"Life at the Palais Royal having become somewhat tame, the king had directed that Fontainebleau should be prepared for the reception of the court." Here, then, took place the fetes which were predicted, and Dumas, with his usual directness and brilliance, has given us a marvellous description of the gaiety of court life, surrounded by the n.o.ble forest, over which artists and sentimentalists have ever rhapsodized.

Continuing, from the pages of Dumas which immediately 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, enlistments, payments. M.

Colbert had ama.s.sed four millions of francs, and dispersed them with a prudent economy. He was horrified at the expenses which mythology involved; every wood-nymph, every dryad, did not cost less than a hundred francs a day. The dresses alone amounted to three hundred francs. The expense of powder and sulphur for fireworks amounted, every night, to a hundred thousand francs. In addition to these, the illuminations on the borders of the sheet of water cost thirty thousand francs every evening.

The fetes had been magnificent; and Colbert could not restrain his delight. From time to time he noticed Madame and the king setting forth on hunting expeditions, or preparing for the reception of different 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 Peac.o.c.k," 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 letters 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 apartment 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 Paon. It owed its name to its sign, which represented a peac.o.c.k 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 peac.o.c.k the features of a woman. This inn, a living 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 const.i.tutes 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 kingdom."

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 doc.u.ments which were to establish the Duc de Guise's priority as to rights to the throne of France.

"The inn of the Beau Paon had its princ.i.p.al 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 cla.s.ses of travellers, whether on foot or on horseback, or even with their own carriages, and in which could be supplied, not only board and lodging, but also accommodation for exercise or opportunities of solitude for even the wealthiest courtiers, whenever, after having received 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 gra.s.s growing between the stones, which were being gradually loosened by it; next, the beautiful hedges of elder and thorn, which embraced, as though within two green and flowering arms, the houses of which we have spoken; and then, in the s.p.a.ces between those houses, forming the groundwork of the picture, and appearing like an almost impa.s.sable 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 Charny" opens, and, indeed, in which all its early action takes place. The inn, or even its direct descendant, is not discernible to-day. The Pont de Sevres is there, linking 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INN OF THE PONT DE SeVRES]

Farther on to the westward lies Versailles, with its theatrical, though splendid, _palais_ and _parc_, 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 extravagant 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 extravagant.

Of all the royal parks and palaces in the neighbourhood of Paris, Versailles has the most popularly 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 affection 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 profoundest slumber; but that night no eye was 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 openings of all the princ.i.p.al 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 inhabitants, 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--having always inhaled the intoxicating perfume of the _fleurs-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 gra.s.s 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 fragment of the fallen monarchy, and no longer feeling the pride of power and wealth, must at least retain the poetical a.s.sociations 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 agitated, 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 popular 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 unimportant, 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" 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, with 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 moment," 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 residence 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 description of its one-time chateau-prison:

"According to the order given by Charles 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 between two soldiers, pa.s.sed 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 disquietude.

"'Where are we?' he inquired.

"'In the chamber of torture, monseigneur.'

"'Ah, ah!' replied the king, looking at it attentively.

"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 the 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 distinguishable.

"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; perhaps I commit an indiscretion.'

"'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.