Conceive my surprise, on learning that this stately building, after
having employed the hands of so many men, for the best part of half a
century, was not only still unfinished; but had threatened
approaching ruin. Yes--like the Gothic abbey at Fonthill, it would,
by all accounts, have fallen to the ground, without the aid of
vandalism, had not prompt and efficacious measures been adopted, to
avert the impending mischief.
This monument, originally intended for the reception of the shrine of
St. Geneviève, once the patroness of the Parisians, is situated on an
eminence, formerly called _Mont St. Étienne_, to the left of the top
of the _Rue St. Jacques_, near the _Place de l'Estrapade_. It was
begun under the reign of Lewis XV, who laid the first stone on the
6th of September, 1764. During the American war, the works were
suspended; but, early in the year 1784, they were resumed with
increasing activity. The sculpture of this church already presented
many attributes analogous to its object, when, in 1793, it was
converted into a Pantheon.
The late M. SOUFFLOT furnished the plan for the church, which, in
point of magnificence, does honour both to the architect and to the
nation.
Its form is a Greek cross, three hundred and forty feet in length by
two hundred and fifty in breadth. The porch, which is an imitation of
that of the Pantheon at Rome, consists of a peristyle of twenty-two
pillars of the Corinthian order. Eighteen of these are insulated, and
are each five feet and a half in diameter by fifty-eight in height,
including their base and capital. They support a pediment, which
combines the boldness of the Gothic with the beauty of the Greek
style. This pediment bears the following inscription:
"AUX GRANDS HOMMES,
LA PATRIE RECONNAISSANTE."
In the delirium of the revolutionary fever, when great crimes
constituted great men, this sanctuary of national gratitude was
polluted. MARAT, that man of blood, was, to use the modern
phraseology, _pantheonized_, that is, interred in the Pantheon. When
the delirium had, in some measure, subsided, and reason began to
resume her empire, he was _dispantheonized_; and, by means of
quick-lime, his canonized bones were confounded with the dust.
This apotheosis will ever be a blot in the page of the history of
the revolution.
However, it operated as a check on the inconsiderate zeal of
hot-brained patriots in bestowing the honours of the Pantheon on
the undeserving. MIRABEAU was, consequently, _dispantheonized_; and,
in all probability, this temple will, in future, be reserved for the
ashes of men truly great; legislators whose eminent talents and
virtues have benefited their fellow-citizens, or warriors, who, by
distinguishing themselves in their country's cause, have really
merited that country's gratitude.
The interior of this temple consists of four naves, in whose centre
rises an elegant dome, which, it is said, is to be painted in fresco
by DAVID. The naves are decorated by one hundred and thirty fluted
pillars, also of the Corinthian order, supporting an entablature,
which serves as a base for lofty _tribunes_, bordered by stone
balustrades. These pillars are three feet and a half in diameter by
nearly twenty-eight feet in height.
The inside of the dome is incircled by sixteen Corinthian pillars,
standing at an equal distance, and lighted by glazed apertures in
part of the intercolumniations. They support a cupola, in the centre
of which is an opening, crowned by another cupola of much more
considerable elevation.
To survey the interior of the Pantheon, in its present state, is
rather a matter of eager curiosity than of pleasing enjoyment. The
precautions taken to prevent the fall of the whole building, which
was apprehended from the almost tottering state of the dome, have
necessitated the erection of such a quantity of scaffolding, that it
is no easy task to gain an uninterrupted view of its majestic
pillars, of the delicate and light foliage of its capitals, and of
its proud and triple canopy. I mounted the ladders, and braved the
dust of stone and plaster, amidst the echoing sound of saws, chisels,
and mallets, at work in different directions.
Mercier is said to have offended several of the partisans of Voltaire
by observing that, through a strange inconsistency, the constant
flatterer not only of royalty in general, but of kings in particular,
and of all the great men and vices of the age in which he lived, here
shares the gratitude of a republic with the _man of nature and
truth_, as Jean-Jacques is styled on his sepulchral monument. Thus,
in the first instance, says he, a temple, consecrated to stern
republican virtue, contains the remains of a great poet who could not
strike superstition, without wounding morals.--Unquestionably, the
_Pucelle_ is a work, which, like a blight on a promising crop, has
committed incalculable ravage among the rising generation.
Notwithstanding the numerous inscriptions which now adorn the tomb of
Voltaire, perhaps, at some future distant period, he may experience
the fate of Mirabeau, and be _dispantheonized_.
But why meddle with the cold remains of any great genius? Would it
not have been more rational to inscribe the name of Rousseau in this
national temple, and leave his corpse to rot undisturbed, in the _Ile
des Peupliers_, at Ermenonville.
Though circumstances prevented me from ascending to the dome, you
will, no doubt, expect me to say something of its exterior
architecture. It represents a circular temple, formed by thirty-four
pillars, like those of the interior, of the Corinthian order, and
each, base and capital included, thirty-four feet in height by three
feet and one third in diameter. This colonnade is supported by a
circular stylobate, which rests on an octagon base, and is surrounded
by a gallery, bordered by an iron balustrade. The cupola, rising
above the attic, would appear crushed, were not a stranger apprised
that the pedestal on the top is to be surmounted by a bronze figure
of Fame, twenty-eight feet in height, and weighing fifty-two thousand
pounds. The pedestal is encircled by a second gallery at an elevation
of one hundred and sixty-six feet, to reach which you ascend a flight
of four hundred and sixty stone steps. As the Pantheon itself stands
on a considerable eminence, the prospect from this gallery is
extensive and commanding.
This sumptuous edifice may truly be said to exhibit a monument of the
weakness of man. Like him, before arrived at maturity, it is attacked
by indisposition. The architects, like so many physicians, were not
for some time agreed as to the seat of the evil. Each proposed his
means of cure as the most infallible; But all coincided in one
opinion, that the danger was imminent. Their skill has been exerted,
and, no doubt, with effect; for all apprehension of further mischief
is now removed.
When I was taking a last look at this proud temple, I could not help
regretting that one half of the money already expended on it, had not
been appropriated to the erection of airy hospitals in the different
quarters of this populous city. Any one who had formerly visited the
_Hôtel-Dieu_ in Paris would, I am confident, have participated in
this sentiment.
What strange fatality impels men to persevere in such unprofitable
erections? This was the first question which suggested itself to me,
on getting fairly out of the Pantheon. Is it to gratify an excess of
national vanity, or create a superior degree of admiration in the
mind of foreigners? If so, the aim is missed: for, as majesty, fallen
from the pinnacle of power, becomes more interesting, so do ruins
inspire greater veneration than the most pompous structure, towering
in the splendour of its perfection. Experience tells us that every
truncated pillar, every remnant, in short, of past grandeur, rouses
attention, and speaks home to the contemplative mind; while these
modern edifices, however firmly erect on their base, excite,
comparatively speaking, but a feeble interest. In future ages,
perhaps, when the Pantheon of Paris shall be prostrate on the ground,
and the wreck of its stately dome be overrun with moss and ivy, it
may, probably, attract as much notice as the far-tamed temple of
Jupiter-Ammon.
P.S. On the evening of the 8th, BONAPARTE left Paris for Lyons, where
TALLEYRAND, Minister for foreign affairs, has been for some days
preparing for the great event which is expected to take place. When a
public measure is in agitation, the result is generally anticipated
by the eagerness of mankind; and whispers the least audible are
magnified into authentic information. Those even who may be presumed
to derive their intelligence from the best sources, not unfrequently
misconceive what they have heard, and consequently mislead others. I
will not, however, mislead you, by repeating any of the rumours in
circulation here: in a short time, the _Moniteur_ will, no doubt,
explain the real object of this journey.