Seeing Europe with Famous Authors, Volume 3

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It is a building of the transition period. The Saxon architect had just
reared the pillars of the nave, when the pointed arch, brought back from
the Crusades, planted itself as conqueror upon those broad Roman capitals
which were never meant to support anything but semicircular arches. The
pointed arch, thenceforth supreme, built the rest of the church. And
still, inexperienced and shy at first, it swelled, it widened, it
restrained itself, and dared not yet shoot up into spires and lancets, as
it did later on in so many marvelous cathedrals. It seemed sensible of the
close vicinity of the heavy Roman columns.

Moreover, these buildings of the transition from Roman to Gothic are no
less valuable studies than the pure types. They express a gradation of the
art which would otherwise be lost. They represent the ingrafting of the
pointed arch upon the semicircular.

Notre Dame at Paris, in particular, is a curious example of this variety.
Every face, every stone of the venerable monument is a page not only of
the history of the country, but also of the history of science and art.
Thus, to allude only to leading details, while the little Porte Rouge
attains the almost extreme limit of the Gothic refinement of the fifteenth
century, the pillars of the nave, in their size and gravity of style, go
back to the Carlovingian Abbey of Saint-Germain des Pres. One would say
that there was an interval of six centuries between that door and those
pillars. Even the Hermetics find among the symbols of the great door a
satisfactory epitome of their science, of which the Church of St. Jacques
de la Boucherie formed so complete a hieroglyph.

Thus, the Roman abbey, the philosopher's church, Gothic art, Saxon art,
the clumsy round pillar, which recalls Gregory VII., the hermetic
symbolism by which Nicholas Flamel paved the way for Luther, papal unity,
schism, Saint-Germain des Pres, Saint-Jacques de la Boucherie, are all
confounded, combined and blended in Notre Dame. This central and
generative church is a kind of chimera among the old churches of Paris; it
has the head of one, the limbs of another, the trunk of a third, something
of all.

Considering here Christian European architecture only, that younger sister
of the grand piles of the Orient, we may say that it strikes the eye as a
vast formation divided into three very distinct zones or layers, one
resting upon the other; the Roman zone, (the same which is also known
according to place, climate, and species, as Lombard, Saxon, and
Byzantine. There are the four sister forms of architecture, each having
its peculiar character, but all springing from the same principle, the
semicircular arch,) the Gothic zone, the zone of the Renaissance, which
may be called the Greco-Roman. The Roman stratum, which is the oldest and
the lowest, is occupied by the semicircular arch, which reappears,
together with the Greek column, in the modern and uppermost stratum of the
Renaissance. The painted arch is between the two. The buildings belonging
to any one of these three strata are perfectly distinct, uniform, and
complete. Such are the Abbey of Jumieges, the Cathedral of Rheims, the
Church of the Holy Cross at Orleans. But the three zones are blended and
mingled at the edges, like the colors in the solar spectrum.

Hence, we have certain complex structures, buildings of gradation and
transition, which may be Roman at the base, Gothic in the middle, and
Greco-Roman at the top. This is caused by the fact that it took six
hundred years to build such a fabric. This variety is rare. The donjon-
keep at Etampes is a specimen. But monuments of two formations are more
frequent. Such is Notre-Dame at Paris, a structure of the pointed arch,
its earliest columns leading directly to that Roman zone, of which the
portals of Saint-Denis and the nave of Saint-Germain des Pres are perfect
specimens. Such is the charming semi-Gothic chapter-house of Boucherville,
where the Roman layer reaches midway. Such is the cathedral of Rouen,
which would be wholly Gothic if the tip of its central spire did not dip
into the zone of the Renaissance. [Footnote: This part of the spire, which
was of timber, happens to be the very part which was burned by lightning
in 1823.]

However, all these gradations and differences affect the surface only of
an edifice. Art has but changed its skin. The construction itself of the
Christian church is not affected by them. The interior arrangement, the
logical order of the parts, is still the same. Whatever may be the carved
and nicely-wrought exterior of a cathedral, we always find beneath it, if
only in a rudimentary and dormant state, the Roman basilica. It rises
forever from the ground in harmony with the same law.

There are invariably two naves intersecting each other in the form of a
cross, the upper end being rounded into a chancel or choir; there are
always side aisles, for the processions and for chapels, a sort of lateral
galleries or walks, into which the principal nave opens by means of the
spaces between the columns. This settled, the number of chapels, doors,
steeples, and spires may be modified indefinitely, according to the fancy
of the century, the people, and the art. The performance of divine service
once provided for and assured, architecture acts its own pleasure.
Statues, stained glass, rose-windows, arabesques, denticulations,
capitals, and bas-reliefs,--it combines all these flowers of the fancy
according to the logarithm that suits it best. Hence the immense variety
in the exteriors of those structures within which dwell such unity and
order. The trunk of the tree is fixt; the foliage is variable.

The Louvre

By Grant Allen

[Footnote: From "Paris."]

The Louvre is the noblest monument of the French Renaissance. From the
time of St. Louis onward, the French kings began to live more and more in
the northern suburb, the town of the merchants, which now assumed the name
of La Ville, in contradistinction to the Cite and the Universite. Two of
their chief residences here were the Bastille and the Hotel St. Paul, both
now demolished--one, on the Place so called; the other, between the Rue
St. Antoine and the Quai des Celestins. But from a very early period they
also possest a chateau on the site of the Louvre, and known by the same
name, which guarded the point where the wall of Philippe Auguste abutted
on the river. Francois I. decided to pull down this picturesque turreted
medieval castle, erected by Philippe Auguste and altered by Charles V. He
began the construction in its place of a magnificent Renaissance palace,
which has ever since been in course of erection.

Its subsequent growth, however, is best explained opposite the building
itself, where attention can be duly called to the succession of its
salient features. But a visit to the exterior fabric of the Louvre should
be preceded by one to St. Germain l'Auxerrois, the parish church, and
practically the chapel, of the old Louvre, to which it stood in somewhat
the same relation as the Ste. Chapelle to the home of St. Louis. Note,
however, that the church was situated just within the ancient wall, while
the chateau lay outside it. The visitor will doubtless be tolerably
familiar by this time with some parts at least of the exterior of the
Louvre; but he will do well to visit it now systematically, in the order
here suggested, so as to gain a clear general idea of its history and
meaning....

Begin by understanding distinctly that this court is the real and original
Louvre; the rest is mere excresence, intended to unite the main building
with the Tuileries, which lay some hundreds of yards to the west of it.
Notice, first, that the Palace as a whole, seen from the point where you
now stand, is constructed on the old principle of relatively blank
external walls, like a castle, with an interior courtyard, on which all
the apartments open, and almost all the decoration is lavished.
Reminiscences of defense lurk about the Louvre. It can best be understood
by comparison with such ornate, yet fortress-like, Italian palaces as the
Strozzi at Florence. Notice the four opposite portals, facing the cardinal
points, which can be readily shut by means of great doors; while the
actual doorways of the various suites of apartments open only into the
protected courtyard. This is the origin of the familiar French porte-
cochere.

Again, the portion of the building that directly faces you as you enter
the court from St. Germain is the oldest part, and represents the early
Renaissance spirit. It is the most primitive Louvre. Note in particular
the central elevated portion, known as a Pavilion, and graced with elegant
Caryatides. These Pavilions are lingering reminiscences of the medieval
towers. You will find them in the corners and centers of other blocks in
the Louvre. They form a peculiarly French Renaissance characteristic. The
Palace is here growing out of the Castle. The other three sides of the
square are, on the whole, more classical and later.

Now across the square directly to the Pavilion de l'Horloge, as it is
called, from the clock which adorns it. To your left, on the floor of the
court, are two circular white lines, enclosed in a square. These mark the
site of the original Chateau of the Louvre, with its keep, or donjon.
Francois I., who began the existing building, originally intended that his
palace should cover the same area. It was he who erected the left wing,
which now faces you, marked by the crown and H on its central round gable,
placed there by his successor, Henry II., under whom it was completed. To
the same king are also due the monograms of H and D (for Diane de
Poitiers, his mistress), between the columns of the ground floor. The
whole of the Pavilion de l'Horloge, and of this west wing, should be
carefully examined in detail as the finest remaining specimen of highly
decorated French Renaissance architecture. (But the upper story of the
Pavilion, with the Caryatides, is an age later.) Observe even the
decoration lavished on the beautiful chimneys. Pierre Lescot was the
architect of this earliest wing; the exquisite sculpture is by Jean
Goujon, a Frenchman, and the Italian, Paolo Ponzio. Examine much of it.
The crossed K's of certain panels stand for Catherine de Medici.

The right wing, beyond the Pavilion, was added, in the same style, under
Louis XIII., who decided to double the plan of his predecessors, and form
the existing Cour du Louvre.

The other three sides, in a more classic style, with pediments replacing
the Pavilions, and square porticos instead of rounded gables, are for the
most part later. The south side, however, as far as the central door, is
also by Pierre Lescot. It forms one of the two fronts of the original
square first contemplated. The attic story of these three sides was added
under Louis XIV., to whom, in the main, is due this Cour du Louvre. A
considerable part of Louis XIV.'s decorations bear reference to his
representation as "le roi soleil."

Now, pass through the Pavilion de l'Horloge (called on its west side
Pavilion Sully) into the second of the three courts of the Louvre. To
understand this portion of the building, again, you must remember that
shortly after the erection of the Old Louvre, Catherine de Medici began to
build her palace of the Tuileries, now destroyed, to the west of it. She
(and subsequent rulers) designed to unite the Old Louvre with the
Tuileries by a gallery which should run along the bank of the river. Of
that gallery, Catherine de Medici herself erected a considerable portion,
to be described later, and Henri IV., almost completed it. Later on,
Napoleon I. conceived the idea of extending a similar gallery along his
new Rue de Rivoli, on the north side, so as to enclose the whole space
between the Louvre and the Tuileries in one gigantic double courtyard.
Napoleon III. carried out his idea. The second court in which you now
stand is entirely flanked by buildings of this epoch--the Second Empire.
Examine it cursorily as far as the modern statue of Gambetta.

Stand or take a seat by the railing of the garden opposite the Pavilion
Sully. The part that now faces you forms a portion of the building of
Francois I, and Louis XIII., redecorated in part by Napoleon I. The
portions to your right and left are entirely of the age of Napoleon III.,
built so as to conceal the want of parallelism of the outer portions.
Observe their characteristic Pavilions, each bearing its own name
inscribed upon it. This recent square, tho quite modern in the character
of its sculpture and decoration, is Renaissance in its general
architecture, and, when looked back upon from the gardens of the
Tuileries, affords a most excellent idea of that stately style, as
developed in France under Francois I. The whole of this splendid plan,
however, has been rendered futile by the destruction of the Tuileries,
without which the enclosure becomes wholly meaningless.

Now, continue westward, pass the Monument of Gambetta, and take a seat on
the steps at the base, near the fine figure of Truth. In front of you
opens the third square of the Louvre, known as the Place du Carrousel, and
formerly enclosed on its west side by the Palace of the Tuileries, which
was unfortunately burned down in 1871, during the conflict between the
Municipal and National authorities. Its place is now occupied by a garden
terrace, the view from which in all directions is magnificent. Fronting
you, as you sit, is the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, erected under
Napoleon I., by Percier and Fontaine, in imitation of the Arch of
Septimius Severus at Rome, and once crowned by the famous bronze Roman
horses from St. Mark's at Venice. The arch, designed as an approach to the
Tuileries during the period of the classical mania, is too small for its
present surroundings, since the removal of the Palace. The north wing,
visible to your right, is purely modern, of the age of the First and
Second Empire and the Third Republic. The meretricious character of the
reliefs in its extreme west portion, erected under the Emperor Napoleon
III., and restored after the Commune, is redolent of the spirit of that
gaudy period. The south wing, to your left, forms part of the connecting
gallery erected by Henri IV., but its architecture is largely obscured by
considerable alterations under Napoleon III. Its west pavilion-known as
the Pavilion de Flore--is well worth notice.

Having thus gained a first idea of the courtyard fronts of the building,
continue your walk, still westward, along the south wing as far as the
Pavilion de Flore, a remaining portion of the corner edifice which ran
into one line with the Palace of the Tuileries. Turn round the corner of
the Pavilion to examine the south or river front of the connecting
gallery--one of the finest parts of the whole building, but far less known
to ordinary visitors than the cold and uninteresting northern line along
the Rue de Rivoli. The first portion, as far as the gateways, belongs
originally to the age of Henry IV., but it was entirely reconstructed
under Napoleon III., whose obtrusive N appears in many places on the
gateways and elsewhere.

Nevertheless, it still preserves, on the whole, some reminiscence of its
graceful Renaissance architecture. Beyond the main gateway (with modern
bronze Charioteer of the Sun), flanked by the Pavilions de la Tremoille
and de Lesdiguieres, we come upon the long Southern Gallery erected by
Catherine de Medici, which still preserves almost intact its splendid
early French Renaissance decoration. This is one of the noblest portions
of the entire building. The N here gives place to H's, and the Renaissance
scroll-work and reliefs almost equal those in that portion of the old
Louvre which was erected under Francois I. Sit on a seat on the Quay and
examine the sculpture.

Notice particularly the splendid Porte Jean Goujon, conspicuous from afar
by its gilded balcony. Its crowned H's and coats-of-arms are specially
interesting examples of the decorative work of the period. Note also the
skill with which this almost flat range is relieved by sculpture and
decoration so as to make us oblivious of the want of that variety usually
given by jutting portions. The end of this long gallery is formed by two
handsome windows with balconies. We there come to the connecting Galerie
d'Apollon, of which these windows are the termination, and finally reach
once more a portion of Perrault's facade, with its double LL's, erected
under Louis XIV., and closely resembling the interior facade of the Cour
du Louvre....

The Collections in the Louvre have no such necessary organic connection
with Paris itself as Notre Dame and the Sainte-Chapelle, or even those in
the rooms at Cluny. They may, therefore, be examined by the visitor at any
period of his visit that he chooses. I would advise him, however, whenever
he takes them up, to begin with the paintings and then to go on to the
Classical and Renaissance Sculpture. The last-named, at least, he should
only examine in connection with the rest of Renaissance Paris. Also, while
it is unimportant whether he takes first Painting or Sculpture, it is very
doubtful that he should take each separately in the chronological order.

At least six days--far more, if possible--should be devoted to the Louvre
Collections--by far the most important objects to be seen in Paris. Of
these, four should be assigned to the Paintings, and one each to the
Classical and Renaissance Sculpture. If this is impossible, do not try to
see all; see a little thoroughly. Confine yourself, for Painting, to the
Salon Carre and Gallery VII., and for Sculpture to the Classical Gallery
and to the three Western rooms of the Renaissance collection.

The Madeleine and Champs Elysees

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

[Footnote From "French and Italian Note-Books." By special arrangement
with, and by permission of, the publishers of Hawthorne's works, Houghton,
Mifflin Co. Copyright, 1871, 1883, 1899.]

Approaching the Madeleine, we found it a most beautiful church, that might
have been adapted from Heathenism to Catholicism; for on each side there
is a range of magnificent pillars, unequalled, except by those of the
Parthenon. A mourning coach, arrayed in black and silver, was drawn up at
the steps, and the front of the church was hung with black cloth, which
covered the whole entrance. However, seeing the people going in, we
entered along with them. Glorious and gorgeous is the Madeleine. The
entrance to the nave is beneath a most stately arch; and three arches of
equal height open from the nave to the side aisles; and at the end of the
nave is another great arch, rising, with a vaulted half-dome, over the
high altar. The pillars supporting these arches are Corinthian, with
richly sculptured capitals; and wherever gilding might adorn the church,
it is lavished like sunshine; and within the sweeps of the arches there
are fresco paintings of sacred subjects, and a beautiful picture covers
the hollow of the vault over the altar; all this, besides much sculpture;
and especially a group above and around the high altar, representing the
Magdalen smiling down upon angels and archangels, some of whom are
kneeling, and shadowing themselves with their heavy marble wings.

There is no such thing as making my page glow with the most distant idea
of the magnificence of this church, in its details and in its whole. It
was founded a hundred or two hundred years ago; then Bonaparte
contemplated transforming it into a Temple of Victory, or building it anew
as one. The restored Bourbon remade it into a church; but it still has a
heathenish look, and will never lose it.

When we entered we saw a crowd of people, all pressing forward toward the
high altar, before which burned a hundred wax lights, some of which were
six or seven feet high; and, altogether, they shone like a galaxy of
stars. In the middle of the nave, moreover, there was another galaxy of
wax candles burning around an immense pall of black velvet, embroidered
with silver, which seemed to cover, not only a coffin, but a sarcophagus,
or something still more huge.

The organ was rumbling forth a deep, lugubrious bass, accompanied with
heavy chanting of priests, out of which sometimes rose the clear, young
voices of choristers, like light flashing out of the gloom. The church,
between the arches, along the nave, and round the altar, was hung with
broad expanses of black cloth; and all the priests had their sacred
vestments covered with black. They looked exceedingly well; I never saw
anything half so well got up on the stage. Some of these ecclesiastical
figures were very stately and noble, and knelt and bowed, and bore aloft
the cross, and swung the censers in a way that I liked to see.

The ceremonies of the Catholic Church were a superb work of art, or
perhaps a true growth of man's religious nature; and so long as men felt
their original meaning, they must have been full of awe and glory. Being
of another parish, I looked on coldly, but not irreverently, and was glad
to see the funeral service so well performed, and very glad when it was
over. What struck me as singular, the person who performed the part
usually performed by a verger, keeping order among the audience, wore a
gold-embroidered scarf, a cocked hat, and, I believe, a sword, and had the
air of a military man....

When we left the Madeleine we took our way to the Place de la Concorde,
and thence through the Elysian Fields (which, I suppose, are the French
idea of heaven) to Bonaparte's triumphal arch. The Champs Elysees may look
pretty in summer; tho I suspect they must be somewhat dry and artificial
at whatever season.--the trees being slender and scraggy, and requiring to
be renewed every few years. The soil is not genial to them. The strangest
peculiarity of this place, however, to eyes fresh from moist and verdant
England, is, that there is not one blade of grass in all the Elysian
Fields, nothing but hard clay, now covered with white dust. It gives the
whole scene the air of being a contrivance of man, in which Nature has
either not been invited to take any part, or has declined to do so.

There were merry-go-rounds, wooden horses, and other provision for
children's amusements among the trees; and booths, and tables of cakes,
and candy-women; and restaurants on the borders of the wood; but very few
people there; and doubtless we can form no idea of what the scene might
become when alive with French gayety and vivacity.

As we walked onward the Triumphal Arch began to loom up in the distance,
looking huge and massive, tho still a long way off. It was not, however,
till we stood almost beneath it that we really felt the grandeur of this
great arch, including so large a space of the blue sky in its airy sweep.
At a distance, it impresses the spectator with its solidity; nearer, with
the lofty vacancy beneath it. There is a spiral staircase within one of
its immense limbs; and, climbing steadily upward, lighted by a lantern
which the door-keeper's wife gave us, we had a bird's eye view of Paris,
much obscured by smoke or mist. Several interminable avenues shoot with
painful directness right toward it.

On our way homeward we visited the Place Vendome, in the center of which
is a tall column, sculptured from top to bottom, all over the pedestal,
and all over the shaft, and with Napoleon himself on the summit. The shaft
is wreathed round and round about with representations of what, as far as
I could distinguish, seemed to be the Emperor's victories. It has a very
rich effect. At the foot of the column we saw wreaths of artificial
flowers, suspended there, no doubt, by some admirer of Napoleon, still
ardent enough to expend a franc or two in this way.

The Hotel des Invalides and Napoleon's Tomb

By Augustus J. C. Hare

[Footnote: From "Walks In Paris." By arrangement with the publisher, David
McKay. Copyright, 1880.]

We emerge from the Rue de Grenelle opposite the gardens to the north of
the magnificent Hotel des Invalides, planned by Henri IV., and begun by
Louis XIV. in 1671, as a refuge for old soldiers, who, before it was
built, had to beg their bread on the streets.

The institution is under the management of the Minister of War, and
nothing can be more comfortable than the life of its inmates. The number
of these is now small; in the time of Napoleon I., when the institution
was called the "Temple of Mars," it was enormous.

On the terrace in front of the building are a number of cannon, trophies
taken in different campaigns. Standing before the hotel is the statue of
Prince Eugene. On either side of the entrance are statues of Mars and
Minerva by Coustou the younger. In the tympanum of the semicircle over the
center of the facade is Louis XIV. on horseback. Behind the facade is a
vast courtyard surrounded by open corridors lined with frescoes of the
history of France; those of the early history on the left by Benedict
Masson, 1865, have much interest. In the center of the facade opposite the
entrance is the statue of Napoleon I. Beneath this is the approach to the
Church of St. Louis, built 1671-79, from designs of Liberal Bruant, and in
which many banners of victory give an effect of color to an otherwise
colorless building....

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