, 
 
 204. 
 Proudhon, M., 178. 
 Provence, 347, 351. 
 Puits, 80. 
 Puys, 8, 66. 
 
 Quai de Conti, 133, 170, 248. 
 Qua de la Greve, 166, 197, 
 
 199, 206. 
 Quai de la Megisserie, 133. 
 Quai de la Monnai, 172. 
 Quai de I'Arsenal, 133. 
 Quai de I'ficole, 133, 173. 
 Quai de I'Horloge, 133, 236. 
 Quai de THotel de Ville, 197, 
 
 206. 
 Quai des Augustins, 133. 
 Quai des Ormes, 197. 
 Quai des Orphelins, 133. 
 Quai d'Orleans, 343. 
 Quai d'Orsay, 138, 170. 
 Quai du Louvre, 170, 172. 
 Quai Voltaire, 170. 
 Quartier des Infants-Rouges, 
 
 228. 
 Quartier du Marais, 133. 
 Quartier Latin, 96, 185, 244. 
 "Quentin Durward," 13. 
 
 Rachel, 191. 
 Railways : 
 
 "Ceinture," 89, 303. 
 
 "L'Est," 160. 
 
 "Le Nord," 160. 
 
 "L'Orleans," 160, 161, 192. 
 
 "UOuest," 160, 303. 
 
 "P. L. M." (Paris-Lyon 
 et Mediterranee), 160, 
 161, 192. 
 Rambouillet, 297, 298, 315, 
 
 316. 
 Ranke, 259. 
 Raspail, 179. 
 Ravaillac, 224. 
 Reade, Charles, 81. 
 "Regulus," 18. 
 Reims, 129, 156. 
 Rempart des Fosses, 130. 
 Renaissance, 132. 
 Residences of Dumas, 44, 
 
 93, 103, 112, 124, 147, 148, 
 
 150, 188, 220, 303. 
 Restaurant du Pavilion 
 
 Henri Quatre, 160. 
 "Restoration," The, 87, 138, 
 
 154, 155- 
 Retz, Cardinal de, 520. 
 Revolutions, The, 4, 44, 136, 
 
 138, 140, 154, 164, 172, 
 
 178-180, 193, 196, 224, 227, 
 
 325. 
 Revue des Deux Mondes, 
 
 371. 
 Rhine, The, 8. 
 Rhone, 347, 349. 
 Richelieu, 37, 224, 225, 228, 
 
 244, 252, 266, 289. 
 Richelieu, Marechal, 109. 
 Rizzio, 324. 
 Roanne, 160. 
 "Robert le Diable," 116. 
 Robespierre, 324. 
 Robsart, Amy, 121. 
 Roche-Bernard, 329. 
 Rochefort, 18. 
 
fn^eI 
 
 391 
 
 Rohan, De, 37, 224. 
 
 "Roi d'Yvetot" (Beranger), 
 
 71. 
 Roland, Madame, 235. 
 Rolle, 363. 
 Rollin, Ledru, 179. 
 Rossini, 82. 
 Rostand, 43. 
 
 Rouen, 'JT, I59» 160, 169, 327. 
 Rougemont, 31. 
 Rousseau, 7. 
 "Royal Tiger," 316. 
 Rubens, 191. 
 Rue Beaubourg (Le Beau- 
 
 Bourg), 130. 
 Rue Beaujolais, 228. 
 Rue Bourtebourg (Le Bourg 
 
 Thibourg), 130, 
 Rue Cassette, 246. 
 Rue Castiglione, 137, 147. 
 Rue Chariot, 228. 
 Rue Coq-Heron, 229-231. 
 Rue d'Amsterdam, 188. 
 Rue Dauphine, I33- 
 Rue de Bac, 72, 147. 
 Rue de Bethusy, 278. 
 Rue de Bons Enfants, 272. 
 Rue de Douai, 187. 
 Rue de Faubourg St. Denis, 
 
 220, 221. 
 Rue de Crenelle, 147. 
 Rue de I'Arbre-Sec, 206, 
 
 211. 
 Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, 
 
 147, 231. 
 Rue de la Concorde, 183. 
 Rue de la Harpe, 246. 
 Rue de Lancry, 152. 
 Rue de la Martellerie, 215. 
 Rue de Lille, 255. 
 Rue de la Paix, 137, I47- 
 Rue de TUniversite, 147. 
 Rue de Rivoli, 140, 147, 148. 
 Rue des ficoles, 140. 
 Rue des Fossoyeurs, 246, 
 
 252. 
 
 Rue des Lombards, 205. 
 
 Rue des Rosiers, 227. 
 
 Rue des Vieux-Augustins, 
 
 234. 
 Rue de Tivoli, I37- 
 Rue de Valois, 228. 
 Rue du Chaume, 278. 
 Rue du Helder, 213, 232, 
 
 255. 
 Rue du Louvre, 230. 
 Rue du Monte Blanc, 84. 
 Rue du Vieux-Colombier, 
 
 251, 252. 
 Rue Drouet, 95. 
 Rue Ferou, 246. 
 Rue Guenegard, 248. 
 Rue Herold, 234. 
 Rue Lafitte, 95- 
 Rue Lepelletier, 114. 
 Rue Louis le Grand, 94. 
 Rue Mathieu Molle, 212. 
 Rue Pelletier, 234. 
 Rue Pigalle, 187. 
 Rue Rambuteau, 92. 
 Rue Richelieu, 102, 112, 115, 
 
 147. 
 Rue Roquette, 225. 
 Rue Royal, 183. 
 Rue Servandoni, 246. 
 Rue Sourdiere, 228. 
 Rue St. Antoine, 131, I33, 
 
 147, 285. 
 Rue St. Denis, 229. 
 Rue St. Eleuthere, 227. 
 Rue St. Honore, 147, 228. 
 Rue St. Lazare, 188. 
 Rue St. Martin (Le Bourg 
 
 St. Martin), 130. 
 Rue St. Roch, 148. 
 Rue Taitbout, 214, 231. 
 Rue Tiquetonne, 214, 246, 
 
 247. 
 Rue Vaugirard, 127, 246, 252. 
 Rue Vivienne, 147. 
 Rupert, Prince, 50. 
 Russia, 8, 44. 
 
39* 
 
 fn^ejc 
 
 Sabot, Mother, 24. 
 
 Sainte Chapelle, 236. 
 
 Saint Foix, 135. 
 
 Salcede, 201. 
 
 Salon d'Automne, 191. 
 
 Salons, 161. 
 
 Salpetriere, The, 134. 
 
 Sand, George, 44, 70, 97, 
 
 188, 363. 
 Sand, Karl Ludwig, 285. 
 Saone, 168. 
 
 Sarcey, Francisque, 163. 
 Sardou, 122. 
 "Saul," 18. 
 Schiller, 360. 
 Scotland, 323. 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 13, 41, 74, 
 
 121, 360. 
 Scribe, Eugene, 70, 82, 187. 
 Sebastiani, General, 84. 
 Second Empire, 89, 138, 140, 
 
 153, 163, 193. 
 Second Republic, 89, 181. 
 Seine, The, ^2, 98, 130, 137. 
 
 148, 156, 165-171, 173-175, 
 
 190, 248, 255, 302, 303, 311, 
 
 314. 
 Senlis, 317. 
 Sens, 46. 
 Sevigne, Madame de, 102, 
 
 223. 
 Seville, 'jd. 
 
 Shakespeare, 121, 122. 
 Sicily, 337, 369. 
 Sillegue, Colonel de, 49. 
 "Site d'ltalie" (Corot), 72. 
 Smith, William, 179. 
 "Soir" (Corot), ^2. 
 Soissons, 7, 
 Soldain, 259. 
 Sorbonne, 134, 167, 245. 
 Sorbonne, Robert de, 244. 
 Soulie, 68, 82, 121. 
 Soumet, 18. 
 Soyer, 103. 
 Spain, 8, 45, 160. 
 
 St. Bartholomew's Night, 
 
 259, 263. 
 St. Beauvet, 69. 
 St. Benezet d'Avignon, 172. 
 St. Cloud, 157, 314. 
 Ste. Croix, Gaudin de, 286. 
 St. Denis, 227, 314. 
 St. Denis, Abbey of, 142, 
 
 143. 
 St, Etienne-Andre-zieux, 160. 
 Ste. Genevieve, 253, 254. 
 Ste. Genevieve, Abbey of 37, 
 
 136, 187, 253. 
 St. Germain, 44, 56, 58, 160, 
 
 267, 297, 298. 
 St. Germain, Abbot of, 166. 
 St. Germain des Pres, 130. 
 St. Germain-en-Laye, 303, 
 
 304, 310-315. 
 St. Germain I'Auxerrois, 187. 
 St. Gratien, 125. 
 St. Luc, Marquis, 255. 
 St. Megrin, 122. 
 St. Michel, 130. 
 St. Vincent de Paul, 224. 
 St. Victor, 130. 
 St. Waast, Abbey of, 324. 
 Stendhal, 155. 
 Sterne, 322. 
 
 Stevenson, R. L., 41, 44. 
 Strasbourg (monument), 138, 
 
 162. 
 Strasbourg, 157. 
 "Stryge, The," 127. 
 Stuart, Mary, 323. 
 Sue, Eugene, 69, 99, 363. 
 Switzerland, 8, 370. 
 "Sword of the Brave Cheva- 
 lier," 251. 
 Sylla, 17. 
 Sylvestre's, 272. 
 
 Taglioni, Marie, 116, 117. 
 Talleyrand, Henri de, 214. 
 Talma, 17, 82, 121, 191. 
 Tarascon, 349. 
 
fn^ex 
 
 393 
 
 Tastu Mme. Amable, 70. 
 
 Thackeray, 44. 
 
 Thames, 168. 
 
 Theatre de la Nation, 183. 
 
 Theatre du Palais Royal, 7Ty 
 268. 
 
 Theatre Frangaise, 16, 17, 121, 
 167, 183, 187. 
 
 "Theatre Historique," 44. 
 
 Theatre Italien, 133. 
 
 Theadlon, 18. 
 
 Theaulon, 31. 
 
 " The Conspirators," see 
 Works of Dumas. 
 
 " The Queen's Necklace," 
 (Le Collier de la Reine), 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 
 " The Regent's Daughter," 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 
 " The Sorbonne," 244. 
 
 "The Taking of the Bas- 
 tille," see Works of Du- 
 mas. 
 
 "The Wandering Jew," 99. 
 
 " The Wolf-Leader," see 
 Works of Dumas. 
 
 Thierry, Edouard, 155, 165. 
 
 Thiers, 69, 95. 
 
 "Third Republic," 193. 
 
 Titian, 191. 
 
 Title of Dumas, 45, 57, 58. 
 
 Touchet, Marie, 215, 217. 
 
 Toul, 160. 
 
 Toulon, 90, 91, 233, 326, 349, 
 351. 
 
 Toulouse, 159. 
 
 " Tour de Jean-sans-Peur," 
 214. 
 
 Tour de Nesle, 237. 
 
 Tour de St Jacques la 
 Boucherie, 197. 
 
 Tour du Bois, 131. 
 
 Tour EiflFel, 303, 314. 
 
 Tours, 332. 
 
 Tour St. Jacques, 140, 167, 
 187, 263. 
 
 Tower of London, 185. 
 "Travels," see Works of 
 
 Dumas. 
 Travels of Dumas, 8, 44-46, 
 
 336, ZZT, 361, 364, 370, 371. 
 " Treasure Island," 42. 
 Treville, De, 49, 246, 251. 
 Trianon, The, 303. 
 Trocadero, 147. • 
 
 Trouville, 325, 327, 371. 
 Tuileries, The, 72, 133, 137, 
 
 138, 150, 170, 176, 182, 184, 
 
 185, 261, 265. 
 Turenne, 90, 143, 224. 
 
 Universite, The, 167, 244. 
 
 Val-de-Grace, The, 134. 
 
 Valenciennes, 49. 
 
 Valois, House of, 12, 34, 38, 
 
 195, 318. 
 Valois, Marguerite de, 197, 
 
 287, 351, 354. 
 Valois Romances, 15, 44, 46, 
 
 148, 171, 195, 205, 215, 225, 
 
 235, 239, 254, 258, 259, 263, 
 
 266, 278, 312, 314, 354, 355. 
 Vandam, Albert, 6, 56, ^^^ 
 
 77, 94, 95, 116, n8. 
 Van Dyke, 191. 
 Vatel, 199. 
 
 Vermandois, Count of, 289. 
 Vemet, 191. 
 Vernon, 165, 169. 
 Veron, Doctor, 79, iii, 116, 
 
 117. 
 Versailles, 297, 298, 302-306. 
 Vesinet, 311. 
 " Vicomte de Bragelonne," 
 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 Vidocq, 234. 
 Viennet, 18. 
 Vieux Chateau, 311, 312, 
 
 313, 314. 
 Vigny, De, 68. 
 Villefort, De, 261, 340. 
 
394 
 
 fnbex 
 
 Villemessant, De, 51. 
 
 Villers-Cotterets, 7, 14. 15, 
 18, 24, 25, 2T, 33, 34, 
 46, 80, 31S, 317, 318, 331. 
 
 Vincennes, 179, 315. 
 
 Vincennes, Chateau of, 298, 
 320. 
 
 Vincennes, Fort of, 320. 
 
 "Vingt Ans Aprcs" 
 ("Twenty Years After"), 
 see Works of Dumas. 
 
 VioUet-le-Duc, 144, 325. 
 
 Vivieres, 24. 
 
 Voltaire, 121, 122, 238, 288, 
 303. 
 
 Volterre, Ricciarelli de, 224. 
 
 Wardes, De, 322. 
 Warsaw, 76. 
 Waterloo, 25. 
 William III., 361. 
 William the Conqueror, 326. 
 Windt, Cornelius de, 361. 
 Windt, Jacobus de, 361. 
 Windsor, 154. 
 Winter, Lady de, 223. 
 Works of Dumas : 
 "Ange Pitou," 36. 
 " Antony," 29, 37. 
 "Black Tulip" ("La 
 Tulipe Noire"), 38, 44, 
 360-362, 365. 
 "Capitaine Pamphile," 89, 
 
 221, 231, 360. 
 "Capitaine Paul" ("Paul 
 
 Jones"), 38, 350. 
 " Causeries," 36, 103. 
 " Cherub i no et Celestine," 
 
 367. 
 " Chevalier d'Harmental," 
 
 228. 
 "Chicot the Jester" ("La 
 Dame de Monsoreau"), 
 29, 37, 38, 40, 207, 
 253, 25s, 301, 319, 329, 
 33«, 333. 
 
 ' Comtessc de Charny,** 
 223, 226, 229, 302, 303. 
 Corsican Brothers," 89, 
 213, 231, 319, 360. 
 Count of Monte Cristo," 
 29, 38-41, 44, I09V 218, 
 229, 261, 327, 328, 339, 
 340, 342, 343, 347, 355, 
 358, 361, 368, 369. 
 Crimes Celebres " (" Cele- 
 brated Crimes"), 285, 
 286, 323, 350, 372. 
 Dictionnaire de Cuisine," 
 
 Dix-huit Mois a St. 
 
 Petersburgh," 364. 
 ' Forty- Five Guardsmen," 
 
 201, 248, 351, 365. 
 Gabriel Lambert," 89, 91, 
 
 231, 232, 350. 
 ' Georges/' 46. 
 Henri IIL et Sa Cour," 
 
 29, 121, 123. 
 Impressions du Voyage," 
 
 36, 325, 364, 370. 
 Jeanne d'Arc," 38. 
 Kean," 29. 
 
 La Tour de Nesle," 237. 
 Les Pecheurs du Filet," 
 
 368. 
 
 Les Trois Mousque- 
 
 taires" ("The Three 
 
 Musketeers"), 29, 38-41, 
 
 44, 48, 54, 75, 126, 127, 
 
 245, 247, 251, 252, 332, 
 
 361. 
 
 Maitre Adam le Cala- 
 
 brais," 367. 
 ' Marguerite de Valois, 
 
 173, 175, 198, 210, 212, 
 
 215, 221, 236, 257, 307, 
 
 310, 311, 320. 
 Memoires," 14, 15, I7, 23, 
 
 25, 29, 32, 34, 36, 
 
 44, 70, 93, 104, 174, 228, 
 
 325, 367. 
 
fn&cx 
 
 395 
 
 " Memoires d'un Maitre 
 d*Armes," 75, 364. 
 
 " Mes Betes," 36, 45. 
 
 " Murat," z'^'j. 
 
 "Pascal Bruno," 367. 
 
 " Pauline," 171, 180, 231, 
 325, Z(i7, 370, 371. 
 
 " The Conspirators," 173, 
 271, 287. 
 
 "The Queen's Necklace," 
 ("Le Collier de la 
 Reine"), 105, 118, 204, 
 228, 241, 254, 255, 275, 
 295, 303, 306. 
 
 "The Regent's Daughter," 
 292, 316, 334-336. 
 
 "The Taking of the Bas- 
 tille," 18, 24, 46, 175, 225, 
 
 250, 279, 288, 303, 317. 
 " The Wolf-Leader," 33, 46. 
 " Vicomte de Bragelonne," 
 24, 29, 38, 169, 199, 200, 
 205, 247, 259, 273, 288, 
 292, 298, 300, 321, 328, 
 330, 332. 
 " Vingt Ans Apres " 
 ("Twenty Years Af- 
 ter"), 29, 214, 225, 245- 
 247, 303, 310, 324, 
 
 Zola, 7, 44, 64, 129, 188. 
 
%JX. 
 
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