Besides history, b.l.o.o.d.y 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 interlaced 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.

"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 worshipped 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 Chateau 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 Danglars and Fernand the distinction of being the villain of the piece,--after travelling with all speed from Ma.r.s.eilles to Paris, "penetrates the two or three apartments which precede it, and enters the small cabinet of the Tuileries with the arched window, so well known as having been the favourite cabinet of Napoleon and Louis XVIII., 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 uncommon to great people, he was particularly attached, the king, Louis XVIII., was carelessly listening to a man of fifty or fifty-two years of age, with gray hair, aristocratic bearing, and exceedingly gentlemanly attire, whilst he was making a note in a volume of Horace, Gryphius's edition, which was much indebted to the sagacious observations of the philosophical monarch."

Of course, an author of to-day would have expressed 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 showplace 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 ident.i.ty, while the window 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 modern Paris and its gay life--for a.s.suredly it 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 tragedies 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 recollections, 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 Revolution. In the later volumes of the Valois romances one reads of a great calendar of scenes and incidents which were consummated here. It is too large a list to even catalogue, but one will recollect that 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 innocent; I forgive my enemies, and pray G.o.d to avert his vengeance for my blood, and to bless my people."

To-day one sees only the ornate s.p.a.ce, 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 western front of Catherine de Medici took form. Unfortunately, with its disappearance at the Commune 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 mediaeval battlemented and turreted structure, which bore little resemblance to the Louvre of to-day, or even that of Charles, Henri, Catherine, or Marguerite, of whom Dumas wrote in the Valois romances.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES]

The general ground-plan of the two distinct portions 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 compositeness, 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 surmounted by gilded b.a.l.l.s.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PALAIS ROYAL

It seems hardly necessary to more than mention the name of the Palais Royal, in connection with either the life or the writings of Alexandre Dumas, to induce a line of thought which is practically limitless. It was identified 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 occupied 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 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 partic.i.p.ated.

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 England 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, Duc de Chartres.

It was during the _Regence_ that the famous _fetes_ of the Palais Royal were organized,--they even extended to what the unsympathetic have called orgies,--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 seventeenth century.

In 1763 a fire brought about certain reconstructions at the expense of the city of Paris. In 1781, it became again the prey of fire; and Philippe-egalite, who was then Duc de Chartres, constructed the three vast galleries which surround the Palais of to-day.

The _boutiques_ of the galleries were let to merchants 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 bazar europeen et un rendez-vous d'affaires et de galanterie_."

It was in 1783 that the Duc 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 _pet.i.t canon_ rang out--a young unknown _avocat_, Camille Desmoulins, mounted a chair and addressed the throng of promenaders in a thrilling and vibrant voice:

"_Citoyens, j'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 c.o.c.kade that we may be known. _Quelle couleur voulez-vous?_"

With almost a common accord the tricolour was adopted--and the next day the Bastille fell.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Orleans Bureau, Palais Royal]

Dumas' account of the incident, taken from "The Taking of the Bastille,"

is as follows:

"During this time the procession kept on advancing; 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 pa.s.sing on. A troop of men with green leaves in their hats were shouting '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'Artois.

Why then these green c.o.c.kades?

"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 a.s.sembled around him, and had shouted 'To arms!'

"We have already said that all the foreign regiments had been collected around Paris. One might have imagined that it was an invasion by the Austrians. 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. 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 dragoons, commanded by Prince Lambesq. He proposed a new c.o.c.kade which was not theirs, s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 Desmoulins."