lime and horsechesnut trees, cut into regular forms. There are beds of
flowers near the palace, and in the summer it is further ornamented with
rows of fine orange trees. The Champs Elysées is a less ornamented
continuation of the same system. Between the two is a large open space
called, originally, the Place of Louis Quinze, afterwards of Concord,
and of the Revolution; to the south of this one may see, over the Seine,
the magnificent portico of the Chamber of Deputies, and to the north,
the beginnings of an edifice which was to have been the Temple of Glory,
but what its future name will be is very uncertain. Nearer is the Garde
Meuble, a building intended to surpass the celebrated façade of the
Louvre. It is very beautiful, but why the architect has not fully
succeeded I shall endeavour to explain at a future time. A fine avenue,
bounded by a double range of trees, continues from the Elysian Fields to
the Barrière de Neuilly, and thus we have a straight line from this
barrière (begun on a magnificent scale, but not yet completed) to the
front of the Tuilleries, which, if mere length could produce the
impression, would certainly be very magnificent. To a certain degree it
is so, and the elevation of the ground, towards the barrière, is very
favourable to it, but the grandeur is not in proportion to the apparent
effort.
However pretty the winding walks of our English gardens may be, they are
not at all suited for a place of public resort, where any impression of
magnificence is intended. They never show the people, which is a point
of great consequence. The disposition of the objects in straight lines,
has in itself an imposing, or to use a term more English, an impressive
effect, but this has its limits, and I suspect not very extended ones.
The too great length of the line makes the individual parts appear
little, and the mind is not satisfied with the general impression of
sublimity, unless it find the character supported by the objects in its
immediate neighbourhood. Beyond a certain point almost any additional
length is nearly lost, and, in proceeding along it, we feel its want of
variety, without any compensation. I am persuaded that, if a man were
placed at the point where two narrow avenues meet, one of them a mile in
length, and the other two, he would not readily distinguish the
difference. By extending the line too much, also, in places of public
resort, it becomes impossible to fill it with people, and this
deficiency is more sensible than the length of the avenue.
One of my first employments at Paris was to ramble over it and take a
general view of the city. I crossed the Seine at the Pont Louis Quinze,
and walked along the noble quays as far as the Island, admiring, on the
opposite side, the vast extent of the united palaces of the Tuilleries
and Louvre, which, whatever may be the defects and incongruities of
their architecture, must always, from their long continued lines,
communicate to a stranger the idea of great magnificence. The quays
themselves are also an object well worthy of attention, they form a wide
street on each side of the river, which is embanked in stone throughout
its whole course, in Paris; and whether I looked up the river, towards
the Pont Neuf and Nôtre Dame, or downwards, to the Chamber of Deputies,
the Pont Louis Seize, the Champs Elysées, and Mount Valerian, I had
always a noble scene before me. The narrow quays and crowded shores of
the Thames, in London, do not permit any scene of this sort. The
completion of this design is due to Bonaparte, and it certainly is an
honour to him. Some writers have complained of the want of variety, and
that the Parisians are thus shut out from the natural banks of the
river, but the natural banks of a river, running through a city, are
merely mud and rubbish.
I continued my walk to Nôtre Dame, and afterwards, returning to the
south shore, proceeded to the _Jardin des Plantes_, or _du Roi_, as you
please. I then crossed the Pont Austerlitz, one of the new bridges built
by Bonaparte. This is of iron, as is also the Pont des Arts, or du
Louvre, but the latter is for foot passengers only. The Parisians boast
of their bridges, but without great reason; this Pont d’Austerlitz is
fine for an iron bridge;[5] the Pont Neuf has little pretension to
beauty; the Pont des Arts is a light, not to say a slight construction
of iron, for foot passengers; the Pont Royal is a well-constructed
bridge, but hardly a handsome one; the Pont d’Jena is a caricature of
flat elliptical arches, and apparent lightness; and its merit is
confined to some ingenuity in the construction, in order to obtain this
effect; which, nevertheless, is certainly a blemish. Nothing is of more
importance in a bridge than an appearance of solidity.
In this tour I did not by any means confine myself to a direct course,
but turned off to the right or the left, if I saw any building of more
consequence than ordinary, or if the ancient aspect of the houses near
gave me reason to consider the general character of the street deserving
of notice.
The streets on the south side of the river, within the ancient walls,
are, I think, still more narrow and winding than those on the north. But
all Paris abounds with crooked dirty lanes. We complain of the obscure
situation of many of the principal buildings in London; nothing can be
worse placed than some of those in Paris. However detrimental this may
be to the appearance of the building, considered individually, I do not
know whether it may not, occasionally, heighten the general impression
of magnificence. The apparent waste of architecture gives an idea that
the means are abundant, and that the objects have been produced without
effort; and the notion of painful exertion is always highly prejudicial
to the sentiment of sublimity.
The Palais Royal is an immense building, inclosing a large court, or
garden, containing not only shops, but splendid coffee-houses and great
_salles-à-manger_. Nothing in London can give you any idea of this
place; from its immense extent, the variety and splendour of its
exhibitions, and the constant crowd to be met with. “The number of
arches is 113; the ground floor of each, in shops and coffee-houses,
&c., lets for 3,000 francs per annum, the first floor for 1,200, and the
third and fourth for 500 each, thus making the annual produce of each
division, comprising one arch, and the parts above it, 6,000 francs, or
240_l._, and, consequently, that of the whole, to 27,120_l._, to which
an addition is to be made for the Galerie de Bois, the shops of which
produce each 1,200 francs per annum, but of their number I am
ignorant.”[6] The architecture is not good, yet the great extent of the
garden, and the continuity of the surrounding buildings, decorated with
a uniform style of ornament, produce a rich and striking _coup d’œil_;
and it must be observed, that this uniformity consists in the repetition
of parts, which, though not perfect, yet when compared with the London
rows of brick-houses, or the almshouse Gothic of the House of Lords, may
justly be esteemed magnificent.
The Café des Mille Colonnes is in the Palais Royal, and is perhaps the
most celebrated in Paris. It is a large room, surrounded with half
columns against the walls, and all the spaces not occupied by the doors
and windows are filled up with looking-glass. But its celebrity has been
less owing to its architectural splendor than to its beautiful mistress.
The lady was seated at the bar in a very handsome chair, dressed in a
gown of crimson satin, and the bar itself, and all about her, was highly
ornamented. This is usually the most finished and decorated part of a
French coffee-house, and this heightening of enrichment, in the
principal point of the apartment, is certainly well judged, and tends
much to enhance the splendor of the whole. It is the same in principle,
as far as architecture is concerned, with the highly finished altar of a
church, and those who possess the poetry of the art will feel the
importance of these accessories. You see I am considering the lady
merely as an ornament to architecture, but unfortunately, this highest
enrichment is not at the command of the artist. After satisfying my
curiosity with a general view of the city, the next object was to
acquire some knowledge of its inhabitants, and on the 18th I began to
deliver my letters of introduction. I do not mean to give an account of
all the visits I paid, but merely a sketch of such as I think may
interest you. One was to Mr. Du Fourny, professor of architecture. On
the pavement, at the entrance of his apartment, is the word _salve_,
copied from a mosaic at Pompei, and his rooms are ornamented with
various fragments of antiquity. He was very angry with the Duke of
Wellington for having assisted in stripping the museum, and attributed
the whole to the English government, but a little further conversation
served to explain his idea, which was, that the English might have
hindered it if they would, and that they ought to have done so. This is
a very frequent ground of complaint amongst the French, but I know not
what claim they can imagine themselves to have had to our interference
in their favour. That the union of these objects was not for the general
advantage of art, seems to be acknowledged by almost all those who have
the best opportunities of observing its progress, and Mr. Du Fourny was
one of upwards of eighty French artists, who, much to their honour,
petitioned that the spoils of Italy might not be brought to Paris. It
has been imagined that this request proceeded from an idea, that the
Louvre being thus filled, no employment would remain for the native
artists, and that in fact the market would be overstocked. But it is
sufficiently obvious that these objects are not brought into the market,
and that without them no one would have thought of filling the Louvre
with paintings, while the existence of such a gallery excites the taste
for collections, and multiplies the employment of the painter. The ill
effect of such an immense collection is, that it gives a certain sort of
familiarity with a degree of excellence, beyond what artists of these
degenerate days are capable of attaining, and forces them to seek
distinction in extravagance and manner. This consequence would be less
to be dreaded if the union of second-rate artists in academies did not
give them a degree of consequence and influence beyond that to which
they are naturally entitled. It has been considered as a very
extraordinary reproach to the French school, that its members did not
improve in point of taste by the habitual acquaintance with these
glorious productions; but no school would have improved. The artist who
hunts them out in different places fixes them in his memory and his
heart, he makes use of them without fear, or at least he is not afraid
of showing, in his productions, what he has been studying; and it is
perhaps an advantage, that at last he has not the original painting at
hand to render him ashamed of his own effort. The artist to whom they
are constantly accessible has before his eyes the incessant reproach of
want of originality, and is obliged to shun an imitation of style,
painful in so many ways to his feelings and his reputation.
On another occasion I called on Denon, who received me in the most
friendly manner, and shewed me his Egyptian drawings. The spirit and
life that he puts into every thing is delightful. He has a very good
museum, containing, as might be expected, a large collection of Egyptian
antiquities. He possesses also some very fine paintings, and a most
valuable collection of drawings of the Italian masters.[7] I noticed a
bust of Napoleon, and observed to him that it seemed to be a prohibited
figure in Paris. He replied, that it was the bust of his benefactor, and
that political events could not discharge the obligations of private
gratitude. Amongst the slavish flattery which on both sides has lately
so disgraced the French character, how noble does this sentiment appear!
On the 22d, M. De Bure, the well known bookseller, took me to the royal
library. It occupies two floors, surrounding a court above 300 feet
long, and 75 feet wide, the rooms at one end being double. The printed
books are said to form 350,000 volumes, and there are more manuscripts
than would fill the shelves of the London Institution. The whole extent
of surface for books must, I conceive, exceed 25,000 feet. Here is a
large library of large paper copies, and a series of rooms for books of
prints, maps, drawings, &c. The height of the bookcases is about 11
feet, and over them is a gallery. The books are frequently in a double
range, the larger behind, and the smaller in front, so that you see the
former over the latter. Among other things is an immense collection of
what they call topography, which contains the plans and details of a
great number of buildings, some of which are Gothic. I took some pains
to see what there was; but the want of any arrangement which would lead
me to the different subjects, made it a difficult task, and the
drawings, when found, appeared for the most part, to be very poor and
inaccurate. There are several drawings on a large scale, made for the
purpose of explaining some alterations in the choir of Nôtre Dame. These
exhibited particularities, principally in the vaulting of the _bas
chœur_, which appeared to me very remarkable, while others were quite
incomprehensible. On referring to the building I found both the one and
the other totally false; a gross inaccuracy, so immediately within reach
of correction, gives ground to suspect similar defects in many others.
After having satisfied my curiosity at the library, I called upon
Humboldt. He is a most interesting man, for he talks a great deal, and
as he has seen much, and thought much, almost every word he says conveys
both pleasure and information. Within a quarter of an hour he led me
deep into the Mexican antiquities, shewing me the history of Adam and
Eve, and the fall of man, exhibited in the hieroglyphic paintings of the
country, and explaining to me all the particulars. He observed, that
this coincidence with the traditions of Western Asia was a very
wonderful fact: as from their geographical position, and other
circumstances, the Mexicans, and other tribes of North America, have
been supposed to be derived from the Tartar or Chinese nations of
Eastern Asia, where no such history is retained. He talks of visiting
the ruins of Babylon. I told him I thought he had travelled enough; he
said he had hardly begun; and I replied, he would weep like Alexander,
for more worlds to travel in.
After this conversation, M. Humboldt conducted me to the Institute,
where he introduced me to Richard, and pointed out to me Jussieu,
Latreille, Lacepede, Laborde, and several other of the present
distinguished literary characters of France. Nothing could be more kind
or attentive than his whole conduct.
Here also is a very fine library, which owes its foundation to Cardinal
Mazarine. The small room, for the ordinary meetings of the Institute,
is, I suppose, 50 feet long; and the principal room of the library 60
feet. Both are filled with books.
On the 24th I attended a public meeting of the Institute. Of all the
dull things resorted to by way of amusement, I think a public meeting of
the Institute is the most stupid. The room occupied for the purpose was
anciently the church of Les Quatre Nations. Its form is a Greek cross,
or perhaps rather an octagon, with four recesses; and the dome, and the
recess which anciently formed the choir, are occupied by the members.
The auditors, seated in the other three recesses, each of which is
divided into two heights, neither see nor hear well; but a favoured
portion occupying part of the centre, are better off. This was the first
meeting since the Institute had been new modelled, and it was very fully
attended. M. de Vaublanc made a long speech. He was followed by the Duc
de Richelieu. The third was M. De Fontanes. Choiseul Gouffier, as
representative of classical literature, read an essay on Homer. Cuvier,
the champion of natural history, produced a report on the progress of
science, and if his view of the subject was not very profound, or his
mode of reasoning always perfectly accurate, it was the better suited to
a public assembly. M. de Campenon was the last I heard. He read an
epistle in verse. You will not expect me to tell you much about the
subjects; there was little in any of them worthy of being remembered.
The burthen of the song was the praise of their wise and good king, _ce
beau roi, ce grand roi_, but what monarch is too poor to buy praise? It
seemed indeed rather out of place, if we consider this as a scientific
meeting, but in truth, it is merely a public exhibition to please the
good people of Paris. The style of speaking is very disagreeable to a
stranger. The periods are divided into short portions of a very few
syllables, the last of which is dwelt upon longer than the others, and
if you repeat the syllables _tutitaa_, _tuttaa_, _tutitaa_, _tutiritaa_,
_tutitaa_, _tuttaa_, lengthening out the _aa_ sufficiently, you will
have no bad idea of French elocution.
Among the distinguished men whom I saw at Paris, I must not omit to
mention M. Visconti, whose modesty and plain good sense in conversation
are equal to his vast knowledge of antiquities. I had to take up the
cudgels in his apartment in defence of Gothic architecture, but did not
succeed at all, and I felt myself very much cramped from the want of a
familiar acquaintance with French terms. My opponent was an Italian, and
his shoulders touched his ears when I ventured to admire the simplicity
of the Gothic, as exhibited in the insides of the finest cathedrals.
The first architect in Paris, in point of taste and knowledge of design,
is Percier, and probably the first in Europe. I had a great deal of
conversation with him about Gothic, which he does not much admire, but
prefers that of the south of France, to that of the north. However he is
not so bigotted against it as to wish to exclude it altogether from art,
but reserves it for an occasional “bon bouche,” by way of variety; while
his really substantial every day food is the Greek architecture, or
rather the Roman. M. Percier is not less distinguished for his kind and
judicious treatment of the young architects and students in
architecture, than for his professional talents. Here is no jealousy, no
keeping back information; for every species of assistance and advice
they all look up to Percier: such an union is delightful.
The sçavant who is supposed to know most of Gothic architecture in Paris
is M. Millin. He is certainly an able antiquary, and a man of general
information, but not very profound in any thing, perhaps not even in his
favourite pursuit. He has published some works of considerable value on
French antiquities; but architecture is not the part in which he is
strongest, though his “Antiquités nationales” consists chiefly of
architectural subjects. He offered me the use of his library, which is a
very excellent one on these subjects, and the permission would be of
great value, if my stay at Paris were long enough to enable me to avail
myself of it. I have every reason to believe that the offer was
perfectly in earnest, and that he would have been gratified by my
acceptance of it.
LETTER III.
GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.
_Rheims, May, 1816._
I ENGAGED a young French artist of the name of Le Blanc to accompany me
in an excursion to Chalons sur Marne, and Rheims, in order to assist me
in sketching the Gothic Architecture of those two places. The road is
not very pleasant; the first part lies mostly through a common field,
but with trees of a tolerable size on each side: these trees admit of a
side and front view of the country, but not an oblique one: from the
straightness of the road, the front continues always the same, and the
side view escapes in a moment, so that we have no time to dwell on any
object. Tired of one everlasting defect, I began to wish the trees
altogether out of the way; but before reaching Chalons, I became still
more tired of an open country, to which the eye could hardly distinguish
any boundary, and heartily wished for the trees again. The surface of
the ground is a continued gentle undulation, and whether with or without
trees, the straight road makes this form extremely sensible, and it is
hardly possible to conceive any thing more dull and wearisome. This
character however is not without exception. La Ferté is situated in a
very pleasant valley, with scattered trees, steep banks, villages, and
distant hills; and a little beyond the town, the road winds round the
head of a charming hollow, of no great depth. The hills are steep, and
partly woody, and the scene rich, with the mixture of trees, hedges, and
cultivated ground; meadows, vineyards, and abundance of orchards, whose
delicious fragrance was wafted by a soft and gentle breeze, very
different from the cold winds which swept over the naked country.
Chalons offered to our curiosity two Gothic churches. The cathedral, of
which I have little to say, and that of Nôtre Dame, which both for its
antiquity, and the beautiful effects of certain dispositions not usually
met with, is extremely interesting. We find here a number of
particulars, which generally accompany each other in these ancient
French churches: these are, First, square towers, with semicircular
headed openings. The mouldings round the windows are often ornamented;
but the buttresses (which have little projection) and the surface of the
walls, are always unadorned. Secondly, the windows are without tracery,
and those of the choir are disposed three together, the middle one being
the largest: this arrangement prevails also in Salisbury Cathedral, and
in some other English buildings of the same period. Thirdly, detached
single columns, which might almost be called Corinthian, support the
arches at the back of the choir. Fourthly, the side aisles of the choir
are generally in two stories, and frequently of the nave also: the upper
story is supposed to have been for the use of the women. Fifthly, there
is a gallery or triforium round the choir, above the two stories of the
_bas chœur_, and below the windows, which is not continued along the
nave. Sixthly, the end of the choir is circular, not polygonal, and the
little chapels which surround it, and which are hardly ever wanting in
France, are also terminated in portions of circles: in the later styles
of Gothic Architecture both these became polygonal. Seventhly, the
mouldings and ornaments externally are more like the Roman, than they
are in the Gothic of a later period. Some of these peculiarities may be
traced from the ponderous architecture which preceded it, and some may
be pursued into the more ornamental style which followed. In attempting
to arrange the productions of architecture in a chronological series, we
shall find many aberrations in the style of building, from the exact
order of dates: a fashion may be continued in one province, some years
after it has ceased to be practised in another. Even in the same city
the genius of one man may introduce a mode of construction afterwards
generally followed, and there may yet be a considerable interval between
its first introduction and its general adoption. It may be said then,
that the cathedral of Amiens is less early than that of Nôtre Dame at
Paris; meaning thereby to infer, not a precise priority of date in the
latter, but that it exhibits indications of an earlier stage of
knowledge or of taste; and announces a state of art, which, generally
speaking, preceded that exhibited in the former.