What I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another
opinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman
is less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a
certain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of
appreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is
Greek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The
Maison Carrée at Nîmes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the
smile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard,
that heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which
imposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they
criticize!
Rome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it
would not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the
beauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you,
severe genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius
they pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to
strike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of
architecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting
up atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty.
In Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of
old planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it
with the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding
country-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment.
The architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a
piece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone
obliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other
hand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great
works of the past matters little to him: he does not see it.
The French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing
from Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely
opposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge
of Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels;
but they are all very well in their place; they are needed there;
there is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as
beautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made
the Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian
Way is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are
awaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If
they do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have
not seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not
understand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who
appeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which
come to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a
misanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch;
but I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general
massacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults.
We destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces;
we have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At
Brussels, in the Musée du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of
the Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects
that annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon!
Barbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no
doubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people
to learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum.