converted into a museum; the suite of rooms being disposed round a
quadrangle. These large convents have been very convenient for public
purposes. I wish we had preserved some of them for that use in England.
This at Lyon has twenty-one windows in a range towards the Place des
Terreaux. Fragments of architecture and sculpture, altars and
inscriptions, principally found in the neighbourhood, form a very
respectable collection of antiquities. The building includes also a
gallery of paintings, which, if it cannot boast any of the masterpieces
of art, yet contains many paintings worth attention. The catalogue
enumerates Rubens and Guido among the artists, but I saw no production
of either. M. Frère Jean, a merchant of this city, conducted me there,
in company with an artist of the name of Epinat, and introduced me to M.
Hurtault, the director, who is a very able antiquary. I afterwards dined
with M. Frère Jean, who is a very pleasant, friendly man, at his country
house, if one may apply the expression to a habitation within the city.
It has a nice garden, and commands a noble view, extending to the
distant Alps. I endeavoured to persuade him and M. Epinat, that Napoleon
was really at St. Helena, but I believe I left them incredulous. They
did not seem, however, very confident, that it was the English who
helped him back from Elba. This is the first time I have met any
Frenchman willing to entertain a doubt on that subject.
An Englishman travelling in France, is frequently struck with the total
deficiency, even among respectable merchants and artists, of that sort
of general knowledge, which might enable them decidedly to reject any
fable that the government or a party leader may endeavour to impose upon
their credulity. I have heard here, as a most certain and authentic
piece of intelligence, from one who boasted that he had been in London,
that Napoleon had escaped from St. Helena, and was about to return to
France at the head of an immense army of Americans; that the latter had
already declared war against England, and taken Gibraltar.
There are many beautiful spots in the neighbourhood of Lyon, and indeed
the situation of the city is one which affords great variety of scene.
It is placed at the junction of two rivers, one of which passes through
a romantic valley, between two lofty rocks, the other coasts the hills
under steep banks, leaving a rich and fertile plain on the opposite
side. These hills are adorned in many parts with country houses of great
variety of form, which are often very picturesque, though perhaps none
of them are individually beautiful. At some distance are higher hills,
or rather mountains, which by the contrast of form, and rich aerial
tints, set off the cultivated plain and slopes of the immediate
neighbourhood; here and there a point of the Alps appears above them,
marked only by the brilliant whiteness of the snow with which it is
covered, and belonging, in appearance, rather to the heaven than to the
earth.
My pleasantest walk was on the bank of the Rhone. For the whole length
of the town, there is a fine broad quay along the shore, and the road to
Geneva continues for some miles by the side of the stream, offering fine
views of the river, and of the white summits of the distant Alps. A
steep gravelly hill, presenting occasionally perpendicular cliffs,
bounds the road on the left, but receding from the town, the slope
becomes more gradual, and coffee-houses and gardens in ascending
terraces, present themselves soon after leaving the city. The most
celebrated of these is the Café de Gaillet, where the Lyonnese drink
beer, eat bread and cheese, or sweet cakes, and take ices. Some amuse
themselves under the shade of the orange trees; others seek the shelter
of a noble saloon, I suppose 150 feet long, and 40 feet broad, and
ornamented with looking-glasses. If the style of decoration be French,
it is certainly good of its kind; and besides, the taste for gaiety and
glitter is extremely well exercised in a coffee-house. On a fine Sunday
afternoon all the population of Lyon, in their gayest attire, seem to
come out on this road. In London the people scatter themselves on such
an occasion in all directions; in these French towns all seem to direct
their steps to one point, and pains are taken by the government or the
community, to make that point agreeable. This coffee-house has however
at present, one disadvantage; the garden is on a terrace level with the
saloon, and a row of young plane trees by the side of the road below, is
just of a height to shut out the prospect from the whole range. Another
coffee-house, which has its little summer houses and Chinese pavilions
scattered about at different elevations, is better in this respect, but
inferior in every other.
At my inn, the Quatre Nations, there is a table d’hôte rather too early
for my convenience. When there, I generally find some one whom I
recognize as the companion of some former portion of my journey, but
unfortunately none of those who pleased me the most. Comparing the
peasantry of France with that of England, I should say there is less of
prompt and servile obedience, where you think you have a right to
command, but greatly more attention and real politeness, where you have
no such claim. In those of a class a little superior, or at least who
think themselves so, the French have not the same advantage. In all
classes there seems to be much more freedom of remark than in England,
and sometimes such remarks as would put an Englishman out of humour. In
the little intercourses of life the Frenchman has the appearance of
being the most good humoured, if not the most polite. I get laughed at
for my pronunciation, and frequently perhaps by those who would
themselves be ridiculed at Paris. One of the guests amused himself with
talking to me in bad French, just as you sometimes talk bad English to
children. Another of the party found fault with this, telling him that
he would be better understood by speaking correctly, but slowly, and
distinctly, without saying _parlier_, _entendier_, and without using
verbs instead of substantives. “But,” replied the former, “I do not say
_parlier_, _entendier_, nor do I use verbs for substantives, I only make
use of the participle instead of the infinitive, and I confound the
genders, as this gentleman does.” I observed that these people in their
conversation almost always sounded the _r_ of the infinitive mood.
I went to the theatre at Lyon; here I first saw what I am told is common
in the south of France, a pit without seats. The theatre is simple and
good, because without affectation, and where the artist goes straight
forward to his object, the result may not be admirable, but can never be
ridiculous. The acting was respectable, but my bile was excited by some
officers in the boxes, who insisted that every thing should be conducted
at their good pleasure; and somewhat also by the people for submitting
to their impertinence. They were furiously loyal, but it is impossible
such men can be friends of a constitutional government. Liberty is out
of the question, they are fit for nothing but to be the tools of a
military despotism.
I have already mentioned a crypt under the church dedicated to St.
Irene, which is said to be of Roman construction. At the same place I
was shown an opening, now boarded up, which leads to a space containing,
if you believe the tradition of the place, the bones of 19,000 martyrs,
without reckoning women and children, who, as my conductress observed,
must have been at least as many more. There is also a well full of
relics, but I did not understand whether these were included in the
previous number, or an addition to it.
South of Lyon we may begin to observe the constructions in Pisé, which I
suspect would not suit a climate so wet as ours; the material seems to
be gravel and clay, formed into blocks in a sort of mould on the work
itself, and separated by pretty thick beds of mortar. In some districts
these blocks are pretty regular parallelopipeda, about six feet long and
three thick; in others, they are very irregularly shaped, like Cyclopæan
masonry.
LETTER X.
SOUTH OF FRANCE.
_Nismes, 27th July, 1816._
I MET at Paris with a brother architect of the name of Sharp, who was
going to Rome by the South of France; he left Paris a little after me,
and joined me at Lyon. On the 12th we got into the packet-boat, to
descend the Rhone; it was loaded with goods and passengers going to the
fair at Beaucaire; and such a steam rose from the only room below deck,
that I did not choose to venture into it; although a thick drizzling
rain which obscured the prospect, and permitted us to see only the
ghosts of beautiful scenery, would have made the shelter very
acceptable. The packet-boat, or barge, is suffered nearly to drift down
the stream, but the boatmen are provided with oars, to direct, rather
than to accelerate the motion, as the rudder, though made very large,
has of course little power. Our voyage begins upon the Saone, but we
entered the Rhone a little below Lyon, and reached Vienne, a distance of
nearly eighteen miles, in two hours and a half. Here we left the boat,
and although the weather incommoded us all day, yet it was sufficiently
fine at intervals to shew us that we were in a beautiful country, and to
permit us to see some of the antiquities of the place. A magnificent
quay extends along the bank of the river, but the current of the Rhone
is so strong, that every thing connected with it must be of the most
solid construction. One pier of a bridge is still standing; and a tower,
which probably defended the end of it, remains on the opposite shore: a
rocky hill rises behind the town, crowned by what appears the fragment
of an old castle, but this we did not visit. Vienne is the first town I
have seen, where the Roman antiquities remain in sufficient perfection
to claim the study of an architect. I ran into the first church which
occurred in our ramble through the city, (that of St. André le Bas) and
found it a very curious old building, with many fragments of Roman
antiquity, particularly two shafts of columns, and capitals upon them,
but as the capitals had originally belonged to columns half as large
again, the composition was not very happy. It is an edifice of great
antiquity, being simply a parallelogram, with a semicircular niche at
the end, which forms the choir; the vaulting is pointed, but the
openings are round-headed, except three little windows in the choir. It
was founded by Ancemond, Duke of Burgundy, and restored by Conrad, King
of Burgundy. The latter reigned from 1033 to 1037. A little further we
stumbled on an ancient temple, a good deal ruined. The spaces between
the columns have been walled up, and the walls of the cell removed, in
order to convert the building, first into a christian church, and
afterwards into a court of justice. The edifice is not in very good
taste, nor very well executed; yet the union of simplicity of form with
richness of decoration, produces a pleasing effect under so many
disadvantages: and the coming thus by chance upon an object with which
one has so many associations, excited an emotion more easily imagined
than described. Just out of the town is a slender pyramid on a square
basement, perforated in each direction by an arched opening, and with a
column at each angle. It is called by the vulgar the tomb of Pontius
Pilate, who, according to them, put an end to his own life at this
place. Its real date and destination are very uncertain. It is
undoubtedly Roman, and probably a sepulchral monument, but there is no
inscription. It stands in the middle of a corn-field, and cannot boast
much beauty either in itself or in its situation. The finest relic, in
point of taste and execution, is what is called the Arch of Triumph.
Enough remains to shew with certainty, that it does not merit this
appellation, but not sufficient to enable me to determine what it has
been: some heads of satyrs have given rise to a conjecture that it
formed part of a theatre.
Numerous fragments of Roman ornaments and inscriptions are scattered
about Vienne. Some of the most interesting antiquities, discovered in
and about the city, have been collected, and placed in an old church,
where they form a museum; there are amongst them a few beautiful
fragments of sculpture; and many mosaics, some of which may be
considered as very fine ones, but a considerable portion of the objects
appears to belong to the _decadence_. Besides these monuments of Roman
times, Vienne boasts a very fine cathedral. The front rises from an
elevated platform, or _parvis_, about twelve feet above the street, the
ascent to which is by a magnificent flight of steps. This platform
terminates at each end against private houses; the front is defended by
a Gothic balustrade, which returns down the steps. The façade has never
been completed, and perhaps in its present state the form is too square,
yet it is truly a magnificent object, and has proved to me not only the
possibility, but the great advantage of thus elevating a Gothic church.
It is generally very difficult, when one contemplates a noble building,
to determine precisely from what particulars our pleasure is derived,
and to judge what might be omitted without injury, or what added with
advantage. On considering the religious edifices of our own country, we
observe that they are almost all, either on a level with the ground, or
somewhat below it; and I had consequently began to doubt whether part of
their beauty might not be owing to this circumstance. In France such a
peculiarity is not observable, for we find here that the cathedrals are,
with hardly any exception, placed on a platform more or less elevated.
This at Vienne is the highest I have seen, and from that very
circumstance, it is the finest, and the one which most contributes to
the dignity of the building. The whole of this part, and the western
front itself, together with the four first arches of the nave, were
added by Pierre Palmier in 1527, and present nothing very remarkable in
the style of architecture, unless perhaps, that in some cases there is
an appearance of the artist having endeavoured to imitate the character
of the ancient work.
On entering, the building seems at first glance to present a
considerable uniformity of style; but a closer examination betrays very
important differences. As to its whole effect, the want of coloured
glass is a deficiency hardly to be forgiven; and it seemed to me, who
have been lately so much accustomed to the very lofty churches of the
north of France, rather too low in proportion to its extent, but in this
my companion did not agree with me. We estimated its height at between
eighty and ninety feet; and certainly if it had but painted glass, it
would not be disgraced in a comparison with the proudest Gothic churches
in Europe, but in its present state, it is less impressive than that at
Lyon. The first four arches are of the same date and style as the front,
but beyond these are seven other arches on each side, which form the
most curious part of the building. From the pavement to the under side
of the gallery, the architecture is of a manner which I have not seen
before, and one might imagine it for a moment to be formed at the
restoration of the Italian architecture, but it is only for a moment:
the mouldings, the ornaments, and above all, the capitals, clearly
attest the antiquity of the work. Driven from that supposition, the
observer is almost led to attribute it to the decline of Roman
architecture, (I wish we had good words corresponding with the French
_decadence_ and _renaissance_,) for it approaches even more nearly than
the Saxon style, to the productions of the ancients; nevertheless the
arches are pointed, and if we imagine this to have been in consequence
of some restorations, or repairs, which may possibly have been the case,
since the points are very obtuse, and there is a central key-stone; yet
the general disposition is too much like that of a Gothic church, to
allow us to push so far back the era of its construction. The arches of
the side aisles in this part have no mouldings on the groins, the lower
windows are rose-headed, and probably of the thirteenth century; those
of the clerestory are by threes, and without tracery, they may therefore
be attributed to the twelfth; but in both parts some of a later style
have been introduced. There is no transept, but there are four steps at
the eighth pier from the entrance, and three more at the eleventh. The
latter mark the present choir, the straight part of which, consisting of
two arches only, is of the earliest French pointed style, while the
chevet is polygonal, and has a quatrefoil in the window heads.
Externally the flanks of the side aisles are finished with a gallery of
small arches, upon little columns, some of which are semicircular, and
others pointed, and above these rise Gothic pinnacles. Some fragments of
more ancient work have been built up in the walls, and in the oldest
part there are also monumental tablets as early as 1200, which seem to
be posterior to the erection of the wall. Reasoning from appearance, I
should consider it as a building begun in the eleventh, and continued
through the whole of the twelfth century, but the history of the
cathedral mentions no considerable works in that period. It is said to
have been begun by St. Esalde, archbishop in 718. The works were
afterwards suspended till the time of another archbishop, St. Theobald,
who completed the choir in 952. It seems certain that something was
erected by him at that time, and equally certain that it was not the
present choir. Yet the foundation may have been of that date, and
semicircular, though the work above is slightly polygonal, and the want
of a transept to so considerable a building creates a suspicion that the
plan is of great antiquity. After this period I have found no accounts
of any important works till those already mentioned, in 1527.
Besides the cathedral, there is at Vienne a very curious Saxon church,
dedicated to St. Michel;[18] it has a stone ornament, running along the
ridge of the roof, which seems not to be uncommon in these parts; the
ornamental arches of the tower include nearly two-thirds of a circle; a
circumstance which unites it with the Moresque architecture. The
interior of the church is not beautiful, but a little cloister is very
pretty, composed of arches, resting on little coupled columns.[19]
The churches of the villages down the Rhone are almost all of that style
which we call in England, Saxon or Norman, very ancient and very rude.
One at Bourg St. Andiole has an octagonal central tower, with
semicircular arches, and is crowned with a spire of rather low
proportions, rising immediately from the sides of the octagon, without
cornice, or balustrade, or any thing to mark the line of separation.[20]
I have been so used in France to hear the pieces of twenty francs called
_louis_, that I thought of nothing else when I made the agreement with a
boatman at Vienne, to take us to Pont St. Esprit, full one hundred
miles, for three louis; he used his oars very little, just enough to
preserve a direction to the boat. When we were about to pay our
waterman, he demanded seventy-two francs, instead of sixty; as we could
not settle the matter, we all went to a magistrate, who acknowledged the
ambiguity of the term, and decided that we should pay sixty-six francs,
as a mean between the two methods of understanding the bargain. I do not
know whether the man had any intention of cheating us. He had assured us
on setting out that he must sell his boat at Pont St. Esprit to great
disadvantage, since from the rapidity of the stream, it was impossible
to bring it up the Rhone, and yet we found the boat on entering quite an
old one. This had excited some suspicion of his honesty, because, if
they could not be moved against the stream, we did not understand how
they were to wear out at Vienne: but perhaps in this we were unjust.
These boats cannot last long, as they are very slightly and poorly made,
and the man only estimated the value at thirty-six francs.
The voyage down the Rhone is delightful; and I doubt if all the boasted
beauties of the Rhine deserve to be compared with it. The scene is
continually varying, but always beautiful; the river sometimes runs
between lofty banks, always steep, generally rocky, sometimes
precipitous. The hills are ornamented with villages, and with ruined
castles without number, occupying the most picturesque situations; some
are covered with sloping vineyards; in others little terraces are made
for the vines among the rocks; some are crowned with forests, and
everywhere the mixture of scattered trees and bushes gives richness to
the landscape. In some places the bank of hill recedes from the river,
or diminishes in height; at others it is entirely lost, and the eye
wanders to more distant hills, to rugged mountains, or to the
snow-covered summits of the Alps. Sometimes one of these styles of
landscape is presented on one side, and another on the opposite shore;
at others all appear to be united; add to which, the Rhone itself is a
noble river, from a quarter to half a mile wide, rushing impetuously
along, and giving life and spirit to the scene.
The rapidity of the current has given rise to a method of crossing which
we do not see in England: a rope is stretched across the river,
generally at the narrowest parts, and the ferry-boat is attached to this
rope by a pulley, which passes along with it; and thus, when merely
committed to the stream, with a little help from the rudder, which is
made very large, the boat is impelled to the opposite shore. The rope is
elevated sufficiently for boats descending the river to pass underneath
it, either by attaching it to a rock, or to a piece of rough masonry
erected for that purpose. The rapid current of the Rhone is continually
shifting the gravelly bottom on which it runs, and this produces a
continual noise, like the frying of fish, but louder.
We slept at Ancone, a little village on the banks of the river. I
counted twenty beds at the inn, and every thing about them seemed very
clean; indeed the sheets in France are always clean, and I never had
occasion to doubt whether they had not been already used, which has
sometimes been the case in England.
Although the exertion of the rower is trifling, the progress made by the
help of the current is very considerable. We were little more than ten
hours from Vienne to Ancone, a distance of seventy-six miles; from
Ancone to Pont St. Esprit, six leagues of the country, or about
twenty-four miles, very little more than three; so that we travelled
nearly seven miles and a half per hour. Allowing two for the effect of
the oars, we shall have five and a half for the rapidity of the stream,
which is about the same as from Lyon to Vienne. The course of the Rhone
from the Lake of Geneva to the sea, measured along all its windings, is
nearly three hundred miles, according to the best maps, and the
elevation of that lake is 1,200 feet above the Mediterranean Sea. This
would give an average descent of four feet per mile. The descent from
Geneva to Lyon is probably much greater than this, especially as it
includes the loss of the Rhone, and a considerable space, where the
river runs with great velocity in a deep bed, and the channel is but a
few yards wide; and although, on the other hand, it is probable, that
the descent from Beaucaire to the sea is trifling, since there the
valley opens, and a wide spread of alluvial soil begins, yet perhaps we
cannot calculate the descent of the Rhone from Lyon to Avignon at more
than three feet per English mile, or one foot in 1,760.
At Pont St. Esprit we find the first bridge over the Rhone, in
descending from Lyon. It was begun on the 4th of September, 1265, and
finished in February, 1309: the water-way is contracted to about 1,800
feet, passing through nineteen large arches, and seven small ones, with
great rapidity. As well as I could judge by the eye, the water is about
fifteen inches higher, above, than below the bridge. The edifice is very
well built, with semicircular arches, but it is very narrow, and in
order to oppose more resistance to the action of floods, is not built in
a straight line. In walking upon it we perceived how much we lost in
this part of the Rhone, where the banks are comparatively low, by the
depressed position of the eye in a boat; a rich and fertile plain shaded
by mulberry trees, appeared between us and the hills, of which we had
seen nothing from the water.