wherein is recounted the arrest of Richelieu, as foreordained by Mlle. 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 declared that he had proofs of the treason of M. de Richelieu, sufficient to lose him four heads if he had them--would not, however, risk his popularity with the fair s.e.x 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 Mlle. de Valois became d.u.c.h.esse 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 argumentative 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. 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 a.s.sured him that he had not. Nevertheless, two days later the boy was found dead in his bed. When the Iron Mask went to ma.s.s 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 illegitimate son of Louis XIV.; Fouquet, Louis' minister; the Duke of Beaufort, a hero of the Fronde; the Duke of Monmouth, the English pretender; Aved.i.c.k, the Armenian patriarch; and of late it has almost come to be accepted that he was Mattioli, a Piedmontese political prisoner, who died in 1703.

Dumas, at any rate, took the plausible and acceptable 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 pa.s.sed before the Rue du Pet.i.t 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 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 sc.r.a.ps?'

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 cla.s.s 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 afterward 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 the reader of these lines is referred to "Le Vicomte 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 imaginative 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 pa.s.sionately attached to women in his lifetime, or rather who has been pa.s.sionately loved by them. But when he placed his foot upon the worn stone steps, along which so many unhappy wretches had pa.s.sed, 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 Baisemeaux, 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 pa.s.sing traveller trembled, and which, to the whole neighbourhood, was an annoyance and cause of alarm; for often at night the cries of the unfortunate prisoners who were under torture might be heard piercing the thick walls, so much so, that the d.u.c.h.esse 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 pa.s.sed a good night, and are satisfied with the fare of the house and the conduct of the employes'--thus M. De Launay, in his politeness, 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 Duc d'Angouleme, by the Marquis de Ba.s.sompierre, 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, smiling, '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 _ennuye_, 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; but they draw, and I can let you have drawing-paper and pencils.'"

All of the above is the authenticated fact of history, as written records prove, but it is much better told by Dumas, the novelist, than by most historians.

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 unconventional 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 imprisonment, at all events.'--'No doubt, but his suffering is sweetened for him. You must admit this young fellow was not born 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, cardinal, and 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

Since the romances of Dumas deal so 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 n.o.bility 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 b.u.t.terfly 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.

Versailles is the most popular, Fontainebleau the most grand, St. Germain the most theatrical, Rambouillet the most rural-like, and Compiegne and Chantilly the most delicate and dainty.

Still nearer to Paris, and more under the influence 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 cla.s.s 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 Fontainebleau 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 Fontainebleau, 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.