Letters of an Architect, From France, Italy, and Greece. Volume 1 [of 2]

Methinks I hear you rejoice that my everlasting disquisitions about Gothic architecture must at length be nearly finished. Do not, however, be too sanguine, the subject may recur again when I move southward, and I suspect that you will pronounce on my architecture, as I do on the trees by the road sides; while you have it you will think it very tiresome, and wish it away, but when it is gone, the barrenness and emptiness of the remainder will make you wish the architecture back again. In the observations which I am now about to give you on the modern buildings of Paris, you will at least escape a multitude of doubts about dates. I shall follow the order of Le Grand and Landon’s Description de Paris et de ses Edifices, as their little prints may help me to recall my observations; and let me add, that the criticisms of these authors are usually very judicious. In their general observations they praise too highly to correspond with the impression of any taste not educated in France; in their details, they perhaps, censure too much to be safe guides to a person who has not studied the subject, because these criticisms occur in the descriptions of celebrated buildings, with whose merits, they take it for granted, that their readers are familiar.

The church of the Assumption is circular, 62 feet in diameter, and I suppose, 100 feet high; whatever may be its precise elevation, it is certainly much too high. The eight pair of pilasters which surround the lower part, are spaced unequally; four of the intervals being larger than the other four, in order to give ample room for the altar, the pulpit, and the doorways, and to suggest also something of the form of a cross. In the upper part the disposition is regular; the effect of this discordance is exceedingly bad. The Val de Grace has a rich appearance externally, the inside is a warehouse, and has not character enough to make much impression under such circumstances; it is the design of François Mansard, one of the most celebrated architects that France has produced, but not finished under his direction. The interior of the church of the Sorbonne is handsome, but they are now fitting it up as a workshop for a sculptor. The architect was Mercier, who built also for Cardinal Richelieu the old part of the Palais Royal.

The Dome of the Invalides is the masterpiece of Jules Hardouin Mansard. The church and hospital are from the designs of Liberal Bruant. A striking defect in its present state is, that the gilding of this dome terminates too abruptly. It insulates that part from the rest of the building, and from all other surrounding buildings; there is nothing to carry off the effect. On this consideration it would be better with less of this ornament, but it is an experiment which does not leave a doubt of the advantage of employing it externally, for the production of beauty and magnificence; and it is equally conclusive against Repton’s idea of gilding the dome of St. Paul’s, an operation which would not only produce a harsh spot, disagreeing with every thing around it, but would be in itself disagreeable. So much has been done at the Invalides, that it is easy to imagine the rest, and to perceive that no breaking down of the boundaries, no accessory edifices, also gilt, could make such a lump of metal pleasing. We learn then, that in thus employing gilding, we must take care not to dispose it in a too continuous and apparently solid mass; to apply it principally to one part of the building, but not to confine it there, but to let it re-appear in smaller quantities on some other parts; and, in a city, not to limit it to one edifice, but to let others in some degree partake of it. I say nothing of the expediency of gilding from the short duration of its splendour, which is quite another consideration. The inside of the church at the Invalides is heavy and displeasing. It has two stories of arched aisles in the height of the pilaster, both are low, but the upper is particularly so, and very awkward. The interior of the dome (which quite forms a second church) is rich and magnificent, but there is too much light, or rather perhaps, a great deal of the light is placed too low, and the painting and gilding are not well disposed. Externally, the merit is principally confined to the dome and its drum, which are very beautifully managed. As for the hospital, it has no beauty. A very whimsical idea occurs in the garret windows in the front of the building, which represent suits of armour with holes in the breast; a more palpable instance of bad taste can hardly be cited, since the artist has thus destroyed the idea of defence, which he appears to have intended to excite. We frequently see, in France, the garret windows highly ornamented. This has sometimes a good effect; but it is principally where the architecture retains something of the Gothic. In the Hotel de Clugny, which exhibits a good deal of that style, they are very richly decorated, and communicate a character of domestic architecture to the edifice, which is at once pleasing and proper; a peaceful dwelling should not look either like a church or a castle. I do not know whether it would be impossible to make the garret windows of importance in Roman architecture, but I have never seen it done successfully.

The church of the Quatre Nations, that is to say, the central building of the palace of the Institute, is neither handsome without, nor convenient within. Viewed externally it appears little, and I believe this is, in part, owing to the irregular disposition of the columns. The want of regularity destroys the idea of their being essential parts of the building, and they become mere ornaments, placed according to the caprice of the architect. The openings under the dome are also greatly too large, and this not only has the effect of diminishing the apparent size, but also communicates to the whole an appearance of disproportion. The front is ornamented by four lions, which supply as many threads of water: these are not inserted in the engraving of Le Grand’s work. The whole building together is certainly fine, but I think rather too low; and I have my usual complaint to make of the smallness of the centre, and of the high roofs to the pavilions. On the inside of the central building, the disposition of the galleries in recesses, on three sides of the dome, is not bad for effect when they are filled with people; but the spectators, who find themselves in so many holes in the wall, have reason to be dissatisfied.

I spent some hours, a few days ago, at the church of St. Geneviève, entering with M. Rondelet, the architect, into all the details of the original construction, and of the settlement which had taken place. It was built by Soufflot, for Louis XV., who allotted to the erection an additional four sous on every ticket in the lotteries. The annual produce of this was valued at 364,000 livres, nor does it appear that the amount fell short, but in the beginning, the directors anticipated their revenues in the purchase of the ground, and perhaps also in the conduct of the edifice; and various other expenses, and some considerable buildings, were saddled on the funds, so that in 1780, after the death of Soufflot, and twenty-five years after the commencement of the building, the works were at a stand for want of money. In 1784 a precise estimate was formed of the sums yet required, and it was found that, to complete the building according to Soufflot’s plan, it would require 5,340,000 livres, and 1,203,000 for the square round it, and for the avenues; and the amount of the funds appropriated, after paying the interest of the sums borrowed, was 193,500 livres per annum, so that it would have required thirty-four years to terminate the work, and ten years and a half more to repay the debts. M. Rondelet, in his Mémoire Historique, enters into an explanation of the proposed mode of raising money for the purpose of carrying on the works, which, I confess, I do not understand. The income seems to jump from 193,000 to 278,000, without any cause; they were to borrow 400,000 livres per year, and to repay 100,000 of the old debt, which, to my dull understanding, seems just the same as borrowing 300,000. For the loan they were to pay interest at five per cent., and by this method it was calculated that they should raise enough to complete the building and surrounding improvements in twelve years. In fourteen years afterwards, supposing the funds to remain untouched, and no farther expenses to intervene, the creditors might be paid, but if by any accident the works should be prolonged a few years more than was contemplated in this estimate, the interest of money borrowed would exceed the funds. After all it comes to our approved plan of paying debts with borrowed money. For five years, i. e. 1785-6-7-8-9, the works seem to have gone on with spirit, and near 2,500,000 livres were expended. At this time all the solid work of the edifice was completed, and it appears, that about the end of 1789, the first serious alarm was excited, although some cracks had been observed as early as 1776. In 1789, a stone broke in one of the pillars of the dome, and in replacing it, the faulty construction was betrayed.

It is doubtless very interesting to an architect, to understand the construction of those buildings, where any difficulty was to be overcome, in which the efforts of the artist have perfectly succeeded. It is, perhaps, still more instructive to trace the causes of failure in those which have exhibited some considerable defect. The true maxim of an architect is, to spare nothing necessary to make the building perfectly firm and durable, but at the same time to admit nothing superfluous; a building which stands secure might, perhaps, have been equally secure with a portion of materials, and, consequently of expense, considerably smaller; a building which fails, we are sure was not strong enough; and if it do not begin to fail till after it has received its whole weight, it becomes particularly worthy of attention as an elucidation of the minimum which may be employed, or rather, which must be avoided, for the evil on one side is so incomparably greater than that on the other, that it would be a folly not to err systematically in some degree, by giving more strength than is absolutely necessary. The piers of the dome of St. Geneviève did not so decidedly yield to the pressure as to stop the progress of the building till nearly two years after the dome was completed and the centres removed. It was not till 1795, when, in order to adapt the edifice to its republican destination, some masses of hard stone, intended to receive the ornaments, were cut away, that any considerable defects became sensible. The slight motion given by the repeated jarring of this operation was sufficient to destroy the equilibrium of the forces.

The soil on which this church was built had been found on an examination, previous to laying the foundations; to be full of pits, some as much as eighty feet in depth, which had been dug to procure an earth for a sort of coarse pottery, a circumstance which does not give us a favourable idea of any part of the foundation. These pits were very carefully filled up, and the foundations, and erection of the vaults, carried on so as to give a perfectly firm basis for the superstructure. This operation has completely succeeded, and does not exhibit the slightest trace of failure or settlement. These works were begun in 1755: in 1764, Louis XV. placed the first stone of one of the pillars of the dome, an honour which is supposed to have excited some jealousy against the architect. Great clamour was raised against the price paid for cutting the stones, and the cautious and scientific method of proceeding at first adopted, was abandoned exactly at the point when care and nicety were most necessary. The piers, consequently, instead of being built of stones perfectly squared, with true beds, were composed of such as presented merely an even face, whilst frequently the internal mass was very defective.

Soufflot himself seems to have directed the beds of the stones to have been wrought smooth for a depth of four or five inches from the external face, and the remainder to have been roughly sunk three or four lines, in order to receive the mortar; a method bad in itself, as it evidently throws the principal weight to the face of the pier, i. e. to the weakest part, instead of spreading it equally over the whole surface, or with rather a tendency to the centre. Even these directions had not been attended to; but the builder, content to make the outside of his work fair, had used stones in many instances which were wedge-shaped; and joints which only presented a thickness of one or two lines externally, were two inches, or two inches and a half, wide on the inside; the filling in stones by no means fitted their places, and the interstices thus left, were so little filled with mortar, that in one place, on examination, the work admitted several pailfuls of grout. In order to obviate any immediate ill effect from the unequal beds of the stone, calles, or little bits, generally, as it appears, of wood, were inserted, in order to support each block to its level. Above the piers of the dome the work was better executed, both in principle and practice, and the internal surfaces were merely picked to hold the mortar, without any sinking, under the direction of M. Rondelet; yet, even in this part, the want of large stones has made it necessary to introduce a prodigious quantity of iron-work to support arches, where the construction required a single stone.

The first appearance of weakness, as I have already observed, was in 1776, when on removing the centres of the great arches some few pieces flanched off, but they were of little consequence. In 1779, while they were continuing the drum of the dome, new appearances of the same sort occurred, and Soufflot employed workmen to sawkerf^[13] the joints, in order that the weight might bear more upon the solid mass of the pier; and during this operation the calles were taken out wherever they came within reach. After the death of Soufflot, which happened in 1780, an examination of the cracks and flanchings was undertaken; but it was not till 1788 that they began to replace the broken stones. Nevertheless, in 1797, when Rondelet first published his work (if I understand him right), there were in one of these pillars three hundred and sixty-seven cracks, of which one hundred and thirty-eight formed lezards; two hundred and eighty-three flanchings; sixty-four points where the stone had been crushed by the incumbent weight; fifty-four separations of the upright joints; three hundred and forty-four pieces renewed, thirty-seven of which had been renewed a second time.

It is marvellous that under such circumstances they should have continued the work, since it was evident, from the pieces twice supplied, that the progress of the settlement was going on sufficiently to make itself sensible, even while the centering of the dome remained; yet it does not appear, as I have already said, that any immediate mischief followed the striking of those centres, and it was not till 1796 that the ultimate stability of the edifice was considered doubtful. At that time a commission of architects was appointed to examine the state of the building, and report on the best means of proceeding. These gentlemen examined the piers, and completely ascertained the defective mode of workmanship which I have above explained; and they found that the piers and columns under the dome, had settled irregularly in consequence of it. One pier had sunk five inches and two lines, French measure, the whole of which must have taken place in the height of the columns (thirty-seven feet eight inches), as every thing above and below was firm. Such defects in the workmanship seemed sufficient to account for the failure of the construction; but it was necessary to know, whether if perfect, the piers would have had sufficient solidity, and whether there was any defect necessary to be attended to in the disposition of the weight above. Soufflot made some experiments to ascertain the pressure which the stone ‘du fond de Bagneux’ used in these pillars, would support; but it appeared probable that the instrument he used was defective. Rondelet therefore repeated the experiments, both with Soufflot’s machine, and with one of his own contrivance. According to the first, each pier would support a weight of seventy million three hundred and sixty-two thousand, seven hundred and twenty pounds, supposing it to be a single block of stone; according to the last, of twenty-seven millions, three hundred and twenty-nine thousand two hundred and twenty-two; a tremendous difference, and yet the estimate is still probably too high, as even in Rondelet’s machine, some power is lost by friction. As however it is probable, that from the bad construction of the piers, the weight was not supported by more than a fourth part of the superficies; their strength, calculated on Rondelet’s machine, would not exceed six million eight hundred and thirty-two thousand, three hundred and five pounds, while the weight of a quarter of the dome was ascertained to be seven millions, four hundred and forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and eighty. We must, however, be careful how we make use of these combinations of experiment and calculation, since it would appear from them that the piers of the bridge of Neuilly, to support arches of 120 feet span, instead of 13 feet thick, as they actually are, need only have been about four inches, and the walls of a house five stories high, require only three lines and a half in thickness at the bottom. As for the distribution of weight the commissioners condemned the method adopted, owing to a change in the plan during the progress of the work, of making the drum of the dome pass a little on the outside of the line of the uprights; but they contented themselves with recommending the establishment of centering to relieve the weight, while the broken stones were removed, and replaced with such an incrustation carefully worked, as would be sufficient to sustain the whole building.

All the principal architects before Soufflot have given their domes a strong tendency towards the centre, but it does not appear to me that this is necessary, nor even in most cases expedient; nor was that of St. Geneviève faulty from the adoption of a different maxim, any farther than as it tended to throw a larger portion of the weight on the three-quarter columns at the acute angles of the piers.

The centres for this method of restoration were already ordered, when, at the solicitation of the builder, another examination by the inspectors of the Bridges and Ways was ordered by the minister. In France, the architects and engineers never agree; and therefore, in order to have an opinion of their own, these inspectors, although they could not help finding the same causes of failure, yet voted the centering proposed by the architects unnecessary; stating that the defective construction of the piers, and the consequent danger of the building, had been much exaggerated, and that the incrustation recommended was insufficient, and injurious to the beauty of the architecture; and instead of this, they advised the insertion of angular flying buttresses. This would have added to the load, without increasing the strength of the edifice, since the direct pressure, and not any lateral thrust, was the source of the evil.

The architects and engineers continued debating while the evil was increasing. Two mathematicians were appointed to examine the reasons on both sides, but they declined pronouncing which was right, and it was agreed that the architects, the inspectors, and mathematicians, should each report separately to the minister of the interior. Other commissioners were appointed in 1798, who were frightened at the progress of settlement which had taken place in the two years preceding, and requested the immediate erection of the centres proposed by the architects; but unfortunately they desired that M. Rondelet, M. Gauthier, inspector general of Ponts et Chaussées, and M. Patté, who had published in an early stage of the work, some observations on the insufficiency of the piers, should be joined with them. The indulgence of this request produced new difficulties and new debates. At last, in 1799, a commission of the members of the Institute recommended the completion of the erection of the centres; and this appears to have been executed; but nothing farther was done till 1806, when it was decided to restore the building to its original destination as a church. The pillars were rebuilt under the direction of M. Rondelet, on the principle at first recommended by the architects. The whole now seems perfectly firm, and the appearance of the building, if you will allow a person to judge who never saw it in its original state, not at all injured. It is certainly a beautiful edifice, the general proportions are good, and there is much grace and elegance in the outline; but there are also many defects. To begin, as usual, with the outside. The columns of the portico are too wide apart, there ought to have been eight instead of six in the front row. The two columns forming a projection on each side beyond the line of the portico, are great blemishes; very injurious to the general effect, and the more so, because they are palpably placed there for no other purpose than to enhance it; and the four internal columns on each side, are most awkwardly doubled against the external columns and the pilasters. If instead of these eighteen columns, there were sixteen, disposed like those of the Pantheon at Rome, this part would have been incomparably finer. The body of the building is too plain for the portico; the eye requires either pilasters, or something which might produce a similar effect, to be continued all round, in order to preserve the same character throughout the edifice, or at least some returns at the north and south entrances, of the magnificence of the western front. It is as necessary in architecture as in painting, to avoid every thing which makes an unconnected spot in the composition. The breaks which exist as apologies for the want of pilasters, have a foolish and unmeaning effect; and the uninterrupted continuance of an ornament of the height of the capital, is heavy and displeasing. Above this, the pedestal, if I may so call it, of the dome, by its plainness and simplicity, forms a relief to the more ornamented portions of the building, and affords a noble base for the upper part. The columns of the drum are well proportioned and well arranged. The attic above them is perhaps rather too high, and the flat ribs of the dome itself are objectionable, especially, distinguished as they now are, by being painted yellow on a gray ground. This dome is triple, and the outer is, in parts of its surface, only eight inches thick. It is not a portion of a sphere, but like those of most modern churches, would form a point, if the summit were not cut off to receive the lantern. This is right, where a dome is elevated, and surmounted by another form of edifice. In a building where a dome and its direct support constitute the whole of the apparent mass, or even where the dome forms the centre of a building, not very high in proportion to its extent, the portion of a sphere is better; but where the effect of height is intended, the somewhat pointed form of the dome maintains the general tendency to a pyramidal form. This is hardly accomplished at St. Geneviève, principally, however, I believe, from the injudicious truncated form of the lantern, which was not a part of the original design, but an addition of the present architect, and intended to support a colossal statue of Fame. It has never been finished; and perhaps when surmounted either with such a statue, or with a ball and cross, it will have a better appearance, because it will be more in harmony with the general form of the edifice. In the interior there is less to censure, and I never enter it without fresh pleasure. In its light and elegant appearance, it resembles the church of St. Stephen, Walbrook, more than any other edifice in England; and like that perhaps, is rather deficient in the solemnity which ought to accompany a religious edifice. There is no heaviness in any part, but in some respects rather the contrary appearance of insufficiency. The new piers are no stronger than seems necessary to support the work above; yet I must confess, that the disposition of the columns, forming the nave into squares, each of which is covered with a shallow dome, though giving an air of lightness, produces a certain degree of confusion, and is vastly inferior in majesty and sublimity, to a nave with a continued vault leading to one central dome. It is perhaps this circumstance, more than any other, which communicates an air of gaiety, one might almost say, of levity, to the interior. The four square pillars over the columns, which advance at the angles to support the smaller domes, are preposterously little. There are other defects in the details of the building, which I shall not point out to you; but in spite of them all, one cannot refuse it the rank of one of the most beautiful edifices in Europe. A stranger is usually conducted to the vaults below, whose long, low, gloomy arcades, produce a solemn impression; especially when connected with the idea of their destination to receive the illustrious dead. The individual objects they contain have no other merit. They consist of paltry wooden models of proposed monuments to Voltaire and Rousseau, and plain stone sarcophagi of some of the imperial generals and nobles.

The church of St. Roch was built by Mercier, for Louis the Fourteenth. It is pleasant to follow the boasted architects of that age, and to judge of their merits by comparing them with one another, and with their successors. That school is entirely gone by in Paris, and a very different one, more closely founded on the Roman architecture, has succeeded. Though sufficiently varied, they are however both French; as far as the buildings which have been erected enable us to judge. The design may show the taste and talent of the architect, but the adoption and execution are more connected with the taste of the age and country. In both schools there is much knowledge, and much imagination and ingenuity; in both there is a deficiency in purity and nobleness of taste; yet the present is certainly much preferable to the old. No modern architect would cut up his building so unmeaningly as is done in the front of St. Roch; nor would it be admired if he did. This is the design of J. R. Cotte in 1736, and has been much praised in its time—a short one for the durable productions of architecture. There are now, I think, several French architects who would produce a better design for the interior; for notwithstanding the effort to give effect by the succession of four edifices one within another, presented to the view at a single glance; and by the gilding and painting with which it is adorned, it is not impressive. It is, however, rich and showy, and deserves observation, independently of the sculpture with which it is ornamented, some of which is very good. In the extreme niche is a crucifixion in marble, illuminated by a concealed light from above, with very good effect; by the side of this is a calvary, where a similar management is attempted, but with less success, principally because there are several lights instead of one.

There is a great display of architecture both inside and outside of St. Sulpice, but neither the one nor the other is pleasing. The latter (the front at least) is by Servandoni, and is very much admired; but I think the defects are not merely in details, but in the choice of form, and the disposition of the principal parts. The use here made of two orders is not good, and the upper, with its piers and arches, and half columns resting on the insulated columns below, is quite too heavy. The lower part of the towers ought to have presented a considerable extent of plain surface, which would have seemed a proper basement to the superior part, and contrasted with the shadows of the portico, and with the multiplication of surface resulting from the colonnade in the centre; instead of which, in the present arrangement, the eye confounds it with the portico, and disconnects it with the towers. At the extremity of the church, behind the choir, is a little recess, with a statue of the virgin, illuminated by means of a concealed window, which is admirably managed. I walked through the church without being aware of what I had to expect, and thus coming upon it by surprise, the effect was enchanting. There is something of a purplish hue, either in the light or the material, which is a defect. The Ladies chapel, in which it is placed, is darkly rich in painting and gilding, and has but little light, most of which is by concealed openings just above the cornice, and directed towards the body of the church; and its general gloom very much enhances the effect of the illuminated figure. On looking externally at the recess or niche which contains the statue, it appears to have two small, oval windows, perhaps 12 inches by 9, precisely in the angle where the circular part unites with the body of the building. Internally, the light appears to proceed from one side, and from the top; perhaps the two windows were found too much, and one of them has been consequently stopt up.

St. Philippe en Roule is a handsome church, viewed on the outside, but I think looks better in an engraving than in the reality. The details are bad, and indicate great want of taste in the architect. In the interior likewise, the general design is good, and the details and ornaments defective; but the great fault of this church is, that it produces no sort of impression. I have not been able to satisfy myself to what this extreme tameness is owing; perhaps a very poor wooden ceiling may have some influence.

The extent of the Champs Elysées, and the Jardin des Tuilleries, the number of statues with which they are ornamented, and the gay crowd which peoples them, form a very striking scene, and prepare one for the lengthened front of the palace, to which they seem to belong; excepting its extent, however, this palace has no merit. Whether we consider the whole mass, or the parts of which it is composed; their proportions taken separately, or their proportions as component parts of one edifice; there is nothing to excite admiration; and even were the lower parts better, as long as the abominable high separate roofs remain, it is impossible that the whole should please. The central part, i. e. the middle pavilion, the ‘Corps de Logis,’ on each hand, and the two adjoining pavilions, were built by Catherine of Medici, from designs of Philippe de Lorme and Jean Bullant. Happy if it had never been extended any farther; for this part, though not in a pure taste, possesses some beauty, and the advancing terrace, supported on arches, has a pleasing appearance. Then came Ducerceau, who without any feeling for the general effect, added the two extreme divisions on each side, equally discordant between themselves and with what had been done before. Attempts were made under Louis XIV. to harmonize the whole, but the parts were too heterogeneous; and with its insignificant centre, the smallest division of the whole, and its overwhelming roof, this may probably boast of being the most conspicuously ugly piece of architecture in Europe. Passing through the archway, into the Place de Carousel, the size of the square, considered as the court of a single building, excites astonishment. The opening at present displayed must be equal to Lincoln’s Inn Fields; and when all the old buildings, which are now in the way, shall have been cleared off, there will be more than double that space. Still, however, the architecture is very bad, and the new part is made to correspond with all the breaks and caprices of the opposite side. This appears to me injudicious, as a few easy alterations in the old work would simplify and beautify it amazingly, and the internal arrangement would also have been benefitted. This old side forming a gallery of communication between the two palaces, was begun by Henry IV., under the direction of Étienne Duperon, continued by Louis XIII. and finished by Louis XIV. The new side was erected by Napoleon. After all this, the eye is hardly prepared for the vast length of the building displayed upon the quay. Indeed, whether from the gardens, the Place de Carousel, or the quay, the prevailing impression given by the palace of the Tuilleries is, that it is very large, and very ugly; but the immense extent always gives an idea of magnificence, and we must acknowledge it worthy of royalty. As compared with the public buildings in England, those of France have generally this advantage, that there seems to have been no want of power; and this alone gives a degree of pleasure. Their taste may not be good, but they seem to do all that it requires; whereas, in the buildings of London, it seems as if more would have been done, and more space occupied, if the means had been accessible. In France, on the contrary, inside and outside, the idea of ample space is always communicated. The inside of the Tuilleries I have postponed, in hopes that the king will go to Fontainebleau, which it is said he will do shortly.

We now come to the Louvre, which was begun by Francis I.; and one portion of it was completed under Henry II. Francis ordered designs from Serlio; who had, it is said, the modesty and good sense to prefer those of Pierre Lescot, abbot of Clugny, to his own, and magnanimity to say so. Every body knows the story of Bernini, who, on seeing the designs of Claude Perrault for the eastern front, told Louis XIV., that with such an architect in Paris, it was quite useless to send for one from Italy. Le Grand treats this as a fable, probably originating in what really took place between Serlio and Pierre Lescot. I do not like these transfers of generous deeds; they always lessen the faith with which one reposes upon their truth. Mercier, under Louis XIII., continued the designs of Lescot; enlarging however the plan, and erecting the central pavilion in the east side with the caryatides; the space between that and the angle having been originally intended to form the entire court. After building the celebrated gallery, Perrault erected a third order round part of the court, which was not completed till under Napoleon. The architecture of this building is very much superior to that of the Tuilleries, and I willingly add my suffrage to that of every body else, as to the beauty of its eastern front. In what does this beauty consist, what are its defects, and how might they on another occasion be avoided? These are questions very important to an architect, and such as he ought to apply to every fine building which he sees.

I think its beauty may be attributed to three sources. The simplicity of the outline, and general distribution; the excellence of the proportions; and the depth of the gallery, which gives a fine and impressive mass of shade. The chief defects are the great arched windows in the side pavilions, and the arch over the central doorway, cutting the basement entirely in two. The basement windows are rather too high, and they would probably be better if square-headed. The side doorways of the central pavilion are on the contrary rather too low. There is a certain want of simplicity, arising chiefly from the above-mentioned defects, but partly also from the division of the edifice into five parts, of which the centre wants consequence; and from the unequal spacing of the doubled columns. Compared with other edifices of that period, and even with those of the present day, the design is beautifully simple; but if brought to the standard of the beau ideal, we find something to desire in that respect. After all the admiration so constantly given to the simple architecture of the Greeks, and the praise so uniformly bestowed on those modern buildings which offer the same character of simplicity, it seems astonishing at first view, that it should be so difficult to persuade architects to be simple. The proportions, and even the ornaments of the basement, the columns, the entablature, and the balustrade, are just what one would wish. They are all beautiful, all suited to one another, to the general disposition, and to one essential peculiarity, which consists in the coupled columns of the galleries. I have heard it sometimes disputed whether single columns would not have been preferable. If the question be, whether a more beautiful building might not be formed by columns placed singly, than by columns placed in pairs, the discussion is reasonable, and perhaps the general and true answer would be in the affirmative; but it would no longer have been the same design. No one could propose to put a single column in the place of each pair: the straggling weakness of such an arrangement would be insufferable. They must be placed nearer together, and this would bring the windows nearer together. The lower windows would then appear crowded: other arrangements must be made to obviate this defect, one thing depending on another, till step by step the whole composition is changed. Perhaps it would have been better if the architect had omitted altogether the central pavilion, and continued the gallery in an unbroken line; all the piers and pairs of columns being equally spaced, and the three lower middle openings made a little larger than the rest, and brought down to the ground as doors. The side pavilions would have remained unaltered, except that the middle window of each on the principal floor would be of the same size and form as the others. This arrangement would not admit any carriage way, but the design is not calculated for a carriage way, and it would look better without one. In praising the ornaments, I ought to have excepted the oval tablets over the windows, which are not pleasing.

The front of the Louvre towards the Seine, is also a noble piece of architecture, very much in the style of the eastern façade, but it not only wants the relief produced by the deep gallery, but the single arrangement of the columns has obliged the architect to bring the windows of the basement too near together, and it consequently wants solidity and repose: here we see something of what modifications would be necessary to adapt single columns to this design, and their effect. Another example of this sort is at the Garde Meuble, in the Place Louis XV., and the building is very beautiful; yet the architect has not altogether succeeded, and this front is decidedly inferior to that of the Louvre. The piers of the basement are too slender, and the gallery wants the fine depth which gives so much effect to the celebrated work of Perrault. Added to this, the sham porticos of the side pavilions, with their unmeaning pediments, seem to be squeezed in between the two bits of wall which bound them. In the inside of the court of the Louvre we have quite another style of architecture, but this also is very fine. Though composed of a great number of little parts, yet with some exceptions the arrangement is clear and obvious, and the effect rich and handsome. Of the inside of this vast collection of buildings, I have seen only the rooms of sculpture, and the great gallery. The staircase to the latter is magnificent, but rather narrow for its object, its accompaniments, and for the scale of the building; and as for the rest, these rooms offer more to be avoided than imitated. In my dreams for buildings, which have been sufficiently numerous, I have sometimes endeavoured to obtain a gallery of enormous length, imagining to produce thereby a magnificent effect; but I am now completely cured of any such attempt; the result is neither grand nor beautiful, and though the multiplied faults of these apartments might be avoided, yet I am convinced that it is an arrangement which no art could render agreeable. These galleries are not at present open to the public, but I obtained an order of admission from M. du Fourny. The lower rooms are vaulted, with abundance of painting and gilding on most of the ceilings,^[14] but the effect is heavy; they are not high enough for such a disposition of their parts. The hall of the Apollo is a vault of no great elevation, with five smaller arches cutting into the principal one on each side, for as many windows and niches. The Apollo did occupy a niche at the end, with a column of granite on each side of it. The light falls rather too horizontally upon those statues which receive it the best, but those on the same side with the windows receive it from below, it being reflected from the pavement; at least this was very strongly the case when I was there, the sun shining brightly into the room.

The Salle du Laocoon has a somewhat similar arrangement, with three windows; the ceiling is rich with painting and gilding, and this is good; but the windows, instead of being cut up into the vaulting, are kept below a continued cornice, which makes the want of height more sensible, and renders the direction of the light still more unsuitable to the exhibition of the statues.

The Salle des Hommes illustres has seven windows. It is divided into three parts by eight columns of gray granite disposed in pairs, the middle division being the smallest. This disposition is bad. The middle division ought to have been the largest, and even then it would not deserve much praise; the ceiling of the end is coved, that of the middle groined; the walls are painted to imitate the granite columns. This would have been incomparably better done by our best London workmen; and as we may reasonably suppose that in such a situation, the best painters Paris could furnish were employed, it is fair to conclude that we exceed them in this respect. The room which contains the Diana has a waggon-headed ceiling, panelled and painted white, with gilt mouldings.

The handsomest room by far is the Salle des Muses, which has never been finished, but which contains nevertheless some very fine statues. The walls are covered with beautiful marbles, for the most part of a dark colour, which suits the sculpture exceedingly well; and they are finished with a very handsome cornice; but the vault occupies too large a proportion of the height, and is besides, all white, which makes it obtrusive.

The two middle parts of the great gallery of pictures are now occupied by tapestry; the other parts are still crowded with too many pictures, and a large portion are very fine pictures. The defect of height is here still more sensible than below. To look well, it should at least be half as high again, and even that would be scanty. The light is introduced differently in different parts. Sometimes there are skylights on both sides, and sometimes windows on one side or the other, or on both. The light is in most parts introduced rather too low, but if they were all lighted from the skylights there would be little cause to complain; and why they are not, it would be difficult to explain, for the external distribution of the openings would, I believe, give two ranges of windows, or windows and skylights, on both sides, all along. The ceiling is waggon-headed, the ornament rather frippery, and the divisions, which seem intended to indicate a suite of apartments, are not good in themselves, and have a very insignificant appearance. They are formed by arches springing from coupled columns; and here again is a paltry little central division: this however is not of much consequence, as the extravagant length does not permit one to catch the disposition at any single point of view.

The Palais de Justice is not a handsome building; the architecture of the wings is disproportionately small; they are not well connected with the centre; and the openings are everywhere too large. There are the materials of good architecture, but not well proportioned, nor well put together. It is very possible to spend a great deal of money to make a building beautiful, and utterly to fail, without any gross fault being committed; a truth of which many edifices both in France and our own country bear witness, and this among the rest. The inside is not better than the out, and the great hall, formed by a double vault supported on piers running down the middle, does no honour to the architect.

The Palace of the Luxembourg has a sort of ambiguous merit which it is difficult to understand. There is certainly something good in it, but I cannot undertake to define what that something is. Without dwelling on the rusticated columns and pilasters, repeated on each story, and the awkward manner in which the windows are inserted in the lower arches, we may observe, that the sort of half correspondence between the open arches of the gallery in the Rue Tournon, and the windowed arches of the elevated pavilions, is disagreeable; and that the central building is too trifling for the extent of the edifice. It would form a pleasing centre to the gallery only, supposing the pavilions taken entirely away. Or if the pavilions remain (with the loss, however, of the roof), an unbroken line of gallery would be better than one divided by this central elevation. On entering, the galleries to the right and left have a fine effect, which, however, is rather lost when we mount the little staircase to the galleries of painting: the rooms in which the paintings are exposed are not handsome. One of the finest of the internal parts of this building is probably the great staircase to the Chambre des Pairs. The paintings of Rubens you have heard enough of; they are rich and splendid, and that is all; the subjects are foolish, and the figures, for the most part, disgusting. Those of Vernet are good views, but one goes away and forgets them. There are some other works of the French school, of which those of Le Sueur and of Philippe de Champagne are the best.^[15]

The French admire the garden; I think it paltry, and the more so from its unmeaning length, extended to the observatory. Time, however, will improve it, by changing into trees the little sticks which now border the walks.

The court of the Palais Bourbon, or of the Corps Legislatif, does not at all satisfy my eye. The portico, and indeed, all the ornamental architecture, is too small in proportion to the mass which backs it. The pilasters are straggling, and this gives an appearance of littleness to the whole. On the opposite front, the grand portico wants depth; it seems a mere screen; and the middle door at least, ought to have had twice its present dimensions. The details of the mouldings and ornaments are but indifferent. I have heard it observed that the flight of steps is too high, and diminishes the apparent size of the columns; this may be true, but on the other hand, when a portico is extended to twelve columns, the composition will want height, and a lofty basement becomes necessary. Perhaps the architect would have done better to have used only ten columns in the same extent, and making them larger, brought them down to the first flight of steps. When an artist, instead of inventing new combinations, merely adopts the form of an ancient Corinthian temple, one has a right to expect that his attention should be peculiarly directed to just proportion, and beautiful ornament; but at the same time, this simple arrangement is so elegant in itself, and so rarely exhibited, that we must feel obliged to the artist who designed it, for having sacrificed the praise of ingenious novelty, to give so noble an example of the ancient form. If the opposite Temple of Glory, or Church of the Madelaine, should ever be completed, the assemblage of fine architecture presented to the eye from the Place Louis XV. could hardly be matched in the world.

One of the most boasted modern buildings in Paris is the École de Médecine. I do not much admire it; the front screen is overloaded by the high story resting on the columns; and within the court the range of smaller columns, running behind those of the portico, has a disagreeable effect. There is a complete entablature to the smaller order, but only the cornice of the portico is continued round the building, without architrave or frieze: as the entablature is always supposed to indicate the principal construction of the roof, this arrangement is preposterous. Sometimes, where the upper story is a mere attic, it may be supposed to be in fact in the roof, and the entablature will of course be below it. Palladio, and many Italian architects, consider the entablature as indicating floors, as well as the roof, but no theory will admit its introduction in the former case and its omission in the latter.

The Fountain in front is one of the erections of Napoleon, and certainly does no honour to his taste, or that of his architect: a semicircular recess for a shower of rain, with some columns in front, is its best appearance; but usually we see no indication of water, except the green vegetation it produces; and the adjuncts are as poor as the principal object.

The Palais Royal I have already mentioned. The Hotel de Ville has a certain richness of appearance, although it is not in a style of architecture capable of great merit, and even not one of the best examples of the sort. It is, however, as good as our Guildhall.

The Halle aux Blés is justly cited as one of the finest productions of modern art; not for its beauty, to which it has no claim, but for the simple and scientific construction of its noble iron roof; each rib is composed of two bars to form its depth, and a third is added towards the springing. These bars are united by cross bars, radiating from the centre of the circle, and this constitutes the whole of the supporting work; a net of square iron framing rests upon these ribs, and supports the plates of the roof; the diameter of this dome is 142 feet.

Napoleon ordered the erection of several Abattoirs, (i. e. places for slaughtering cattle, and for the wholesale meat market,) in the outskirts of the city, but within the barrières; these are not yet finished; they are very spacious and well disposed, but the one which I visited seemed to be placed too high to admit of a plentiful supply of water. I did not perceive any thing particularly good in the construction, but in the covering there were some experiments which deserve notice. They have used in some parts the Italian semicylindrical tiles, and seem very well satisfied with them, as forming a very light and perfectly water-tight roofing. It is not, however, quite correct to call them semicylindrical, as they are, in fact, the halves of frustra of hollow cones, the lower series being laid with the concave side upwards, and the upper with the concave side downwards, and covering the joints of the lower series. We seem in our pantiles to have aimed at uniting two of these tiles into a serpentine shape, and employing only one series. The chief object of this change arises from the want of a convenient method of fixing the upper tiles. In the Abattoirs these are not fixed, except by the cement, and no inconvenience has resulted in the two years which have elapsed since they were completed. In some cases the rafters are cut into triangular prisms, with the flat side downwards, and the lower tile lies very snugly in the intervals; but for this arrangement, either the tiles must be very large, or the rafters placed very close together. In others the lower tiles were made in the shape of trays, but it was found that the water did not run off as well from the flat surface as from the hollow, and consequently, that a sharper pitch was needful.

Paris is adorned with a number of fountains, many of which, it is true, are poor and paltry, but others are very handsome, and contribute much to the ornament of the city. Among these the ‘Fontaine des Innocens’ is the most admired, and is certainly one of the most beautiful little things in Paris. It was originally placed at the angle of a street; now it is quite insulated, and I conceive, looks better in its new situation than it could have done in the old one. A square building, perforated each way by an arch standing on a basement, and crowned with a dome, forms the whole composition, and though not without faults, it is truly a valuable production; the architect was Lescot, the author of part of the Louvre.

The Fontaine de Grenelle is also a handsome structure, although, if considered as a fountain, the supply of water bears no sort of proportion to the size of the edifice, and the centre is as usual, too small: both these fountains are ornamented with sculpture, which is both well disposed, and well executed for architectural effect.

The Chateau d’Eau, on the Boulevards, does more honour to the reign of Napoleon than the Fountain of the Ecole de Médecine. If spouting lions are not very natural, they have, at least, the plea of long use, and have been introduced into some very fine productions. They perhaps give a pleasing variety of outline, which otherwise, for a small edifice intended to be ornamental, would be too plain and unbroken. Admitting this liberty, the chateau has no affectation, but appears to be simply what it is. It may be said that this is rather the absence of a fault than a beauty; yet the absence of a fault so extremely common, and so difficult to avoid in buildings of this sort, may at least be esteemed a merit, if not a beauty; and the public voice acknowledges this maxim, for with this claim, and a good general outline, the building is sure to be admired.

There are two Roman antiquities at Paris. One called the Palais des Thermes, consists of one large room, now occupied by a cooper, somewhat in the form of a T, 62 feet long, 60 wide, and about 42 high. It is built of small stones and bricks, and vaulted with a groined arch; underneath, there are, according to Le Grand, three small vaults of unknown length; above is a garden, the earth of which lies immediately on the vault.^[16] The other is the aqueduct of Arcueil. We descend into a vaulted passage which leads to Arcueil, with a square channel for the water at the bottom; this is conducted into a stone trough considerably inclined and rounded at the end, the water running over the edges. I do not imagine this trough to be Roman, but the disposition shows off the brilliancy of the water beautifully. Clear as it is however, we are shown a crust of enormous thickness which had collected in the pipes, and which proves it to hold in solution a considerable quantity of calcareous matter.