Читать книгу: «Dumas' Paris», страница 9
New bridges span the Seine, and new thoroughfares, from humble alleys to lordly and magnificent boulevards, have clarified many a slum, and brightened 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 “Académie Nationale de Musique,” begun by Garnier 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 Comédie Française, or even the Opéra Comique of former days, and the names of latter-day stars will have difficulty in competing 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 preëminent influences which formerly emanated 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 Musée du Luxembourg, the mural paintings of the Hôtel de Ville, which are a gallery in themselves, and the two spring Salon exhibitions, to say nothing of the newly attempted Salon d’Automne. Curiously enough, some of us find great pleasure in the contemplation of the decorations in the interiors of the great gares of the Lyons or the Orleans railways. Certainly these last examples of applied art are of a lavishness – and even excellence – which a former generation would not have thought of.
The Arc de Triomphe d’Étoile, 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 – 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 Napoleon began the process, and, in a way, it was continued 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 modern days, are suggestive of their history in a most graphic manner.
The square in front of the Fontaine des Innocents is but an ancient burial-ground; before the Hôtel de Ville came Etienne Marcel; and Charlemagne to the cathedral; the Place de la Concorde 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 incidents amid which Dumas lived is it so made.
CHAPTER X.
LA VILLE
It would be impossible to form a precise topographical itinerary of the scenes of Dumas’ romances and the wanderings of his characters, even in Paris itself. The area is so very wide, and the number of localities, which have more than an incidental interest, so very great, that the futility of such a task will at once be apparent.
Probably the most prominent of all the romances, so far as identifying the scenes of their action goes, are the Valois series.
As we know, Dumas was very fond of the romantic house of Valois, and, whether in town or country, he seemed to take an especial pride in presenting details of portraiture and place in a surprisingly complete, though not superfluous, manner.
The Louvre has the most intimate connection with both the Valois and the D’Artagnan romances, and is treated elsewhere as a chapter by itself.
Dumas’ most marked reference to the Hôtel 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 prévôt, just before the march upon the Bastille.
In history we know the same individual as “Messire Jacques de Flesselles, Chevalier, Conseiller de la Grande Chambre, Maître Honoraire des Requêtes, Conseiller d’Etat.” The anecdote is recorded in history, too, that Louis XVI., when he visited the Hôtel de Ville in 1789, was presented with a cockade of blue and red, the colours of the ville – the white was not added till some days later.
“Votre Majesté,” dit le maire, “veut-elle accepte le signe distinctif des Français?”
For reply the king took the cockade and put it on his chapeau, entered the grande salle, and took his place on the throne.
All the broils and turmoils which have taken place since the great Revolution, have likewise had the Hôtel de Ville for the theatre where their first scenes were represented.
It was invaded by the people during the Revolutions of 1830 and 1848, as well as in the Commune in 1871, when, in addition to the human fury, it was attacked by the flames, which finally brought about its destruction. Thus perished that noble structure, which owed its inception to that art-loving monarch, François I.
The present-day Quai de l’Hôtel de Ville is the successor of the Quai des Ormes, which dates from the fourteenth century, and the Quai de la Grève, which existed as early as 1254, and which descended by an easy slope to the strand from which it took its name.
Adjoining the quai was the Place de la Grève, which approximates the present Place de l’Hôtel de Ville.
A near neighbour of the Hôtel de Ville is the Tour de St. Jacques la Boucherie, where sits to-day Paris’s clerk of the weather.
It was here that Marguerite de Valois, in company with the Duchesse de Nevers, repaired from their pilgrimage to the Cimetière des Innocents, to view the results of the Huguenot massacre of the preceding night.
“‘And where are you two going?’ inquired Catherine, the queen’s mother. ‘To see some rare and curious Greek books found at an old Protestant pastor’s, and which have been taken to the Tour de St. Jacques la Boucherie,’ replied the inquisitive and erudite Marguerite. For, be it recalled, her knowledge and liking of classical literature was most profound.”
This fine Gothic tower, which is still a notable landmark, is the only relique of the Church of St. Jacques. A bull of Pope Calixtus II., dated 1119, first makes mention of it, and François I. made it a royal parish church.
The tower itself was not built until 1508, having alone cost 1,350 livres. It has often been pictured and painted, and to-day it is a willing or unwilling sitter to most snap-shot camerists who come within focus of it, but no one has perceived the spirit of its genuine old-time flavour as did Méryon, in his wonderful etching – so sought for by collectors – called “Le Stryge.”
The artist’s view-point, taken from the gallery of Nôtre Dame, – though in the early nineteenth century, – with the grotesque head and shoulders of one of those monstrous figures, half-man, half-beast, with which the galleries of Nôtre Dame are peopled, preserves, with its very simplicity and directness, an impression of Vieux Paris which is impossible to duplicate to-day.
The Place de la Grève was for a time, at least, the most famous or infamous of all the places of execution in Paris. One reads of it largely in “Marguerite de Valois” in this connection, and 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 maître d’hôtel of Fouquet, as crossing the square with a hamper filled with bottles, which he had just purchased at the cabaret of the sign of “L’Image de Nôtre Dame;” a queer name for a wine-shop, no doubt, and, though it does not exist to-day, and so cannot be authenticated, it may likely enough have had an existence outside the novelist’s page. At all events, it is placed definitely enough, as one learns from the chapter of “Le Vicomte de Bragelonne,” entitled “The Wine of M. de la Fontaine.”
“‘What the devil are you doing here, Vatel?’ said Fouquet. ‘Are you buying wine at a cabaret in the Place de Grève?’… ‘I have found here, monsieur, a “vin de Joigny” which your friends like. This I know, as they come once a week to drink it at the “Image de Nôtre Dame.”’”
In the following chapter Dumas reverts to the inglorious aspect of the Place and the Quai de la Grève as follows:
“At two o’clock the next day, fifty thousand spectators had taken their position upon the place, around two gibbets which had been elevated between the Quai de la Grève and Quai Pelletier; one close to the other, with their backs to the parapet of the river. In the morning, also, all the sworn criers of the good city of Paris had traversed the quarters of the city, particularly the Halles and the faubourgs, announcing with their hoarse and indefatigable voices the great justice done by the king upon two peculators; two thieves, devourers of the people. And these people, whose interests were so warmly looked after, in order not to fail in respect for their king, quitted shops, stalls, and ateliers, to go and evince a little gratitude to Louis XIV., absolutely like invited guests, who feared to commit an impoliteness in not repairing to the house of him who invited them. According to the tenor of the sentence, which the criers read loudly and badly, two farmers of the revenues, monopolists of money, dilapidators of the royal provisions, extortioners and forgers, were about to undergo capital punishment on the Place de Grève, with their names affixed over their heads, according to their sentence. As to those names, the sentence made no mention of them. The curiosity of the Parisians was at its height, and, as we have said, an immense crowd waited with feverish impatience the hour fixed for the execution.”
D’Artagnan, who, in the pages of “Le Vicomte de Bragelonne,” was no more a young man, owned this very cabaret, the “Image de Nôtre Dame.” “‘I will go, then,’ says he, ‘to the “Image de Nôtre 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 Grève? The devil take the rogue who gets himself hung the day I go to take my rent,” said D’Artagnan.
The old mousquetaire did not get his rent, there was riot and bloodshed galore, “L’Image de Nôtre Dame” was set on fire, and D’Artagnan had one more opportunity to cry out “A moi, Mousquetaires,” and enter into a first-class fight; all, of course, on behalf of right and justice, for he saved two men, destined to be gibbeted, from the more frightful death of torture by fire, to which the fanatical crowd had condemned them.
The most extensive reference to the Place de la Grève is undoubtedly in the “Forty-Five Guardsmen,” where is described the execution of Salcède, the coiner of false money and the co-conspirator with the Guises.
“M. Friard was right when he talked of one hundred thousand persons as the number of spectators who would meet on the Place de la Grève and its environs, to witness the execution of Salcède. All Paris appeared to have a rendezvous at the Hôtel de Ville; and Paris is very exact, and never misses a fête; and the death of a man is a fête, 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 Hôtel de Ville, which was hung with red velvet and gold, and ornamented with the royal arms. This was for the king. Half-past one had just struck when this window was filled. First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time only thirty-five, and with a sombre expression, always a mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say ‘Vive le roi!’ or to pray for his soul. He was dressed in black, without jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes. He carried in his hand a little black dog that his sister-in-law, Marie Stuart, had sent him from her prison, and on which his fingers looked as white as alabaster.
“Behind the king came Catherine de Medici, almost bowed by age, for she might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm and erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. At her side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise de Touraine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a punishment. Behind them came two handsome young men, brothers, the eldest of whom smiled with wonderful beauty, and the younger with great melancholy. The one was Anne, Duc de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de Joyeuse, Comte de Bouchage. The people had for these favourites of the king none of the hatred which they had felt toward Maugiron, Quelus, and Schomberg.
“Henri saluted the people gravely; then, turning to the young men, he said, ‘Anne, lean against the tapestry; it may last a long time.’…
“Henri, in anger, gave the sign. It was repeated, the cords were refastened, four men jumped on the horses, which, urged by violent blows, started off in opposite directions. A horrible cracking and a terrible cry was heard. The blood was seen to spout from the limbs of the unhappy man, whose face was no longer that of a man, but of a demon.
“‘Ah, heaven!’ he cried; ‘I will speak, I will tell all. Ah! cursed duch – ’
“The voice had been heard above everything, but suddenly it ceased.
“‘Stop, stop,’ cried Catherine, ‘let him speak.’
“But it was too late; the head of Salcède fell helplessly on one side, he glanced once more to where he had seen the page, and then expired.”
Near the Hôtel de Ville is “Le Châtelet,” a name familiar enough to travellers about Paris. It is an omnibus centre, a station on the new “Metropolitan,” and its name has been given to one of the most modern theatres of Paris.
Dumas, in “Le Collier de la Reine,” makes but little use of the old Prison du Grand Châtelet, but he does not ignore it altogether, which seems to point to the fact that he has neglected very few historic buildings, or, for that matter, incidents of Paris in mediæval times, in compiling the famous D’Artagnan and Valois romances.
The Place du Châtelet is one of the most celebrated and historic open spots of Paris. The old prison was on the site of an old Cæsarian forum. The prison was destroyed in 1806, but its history for seven centuries was one of the most dramatic.
One may search for Planchet’s shop, the “Pilon d’Or,” of which Dumas writes in “The Vicomte de Bragelonne,” in the Rue des Lombards of to-day, but he will not find it, though there are a dozen boutiques in the little street which joins the present Rue St. Denis with the present Boulevard Sebastopol, which to all intents and purposes might as well have been the abode of D’Artagnan’s old servitor.
The Rue des Lombards, like Lombard Street in London, took its names from the original money-changers, who gathered here in great numbers in the twelfth century. Planchet’s little shop was devoted to the sale of green groceries, with, presumably, a sprinkling of other attendant garnishings for the table.
To-day, the most notable of the shops here, of a similar character, is the famous magasin de confiserie, “Au Fidèle Berger,” for which Guilbert, the author of “Jeune Malade,” made the original verses for the wrappers which covered the products of the house. A contemporary of the poet has said that the “enveloppe était moins bonne que la marchandaise.”
The reader may judge for himself. This is one of the verses:
“Le soleil peut s’eteindre et le ciel s’obscurcir,
J’ai vu ma Marita, je n’ai plus qu’à mourir.”
Every lover of Dumas’ romances, and all who feel as though at one time or another they had been blessed with an intimate acquaintance with that “King of Cavaliers,” – D’Artagnan, – will have a fondness for the old narrow ways in the Rue d’Arbre Sec, which remains to-day much as it always was.
It runs from the Quai de l’Hôtel de Ville, – once the unsavoury Quai de la Grève, – toward Les Halles; and throughout its length, which is not very great, it has that crazy, tumble-down appearance which comes, sooner or later, to most narrow thoroughfares of mediæval times.
It is not so very picturesque nor so very tumble-down, it is simply wobbly. It is not, nor ever was, a pretentious thoroughfare, and, in short, is distinctly commonplace; but there is a little house, on the right-hand side, near the river, which will 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 Crémerie, which now occupies the ground-floor, and its escutcheon – a blazing sun – midway in its façade.
Moreover it is still a lodging-house, – an humble hotel if you like, – at any rate something more than a mere house which offers “logement à pied.” Indeed its enterprising proprietor has erected a staring blue and white enamel sign which advertises his house:
HÔTEL DES MOUSQUETAIRES
There is, perhaps, no harm in all this, as it would seem beyond all question to have some justification for its name, and it is above all something more tangible than the sites of many homes and haunts which may to-day be occupied with a modern magasin, à tous génres, or a great tourist caravanserai.
This house bears the name of “Hôtel des Mousquetaires,” as if it were really a lineal descendant of the “Hôtel de la Belle Etoile,” of which Dumas writes.
Probably it is not the same, and if it is, there is, likely enough, no significance between its present name and its former glory save that of perspicacity on the part of the present patron.
From the romance one learns how Catherine de Medici sought to obtain that compromising note which was in possession of Orthon, the page. Dumas says of this horror-chamber of the Louvre:
“Catherine now reached a second door, which, revolving on its hinges, admitted to the depths of the oubliette, where – crushed, bleeding, and mutilated, by a fall of more than one hundred feet – lay the still palpitating form of poor Orthon; while, on the other side of the wall forming the barrier of this dreadful spot, the waters of the Seine were heard to ripple by, brought by a species of subterraneous filtration to the foot of the staircase.
“Having reached the damp and unwholesome abyss, which, during her reign, had witnessed numerous similar scenes to that now enacted, Catherine proceeded to search the corpse, eagerly drew forth the desired billet, ascertained by the lantern that it was the one she sought, then, pushing the mangled body from her, she pressed a spring, the bottom of the oubliette sank down, and the corpse, borne by its own weight, disappeared toward the river.
“Closing the door after her, she reascended; and, returning to her closet, read the paper poor Orthon had so valiantly defended. It was conceived in these words:
“‘This evening at ten o’clock, Rue de l’Arbre-Sec, Hôtel de la Belle Etoile. Should you come, no reply is requisite; if otherwise, send word back, No, by the bearer.
“‘De Mouy de Saint-Phale.’
“At eight o’clock Henri of Navarre took two of his gentlemen, went out by the Porte St. Honoré, entered again by the Tour de Bois, crossed the Seine at the ferry of the Nesle, mounted the Rue St. Jacques, and there dismissed them, as if he were going to an amorous rendezvous. At the corner of the Rue des Mathurins he found a man on horseback, wrapped in a large cloak; he approached him.
“‘Mantes!’ said the man.
“‘Pau!’ replied the king.
“The horseman instantly dismounted. Henri wrapped himself in his splashed mantle, sprang on his steed, rode down the Rue de la Harpe, crossed the Pont St. Michel, passed the Rue Barthelemy, crossed the river again on the Pont au Meunier, descended the quais, reached the Rue de l’Arbre-Sec, and knocked at Maître la Hurière’s.”
The route is easily traced to-day, and at the end of it is the Hôtel des Mousquetaires, so it will not take much imagination to revivify the incident which Dumas conceived, though one may not get there that “good wine of Artois” which the innkeeper, La Hurière, served to Henri.
The circumstance is recounted in “Marguerite de Valois,” as follows:
“‘La Hurière, here is a gentleman wants you.’
“La Hurière advanced, and looked at Henri; and, as his large cloak did not inspire him with very great veneration:
“‘Who are you?’ asked he.
“‘Eh, sang Dieu!’ returned Henri, pointing to La Mole. ‘I am, as the gentleman told you, a Gascon gentleman come to court.’
“‘What do you want?’
“‘A room and supper.’
“‘I do not let a room to any one, unless he has a lackey.’
“‘Oh, but I will pay you a rose noble for your room and supper.’
“‘You are very generous, worthy sir,’ said La Hurière, with some distrust.
“‘No; but expecting to sup here, I invited a friend of mine to meet me. Have you any good wine of Artois?’
“‘I have as good as the King of Navarre drinks.’
“‘Ah, good!’”
The Rue de l’Arbre-Sec is of itself historic, though it was baptized as l’Arbre-Sel. Two legends of more than ordinary interest are connected with this once important though unimposing street. The first applies to its early nomenclature, and is to the effect that in the thirteenth century it contained an oak-tree, which, in the snows of winter, always remained free of the white blanket which otherwise covered everything around about. For this reason the tree was said to be so full of salt that the snow that fell upon it melted immediately, and the name was created for the thoroughfare, which then first rose to the dignity of a recognized rue.
The second legend in a similar way accounts for the change of name to arbre-sec. At a certain rainy period, when the pavements and the walls of the houses were “ruisselants d’eau,” the same tree remained absolutely dry. It is curious, too, to note that the Rue de l’Arbre-Sec is identified with a certain personage who lived in Mazarin’s time, by the name of Mathieu Mollé, whose fame as the first president of the Parlement is preserved in the neighbouring Rue Mathieu Mollé. 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 Église St. Germain l’Auxerrois. From this church – founded by Childebert in 606 – rang out the tocsin which was the signal for that infamous massacre of the Protestants in the time of Charles IX. In “Marguerite de Valois” Dumas has vividly described the event; not, perhaps, without certain embroidered embellishment, but, nevertheless, with a graphicness which the dry-as-dust historian of fact could hardly hope to equal.
This cruel inspiration of Catherine de Medici’s is recorded by Dumas thus:
“‘Hush!’ said La Hurière.
“‘What is it?’ inquired Coconnas and Maurevel together.
“They heard the first stroke of the bell of St. Germain de l’Auxerrois vibrate.
“‘The signal!’ exclaimed Maurevel. ‘The time is put ahead, for it was agreed for midnight. So much the better. When it is the interest of God and the king, it is better that the clock should be put forward than backward.’ And the sinister sound of the church-bell was distinctly heard. Then a shot was fired, and, in an instant, the light of several flambeaux blazed up like flashes of lightning in the Rue de l’Arbre-Sec.”
There is much more of moment that happened before and afterward “on this bloody ground;” all of which is fully recounted by the historians.
At No. 7 Rue du Helder, just off the Boulevard des Italiens, in a region so well known to Dumas and his associates, lived De Franchi, the hero of the “Corsican Brothers.” The locale and the action of that rapid review of emotions to which Dumas gave the name of the “Corsican Brothers” (“Les Frères du Corse”), was not of the mean or sordid order, but rather of the well-to-do, a sort of semi-luxuriousness of the middle-class life of the time.
The scene of the novelette bears the date of 1841, and Paris, especially in many of what are known as the newer parts, has changed but little since. A new shop-front here and there, the addition of a huge gilt sign, of which the proprietors of Parisian establishments are so fond, somewhat changes the outside aspect of things, but, on the whole, the locale often remains much as it was before, and, in this case, with but scarce three-quarters of a century past, the view down the Rue du Helder from its junction with Rue Taitbout differs little.
“Hôtel Picardie,” in the Rue Tiquetonne, – still to be seen, – may or may not be the “La Chevrette” of “Twenty Years After,” to which D’Artagnan repaired in the later years of his life. D’Artagnan’s residence in the Rue Tiquetonne has, in the minds of many, made the street famous. It was famous, though, even before it was popularized by Dumas, and now that we are not able even to place the inn where D’Artagnan lived after he had retired from active service – it is still famous.
At No. 12 and 16 are two grand habitations of former times. The former served as a residence to Henri de Talleyrand, who died in 1626, and later to the Marquis de Mauge, then to Daubonne, a tapissier, much in the favour of Louis XIII.
The other is known as the “Hôtel d’Artagnan,” but it is difficult to trace its evolution from the comfortable inn of which Dumas wrote.
At No. 23 is about the only relique left which bespeaks the gallant days of D’Artagnan and his fellows. It is a square tower of five étages, and, from the character of its architecture, we know it to be of the fourteenth or fifteenth century. It is known as the “Tour de Jean-sans-Peur.” Jean-sans-Peur was the grandfather of Charles-le-Téméraire. Monstrelet has said that it was built to contain a strong chamber, in which its owner might sleep safely at night. It formed originally a part of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, but to-day, though but partially disengaged from the neighbouring houses, it is evidently the only member of the original establishment which remains.
Not far from the precincts of the Louvre was the Rue de la Martellerie, where lived Marie Touchet.
The portraiture of Dumas forms a wonderfully complete list of the royalties and nobilities of France. Both the D’Artagnan gallery and the Valois series literally reek with the names of celebrated personages, and this, too, in the mere romances, for it must be remembered that, in spite of his reputation as a romancist, Dumas’ historical sketches and travels were both numerous and of great extent.
One significant portrait, though it is not one of noble birth, is that of Marie Touchet, extracted from “Marguerite de Valois,” and reprinted here.
“When Charles IX. and Henri of Navarre visited the Rue de la Martellerie, it was to see the celebrated Marie, who, though ‘only a poor, simple girl,’ as she referred to herself, was the Eve of Charles’ paradise. ‘Your Eden, Sire,’ said the gallant Henri.
