the neighbourhood, either on foot, or in some of the conveyances, like
our short stages, which abound here. In one of these I passed the bridge
at Neuilly, perhaps the most celebrated in France, having five arches,
each of 120 feet span, so that the width of the river must be about that
of the Thames at London Bridge. The Seine has been called a ditch, but
at Paris it is wider than the Thames at Richmond, and at Neuilly, the
scale marked a depth of ten feet. In 1740 it rose to 26 feet. In looking
along this bridge from the water’s edge, the arches all seem rather
crippled, perhaps owing to their being formed of segments of circles,
but this is not a very obvious defect, and the bridge is certainly very
beautiful: if however, the arches were not quite so flat, it would be
better. The double line of arch is ungraceful, and were it not very
apparent that the outer line is false, the bridge would be ugly.
After rambling about some time without any particular object in view, I
found myself unexpectedly by the palace of St. Cloud. I wondered at
first what magnificent building was before me, having quite forgotten
that it lay in my route; but after I had convinced myself of the fact,
and admired the noble view from the terrace, I set myself to consider
the front, which is composed of a central building, and two advancing
wings of smaller elevation; but it is hardly worth any particular
criticism. Reading in large letters the usual inscription, “_parlez au
concierge_,” I did as I was bid, and immediately entered the palace. The
state rooms are very magnificent, yet there is much bad taste, much of
mere show and glitter, and great abundance of painted imitations of
marble, miserably performed. The Salon de reception is, however, really
grand. The hangings are dark crimson, with black roses; there is a very
deep gold border, and gilt moulding; a rich gilt cornice, and a painted
ceiling. This is the only room of which the border is altogether
decidedly lighter than the walls, as recommended by Mrs.
Schimmelpenning, and nothing can be more beautiful than the effect.
I continued my ramble to cascades without water, and to a tower which is
called a pyramid. The river sweeps beautifully under the fine hanging
woods of the park, and if the banks are less bold, and the natural
scenery less striking than at Marli, the artificial accompaniments, with
Paris in the distance, are superior.
There are at Paris three courses of Botanique rurale, that is, three
botanists make weekly excursions with a number of pupils. Jussieu is the
public professor of this branch, and his high reputation induced me to
wish to join his party. There is no difficulty in it, the lecture is
perfectly open, and no introduction is necessary. On Wednesday, 29th
May, I repaired to the appointed place (of which public notice is always
given) at the entrance of the avenue of St. Cloud. I was told that the
class sometimes amounted to two hundred. On this occasion there were, I
suppose, half the number, but it is difficult to judge, as a large
portion is always scattered about. It was quite a novelty to botanize in
such a crowd, and a very amusing novelty. The party seemed to be taken
from all classes, among them were several ladies, and many who had the
appearance of gentlemen, but the larger portion, I apprehend, were
students in the School of Medicine at Paris, and these are in great
measure derived from a lower class in society, than that which peoples
the English, or even the Scotch universities. No person can exercise the
trade of an apothecary, without a certificate of having attended certain
courses of botany. Some were evidently mechanics, and one or two private
soldiers. It has, I understand, always been the case in France, that
among the private soldiers, there have been some who have attended the
different courses. How honourable this is to the French character, and
how much more favourable to morals, than where the only resource for an
idle hour is the alehouse! Nor should I be satisfied with the
observation, that they would be better employed in working for their
families. Man has a right occasionally to relaxation, and to some
exciting amusement; nor do I believe that either his moral or physical
health can be well preserved without it. In England, a gentleman or lady
would not choose to be seen in such an assembly of all classes; why is
it that our pride will not permit us to enjoy, without excluding our
inferiors? In fact, with all our boast of superior religion and superior
charity, there is more of contempt in our manners towards the lower
classes, and less of kindness, than in, I believe, any other nation of
Europe. It may be merely in manner, and may regard only trifles; but as
nine-tenths of human life is made up of trifles, I am more indebted to
him who will make me happy in them, than to him who would relieve me in
the other tenth of serious misfortune.
The plan of instruction seemed to be for the students to collect plants,
and to present them to Jussieu for names, which they write down, and
then preserve the plant, without any examination of the characters. I
heard him thus supply names to _Veronica chamædrys_, _Ranunculus acris_,
and many other flowers equally common in France and England; whence you
may suppose that no very intimate knowledge of the science is expected
from the pupils. In plants of less frequent occurrence, the professor
himself was not very ready, and often appealed to a manuscript list
which he carried with him. One brought him _Hypnum curvatum_, “C’est une
mousse,” but the student was not satisfied, and Jussieu at last thought
it might be _H. myosuroides_. I do not know if these species have been
accurately distinguished in France. Another brought _Bromus mollis_, he
called it _B. secalinus_, and seemed to me to misname several others;
whence I conclude that he was not ready in distinguishing species: a
sort of knowledge which is not, I believe, the _forte_ of the French
botanists, but which, without overvaluing it, one had certainly a right
to expect from the professor of _botanique rurale_, since it seems to
make the exclusive object of his lessons. I confess his employment of
thus merely giving names to pupils who know nothing about the matter,
must be very tiresome, but it is his own fault that it is so. He might
have selected six or eight of the best informed pupils, and have
referred to them, all those inquirers who did not know the most common
plants, or who wisely determined _Serapias grandiflora_ to be a
_Convallaria_; and out of every twelve pupils, I suppose at least ten
were in this state, and these of course were the most troublesome. He
then would have had leisure to look about a little himself, and to have
entered into details with those who were more advanced, and explained to
them, as they brought him the different plants, the particulars in each
tribe to which they ought chiefly to attend. Those whom he pitched upon
to be his assistants would have been proud of the office, and the
distinction would have been no small stimulus to their exertions. Among
the number of pupils with whom I conversed, I found only two who had any
idea of examining the plants and judging for themselves: to hear the
name given by Jussieu to the individual, and to write it down, seemed to
be the whole object of their ambition.
I professed myself curious about the _Orchideæ_, and every body tells
me, as I had before heard in London, that the neighbourhood of Paris is
very rich in _Orchideæ_. Oh! you will find them at Meudon, at
Montmorenci, at Sceaux, at St. Maur; and as long as I deal in generals,
I seem to be gaining information; but when I inquire about particular
species, and the exact places in which they grow: I find only that the
French are very skilful in warding off questions they cannot answer.
Another of my excursions was to Versailles. The road is not unpleasant,
and I cannot say that I was disappointed in the palace, or in the
gardens, for I neither expected nor found them beautiful. The size of
the former is, as you know, immense. Internally, there are two principal
suites of apartments, one of which is gilt upon a white ground, the
other harlequined with different sorts of marble, and enriched with
painting and gilding. In general, both are bad; but in the former it
seems to be the disposition, and not the nature of the colours which
displeases, as the bed-room of Louis XIV., and the antichamber, where
the style of decoration is more simple and in better taste, are highly
beautiful. In the marbled suite also, a long gallery, on the ceiling of
which are painted the exploits of Louis XIV., and a saloon at each end
of it, are very handsome; principally because the architect has been
contented with fewer marbles, and disposed them less capriciously.
In the park, the great object has been to display long, straight avenues
of trees; but the intervening parts are irregularly disposed, and
contain corn-fields, meadows, and wild thickets. Even in the gardens,
nothing is attended to but straight walks, and near the palace varied
figures in coloured sand are disposed upon the grass-plots. There are
some noble orange-trees, but they are cut into the form of mops, and the
orangery, though a fine building, supporting the terrace, has the air
more of a place intended for coolness, than one to secure warmth and
light. There are two magnificent flights of steps, but not being
directed towards the palace, they are rather deformities than beauties,
as they have the appearance of leading to nothing. The water-works are
not expected to play till the 25th of August. It requires three months
to supply the reservoirs, and they are exhausted in half an hour.
The dishes at a Parisian restaurateur’s are sufficiently numerous, but
going to one with a party of Frenchmen, I found that it was usual to
multiply the number still more, by ordering a portion for two or three
persons, and dividing it among a greater number. I pleaded ignorance of
French cookery, and left my companions to provide for me, which they did
extremely well. I do not know that I have mentioned a practice very
common here of ordering a bottle of wine, and only drinking and paying
for the half. I have seen a man order two bottles of different sorts,
and pay for half of each; and on another occasion, at Legacq’s, one of
the guests acknowledged to three quarters, and paid accordingly. After
dinner we drank our coffee at the Café d’Apollon. This is an
establishment uniting a coffee-house and a theatre. The stage is a
little elevated, and the lower part of the coffee-room forms the pit;
above are two ranges of galleries, instead of boxes, provided with seats
and tables as below; the representation is continued great part of the
day and all the evening, but there is some legal impediment to the
performance of regular pieces, and the actors are not very good.
However, the novelty of the thing makes it amusing for once or twice,
and the room is handsome. It is furnished on each side with a range of
pilasters, ornamented with gilding, and really good both in design and
execution, and the space between the pilasters is filled with
looking-glasses, so that the whole is very splendid.
I have not yet completed all I had to say to you about the Gothic
edifices of Paris and its neighbourhood, and indeed it would be
unpardonable to omit the church of the once famous abbey of St. Denis.
The first church here is said to have been founded by Dagobert about
629.[12] We are told by the early writers that it was executed with
consummate art; the columns and the pavement were of marble; the
interior brilliant with gold, jewels, and precious stones, and the roof
of the building immediately over the altar was covered externally with
pure silver. In spite of all this magnificence, it was taken down in the
following century, to be rebuilt on a larger scale, by Pepin, and it was
completed and consecrated in 775 by Charlemagne; in 865 the abbey was
occupied and plundered by the Normans, but apparently not destroyed; and
it seems to have remained nearly in the same state till the abbacy of
Suger, in 1122. This prelate, after repairing the dormitory, refectory,
and other parts of the abbey, determined on giving to the church, larger
dimensions and a more magnificent character; how much he performed is
not certain. It is thought not to have amounted to a complete
rebuilding, but that after having restored the towers and the west
front, he turned his attention to the interior, and, _a part of the
church being completed_, it was dedicated in 1140. In June, in the same
year, he laid the foundation of the _rond point_, which was finished in
1144, but after this he still continued his restorations till his death,
in 1151. Notwithstanding all that was done at this period, the church
was in such a state of decay in 1231, that Eudes Clement undertook to
rebuild the greater part of it from the ground, in which he was assisted
by St. Louis and his mother Blanche. The choir appears to have been
nearly finished under this abbot; and the rest of the new work, which
consists of the transept and nave was carried on by his successors, and
terminated under Matthieu de Vendôme in 1281. Even the western front is
not of one style of architecture, and there is much of it which I feel
inclined to attribute to Suger, but which the French antiquaries
consider as belonging to the older edifice, while some of our English
ones would contend, perhaps, that it was built by Eudes Clement. It is
not however of the style adopted in the thirteenth century in France,
but corresponds with my first style of French Gothic. The day I was
there was cold, and I was unwell; and the reflection, that I could
return at any time, relaxed my efforts, and now I am about to leave
Paris, without having repeated my visit. What appears of the inside, I
rather believe to be of the thirteenth century than early in the
twelfth; and I should assign to it a later date than that of the
cathedral at Amiens, because all the parts are more slender. The windows
are very large, and rose-headed. The church seems all window, and as the
glass is at present without colour, and the building of a pale stone;
the glare is very disagreeable, and diminishes greatly the admiration
which the lofty and elegant architecture might justly challenge.
Underneath the choir is a crypt, supposed to have been part of the
church of Pepin, or, if you will, of Dagobert. Whittington accedes to
the former opinion, although some ancient capitals, still remaining,
offer models of architecture with the pointed arch; and I rather suppose
them to have been part of the erections of Suger, between 1140 and 1150.
On one of them is a curious car, and they are worth notice, whatever the
date of them may be. Adjoining to the church is a very beautiful
sacristy of modern architecture, ornamented with paintings of the
present French school, some of which have great merit.
Having now conducted you, as well as I can, to the conclusion of the
thirteenth century, I shall look back, and communicate a few gleanings
of subjects, either less interesting in themselves, or which I have not
had opportunity to examine particularly. At Braine sur Vesle, near
Soissons, and at Poissy, I observed churches, perhaps rather Norman than
Gothic, which seemed to merit investigation. There is a very pretty
little church at Soissons decidedly Norman, although the arch of the
doorway is slightly pointed. The church of St. Leger, in the same city,
founded by St. Gauzlin in 1129, is not of so early a style, but rather
of the first Gothic. The southern front has an opening of three equal
simple parts, not united in a common arch: above this is a window with
three divisions, and a rose in the head, formed of little pillars placed
round a centre, probably the earliest form of a rose, or wheel, or
marigold window, but here rather puzzling, as it only forms part of the
opening, whereas we usually find the roses kept perfectly distinct in
the terminating windows, till the middle of the thirteenth century. At
each angle the buttress takes the form of an octangular turret, ending
in a little spire of stone, but carved to represent shingles. The gable
has only small, square-headed openings, and rises higher than these
spires.
At Chartres is a church, dedicated to St. André, whose western front
exhibits a handsome Norman doorway, with a triple window of early
Gothic, and over that, the arch of a window of the fourth style,
probably of the fifteenth century; at which time a choir was added to
the original church, extending on arches, across the river. This choir
is entirely destroyed, but the arches which supported it remain. There
is also a handsome Norman gateway in the castle at Dreux. To return to
Chartres; the church of St. Peter is praised by Whittington, at least I
suppose him to mean this, by his church and convent of St. Père, built
by Hilduard, a Benedictine monk, in 1170. It is also praised in the
description of Chartres which I purchased, but I think with very little
reason. The windows of the body of the building, divided by _moulded_
mullions, announce a style decidedly posterior to that of the cathedral.
The lower part of the choir, and the aisles, are very rude and heavy,
and may be much more ancient than the upper part. It is now used as a
parish church. At Dreux there is a cathedral of late Gothic, but it is
not good either in design or execution, nor is it on a large scale: a
small piece, however, on one side, is pretty. At Limay, near Mantes, is
a Norman tower and spire; and the present external wall presents a
series of arches walled up, which seems to have divided the aisles of
the ancient edifice. The inside was so full of people, that I could not
enter. The church of St. Germain Auxerre is said to be one of the oldest
in Paris: this can only be true of some remaining portions of old work:
the west front was built in 1435. The moulded ribs, instead of shafts,
the entire want of capitals, and the bases of different heights, would
have induced me to assign even a later period.
St. Jacques de la Boucherie has a fine Gothic tower of the latest style;
it was erected in the reign of Francis I. St. Severin, St. Martin, St.
Nicholas des Champs, St. Gervais, St. Étienne du Mont, and St. Eustache,
form an instructive series of the downfall of Gothic architecture in
Paris. In general they are not beautiful, yet there are in each of them
some happy effects. St. Severin is the best, because the purest Gothic,
and it has an air of space and lightness, which is very pleasing; but it
is on a small scale, and the workmanship rude. Some parts of it are of a
much earlier style.
The Count Alexandre la Borde is preparing an interesting work on French
antiquities. The monuments of the thirteenth century are plentiful in
France, and many of them exquisitely beautiful. Buildings of an earlier
period are said to be more abundant in the south; and M. La Borde was so
good as to shew me drawings of some ancient churches in those parts, of
the greatest magnificence. Large edifices of the fourteenth, and
beginning of the fifteenth century are rare, but of these he also has
some beautiful drawings. The style of them much resembles that of our
_decorated_ Gothic, but what has been very happily called the
_perpendicular_ style seems never to have prevailed in any part of
France, either as to the disposition of the tracery in the windows, or
to the palm-tree vaulting exhibited in King’s College Chapel. There are
here and there some traces of an approximation to the latter, but they
are heavy and awkward. The last specimen free from the decorations of
Roman architecture in Paris is, probably, St. Gervais, built in 1581
(omitting all consideration of the western front, which was added in
1616). The first, in which Roman decorations are introduced, is, I
believe, St. Eustache, and in this point of view both these churches
merit attention; in the former a crown-like pendant in the centre of the
vault of the Lady Chapel is curious, and many think it beautiful. The
latter church is altogether Grecian in its parts, throughout the nave
and transepts; but their disposition and arrangement, the lofty
proportions, and the general effect, are completely Gothic. The vaulting
of the _rond point_ is by a rather complicated system of ribs; that of
the Lady Chapel is still more intricate, and is indeed a very curious
example of the architecture of the time, and much admired by the French
antiquaries: it is however heavy and unpleasing, and has the air rather
of a modern imitation, than of late Gothic. I observed a date of 1640 on
one part of the north transept. The church was begun, according to Le
Grand, on the 19th of August, 1532, and finished 1642; the portico was
added in 1754: as that of St. Étienne du Mont was rebuilt by Francis I.,
the date of these two churches could not have been far apart.
Even to the last age of French Gothic it is rare to see any mouldings
along the ridge of the vault, and the groining, with the exception of
the oblique groining which I attempted once to describe to you, is
generally simple, and varies very little from first to last. Before I
left England this subject had excited my attention, but I did not arrive
at any satisfactory conclusion. In some of our Saxon architecture, for
example, we have groins, where the ridge of the cross vaulting is
considerably arched; but I am not sure that the principal vault forms,
on the line of the ridge, a series of arches, as it does in the
continental architecture, and so remarkably in the church of St. Germain
des Prés. In our Gothic of the thirteenth century I believe the cross
vaulting is always arched on the ridge, and the ridge of the principal
vault forms also a series of arches nearly flat; but whether these
arches are the same in the cross vaulting and principal vaulting,
whether they are pointed, or segments of circles, is what I have not
been able to determine. In our last style of Gothic architecture, two
very different modes of vaulting prevailed; one was nearly that formed
by a portion of a sphere cut off by four vertical planes, or like a
handkerchief exposed to the wind, and held by the four corners. The arch
was, however, seldom quite circular, but had something of a point; the
other was formed by courses spreading out beyond each other half round a
common centre, so that the vault was formed by a number of funnels
touching each other; or rather, while they touched, to form the
principal vault, they cut each other to form the cross vaulting. These
funnels were universally concave on the section, not straight lines
forming regular cones; the intermediate spaces were either left flat, or
filled up with pendentives smaller than the funnels, but of the same
form. This sort has been called the palm-tree vaulting, because the
ribs, gracefully spreading from the tops of the little shafts, present
something of the form of a palm-tree, and as this is a much prettier
name than funnel-shaped vaults, we will, if you please, adopt it. If you
imagine these palm-trees to close against each other in all directions,
you will have an arrangement differing less in its appearance from the
first than you would readily imagine. If you suppose a square room
covered with a true groin, and cut off in the height of the vaulting,
the plan at the section would take the form shewn at _a_,
[Illustration: a]
in the Gothic of the thirteenth century, it will frequently, I believe,
have the shape at _b_,
[Illustration: b]
the angles of the groins being rather kept back; on the method first
described it will be as at _c_:
[Illustration: c]
in the palm-tree roof thus:
[Illustration: d]
The transition from _b_ to _d_ does not appear difficult; but it seems
to me, that between these, in England at least, the straight ridge, or
one very nearly straight, came into use; and even one where the ridge
descends towards the meeting of the groins.
LETTER VI.
EDIFICES OF PARIS.
_Paris, June, 1816._