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A
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
_Antiquarian_
AND
PICTURESQUE TOUR.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM NICOL, AT THE
Shakespeare Press.
[Illustration: ANN OF BRITTANY.
From an Illustrated Missal in the Royal Library at Paris.]
London. Published June 1829. by R. Jennings. Poultry.
A
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
_Antiquarian_
AND
PICTURESQUE TOUR
IN
FRANCE AND GERMANY.
BY THE REVEREND
THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN, D.D.
MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY AT ROUEN, AND OF THE
ACADEMY OF UTRECHT.
SECOND EDITION.
VOLUME II.
DEI OMNIA PLENA.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY ROBERT JENNINGS,
AND JOHN MAJOR.
1829.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
CONTENTS.
VOLUME II.
LETTER I.
PARIS. _The Boulevards. Public Buildings. Street Scenery.
Fountains_. 1
LETTER II.
_General Description of the Bibliothèque du Roi. The
Librarians_. 42
LETTER III.
_The same subject continued_. 64
LETTER IV.
_The same subject continued_. 82
LETTER V.
PARIS. _Some Account of the early printed and rare
Books in the Royal Library_. 101
LETTER VI.
_Conclusion of the Account of the Royal Library. The
Library of the Arsenal_. 144
LETTER VII.
_Library of Ste. Geneviève. The Abbé Mercier St.
Léger. Library of the Mazarine College, or Institute.
Private Library of the King. Mons. Barbier,
Librarian_. 169
_Introduction to Letter VIII_. 209
LETTER VIII.
_Some Account of the late Abbé Rive. Booksellers.
Printers. Book Binders_. 214
LETTER IX.
_Men of Letters. Dom Brial. The Abbé Bétencourt.
Messrs. Gail, Millin, and Langlès. A Roxburghe
Banquet_. 251
LETTER X.
_The Collections of Denon, Quintin Craufurd, and the
Marquis de Sommariva_. 279
LETTER XI.
_Notice of M. Willemin's Monumens Français inédits.
Miscellaneous Antiquities. Present State of the
Fine Arts. General Observations upon the National
Character_. 317
LETTER XII.
_Paris to Strasbourg. Nancy_. 343
LETTER XIII.
STRASBOURG. _Establishment of the Protestant Religion.
The Cathedral. The Public Library_. 374
LETTER XIV.
_Society. Environs of Strasbourg. Domestic Architecture.
Manners and Customs. Literature. Language_. 413
[Illustration]
_LETTER I._
PARIS. THE BOULEVARDS. PUBLIC BUILDINGS. STREET SCENERY. FOUNTAINS.[1]
_Paris, June 18, 1818_.
You are probably beginning to wonder at the tardiness of my promised
Despatch, in which the architectural minutiæ of this City were to be
somewhat systematically described. But, as I have told you towards the
conclusion of my previous letter, it would be to very little purpose to
conduct you over every inch of ground which had been trodden and described
by a host of Tourists, and from which little of interest or of novelty
could be imparted. Yet it seems to be absolutely incumbent upon me to say
_something_ by way of local description.
Perhaps the BOULEVARDS form the most interesting feature about Paris. I
speak here of the _principal_ Boulevards:--of those, extending from _Ste.
Madelaine_ to _St. Antoine_; which encircle nearly one half the capital.
Either on foot, or in a carriage, they afford you singular gratification. A
very broad road way, flanked by two rows of trees on each side, within
which the population of Paris seems to be in incessant agitation--lofty
houses, splendid shops, occasionally a retired mansion, with a parterre of
blooming flowers in front--all manner of merchandize exposed in the open
air--prints, muslins, _kaleidoscopes_, (they have just introduced them[2])
trinkets, and especially watch chains and strings of beads, spread in gay
colours upon the ground--the undulations of the chaussée--and a bright blue
sky above the green trees--all these things irresistibly rivet the
attention and extort the admiration of a stranger. You may have your boots
cleaned, and your breakfast prepared, upon these same boulevards.
Felicitous junction of conveniences!
This however is only a hasty sketch of what may be called a morning scene.
AFTERNOON approaches: then, the innumerable chairs, which have been a long
time unoccupied, are put into immediate requisition: then commences the
"high exchange" of the loungers. One man hires two chairs, for which he
pays two sous: he places his legs upon one of them; while his body, in a
slanting position, occupies the other. The places, where these chairs are
found, are usually flanked by coffee houses. Incessant reports from drawing
the corks of beer bottles resound on all sides. The ordinary people are
fond of this beverage; and for four or six sous they get a bottle of
pleasant, refreshing, small beer. The draught is usually succeeded by a
doze--in the open air. What is common, excites no surprise; and the stream
of population rushes on without stopping one instant to notice these
somniferous indulgences. Or, if they are not disposed to sleep, they sit
and look about them: abstractedly gazing upon the multitude around, or at
the heavens above. Pure, idle, unproductive listlessness is the necessary
cause of such enjoyment.
Evening approaches: when the Boulevards put on their gayest and most
fascinating livery. Then commences the bustle of the _Ice Mart_: in other
words, then commences the general demand for ices: while the rival and
neighbouring _caffés_ of TORTONI and RICHE have their porches of entrance
choked by the incessant ingress and egress of customers. The full moon
shines beautifully above the foliage of the trees; and an equal number of
customers, occupying chairs, sit without, and call for ices to be brought
to them. Meanwhile, between these loungers, and the entrances to the
caffés, move on, closely wedged, and yet scarcely in perceptible motion,
the mass of human beings who come only to exercise their eyes, by turning
them to the right or to the left: while, on the outside, upon the chaussée,
are drawn up the carriages of visitors (chiefly English ladies) who prefer
taking their ice within their closed morocco quarters. The varieties of ice
are endless, but that of the _Vanille_ is justly a general favourite: not
but that you may have coffee, chocolate, punch, peach, almond, and in short
every species of gratification of this kind; while the glasses are filled
to a great height, in a pyramidal shape, and some of them with layers of
strawberry, gooseberry, and other coloured ice--looking like pieces of a
Harlequin's jacket--are seen moving to and fro, to be silently and
certainly devoured by those who bespeak them. Add to this, every one has
his tumbler and small water-bottle by the side of him: in the centre of the
bottle is a large piece of ice, and with a tumbler of water, poured out
from it, the visitor usually concludes his repast. The most luxurious of
these ices scarcely exceeds a shilling of our money; and the quantity is at
least half as much again as you get at a certain well-known confectioner's
in Piccadilly.
It is getting towards MIDNIGHT; but the bustle and activity of the
Boulevards have not yet much abated. Groups of musicians, ballad-singers,
tumblers, actors, conjurors, slight-of-hand professors, and raree-shew men,
have each their distinct audiences. You advance. A little girl with a
raised turban (as usual, tastefully put on) seems to have no mercy either
upon her own voice or upon the hurdy-gurdy on which she plays: her father
shews his skill upon a violin, and the mother is equally active with the
organ; after "a flourish"--not of "trumpets"--but of these instruments--the
tumblers commence their operations. But a great crowd is collected to the
right. What may this mean? All are silent; a ring is made, of which the
boundaries are marked by small lighted candles stuck in pieces of clay.
Within this circle stands a man--apparently strangled: both arms are
extended, and his eyes are stretched to their utmost limits. You look more
closely--and the hilt of a dagger is seen in his mouth, of which the blade
is introduced into his stomach! He is almost breathless, and ready to
faint--but he approaches, with the crown of a hat in one hand, into which
he expects you should drop a sous. Having made his collection, he draws
forth the dagger from its carnal sheath, and, making his bow, seems to
anticipate the plaudits which invariably follow.[3] Or, he changes his plan
of operations on the following evening. Instead of the dagger put down his
throat, he introduces a piece of wire up one nostril, to descend by the
other--and, thus self-tortured, demands the remuneration and the applause
of his audience. In short, from one end of the Boulevards to the other, for
nearly two English miles, there is nought but animation, good humour, and,
it is right to add, good order;--while, having strolled as far as the
Boulevards _de Bondy_, and watched the moon-beams sparkling in the waters
which play there within the beautiful fountain so called,--I retread my
steps, and seek the quiet quarters in which this epistle is penned.
The next out-of-door sources of gratification, of importance, are the
_Gardens of the Thuileries_, the _Champs Elysées_, and the promenade within
the _Palais Royal_; in which latter plays a small, but, in my humble
opinion, the most beautifully constructed fountain which Paris can boast
of. Of this, presently. The former of these spots is rather pretty than
picturesque: rather limited than extensive: a raised terrace to the left,
on looking from the front of the Thuileries, is the only commanding
situation--from which you observe the Seine, running with its green tint,
and rapid current, to the left--while on the right you leisurely examine
the rows of orange trees and statuary which give an imposing air of
grandeur to the scene. At this season of the year, the fragrance of the
blossoms of the orange trees is most delicious. The statues are of a
colossal, and rather superior kind ... for garden decoration. There are
pleasing vistas and wide gravel walks, and a fine evening usually fills
them with crowds of Parisians. The palace is long, but rather too low and
narrow; yet there is an air of elegance about it, which, with the
immediately surrounding scenery, cannot fail to strike you very agreeably.
The white flag of St. Louis floats upon the top of the central dome. The
_Champs Elysées_ consist of extensive wooded walks; and a magnificent road
divides them, which serves as the great attractive mall for carriages--
especially on Sundays--while, upon the grass, between the trees, on that
day, appear knots of male and female citizens enjoying the waltz or
quadrille. It is doubtless a most singular, and animated scene: the utmost
order and good humour prevailing. The _Place Louis Quinze_, running at
right angles with the Thuileries, and which is intersected in your route to
the _Rue de la Paix_, is certainly a most magnificent front elevation;
containing large and splendid houses, of elaborate exterior ornament. When
completed, to the right, it will present an almost matchless front of
domestic architecture, built upon the Grecian model. It was in this place,
facing his own regal residence of the Thuileries, that the unfortunate
Louis--surrounded by a ferocious and bloodthirsty mob--was butchered by the
guillotine.
Come back with me now into the very heart of Paris, and let us stroll
within the area of the _Palais Royal_. You may remember that I spoke of a
fountain, which played within the centre of this popular resort. The
different branches, or _jets d'eau_, spring from a low, central point; and
crossing each other in a variety of angles, and in the most pleasing manner
of intersection, produce, altogether, the appearance of the blossom of a
large flower: so silvery and transparent is the water, and so gracefully
are its glassy petals disposed. Meanwhile, the rays of the sun, streaming
down from above, produce a sort of stationary rainbow: and, in the heat of
the day, as you sit upon the chairs, or saunter beneath the trees, the
effect is both grateful and refreshing. The little flower garden, in the
centre of which this fountain seems to be for ever playing, is a perfect
model of neatness and tasteful disposition: not a weed dare intrude: and
the earth seems always fresh and moist from the spray of the fountain--
while roses, jonquils, and hyacinths scatter their delicious fragrance
around. For one minute only let us visit the _Caffé des Mille Colonnes_: so
called (as you well know) from the number of upright mirrors and glasses
which reflect the small columns by which the ceiling is supported.
Brilliant and singular as is this effect, it is almost eclipsed by the
appearance of the Mistress of the House; who, decorated with rich and rare
gems, and seated upon a sort of elevated throne--uniting great comeliness
and (as some think) beauty of person--receives both the homage and (what is
doubtless preferable to her) the _francs_ of numerous customers and
admirers. The "wealth of either Ind" sparkles upon her hand, or glitters
upon her attire: and if the sun of her beauty be somewhat verging towards
its declension, it sets with a glow which reminds her old acquaintance of
the splendour of its noon-day power. It is yet a sharply contested point
whether the ice of this house be preferable to that of Tortoni: a point,
too intricate and momentous for my solution. "Non nostrum est ... tantas
componere lites."
Of the _Jardin des Plantes_, which I have once visited, but am not likely
to revisit--owing to the extreme heat of the weather, and the distance of
the spot from this place--scarcely too much can be said in commendation:
whether we consider it as a _dépôt_ for live or dead animals, or as a
school of study and instruction for the cultivators of natural history. The
wild animals are kept, in their respective cages, out of doors, which is
equally salutary for themselves and agreeable to their visitors. I was much
struck by the perpetual motion of a huge, restless, black bear, who has
left the marks of his footsteps by a concavity in the floor:--as well as by
the panting, and apparently painful, inaction of an equally huge white or
gray bear--who, nurtured upon beds of Greenland ice, seemed to be dying
beneath the oppressive heat of a Parisian atmosphere. The same misery
appeared to beset the bears who are confined, in an open space, below. They
searched every where for shade; while a scorching sun was darting its
vertical rays upon their heads. In the Museum of dead, or stuffed animals,
you have every thing that is minute or magnificent in nature, from the
creeping lizard to the towering giraffe, arranged systematically, and in a
manner the most obvious and intelligible: while Cuvier's collection of
fossil bones equally surprises and instructs you. It is worth all the
_catacombs_ of all the capitals in the world. If we turn to the softer and
more beauteous parts of creation, we are dazzled and bewildered by the
radiance and variety of the tribes of vegetables--whether as fruits or
flowers; and, upon the whole, this is an establishment which, in no age or
country, hath been surpassed.
It is not necessary to trouble you with much more of this strain. The
out-of-door enjoyments in Paris are so well known, and have been so
frequently described--and my objects of research being altogether of a very
different complexion--you will not, I conclude, scold me if I cease to
expatiate upon this topic, but direct your attention to others. Not however
but that I think you may wish to know my sentiments about the principal
ARCHITECTURAL BUILDINGS of Paris--as you are yourself not only a lover, but
a judge, of these matters--and therefore the better qualified to criticise
and correct the following remarks--which flow "au bout de la plume"--as
Madame de Sévigné says. In the first place, then, let us stop a few minutes
before the THUILERIES. It hath a beautiful front: beautiful from its
lightness and airiness of effect. The small central dome is the only raised
part in the long horizontal line of this extended building: not but what
the extremities are raised in the old fashioned sloping manner: but if
there had been a similar dome at each end, and that in the centre had been
just double its present height, the effect, in my humble opinion, would
have harmonised better with the extreme length of the building. It is very
narrow; so much so, that the same room contains windows from which you may
look on either side of the palace: upon the gardens to the west, or within
the square to the east.
Adjoining to the Thuileries is the LOUVRE: that is to say, a long range of
building to the south, parallel with the Seine, connects these magnificent
residences: and it is precisely along this extensive range that the
celebrated _Gallery of the Louvre_ runs. The principal exterior front, or
southern extremity of the Louvre, faces the Seine; and to my eye it is
nearly faultless as a piece of architecture constructed upon Grecian and
Roman models. But the interior is yet more splendid. I speak more
particularly of the south and western fronts: that facing the north being
more ancient, and containing female figure ornaments which are palpably of
a disproportionate length. The Louvre quadrangle (if I may borrow our old
college phrase) is assuredly the most splendid piece of ornamental
architecture which Paris contains. The interior of the edifice itself is as
yet in an unfinished condition;[4] but you must not conclude the
examination of this glorious pile of building, without going round to visit
the _eastern_ exterior front--looking towards Notre-Dame. Of all sides of
the square, within or without, this colonnade front is doubtless the most
perfect of its kind. It is less rich and crowded with ornament than any
side of the interior--but it assumes one of the most elegant, airy, and
perfectly proportionate aspects, of any which I am just now able to
recollect. Perhaps the basement story, upon which this double columned
colonnade of the Corinthian Order runs, is somewhat too plain--a sort of
affectation of the rustic. The alto-relievo figures in the centre of the
tympanum have a decisive and appropriate effect. The advantage both of the
Thuileries and Louvre is, that they are well seen from the principal
thoroughfares of Paris: that is to say, along the quays, and from the chief
streets running from the more ancient parts on the south side of the Seine.
The evil attending our own principal public edifices is, that they are
generally constructed where they _cannot_ be seen to advantage. Supposing
one of the principal entrances or malls of London, both for carriages and
foot, to be on the _south_ side of the Thames, what could be more
magnificent than the front of _Somerset House_, rising upon its hundred
columns perpendicularly from the sides of a river... three times as broad
as the Seine, with the majestic arches of _Waterloo Bridge!_--before which,
however, the stupendous elevation of _St. Paul's_ and its correspondent
bridge of _Black Friars_, could not fail to excite the wonder, and extort
the praise, of the most anti-anglican stranger. And to crown the whole, how
would the venerable nave and the towers of _Westminster Abbey_--with its
peculiar bridge of Westminster ... give a finish to such a succession of
architectural objects of metropolitan grandeur! Although in the very heart,
of Parisian wonder, I cannot help, you see, carrying my imagination towards
our own capital; and suggesting that, if, instead of furnaces, forges, and
flickering flames--and correspondent clouds of dense smoke--which give to
the southern side of the Thames the appearance of its being the abode of
legions of blacksmiths, and glass and shot makers--we introduced a little
of the good taste and good sense of our neighbours--and if ... But all this
is mighty easily said--though not quite so easily put in practice. The
truth however is, my dear friend, that we should _approximate_ a little
towards each other. Let the Parisians attend somewhat more to our domestic
comforts and commercial advantages--and let the Londoners sacrifice
somewhat of their love of warehouses and manufactories--and then you will
have hit the happy medium, which, in the metropolis of a great empire,
would unite all the conveniences, with all the magnificence, of situation.
Of other buildings, devoted to civil purposes, the CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES, the
HÔTEL DES INVALIDES, with its gilded dome (a little too profusely adorned,)
the INSTITUTE, and more particularly the MINT, are the chief ornaments on
the south side of the Seine. In these I am not disposed to pick the least
hole, by fastidious or hypercritical observations. Only I wish that they
would contrive to let the lions, in front of the façade of the Institute,
(sometimes called the _Collège Mazarin_ or _des Quatre Nations_--upon the
whole, a magnificent pile) discharge a good large mouthful of water--
instead of the drivelling stream which is for ever trickling from their
closed jaws. Nothing can be more ridiculous than the appearance of these
meagre and unappropriate objects: the more to be condemned, because the
French in general assume great credit for the management of their
fountains. Of the four great buildings just noticed, that of the Mint, or
rather its façade, pleases me most. It is a beautiful elevation, in pure
good taste; but the stone is unfortunately of a coarse grain and of a dingy
colour. Of the BRIDGES thrown across the Seine, connecting all the fine
objects on either side, it must be allowed that they are generally in good
taste: light, yet firm; but those, in iron, of Louis XVI. and _des Arts_,
are perhaps to be preferred. The _Pont Neuf_, where the ancient part of
Paris begins, is a large, long, clumsy piece of stone work: communicating
with the island upon which _Notre Dame_ is built. But if you look eastward,
towards old Paris, from the top of this bridge--or if you look in the same
direction, a little towards the western side, or upon the quays,--you
contemplate, in my humble opinion, one of the grandest views of street
scenery that can be imagined! The houses are very lofty--occasionally of
six or even eight stories--the material with which they are built is a fine
cream-coloured stone: the two branches of the river, and the back ground
afforded by _Notre Dame_, and a few other subordinate public buildings,
altogether produce an effect--especially as you turn your back upon the
sun, sinking low behind the _Barrière de Neuilly_--which would equally warm
the hearts and exercise the pencils of the TURNERS and CALCOTS of our own
shores. Indeed, I learn that the former distinguished artist has actually
made a drawing of this picture. But let me add, that my own unqualified
admiration had preceded the knowledge of this latter fact. Among other
buildings, I must put in a word of praise in behalf of the
HALLE-AUX-BLÉ'S--built after the model of the Pantheon at Rome. It is one
hundred and twenty French feet in diameter; has twenty-five covered
archways, or arcades, of ten feet in width; of which six are open, as
passages of ingress and egress--corresponding with the like number of
opposite streets. The present cupola (preceded by one almost as large as
that of the Pantheon at Rome) is built of iron and brass--of a curious,
light, and yet sufficiently substantial construction--and is unassailable
by fire. I never passed through this building without seeing it well
stocked with provender; while its area was filled with farmers, who, like
our own, assemble to make the best bargain. Yet let me observe that, owing
to the height of the neighbouring houses, this building loses almost the
whole of its appropriate effect.
Nor should the EXCHANGE, in the _Rue des Filles St. Thomas_, be dismissed
without slight notice and commendation. It is equally simple, magnificent,
and striking: composed of a single row, or peristyle, of Corinthian
pillars, flanking a square of no mean dimensions, and presenting fourteen
pillars in its principal front. At this present moment, it is not quite
finished; but when completed, it promises to be among the most splendid and
the most perfect specimens of public architecture in Paris.[5] Beautiful as
many may think _our_ Exchange, in my humble opinion it has no pretensions
to compete with that at Paris. The HÔTEL DE VILLE, near the _Place de
Grève_, is rather in the character of the more ancient buildings in France:
it is exceedingly picturesque, and presents a noble façade. Being situated
amidst the older streets of Paris, nothing can harmonise better with the
surrounding objects. Compared with the metropolis, on its present extended
scale, it is hardly of sufficient importance for the consequence usually
attached to this kind of building; but you must remember that the greater
part of it was built in the sixteenth century, when the capital had
scarcely attained half its present size. The _Place de Grève_ during the
Revolution, was the spot in which the guillotine performed almost all its
butcheries. I walked over it with a hurrying step: fancying the earth to be
yet moist with the blood of so many immolated victims. Of other HÔTELS, I
shall mention only those of DE SENS and DE SOUBISE. The entrance into the
former yet exhibits a most picturesque specimen of the architecture of the
early part of the XVIth century. Its interior is devoted to every thing ...
which it ought _not_ to be. The Hôtel de Soubise is still a consequential
building. It was sufficiently notorious during the reigns of Charles V. and
VI.: and it owes its present form to the enterprising spirit of Cardinal
Rohan, who purchased it of the Guise family towards the end of the XVIIth
century. There is now, neither pomp nor splendour, nor revelry, within this
vast building. All its aristocratic magnificence is fled; but the antiquary
and the man of curious research console themselves on its possessing
treasures of a more substantial and covetable kind. You are to know that it
contains the _Archives of State_ and the _Royal Printing Office_.
Paris has doubtless good reason to be proud of her public buildings; for
they are numerous, splendid, and commodious; and have the extraordinary
advantage over our own of not being tinted with soot and smoke. Indeed,
when one thinks of the sure invasion of every new stone or brick building
in London, by these enemies of external beauty, one is almost sick at heart
during the work of erection. The lower tier of windows and columns round
St. Paul's have been covered with the dirt and smoke of upwards of a
century: and the fillagree-like embellishments which distinguish the recent
restorations of Henry the VIIth's chapel, in Westminster Abbey, are already
beginning to lose their delicacy of appearance from a similar cause. But I
check myself. I am at Paris--and not in the metropolis of our own country.
A word now for STREET SCENERY. Paris is perhaps here unrivalled: still I
speak under correction--having never seen Edinburgh. But, although
_portions_ of that northern capital, from its undulating or hilly site,
must necessarily present more picturesque appearances, yet, upon the whole,
from the superior size of Paris, there must be more numerous examples of
the kind of scenery of which I am speaking. The specimens are endless. I
select only a few--the more familiar to me. In turning to the left, from
the _Boulevard Montmartre_ or _Poissonière_, and going towards the _Rue St.
Marc_, or _Rue des Filles St. Thomas_ (as I have been in the habit of
doing, almost every morning, for the last ten days--in my way to the Royal
Library) you leave the _Rue Montmartre_ obliquely to the left. The houses
here seem to run up to the sky; and appear to have been constructed with
the same ease and facility as children build houses of cards. In every
direction about this spot, the houses, built of stone, as they generally
are, assume the most imposing and picturesque forms; and if a Canaletti
resided here, who would condescend to paint without water and wherries,
some really magnificent specimens of this species of composition might be
executed--equally to the credit of the artist and the place.
If you want old fashioned houses, you must lounge in the long and parallel
streets of _St. Denis_ and _St. Martin_; but be sure that you choose dry
weather for the excursion. Two hours of heavy rain (as I once witnessed)
would cause a little rushing rivulet in the centre of these streets--and
you could only pass from one side to the other by means of a plank. The
absence of _trottoirs_--- or foot-pavement--is indeed here found to be a
most grievous defect. With the exception of the _Place Vendome_ and the
_Rue de la Paix_, where something like this sort of pavement prevails,
Paris presents you with hardly any thing of the kind; so that, methinks, I
hear you say, "what though your Paris be gayer and more grand, our London
is larger and more commodious." Doubtless this is a fair criticism. But
from the _Marché des Innocens_--a considerable space, where they sell
chiefly fruit and vegetables,[6]--(and which reminded me something of the
market-places of Rouen) towards the _Hôtel de Ville_ and the _Hôtel de
Soubise_, you will meet with many extremely curious and interesting
specimens of house and street scenery: while, as I before observed to you,
the view of the houses and streets in the _Isle St. Louis_, from the _Pont
des Ars_, the _Quai de Conti_, the _Pont Neuf_, or the _Quai des
Augustins_--or, still better, the _Pont Royal_--is absolutely one of the
grandest and completest specimens of metropolitan scenery which can be
contemplated. Once more: go as far as the _Pont Louis XVI._, cast your eye
down to the left; and observe how magnificently the Seine is flanked by the
Thuileries and the Louvre. Surely, it is but a sense of justice and a love
of truth which compel an impartial observer to say, that this is a view of
regal and public splendor--without a parallel in our own country!
The _Rue de Richelieu_ is called the Bond-street of Paris. Parallel with
it, is the _Rue Vivienne_. They are both pleasant streets; especially the
former, which is much longer, and is rendered more striking by containing
some of the finest hotels in Paris. Hosiers, artificial flower makers,
clock-makers, and jewellers, are the principal tradesmen in the Rue de
Richelieu; but it has no similarity with Bond-street. The houses are of
stone, and generally very lofty--while the _Academie de Musique_[7] and the
_Bibliothèque du Roi_ are public buildings of such consequence and capacity
(especially the former) that it is absurd to name the street in which they
are situated with our own. The Rue Vivienne is comparatively short; but it
is pleasing, from the number of flowers, shrubs, and fruits, brought
thither from the public markets for sale. No doubt the _Place Vendome_ and
the _Rue de la Paix_ claim precedence, on the score of magnificence and
comfort, to either of these, or to any other streets; but to my taste there
is nothing (next to the Boulevards) which is so thoroughly gratifying as
the Rue de Richelieu. Is it because some few hundred thousand _printed
volumes_ are deposited therein? But of all these, the _Rue St. Honoré_,
with its faubourg so called, is doubtless the most distinguished and
consequential. It seems to run from west to east entirely through Paris;
and is considered, on the score of length, as more than a match for our
Oxford street.
It may be so; but if the houses are loftier, the street is much narrower;
and where, again, is your foot-pavement--to protect you from the eternal
movements of fiacre, cabriolet, voiture and diligence? Besides, the
undulating line of our Oxford-street presents, to the tasteful observer, a
sight--perfectly unrivalled of its kind--especially if it be witnessed on a
clear night, when its thousand gas-lighted lamps below emulate the starry
lustre of the heavens above! To an inexperienced eye, this has the effect
of enchantment. Add to the houses of Oxford-street but two stories, and the
appearance of this street, in the day time, would be equally imposing: to
which add--what can never be added--the atmosphere of Paris!
You will remark that, all this time, I have been wholly silent about the
_Palace de Luxembourg_, with its beautiful though flat gardens--of tulips,
jonquils, roses, wall flowers, lilac and orange trees--its broad and narrow
walks--its terraces and statues. The façade, in a line with the _Rue
Vaugirard_, has a grand effect--in every point of view. But the south
front, facing the gardens, is extremely beautiful and magnificent; while
across the gardens, and in front,--some short English mile--stands the
OBSERVATORY. Yet fail not to visit the interior square of the palace, for
it is well worth your notice and admiration. This building is now the
_Chambre des Pairs_. Its most celebrated ornament was the famous suite of
paintings, by Rubens, descriptive of the history of Henry IV. These now
adorn the gallery of the Louvre. It is a pity that this very tasteful
structure--which seems to be built of the choicest stone--should be so far
removed from what may be called the fashionable part of the city. It is in
consequence reluctantly visited by our countrymen; although a lover of
botany, or a florist, will not fail to procure two or three roots of the
different species of _tulips_, which, it is allowed, blow here in uncommon
luxuriance and splendor.
The preceding is, I am aware, but a feeble and partial sketch--compared
with what a longer residence, and a temperature more favourable to exercise
(for we are half scorched up with heat, positive and reflected)--would
enable me to make. But "where are my favourite ECCLESIASTICAL EDIFICES?"
methinks I hear you exclaim. Truly you shall know as much as I know myself;
which is probably little enough. Of NOTRE-DAME, the west front, with its
marygold window, is striking both from its antiquity and richness. It is
almost black from age; but the alto-relievos, and especially those above
the doors, stand out in almost perfect condition. These ornaments are
rather fine of their kind. There is, throughout the whole of this west
front, a beautiful keeping; and the towers are, _here_, somewhat more
endurable--and therefore somewhat in harmony. Over the north-transept door,
on the outside, is a figure of the Virgin--once holding the infant Jesus in
her arms. Of the latter, only the feet remain. The drapery of this figure
is in perfectly good taste: a fine specimen of that excellent art which
prevailed towards the end of the XIIIth century. Above, is an alto-relievo
subject of the slaughter of the Innocents. The soldiers are in quilted
armour. I entered the cathedral from the western door, during service-time.
A sight of the different clergymen engaged in the office, filled me with
melancholy--and made me predict sad things of what was probably to come to
pass! These clergymen were old, feeble, wretchedly attired in their
respective vestments--and walked and sung in a tremulous and faltering
manner. The architectural effect in the interior is not very imposing:
although the solid circular pillars of the nave--the double aisles round
the choir--and the old basso-relievo representations of the life of Christ,
upon the exterior of the walls of the choir--cannot fail to afford an
antiquary very singular satisfaction. The choir appeared to be not unlike
that of St. Denis.
The next Gothic church, in size and importance, is that of St. GERVAIS--
situated to the left, in the Rue de Monceau. It has a very lofty nave, but
the interior is exceedingly flat and divested of ornament. The pillars have
scarcely any capitals. The choir is totally destitute of effect. Some of
the stained glass is rich and old, but a great deal has been stolen or
demolished during the Revolution. There is a good large modern picture, in
one of the side chapels to the right: and yet a more modern one, much
inferior, on the opposite side. In almost every side chapel, and in the
confessionals, the priests were busily engaged in the catechetical
examination of young people previous to the first Communion on the
following sabbath, which was the Fête-Dieu. The western front is wholly
Grecian--perhaps about two hundred years old. It is too lofty for its
width--but has a grand effect, and is justly much celebrated. Yet the
_situation_ of this fine old Gothic church is among the most wretched of
those in Paris. It is preserved from suffocation, only by holding it head
so high. Next in importance to St. Gervais, is the Gothic church of St.
EUSTACHE: a perfect specimen, throughout, of that adulterated style of
Gothic architecture (called its _restoration!_) which prevailed at the
commencement of the reign of Francis I. Faulty, and even meretricious, as
is the whole of the interior, the choir will not fail to strike you with
surprise and gratification. It is light, rich, and lofty. This church is
very large, but not so capacious as St. Gervais--while situation is, if
possible, still more objectionable.
Let me not forget my two old favourite churches of ST. GERMAIN DES PRÈS,
_and St. Geneviève_; although of the latter I hardly know whether a hasty
glimpse, both of the exterior and interior, be not sufficient; the greater
part having been destroyed during the Revolution.[8] The immediate vicinity
of the former is sadly choaked by stalls and shops--and the west-front has
been cruelly covered by modern appendages. It is the church dearest to
antiquaries; and with reason.[9] I first visited it on a Sunday, when that
part of the Service was performed which required the fullest intonations of
the organ. The effect altogether was very striking. The singular pillars--
of which the capitals are equally massive and grotesque, being sometimes
composed of human beings, and sometimes of birds and beasts, especially
towards the choir--the rising up and sitting down of the congregation, and
the yet more frequent movements of the priests--the swinging of the
censers--and the parade of the vergers, dressed in bag wigs, with broad red
sashes of silk, and silk stockings--but, above all, the most scientifically
touched, as well as the deepest and loudest toned, organ I ever heard--
perfectly bewildered and amazed me! Upon the dispersion of the
congregation--which very shortly followed this religious excitation--I had
ample leisure to survey every part of this curious old structure; which
reminded me, although upon a much larger scale, of the peculiarities of St.
Georges de Bocherville, and Notre Dame at Guibray. Certainly, very much of
this church is of the twelfth century--and as I am not writing to our
friend P*** I will make bold to say that some portions of it yet "smack
strongly" of the eleventh.
Nearer to my residence, and of a kindred style of architecture, is the
church of ST. GERMAIN AUX AUXERROIS. The west front or porch is yet sound
and good. Nothing particularly strikes you on the entrance, but there are
some interesting specimens of rich old stained glass in the windows of the
transepts. The choir is completely and cruelly modernised. In the side
chapels are several good modern paintings; and over an altar of twisted
columns, round which ivy leaves, apparently composed of ivory, are
creeping, is a picture of three figures in the flames of purgatory. This
side-chapel is consecrated to the offering up of orisons "_for the souls in
purgatory_." It is gloomy and repulsive. Death's heads and thigh bones are
painted, in white colours, upon the stained wall; and in the midst of all
these fearful devices, I saw three young ladies intensely occupied in their
devotions at the railing facing the altar. Here again, I observed priests
examining young people in their catechism; and others in confessionals,
receiving the confessions of the young of both sexes, previous to their
taking the first sacrament on the approaching _Fête-Dieu_.
Contiguous to the Sorbonne church, there stands, raising its neatly
constructed dome aloft in air, the _Nouvelle Eglise Ste. Geneviève_, better
known by the name of the PANTHEON. The interior presents to my eye the most
beautiful and perfect specimen of Grecian architecture with which I am
acquainted. In the crypt are seen the tombs of French warriors; and upon
the pavement above, is a white marble statue of General Leclerc (brother in
law of Bonaparte,) who died in the expedition to St. Domingo. This, statue
is too full of conceit and affectation both in attitude and expression. The
interior of the building is about 370 English feet in length, by 270 in
width; but it is said that the foundation is too weak. From the gallery,
running along the bottom of the dome--the whole a miniature representation
of our St. Paul's--you have a sort of Panorama of Paris; but not, I think,
a very favourable one. The absence of sea-coal fume strikes you very
agreeably; but, for picturesque effect, I could not help thinking of the
superior beauty of the panorama of Rouen from the heights of Mont Ste.
Catharine. It appears to me that the small lantern on the top of the dome
wants a finishing apex.[10]
Yonder majestic portico forms the west front of the church called St.
SULPICE ... It is at once airy and grand. There are two tiers of pillars,
of which this front is composed: the lower is Doric; the upper Ionic: and
each row, as I am told, is nearly forty French feet in height, exclusively
of their entablatures, each of ten feet. We have nothing like this,
certainly, as the front of a parish church, in London. When I except St.
Paul's, such exception is made in reference to the most majestic piece of
architectural composition, which, to my eye, the wit of man hath yet
devised. The architect of the magnificent front of St. Sulpice was
SERVANDONI; and a street hard by (in which Dom Brial, the father of French
history, resides) takes its name from this architect. There are two
towers--one at each end of this front,--about two hundred and twenty feet
in height from the pavement: harmonising well with the general style of
architecture, but of which, that to the south (to the best of my
recollection) is left in an unaccountably, if not shamefully, unfinished
state.[11] These towers are said to be about one _toise_ higher than those
of Notre Dame. The interior of this church is hardly less imposing than its
exterior. The vaulted roofs are exceedingly lofty; but for the length of
the nave, and more especially the choir, the transepts are
disproportionably short. Nor are there sufficiently prominent ornaments to
give relief to the massive appearance of the sides. These sides are
decorated by fluted pilasters of the Corinthian order; which, for so large
and lofty a building, have a tame effect. There is nothing like the huge,
single, insulated column, or the clustered slim pilasters, that separate
the nave from the side aisles of the Gothic churches of the early and
middle ages.
The principal altar, between the nave and the choir, is admired for its
size, and grandeur of effect; but it is certainly ill-placed, and is
perhaps too ornamental, looking like a detached piece which does not
harmonise with the surrounding objects. Indeed, most of the altars in
French churches want simplicity and appropriate effect: and the whole of
the interior of the choir is (perhaps to my fastidious eye only,) destitute
of that quiet solemn character, which ought always to belong to places of
worship. Rich, minute, and elaborate as are many of the Gothic choirs of
our own country, they are yet in harmony; and equally free from a frivolous
or unappropriate effect. Behind the choir, is the Chapel of Our Lady: which
is certainly both splendid and imposing. Upon the ceiling is represented
the Assumption of the Virgin, and the walls are covered with a profusion of
gilt ornament, which, upon the whole, has a very striking effect. In a
recess, above the altar, is a sculptured representation of the Virgin and
Infant Christ, in white marble, of a remarkably high polish: nor are the
countenances of the mother and child divested of sweetness of expression.
They are represented upon a large globe, or with the world at their feet:
upon the top of which, slightly coiled, lies the "bruised" or dead serpent.
The light, in front of the spectator, from a concealed window, (a
contrivance to which the French seem partial) produces a sort of magical
effect. I should add, that this is the largest parochial church in Paris;
and that its organ has been pronounced to be matchless.
The rival churches of St. Sulpice--rival ones, rather from similarity of
structure, than extent of dimensions--are the ORATOIRE and St. ROCH: both
situated in the Rue St. Honoré. St. Roch is doubtless a very fine
building--with a well-proportioned front--and a noble flight of steps; but
the interior is too plain and severe for my taste. The walls are decorated
by unfluted pilasters, with capitals scarcely conformable to any one order
of architecture. The choir however is lofty, and behind it, in Our Lady's
Chapel if I remember rightly, there is a striking piece of sculpture, of
the Crucifixion, sunk into a rock, which receives the light from an
invisible aperture as at St. Sulpice. To the right, or rather behind this
chapel, there is another--called the _Chapel of Calvary_,--in which you
observe a celebrated piece of sculpture, of rather colossal dimensions, of
the entombment of Christ. The dead Saviour is borne to the sepulchre by
Joseph of Arimathea, St. John, and the three Maries. The name of the
sculptor is _Deseine_. Certainly you cannot but be struck with the effect
of such representations--which accounts for these two chapels being a great
deal more attended, than the choir or the nave of the church. It is right
however to add, that the pictures here are preferable to those at St.
Sulpice: and the series of bas-reliefs, descriptive of the principal events
in the life of Christ, is among the very best specimens of art, of that
species, which Paris can boast of.
Very different from either of these interiors is that of _St. Philippe du
Roule_; which presents you with a single insulated row of fluted Ionic
pillars, on each side of the nave; very airy, yet impressive and imposing.
It is much to my taste; and I wish such a plan were more generally adopted
in the interiors of Grecian-constructed churches. The choir, the altar ...
the whole is extremely simple and elegant. Nor must the roof be omitted to
be particularly mentioned. It is an arch, constructed of wood; upon a plan
originally invented by Philibert Delorme--so well known in the annals of
art in the sixteenth century. The whole is painted in stone colour, and may
deceive the most experienced eye. This beautiful church was built after the
designs of Chalgrin, about the year 1700; and is considered to be a purer
resemblance of the antique than any other in Paris. This church, well worth
your examination, is situated in a quarter rarely visited by our
countrymen--in the _Rue du Faubourg du Roule_, not far from the barriers.