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One of the oldest oil suspension street lamps in Paris.

But here we are at the extremity of the island.

At the point where the Quai d'Anjou and the rue St. Louis-en-l'Ile meet, the "Hôtel Lambert" rises majestically behind its high stone walls which screen a charming garden from public view. Built in 1640 for President Nicholas Lambert, it is, perhaps, one of the best examples of seventeenthcentury architecture now standing in Paris.

Its exterior decoration was entrusted to Lepautre, and the interior was admirably ornamented by a legion of famous painters. A story goes that President Lambert, an extremely cunning man, simultaneously engaged Lebrun and Lesueur to do some mural decorating. He then cleverly animated the jealousy of the two rivals, who did their best to exceed each other, and in consequence the works done by the mas

ters while in the Hôtel Lambert are now considered their chefs-d'œuvres. Lebrun painted "Les Travaux d'Hercule," Lesueur "Some Episodes in the history of Love," consigned to a small chamber called "Le Cabinet de l'Amour." At the same time he executed his remarkable "Phaeton and Ganymede" that hangs in the Louvre gallery.

In the next century the house came into the possession of the Marquise du Châtelet, "la divine Emilie" of Voltaire, and the author of the "Encyclopædia" passed much of his time there. There are certain manuscripts of his still extant, dated from that place of residence.

Later on the La Haye family became the owners of the Hôtel Lambert (for throughout all centuries it has preserved the name of its founder). They generously gave part of the treasures it contained to Louis XVI for his collection in the Louvre. After that the place became the successive property of the Count de Montolivet, the Dowager Duchess of Orléans, and finally fell into the hands of the Czartoryski family, who still own it. Thus you see that during nearly three centuries the highest French society has frequented that sombre little corner of our island.

Just across the street stands the Hôtel de Bretonvilliers, which, if less richly decorated than its neighbor, rejoices in a more favorable situation, being well exposed to the sun and shaded by many fine trees. "This house," says a contemporary writer, "has a grand and sage allure that enables one to distinguish it at a very great distance, and gives a splendid idea of the grandeur of Paris, to persons arriving from the Charenton side."

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The water-carrier.

Following the Quai d'Anjou for a short distance we come upon a dark, stately looking mansion still known by its old name, the Hôtel de Lauzun. It is here that Mademoiselle de Montpensier, la grande

Mademoiselle, cousin of Louis XIV and her to think of marrying the King of grand-daughter of Henry IV, lived, suffered Spain or, perhaps, the Prince of Wales, and finally died of a broken heart. future Charles II of England. None but History tells us that if at forty years of a royal suitor need seek her hand.

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Her diary tells us that up until the time of their meeting the flame of love had never burned within her breast, and that Lauzun charmed her by "The distinction of his conduct in comparison with other peoples'; by the elevation of his soul above those of others; by his agreeable conversation and a million other singularities."

Dandy of the court, he was not long guessing the secret of this proud demoiselle, who essayed every possible ruse to draw forth a proposal from her chosen admirer. But the rascal, knowing he could not rise to her station, resolved to see how far he could humble her pride, and unlike the situations in the fairy stories, in this case it was the princess who sought the hand of her vassal. Nor was he any too willing. He pretended to misunderstand her intentions, coquetted with her, tormented her until the very day she went to the king to ask his consent to their immediate marriage.

Louis XIV, taken unawares, saw nothing to prevent the union, and preparations for the event were immediately set afoot. But

Hôtel de Lauzun.

the scandal caused when it was noised abroad that a daughter of the house of Bourbon was enamored of a simple guardsman, and that the king approved of the match, threatened to render the monarch unpopular, and counselled by the various members of his family, he withdrew his consent three days later, on the very eve of the ceremony.

Furious to see his royal prey thus escape him, Lauzun, in his anger, let slip some imprudent phrases, and he was shortly dispatched on a mission to the North. While on his way thence he was captured and imprisoned by royal command.

Mademoiselle was inconsolable, and for fourteen long years she lived, loved and waited, finally succeeding in buying her lover's deliverance. But at what a price! Almost all her property was forfeited to accumulate the tremendous sum the king asked for ransom, and even then she was only permitted a secret marriage with the man of her choice.

Lauzun and his white-haired bride took refuge in their island home, and shortly we

see the real character of the man coming to the surface. Debauched and embittered, this beau chevalier seems to have left his polished manners within the prison gates, and he brutally accused his wife of being the cause of his misfortunes, captivity and exile. Other and more humiliating scenes followed and soon the great house rang with cries of dissension.

The grande demoiselle bore it all with mild submission, her flamme d'amour as yet too strong to be quenched by mere ill-treatment. Lauzun triumphed in her abasement, and one day in the presence of a brilliant assembly, commanded his royal help-mate: "Henriette de Bourbon, make haste, remove my boots!" Then, at length, the princess rose above the woman and drove the scoundrel from her presence never to lay eyes on him again.

How she passed the remaining years of her life still

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remains a mystery. All I know is that soon after her death, Lauzun, then a man considerably over sixty, married Mademoiselle de Dufort, a charming girl of sixteen, and whether or not he conducted his new bride to his house on the Quai d'Anjou is a question I have never cared to look into.

When he himself passed away his gorgeous dwelling came into the hands of the Marquis de Richelieu, nephew of the famous cardinal. Richelieu sold it to Ogin, who, in his turn, disposed of it to a wealthy nobleman, and finally at the beginning of

Louis XVI's reign, we find the Baron de Pimodan, brigadier of the king's armies, its owner.

When the Revolution broke out he was living there with all his family, and, in spite of his Liberal sentiments, the Committee of Public Welfare ordered him to be arrested. A pretty legend relates that the old nobleman, having given his word to his detainers, had his great coach harnessed and at the appointed hour drove in state to his prison in the Luxembourg.

His nephew, the Marquis de Viollaye,

deeming it unnecessary to run the risk of decapitation, hid in his uncle's cellar and soon discovered that the place was full of subterranean and even submarine passages, which, to his great delight, enabled him to escape in safety.

Following the close of the Revolution the Hôtel de Lauzun became the successive property of many wealthy unknowns, until at length, in 1842, the Baron Jerome Pichon became its possessor. At first he rented it to Roger de Beauvoir, author of "Les Enfers de Paris," who gave such a splendid fête in the historic mansion that certain old ladies of my acquaintance say that nothing like it had ever been seen in Paris.

Then Pichon himself wished to live there, but the place being already divided

into apartments, he could not expel the tenants, and was therefore obliged to occupy only parts of the dwelling, while Charles Beaudelaire the poet rented all the second floor.

"When I first visited the translator of Edgar Allan Poe," says Banville in his Memoirs, "he lived on the Ile St. Louis in the old and celebrated Hôtel de Lauzun, superb and sad habitation, whose decorative paintings have been transferred to the Louvre. Beaudelaire had chosen rather scanty, high-walled lodgings, composed of several small rooms without any particular character, from whose windows one could see the wide, green river. The noble dwelling contains many princely apartments, notably the one of Boissard the painter, who

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