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M.klaiiK' i.1e Sevii;ne.

(I'Vom ihu portriut liy Miuiuinl.)







Vol. II




Copyright, 1899, by



; ' ,; .i5'5's



The Southern Bank in the Nineteenth Century . 1

The Paris of Honore de Balzac 51

The Paris of Alexandre Dumas 89

The Paris of Victor Hugo 123

The Making of the Marais 163

The Women of the Marais 213



From drawings by John Fiilleylove, Esq. The portraits from
photographs by Messrs. Braiin, CWment et Cie.

Madame de Sevigne (from the portrait by Mignard) . Frontispiece


Alphonse de Lamartine (from a sketch by David d'Angers,

" tin soir chez Hugo") . . . . . facing lo

Madame Recamier (from the portrait by Gros) . facing 40

The Abbaye-aux-Bois ........ 43

Portal of Chateaubriand's Dwelling in Rue du Bac ... 46

The Court of the Pension Vauquer .... facitig 5 2

Honore de Balzac (from the portrait by Louis Boulanger)y;zf/«^ 64

Les Jardies .......... 70

The Antiquary's Shop, and in the back-ground the house where

Voltaire died ....... facing 78

The Pension Vauquer ........ 80

The Commemorative Tablet to Balzac . . . . . 84

The Figure of d'Artagnan (from the Dumas Monument by

Gustave Dore) ...... facing 90

Alexandre Dumas ....... facitig 104

The Wall of the Carmelites . . . . . . iit,

Rue Tiquetonne, with the Hotel de Picardie . . facing 118
The Hotel de Toulouse . . . . . . . .128

Alfred de Musset (from the sketch by Louis-Eugene ha.mi)facing 144
The Cemetery of Picpus . . . . . -153

Victor Hugo (from the portrait by Bonnat) . facing 160
The Hotel du Prevot . . . . . . -175

Anne de Bretagne (from a portrait by an unknown artist in a

private collection) ...... facing 186


Louis XII (from a water-color portrait by an unknown artist,
in a private collection) ..... facing

Sully (from a portrait attributed to Quesnel, in the Musee
Conde at Chantilly) ...... facing

The Court of the Hotel de Bethune. Sully's Residence .

The Hotel de Mavenne. In the distance, the Temple Sainte-
Marie, called the Church of the Visitation . facing

The Place des Vosges ...... facing

The Hotel de Beauvais .

The Staircase of the Dwelling of the

liers .....

The Hotel de Sens ....
Marguerite de Valois (from a portrait by

the Musee de Montpellier)
The Hotel Lamoignon .
The Tourelle of the Hotel Barbette .
The Gateway of the Hotel de Clisson

Marquise de Brinvil-
an unknown artist, in








In preceding chapters we have come upon the small
beginnings of the Scholars' Quarter; we have had
glimpses of the growth of the great mother Univer-
sity and of her progeny of out-lying colleges ; and we
have trodden, with their scholars and students, the
slope of " the whole Latin Mountain," as it was named
by Pantaleon, that nephew of Pope Urban IV., who
extolled the learning he had acquired here. Looking
down from its crest, over the hill-side to the Seine, we
have had under our eyes the mediaeval Pays Latin,
filling up the space within its bounding wall, built by
Philippe-Auguste and left untouched by Charles V. ;
we have seen that wall gradually obliterated through
the ages, its gate-ways with their flanking towers first
cut away, its fabric picked to pieces, stone by stone ;
while, beyond its line, we have watched the building
up, early in the seventeenth century, of the Faubourg
Saint-Germain, over the Pre-aux-Clercs, and in the
fields beyond, and along the river-bank toward the
west. In the centre of this new quarter the nobility
of birth was soon intrenched behind its garden-walls,
and in the centre of the old quarter the aristocracy of



brains was secluded within its courts. The bound-
ary-Hne of the two quarters, almost exactly defined
by the straight course from the Institute to the Pan-
theon, speedily became blurred, and the debatable neu-
tral ground between was settled by colonists from
either region, servants of the State, of art, of letters.
In our former strollings through long-gone centuries,
we have visited many of these and many of the dwell-
ers on the University hill ; we are now to turn our at-
tention to those brilliant lights on the left bank who
have helped to make Paris " la ville lumicre " during
the forenoon of the nineteenth century.

Through the heart of the faubourg curved the nar-
row Rue Saint-Dominique, from Esplanade des Inva-
lides to Rue des Saints-Peres. This eastern end,
nearly as far west as Rue de Bellechasse, has been
carried away by new Boulevard Saint-Germain, and
with it the hotel of the de Tocqueville family, which
stood at No. yy of the ancient aristocratic street. Here
in 1820 lived the Comtesse de Tocqueville, with her
son, Alcxis-Charles-Henri Clerel, a lad of fifteen.
Here he remained until the events of 1830 sent him
to the United States, with a mission to study their
prison systems ; a study extended by him to all the
institutions of the Republic, which had a profound in-
terest for the French Republicans of that time. His
rcj)ort on those prisons appeared in 1832, and in 1835
he put forth the first volume of " De la Democratic en
Ameriquc," its four volumes being completed in 1840.
That admirable survey of the progress of democracy


— whose ascendancy he predicted, despite his own pre-
dilections — still carries authority, and at the time cre-
ated a wide-spread sensation. It made its author
famous, and promoted him to the place of first-as-
sistant lion in the salon of Madame Recamier, whose
head lion was always Chateaubriand. De Tocqueville
had settled, on his return to Paris, in this same fau-
bourg; residing until 1837 at 49 Rue de Verneuil,
and from that date to 1840 at 12 Rue de Bourgogne.
Elected Deputy in 1839, he soon crossed the Seine,
and we cannot follow him to his various residences in
the quarter of the Madeleine. For a few months in
1849 he served as Minister for Foreign Affairs in the
cabinet of the Prince-President, and was among the
Deputies put into cells in December, 185 1. His re-
maining years, until his death at Cannes in 1859, were
spent in retirement from all public aft'airs.

A notable inhabitant of the University quarter, in
the early years of the nineteenth century, was Fran-
Qois-Pierre-Guillaume Guizot, a young professor at
the Sorbonne. His classes were crowded by students
and by men from outside, all intent on his strong
and convincing presentation of his favorite historical
themes. He lived, near his lecture-room, at No. 10
Rue de la Planche, a street that now forms the east-
ern end of Rue de Varennes, between Rues du Bac
and de la Chaise. From 1823 to 1830 his home was at
37 Rue Saint-Dominique, where now is No. 203 Bou-
levard Saint-Germain, next to the Hotel de Luynes,
already visited with Racine. This latter period saw


Guizot, after a temporary dismissal from his chair by
the Bourbon King, at the height of his powers and
his prestige as a lecturer. He carried his oratory to
the Chamber of Deputies in 1830, and there compelled
equal attention. In 1832 we find him, Minister of
Public Instruction, installed in the official residence
at 116 Rue de Crenelle, on the corner of Rue de Belle-
chasse. His work while there still lasts as the basis
of the elementary education of France, and it is to
him that she owes her primary schools. Pushed out
from this ofiice in 1836 by the pushing Thiers, he
went to England as Ambassador for a few months in
1840, and in the autumn of that year he took up his
abode in the Ministry of Foreign Afifairs, where he
remained until he was driven out in 1848. That an-
cient mansion, no longer in existence, stood on the
triangle made by Boulevard and Rue des Capucines.
With his desertion of this Southern Bank, we lose
sight of his dwellings, always thereafter in the
Faubourg Saint-Honore. Guizot and Louis-Philippe
failed in their fight against a nation, and the men of
February, 1848, revolted against the Prime Minister
as well as against the King of the French. That
opcra-houffc monarch with the pear-shaped face, un-
der the guise of Mr. Smith, with a fat umbrella, slipped
out of tile back door of the Tuileries and away to
England ; Cuizot got away to the same safe shores in
less ludicrous disguise. He returned to his own land
in 1849, and lived until 1874, always poor, always
courageous, and always at work. Among his many


volumes of these years, all marked by elevation of
thought and serenity of style, as well as by absence of
warmth and color, were his " Memoires," wherein he
proves, to the satisfaction of his austere dogmatism,
that he had always been in the right throughout his
public career.

The Revolution of 1830, that sent de Tocqueville
on his voyage, and that started Guizot in political
life, brought Alphonse-Marie-Louis de Lamartine to
the public ear as an orator. He had filled the public
eye as a poet since 1820, when his " Meditations
Poetiques " appeared. In 1830, his " Harmonies Poet-
iques et Religieuses " had made it sure that here was
a soul filled with true harmony. And while he sang
the consolations of religion, as Chateaubriand had
sung its splendors, he gave proof of his devotion to the
Church and throne. But he bore the Revolution of
1830, and the flight of the Bourbons, with the same
equanimity he always summoned for the reverses of
others, as well as for his own. When a literary genius
is out of work, says Sainte-Beuve, he takes to politics
and becomes an Illustrious Citizen, for want of some-
thing better to do. Lamartine was elected a Deputy
soon after the upset of 1830, and sprang at once into
the front rank of parliamentary orators. His speeches
in the Chamber, and his " History of the Girondists "
— enthralling and untrustworthy — helped to bring on
the Revolution of 1848, quite without his knowing or
wishing it. It was his superb outburst of rhetoric,
as he stood alone on the steps of the Hotel de Ville,


on February 25th, backed by no colleague and clad
in no authority, that saved to France her Tricolor —
" that has swept all around the world, carrying liberty
and glory in its folds " — in place of the white flag of
the Bourbons that had gone, and the red rag of the mob
that was near coming. Between that month of Febru-
ary and June of that same year, Lamartine had been
on the crest of his highest wave, and had sunk to his
lowest level in the regard of his Parisians. Their faith
was justified in his genius and his rectitude, but a vol-
cano is not to be squirted cold by rose-water, and the
new republic could not be built on phrases. After his
amazing minority in the election for president, Lamar-
tine sank out of sight, accepting without complaint his
sudden obscurity, as he had accepted without intrigue
his former lustre. The conspiracy of December, 1851,
sent him into retirement, and he lived alone with his
pen, his only weapon against want — a pathetically
heroic figure during these last years. George Sand
had seen a good deal of Lamartine in the days of 1848,
and he struck her as " a sort of Lafayette without his
shrewdness. He shows respect for all men and all
ideas, while believing in no ideas and loving no man."
A more just and complete judgment is that of Louis
Blanc : " He is incessantly laboring under a self-
exalting hallucination. He dreams about himself mar-
vellous dreams, and believes in them. He sees what
is not visible, he opens his inward car to impossible
sounds, and takes delight in narrating to others any
tale his imagination narrates to him. Floncst and sin-


cere as he is, he would never deceive you, were he not
himself deceived by the familiar demon who sweetly
torments him."

For twenty years he had been a resident of the
Faubourg Saint-Germain. Indeed, when he came to
Paris for a while, in 1820, to see to the publication
of his first poems, he found rooms on Quai d'Orsay.
From there he went to make that call on young Hugo,
to be narrated later. From 1835 to 1855 his apart-
ment was in the grand mansion, " between court and
garden," No. 82 Rue de TUniversite. His reception-
room was decorated with portraits and busts of Al-
phonse de Lamartine, we are told by Frederick Locker-
Lampson, who visited him there. His host was a
handsome and picturesque figure, he says, albeit with
an over-refinement of manner. No keener criticism
of the poet and his poetry, at this period, has been
made than that by Locker-Lampson, in one curt sen-
tence. His sane humor is revolted by that " prurient
chastity, then running, nay, galloping, to seed in an
atmosphere of twaddle and toadyism."

The desolate fallen idol was rescued from oblivion
and poverty by the Second Empire, whose few hon-
orable acts may not be passed over. In 1867, in its
and his dying years, that government gave him money,
and the municipality gave him a house. These gifts
came to him in Rue Cambaceres, in a small hotel now
rebuilt into No. 7 of that street. Where it meets with
Rue de Penthievre, just above, you will find the at-
tractive old mansion, with its ancient number 43 cut


in the stone over the doorway, in which, during the
years after leaving the Faubourg Saint-Germain, he
carried on his courageous struggle with his pen against
debt and poverty. He had but few months' enjoyment
of his last home, the gift of the people of Paris, for
he died there in 1869. It was at Passy, not far from
the square in Avenue Henri-Martin, named for him
and holding his statue. The chair in which he is
seated might be a theatrical property, perhaps humor-
ously and fittingly so suggested by the sculptor; who
has, however, done injustice to his subject, in robbing
him of his natural grace and suavity, and in giving
him a pedantic angularity that was never his.

When Lamartine writes to Sainte-Beuve, " I have
wept, I who never weep," we are amused by the poet's
naive ignorance of his persistent lachrymose notes.
The " smiling critic " accepted them simply as a par-
donable overflow of the winning melancholy of that
nature, in which he recognized all that was genuine
and laudable. This wide-minded tolerance is perhaps
the secret of Sainte-Beuve's strength as a critic. With
his acute discernment of the soul of a book and of its
author, his subtle appreciation of all diverse qualities,
he was splendidly impartial. He could read anything
and everything, with a keenness of appraisement that
did not prejudice his enjoyment of that which was
alive, amid much that might be dead. " A pilgrim of
ideas, but lacking the first essential of a pilgrim —
faith " — he gave all that he was to literature through
all his life, and when near its end, he had the right to

Alphonse de Lamartine.

(From a sketch by David d'Angers, " «;/ sni)- chcz Hngo.")


say : " Devoted with all my heart to my profession of
critic, I have tried to be, more and more, a good and
— if possible — a skilful workman."

He devoted himself so entirely to his profession,
that his life was like a mill, as he said, perpetually
feeding and grinding. On the Monday morning, he
would shut himself in with the new volumes, which
he was to feed into himself and assimilate, during the
twelve hours of each of the five following days; on
Saturday he was ready to grind out the result. His
Sunday holiday was given to the proof-reading of his
next day's " Causerie du Lundi." On that evening he
took his only relaxation, in the theatre. His work-
room was bare of all superfluities, and his daily life
went in a round, with simple diet, no wine, nor coffee,
nor tobacco.

At the age of twenty-five, Charles-Augustin Sainte-
Beuve was living, with his mother, in a small apart-
ment on the fourth floor of No. 19 — now '},'j — Rue
Notre-Dame-des-Champs. He had given himself to
letters instead of medicine, for which he had studied,
and had become a regular contributor of critical pa-
pers to the press. His name was already spoken along
with the names of Victor Cousin, Villemain, Guizot,
Merimee. He had produced his " Historical and
Critical Pictures," his " French Poetry and Frcncli
Theatre of the Sixteenth Century," and the " Poems
of Joseph Delorme " — his selected pen-name. The
poet in him had abdicated to the critic, handing down
many choice gifts. In this apartment he received for


review a volume of poems, " by a young- barbarian,"
his editor wrote. This was the " Odes et Bahades "
of Victor Hugo, with whom the critic soon made ac-
quaintance, and at whose house, a few doors away in
the same street, he became a constant visitor. From
here Madame Sainte-Beuve removed, with her son, in
1834, to Rue du Mont-Parnasse, and in that street he
had his home during his remaining years. His official
residence, from 1840 to 1848, as a Keeper of the Maza-
rin Library, was in that building now occupied by the
Institute. He found installed there, among the other
Keepers, Octave Feuillet. The upheaval of February,
1848, drove Sainte-Beuve into Belgium. On his re-
turn in the following year, he settled in the house left
him by his mother, and there he died in 1869. This
two-storied, plaster-fronted, plain little No. 11 Rue du
Mont-Parnasse, saw his thirty years of colossal work.
From here, he went to take his chair of Latin poetry in
the College de France, where he was hissed by the stu-
dents, who meant to hiss, not the critic and lecturer,
but the man who had accepted the Second Empire in
accepting that chair. He was no zealous recruit, how-
ever, and preserved his entire independence ; and when
he consented to go to the Senate in 1865, it was for
the sake of its dignity and its salary. He was always
poor in money.

To his workroom in this house, came every French
writer of those thirty years, anxious to plead with
or tf) llinnk that Supreme Court of Criticism. Among
those who bowed to its verdicts and who have owned


to its influence, Edmond de Goncourt has given us the
most vivid sketch of the critic in conversation : " When
I hear him touch on a dead man, with his Httle phrases,
I seem to see a swarm of ants invading a body ; clean-
ing out all the glory, and in a few minutes leaving a
very clean skull of the once illustrious one," And,
in his written reviews, Sainte-Beuve had the supreme
art of distilling a drop of venom in a phial of honey,
so making the poison fragrant and the incense deadly.
There is no more constant presence than his on this
southern hill-side, where all his days and nights were
spent. We seem to see there the short, stout figure,
erect and active, the bald head covered with a skull-
cap, the bushy red eyebrows, the smooth-shaven face,
redeemed from ugliness by its alert intelligence. His
walks were down this slope of Mont-Parnasse, which
he thought of as the pleasure-ground of the mediaeval
students of the University, to the quays, where he
hunted among the old-book stalls. And he loved to
stroll in the alleys of the Luxembourg Gardens. In
the Poets' Corner, now made there, you will find his
bust along with those of Henri Murger, Leconte de
Lisle, Theodore de Banville, and Paul Verlaine.

Crossing the street from Sainte-Beuve's last home to
No. 32, we find a modest house set behind its garden-
wall, in which is a tablet containing the name of Edgar
Ouinet. More than passing mention of his name is due
to this fine intellect and this great soul. His mother
thought that " an old gentleman named M. Voltaire "
— whom she might have seen in her childhood, as her


village crowded about his carriage on its way to Paris
— was the cleverest man who ever lived. She brought
up her boy to think for himself, after that philoso-
pher's fashion, and the boy bettered her teachings.
He spent his life in looking into the depths of beliefs
and institutions, in getting at the essence of the real
and the abiding, in letting slip that which was shallow
and transitory ; so that, towards the end, he could
say: "I have passed my days in hearing men speak
of their illusions, and I have never experienced a sin-
gle one." He became, in Professor Dowden's apt
phrase, " a part of the conscience of France," and as
such, his influence was of higher value than that ex-
erted by his busy pen in politics, history, poetry. In-
deed, his enthusiasms for the freedom and progress
of his fellow-beings carried his pen beyond due re-
straint. Of course he was honored by exile during
the Second Empire, and when it tumbled to pieces, he
returned to Paris, and soon went to Versailles as a
Deputy. At his grave, in 1875, Hugo spoke of him
as living and dying with the serene light of truth on
his brow, and he can have no happier epitaph.

Quinet had outlived, by only a few months, his life-
long friend Jules Michelet, who died in 1874. He,
too, had his homes and did his work, private and pub-
lic, on this same hill-side. His l)irth-place, far away
on the northern bank, on the corner of Rues de Tracy
and Saint-Denis, is now given over to business. It
was a church, Ijuilt about 1630 in the gardens of " Lcs
Dailies dc Saiiil-C/niiinionl," and had been closed in


1789, along with so many other churches. Going fast
to ruin, it was fit only for the poverty-stricken tenant,
who came along in the person of the elder Michelet,
a printer from Laon. He set up his presses in the
nave and his household gods in the choir, where the
boy Jules was born on August 22, 1798. The build-
ing is unchanged as to its outer aspect, with its squat
columns supporting the heavy pediment of the fa(^ade,
except that two stories have been placed above its
main body. In these strange surroundings for a child,
and in the shelters equally squalid, to and from which
his father removed during many years, the boy grew
up, haunted and nervous, cold, hungry and ill-clad,
and always over his books when set free from type-

He got lessons and took prizes at the Lycee Charle-
magne, but the pleasantest lesson and the dearest
prize of his youth did not come in school. They were
his first sight, from his father's w'indows in Rue Buf-
fon, of the sun setting over beyond the trees, tuneful
with birds, of the Jardin du Roi. Grass and foliage,
and a sky above an open space, had been unknown to
his walled-in boyhood. When he became able to
choose a home for himself, it had always its garden,
or a sight of one. At an early age he went to tutor-
ing; in 1821 he was appointed lecturer on history in
the College Rollin, then in its old place on the Uni-
versity hill; soon after 1830 he succeeded to Guizot's
chair in the Sorbonne, and in 1838 the College de
France made him its professor of History and Moral


Science. In that institution, he and his colleague
Ouinet caused immense commotion by their assaults
on the Church intrenched in the State, and from their
halls the hootings of the clericals, and the plaudits of
the liberals, re-echoed throughout France. The priest-
hood complained that " the lecturer on history and
morals gave no history and no morals," and it began
to be believed — rightly or wrongly — that he was using
his professor's platform as a band-stand, and was beat-
ing a big drum for the gratification of the groundlings.
He was speedily dismissed, he was reinstated soon
after 1848, and was finally thrown aside by the Second

At this period only, he disappears from the Schol-
ars' Quarter for a while. His earliest residence there
was, soon after his marriage in 1827, at 23 Rue de
I'Arbalete, a street named from the " Chevaliers de
I'Arbalcte," who had made it their archery grounds in
mediaeval days. The site of Michelet's residence is
fittingly covered by a large school, on the corner of
that street and of the street named for Claude Bernard.
After a short stay in Rue des Fosses-Saint-Victor —

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