Thomas Frognall Dibdin - A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany, Volume Two

T >> Thomas Frognall Dibdin >> A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany, Volume Two

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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 _Poissoniere_, 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 _Marche 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 _Hotel de Ville_ and the _Hotel 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
_Bibliotheque 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. Honore_,
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 facade, 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 Fete-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 PRES,
_and St. Genevieve_; 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 _Fete-Dieu_.

Contiguous to the Sorbonne church, there stands, raising its neatly
constructed dome aloft in air, the _Nouvelle Eglise Ste. Genevieve_, 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. Honore. 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.

Not very remotely connected with the topic of CHURCHES, is that of the
SABBATHS ... as spent in Paris. They are nearly the same throughout all
France. As Bonaparte had no respect for religion itself, so he had less for
the forms connected with the upholding of it. Parades, battles, and
campaigns--were all that he cared about: and the Parisians, if they
supplied him with men and money--the _materiel_ for the execution of these
objects--were left to pray, preach, dance, or work, just as they pleased on
the Sabbath day. The present King,[12] as you well know, attempted the
introduction of something like an _English Sabbath_: but it would not do.
When the French read and understand GRAHAME[13] as well as they do THOMSON,
they will peradventure lend a ready and helping hand towards the completion
of this laudable plan. At present, there is much which hurts the eye and
ear of a well-educated and well-principled Englishman. There is a partial
shutting up of the shops before twelve; but after mid-day the shop-windows
are uniformly closed throughout Paris. Meanwhile the cart, the cabriolet,
the crier of herbs and of other marketable produce--the sound of the whip
or of the carpenter's saw and hammer--the shelling of peas in the open air,
and the plentiful strewing of the pod hard by--together with sundry, other
offensive and littering accompaniments--all strike you as disagreeable
deviations from what you have been accustomed to witness at home. Add to
this, the half-dirty attire--the unshaven beard of the men, and the unkempt
locks of the women--produce further revolting sensations. It is not till
past mid-day that the noise of labour ceases, and that the toilette is put
into a complete state for the captivation of the beholder. By four or five
o'clock the streets become half thinned. On a Sunday, every body rushes
into the country. The tradesman has his little villa, and the gentleman and
man of fortune his more capacious rural domain; and those, who aspire
neither to the one or the other, resort to the _Bois de Boulogne_ and the
_Champs Elysees_, or to the gardens of _Beaujon_, and _Tivoli_--or to the
yet more attractive magnificence of the palace and fountains of
_Versailles_--where, in one or the other of these places, they carouse, or
disport themselves--in promenades, or dancing groups--till

... Majores.. cadunt de montibus umbrae.

This, generally and fairly speaking, is a summer Sabbath in the metropolis
of France.

Unconscionable as you may have deemed the length of this epistle, I must
nevertheless extend it by the mention of what I conceive to be a very
essential feature both of beauty and utility in the street scenery of
Paris. It is of the FOUNTAINS that I am now about to speak; and of some of
which a slight mention has been already made. I yet adhere to the
preference given to that in the _Palais Royal_; considered with reference
to the management of the water. It is indeed a purely aqueous exhibition,
in which architecture and sculpture have nothing to do. Not so are the more
imposing fountains of the MARCHE DES INNOCENS, DE GRENELLE, and the
BOULEVARD BONDY. For the first of these,[14] the celebrated _Lescot_, abbe
de Clagny, was the designer of the general form; and the more celebrated
Jean Goujon the sculptor of the figures in bas-relief. It was re-touched
and perfected in 1551, and originally stood in the angle of the two
streets, of _aux Fers_ and _St. Denis_, presenting only two facades to the
beholder. It was restored and beautified in 1708; and in 1788 it changed
both its form and its position by being transported to the present spot--
the _Marche des Innocens_--the market for vegetables. Two other similar
sides were then added, making it a square: but the original performances of
Goujon, which are considered almost as his master-piece, attract infinitely
more admiration than the more recent ones of Pajou. Goujon's figures are
doubtless very delicately and successfully executed. The water bubbles up
in the centre of the square, beneath the arch, in small sheets, or masses;
and its first and second subsequent falls, also in sheets, have a very
beautiful effect. They are like pieces of thin, transparent ice, tumbling
upon each other; but the _lead_, of which the lower half of the fountain is
composed--as the reservoir of the water--might have been advantageously
exchanged for _marble_. The lion at each corner of the pedestal, squirting
water into a sarcophagus-shaped reservoir, has a very absurd appearance.
Upon the whole, this fountain is well deserving of particular attention.
The inscription upon it is FONTIVM NYMPHIS; but perhaps, critically
speaking, it is now in too exposed a situation for the character of it's
ornaments. A retired, rural, umbrageous recess, beneath larch and pine--
whose boughs

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