c¢? ornell University Library 77 “amu ESSAYS AND PAPERS. ESSAYS AND PAPERS ON LITERARY AND HISTORICAL SUBJECTS. aed BY H. LONGUEVILLE JONES, M.A. MEMBRE CORRESPONDANT DU COMI14 HISTORIQUE DES ARTS ET MONUMENTS, REPRINTED, BY PERMISSION, FROM “ BLACKWOOD’S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE” AND OTHER PERIODICALS. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH, 36, SOHO SQUARE. 1870. Levy By | TT PRINTED BY T, RICHARDS, 37, GREAT QUEEN SIREET, W.c. PREFACE. THE Essays and Papers contained in this volume have already been published, now many years ago, princi- pally in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, The Gentle- man’s Magazine, and other periodicals. It was more consonant to the wishes of the author, on the advice of some friends, to give them a permanent and uniform existence : a project which the kindness of his sub- scribers has aided him in carrying into effect ; and the result has been the present volume. The circumstance of their having been originally composed previously to the year 1848, will account for some of the papers seeming to be incomplete and deficient in information. Thus the Paper on the ‘‘ Modern Schools of Art in France, Belgium, and Switzerland” was first printed before the invention of photography, the first public experiments in which marvellous art the author was allowed to witness, when Daguerre performed them im presence of the French Institute: otherwise, in the Essay alluded to, it would have been impossible to avoid making mention of a discovery that was destined to revolutionise the whole world of art, by the edu- cation of the public eye alone. When the author threw together his observations on Architecture, the vi PREFACE. great constructive cera of the Second Empire had not been called into existence in France: so that much of what is said in this volume about Paris must neces- sarily appear crude and incomplete. It has, however, been considered best to leave these Essays and Papers in their original shape, as the most genuine expression of the author’s opinions, while still in the enjoyment of health and good spirits: the compilation of them in their present collective form (to be followed, probably, by a collection of others drawn from similar sources) has given occupation and amusement for some of the weary hours, which must always accompany the couch of the invalid. The author’s best acknowledgements are due to Messrs. Blackwood and Sons, and to the Proprietors of the other periodicals, alluded to above, for their kind permission to reprint the Papers of these pages: and also to his subscribers who have enabled him to carry his wishes into effect. | I. II. IV. VI. VIL. VIII. CONTENTS. PAGE HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE AND LIVE IN IT. CHAP. I 1 » e si CHAP. II 18 » > 535 CHAP. HI 39 SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE ‘ 2 “Ov SKETCHES IN OLD FRANCE: BIRON AND THE BASTILE 68 s Pe PLACE DE LA GREVE . lod ar 56 VERSAILLES ; . 136 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND . 4 : C . 170 THE DUTCH CRITICS OF THE SIXTEENTH, SEVENTEENTH, AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES + ty a ke He He LITERARY LABOURS OF THE BENEDICTINES ne ESSAYS, ETC. I—HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE AND LIVE IN UE WeRE a true Beotian people after all: that’s a fact. We may talk about Attic art and Doric strength; but in our habits, no less than in our climate, we certainly belong to the wrong side of the hills. We've a stuffing and guzzling race, if ever there was one; we doat on great hunks of meat and flagons of strong drink; and as truly as every Paddy has got a hot potatoe some- where in his head, making him the queer, mad chap he is, So have we got a national brain compounded of pud- ding, and beef, and sausages, turning us into that stub- born and stolid people which we know ourselves to be, Sidney Smith expressed the fundamental idea of the English nation to a T, when he said that the ultimate end of all good government was a hot chop and plenty of claret; but, in saying so, he did no more than re- echo the burden of the old song, translated into more modern and fashionable language :— “ Back and side go bare, go bare ; Both foot and hand go cold; But belly, God send thee good ale enough, Whether it be new or old!” Ah! he was a splendid fellow that indited this song, B 2 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE and so was that other clerical wight who broached the idea :— “When I go to bed, then of heaven I dream; That is, of fat pullets and clotted cream i A real Devonian or Somersetian parson; but they spoke from the heart,—or rather from the stomach, jolly, good comfortable souls as they were; and their words go right home to the stomachs and hearts of all, wherever the British lion has the privilege of lashing his tail or shaking his mane. As to eating, quoad comedendum constipandumque, we keep up the Beeotic charter to the very letter and spirit of all its provisions; and in the moistening of our national clay, we certainly show a praiseworthy dil- gence; we wet it like bricks—and that’s a fact, too; but as for doing these important matters in proper places and at proper times, there, selon nous, we are lamentably behindhand with the rest of the unfledged, articulate-speaking, bipedal genus to which we have the honour to belong. And as it will be elsewhere shown in our pages, as clear as the sun at noonday (the truth of which beautiful and rare simile, gentle reader, varies con- siderably with the place where you may happen to use it —from Shoe Lane, London, to the Strada di Toledo at Naples), or as clear as—clear can be, that John Bull does not know how to put a decent coat on his back when he goes out to dinner ; so now it is to be essayed to show, that for all he may think otherwise, John has not got a comfortable, sensible house to go and eat his dinner in; that he does not know what a regular, good, snug, and snoozy chimney-corner is; and that, when he stumbles up-stairs to bed, he generally puts himself into a hole, but not what can be called a room—a real comfortable, respectable bed-room. We do not say that AND LIVE IN IT. 3 he might not have done so once—we know, on the con- trary, that he did; all we contend for is, that he does not do so now, and we don’t think he is in the right way to mend ; and, as John is a special friend of ours, —and so is Mrs. Bull, and all the little Bulls, who will be big, full-grown Bulls some day or other,—and as we like to make ourselves useful to the present generation, and hope to be agreeably remembered by posterity, therefore do we intend to take the Bull by the horns, and see if we cannot wheedle, coax, pull, push, or bully him into our way of thinking about rooms and houses. It is set down as a national axiom at the present day, that we are at the very head of the world in arts, arms, manufactures, laws, constitution, Church and State, literature, science—(any thing else ?—there must be something more ; to be sure there is)—money and rail- roads! and he’s no true Englishman, Sir, he’s not one of the British public, if he does not think so. We see it in print every day—it must be true; we've read as much in the Times, Herald, Chronicle, Post, etc.—for the last twenty years, and what all the world says must be so. Be it so, honest John, we honour your insular patriotism ; it’s a glorious principle, old boy, and ’twill carry you bravely through all the thicks and thins of life—“ sed audi alteram partem’—do put your nose outside your own door a bit, now that railroads are so plenty and cheap—do go abroad a little—just go and look at some of those foreigners in their own out- landish countries, and then think quietly over these matters again. Besides, who’s afraid of change now-a- days? Are we not making all these splendid mroads into the country, ay, and into the constitution ’—are we not going to have corn and cattle, and silk and cot- ton, and butter and cheese, and brandy to boot, all B2 4 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE brought to our own doors for nothing? We'll leave these other things alone—we will not argue about them now; let us talk about bricks and mortar, and suchlike, and see if we cannot open your eyes to the light of reason and common sense. Now, what is the end, object, and use of all habita- tions, houses, tenements, and premises whatsoever in this same united kingdom of our’s, and in this glorious nineteenth century, except to shelter a man from the cold, or the heat, or the damp, or the frost, or the wind, whichever may come upon him, or any part or parcel of the same ; and further, to give him room to hoard up, stow away, display, use, and enjoy all his goods, chattels, and other appurtenances ; and further, wherein to sit down with a friend or friends, as the case may be, to any description of meal that his purse can or cannot pay for, and then to give him room and opportunity either to spatiate for the good of digestion, or to put his India silk handkerchief over his bald pate, and snore away till tea-time? This being the very acme of comfort, the very object of all labour, the only thing that makes life worth living for, in the opinion of three-fourths of Queen Victoria’s loving subjects, it follows, that if they would spend that money they love so much in a rational and truly economical way, they should bear such ob- jects as these constantly in sight. This brings us, there- fore, to the enunciating, not for the last time, that great fundamental law of human operations—usefulness first ornament afterwards, or both together if you please: and not, as we see the law interpreted now-a-days— ornament and show in the first place, and usefulness and comfort put in the background. It is this backward reading of the great rule of common sense, that makes men so uncommonly senseless as we often find them to AND LIVE IN IT. 5 be; and when it comes in the way of building, it turns us into the least architectural and worst built nation of any in this part of Christendom. Taking into account the cost of erecting buildings, and the relative value of money in different countries, there are no towns in Europe where so little good building and so small a degree of architectural effect are produced as in those of “old England”. Poets and home tourists have af- fected to fall into rhapsodies of admiration at the beau- tiful neatness of our small country towns, at the un- paralleled magnificence of London, at the ostentatious splendour of our commercial cities, Liverpool, Bristol, etc. This is all very well for home readers, and for home reputation ; for there is nothing like a lot of peo- ple congregating themselves into a nation, and then be- lauding themselves and their doings up to the skies— there is nobody to say nay, and they can easily write themselves down the first people on earth. The fault is not peculiar to England; that vapouring coxcomb Crapaud is full of such nonsense; and that long-haired, sallow-cheeked, quid-chewing Jonathan, is still more ridiculously fond of indulging in it: but because it is one of the most offensive weaknesses of human nature, it is not therefore the less worthy of reprehension, and the sooner we try to throw off such false and morbid patriotism the better. The three towns of Great Britain, which, taking them in the general average of their com- mon buildings, their citizens’ houses, can be called the best-looking ones, are these :—first and fairest is dear Auld Reekie, next is Cheltenham, or rather Bath. The great metropolis we put out of the comparison, for metropolitan cities should be compared together ; but Edinburgh is facile princeps in the list of all habitable places—(Brighton, Leamington, Clifton, etc., are cer- 6 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE tainly not equal to it in point of good architecture and general effect); and Bath, now that its fashionable name has somewhat declined, may be looked on as the leader of our second-rate quiet kind of towns. Were we to make a fourth class of comparisons we would take our cathedral cities, and place Oxford at the head, be- fore Worcester, Exeter, and so forth. But we revert to our first proposition; and were we about to show a foreigner those places wherewith we could desire him to compare his own distant cities, we should take him to the three above mentioned. It is in these three places that the great essentials of use and ornament seem to us to be the most happily combined ; attempts are made at them in other quarters with various degrees of success, but here their union has been the most de- cided. Bear our opinion in mind, gentle reader ; and, when next you go upon your travels, see if what we assert be not correct. The style of house we most object to is Johnson’s— you don’t know Johnson! Why, don’t you recollect the little bustling man that used to live at the yellow house in the City Road, and that you were sure to meet every day, about eleven o’clock, in Threadneedle Street, or by the Bank Buildings? Well, he has been go suc- cessful in the drug line that he has left the City Road, and has moved into the far west, Paragon Place, Bryan- stone Square; and, not content with this, has taken a house at Brighton, on the Marine Parade, for his “Sun- day out”, as he terms it. He is a worthy fellow at bot- tom, but he has no more taste than the pump; and while he thinks he inhabits the ne plus ultra of all good houses, lives in reality in ramshackle, rickety, ugly, and inconvenient dens. The house in Paragon Place js built of brick, like all others; but the parlour story is AND LIVE IN IT. v stuccoed to look like stone, the original brick tint being resumed at the levels of the kitchen below and the drawing-room above. There are two windows to the said drawing-room—one to the dining-room ; and so on in proportion for the four stories of which the edifice consists ; but the back is a curious medley of ins and outs, and ups and downs; single windows to dark rooms, and a dirty little bit of a back-yard, with a square plot of mud at the end of it, called “the garden’; the cook says the “ airey” is in front; and Johnson knows that his wine-cellar is between the dust-bin and the coal-hole under the street. If you knock at the door you are let in to a passage too wide for one, but not wide enough for two, and you find at once the whole penetralia of the habitation lying open to your vision ; dining-room door on right hand, parlour door behind it; kitchen door under the stairs, and garden door at the end of the passage. You know the man’s whole household arrangements in a minute; and if he is not in the drawing-room (but Johnson never does sit there, his wife keeps it for company), it is of no use his pretending not to be at home, when you have your hand within a few feet of the locks of each door on the ground-storey. And then, though the passage is dark, for there is only the fan-light over the entrance, and the long round-headed window at the first landing, all full of blue and orange glass, you know that dinner is preparing ; for you see the little mahogany slab turned up to serve as a table near the parlour door, and such a smell comes up the kitchen stairs, that were you at the cook’s elbow you could not be more in the thick of it. Well, they tell you he’s in, and you walk up stairs to the drawing-room ; one room in front and the best bed-room behind; and Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s up- 8 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE stairs again over the drawing-room ; and the children’s room behind that—you can hear them plain enough ; and above all, no doubt, is the maid’s room, and the servant-boy’s who let you in; not so, the boy sleeps in the kitchen, and the front attic is kept for one of John- son’s clerks, for you might have seen him going up the second pair; and if he wasn’t going to his bed-room what business had he up-stairs at all? So that, though you have been in the house only five minutes, you know all about it as well as if Mortice, the builder, had laid the plans on the table before you. Well, Johnson won a picture in the Art Union some time since, and deter- mined to stick it up in the drawing-room, against the wall fronting the windows; so up came the carpenter ; and, as the picture was large, away went a tenpenny nail into the wall; and so it did go in, and not only in, but through the wall, for it was only half a brick thick; and, what with repeated hammerings, the bricks became so loose that the picture could not be safely hung there. So it was ordered to be placed against the wall opposite the fireplace—the wall of the next house in fact—and the same operation was going on, when old Mrs. Wheedle, the next door neighbour, sent in her compliments to beg that Mr. Johnson would have some regard for her hanging bookshelves, the nails of which had been all loosened by his battering-ram, and the books were threatening to fall on her tableful of china—she called it ““cheyney”—below. Again, on the other side lives, or rather lodges, Signor Bramante, the celebrated violoncello, and he practises in what he has made the back drawing-room, equivalent to Johnson’s best bed; but, the other day, when Smith came up from Birmingham to see Johnson, he could get no sleep for the first half of the night, Bramante having AND LIVE IN IT. ) occasion to practise till nearly one o'clock, for the Stabat Mater of next morning’s concert. So much for the substantiality of Johnson’s town-house. His rooms, too, to our mind, are of bad proportions, and most in- conveniently situated ; they are so low that it is im- possible to ventilate them properly ; he has always a flight or two of stairs to go up when he retires to bed, and his servants might as well live in a treadmill, for the quantity of step-treading that they have to per- form. There is no possibility of sitting in any one room out of a draft from either door or window, and there is not a single good cupboard in the whole house. As for ornament, there is none outside save the brass-knocker on the street door, for the windows are plain oblong holes in the walls; and, as for the in- side, the only attempts at it are the cheap and meagre stucco patterns of the cornices, and the somewhat tawdry designs of the paper-hangings. He pays seventy pounds a-year rent for it, however, and sets himself down as a lucky man, because with his rates, etc., he comes within the hundred. After all, when he goes to Brighton he is not much better off ; though, as he likes fresh air, he gets plenty of it there, through every window, door, and chimney of the house—for there the bow-windowed projection in front is made of wood, coated over with tiles, to look like bricks. There he never attempted any pic- ture-hanging fancies, the partition-walls would stand no such liberties being taken with them; there he can- not complain of not knowing what is going on in the town, for he can hear all that is said in the next house, by merely putting his ear to the wall. The most serious drawback, however, to his comfort in his marine resi- dence is, that while there he can never have a good- 10 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE sized dinner-party, inasmuch as his landlord made it a stipulation of the lease, that not more than twelve people should be allowed to meet in the drawing-room at the same time, and that no dancing whatever should be attempted within the dwelling. The Brighton man only built the house for fifteen years; whereas the London one was more provident, he guaranteed his for thirty. Johnson’s bed-rooms are, even the best of them, of moderate size, while the small ones are very small in- deed ; and into these small rooms he has stuck large four-post beds, that make them darker and more in- convenient than they naturally are, and leave room for hardly any of the usual evolutions of the toilette. What, indeed, with the big chest of drawers, like the big sideboard in the dining-room, it is as much as you can do to get about conveniently between the bed and the side walls; though one good thing the builder and furnisher have certainly effected—you can open the bed-room door, and you can stir the fire, and you can almost pull up the window-blind, without quitting the protection of the counterpane ; and this on a cold morning is something. Mrs. Johnson says that the arrangement of the area gate in Paragon Place is perfection itself; for she can see the butcher's boy, as he comes for his orders of a morning, while sitting at the breakfast-table, through the green blinds; and that the policeman dares not stop there, during daylight at least—she should be much too sharp upon him; so that the cook is twice as punctual as when they lived in the city. True; these are points of household management that have their weight ; but then Mrs. J. forgets that the dustman rings his bell there at most inconvenient hours, that AND LIVE IN IT. 11 the dirty coalheaver spoils the pavement once a month, and that it is a perpetual running up and down those stone steps, to shut the gate and keep dogs and beggars out, all day. However, the railings and the gate are not part of the house ; and, if people like to have their back-doors under their eyes, why, there is no accounting for their taste. We could not help thinking, the last time we went over to Paris, that our friend Dubois, the wine-merchant —he from whom we get our Chambertin, and who has about the same relative income as Johnson—was much better housed. His cellars are down at the Halle aux Vins, like every body else’s; and he is shut up there in his little box of a counting-house nine hours every day of his life; but he lives, now that he has moved from the Marais, in the Rue Neuve des Mathurins, which leads out of the Chaussée d’Antin. Here he has a premier, as they call it in Paris—or a first-floor, as we should term it in London; and he pays 2000 francs, or £80 a-year for it, with about 100 francs of rates and taxes. For this he has two drawing- _rooms, a dining-room, a study, six bed-rooms, kitchens, and cellars; some of the rooms look into the street, the rest run round the ample court-yard of the house. To get at him, you go up a flight of stone stairs that four people can easily mount abreast; when you enter his door, from the little hall paved with stone and marble, you pass from the sitting-rooms one into the other— for they all form a suite; while the bed-rooms lie mostly along a corridor, into which they open. Once up the two flights of stairs that lead to the doorway, and the mounting, whether for masters or servants, is done with. The kitchen is at the furthest end, away from the other rooms, and is approached by a back 12 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE staircase from the court-yard. There are no beggars nor dogs, nor butcher’s boys, nor other bores, except what the concierge at the gateway allows to come in; and though the street is rather noisy, being in a fashionable quarter, yet the court-yard is perfectly quiet, and free from all plagues of organs, singers, ete. The rooms are, one and all, twelve feet high; their windows down to the ground ; the floors of solid oak, polished till you can slide on them; the doors are in carved oak, painted white and richly gilt; the chimney- pieces are all marble—none of the flimsy thin slabs of Paragon Place, but good solid blocks, cut out from the red quarries of the Pyrenees; with polished brass dogs in the fireplaces, and large logs of flaming wood across them. The drawing-rooms are hung in silk on the walls ; the other rooms are tastefully papered. There is abundance of good furniture, which, from the ample size of the apartments—the principal room being thirty feet by twenty—-sets off the proportions of the dwell- ing without blocking it up. Dubois has not a four- post bed in his house ; no more has any man in France. They are all those elegant and comfortable things which we know a French bed to be; and the long sweeping folds of the red and white curtains that come down to the floor from the ceiling, form a grace- ful contrast to the curves of the other furniture. The walls are all of good solid stone, two feet thick on the outside; the house has been built these fifty years, and is of a better colour than when first put up; the windows are richly ornamented in their frames with- out, and form commodious recesses for settees within. You may dine twenty, and dance forty people here! or you may throw your rooms open, give a soirée (no boiled mutton affair, remember ; but music, dancing, AND LIVE IN IT. 13 and cards ; coffee, ice, and champagne), and cram each room full of people, and the landlord will never fear for the safety of his building. Now, there are three other sets of apartments in the same house, and above Dubois, not so lofty as his, but nearly as commodious, and all with their proportionate degree of elegance and solid comfort. Dubois has not got a house at Dieppe, it is true; but then, like all Frenchmen, he is so absorbed in his dear Paris, that he hardly cares to stir out from it. If ever he does, he runs off to Vichy or Mont Dor for a fortnight in the saison des eaux, and he is contented. But then, you will say, Dubois lives, after all, in another man’s house—he is only a lodger; whereas Johnson dwells in what the law calls his “castle.” Be it so; for the same money we would rather have the positive advantages of the one, en société, than the tasteless and inconvenient isolation of the other. And, after all, is Johnson more decidedly at home in his own house, than Dubois is in his “ appartement’ ? What does it matter whether you have people living on each side of you, with their street doors so close to yours that their wives or their daughters pop up their noses above the green blinds every time a cab or carriage drives up; or whether you have people who come in at the same gateway with yourself, and go up the same stairs, it is true, and who live either above or below you, and who can, if they like, run out on their landings to see who is thumping at your door panels? Upon our conscience as honest folks, who have lived in half the capitals of Europe, to say nothing of those of our own islands, we never found the slightest intrusion on privacy arising from the collecting of several families in the same house, in Paris, Rome, Florence, or Vienna. All we 14 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE know is, and we often think of it agreeably, that these continental houses seemed to us like so many social colleges, and that the having a set of rooms with a common staircase, used to put us in mind of dear old Christ Church, and of Garden Court in the Temple. ’Tis true that in the one set of rooms we had no fellow-inmates except our scout and dog, and every now and then a joyous set of fellows that would have made any place tolerable ; that in the other there was our old laundress and bed-maker, and our “boy,” and for a short time our “man,” and actually, upon our honour it is true, we did once see a client in them! whereas, in our continental suites of chambers, we were en faitile with wife, bairns, and “bonnes” to boot, and that we did purfois try the elasticity or the stretching powers of our camere pretty considerably, and did cram therein no end of guests. But on the whole, we have fairly made the experiment in propria persond ; we have weighed well friend John- son’s castellated independence, and U’am? Dubois’s social contignation ;—and, rent for rent, we prefer the latter. If we must live with two neighbours within a few feet of us, we would rather have one under us on the ground floor, and one above us on the second, and ourselves in the midst on the first, and all three clubbing together to live in a little palazzo ;—we would rather have this, than be crammed in between Mr. A. and Mr. B., each of us in a third or fourth-rate kind of house, with poor thin walls, small low rooms, dirty areas, melancholy gardens, shabby-genteel fronts, ugly backs, and little comfort. It may be said, and justly, that the idea of a man living in his own castle is applicable only to that state of society when large towns do not exist, inasmuch as the idea can be nothing more than an idea, and can hardly AND LIVE IN IT. 15 ever approach to a reality, the moment men begin to congregate themselves together in cities. Doubtless it is indispensable to all our notions of comfort, and of the due independence of social life—it is, indeed, one of the main elements of the constitution of a family, that a certain degree of isolation should be maintained and re- spected ; but we submit to the candid observer that the only difference between English cities and continental ones in this respect is, that Englishmen aim at “hori- zontal” independence, foreigners at “ vertical.” English- men form their line of location every man shoulder to shoulder, or rather elbows in ribs; foreigners mostly -get upon one another’s backs and heads,and form a living pyramid, like the clown and boys at Astley’s. By this arrangement, however, it comes to pass that for the same number of inhabitants much more ground is occupied by an English than by a continental town ; and also that each single dwelling is of mean, or, at the most, moderate architectural appearance, the great condition of elevation being wanting, and the power of ornamentation being generally kept closely under by the limitation of each individual’s pecuniary resources. Practically, we con- tend, there is quite as much comfort (we think, indeed, in many cases more) in the continental manner of ar- ranging houses as in the English one: while the former allows of and encourages architectural display, and in- deed requires a much more solid system of construction ; but the latter leads to the running up of cheap, slight, shabby-genteel houses, and represses all attempts at ex- ternal ornament as superfluous from its expense. Upon this subject we appeal to the experience of all who have dwelt for any length of time on the Continent; not to those who merely run across the water for six weeks or so, and come back as blind as they went, but rather 16 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE to those who have given themselves time and oppor- tunity enough for the film of national prejudice to wear away from before their eyes, and have been at length able to use that natural good sense with which most Englishmen are blessed by Providence. To them we would say that the plan of several families tenanting one large dwelling, clubbing together, as it were, for the erection of a handsome and commodious edifice, and just so far sacrificing their independence as to consent oc- casionally to run up against their neighbour in the common courtyard, or perchance to see his coat-tails whisking by their door up or down stairs, is the more sensible of the two. There is practically a great saving of walls, of spaces of support, as the architects term it, in this plan : great saving in roofing ; and, from the mere dimensions of the building, a certain degree of grandeur is necessarily given to it. This plan requires the edifice to be built court-fashion, and sometimes will admit of a good garden being appended: it also requires that a most useful servant, a porter, in a suitable lodge, should be kept by the little social community ; and everybody knows what an useful body the porter, or concierge, as the French call him, may be made. Just as bachelors join together in clubs, to the great promotion of their individual comfort, and certainly to the outward ad- vantage of a city, so should families join together for their civic residences ; they would all derive benefit from their mutual support, and the appearance of a town would be immediately improved. We do not say that any joining together of houses should take place in country, or even in suburban resi- dences. No; there let every man have a house to him- self; the foundation of the whole system is quite dif. ferent : and there is also a certain class of persons who AND LIVE IN IT. 17 should always have separate dwellings in a town ; but to these subjects we will revert on another occasion. We will only allude to one objection which the fas- tidious Englishman will be sure to raise: if you live under the same roof with one or more families, he will say, you must necessarily be acquainted with all the members of the same; you must, in fact, know what they are going to have for dinner, and thus must be acquainted with all the secrets of their household economy. Well, so one would undoubtedly expect to be the case: unfortunately, however, for the theory, the practical working of the thing is just the contrary : we do not know of any town where so much isolation is kept up as in Paris, though there men crowd together under the same roof, like bees into the common hive. We have lived ourselves, between the epochs of our bachelor or embryo state, and that of our full-blown paternal maturity, on every floor of a ‘Parisian house, from the entresol just over the stable, where we could lean out of our window of a morning, smoke our hookah, and talk to the ‘Jockey Anglais” who used to rub down our bit of blood, up to the cinquiéme, where in those celestial regions we could walk about upon our little terrace, look over the gardens of the Tuileries, (‘twas in the Rue de Rivoli, gentle reader !) all the way to St. Cloud and Meudon, one of the sweetest and gayest prospects in the world, by the by, and hold soft com- munings either with the stars or our next neighbours —(but thereby hangs a tale!) and yet never did we know the name even of any other soul in the house, nor they ours. Oh! we have had many an adventure up and down that interminable staircase, when we used to skip up two hundred and twenty steps to get to our eyry; many a blow-up with our old porter:—she was a U 18 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE good soul, too, was old Madame Nicaise;—many a time have we seen flounces and redingotes coming in and out of doors as we went up or down ; but actually we cannot call to mind the reality, the living vision, of a single in- dividual in that vasty mansion. On the contrary, we used to think them all a set of unsociable toads; and, in our days of raw Anglicism, we used to think that we might be just as well called in to “assist” at some of the charming soirées which we used to hear of from the porter : we did not then know that a Parisian likes to be “chez lui,” as he calls it, quite as much as an English- man. We should have lived on in that house, gentle reader, ad infinitum; but one day, on going up-stairs, we saw in ominous letters, on a new brass plate, “au troisiéme, de la cour,” Lecranp, Taitteur. Horror of horrors! ’twas our own man! we had not paid him for two years: we gave congé that evening, and were off to the Antipodes. CHAPTER II. WE spent last Sunday at Figgins’s at Brixton, No. 2, Albert Terrace, Woodbine Lane. A hearty fellow: good glass of port: prime cigar: snug box in the garden: and a bus every five minutes at the end of the road: a regular A. 1. place for a Sunday out, and home again in an hour and a half to our paradise at ; but we are not going to give you our address, or we should be pestered to death with your visits. Suffice it to say that Figgins’s is a good specimen of a citizen’s villa near London. Now there are several kinds of villas: there is the villa an London, and the villa not near: there is the villa ina row, and the detached villa: there is your lodge, and AND LIVE IN IT. 19 your park, and your grange, and your cottage orneée ; and best of all, in our opinion, there is—what is neither the one nor the other of all these—there is the plain old-fashioned country-house :—once a cottage, then a farm, then a gentleman’s house : irregular, odd, pictur- esque, unpretending, comfortable, and convenient. But Figgins’s is a new slap-up kind of affair; built within the last two years, and uniting in itself all the last improve- ments and the most recent elegancies. He has settled himself in a neighbourhood quite the genteelest of that genteel district : for, though merchants and men of yesterday, so to speak, the people of Albert Terrace show that they have respect for the good times of yore, and they admire the character of the fine old English gentleman : they pride themselves, moreover, on being a steady set of people, and they show their respect for things ancient even in the outward arrangements of their dwellings. Thus you enter each of the twenty little gardens, surrounding each of the twenty little detached houses, through gates with Norman pillars at their sides, that would have done honour to Durham or Gloucester: while the wooden barriers themselves are none of your radical innovations on the Greek style, nor any of your old impious fox-hunting five-bars, but beautiful pieces of fretwork, copied from the stalls of Exeter Cathedral, painted so nicely in oak, and so well varnished, that Stump the painter must have outstumped himself in their execution. Once within the gate, however, and the connecting wall—capped, we ought to have said, with a delicious Elizabethan cornice—all Gothic for- mality ends for the while; and you are lost in astonish- ment at the serpentine meanderings, the flowing lines, and the thousand attractions of the garden. An ill- natured friend, who went with us, took objection to the c2 20 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE weeping ash, in the middle of the circular grass-plot in front of the door ; but he altered his mind in the even- ing, when he found the chairs ranged under its sociable branches—and the Havannahs and sherry-coblers crowd- ing the little table made to fit round the central stem. *T was a wrinkle that, which he was not up to:—he was a Goth—a cockney. Figgins, though a Londoner, knows what’s what, in matters of that kind ; and shows his good taste in such a practical combination of the uéile with the dulce. On either side of the house the path- ways ran off with the most mysterious windings among the rhododendrons and lilac bushes, and promised a glimpse of better things in the garden behind, when we should have passed through our host’s atrium, aula, porticus, and viridarium. Figgins’s house has its main body, or corps de logis, composed of two little bits of wings, and a wee little retiring centre. The former have their gables capped with the most elaborate “ barge- boards,” as the architects term them, all fretwork and filagree, and swell out below into bay windows, with battlements at top big enough for Westminster Abbey. The centre has a narrow and exceedingly Gothic door- way, and one tiny bit of a window over it, through which no respectably-sized mortal has any chance of getting his head : and again over this is a goodly shield, large enough to contain the blazoned arms of all the Figginses. The builder has evidently gone upon the plan of making the most of his design in a small com- pass ; but he has committed the absurdity first of allow- ing subsidiary parts to become principals, and then of making the ornaments more important than the spaces : thus the centre is squeezed to death like a nut ina pair of crackers, and battlements, boards, and shield “ en- gross us whole,” by the obtrusiveness of their size and AND LIVE IN IT. 21 workmanship. Nevertheless, this facade, such as it is, struck us as beating Johnson's house, in Paragon Place, all to nothing : there was something like the trace of an idea in it, there was an aim or a pretension at some- thing : whereas the other is really nothing at all, and its appearance indicates absolute vacuity in the cen- tral cerebral regions of its inventor. Figgins has two good rooms on the ground-floor, a lobby and staircase between them, to keep the peace between their occu- pants, three good bed-rooms on his first, and four very small ones up amongst his gables: add to which, that he boasts of what he calls his future dressing-room, but what his wife says is to be her boudoir—we forget where —but somewhere up the stairs. All this again is much better than the Paragon Place plan—it shows that men recover somewhat of their natural good sense when they get into country air. Figgins has not got a great deal of room in his villa, it is true; but he and his nineteen neighbours are all suitably lodged ; and when they all go up to the Bank every morning in the same omnibus, can congratulate themselves on emerging each from his own undivided territory ; or when they all come down again in the afternoon, each in a different vehicle—(you never meet the same faces in the afternoon that you do in the morning trip ; we know not why, but so it is, and the fact should be signalised to the Statistical Society)— they can each perambulate their own eighth of an acre with their hands under their coat-tails in solemn dig- nity ; or their wife, while awaiting their arrival, and listening to the beef-steaks giving an extra fiz, wanders round and round again, or, like Virgil’s crow, “ Secum sola in magna spatiatur arena.” If Figgins had but insisted on having the back of his 22 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE residence plastered and painted to look more natural than stone, the same as the front—or, better still, if his ambition could have contented itself with the plain unso- phisticated original brick, we should say nothing against his taste—tis peculiar certainly, but he’s better off than Johnson. On the opposite side of Woodbine Lane, some wretch of a builder is going to cut off the view of the Albert Terrace people all over the narrow field, as far as the brick kilns, by erecting a row of contiguous dwellings some three or four storeys high, besides garrets, and they are to be in the last Italian style imported. One word is enough for them; the man who knowingly and volun- tarily goes out of town to live in a house in a row, like those lines of things in the Clapham Road or at Ham- mersmith, deserves to be sent with his house to ‘“‘eternal smash ;” he is an animal below the range of esthetics, and is not worth remonstrating with. One of these next days, when we take our hebdomadal excursion, we intend going to see old Lady de Courtain at Lowlands Abbey, near ; you can get to it in about twenty minutes by the Great Western. It is no abbey in reality, you know ; there never was any Foun- dation on the spot further than what Sam Curtain, when he was an upholsterer in Finsbury, and before he got knighted, had laid down in the swampy meadow which he purchased there, and then bequeathed to his widow; but it’s all the same ; it looks like an abbey ;—that is to say, there are plenty of turrets, and the windows have all labels over their heads, and there are two Gothic con- servatories, and two Gothic lodges at each of the two Gothic gates; and there is a sham ruin at the end of the “ Lake :” and if this is not as good as a real abbey, we should like to know what is. Old Lady de Courtain AND LIVE IN IT. 23 was perfectly justified in Normanising her name and her house :—why should she not ? she had plenty of money: had she been a man, she could have bought a seat for half a dozen boroughs, and might even have gone a step higher ; but, as it is, she has married her eldest daughter to the eldest son of Sir Thomas Humbug, a new Whig baronet ; and she calls her house as she pleases. We applaud the old lady’s spirit ; she has two other daugh- ters still on the stocks, and she gives good dinners ; we shall certainly go and patronise her. Comfort for com- fort, we are not quite sure but that we had rather take up our quarters with John Bold, Esq., at Hazel House, on the top of the hill opposite. It is quite a different- looking mansion, and yet the rooms are laid out nearly on the same plan: in the one all is Gothic, in the other all is classic: one is be-fretted, and be-pinnacled, and be-shafted, and be-buttressed ; but the other has a good plain Tuscan portico, like St. Paul’s in Covent Garden —plain windows wide and high, at enormous distances from each other—sober chimney-pots, that look as if they were really meant to be smoked, and not a single gimerack or fanciful device anywhere about the building. It’s only a brick house plastered, after all; but it has a certain air of ease and comfort and respectability about it, that corresponds to a nicety with the character of its worthy inmate. If the door were wide enough, you might turn a coach and pair in the dining-room ; there is a good, wide, low-stepped staircase ; you may come down it four-a-breast, and four steps at a time, if you like—and if it were well behaved so to do, but it isn’t; and your bed-room would make two of Figgins’s draw- ing-rooms, lobby and all. The house always looks to us as if it would last longer than Lady de Courtain’s; and so we think it will; just as we doubt not but that honest 24 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE John Bold’s dirty acres will be all in their proper places when Lady de C.’s three per cents shall be down at forty-two again, and her houses in the city shall be left empty by their bankrupt tenants. They live, too, in a very different way, and in widely distinct circles: at the Abbey you meet many an ex-civic notoriety, and many a rising hope of Lombard Street : it is a perpetual succession of dinners, dances, and picnics : at the House you are sure to be introduced to some sober-faced, top- booted, elderly gentleman or other, and to one or two rotund black-skirted individuals ; and you find a good horse at your service every morning, or the keeper is ready for you in proper time and season; and sometimes the county member calls in, or a quorum of neighbour- ing magistrates sit there in solemn conclave. One is the house of to-day, the other of yesterday : one keeps up the reminiscences of town, and of a peculiar part of town, rather too strongly ; the other actually smells of the country, and, though so near the metropolis, has nothing with it in common. Their owners, when they go to town, live, one in the Regent’s Park, the other in Park Lane. Another acquaintance of ours—and this we will say that we are proud of being known to him—dwells in an old-fashioned gloomy house at Petersham. He is a respectable old gentleman in a brown coat, black shorts, white waistcoat, and a pigtail; and is a member of the Royal Society as well as the Society of Anti- quaries. The house in question suits him, and he suits the house; it was built in the time of that wnprin- cipled intriguing Dutchman who came over here and drove out his uncle and beau-pére ; and it accordingly possesses all the heavy dignity of the Dutch houses of that period. The windows are pedimented and cased AND LIVE IN IT. 25 with mouldings; they are lofty and sufficiently nume- rous ; the doorway has two cherubs flying, with cab- bages and roses round the shell that hangs over it; and the lawns are still cut square, and have queer-shaped beds and parterres. There is something dignified and solemn in the very bricks of the mansion, wearing as they do a more regular and sombre hue of red than the dusty-looking things of the present day; and when you once get into the spacious rooms, all floored and pan- nelled with oak, you feel a glow of veneration for olden times—though not for those times—that you cannot define, but which is nevertheless excessively pleasing. While sitting in the well-stored library of this mansion, you expect to see Addison walking in at the one door, and Swift at another; and you are not quite sure but that you may have to meet Bolingbroke at dinner, or take a glass of wine with Prior or Pope. There are numberless large cupboards all over the place; you could sit inside any of the fireplaces, if the modern grates were, as we wish them, removed: and as for opening or slamming a door in a hurry, it is not to be done ; they are too heavy; no such impertinences can ever be tolerated in such a residence. And then our friend himself—we could tell you such a deal about him, but we are writing about houses, not men—you must go and get introduced to him yourself. Let it be put down in your pocket memoranda, whenever you hear of a house of this kind to let, either take it yourself or recommend somebody else, whom you have a regard for, to do so. It is not a handsome, stylish kind of house ; but it is one of the right sort to live in. Very little is to be said in blame, much in praise, of the majority of English country gentlemen’s houses ; if atrocities of taste be committed anywhere, it is princi- 26 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE pally near the metropolis, where people are only half- and-half rural, or rather are of that rus-in-urbe kind, which is in its essence thoroughly cockney. There is every variety of mansion throughout the land, every combination of style, and more often the absence of all style at all; and in most cases the houses, at least the better kind of them, are evidently made to suit the pur- poses of the dweller rather than of the architect. This ought to be the true rule of building for all dwellings, except in the cases of those aristocratic palaces or chateaux, where the public character of the owner re- quires a sacrifice of private convenience to public dig- nity. Houses that are constructed in accordance with the requirements of those that are to live in them, and are suited to the exigencies of their ground and situation, are sure to please longer, and to gratify the taste of a greater number of persons, than those which are the mere embodyings of an architect’s portfolio. This, however, requires that the principles of the archi- tect should be allowed to vary from the strict propor- tions of the classic styles ;—or rather, that he should be allowed to copy the styles of civil architecture, whether of Greece or Rome, or ancient Europe. The fault hitherto has been, that designers of houses have taken all their ideas, models, and measurements from the religious rather than the civil buildings of antiquity; and that they have thought the capitals of the J upiter Stator more suited to an English gentleman’s residence than the capricious yet elegant decorations of a villa at Pompei. In the same way, until very lately, those who call themselves “Gothic Architects” have been put- ting into houses windows from all the cathedrals and monasteries of the country, but have seldom thought of copying the more suitable details of the many mansions AND LIVE IN It. 27 and castellated houses that still exist. Better sense and better taste are now beginning to prevail, and we observe excellent houses rising around us. Of these, by far the larger proportion are in the styles of the Middle Ages; and for this reason, that the architects who practise in those styles have a wider field to range in for their models, and have also more thoroughly emancipated themselves from their former professional thraldom. There is also a very decided reaction in public taste in favour of the arts of the Middle Ages, or rather let us say, in favour of a style of national architecture ;— and as the Greek and Roman styles have little to con- nect them with the historical associations of an English- man’s mind, they have fallen into comparative disfavour. For one purely classic house now erected, there are three or four Gothic. The worst of it is, however, that from the low state into which architecture had fallen by the beginning of the present century, and even for some time afterwards, there has been no sufficient space and opportunity for creating a number of good architects adequate to meet the demands of the public; and hence, the greatest barbarisms are being daily perpetrated, even with the best intentions of doing the correct thing, both on the part of the man who orders a building and of him who builds. Architecture is a science not to be acquired in a day, nor by inspiration ; —nor will the existence of one eminent man in that profession immediately cause a hundred others of the same stamp to rise up around him. On the contrary, it requires a long course of scientific study, and of actual scientific practice; it demands that a great quan- tity of traditional precepts be kept up, and handed down from master to pupil through many generations of students and practitioners; it requires the accumu- 28 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE lation of an enormous number of good instances and examples ; and in most cases it is to be polished by long foreign travel. Now, all this cannot be accom- plished in an impromptu, off-hand manner: the profes- sion of architecture requires to be raised and kept up at a certain height of excellence through many long years: it is like the profession of medicine, of law, or the study of all scientific matters: when once the school of architecture declines, the practice of it de- clines in the same ratio, and the resuscitation of it becomes a work of considerable time. Such a regene- rating of architecture is going on amongst us: com- paratively more money is now laid out on buildings than at any preceding period for the Jast hundred years ; our architects are becoming more scientific and more accomplished : the profession is occupying a higher rank than it has lately done; and we may, therefore, hope for an increasing proportion of satisfactory results. If only the public eye be cultivated and refined in a similar degree, we may reasonably expect that some beautiful and notable works will be executed. Not, however, to launch forth into the wide question of architectural fitness and beauty, we will confine our observations to two special topics; one concerning the ornamentation of architectural objects, the other con- cerning the materials used in private dwellings. Thank goodness for it! but people are now begin- ning to see rather further than six inches beyond their noses, and to find out that if they adopt orna- ment as the starting point, and usefulness as the goal of their architectural course, they are likely to end in the committing of some egregious folly. Private per- sons are more convinced of this truth than public ones : and the unprofessional crowd more than professed AND LIVE IN IT. 29 architects. In the one case, as ornament costs dear, the pocket puts an effectual drag on the vagaries of taste ; whereas, in the other, public money is most commonly spent without any virtual control: and again, all architects are liable to descend to the pretti- nesses of their profession rather than abide by the great qualities of properly balanced proportion and de- sign, A bad architect, too, is always seeking after or- nament to conceal his mistakes of construction. In private houses, therefore, the superabundance of bad ornament, that was adopted after a period of its almost total disuse, is now giving way to a moderate employ- ment of it; but, in public buildings, the rage for cover- ing blank spaces, and for getting rid of sharp edges or corners, still continues. Persons who have not inquired practically into the matter can hardly believe how very meagre is the stock of ornament, with which nine archi- tects out of ten set up in their trade; looking at what they usually employ in the Greek or Roman styles, we observe that the details are generally debased clumsy copies of antiques, jumbled together with much incon- gruity, and commonly altered in proportions. We do not apply this to capitals and bases, which are now worked with tolerable precision, though even in these we observe a heaviness of hand and eye that detracts greatly from their effect ; we refer more particularly to mouldings, and to the decorations of cornices and friezes. Any one who has visited the galleries of the Vatican, or wandered over the Acropolis of Athens, will recollect the broad freedom and spirit with which the most graceful details are treated, and the total absence of stiffness or heaviness in any of the designs; whereas, whoever takes the trouble of lounging about London must prepare his eye for that overload of thick heavy 30 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE ornament which characterises what is now called the English style. The foliage of Greece and Italy was well worked in those countries, because the objects re- presented by the architectural sculptor were familiar to his own and to the public eye; his own eye committed no blunder, nor would the public eye have tolerated it. In the application, too, of the human form to sculptured ornament, the proportions and harmonies of the body were too well known and felt to allow of any egregivus errors taking place; hence, even in the decorating a frieze, the wonderful taste and skill of the Greek and Roman artists fully appear; whereas, in the hands of the English sculptor, such objects are purely mythical —he knows them only by imagination, not by reality, and he properly designates them as “fancy objects.” Hence their clumsiness, their heaviness, and their in- congruity. In all the ordinary details of modern com- mon house-building, the mouldings and enrichments ordinarily used are a very poor description ; decorators lived for a long time on the slender stores of the puerile and meretricious embellishments adopted from the French, and translated, if we may so say, for the use of the English public ;—they had lost the boldness and originality which made the style of Louis XIV tolerable, or rather agreeable ; and they had substituted in its place the poorest and the cheapest kind of details that could be worked. Let anyone go and find out a house in London, built between 1780 and 1810, and he will instantly remark the meagreness of which we are speak- ing. Grosvenor Square and the adjacent streets abound with houses of this kind; so does Portland Place. Carlton House was one of the most notable examples. In the stead of this, after the War, came in a flood of Greek ornament; every thing Roman was thrown aside; AND LIVE IN IT. 31 all was to be either Doric or Attic, with an occasional admixture of the Egyptian: the Greek zig-zag, the Greek honeysuckle and acanthus, Dorie flutings and flat bands for cornices, swarmed all over the land. Many an honest builder must have broken his heart on the occasion, for his old ornament-books were no longer of use; and he had, as it were, to learn his trade all over again. From poor Batty Langley, with his five orders of Gothic architecture, who was the type of ar- chitects towards the end of the last century, down to Nash, Smirke, and Wilkins, who had it all their own way at the beginning of the present, such was the com- mutation and revolution of ornamental propriety. These styles were not the only ones that had to go through changes of accessory parts, and to suffer from the caprices of those that dressed them up for public exhi- bition; the revivers of the medizval styles, the new and old Gothic men, ran also their race of absurdity and clumsy invention. It was long—very long, before they could make any approach towards a proper understand- ing of the spirit of their predecessors: all was to them a thorough mystery : and it is actually only within the last twenty years that any tolerable accuracy has been attained in such matters. Norman capitals used to be put on shafts of the fifteenth century, and perpendicu- lar corbels used in early English buildings: as for the tracery of windows, it was “confusion worse confounded” —architects there ran quite mad. In these classes of ornamental forms, the faults of awkward and ignorant imitators have been equally apparent: for just as Eng- lish sculptors have made the Greek acanthus and olive twine and enwreath themselves like Dutch cabbages and crab-trees, so the modern Gothics have made their water-lily, their ivy, their thistle, and their oak-leaves 32 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE twist and frizzle in preeternatural stiffness—while their griffins and heraldic monsters have ramped and regarded and displayed in the most awful and mysterious man- ner. Gothic decorators, too, fell into the mistake of over-ornamenting their objects far more than the pseudo- classical men did: what used to be called Gothic orna- ment in 1820—no longer ago than that—is now so in- tolerable that many an expensive building requires to be re-erected ere it can square with the laws of common sense and good taste. Gothic furniture-makers went wild in their peculiar art ; and there are still number- less magnificent drawing-rooms that require to be en- tirely refurnished ere their owners can lay claim to any portion of decorative discernment. Eaton Hall and Fonthill (while the latter stood) were two notable in- stances of this lamentable excess of Guthic absurdity. Windsor Castle is by no means free from blame; and in fact there is hardly a Gothic house in England, of modern date, that does not require the severe hand of the architectural reformer. To hit the due medium in such matters is not easy ; and the reason is, that in architecture we are all imita- tors, not originators: we are all aiming at renovating old things and restoring old buildings, rather than at inventing new ones: and the result is, that architectural genius and invention are thereby closely cramped and thwarted. To imitate all the details of an old style in the closest manner is indispensable when ancient build- ings are to be restored, or when an exact facsimile is to be produced in some new work; but for the ornamental powers of the architect to be perpetually tied down to one set class of forms, is to lower him to the level of a Chinese artist. Unless we are mistaken, it appears to us that the AND LIVE IN IT. 33 Greeks imitated nature in her most perfect and abstract forms of beauty: and that they, with their successors the Romans, or rather the later Greeks, sought for beautiful objects as adapted to architectural ornament, wherever they could find them. They were not pre- vented by any traditional or conventional proprieties from imitating and using the beautiful and the natural wherever they might exist: all the varied forms of nature would have come right to them had they been willing. They seem, however, not to have taken so wide a range as we should have expected; or else their works that have come down to us are so few in number that their choice seems to have been rather restricted. The Middle Age architects also took a wide or rather a free range in the forms of the vegetable and animal world : but they worked with barbarous eyes and stiff hands; nor till the twelfth century do they seem to have arrived at that artistical freedom and correctness which are requisite to interpret and to imitate the mul- tiplex forms of the natural world. As for the human figure, they confined themselves principally to draperied forms; and they imbued these with considerable ele- gance ; nevertheless, through all their operations, we trace a want of anatomical knowledge, which not all their ready invention can conceal, and which is scarcely compensated by the value of their sculpture, as a con- temporaneous illustration of medizeval history. Her- aldry seems always to have been a mystic and a mythic art ; and hence heraldic forms have a certain privilege of caricature and distortion from which it is in vain to try to emancipate them. Such being the case, it becomes a question—how should modern ornament be composed? In the classic styles, are we always to adhere to foreign foliage, foreign D b4 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE animals, and mythological figures: and in the Gothic styles, are we always to preserve the same rigidity and distortion which prevailed as long as those styles were in actual practice? We apprehend the true rule of eesthetics in this case to be, as we implied before, that for restorations or exact facsimiles of buildings, whether classical or medizeval, the very form as well as the spirit of the ornaments contemporaneously used in such build- ings should be most strictly adopted. An imitation, unless it is an exact one, is good for nothing, as far as architecture is concerned. But should we prevail on ourselves either to depart from these styles, or to carry out their main principles, so as to form a national style of our own—not a fixed one, but a style varying through different ages, suiting itself to the social requirements of each—then we should be prepared, not only to call im the aid of natural beauty to the fullest extent, but also to avail ourselves of all that rich fund of form which results from the extensive use of scientific knowledge, and the investigation of physical curves. There is no reason why such a style, or succession of styles, should not be formed, if the great principles of science and utility be taken as the substructure on which imagina- tion may afterwards raise its enrichment: and, if ever it come into existence, we have the unlimited expanse of the universe to range through in search of beauty and harmony. It is impossible to say what changes the introduction of new mathematical forms may not pro- duce, and produce with good effect: thus the beautiful curve of the catena would not have been known, but for the introduction of suspension bridges. The appli- cation of the cycloid is comparatively modern, though the curve itself is ancient ; and the grand effect of the horizontal line was not fully known—despite of Greece AND LIVE IN IT. 35 and Rome—till our interminable lines of railroad had stretched their lengths across the land. In the same way, our more extended and more intimate knowledge of the animal and vegetable kingdoms ought to furnish us with an immense variety of new and beautiful forms of ornament—we do not mean of mythic or fanciful ornament, but of that highest and best kind of decora- tion,—absolute, and yet partial, imitation of nature. Thus, for example, have we a blank space, extending horizontally to a long distance, which we desire to cover with enrichments? We have our choice, either in mathe- matical forms and combination of forms, such as me- dizeval architects might have applied; or else we may throw along it wreaths and branches of foliage, peopled with insect life, or enlivened by birds and animals. A succession of simple oak branches or laurel leaves, or the shoots of any other common plants, faithfully imi- tated, and cut into mimic life, from the inanimate stone, would form an ornament of the most effective kind, and would constitute a work of art, being an intelligent and poetical interpretation of natural beauty. In the build- ing of our houses, why should the straight line and sec- tions of the circle be the only lines admissible for doors, windows, and roofs? Why should the Greek and Roman ovolo, cavetto, and square, be the only combi- nations that we know of in our common mouldings? How much richer were the architects of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, who drew with “ free hands”, and gave us such exquisite effects of light and shade! We are firmly persuaded, that an architect, deeply im- bued with the scientific principles of his profession, and endowed, at the same time, with the hand and the eye of a skilful artist, might cause a most happy and useful reformation of our national architecture. D2 36 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE In our choice of materials for our common buildings, it appears that we are always struggling with a defi- ciency of pecuniary means: for we never yet met an architect whose skill was not thwarted, in this respect, by the necessities of his employer. Such a man would have built a splendid palace, only he was not allowed to use stone; another would have made a magnificent hall, had he been able to employ oak instead of deal. Whenever people are so situated that they are restricted in their choice of materials, they should remember that they are immediately limited, both in construction and in decorative forms; and, being so limited, it becomes an absurdity in them to aim at anything that is unreal, anything that is in fact beyond their means. This has been one of the curses of all architectural and ornamental art in modern times, that everything has been imita- tive, fictitious, sham, make-believe :—brick is stuccoed to look like stone, and fir is painted to look like oak. It is impossible for art to flourish when imitative objects can be accepted in the place of original ones ; for when once public taste becomes so much vitiated as to be easily satisfied with cheap copies of the real instead of the real itself, the productive faculties of the artist and the manufacturer take a wrong turn, and go directly to increase rather than diminish the evil. On architecture, the effects of a corrupted national desire for the cheap and the easily made are peculiarly disastrous: this being the least suited of all arts to anything like deception ; since, to be good, it must be essentially real and true. Hence it has arisen, that instead of being content with humble brick, and learning how to convert that material to purposes of ornamentation, the use of stucco and ce- ment has become universal—materials totally unsuited to our country and climate. The decorative portion of AND LIVE IN Iv. 37 architecture has fallen into the same track, and elabo- rate looking things in plaster, and fifty other substances —in the production of which art has had no share— have come to cover our ceilings and our walls. Had not, indeed, the repair and erection of public buildings called forth the dormant skill of our workmen, decora- tive art had long since become extinct amongst us. It may, therefore, be taken as a fundamental rule in archi- tecture, that the decorations of buildings should be made either of the same materials as the edifices them- selves, or that. more costly substances should be com- bined with the former, and should serve for the decorator to exercise his skill on. Thus the combination of stone with brick, an old-fashioned expedient, is good, because it is justified by all the exigencies of constructive skill, and because it is founded on common sense. Look for what effective buildings may be thus produced at Lin- coln’s Inn, the Temple, St. James’s, and several of our colleges in the universities: how intrinsically superior are these to the flimsy shabby buildings of Regent Street and its Park: even old Buckingham House was good in comparison with some of these. Or go to Hampton Court and Kensington, and see how much grandeur may be produced by proportion and well-com- bined decoration, without any cement, stucco, or paint, to bedizen the walls. If a man cannot be content to adopt plain brick, with such instances as these before his eyes, let him travel forth a little, and see the effect of the great brick buildings in Holland, or the south- west of France, where admirable churches and public edifices are erected of this material. Sculptured orna- ment is of course out of the question in such a case as this: nothing but stone will bear the chisel and mallet, to produce any effect that shall satisfy the eye and judgment of the lover of natural beauty. 38 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE We protest strongly against all terra cotta imita- tions of sculptural forms; but for geometrical figures they are allowable, and their stiffness, if justified by sufficient. solidity, will be found highly suitable for buildings of such a kind. Whenever the means of the employer are ample enough, let him make up his mind to sink a little addi- tional capital, and build a good stone house, that shall last him and his family for a couple of centuries, instead of a rickety edifice, that can endure for only a couple of generations. And, in this case, let him call in the de- corative aid of the architect, to whatever amount his taste dictates. Ornament, to be effective, need not be abundant; it should be employed sparingly rather than the contrary; and, if kept in its proper place, and limited to its due purposes, it will reward its owner’s eye, and will prove a permanent source of artificial satisfaction. Good stone-work without, and good oak-work within, will make a house that a prince may live in. A good house, well built and well decorated, is like a good coat —there is some pleasure in wearing it; it will last long, and look well the whole time; it will bear reparation ; and (though we cannot say the same of any short-cut, upper Benjamin, or jacket we ever wore—we wish we could) it will always fetch the price given for it. We have plenty of the finest stone and timber within this snug little island of ours, and it is entirely our own fault that we are not one of the best-built people in the universe. AND LIVE IN IT. 39 CHAPTER III. Havine disposed of two grand categories of mistakes and absurdities in house-building, viz., lightness of structure and badness of material, we shall now address ourselves more particularly to the defects of Arrange- ment and Form, or, as an architect might term it, to the discussion of Plan and Elevation. The former task was ungrateful enough; for therein we had to attack the cupidity and meanness, and the desire for show and spurious display, which is the besetting sin of every Englishman who pays poor-rates; but the present undertaking is hardly less hopeless, for we have to appeal to the intelligence, not only of architects and builders, but also of those who commission them. Now, there is nothing drier and more unprofitable under the sun, nothing more nearly approaching to a state of addle, than a builder’s brains. Your regular builders (and, indeed, not a few of your architects) are the sorriest animals twaddling about on two legs; mere vivified bags of sawdust, or lumps of lath and plaster, galvanised for a while, and forming themselves into strange, uncouth, unreasonable shapes. A mere“ builder” has not two ideas in his head;—he has only one; he can draw only one “specification”, as he calls it, under dif- ferent forms; he can make only one plan ; he has one set of cornices always in his eye; one peculiar style of panel; one special cut of a chimney. You may trace him all through a town, or across a county, if his fame extends so far; a dull repetition of the same notion characterises all his works. He served his apprentice- ship to old Plumbline, in Brick Lane; got up the Car- penter’s Vade Mecum by heart; had a little smattering 40 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE of drawing from Daub the painter, and then set up in business for himself. As for Mr. Triangle the archi- tect, who built the grand town hall here, the other day, in the newest style of Egyptian architecture, and copied two mummies for door-posts, and who is now putting up the pretty little Gothic church for the Diocesan Church-and-Chapel- Building and Pew-Extension So- ciety, with an east window from York, and a spire from Salisbury, and a west front from Lincoln—why, he is the veriest stick of a designer that ever applied a T- square to a stretching-board. He has studied Wilkins’s Vitruvius, it is true, and he has looked all through Hunt’s Tudor Architecture ; but his imagination is as poor as when he began them; he has never in his life seen one of the good buildings he is pirating from, bar- ring St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey ; he knows no- thing finer than Regent Street and Pall Mall, and yet he pretends to be a modern Palladio. It will not do, all this sham and parade of knowledge; we want a new generation, both of architects and builders, before we shall see anything good arising in the way of houses— but as this new progeny is not likely to spring up within a few days, nor even years, we may as well buckle to the task of criticism at once, and find out faults, which we shall leave others to mend. And, to lay the foundation of criticism in such matters once more and for ever, let us hasten to assert that good common sense, and a plain straightforward perception of what is really useful, and suited to the wants of cli- mate and locality, are worth all the other parts of any architect’s education. These are the great qualities, without which he will take up his rulers and pencils in vain ; without them, his ambitious facades and intricate plans will all come to nothing, except dust and rubbish. AND LIVE IN IT. 41 He may draw and colour like Barry himself; but unless he has some spark of the genius that animated old Inigo and Sir Christopher, some little inkling of William of Wickham’s spirit within him, some sound knowledge of the fitness and the requirements of things, he had better throw down his instruments, and give it up as a bad job; he'll only “damn himself to lasting shame”. A moderate degree of science; an ordinarily correct eye, so as to tell which is the straightest, the letter I or the letter 8; and a good share of plain common sense; —these are the rea] qualifications of all architects, builders, and constructors whatsoever. One other erroneous idea requires to be upset; the notion that our modern houses, merely because they are recent, are better built and more convenient than an- cient ones. If there be one thing more certain than another in the matter, it is this; that a gentleman’s house built in 1700, is far handsomer, stronger, and more convenient, than one built in 1800; and not only so, but if it had fair play given it, would still out- live the newer one, and give it fifty years to boot ;— and also that another house built in 1600, is stronger than the one raised in 1700, and has still an equal chance of survivorship; but that any veteran mansion which once witnessed the year 1500, is worth all the other three put together—not only for design and durability, but also for comfort and real elegance. Pick out a bit of walling or roofing some four or five cen- turies old, and it would take a modern erection of five times the same solidity to stand the same test of ages. Let it not be supposed that our ancestors dwelt in rooms smaller, or darker, or smokier, than those we now cram ourselves into. Nothing at all of the kind; they knew what ease was, better than we do. They 42 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE had glorious bay windows, and warm chimney corners, and well-hung buttery hatches, and good solid old oak tables, and ponderous chairs : had their windows and doors been only a little more air-tight, their comforts could not have been increased. First of all, then, with regard to the plans best suited for the country residences of the nobility and gentry of England—of that high-minded and highly-gifted aristo- cracy, which is the peculiar ornament of this island,— of that solid honest squirearchy, which shall be the sheet-anchor of the nation, after all our commercial gents, with their ephemeral prosperity, shall have dis- appeared from the surface of the land, and have been forgotten ;—the plan of a house best suited for the “Fine old English Gentleman”; and we really do not care to waste our time in considermg the convenience and the taste of any that do not rank with this class of men. It is absurd for any of the worthy members of that truly noble and generous class of men, to try to erect reminiscences of Italy, or any other southern clime, amid their own “tall ancestral groves” at home, here in old England. They have every right in the world to inhabit the palaces of Italy, which many a needy owner is glad to find them tenanting; they cannot but admire the noble proportions, the solid construction, the mag- nificent decorations, which meet their eyes on every side, whether at Genoa, at Verona, at Venice, at Florence, or at Rome. But it by no means follows, that what looks so beautiful, and is so truly elegant and suitable on the Lake of Como, will preserve the same qualities when erected on the banks of Winder- mere; those lovely villas that overlook the Val d’ Arno, and where one could be content to spend the rest of one’s days, with Petrarch and Boccaccio, and Dante, and AND LIVE IN IT. 43 Michael Angelo, and Raffaele, will not bear transplant- ing either to Richmond or Malvern. The climate and the sky and the earth of Tuscany and Piedmont, are not those of Gloucestershire and Warwickshire ; what may be very harmonious in form and colour when con- trasted with the objects of that country which produced it, may have the most disagreeable effect, and be exces- sively inconvenient, in another region with which it has no relation. Not that the proportions of style and the execution of detail may not be reproduced in England, if sufficient taste and money be applied,—but that all surrounding things are out of harmony with the very idea and existence of the building. The vegetable world is different ; the external and internal qualities of the soil jar with the presence of the foreign-looking mansion. An English garden is not, nor can be, an Italian one ; an English terrace can never be made to look like an Italian one; those very effects of light and shade, on which the architect counted when he made his plans and elevations, are not to be attained under an English sky. The house, however closely it may be taken from the last Palazzo its noble owner lived in, will only be a poor-looking copy after all; and he will wonder, as he paces through its corridors and halls, or views it from every point of the compass on the outside, what can be the cause of such a failure of his hopes? He hoped for, and expected, an impossibility ; he thought to raise up a little Italy in the midst of his Saxon park. Could the experiment end in anything else than a failure ? Every climate and every country has its own pecu- liarities, which the inhabitants are bound to consult, and which all architects will do well to observe closely before they lay down their plans. The general arrange- ment, the plan of a house, will depend upon this class 44 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE of external circumstances more than on any other ; while the architectural effect and design of the elevation will have an intimate relation to the physical appearance of the region, to the ideas, the pursuits, and the history of its people. Thus it was with the ancient Greeks and Romans, as we find their domestic life revealed to us at Pompeii. In that delicious climate of Campania, where the sun shines with a whitening and ever unclouded splendour, and where winter's frosts may be said to be unknown, the great thing wanted was shady coolness, privacy, and the absence of all that might fatigue. Hence, in the arrangement of the Pompeian villa, windows were comparatively unknown: the rooms were lighted from above; the aperture for the light was open to the sky; whatever air could be procured was precious. Colon- nades and dark passages were first-rate appendages of a fashionable man’s habitation. His sleeping apartment was a dark recess impervious to the sun’s rays, lighted only by the artificial glare of lamps, placed on those elegant candelabra, which must be admired as models of fitness and beauty as long as imitative art shall exist. He had not a staircase in all his house, or he would not have it if he could help it. The fatigue of lifting the foot in that hot climate was a point of importance, and he carefully avoided it. The house was a regular frigi- duriwin. It answered the end proposed. It was com- modious, it was elegant—and it was therefore highly suitable to the people and the place. But it does not, therefore, follow that it ought to be imitated in a northern clime, nor indeed in any latitude, we would rather say in any country, except Italy itself. Few parts of France and Germany would admit of such erec- tions—some portions of Spain and Greece might. In AND LIVE IN IT. 45 Greece, indeed, the houses are much after the same plan, but in Spain only portions of the south-eastern coast would allow of such a style of building being con- sidered at all habitable. Place, then, a Pompeian villa at Highgate or Hamp- stead—build up an Atrium with an Impluvium, add to it a Caldarium, if you please, and a Viridarium, too,— and omne quod exit in um: but you will not thereby produce a good dwelling-house ; far from it, you will have a show-box fit for Cockneys to come and gape at ; but nothing else. Now, if we would only follow the same rule of com- mon sense that the Greek or Roman architect did on the shores of the Parthenopcean Gulf, we should arrive at results, different indeed, but equally congruous to our wants, equally correct and harmonious in idea. What is it that we want in this foggy, damp, and cloudy climate of ours, nine days out of every ten? Do we want to have a spacious colonnade and a portico to keep off every ray of a sun neither too genial, nor too scorching? Are the heavens so bright with his radi- ance that we should endeavour to escape from his beams? Are we living in an atmosphere of such high temperature, that if we could now and then take off our own skins for a few minutes, we should be only too glad to do so? As far as our own individual sen- gations are concerned, we would that things were so ; but we know from unpleasant experience that they are far otherwise. We believe that every rational householder will agree with us, that the first thing to guard against in this country is cold, next wet, and, thirdly, darkness. A pf man who can really prove that he possesses a thoroughly warm, dry, and well-lighted house, may write himself | | 46 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE | down as a rerum dominus at once; a favoured mortal, one of Jove’s right-hand men, and a pet of all the gods. He is even in imminent danger of some dreadful calamity falling upon him ; inasmuch as no one ever attains to such unheard-of prosperity without being visited by some reverse of fortune. He is at the top of the fickle goddess’s wheel, and the least impulse given to one of its many spokes must send him down the slippery road of trouble. Nevertheless, though difficult to attain, these three points are the main ones to be aimed at by every English builder and architect ; let him only keep them as the stars by which he steers his course, and he will come to a result satisfactory in the end. One other point is of importance to be attended to as a fundamental one, and indeed as one of superstruction too. From the peculiarly changeable nature of our climate, and from the provision that has to be made for thoroughly warming a house, there is always a danger of the ventilation and tbe drainage being neg- lected. Not one architect in a hundred ever allows such “insignificant” points as these to disturb his re- veries. All that he is concerned in is his elevation, and his neatly executed details ; but whether the inhabi- tants are stifled in their beds with hot foul air, or are stunk out of their rooms by the eftluvia of drains, are to him mere bagatelles. No trifles these, to those who have to live in the house; no matter of insignificance to those who have an objection to the too frequent visits of their medical attendant ! In the first place, then, a gentleman’s country house should be thoroughly warm. Now, of course, a man may make a fire-place as big as Soyer’s great range at Crockford’s—poor dear Crocky’s, before it was reformed -—and he may burn a sack of coals at a time in it; and AND LIVE IN It. 47 he may have one of these in each apartment and lobby of his house—and a pretty warm berth he will then have of it; but it would be no thanks to his architect that he should thus be forced to encourage his purveyor of the best Wallsend. No: rather let him see that the walls are of a good substantial thickness—none of the thin, hollow, badly-set, sham walls of the general run of builders; but made either of solid blocks of good ashlar stone, with well-rammed rubble between, and this rubble again laid in an all-penetrating bed of pro- perly sanded mortar with plenty of lime in it, and laid on hot, piping, steaming hot, if possible—and the joints of the stones well closed with cement or putty ; or else let the walls be made of the real red brick, the clay two years old or more, well laid in English bond, and every brick in its own proper and distinct bed of mor- tar, as carefully made as before, and the joints cemented into the bargain. Nor let any stone wall be less than thirty-six, nor any brick wall than thirty inches thick ; whereas, if the house exceeds two stories in height, some additional inches may yet be added to the thick- ness of the lower walls. These walls shall be proof against all cold, and if they be not made of limestone, against wet also. “ But all this is horridly expensive! why, a house built after this fashion would cost three times the amount of any one now erected upon the usual specifi- cations!” Of course it would. Materials and labour are not to be had gratuitously ; but then, if the house costs three times as much, it will be worth three times more than what it would otherwise fetch, and it will last more than three times as long. “ But what is the use of building for posterity ? what does it matter whether the house is a good one in the time of the next 48 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE possessor but six? Why not ‘run up’ a building that will have a handsome appearance in the present, my own life-time, and if my descendant wishes for a better one and a warmer one, why let him build another for himself? Add to which it will grow so dreadfully old- fashioned in fifty years hence, that it is a hundred to one if it is not voted a nuisance, and pulled down as an eyesore to the estate!” Such is the reasoning commonly used when any architect more honest, more scientific, and more truly economical in his regard for his em- ployer’s means, ventures to recommend the building of a mansion upon principles, and with dimensions, which can alone fully satisfy the exigencies of his art. We take leave, however, to observe, that such ought not to be the reasoning of an English nobleman or gentleman. In the first place, what is really erected in a proper and legitimate style of architecture, be it classical: or me- diseval, can never become “ old-fashioned” or ugly. Is Hampton Court old-fashioned and ugly? is Audley End so? are Burghleigh and Hatfield so? If they are, go and build better. Is Windsor Castle so? Yes, a large portion of it is; for its architecture is not very correct ; and though it has been erected only so few years, in another fifty the reigning sovereign—if there be a sovereign in England in those days—will pull down most of it, and consider it as sham and as trumpery as the Pavilion has at length been found out to have been all along. True; if you build houses in a false and affected and unreal style of architec- ture, they are ugly from the very beginning; and they will become as old-fashioned as old Buckingham House or Strawberry Hill itself, perhaps in the life- time of him who owns them; or else, like Fonthill, they will crumble about your ears, and remain as monu- AND LIVE IN IT. 49 ments of your folly rather than of your taste. But go and build as Thorpe, or Inigo Jones, or Wren used to build. Or even, if you will travel abroad for your models, take Palladio himself for your guide, or Phili- bert Delorme, or Ducerceau, or Mansard; and your erections shall stand for centuries, and become each year more and more harmoniously beautiful. Next, your house should be dry; do not, then, go © and build it with a slightly-framed low-pitched roof, nor place it in that part of your grounds which would be very suitable for an artificial lake, but not for your mansion. Do not be afraid of a high roof; but let it tower up boldly into the air; let there be,as the French architects of old used to term it most expressively, a good “forest” of timber in its framing; cover it with lead, if you can—if not, with flag-stones, or else, if these be too dear, with extra thick slates in as large slabs as can be conveniently worked, and as may be suitable to the framing,—least of all with tiles. “ But, good gracious! what ideas you have got of expense! Why, sir, do you know that such a house would cost a great deal of money! and besides this, I am almost certain that in ancient Rome, the houses had quite flat roofs, and even in Italy, at the present day, the palaces have remarkably low-pitched roofs !” Rome and Italy go to the —— Antipodes! Did you not stipulate that the house should be dry? do you think that the old Italians ever saw a good shower of rain in all their lives? did they? ‘ Nocte pluit totd,” is all very well in the poet’s fugitive inscription ; but did they ever see a six weeks’ rain, such as we have every autumn and spring, and generally in June and July, to say nothing of January and February, in Devonshire? My dear sir, if you wish to lie dry in E 50 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE your bed, and all your family, too, to the seventh gene- ration, downwards, make your roof suited to the quan- tity of rain that falls; pitch up its sides not less steeply than forty-five degrees, and do not be afraid if it rises to sixty, and so gives you the true medieval proportion of the equilateral triangle. Do you consider it ugly ? Then we will ornament it; and we will make the chimney-stalks rise with some degree of majesty, into an important feature of the architectural physiognomy of the building. Are you grumbling at the expense, as you did just now about that of the walls? What then! are you a Brummagem manufacturer, or some dirty cot- ton-spinner? have you no faith in the future? have you no regard for the dignity and comfort of your family? are you, too, bitten with the demoralising commercial spirit of the age? are you all for self and the present ? have you no obligations towards your ancestors? and are you unwilling to leave a name to be talked of by your posterity ? Why, to be sure it may tighten you up for five or six years; but then do not stop quite so long in London: make your season there rather shorter, and do not go so often to Newmarket; and keep away from White’s or Boodle’s; and do not be so mad as to throw away any more of those paltry thousands in contesting the county. Let the Parliament and the county take care of themselves; they can very well spare an occa- sional debater like yourself; the “olorious constitution” of old England will take no harm, even if you do not assist in concocting the humbug that is every year added to its heterogeneous mixture. Lay out your money at home, drain your land, build a downright good house for yourself; do not forget your poor tenants, set them a good example: and let us put a proper roof on Hambledown Hall AND LIVE IN IT. 51 Providing, however, that the worthy squire actually consents to pull out a few more hundreds, for the sake of having walls of proper thickness and roofs of right pitch, it does not quite follow that his ground-floor rooms will be dry, unless the mansion is well vaulted underneath, and well drained to boot. We have known more than one ancient manor-house, built in a low dead flat, with a river running by, and the joists of the ground-floor resting on the soil, and, yet the whole habitation as dry as a bone; but still more numerous are the goodly edifices which we have witnessed, built on slopes, and even hills, where not a spoonful of water, you would say, could possibly lodge, and yet their walls outside all green with damp, and within mildew, and discoloured loose-hanging paper, telling the tale of the demon of damp. When you are seriously bent on building a good house, put plenty of money under ground ; dig deep for foundations, lay them better and stronger even than your superstructure; vault every- thing under the lower rooms—ay, vault them, either in solid stone or brick; and drain and counter drain, and explore every crick and cranny of your subsoil ; and get rid of your land-springs; and do not let the water from any neighbouring hill percolate through your garden, nor rise into a pleasing jet-d’eau right under the floor of your principal dining-room. If you can, and if you do not mind the “ old-fashioned” look of the thing, dig a good deep fosse all round your gar- den, and line it with masonry ; and have a couple of bridges over it; you may then not only effectually carry off all intruding visits of the watery sprites, but you may keep off hares from your flower-beds, two-legged cats from your larder, and sentimental ‘cousins’ from your maids. You may thus, indeed, make your Hall gE2 52 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE or mansion into a little fortified place, with fosse and counter-scarp, and covered way, and glacis; or at any rate, you may puta plain English haw-haw ditch and fence all round the sacred enclosure ; and depend upon it that you will find the good effects of this extra ex- pense in the anti-rheumatic tendencies of your habita- tion. And now for the plan of your mansion, for the Ground Plan—the main part of the business—that, on the pro- per proportioning and arranging of which the success of your edificative experiment entirely depends. Here take the old stale maxim into immediate and constant use, “Cut your coat according to your cloth”; and, if you are a man of only £2000 a-year, do not build a house on a plan that will require £10,000 at least of annual income to keep the window-shutters open. Nor, seeing that you are living in the country, attempt to cramp yourself for room, and build a great tall staring house, such as would pass muster in a city, but is ex- ceedingly out of place in a park. Asa matter of do- mestic eesthetics, do not think of giving yourself, and still less any of your guests, the trouble of mounting up more than one set of stairs to go to bed, but keep your reception and principal rooms on the ground floor, and your private rooms, with all the bed-chambers, on the floor above. Since, however, you have determined on going to the expense of a proper roof, do not suppose that we are such bad architectural advisers as to recom- mend that the roof should be useless. No ; here let the female servants and the children of the family, per- haps, too, a stray bachelor friend or two, find their lodging ; and above all, if you are a family man, if you have any of those tender yearnings after posterity, which we hope you have, introduce into the roof a fea- AND LIVE IN IT. 58 ture which we will remind you of by and bye, and for which, if we could only persuade people that such a very old and useful idea were a new one, and our own, we would certainly take out a patent. There should, then, be only two stories in a gentle- man’s country residence, and a dormer or mansard story, if we may so term it, in the root ;—we will not be so vulgar as to call it a garret,—nor yet so classical as to resort to the appellation of an attic. If, therefore, you require a large house, take plenty of ground, and lay out all your rooms en suzte. Let all the offices, whence any noise or smell can arise, be perfectly detached from the dwelling part of the mansion :—such as the kitchens, sculleries, laundries, ete. They should all be collected into a court with the coach-houses and stables on the one side, and the whole range of the domestic offices on the other. Never allow a kitchen to be placed under the same roof as your dining-room or drawing-room : cut it off completely from the corps de logis, and let it only communicate by a passage ; so shall you avoid all chance of those anticipatory smells, the odour of which is sufficient to spoil your appetite for the best dressed dinner in the world. If you would have any use for the vault under your house, keep all you cellar stores, and all your “dry goods” there ;—it will be a test of your house being well-built if they do not show any effects of damp after a few months’ stowage, below the level of the soil, yet in aére pleno. We do not mean to say that we would put one of our best and newest saddles, nor our favourite set of harness, in one of the lower vaults, to judge of the dampness of the house ; but depend upon it, a pair or two of old shoes form ex- cellent hygrometers; and you may detect the “dew- point” upon them with wonderful accuracy. 54 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE “ But only look at how you are increasing the cost of the house by thus stretching out the walls, and really wasting the space and ground!”—What! still harping on the same string—that eternal purse-string ! —still at the gold and the notes? If you go on at this rate, my good sir, you will never do anything notable in the house-line. Take a lesson from Louis XIV, when he built Versailles ;—that sovereign had at least this one good quality,—he had a supreme contempt for money ;—it cost him a great deal no doubt, but it is “ Versailles!” nec pluribus impar;—why, it is a quarter of a mile long, and there is, or rather was, room in it to have lodged all the crowned heads of Europe, courts, ministers, guards, and all. Never stint yourself for space; the ground you build on is your own; it is only the extra bricks and mortar ;—the number of windows is not increased by stretching the plan out; the internal fittings are not an atom more expensive. Be at ease for once in your life, and cast about widely for room. And now, dear sir, if you can but once remove this prejudice of cost from your mind, you may set at de- fiance all those twaddling architects who come to you with their theories of the “smallest spaces of support”, and who would fain persuade you that, because it is scientific to build many rooms with few materials, there- fore you ought to dwell in a house erected on such principles,—and that they ought to build it for you. You may send them all to the right-about with their one-sided contracted notions : is the house to be built for your sake or for theirs? who is going to inhabit it— you or they? who is to find out all the comforts and discomforts of the mansion—the owner or the architect? —If you, then keep to your two stories and to the old English method of building your house round one or AND LIVE IN IT. 55 more courts. Go upon the old palatial, baronial, or collegiate plan; no matter what may be the style of architecture you adopt, this plan will be found suitable to any. The advantages of it are as follows: first of all, it gives you the opportunity of having your rooms all en swite, and yet not crowded together ; next, it is more sociable for the inmates of a large country mansion to have the windows of their apartments looking partly inwards, as it were to the centre of the house, and partly outwards to the surrounding scenery; and, thirdly, it requires, and it gives the opportunity of having, that most admirable and most useful appendage of any large mansion,—a cloister, or covered gallery, running round the whole interior of the court, either projecting from the plane of the walls—and, if so, be- coming highly ornamental ; or else formed within the walls,—and, if so, giving an unusual degree of warmth and ventilation. In this damp and uncertain climate of ours, just consider how many days there are in the course of the year, when the ladies and the children of a family cannot stir out of doors, not even into the gardens; and then think of what a comfort it would be, to have a dry and airy and elegant promenade and place of exercise within their own walls. There the children may scamper about, if it be a proper cloister external to the house, and make that joyous noise which is so essential to their health, without any fear of annoying even the most nervous of mammas. Within an instant they may all be under her own personal inspection, and yet they may have their perfect freedom. Here may the ladies of the family walk for hours on a wet day, and enjoy themselves without trouble, and with the facility of being at home again in a minute. If the court is well laid out as a flowery parterre, and the 36 HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE. greenhouse is made to contribute its proper supply of plants to the cloister, it becomes converted into a kind of conservatory, and forms of itself an artificial or winter garden. Both a cloister, and an internal corridor with windows opening into the former, may very appro- priately be constructed together, and then the accom- modation of this plan is complete. Whoever has lived in a cloistered and court-built house will know the convenient and comfortable feature we would here point out :—it is especially suited to the climate of England, and to the domestic habits of Eng- lish families ; it is one of the most ornamental features a house can possess; it gives great facilities to the waiting of the servants; it makes the house warm rather than cold; and it adds greatly to the comfort of the whole. “But, then, the additional cost !’—let the cost be burnt! have we not entered our caveat against all such shabby pleas? Take this along with you, good sir,—do the thing well, or don’t do it at all. II. SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE.* THERE is an ancient mansion we often go to, just where the hills of Herefordshire rise confounded with those of Radnor, built in the reign of James I, and, as common report goes, due to the genius of Inigo Jones. It is erected in a long line north and south, with the princi- -pal fronts east and west; on either side of the mansion prim-looking gables rise over the windows of the third storey, and stately chimneys keep guard on the roof above. The windows are all ample, well and fitly monialled and transomed. The colour of the stone is a rich warm-tinted gray, passing on the western front into orange-shades of glorious hue; and the whole edifice wears the aspect of nobility and good taste. Ample gardens with terraces and lawns are spread around, and the tall avenue of limes that leads down from the ancient gates on the main road, is answered by a goodly belt of contemporaneous oaks and beeches ‘circling round the gardens, and shutting them out from the rest of the estate. When you enter the great hall, you observe large square bay windows, and, in the re- cesses, deer skins spread out for carpets, with halberds and other arms filling up the corners. The lower rooms are all wainscoted with black oak, and the furniture, mostly as old as the mansion itself, is of that solid stately kind, which befitted the dignitied style in which our ancestors gloried to live. As you mount the ample stairs, you find yourself amidst an endless series of por- * A sketch from Nature. 58 SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. traits, from the time of the bluff tyrant King Hal, down to the homely age of good King George,—stiff gentle- men and ladies in doublets and ruffs,—others with cuirasses and long, flowing hair, and black dresses and love-locks, be-speaking the well known Cavalier prin- ciples of the House in the times of the Rebellion ; and ever and anon gentlemen in long, three-quarter frames, with many a square yard of pink or blue velvet for their coats, cuffs turned up to their elbows, waistcoats big enough to make surtouts for any of us degenerate moderns ; the forefinger and thumb of one hand on the pommel of the sword, the other gently placed on some gilded table,—the head turned disdainfully aside, or else courting with graceful pride some comely dame in a green negligé, or habited as a shepherdess,—the Cory- don and Chloe of the court of Queen Anne. The staircase leads to an enormous drawing-room, that looks as if some three or four other rooms had been thrown into one, with two bay windows on one side, and a fireplace—ah! sucha fireplace !—on the other. But here no personages more ancient than the days of George the Second are allowed to show their canvasses on the walls,—the great grand- fathers and grandmothers of the present possessors,— the men looking like rakish Quakers, the ladies all in flimsy white muslin, straw hats, and powdered locks. They may have more interest for those to whom they are related ; but we always consider them much worse company than their progenitors on the staircase,—those glories and beauties of an earlier day, whom they are themselves destined to join hereafter, when thrust out from their present quarters by a future squire. A stray Sir Joshua may be seen in one corner of the room, and an early Sir Thomas is by one of the windows, The furniture here is of that remarkable, rickety kind, SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. 59 which our own dads admired so much, when this nine- teenth century of ours was making its appearance, and which—but we may have bad taste herein—we would willingly consign en masse to the kitchen fire or the broker’s shop. Not far from the drawing-room door runs off one of the many long corridors of the mansion, and there at the end is the Closed Chamber. It has never been usedsince the year 1718, when the young lady, one of the daughters of the house, that used to sleep in it, lost her lover, who had been out for the “right cause”, and paid with his head for his loyalty to a dethroned sovereign; and she, poor girl, walked into the great fish- pond one night, and was found in the tangled weeds by the old gardener next morning. The squire of that day, her disconsolate father, had the pond immediately drained off, and it is now one of the prettiest flower parterres of the garden: but the Lady’s Elm is still pointed out at one end—a shattered, withered trunk— twas under it the poor thing’s body lay. And now at nightfall, and in the depth of the night itself, long- drawn sighs and the rustling of stiff silk may be heard along the passage and by her room-door, while within, —but no one knows nor even talks of what is within ;— all that is really known is, that once in the autumn, tis now fifty years ago, when the old housekeeper was alive, on a peculiarly still night, while the family was away up in London, and no one but two or three ser- vants left in the gloomy mansion, the door of the cham- ber burst open with a loud noise, and such a crash was heard within, followed by an unearthly shriek, that the people in the servants’ hall below nearly went out of their minds through fright. Next morning, when the gardener had called in the village constable and the 60 SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. smith, and all three had mounted the stairs and had come to the mysterious door, they found, within a wainscoted room, a worm-eaten bed of ancient form, all in a heap on the floor; one of the windows was broken in, the cobwebs were blowing about in the wind that whistled through the apartment; over the chimney- piece was a portrait, so black that it could be hardly made out, only they could see that it had once shown the lineaments of a young officer’s face: but there was nothing—absolutely nothing, to indicate the cause of the disturbance during the night. It is true that the smith, as he was going out, picked up a ribbon near the chimney, which he maliciously declared he knew to be Betty the housemaid’s garter: but nothing more ever came of it, so the window was mended, the shutters were closed, and the door has ever since been fastened up with stout coffin screws. There’s not a servant that would go to the end of that passage at night, and listen with her ear at the keyhole (though they all say they would not mind doing it at any other door in the house), no, not for a twelvemonth’s extra wages ! We have slept in many a chamber of that goodly and hospitable mansion: there was the bachelor’s room, a nice little square apartment, about twice as high as it was broad, all panelled in oak, which, however, some Goth of a squire had painted light blue; with a fire- place that would let not only the bachelor, but eke the bachelor’s better half, creep inside on a winter’s night ; and with a curious kind of a bed, not higher from the ground than your knee, but with thin light posts spiring up some dozen of feet aloft, and supporting a superfluity of green damask, enough to make a tent with. In the panel over the fireplace was an apology for a looking- glass, once deemed, no doubt, an uncommonly correct SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. 61 thing, all cut in facettes and diamonds at the sides, and diversified with bouquets of flowers tied by true-lovers’ knots in the middle. “T'was no doubt a bridal gift to some fair lady in the time of King Charles, and then might have gloried in a frame of gold; but now its glories were departed, and, for us at least, it served no higher purpose than to display the horrors of our bristly chin. There’s no position in the world more comfortable for a bedroom mirror than over the fireplace; shaving can there be conducted with science and with gusto. And every other panel opened by some wonderful kind of fastening, into a cupboard big enough to stow away more habiliments than ever in our bachelor days we were likely to possess. A quaint little gogele-eyed commode, tortured into fanciful elegance, filled up one corner of the room; and a nondescript table de toilette occupied the other. Here, in a three-cornered arm- chair, the senior piece of furniture in the whole room, have we watched over the flickering ashes of the wood- fed fire for hours; and often when we had shaken hands with our worthy host at ten, have we prolonged our vigil till early morn, amused with the acute ribaldry of Tom Jones, or lost in the intricate wit of Tristram Shandy. The wintry blasts would make the old case- ment rattle, but we only gave the flaming log another turn ;—crack ! crack! would go the wood, over went another leaf of the book, and so we continued till taper and eyelid alike failed us. The Yellow Room was also a capital place to take up your quarters in for the night; there was very pretty sleeping in that vasty bed, where some four might snore side by side, and yet never doubt but that they were each sole occupant of the couch. But it was some- what melancholy to turn in there by yourself; your 62 SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. taper, though it burned as bright as wax could make it, served to illumine only a small portion of the middle space, while in each corner of the apartment was a mass of black nonentity, of darkness visible, that might make you superstitious and ghostlike. It was something like going to bed in Westminster Hall; and from the fire- place to the bedside, when in the last stage of des- habille, was quite a journey. But there was such a host of arm-chairs with soft, downy cushions, such a bevy of footstools, such a goodly couple of ottomans, such a preponderating wardrobe, and such ample splash- ing-room on the marble surface of the toilette, that here you could expatiate in the morning, and could walk in and out and round the chairs and tables and footstools and ottomans, and back again, for a mile or two before breakfast, simply while dressing. Here were some famous pictures of Cupids and Venuses, and a view of the park gates, and a drawing of the alcove at the end of the long walk, and an enormous sampler that must have taken two or three years to work, with B. W. A.D. 1732, ending the series of devices. Here, too, were some portly bottles of arquebusade and elder-flower water always kept over the mantel-piece, and a set of steps, like a small flight of stairs, to mount up into bed by; but the books on the shelves were of a staid and approved description,—Dryden’s Virgil, The Spectator, and The Whole Duty of Man, keeping in countenance the sober black-letter Bible and Common Prayer, that held their accustomed station by the bedside. This was the chamber where the neighbouring squires and their dames, when they “crossed the country in a car- riage and four’, coming some five-and-twenty miles to dinner, used to be lodged for the night. It had once been the nuptial chamber of our worthy host, but SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. 63 he has long since betaken himself to a quieter and less expansive berth. Up above, and on the higher storey of the house, runs a long gallery, from one end right to the other— like the corridor of a barrack—with bedroom doors opening into it on either side at frequent intervals. Here are lodged the young ladies and gentlemen of the family ; the governess and the tutor. The nursery is at one extremity, and the ladies’ working-room at the other. The gallery is thickly matted all the way along; and on its walls are hung all those productions of the arts which are not judged of sufticient excellence to be admitted down stairs. There is an enormous map of the estate, and a bird’s-eye view of the house, and the first Hower-piece by aunt Mary, when she was a little girl at school in Bath, and Mr. Henry’s black spaniel stuffed, under a glass case. Here, on a wet day, the children can take their wonted exercise, and have even a game at cricket, if necessary; here the lady’s maid and nurse-maid sit in the afternoon and work; here, anyone who is a very particular friend of the family is allowed to come up and “see the children”; here you may have a swing or a romp according as you are in- clined; and here, you cannot but confess, that you have found out one of the most useful and comfortable features of the whole edifice, an in-door promenade, a domestic gymnasium. We have been admitted into every room in the house, big and little, up stairs and down stairs. We know the quaint little smoking parlour that was, now turned into the squire’s “office”, or justice room. Here he meets his steward and sits at a desk like any wealthy cotton lord in his factory ; here he keeps his guns and fishing rods; and here, on a small set of shelves, are his books 64 SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. —Burn’s Justice, and Taplin’s Farriery; here one of his dogs is sure to be lying before the fire, and some aged tenant or his wife is ever coming in to ask for some little favour or other, which the kind landlord seldom refuses; here he determines what fields shall be put down in turnips this year, and what vagabonds shall be put in the stocks; in short, it is the sacrarium of the house,—the place where the primum mobile of the whole is stationed ; and, in our eyes, one of the snug- gest and most useful appendages of the mansion. Leading out from this room is a door that you might suppose would conduct you into a closet—but no; it opens on a flight of steps, down which you descend a little, and then find yourself at the edge of an opening that looks like a well. This was part of the ancient manor house, or castle, which was destroyed in one of the Border feuds, when the Welsh and English, in the time of Owen Glyndwr, used to give each other rather warm receptions. It then formed the dungeon or prison, which each chieftain of the March country had within his residence, and where he could detain refractory tenants or unpleasant neighbours. The worthy squire has now turned it into his Madeira cellar, and keeps in it a hogshead of the most particular East India that ever left the island and crossed the Line. He has it under his own special lock and key ; tastes it only now and then, and threatens to keep it in the cask till his eldest son comes of age. The real cellars themselves are goodly things to see ; none of your cramped-up wee bits of things that they build now-a-days, but where,—besides the usual stock of beer and strong ale and cyder, for the general run of the house and neighbourhood,-—there is left room enough for stowing away a hogshead brewed on the birth of SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. 65 each child of the family, and destined to remain there till they each attain their one-and-twentieth year. They are fourteen in number, and bear the names of those in whose honour they were filled; thus there is Master Thomas and Miss Lucy, and Miss Susan and Master William ; and so on, through the whole of the rising generation. As for the wine-cellar, ’tis an un- fathomable recess; there is port and claret in it enough for the whole county; and the fountain in the court might be made to run sherry for a week before the stock would be exhausted. A pile of champagne-cases stands at one end, and some dozen bins of the extra particulars are built up by themselves. It would do good to the heart of any man to wander about these cellars for a morning. And it is not far to the Church—just beyond the outer garden-hedge where you cross the deep ha-ha, made to keep rabbits and cattle out, and close to the clump of birch trees that rise on the hill,—an ancient edifice, with a bit of architecture of every period that English antiquaries can boast of. The tower “ivy- mantled”, according to the most approved rule; the peal of bells thoroughly harmonious, and allowing triple-bob-majors to be rung on them with the full swing of the lustiest youths of the village. In the chancel is a formidable-looking pew, put up in Charles’s time, all in black oak, with quaint figures of angels and dragons, and fantastic flowers, sprawling over every vacant space. Within, it is right comfortably carpeted and cushioned ; in the midst is a stove to keep out the cool humours of the church, and comfort the squire’s lady on a Christmas morning; while round the walls of the little chapel, which it nearly fills, are all the family monuments, from the stiff-necked and stiff-ruffed knight F 66 SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. of the days of the virgin Queen, down to the full- bottomed wig and portentous bands of the judge in the time of George IT. A little plain white marble slab in one corner bears the simple inscription, — MARIA. 1820. But at this I have often observed that the good lady of the house never looks; though once, during the sermon, I saw the squire, while listlessly gazing upon it, allow the tears to glide down his cheeks as though he were a child. There’s a summer-house at the end of the nut walk, so hidden by bushes and winding paths, that it is hard to find the entrance,—a low, squat-looking kind of a place, built in the Dutch fashion, with four windows, one in each side, and a dome on the top; it stands close by a pond, and is all grown over with ivy. In- deed, when you arrive at the door, you have to remove the clematis and damask rose twigs with your hand, ere you can obtain an entrance. On the walls are numerous names commemorated both with pencil and knife ; and in particular, under a true lover’s knot, are deeply cut the letters M and H. It is a standing joke at the squire’s table between himself and the amiable hostess—but I never could get to the bottom of it— only if any of the children or the company should by any chance make even the most distant allusion to their having been near the summer-house during the day, the squire immediately calls out, “ Let me have a glass of that port!—Mary, my love, do you remember the summer-house ?”—to which the invariable reply is,— “Henry, dear, I thought you had been more sensible : you must not, indeed!” However, the gardens are truly delightfal,—tfull of rich parterres, and clumps of SOMETHING LIKE A COUNTRY HOUSE. 67 flowering shrubs; with trim-cut walks of yew and beech, over which the various kinds of the pine tribe and the cedar of Libanus rear their heads in sombre luxuriance. You may walk, I forget how many miles, in the garden, without going over the same ground twice in the same direction ; but the gardener is apt to exaggerate on this head. There is enough variety to occupy the most fastidious for an afternoon, and beauty enough to gratify the lover of nature for a week. Time passes happily and swiftly in a home like this ; rides and field-sports, and public business, take up the mornings of the gentlemen; the fine arts, the inter- change of neighbouring courtesies, and the visiting of the village give occupation to the ladies. Hospitality, and the sweetest display of domestic elegance, shed an indescribable charm over the cheerful evenings passed in their society,—the family are the honour and main stay of the parish, and, indeed, of many an adjoining one ; while the house and grounds are the pride and boast of all that side of the county. F oo 68 III].—SKETCHES IN OLD : a BIRON AND THE BASTILE. A cenTURY ago, Paris was to the antiquary and the historical visitor one of the most interesting capitals in this quarter of the globe ; and, next to Rome perhaps, excited in the minds of those who journeyed to it more grave and more spirit-stirring recollections than any other city of Western Europe. It was then in great part a city of the middle ages, modified, no doubt, by the capricious changes of later times, and much added to by the sumptuous taste of the golden era of Louis XIV ; but still the internal portion of the capital, the core, the nucleus of the whole, retained most of the features which the various epochs of the French mon- archy had successively formed for it. The streets in the heart of Paris were all, what many still are, ex- ceedingly narrow and gloomy; the houses lofty and overhanging ; the pavements dirty and disgusting in the extreme; for the population of the capital was always noted for its carelessness, and want of regard to all decency and cleanliness. Churches swarmed in the city; and there were numerous monasteries which spoke of the holy associations of past days, and recalled to the minds of the giddy, dissolute mob, salutary ideas of religious and moral restraint. At numerous points rose buildings, once destined for the external defence of the capital, but which had long been encased within the ever-spreading circuit of houses. On the river side stood the greater and the smaller chdtelet or castellet, BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 69 erected on the site of earlier fortresses to defend the bridges which led to the Lutetian Island from the inroads of the wild Normans; but in after ages, and until the time of the Revolution, serving as prisons, or as depéts for the criminal tribunals and their archives. At other points were ancient gates and towers, which showed where the fortifications had once been traced; and to the east of the capital at the end of the Rue St. Antoine, frowned the much dreaded, the impregnable Bastile. This fort- ress, which inspired thoughts of horror in the minds of too many of the inhabitants, was considered by the mass of the people as the ne plus ultra of all strong- holds; it was looked on as the embodied representation of the brute force of public authority ; it was reckoned impregnable, because believed never to have been taken by open assault; and it was regarded with supersti- tious dread as a last bourne from which too many travellers were known never to have returned. The Bastile, at all periods of its existence, was the croqua mitaine of Parisian malcontents. - ¢ In many of the most obscure portions of the city magnificent mansions still remained, which attested that courtiers had once resided where then the feet of nobles seldom deigned to tread; and numerous exqui- site specimens of the architectural skill of the middle ages, placed the civil buildings of Paris almost, if not quite, on a level with its ecclesiastical ones. Thus the Hotel de Ville, and the former palace of the kings—the Grand Palais, the Palais de Justice—one on the northern banks of the Seine, and the seat of the Prévot des Mar- chands of the capital—the other at the western ex- tremity of the central island and the seat of the Par- liament,—presented sumptuous illustrations of the ‘feudal authority of the French monarchy, and the 70 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. wealth of its principal city. Many an antiquated hotel, with all the quaint paraphernalia of medizval orna- ment, rivalled in beauty the elegant mansions which Mansart and his pupils had subsequently raised in the Faubourg St. Germain, or along the western verge of the city: the Hotel de Cluny, the Hotel de Sens, the Hotel de St. Pol, the Hotel Barbette, the Hétel de la Tremouille, the Hétel d’Aligre, etc., yielded not in in- trinsic beauty to the Hétel du Maine, the Hotel Conti, the Hétel Soubise, the Palais Cardinal, the Hoétel Mazarin, and all their endless associates; while to the eye and heart of the antiquary they spoke a language peculiar to themselves, and from each stone could have poured forth, if indeed stones could be supposed to have a tongue, tales of wonder and woe, such as the existence of many ages might be fancied to have im- pregnated them with. The older bridges of the capital were covered with houses, hanging in an unsafe and unhealthy position midway between sky and water; at numerous points of the river ferries still existed, and quays were only formed at rare intervals. In one of the gloomiest and most antiquated parts of the city, stood the colleges of the University, forming a little world within themselves, perched on the sides of the hill of St. Genéviéve, or clustering in ill-arranged confusion round the Sorbonne; and large conventual establishments which possessed such ample powers in that quarter of the town—the Abbey of the sainted patroness of the city, and the great monasteries of the Jacobins and the Cordeliers. Nearly all the historical spots of Paris were, up to 1780, untouched; the annals of the capital could be read by the monuments themselves ; and many of the most important events that had distinguished the BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 71 monarchy, were presented to the recollection of the visitor in forms of stone, or brass, or other tangible materials, The churches and the cemeteries had not then been violated; the former contained an uncountable series of monuments of all epochs, and of inestimable value ; and it would have taken a careful examiner many weeks merely to go through the conventual chapels, and carefully inspect the memorials there con- tained of departed worth or nobility. All the public edifices of the capital, whether internally or externally studied, were rich in traditions of bygone days, and formed impressive illustrations of the country’s earlier history. The storm that broke over France in 1788, and the six succeeding years, came with all its fury on the capi- tal, and spared not the buildings with which it was adorned. Paris, as well as many other cities, saw her monasteries abolished and mostly destroyed; her churches sacked, polluted, and given up to profane purposes ; many of her civil buildings injured, and her military ones altogether levelled with the ground. The mad spirit of revolutionary spoliation, which then agi- tated the public mind, wreaked part of its fury on the monuments, the tangible evidences of a former and better state of things; and the work of insensate de- struction then began, which, under one shape or another, has been continued ever since. The mob, too ignorant to comprehend in what the welfare and honour of the nation consisted, saw no better means of promoting the licentious anarchy which they mistook for freedom, than in destroying all that bore testimony to how much better their ancestors were than themselves ; and the interested rapaciousness of that peculiar class of men, which in all countries is ever ready to profit by national 72 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. calamities, urged the people on with redoubled madness to the work of demolition. The first edifice attacked and destroyed was, as is well-known, the Bastile, on the 14th of July, 1789; and the fall of that fortress was the signal for the Vandalic acts which rapidly followed, not only in Paris, but throughout France. The principle on which the mob acted in this particu- lar instance, was not altogether without reason ; and it was one of the very rare occasions—if, indeed, any other occurred during the progress of the Revolution— when the people thought with anything in the shape of common sense. The Bastile was to them the per- petual memento of lettres-de-cuchet and arbitrary im- prisonments ; and it was fondly supposed, that, by de- stroying the chief prison, the obnoxious régime would for ever cease. No doubt, the destruction of the ancient fortress was a serious lesson to government to reform the penal administration of the country; but it was one that was not needed, and it set so bad an ex- ample by overshooting the mark, that the good effected by it was utterly swallowed up in the flood of evil which thenceforth ensued. The lesson was not needed by the government ; for the mild and benevolent Louis, soon after his accession to the throne, had publicly declared himself against the old system of unjustified confine- ment ; and the enlightened spirit of French lawyers was quite prepared not only to sanction, but even to propose the abolition of all imprisonment without the express verdict of a competent tribunal. There is no need to advert to the history of the destruction of the Bastile, known as it is by every student of modern his- tory. The popular view of the case, and all the exag- gerated assertions concerning the soi-disant victims said to have been found in it, have been “consigned to immor- BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 73 tality”, as Dussaulx thought when he wrote the History of the Parisian Insurrection, and Taking of the Bastile; a precious production, curious for its being highly charac- teristic of the times, and strongly recommended by the republican antiquary Millin, as “a proper work for forti- fying and disseminating the holy love of liberty!” Our purpose is not to notice the Bastile in its days of dis- grace and trouble, but to dwell upon its condition in iron-handed times, and to rake up one of the many bloody tragedies that have been enacted within its walls. The original founder of the Bastile was Charles V, in the fourteenth century. That monarch, after the peace concluded with the English, posterior to the days of our third Edward, determined to surround the northern portion of Paris with new walls, and a regularly forti- fied enclosure. The line commenced at the river side, about half-way between the Louvre and the spot where the Tuileries were afterwards erected, stretched north- ward across what is now the Palais Royal, and went by the Place des Victoires in a long straight line, still traceable in the Rue des Fossés Montmartre and the Rue Neuve St. Eustache, to the Porte St. Denis. Thence it turned eastward and southward, and follow- ing a line identical with the present Boulevards, passed by the Porte St. Martin and the Porte du Temple, to the Arsenal on the water side. A little to the north of the Arsenal, Charles erected a fortress to command one of the principal entrances of the city—that which opened into the quarter of St. Antoine ;—and the only one by which Paris could there be approached, passed through a narrow, pointed gateway, under two lofty machicolated and embattled towers. These defences were begun in 1367, and were not completely finished till 1383, when the imbecile Charles VI had succeeded 74 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. his father on the throne. The latter monarch, wishing to enlarge and strengthen the Bastile, which he in- tended to be the citadel of Paris, erected two other towers equally strong and lofty, some sixty feet behind the first; so that the enemy, to force an entrance, would have to brave the discharges of the rude artillery of the times, of the cross-bows and balistas, and the showers of molten lead which the machicolations could vomit forth, while trying to break through the double portcullises that blocked up the outer and the inner gateways. Subsequently, Charles VI added another pair of towers on either side of those already standing, and joining them together by an external wall of the same height as themselves, and about ten feet thick, made a stout castle with eight of these lofty circular bastions. Round the whole was dug a ditch five-and-twenty feet deep, through which water flowed ; and the road of entry to the capital was no longer suffered to go through the citadel, but was taken round by the northern wall, and carried under a strong barbican touching the outer edge of the ditch. The plan of the Bastile was of an oblong form, divided into two unequal courts; the larger of these, on the southern side, was overlooked by six of the great towers; the smaller, to the north, by four. In the outer walls of the towers, or of the intermediate spaces, the windows were as few and as narrow as they could be made, serving strictly for the mere purposes of defence; on the platform above, small watch-posts occurred at rare intervals; and at a later period, the only ingress afforded was by a drawbridge between the two towers to the south. The gateway that served in the time of Charles V, had been blocked up between the two towers, and was converted into a chapel. Out- side, over the ancient arch, there remained, till the final BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 75 destruction of the edifice, the statues of the unfortunate Charles VI, his wicked wife Isabel of Bavaria, two of their children, and the good St. Anthony in the midst. Viewed from the Rue St. Antoine, or from the opposite side, the Bastile presented a broad, imposing front of four towers; but from the Boulevards, which were at that period identical with the walls of the town, only the end of the edifice, with two towers, was visible. The aspect, too, was neither so frowning nor so gloomy as might have been supposed ; for, owing to the fine climate, the stone had kept its light-grey colour, and in many parts, even till the end of the eighteenth cen- tury, preserved the tint which it still wears, now that it has been worked up into the magnificent bridge lead- ing from the Place de la Concorde to the Chamber of Deputies. In 1830, when the lower part of one of the towers remained on the Place de la Bastile, the colour of the stone showed what that of the whole edifice had been; and the pointed loopholes or sowpiraux, still visible, testified how carefully the fortress had been terminated in its minutest details. The governor of the chateau lived in detached buildings to the south, and had ample courts, terraces, and gardens wherein to “apricate” and invent methods for better securing his prisoners, or the other inmates of the Bastile: it was not an easy matter to come even at his residence from without, so circuitous was the passage, and so many opportunities did salient corners afford for making a stout defence. Ata period when the building had be- come more exclusively devoted to the reception of State prisoners, the chapel was transferred from between the two central towers of the eastern front to a similar posi- tion between those of the west. It was a narrow, in- convenient room, savouring little of religion, but much 76 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. of military control ; and on its roof, as if in diversion, the pigeon-house of his excellency the governor was constructed. Within, and opposite to the altar, were six narrow niches cut out of the wall, and communi- cating with a dark passage behind. Each of these boxes could just hold one man in an upright posture ; and a narrow slit, closed with glass and protected by an iron grating, allowed a prisoner, when placed within, to see what was going on at the altar, but in no other part of the chapel. A wretched curtain, on the outside of each slit, was withdrawn by one of the guards when Mass was going on; and the prisoner, as one who had experienced it has stated, could perceive the officiating priest as if he were looking at him through a telescope. Such was the religious consolation afforded to the prisoners. The lofty circular towers had each their name, de- rived either from remarkable prisoners who had been confined in them, or from some traditions with which they were connected. The visitor, on entering the first, or southern and largest court, had on his right hand the Tour de la Comté, said to have been so called be- cause the unfortunate Count of St. Pol—he who held at bay the Duke of Burgundy and Louis XI of France, till he was entrapped in his own toils—had been con- fined in it in 1475, for the short time which intervened between his arrest and his execution. After this tower on the right hand, came the two which had originally guarded the gateway of the fortress of Charles V; and they were known as the Tour du Trésor and the Tour de la Chapelle. In the former, Henry IV kept his well-hoarded treasures under the safe guardianship of his faithful Sully. Immediately on the left hand of the entrance, was the Tour de la Baziniére, named BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 77 from M. de la Baziniére, who was confined there in 1663: next to it stood the Tour de la Berthaudiére, deriving its appellation from a similar cause, but ren- dered more celebrated than any of its grim companions, from its having been the abode of the mysterious Iron Mask—that enigma and disgrace of the reign of Louis XIV. Within the walls of this tower, the lingering lite of that unfortunate prisoner was spent, after his transferring thither from the Isle of St. Marguerite ;* and when death put a period to his sufferings, the governor of the Bastile had the interior of his apartment entirely scraped, so as. to remove the possibility of any writing on the wall betraying the secret of his name. The third tower on this side, fronting the city, was by a strange mockery called the Tour de la Liberté, as if that name could ever be appended to anything con- nected with the Bastile! A massive pile of building, running athwart the fortress, and forming the northern side of the principal court, contained a guard-house, with various apartments less gloomy than those of the towers, and fit for the reception of prisoners of rank, such as the Cardinal de Rohan, M. de Saint James, and others, who, from time to time, were their unwilling occupants. The smaller court was flanked by the Tour de la Chapelle, the Tour de la Liberté, and two others at the northern corners, of which, that towards the Rue St. Antoine was known as the Tour du Puits; the other, frowning over the faubourg, as the Tour du Coin. In this, the Maréchal de Bassompierre was immured for twelve long years, from 1631 to 1643, and here he wrote his admirable Memoirs : here, too, Le Maitre de Sacy was incarcerated from 1666 to 1668, during which * Tf the Iron Mask was not the Intendant Fouquet, he must have been a brother, legitimate or illegitimate, of Louis XIV. 78 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. time he made the greatest part of his translation of the Bible ; while, at a later period, it had for one of its tenants a third literary character, Constantin de Ren- neville, author of the History of the Bastile. Such was this famous fortress, the ready engine of political vengeance, and the mute accomplice of royal iniquity, at all periods of the French monarchy. To no building could the inscription over the gate of Dante’s Inferno be more aptly applied :— “‘ Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’ entrate ;” and its fatal drawbridge led but too surely to what the poet’s term of a “citta dolente” most aptly characterised. Now, however, all is changed ; the site is no longer to be recognised ; not a stone remains; a canal flows far below where the deepest dungeons, the oubliettes, were once constructed; and above, verifying the lines of Pope, a brazen column-— —— “pointing to the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies.”’ Here stands the vulgar and clumsy pillar ycleped “The column of July”, covered with the gilded names of sov- disant victims of that catastrophe, and bearing on its apex a golden idol, to proclaim to the mob the triumph of the Revolution, and the reign of a crafty usurper. But our object is not to dwell on the present, we turn back our thoughts to the past : and opening the worm- eaten leaves of a venerable folio chronicle that lies be- fore us, we read in it the narrative of a tragic scene witnessed in olden times by the walls of the Bastile. In the picturesque and wild province of Périgord is the small town of Biron, which at a very early period was the head place of a feudal barony, and has never since ceased to give a title to one of the oldest houses BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 79 of the French nobility. Gaston de Gontault, seigneur of Biron in the middle of the fourteenth century, was the first of the family whose name occupies a place of note in French annals; and from that period the same name has been borne by a series of men eminent for their virtues, their public services, or their misfortunes. During the reigns of Charles IX, Henry III, and Henry IV, the head of the family, Armand de Gon- tault, was a personage of no small importance; and the last of these monarchs was under heavy obligations to his courage and ability for possession of the throne. The Baron de Biron had been educated as one of the pages of Margaret of Navarre, and had afterwards been first raised to the rank of “ Chevalier des Ordres du Roy”, and then chosen by the brave Maréchal de Bris- sac to bear his guzdon, or standard, at the head of a chosen company of guards. He took an active part in the Piedmontese wars of that epoch; and, while en- gaged in the siege of a fortress, received a wound which lamed him for life. During the civil contests in his own country, he was present at the bloody fields of Dreux, St. Denys, and Montcontour, as well as at numerous sieges, covering himself on all occasions with honour by his headlong gallantry. In 1569, Charles IX made him grand-master of the Artillery; and, in 1577, Henry III, who, amidst his many weaknesses, could sometimes distinguish the merits of his friends, presented him with the baton of Maréchal de France, and added the lieutenant-generalship of the province of Guyenne. The collar of the Order of the Holy Ghost, which he re- ceived from the sovereign in 1581, counterbalanced the chagrin he had afterwards to endure from being twice defeated by Spanish commanders, when sent to succour the Duke of Alencon in the Low Countries. On the 80 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. assassination of Henry III, Armand de Gontault was one of the first nobles and commanders who declared for Henry IV; and the impulse which this act of de- cision gave to the fortunes of that monarch was widely felt by his partizans. He had many years before married a lady of remarkable beauty, Jeanne, daughter and heiress of the Seigneur of Ornesan and Blancart ; and a family of three sons and five daughters were the offspring of their union. The eldest son, Charles de Gontault, was grown up to be a young man of great gallantry and chivalrous disposition, and had already distinguished himself by his military prowess under his father’s command ; he was known to, and esteemed by, the King of Navarre, and he followed his father in ar- dently embracing that monarch’s cause as soon as the throne of France became vacant. In the battle of Arques, which was of so much importance to the future prospects of Henry, the Maréchal de Biron, by his stra- tegic abilities, contributed greatly to the success of his sovereign's arms; and Charles, then in his twenty- seventh year, fought with the most brilliant and im- petuous courage. At Ivry, in the following year (1590), the Seigneur of Biron and his son again showed their devotion to the new monarch ; and shortly after, the Maréchal succeeded in subjecting a large portion of Normandy to the sway of that prince. He continued to aid Henry both by his counsels and his sword, in bad fortune and in good, until 1592, when he was killed by a cannon-ball while reconnoitring the town of Eper- nay, in Champagne. The Maréchal had the merit of having dissuaded Henry from abandoning his cause at a period when it seemed most desperate ; and it was owing to his courageous advice that the king abstained from flying to England, or from shutting himself up BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 81 within the walls of La Rochelle, when pressed by the superior forces of the Duke of Mayenne. The king had always entertained the most affectionate regard for his faithful servitor, and placed in his long-practised judg- ment the most implicit reliance ; his loss, however, was not felt so severely, since he was succeeded by his son, who, with more brilliant but not such solid qualities as his sire, held a high place in the opinion of the sove- reign, and was at one time beloved by him almost as a brother. Charles de Gontault, after the battle of Ivry, was present at the sieges of Paris and Rouen, and took an active part in the engagement at Aumale; on the death of his father, he was made Admiral of France, and two years after, was created, like him, a maréchal. From this period, the military successes of the Baron de Biron, and the esteem felt for him by his royal master, advanced concurrently in a long career of uninterrupted brightness. The new maréchal was entrusted with the government of Burgundy in 1594, and captured the towns of Beaune, Auxonne, Autun, and numerous others ; while at the battle of Fontaine Frangaise, in the same year, his impetuous courage had carried him into the midst of the enemy’s arquebusiers, and he was rescued only by a charge, headed by the king in person. His body was riddled with sword wounds, and he had received such a desperate cut over the head, that his senses were nearly gone; the blood, too, flowed so copiously into his eyes and down his face, that he could not recognise the monarch. On recovering from his wounds, which confined him many months to his bed, he resumed an active command, was at the sieges of Amiens and La Fére, then held by the Spaniards, who threatened to dismember France of some of her fairest G 82 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. provinces, and afterwards ravaged the whole of Artois, where he took the Marquis de Varembon prisoner. Diplomatic honours now awaited him; he was sent ambassador to England in 1598, and was an object of warm admiration at the court of Elizabeth. On his re- turn, the king elevated the barony of Biron into a duke- dom, annexed to it the privilege of the peerage, and then dispatched the duke as ambassador to Brussels, where he was to witness the Archduke of Austria swear to the peace of Vervins. Three years after, he was a second time sent an ambassador to compliment Queen Elizabeth, and in 1602 proceeded in the same quality to Switzerland, where he concluded an alliance with the confederated Cantons. Few subjects of the French monarchy have ever mounted so rapidly or so highly as the fortunate maréchal; few have ever fallen more sud- denly or more mournfully from their “high estate”. This was the last phase of his grandeur, and he was destined, within a few short months, to pay the bloody price of overweening ambition and misplaced confi- dence. Our old chronicle notices, under the date of 1601, that “this year a treason was discovered, although it had been four years in hand”; it then goes on to moralise upon the improbability of any man’s becoming bad all of a sudden, strengthening its remarks by ob- serving, that “the Northern Sea does not freeze of .it- self, but rather the rivers and marshes which flow into it”; and then details the history of the fall of the Duke de Biron. Nothing but what his adversaries have re- corded, or those who swore against him on his trial de- posed, has come down to us concerning the treason, real or imputed, which led to his disgrace and ruin; and there are only reasonings from improbabilities and dis- BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 83 crepancies to be alleged in his defence. The common opinion of the day was, that the duke had been led away, by base intriguers, to lend an ear to criminal proposals, from the Duke of Savoy and the King of Spain, against his own sovereign; that he was discovered before he could carry his designs into effect; and that the king, wounded to the heart at finding so bad a return made for his extreme kindness, gave the maréchal over to the parliament, and so to death. The chronicler states, that the ambitious disposition of the duke being evident to all the world, the crafty Spanish commanders in the Low Countries thought him a likely man to listen to projects which might raise his own fortunes, even at the expense of the country he was charged to defend ; and accordingly, soon after the taking of Laon, when the duke had been momentarily offended at the king’s giving to the Duchess de Beaufort a favour which he had in vain solicited, they offered him an annual pay of two hundred thousand crowns, and the chief command of the Spanish forces in France, if he would pass over to their side. He seems to have had the weakness not to disclose the offer to the king, instead of simply re- jecting it; and he ever after retained in his own bosom an involuntary consciousness of the high estimation in which his military abilities were held by the enemy. The chronicle says, that he was often heard to say he could never die till he should have seen his head on a crown-piece—that he would rather lose his head on a scaffold than get his bread in a hospital—and that he often repeated the words “Aut Cesar aut nullus” to his intimate friends. It was after the siege of Amiens that a gentleman of Provence, of ruined fortunes and charac- ter, La Nocle, seigneur of La Fin, who had been mixed up with the troubles of that district, and was over- G2 84 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. loaded with debts, contrived to wheedle himself into the duke’s confidence, and to offer his services for cri- minal purposes with the enemy. He so far succeeded that he induced the maréchal to give intelligence to the Duke of Savoy, of an intended attack of a fort ; which, however, did not prevent it from falling into the hands of France. This was the first overt act of treachery, and it appears to have been connected with a secret proposal to him, when ambassador at Brussels, for con- tracting a matrimonial alliance with the sister of the Duke of Savoy. Negotiations to this effect were carried on through the medium of La Fin and Renazé, the Duke de Biron’s secretary, on the one hand, and the Duke of Savoy and the Spanish Condé de Fuentes on the other ; notwithstanding that the war continued on the frontier, and that the maréchal took most of the towns of the Bresse country from the Spanish garrisons. It does not appear that the duke’s propositions ever went so far as for himself to pass over to the Spanish side; but rather that he hoped, by marrying the Princess of Savoy, to obtain the hereditary govern- ment of Burgundy from his own sovereign, and thus to erect it into a kind of independent principality, to be held by feudal tenure of France. He sent, however, several pieces of information to the Duke of Savoy, which saved the troops of that prince from great re-’ verses ; and, on Henry IV refusing to give the com- mand of Bourg to some one for whom he had solicited it, went into the most violent paroxysms of anger, and even meditated personal vengeance on the monarch. The king, however, who at this time had received in- telligence of the enemy having tried to tamper with the maréchal, discredited the report ; and on his favo- rite coming to him at Lyons, and confessing himself to BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 85 have been in the wrong about Bourg, freely forgave him all offences he might have committed up to that period—such were the words which issued from the royal mouth. The enemies of the duke declare that, immediately after this interview and his pardon, Biron dispatched his agents into Italy, to Turin and Ivrea, in order to push on the negotiations for his marriage more rapidly than before. However this may be, evil reports against him circulated again at court; the monarch’s confidence was completely estranged ; and the agent, real or supposed, of the duke, La Fin, was brought to make revelations, while Renazé was secretly arrested. Two noblemen were implicated in their de- nunciations together with the Duke de Biron: these were the Comte d'Auvergne, of royal blood, and the Baron de Lux. The Prince de Joinville, the Duke de Bouillon, the Baron de Fontanelle, and Montbarrault, governor of Rennes, were more or less suspected of not being altogether strangers to the duke’s proceedings. Such, however, was the high credit and influence of the Maréchal de Biron, that the king did not think it prudent to attempt his arrest in an open manner ; and, as the chronicle states, the monarch had still so much affection for him, that he concluded his impetuous spirit had been misled by the rogues into whose hands he had fallen, and hoped by his influence over his friend to lead him to a full confession. With this view, and with the secret determination of making his clemency com- mensurate only with Biron’s candour, Henry summoned the duke to attend him at Fontamebleau. La Fin had been to this royal residence ostensibly on the duke’s business, but in reality to communicate with the officers of the Crown, and to insure to himself the reward of his treachery towards Biron. He had secret 86 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. interviews with the king at the royal vineyards, near the town; with the chancellor by night, in his own house at Fontainebleau ; and in the heart of the forest with Sully. “All,” says the chronicle, “had horror at seeing the writings which they saw, and at hearing the designs which they heard.” The chancellor, too, was so much impressed with the importance of the papers remitted to him by La Fin, that he sewed them up in a corner of his pourpoint, and kept them by him day and night. The duke had many misgivings after re- ceiving the royal summons, and his friends were not backward in cautioning him not to trust himself at Court; still he could not openly refuse the orders of the sovereign, and he journeyed slowly from Lyons to Fon- tainebleau with only a small retinue. “ Against his journey,” the chronicle relates, “he had many evil omens: a bird called the ‘duke’, came into a room where he was sitting, before he set out, without anyone knowing how it had entered. He gave orders that it should be carefully kept and fed: but as soon as he was gone it died. JIncontinently thereon, the horse which the archduke had given him, and which he called the Pastrave, went mad, and killed itself. The same did a horse which he had had from the Grand Duke of Tuscany ; and another which the Duke of Lorraine had given him fell ill. He arrived at Fontainebleau just at the time when nobody believed he would come—that is to say, on the Wednesday, 13th of June, and when the king was beginning to think of taking horse within a few days to go into Burgundy. As his majesty was entering the great garden about six o’clock, he was heard to say to M. de Souvre, ‘He will not come’; but scarcely were the words out of his mouth, and he had taken a step or two, when the Duke de Biron was dis- BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 87 covered approaching, amid a troop of seven or eight. The king, on perceiving him, said he was come just in time to lead him to his house. Biron advanced, and, still at some distance, made three profound salutations. The king embraced him, and told him he was come just in time to lead him to his house. This expression had an apparent signification, which was accepted by those who believed that the king was speaking of a lodge in one of the pavilions of the garden ; but it had another secret one, understood only by a few, which meant that, if the duke did not make up his mind to humi- liating submission, he would banish him from his favour and presence, and would send him to one of his own seats.” Biron began to make excuses for coming late ; but the king listened to only the first words of what he was going to say, and, taking the duke’s hand, led him to see the new buildings he had been making, and walked him from one garden to another. The Duke dEspernon seized an opportunity of whispering in Biron’s ear that he would repent having trusted to his courage rather than his friends; and soon after, the king, speaking to him of the causes of discontent that he had against him as a friend and subject, the duke only replied by protestations of innocence, which were not free from certain petulant expressions ill-suited to the presence of royalty. When the time for dinner arrived—in those days about eleven o’clock—Biron was observed to commit a breach in etiquette, by asking the Duke d’Espernon for leave to make one of his table, whereas he ought to have dined at the table of the Grand-master of the Court; and, as the chronicle remarks, “to have made one of the king’s household, since his own had not arrived”. The repast finished, the two dukes, and the 88 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. noblemen who were with them, returned to the royal apartments, where the king was still at table. As soon as Biron entered, Henry desired the Duke de Vendéme, his eldest son by the Belle Gabrielle d’Estrées, Duchess de Beaufort, to salute him; and then, having walked down the magnificent gallery known as the Salle de la Belle Cheminée, amidst the Court, retired to his private cabinet, ordering two or three noblemen to come in, but not speaking a word to the Maréchal de Biron. From that moment it became evident that the royal favour was gone; and, to use the chronicle’s expression, the duke, as he leaned pensively by the side of the royal bed, “was shunned by the brilliant crowd as a man who had got the plague”. He was not allowed to remain long in suspense. The Marquis de Rosny, Sully, came out of the royal cabinet, apparently to speak to Monsieur de la Guelle, but in reality to see if Biron were still at hand. He did not salute the duke, but, returning to the king, re-appeared after the lapse of a few minutes, and told him to enter the royal presence. Here Henry informed the duke of the substance of what he had heard, and adding that he wished to have a full account of his erroneous acts from his own mouth, in order that there the matter might end, pressed him to withhold nothing from one who desired so much to continue his friend. The maréchal, not aware of La Fin’s treachery, nor of Renazé’s arrest, protested in the loudest and most vehement terms of his innocence, and begged of his majesty that opportunity might be given him of taking vengeance on his calumniators with his sword. The king said nothing more, but desired him to come to the tennis-court, and directed him and the Duke (’Espernon to play against himself and the BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 89 Count de Soissons. D’Espernon here told Biron that he intended to set out for Paris next day; Biron begged him to remain, and added, that they would play another game at tennis. “ You play well,” rejoined the former; “but you do not know whom you play with.” This hint, which he for whom it was intended did not take, was understood by the king; but the monarch said nothing. Supper time came; the duke sat at the grand-master’s table, silent and shunned by the court ; and the king, who, after his repast, was observed to pace up and down his chamber, ejaculating, from time to time, ‘He must bend or break!” at length sent the Count de Soissons to the infatuated maréchal to try and overcome his obdurate resolution. All was in vain. Next morning at an early hour the king went into the garden towards the aviary, and having been joined by Biron, for whom he had sent, walked forward with the duke, at some distance from the rest, and there begged him once more to trust to his best friend, and, by making a full confession, throw himself on his mercy. The attendants who were behind observed Biron gesti- culating with great force, striking his breast, waving his arms in the air, and making loud protestations of innocence. The king and Biron returned, the duke quitting the monarch as the latter entered his apart- ments for dinner; immediately after a letter was thrust into his hand, in which some one anonymously conjured him to quit the court without delay. Biron showed it to the captain of his guard, who was then in attendance, and the only reply it elucidated from that officer, was, that he wished a dagger had been plunged in his breast sooner than that they had ever come to Fontainebleau. All the afternoon the king was observed to be in an un- 90 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. usually absent and yet irritated mood: several of the king’s confidential councillors were seen speaking to the monarch in short whispers; there was a coming and going ; there was evidently something of importance in the wind, and most of the courtiers expected every moment to see the duke arrested and subjected to sum- mary execution. Henry was observed to be busily engaged in giving confidential orders to the Sieurs de Vitry and de Praslin; and after supper, while walking again in the gardens, was joined by Biron and the Count d’Auvergne. These noblemen had at length taken the alarm: they had ordered their horses to be kept saddled; had asked for leave to withdraw from court, and intended to be off next morning. Henry, with his usual kindness, invited Biron to join the queen’s card-party; and led the way into her majesty’s chamber. As they passed through the door, Auvergne whispered in Biron’s ear, ‘We are undone!” and the game began. The king, while the duke was playing with the queen, moved rapidly about the chamber in the greatest agitation; and at length, as the chronicler says, unable to contain himself, rushed into his cabinet, and falling on his knees, prayed long and earnestly that he might be able to form a just judgment in this diffi- culty of mind. Henry, relieved by this effusion, and tranquillised as to the uprightness of his intentions towards the duke, determined to make one last effort ; and, if he should fail in inducing his proud spirit to stoop to a confession, to yield him into the hands of justice. He returned accordingly to the queen’s chamber, took her majesty’s hand of cards, and at times walked about. The Count d'Auvergne was gone, and Monsieur de Varennes, lieutenant of Biron’s guards, as he stooped to pick up his cloak, took the opportunity of whisper- BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 91 ing his master that all was lost. The duke became troubled, played false, and lost the game. The queen rallied him for his want of skill; and the king, saying that the play had gone on long enough, entered his cabinet. Biron was summoned thither in a few min- utes, and he had that last interview with his sovereign on which his fate depended. The king was now more explicit; he assured Biron that he knew all: that con- cealment was in vain, and that his clemency would go much further than the maréchal expected. He desired, however, to hear from his own mouth all that had passed between him, the Duke of Savoy, and the Condé de Fuentes. The unfortunate Biron, prompted by mistaken pride, and relying on the fidelity of La Fin, asserted that it was too bad of his majesty to push an honest man so hard, and that he had never entertained any criminal ideas. ‘Would to God it were so!” replied the king; “you are unwilling to confess to me; adieu! good-night !” These were the last words Biron ever heard from the monarch’s mouth. As he passed out from the royal cabinet into the grand chamber, Monsieur de Vitry laid his hand on his sword, and demanded it in the king’s name. Biron protested loudly, and desired the Duke de Montbazon to request of his majesty that his sword might be delivered into his hands alone; the king sent back word to Monsieur de Vitry that he was to execute his order. Biron still protested, and three or four hours, as the chronicler states, were spent in contesta- tion before the duke would give up his weapon; and even when he did so, he looked around to see whose sword he might snatch from its scabbard to use in his defence. His purpose, however, was anticipated, and he was desired to move forward; the royal guards, with 92 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. their partizans and arquebuses on their shoulders, were drawn up in the long gallery; and Biron, thinking that they had orders to finish him at once, called out loudly for some one to lend him a weapon, “that he might die with something in his hand :” he asked in his fury for a burning brand from the hearth, or for one of the silver candlesticks, that he might at least defend himself and not die without a struggle. The officer observed that no harm was intended him, and he was removed to the guard-room, where he passed the night. Meanwhile, other officers hastened to his apartments and seized all his baggage and papers. The conduct of the Count d’Auvergne was widely contrasted with this. He was preparing for bed when Monsieur de Praslin came to demand his sword, “ Here! take it,” said the count; “it has never killed anything but wild boars; if you had told me of this beforehand, I should have been in bed and asleep a couple of hours ago !” Envoys were sent without delay to the different courts of Europe to convey authentic information of the dis- covery of the maréchal’s guilt, so important to the fate of the monarchy was the arrest of the duke considered; but the maréchal and the count were kept in custody at Fontainebleau for a fortnight before they were ordered to the Bastile. The day after his arrest, Biron thought to alter the king’s purpose by sending him word that, unless he took measures to the contrary, the Baron de Lux would admit the Spaniards into the strong places of Burgundy as soon as he should hear of his arrest. This incensed the king to the highest degree, and con- vinced him of Biron’s criminality—he had already examined the Baron de Lux at Fontainebleau, and the Maréchal de Laverdin had already been sent into Bur- eundy to keep the country quiet. ‘ His obstinacy has BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 93 been his ruin!” exclaimed Henry; “had he told me the truth, though I have the proofs in my hand, he would not have been where he is. I would have given two hundred thousand crowns to have had the means of pardoning him. I never loved anyone so much as I loved him. I could have entrusted him with my own son—with my kingdom itself.” The two prisoners, Biron and Auvergne, were taken by water to Paris in sumptuous barges belonging to the court; rich carpets and hangings thrown over the canopies raised within the vessels, concealed the noble- men from public view: guards were in the barges, and in the boats that accompanied them: and the simple villagers on the banks of the Seine wondered as they saw the cortége pass. The duke and the count were placed forthwith in the Bastile, and within two days after, the king and court having returned to the capital, the preliminary proceedings of Biroh’s trial commenced. On the deposition of La Fin and Renazé being commu- nicated to the unfortunate duke, he burst into violent paroxysms of indignation and despair, protesting that their evidence was utterly false, and heaping on them counter-accusations of moral turpitude of the deepest dye. His mother applied in vain to the king’s lawyers that an advocate should be allowed her unfortunate son, to plead in his defence: she was told briefly and dryly that it was contrary to rule, and could not be granted on account of the enormity of his offence. The forms of the law were allowed to take their course, and Biron was brought before the Parliament of Paris. The Peers of France had been summoned to attend this trial; but they all abstained: and the duke's judges met him for the first and only time on Satur- day, the 27th of July, in the Golden Chamber. This 94 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. splendid room, then richly adorned with hangings of great worth and gilded beams, is the same apartment as that now occupied by the modern Court of Cassation. Biron was brought from the Bastile by water, at five in the morning: one hundred and twelve judges were assembled, and the proceedings lasted with little inter- mission till ten at night. The duke was accommodated with a stool of honour within the bar, and the deposi- tions were read over to him; but he was never confronted with the witnesses, nor allowed to call any in his own behalf. He defended himself with great acuteness and ability, and showed, with tolerable clear- ness, that if he had been guilty of any treason towards the king, it was prior to their last meeting at Lyons, when the monarch had given him a verbal forgiveness of all offences committed up to that time. He ended by invoking on himself the direst punishment for any thing that could be proved against him since. The court overruled the fact of the king’s verbal pardon as being of any value in his case, and agreed that he should produce writing to this eftect—a solemn mockery of justice this, which only aggravated the position of the unfortunate prisoner: while, to his assertion of innocence at a late period, the fact of one of his private secretaries, Hebert, having been to Milan, though sent ostensibly to show Italy to some of the duke’s noble pages and to buy velvet stuffs, was considered a sufhi- cient answer as proving late communication with the Duke of Savoy. The Parliament could hardly dare, even under a just monarch like Henry IV, to find a prisoner, whose arrest had taken place under such peculiar circumstances, innocent; and on the Monday following the chancellor brought in a decree of guilt and death. BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 95 Though the king had been well received on his return to Paris, popular feeling was rather in favour of the Duke de Biron; and the members of the Gontault family were so resolved to have their revenge on the traitor La Fin, that it was found necessary to order him a guard of twenty men for his personal safety. As soon as the duke’s sentence was known, the gentlemen of his family went up to the king with an address for mercy; but the sovereign replied that it was impossible, and that justice must take its course. At the same time, he added, he should never consider that any stain was attached to the maréchal’s relations. The only favour granted by Henry was, that the decapitation should take place within the Bastile, instead of on the Place de la Gréve. The duke wrote a most affecting letter to his majesty, which, however, is believed not to have been received, on learning the decree of the parliament; he reminded him of his military services, and of his zeal for his service; prayed the royal clem- ency to spare his family the pain of a disgraceful execu- tion; and entreated the king to allow him to end his life in the ranks of his own army, or in that of the Hungarians, who were then fighting against the Turks. It is remarkable that, even in this last appeal for mercy, the maréchal avoids confessing his guilt, though he also abstains from protesting his innocence:—he inveighs against his enemies, but he maintains to the last the evident traces of a bold unbroken spirit. Henry remained firm ; and the preparations for the duke’s execution were ordered to be made. By some mistake the civil officers of the town erected a scaffold on the Place de la Gréve, and this drew an innumerable crowd of people, says the chronicler, who waited in front of the Hétel de Ville from daybreak till midnight 96 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. of the Tuesday following the trial. From his dungeon windows in the Bastile, Biron saw several thousands of country people hastening from the fields into the town during the morning, and his immediate exclamation was, “I am judged and dead!” He prevailed, however, on M. de Barenton to go to Sully, then governor of the Bastile, and beg him to intercede with the king. He did so, and both Sully and his lady, with Zamet, the eminent merchant and favourite of the king, who was present, were so much affected by this appeal of the duke, that they burst into tears and remained a long time silent. At length Sully observed that it was too late : that he could neither see Biron, nor intercede for him: that if he had taken his advice at first, he would not have been in the strait in which he now found him- self: but that by his obstinate refusal to tell the truth to the king at Fontainebleau, he had deprived his majesty of the means of granting him his life, and his friends of asking for it. Monsieur de Silléry delivered to Sully that evening the royal warrant for the duke’s execution ; and “at ten the next morning, which was a Wednesday”, as the chronicle relates, ‘‘ the chancellor, M. Pomponne de Belliévre, with M. de Silléry, and three Masters of Requests, arrived at the Arsenal, where M. de Rosny (Sully) was lodged, and thence went with him to the Bastile. They mounted by a pri- vate staircase to the chamber of the Concierge, named Rumigny : there Messieurs the Chancellor, De Rosny, and De Suléry took their seats on stools, the rest re- mained standing against the coffers ; and they resolved among themselves what it pleased them for the space of half an hour; when, M. de Rosny having with- drawn, the criminal registrar Voisin came, and after him the first president, who took the place of De BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 97 Rosny: and there they remained talking in a low voice for another half hour. During this time M. de Rosny sent one of his attendants, who presently ob- tained from the chancellor a roll of those whom he desired should be present at the execution, so that the rest might be turned out; and he placed on the list the three masters of requests mentioned above, three auditors, three huissiers of the Council, three of the Parliament; and of those who were to be present in the afternoon, namely, Rupin the chevalier of the guet, two lieutenants of the grand provost, the provost of mer- chants, four eschevins, four councillors of the city, and the registrary. About eleven o'clock, when they knew that the maréchal had dined, the Chancellor, habited in a gown of satin with large sleeves, followed by three masters of requests, the auditors, and the huissiers, went down, and traversed the court to go to the room of the Duke de Biron, who was lodged on the side next to the fields, above the chapel; but as they were going thither, the demoiselle, wife of the Sieur de Rumigny, began to weep, with her hands joined and raised to her eyes. This was perceived by the duke, who put his head against the bars of his window, and exclaimed, ‘My God! Iam dead! Ha! what sort of justice is this to put an innocent man to death? Monsieur le Chan- celier, are you coming to pronounce my death? I am innocent of what they accuse me of!’ But though he continued to make exclamations of this kind, the chancellor passed on firm, and commanded him to be brought down into the chapel. Here the duke broke into angry words and reproaches, and exclaimed to the chancellor, ‘What, sir! you who have the appearance of a worthy man, have you allowed me to be thus H 98 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. wretchedly condemned! Ha, Sir! if you had not told those gentlemen that the king wished for my death, they would not thus have condemned me! Sir! you could have hindered this calamity, and you have done it: you shall answer for it before God! Yes, sir, before God! to whose presence I summon you within a year; you and all the judges who have condemned me!’* As the duke uttered these words, he grasped with a firm hand the arm of the chancellor, who was covered, while the duke himself was bareheaded, and in his pourpotnt, having thrown off his mantle as soon as he saw that the officers were coming up to his room. “ Biron continued to exclaim in a violent manner against the injustice of his sentence, and upbraided the king with ingratitude for the services of his father and himself. The chancellor, after endeavouring to calm him, demanded his collar of the order of the Holy Ghost; whereupon Biron drew it forth from his pocket, not having worn it since his coming into the Bastile, and, putting it into the chancellor’s hands, said, ‘There sir, take it! I swear by the share of paradise which I hope to obtain, that I have never done any thing contrary to the statutes of the order.” Biron then asked for leave to make his will; but on the chancellor’s ordering two clergymen to attend him for the purposes of confession, he said there was no need: he had confessed himself to his own spiritual adviser every day for the last week; and during the preceding night, as he lay asleep, he had seen the heavens opened, and God extending his arms towards him, summoning him to mount on high, “In all that he spoke,” says the chronicler, “he uttered his words without any appearance of perturbation; and it * The chancellor died on the 9th of September, 1607, more than five years after this imprecation. BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 99 seemed as though he were haranguing at the head of his army, or as if he were going to battle.” The chancellor then left him, and shortly after the registrary informed the duke that it was neces- sary he should hear his decree of death read over. “My good friend,” replied Biron, “what am I to do?” Sir, you must hear it on your knees.” The duke approached the altar of the chapel, knelt on his right knee, and, with his elbow on the altar and his hat in his hand, listened attentively to the fatal sentence. When the registrary came to the words, “for the crime of léze-majesté”, he said nothing ; but when he heard him read on, “for having compassed the king’s death,” he turned round and exclaimed, “It’s false, it’s false—take that out!” Then hearing that the Place de la Gréve, where malefactors were executed, was appointed for his death, “What, on the Gréve!” he ex- claimed; they observed to him that the king had remitted this part of the punishment by special favour. “What a favour!” rejoined the duke. At the words, “all his estates confiscated, and the duchy of Biron united to the crown,’—‘“ What!” exclaimed the duke, “the king enriches himself with my poverty? And my brothers! what are they to do? The king ought to have been contented with my life.” The reading of the decree ended, Biron began to dictate his will, making many bequests of his ready money and personal relics to his remaining servitors. He left eight hundred livres of yearly revenue, and a house that belonged to him, near Dijon, to his illegitimate son* (he had never been married), whom he had by Mademoiselle Gillette Sebillote, demoi- * Charles de Gontault, legitimised and ennobled in 1618, died at the siege of Dole, without issue. H 2 100 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. selle of Seveniéres, and daughter of the king’s pro- curator at Dijon; and he gave directions for the pay- ing of all his debts. His guards then came to take leave of him, and they approached one by one, with their hands on their swords, all weeping, to embrace the duke. These melancholy scenes continued till five in the afternoon, during which time he had sent a mes- senger to the Count d'Auvergne to bid him farewell; and the count in reply had returned a most affectionate message, with a request that Biron would consider him as the guardian of his little boy. “Soon after five,” the chronicler relates, “the regis- trary returned to announce to the unfortunate duke that it was time to descend to mount to God, a sum- mons which he willingly obeyed. The scaffold was constructed in a corner of the court by the door to the garden; it was five feet high, without any hangings about it, and with a ladder placed at the bottom. The guards were in the court, the officers and huissvers, with the magistrates, here and there. Having come down stairs, the duke advanced ten paces without uttering a word, except ‘Ha!’ three times, and rather loud—then turning towards the civil lieutenant, he said, ‘Sir, you have got bad guests in your house; if you do not take eare they will undo you’—alluding to La Fin and the Vidasme of Chartres, his nephew, who were lodged in the lieutenant’s residence. He then came to the foot of the scaffold and went down on his knees, having marched thither as though he were going to battle. He threw aside his hat, and prayed to God in a low voice, with the doctors by his side: this lasted half a quarter of an hour; and having done, he mounted the ladder without the least hesitation, clad in a habit of grey taffetas. « BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 101 “Here, after taking off his powrpoint, he made excla- mations to the same effect as during the morning, and added, that in truth he had been in error, but with regard to the king’s person, never; for that, if he had listened to the evil counsel given him, the king would have been dead ten years ago. After these words he received absolution from the priest ; then he looked at the soldiers who were guarding the gate, and said, ‘ Oh, how I wish that one of you would give me a shot through the body! Alas, what a pity! mercy is dead!’ When the registrary said, ‘Sir, your sentence must be read’—‘I have already heard it,’ he replied —‘Sir,’ re- joined the registrary, ‘we must read it again ’—‘ Read, read!’ said the duke. Still the duke talked on all the time, at first tranquilly, but when he again heard the words, ‘for having compassed the king’s life’—‘ Gentle- men!’ he exclaimed, ‘this is false! Take that out of the sentence! I never thought of such a thing!’ The sentence having been read, the divines again ad- monished him to pray to God, which he did, and then bandaged his eyes himself, and put himself on his knees; but all of a sudden he tore off his handkerchief and looked full at the executioner. It was thought by those who were present that he intended to seize the executioners sword, which, however, he did not find; because, when some one said to him that he must have his hair cut off and his hands bound, he uttered an oath, and exclaimed, ‘Come not near me! I cannot bear it; if you provoke me, I'll throttle half the people I see here!’ At which words there might be seen some who had swords at their sides, and yet looked at the ladder of the scaffold in order to get out of his way. At length he called Monsieur de Barenton, who had guarded him in the prison; and who, mounting upon 102 BIRON AND THE BASTILE. .« the scaffold, bandaged his eyes, tied up his hair, and then said to the executioner, ‘Be quick! be quick!’ The executioner, to divert the duke’s attention, said to him, ‘Sir, you must repeat your In Manus, and then, making a sign to his valet to hand him his sword, cut off his head so dexterously that the stroke was hardly perceived! The head fell off at a bound into the court, but was taken up and placed on the scaffold; the body was immediately covered with a black and white cloth, and the same evening was buried in the church of St. Paul, in the middle of the nave before the pulpit, the interment being without ceremony, and attended by only six priests, with a few other persons.” Thus died, in his fortieth year, one of the most gallant commanders and accomplished courtiers ever produced by France. His execution was the last of any great note that took place within the walls of the Bastile; and his tragic end still remains as a difficulty to be solved by the panegyrists of Henry IV. The king incurred, among a large portion of his subjects, the imputation of having too hastily listened to suspicious evidence, and over-looked the great services of a misled but noble- hearted gentleman. It was on the 31st of July, 1602, when the execution took place; and, as the reverend Fathers Félibien and Lobineau observe, with the utmost naeveté, in their History of the French Capital—*< His disaster made much noise in all Europe, and particularly in Paris, where it was the subject of conversation in every society for all the month of August.” There are three portraits of the unfortunate maréchal in the collection at Versailles: they represent him as a man of personable appearance, with uncommon vivacity of expression, sharp grey eyes, a high forehead, rather florid cheeks, and the air of a man of noble birth and BIRON AND THE BASTILE. 103 talent. His death, as Henry had promised, did not affect his family ; and the name maintained its place among the leaders of the nation until, within these later times, when the republican spirit of France has driven out all that are good and noble from any share in public affairs. Of the noblemen implicated with the Duke de Biron, Auvergne, after two months imprisonment, was fully restored to royal favour; so was the Baron de Lux, who seems to have satisfied the king’s conscience that the maréchal was justly condemned, since Henry em- ployed his usual expression, that he would not have lost the explanations of the baron “ for two hundred thou- sand crowns”. The Baron de Fontanelle was broken alive upon the wheel, in the Place de la Gréve, in the September following ; and Montbarrault, governor of Rennes, was imprisoned for a long period in the fortress that had witnessed Biron’s death. The Duke de Bouil- lon, though promised a safe conduct to come and go if he would wait on Henry at Fontainebleau, thought it most prudent to retire into Germany ; and the Prince de Joinville, who was arrested by the king’s order, was after a long detention adjudged innocent and set at liberty. 104 IV.—SKETCHES IN OLD FRANCE. PLACE DE LA GREVE, Just where the sea-green Seine—that winding river*— after circling round the Isle of St. Louis, and cutting it off from the Isle de la Cité, rushes against the northern shore, and periodically throws up a wide-spread mass of sand and gravel,—just in this spot there used to be from time immemorial an open place of common land where the inhabitants of Paris met the country dealers as they landed from their boats, and purchased from them the various products of the farms along the Seine or the Marne. It was the general market for all the wood, corn, vegetables, and fruit that came into the Capital, and, as a point of central convenience, preserved its liberty when the surrounding districts came to be thickly covered with houses, and Paris began to grow on either side of the stream. It was the general ren- dezvous of all the clodhopping swains that lived up the river, and whose fathers got such rough usage at the hands of the Normans before they did the Saxons the honour of visiting them; and hither the hewers of wood in the gloomy forests of La Brie, with the reapers of corn from the sunny plains of La Beauce, came as to a spot of general meeting or ready sale. These good peo- ple, in their simplicity, preferred the northern part of Paris to the southern,—it was less court-like, less eccle- siastical. If they approached the embattled wall of the * The name of the Seine is derived by Thierry, in his Hist. des Gaulois, from a Celtic word having this signification. PLACE DE LA GREVE. 105 University from the high road to Orleans, they had to pay plenty of tolls and dues to the Abbot of St. Germain des Prés, ere they could invite custom in the market under his jurisdiction,—the only one in that quarter of the town. Here they paid less toll to the Provost of Paris; they landed their goods commodiously; and the citizens could cross from the island in boats to make their purchases ; while those who lived in the new northern suburbs,—the Town, or La Ville (as it was called, to distinguish it from the Cité and the Universite), were all traders and middling kind folks, who suited the habits and ideas of their country visitors. Hence it was that, though the unruly visits of the Seine were soon at- tempted to be kept out by a sort of quay, and the sandy gravel became in time transformed into a pave- ment, the Place de la Gréve,* taking its name from its former appearance, continued to be the principal port or wharf of the capital until as late as the reign of Louis XV. In the days of the dissolute Regent you might here see great stacks of fire-wood heaped along the water’s-edge ; innumerable porters bringing ashore sacks of charcoal from barges moored in the river ; and, close by, the corn-factors having the contents of large craft packed, not in sacks, but poured out upon wide-spread cloths laid on the ground :—here the early wholesale dealers circulated in a busy crowd, and the purveyance of the capital in bread and fuel was con- ducted upon the most primitive principles. Up the river extended the Quay de la Gréve ; here the wine, hay, and straw brought into the capital were * According to the analogy of the name, the introduction of the article la is necessary, and so it was always used in former times ; but of late days it has been omitted, and the spot has been com- monly termed the Place de Greve. 106 PLACE DE LA GREVE. sold, and all around the Place itself, ran streets, the very names of which spoke of the toils of citizens, and proclaimed it to be the central spot of business. Thus there was the Quay Pelletier, with the Rue de la Tan- nerie running behind it, and here all the leather-trade of Paris was once carried on. Another street was the Rue de la Vannerie, tenanted by the worthy fraternity of basket-makers: the Rue de la Coutellerie opened into this, full of knife- and axe-makers, and was con- tinued into the Rue de la Tixeranderie, where doubt- less the busy loom and gliding shuttle used to keep up a perpetual din. When the Jews were allowed to live in Paris, they had a small street here all to themselves, called the Rue de la Juiverie ; but, after their savage expulsion, it became inhabited by the unemployed jour- neymen of the town, and hence took a second name of the Rue de la Tacherie; while an opprobrious epithet was transferred to a narrow alley in this immediate neighbourhood, where a Jewish synagogue had long offended the decorum of charitable Christians ; and it is even to the present day* styled the Rue du Pet-au- Diable. By degrees, as the capital grew, the aspect of this place of business improved ; on the northern corner of it rose the Hépital du Saint Esprit, and near it was a central institution for the indigent, called the Bureau des Pauvres, where the worthy magistrates of the city dispensed public alms, and administered to the neces- sities of the poorer inhabitants. All round the Place rose the high-peaked gables, with overhanging fronts, that distinguished the urban architecture of the Middle Ages. Some of these were costly edifices, built of stone, * Tt should be observed that this paper was written in 1848, be- fore the modern alterations of this part of Paris. PLACE DE LA GREVE. 107 and ornamented with a degree of delicacy not often surpassed ;—at their corners were little turrets, and in their fronts oriel windows hanging over the public way : —one of these turrets still remains with its conical roof and rich mouldings, a valuable specimen of the good taste of former days. On the eastern side there was a goodly house in the time of Philip Augustus, built with an open arcade below, and known by the name of the Maison aux Piliers; which, after becoming Crown property, passed through the hands of one of the Dauphins of Vienne, and was at last purchased by the municipality to form the Parloir aux Bourgeois. This building, as the commercial and municipal importance of Paris increased, was altered into the Hétel de Ville, by Dominico Boccadoro di Cortona, in 1549; and the central part of that grand edifice as it now stands was completed by the commencement of the next century. Behind it, rose the two towers of St. Jean en Gréve, one of the principal churches of the capital ; and a few hundred yards further to the east was the Church of St. Gervais, in front of which an old elm tree remained, in token of its once being a place of rural amusement,— a sort of trysting tree to all who used to roam along the meadows of the Seine. The whole aspect of the Place de la Gréve was picturesque, and, whether by day or by night, it was always one of the most stirring spots in the capital. Not only was it a general market-place, but it was also the place where public rejoicings were celebrated on a large scale. Every year, on the Eve of St. John, the citizens crowded hither to witness a display of fire-works :—were a prince born in the royal family, the loyalty of the capital rose to the heavens in a shower of fire from the Place de la Gréve :—did a 108 PLACE DE LA GREVE. general gain some great victory, the Place de la Gréve ran with wine from the old fountain in the midst, and was trodden by the feet of all the holiday folks in Paris. It has not seldom been the scene of political commotions, from the days of the Catholic League against Henry III and his successor to the periods of the two Revolutions, when so many important events were consummated at the Hotel de Ville. It was in this building that the famous Commune held its sittings :—it was here that Robespierre and his associates held their last meeting, when they were arrested, shortly to be hurled by an indignant people to destruction :—it was here that old Lafayette put his head out of window one fine day, and gabbled nonsense about the “ Best of Republics”. How much political gibberish and rascality has been exhi- bited here since that time all Europe knows! But it is not for its commercial, its festive, or its political recollections that we are now taking our readers to visit the Place de la Gréve :—it is rather for the bloody associations connected with its name, as having long been the principal place of criminal executions in the capital; this is why we have pored over its annals, and interrogated the cruel genius of the spot. To no locality in Europe does a darker series of recollections belong :—nowhere has there been more guilty, and more innocent, blood shed than here :—it has been the Tower Hill of Paris, the Gehenna of France, the last scene of the crimes of the bad, and the sufferings of the unfortunate :—-its very name should be written in characters of blood. The precise epoch at which executions were begun here is not known, but the earliest authenticated date is 1310, under the reign of Philip the Fair, when a poor woman, Marguerite Porette, was burnt here PLACE DE LA GREVE. 109 for a heretic; and ever since that time until 1830, the headsman, the hangman, and the stakesman plied here too often their fearful trade. It is no small sign of a better state of public feeling in France that execu- tions are now performed in Paris at such early hours, and in such a remote spot, that the morbid curiosity of the vulgar is generally baulked of its gratification :— criminals at the present day are executed either ata distant and little visited barrier on the south of the capital, or else on the platform of a large prison near Pére la Chaise. One of the most distinguished State criminals who suffered on it in former days, if indeed he could be called a criminal, was the Comte de St. Pol, brother-in- law of Louis XI,—he and that crafty monarch having espoused sisters. Louis de Luxembourg was one of the most powerful nobles of France at that period, and, be- sides his county of St. Pol, held the towns and castles of Ham and Bohain, had command of the important town of St. Quentin, and had received the dignity of Constable of France, at the peace of Conflans in 1465. He seems to have entertained an innate dread of the treachery of Louis XI, and to have placed his hopes of power in the being able to balance the King and Duke Charles the Bold of Burgundy, one against the other :— in fact, the last years of his life were a continual series of machinations, partly for and partly against these powerful rivals. We quote now from the Annales Générales de la Ville de Paris, mpcxt (fol.): a scarce and valuable work :— “The count was difficult to be seized either by the king or the duke; for he lay just between them, and possessed great resources. Besides merely holding these 110 PLACE DE LA GREVE. towns he could throw garrisons into them from whence and when he pleased: he had a constant guard about his person of four hundred men-at-arms, well mounted and well paid: he exacted a crown upon every pipe of wine that passed through his estates into the Low Countries: had forty thousand livres of ordinary re- venue paid him by the king, as well as his own rich and extensive seignories; and maintained wide-spread communications in the territories of the king as well as of the duke. He was a man of deed as well as of word, and could do a great deal of good or a great deal of harm : he knew that if he abandoned either party he should be well received by the other : in short, both in himself, and for the places he held, he was worth a good peace between the king and the duke, and either of them would have been rejoiced to get him entirely to himself.” Besides the consciousness felt by Louis that the count was too powerful for a subject, and by Charles of Bur- gundy that he was too influential for a safe neighbour, the Constable had given special causes of offence to each of these potentates. A short truce of one year between France and Burgundy had been patched up in 1474, much to the displeasure of the count, who knew that, if the king and the duke were not at war with each other, they would most probably turn their arms against himself. He laboured, therefore, to the best of his ability to incense the king against his rival, and he suc- ceeded to a certain extent; but not so adroitly as to prevent Louis from perceiving the motives of his ad- vice; and hence arose a main cause of quarrel in the royal breast :—while, on the other hand, during the siege of Amiens, the count had cruelly ravaged the duke’s territory of Hainault, and burnt the Chateau de PLACE DE LA GREVE. 111 Seure, belonging to Baldwin de Launay, one of the duke’s principal favourites. The Annales observe :— “The count had powerful enemies, both on the king’s side and the duke’s, who conspired together for his ruin, and urged on their respective masters to the same point with all their might. Almost all this year of truce, in fact, was passed in trafficking for the life of the constable. Hymbercourt and Hugonet, Chancellor of Burgundy, were more interested in the matter than any other persons: for in a conference held at Roye, where the constable appeared on behalf of the king, and they for the duke, disputes and words had run to such a pitch that the constable had given them the lie:—to which the Burgundians, with apparent moderation, answered, that they considered it an insult, not to themselves but to the king, under the safeguard of whose parole they were then assembled, as well as to their master, whom they were there to represent, and to whom they would take good care to report it. The result of this was, that, at the instance of the Burgun- dian functionaries, a secret meeting was soon after held at Bouvines:—Hymbercourt and Hugonet came thither for the duke, and for the king came the Seigneur de Curton, Governor of the Limousin (whom the Count de St. Pol had once ejected from St. Quentin in a manner more summary than courteous), and with him Maistre Jehan Hebergé, afterwards Bishop of Evreux. They agreed to declare the constable an enemy and a criminal to both princes, on behalf of whom they further promised and swore, that the first of the two which could should apprehend the count, put him to death within eight days, or deliver him up to the other con- tracting party to be dealt with at his pleasure. They also promised on oath, that he should be proclaimed by 112 PLACE DE LA GREVE. sound of trumpet a common enemy to both parties, with all his adherents:—that all his estates, goods, and chattels should be confiscated; that the king should give up to the duke St. Quentin, Ham, Bohain, all the count’s estates, and all his ready money ;—and, finally, that on a set day the duke and the king should meet before Ham at the head of their respective armies, and there pursue the constable to the death.” Designs such as these, sworn to between men of such fiery and implacable minds as Louis and Charles of Burgundy, were not likely to remain without effect; but it was more than a year before this treaty was put in execution, and during the interval the count had found means to excite their wrath against him tenfold. The constable got wind of the plan adopted against him, and immediately dispatching a trusty follower to the king, told him that his machinations were known, and that he himself should immediately, with his forces, join the Duke of Burgundy. To parry this stroke, Louis delayed ratifying the treaty, and appointed a rendezvous with the constable, whereat they should treat of and settle their disputes. The place of meet- ing was fixed on the bank of a small stream not far from La Fére, within the territories of France; and the precautions adopted for the interview between the sovereion and his haughty vassal show strongly the feeble condition, in which the crown of France had been left after the mortal struggle of the country against England. Across the road that ran by the river-side was raised a strong wooden barrier, or frame of stout trellis work, through which the parleying parties could see each other, and could even put their hands, but which did not admit the passage of any weapons of offence, such as were used in those days. PLACE DE LA GREVE. 113 The fate of Jean-sans-Peur, the bold and bad Duke of Burgundy, who, in 1419, was killed by the Dauphin of France, on the bridge of Montereau, in a conference at an open barrier, had taught sovereigns and vassals a lesson of caution which was not neglected upon this occasion, The Count de St. Pol arrived first at the barrier, accom- panied by three hundred men-at-arms, and soon after Louis rode up at the head of double that number ;—the Constable was clothed in a robe of state, under which he had taken the precaution to put on his cuirass ;—the king was in his usual dress of cloth of gold, and a well furred velvet mantle. At the side of the king appeared one of the Constable’s most inveterate enemies, the Sieur de Chabannes, Count of Dampmartin :—and the former, as he knelt to his sovereign, adroitly availed himself of this nobleman’s presence as an excuse for coming with so strong a retinue. The king feigned to accept the excuse, listened to the Count’s grievances, approved of what he said, gave him a general pardon for all that had passed, continued him in the command of St. Quentin and other strongholds, and then departed, resolving within himself never to forget or forgive the insult put upon his royal authority by a subject who had thus treated with him on terms of virtual equality. The Count was not more sincere at this interview in his expressions of repentance for past intrigues than the king in his assurances of pardon: and his first machina- tion, prompted by the fear of having an army of his sovereign on his frontier, was to persuade Louis to send a large force from Picardy into Normandy, on a false statement that the English were going to land at Calais, and would march straight for that Duchy. The king, after despatching troops thither, found out the treachery, and yet was compelled to dissimulate his l 114 PLACE DE LA GREVE. wrath. He had soon after nearly got the Count into his power by inviting him to the palace, and the latter had doubtless fallen into the snare, had he not insisted on the king’s swearing upon the relics of St. Leu to give him a safe return. Louis offered to swear by any other relics, or to take any other kind of oath than this; but the Constable, wisely judging thereby that all was not right, kept out of the way:—and sent, at the same time, to the Duke de Bourbon, to induce him to revolt against the crown, while he also made overtures of reconciliation to the Duke of Burgundy. His messages and his letters to each of these dukes were delivered to Louis himself, and the monarch gained an opportunity of showing the Count in his true colours to his cousin of Burgundy. Louis de Creille, a gentleman of the Count’s household, with his secretary, arrived at court with the ostensible mission to induce the king to grant a year’s truce to the English, though nothing was in reality further removed from his wishes. Louis gave the man audience in one of the dark chambers in which he delighted to dwell, and had previously concealed an envoy from the Duke of Burgundy behind the arras. De Creille and his companion entered, and informed the sovereign that the Count had previously sent them to the duke in order to dissuade him from keeping up his amity with the English foe; that the duke had burst forth into one of his usual passions, had abused the English, had sworn against them by St. George, his most solemn asseveration; had called King Edward Blane borgne, and had even asserted that he was illegitimate. The king laughed heartily at their asser- tions, and delaying to give an answer about the truce, sent them away ;—but within three days every word of the interview had been reported to the duke, and the PLACE DE LA GREVE. 115 Constable’s destruction determined on. Louis, on the other hand, actually agreed to a truce with England, and invited Edward IV to the interview at Picquigny, so graphically described by an eye-witness, Philippe de Comynes, and where the two monarchs (like Louis and the Constable a short time previously) dared not trust to each other's honour, unless protected by a latticed barrier “strong as a lion’s cage.” This interview and its consequent ceremonies over, the king and the duke proceeded to carry into effect the secret treaty of Bouvines; and, having further agreed to a truce of nine years, the duke ordered Esmeries, Grand Bailiff of Hainault, to arrest the Constable, who was then visiting him at the Castle of Monts. This was promptly done, and on the king’s demand the Count de St. Pol was delivered into the hands of the Grand Admiral of France, Bastard of Bourbon, by his mortal enemies Hymbercourt and the Chancellor Hugonet. He was brought by easy journeys to Paris, and confined in the Bastile ; as he entered which fortress it was observed that he rode a small black palfrey, and wore a coat or “cappe” of camlet lined with black velvet, “looking much dejected and right piteous.” His offences were immediately laid before the parliament of Paris; and his various treacheries, with the letters and other docu- ments in proof of them, having been duly recognised by the court, the Constable, who had never been confronted with his judges, was ordered to be brought up for sentence. The Annales report :— “On Tuesday, the 19th of December, 1475, the Sieur de St. Pierre went to the Constable's chamber in the Bastile, as being on guard over him, and tapping at the door cried out, ‘Monseigneur, what are you about, are you asleep? ‘Nenny, replied the constable, ‘it is long 12 116 PLACE DE LA GREVE. since I have been able to sleep; I am here where you see me, thinking and dreaming.’ St. Pierre then said that he was ordered to deliver him over to the guard of the chevalier Robert Destouteville, Provost of Paris, to be by him conducted before the Parliament, to hear two matters concerning the things whereof he was accused; and the Constable, after express- ing his fears that the populace might insult him, was led on horseback, surrounded by the city archers, to the presence of the Parliament, in the Chambre de la Tournelle. After he had saluted the court, the Chancellor of France rose, and said, ‘Monseigneur de Sainct Pol, you have ever been esteemed one of the - most virtuous and constant chevaliers of this kingdom: and since, up to this day, you have always shown your- self such, it is still more necessary that you should show this constancy, which is so natural to you, in the place where you now are. You must therefore, Mon- seigneur, take from off your neck the royal order with which you have been honoured by the king.’ The Con- stable replied that he would do so willingly, and raised his hand to take it off: but as it was fastened behind with a golden pin, he requested St. Pierre to help him, and then kissing the collar of the order gave it into the chancellor's hands. The latter demanded of him his constable’s sword, but he replied that he had it not, that everything had been taken from him when he was arrested, and that he stood before the court just as he was brought into the Bastile. Upon this Maistre Jehan de Popaincourt, President of Parliament, rose, and after informing him that his case had been fully heard, read the dictum of the court, which was to the effect, that he had been attainted and found guilty of high treason:—that he was to suffer death that very PLACE DE LA GREVE. 117 day: that he was to be beheaded in front of the Hétel de Ville; and that all his seignories, revenues, pos- sessions, and inheritances were to be forfeited to the king. The dictum being read, the Constable was greatly astounded at it, and seemed quite perplexed: for he could not imagine that the king or his officers would ever condemn him to die. Thereupon he ex- claimed, ‘Ha! God be praised! here is a rude sentence! I pray that He may give me grace to have a right knowledge of Him this day!’ Then turning to St. Pierre, he added: ‘Ha, ha! Monsieur de St. Pierre, this is not at all what you told me this morning :’—but the latter answered him not a word, and withdrew. The Constable was then left in the hands of four Doctors in Theology, one of them a Cordelier, Maistre Jehan de Sordun:—the second, an Augustin canon; the third, the Penitencier of Paris; and the fourth, Maistre Jehan Hué, curate of St. André des Arts, and Dean of the Faculty of Theology, in the University of Paris. Of these, and of the chancellor, the constable earnestly begged that they would give him the Lord’s Body :— but they did not grant his request :—a mass was, how- ever, celebrated before him, and with this he was forced to be content. Mass ended, holy water was sprinkled on him, and they gave him consecrated bread to eat :— of this he partook, and then remained in conference with the doctors till two in the afternoon, when he descended the steps of the Palace, where the Parlia- ment sat, and mounted again on horseback to be led to the Hotel de Ville. In front of the building some scaffoldings were erected for persons to get on to see him die; and as he advanced he was escorted by the registrary of the court, with all the ushers of the same. On arriving at the Hétel de Ville, he was taken into 118 PLACE DE LA GREVE. the Bureau, against which a scaffolding had been raised, with an enclosed passage of wood as a way of approach, and adjoining was a smaller scaffold upon which he was to be executed. The Constable remained in the Bureau with his confessors, testifying great regret, followed by many acts of repentance: he made his testament as well as he could, and, subject to the king’s good pleasure, it was received by a gentleman in attendance. It was three o'clock when the Constable came forth from the Bureau, and he threw himself at the foot of the smaller scaffold. Then, turning his face, he knelt towards the side which looks to Nostre Dame, and said his prayers, which were very long, mingled with tears, regrets, and many signs of contrition, ever having the cross before his eyes, and the remembrance of our Saviour’s passion in his heart. The crucifix was held for him by Maistre Jehan Sordun, the Cordelier Doctor, and he often kissed it with tears and great devotion. His prayers ended, the Count stood up:— and thereupon presented himself, a man named Petit Jehan, son of Henry Cousin, executor of the Haute Justice of Paris, and with a small cord bound his hands, all which he bore with the noblest constancy. The Constable was then made to mount the little scaffold, where he stopped, and turning towards the Provost of Paris, and other officers of the king, begged, through them, pardon of his majesty, and requested them to remember his soul in their prayers. Next, turning to the people, he besought them also to pray for his soul: —and then kneeling down on a small square cushion, charged with the armorial bearings of the town, he put it into the position which suited him by moving it with his foot. He was then blindfolded, still speaking to God and his confessors, and Petit-Jehan, taking a sword PLACE DE LA GREVE. 119 from his father’s hand, made the Constable’s head, at a single blow fly from off his shoulders. He then took it up by the hair, dipped it in a pail of water, and raised it on the scaffold in sight of all the people, who were upwards of two hundred thousand in number.” So perished the Constable of France, Count de St. Pol. His body was carried to the church of the Cor- deliers by the monks of that convent, in solemn proces- sion by torch-light, and a costly tomb was erected in it over his remains. The extreme haste with which the trial was conducted, and the omission of confronting him with either his judges or accusers, are strong testi- monies of the count’s power and the king’s fear. The Duke of Burgundy, too glad to have got rid of so powerful a neighbour, thought he would try after some larger game, and accordingly hired a bold des- perado to poison the king. Jehan Hardy, as he was not inaptly termed, was servant to a tradesman in Paris, and he agreed with the duke for the sum of 50,000 crowns to take off Louis in a ready manner. He had a friend in the royal kitchens, and disclosing his plot to him, endeavoured to purchase his co-opera- tion for 20,000 crowns; but the latter fellow, too wise to embark in such a scheme, gave information upon which Hardy was arrested. This took place at Amboise, where Louis XI then was, and the king set off immediately for the capital, having Hardy brought after him in an open cart, strongly fettered, and guarded by fifty archers. On arriving in Paris he was com- mitted to the custody of the provost and eschevins of | the city, tried within ten days, though it does not appear that he ever saw his judges until they pro- nounced sentence, and then was condemned to be executed on the Place de la Gréve. Hither he was 120 PLACE DE LA GREVE. drawn in a tumbril from the Conciergerie, and, four horses being fastened, one to each of his limbs, was speedily torn asunder: amidst the most horrible shrieks from himself and shouts of savage exultation from the multitude. His head was then fixed on a lance and set out to view from one of the windows of the Hotel de Ville, while the quarters of his body were sent each with tickets on them, declaring his offence, to four towns on the frontiers of the Low Countries and Burgundy. The taste for tearing criminals in pieces seems to have been of long standing in Paris; for, in 1594, when Jean Chastel had been found guilty of attempting to murder Henry IV, though he only wounded the king in the face with a dagger, this poor wretch (about whose sanity strong doubts may be entertained) was ordered to die a dreadful death. He first of all had to do penance before the principal door-way of Nétre Dame on a cold day in December, standing clad only in a long shirt, and holding a heavy wax taper, lighted, in his hand; subjected to all the taunts and indignities of the multitude assembled in the Parvis: after which he was made to kneel down and beg pardon of God for his crime, while he acknowledged the justice of his sen- tence. He was then taken in a tumbril to the Place de la Gréve, and there his torments began. First, he was pinched and torn with red-hot pincers on his arms and thighs :—next, his right hand was struck off with a hatchet :—then his limbs were fastened each to a strong horse, and torn from his body. The dismembered trunk and bleeding limbs were afterwards thrown into a large fire burning in the middle of the Place,—and their ashes scattered to the winds. We may add that his father was banished the kingdom :—all the Jesuits (for PLACE DE LA*GREVE. 121 he had been educated by them) were also banished and their property confiscated; and Father Guinard, who had been his tutor in the College de Clermont, was himself brought to the scaffold on the Place de la Grave two days after. Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry IV, was one of the many victims of the Place de la Gréve. After this fanatic had confessed that he alone was the author of the deed, and had persisted in declaring that no one had incited him to it, the law officers of the Crown de- cided that torture should be used to elicit some further confession,—and, as the French law-term of that day ran, La question des brodequins lui fut appliquée. Who that has read Old Mortality does not remember the vivid description of this horrible species of torture ?— Rawvaillac bore it with considerable fortitude :—he en- dured the driving in of two wedges between the close- fitting iron boot and the knee without saying a word further than to persist in his first declarations :—but, on a third wedge being introduced, and hammered down by the strong arm of the torturer, human nature gave way, and he fainted into a long and deep swoon. The officers of the Parliament were satisfied with going thus far in the application of torture, and, on his recovering, the remainder of his sentence was carried into effect, in the description of which we quote the Annales :— “ Ravaillac was laid on a mattress till mid-day, and when the power of speech had returned, and he was somewhat stronger, the executioner carried him into the chapel, and chained him. Some dinner was then given him: and before the reverend doctors, to whose spiritual care he had been entrusted, entered into con- ference with the prisoner, the registrary of the Parlia- ment again adjured him to name his accomplices, if he had 122 PLACE DE LA GREVE. any. He strenuously persisted, however, in taking the blame of the action entirely to himself: said that he never should have endured the torture so long, could he have made any further disclosures : acknowledged that he had committed a heimous crime through the temptation of the devil;—begged of the King, the Queen, the Court, and of all men to forgive him; and then prayed to God that the sufferings of his body might be accepted as a partial penance for the sins of his soul. About three in the afternoon he was taken out of the chapel to be led to execution, but all the way from the chapel to the gateway of the Conciergerie, the prisoners in a confused multitude, shouted the most op- probrious cries after him, some calling him a wicked man and a traitor, others a murderer and a villain :-— and some would have attacked him had not the archers and the officers of justice prevented them. On coming out of the Conciergerie to get into the tumbril, the people, (who were so numerous in the court of the palace that the archers and officers of justice had no room) as soon as they saw him, began to cry out: calling him mur- derer, parricide, and other infamous names ; several en- deavoured to throw themselves on him and maltreat him, but were kept off by the archers. An usher of the Court then came forth, and after crying for a long time ‘Peace there!’ and ‘Hear now in the king’s name!’ everybody became silent in order to hear the sentence read: but when the usher came to the words ‘ killed the king with two stabs of a knife’, all the people began again to shout, and so continued until Ravaillac was brought before the principal entrance of Nostre Dame. Here he did penance in his shirt, with a wax-taper in his hand, the people all the while hooting and reviling him. Every street through which he had passed was PLACE DE LA GREVE. 123 thronged with people of every age and sex, who were posted in all the shops and at every window. From Nostre Dame he was taken to the Place de la Gréve, the same insults being heaped on him all the way along :—and many women as well as men would have attacked him in the tumbril had it not been for the archers. The sentence of the Court being again read on the Place de la Gréve, Ravaillac, before getting down from the tumbril, begged the king, the queen, and all men, once more to forgive him for the great fault he had committed, and that they would pray God for him: but the populace instantly recommenced their clamours and insults. He then mounted the scaffold, and, after the doctors had given him their exhortation, the Registrary of the Court again urged him to think of his approaching death, and to declare his accomplices: —but he gave the same replies as before. The execu- tioner then seized him, and, in pursuance of his sentence, began to burn over a sulphur fire the right hand with which the murder had been committed. He held the fatal knife in it, and, as he felt the flames, shrieked loudly, and often called out ‘Jesus Maria!’ He was then torn on the breast, the arms, thighs, and calves of the legs with red-hot irons, and still reiterated the same shrieks and ejaculations. While this was going on he was several times admonished to declare the whole truth, but he persisted in saying that he had said all he knew: and thereupon the people shouted louder than ever, while many cried out that his punishment ought to be protracted. While his wounds were bleed- ing, boiling oil, melted lead, pitch, and sulphur were poured upon them, and made him shriek in the most horrible manner. The registrary now turned to the doctors, and told them that they ought to begin the 124 PLACE DE LA GREVE. prayers for the dead, and chant the Salve; but they had no sooner taken off their caps and begun to do so, than the people, in immense tumult, cried out that they ought not to pray for so abominable a parricide, and in fact compelled them to desist. The registrary once more said to Ravaillac, that this unusual indignation of the people ought to move him to confess the truth: but all he answered was, ‘It was only I that did it’. “The executioner now fastened each of his limbs to a strong horse, and having made the animals pull at him for half an hour, with a few intervals between, Ravaillac was again admonished to tell the truth ; but he repeated only his former declarations. Upon this, the people, far and near and of all degrees, continued their shouting against him, and many took hold of the ropes and pulled at them with all their might. A gentleman near the scaffold, seeing that one of the horses drawing at Ravaillac was restive, got off his own horse, and put him in place of the other to draw the stronger. At length, the horses having drawn him for more than an hour without tearing away any of his limbs, Ravaillac expired! The executioner then split him in two, and then into four parts, and the people of every degree rushed with swords, knives, and cudgels, on the four limbs, snatching them from the executioner, fighting for them among themselves with inconceivable fury, and dragging them all through the streets of Paris. Some took and dragged them outside the town, by the city, ditches, and in the fauxbourgs, burning portions in many different places: while country peo- ple from the neighbourhood of Paris having found means to obtain parts of the flesh and entrails, dragged them to their villages, and there burnt them. Thus died this infamous wretch! He was very tall in person, power- fully made, large-limbed, and with dark red hair !” PLACE DE LA GREVE. 125 The tale of another political offender who suffered death on the Place de la Grave, in 1612, though of no great importance in itself, is not without interest from the picture which it affords of the manners of that period. We abridge and quote from the Annales :— In the picturesque province of Berry, and on a small stream running into the Cher, stood the town and chateau of Vatan; the former being one of those small “bourgs” which almost everywhere rose up under pro- tection of some feudal seigneur; and the latter one of those small fortresses or castellated houses, which abounded in France up to the end of the last century. The possessor of this chateau, the Seigneur de Vatan, was of a family that had rendered essential services to Henry IV in his struggle for the crown: he was of an ardent temperament, handsome in person, lived nobly on his ancestral estate, and was, in short, as it was re- marked at the time, altogether a “brave gentilhomme.” His neighbours and dependents, who looked upon him with respect for his many virtues, felt towards him a kind of secret fear: for, in the first place he was a protestant, and in the next he was greatly given to the study of “mathematics, ephemerides, and speculations upon celestial matters.” So says one who witnessed his actions; and he adds that the country people strongly suspected him of dealing in the black art, to which the somewhat secluded life of a studious bachelor might easily giverise. He was the most important personage in his neighbourhood, and though without the title of baron or count, was a good type of the old feudal nobility of France, where every “ gentilhomme” was named after his estate, and was considered equal in point of blood with the highest noble in the land. It appears that one of his tenants had been detected 126 PLACE DE LA GREVE. by the farmer general of the salt duties in fabricating salt without a licence; and the Provost des Marechaux of Tours seized on his person for the offence, and carried him off to prison. The Seigneur de Vatan, bound to protect one of his own vassals immediately sent his Maitre d’Hotel to the Provost to beg of him to take bail ; but this emissary acquitted himself of his duty with so little courtesy, that the Provost placed him under arrest as well as the tenant, and carried them both off to Tours. In retaliation for what he considered an insult, M. de Vatan sent a party of his vassals, well armed, to attack a house of the Farmer General’s not far from thence, and to seize on one of his sons who was studying there under a tutor for the Church ; the at- tack was successful : the lad was carried off and lodged in the Chateau de Vatan. Upon this the enraged parent applied to the Council of State at Paris, and ob- tained a warrant for the apprehension of M. de Vatan ; but the execution of it having been entrusted to a lieu- tenant of police who was not a gentleman by birth, M. de Vatan refused to obey the summons and sent home the lieutenant with little display of courtesy. His enemies had influence to persuade the Council that M. de Vatan, from his being of the Protestant party, was a dangerous subject, and even got up an accusation of his having been concerned in some petty and long-for- gotten conspiracy against the State. They followed up their insinuations with so much pertinacity, that an order was issued by the Council for obtaining possession of the refractory gentleman’s person by force of arms; and the execution of the order was entrusted to the Count de Chiverny, Governor of the Blesois. It gives no mean idea of the power of one of these un- titled gentlemen of France, when it is recorded that the PLACE DE LA GREVE. 127 Governor, on hearing that M. de Vatan intended to de- fend himself, ordered a force of twelve hundred French in- fantry, a company of Swiss Guards, five hundred cavalry, and six pieces of cannon, to proceed to the siege of the Chateau. In fact, every seigneur, whose means allowed of it, had from time immemorial fortified his residence to the best of his ability, and had endeavoured to pro- tect himself against his legal superiors, or against the hand of predatory violence. France, in the reign of Louis XIII, was not so far removed from the remini- scences of the feudal system, that any gentleman of im- portance would trust himself to reside in an open or unfortified house. The Chateau de Vatan, like num- berless other residences, was surrounded by a strong, turretted wall with a fosse, barbican, and other small outworks: while within this first line of defence rose the corps de logis, a lofty pile flanked with towers, well embattled, and machicolated over the gateways, with many a narrow loop-hole and high pointed window, strong portcullises at every gate, deep dungeons within, walls some sixteen or twenty feet thick, and a forest of peaked roofs, pennoned gables, vanes, and sculptured chimney-tops rising over it into the air. Beneath the castle, and huddled together near the outer wall, were the houses of the town; around lay the wide-spread estates of the seigneur; and in times of peace M. de Vatan lived here with more real authority than, and with as much comparative pomp as, the sovereign him- self, As the royal troops advanced, the vassals of M. de Vatan abandoned their seigneur and fled; the in- habitants of the town, too, left it to seek refuge in the nearest. villages, while the local authorities of this petty place, headed by the “Lieutenant en la J ustice,” came to the governor of the province to clear them- 128 PLACE DE LA GREVE. selves from all suspicion of resistance. In his presence they renewed the report of M. de Vatan’s being an undoubted magician, and adduced as a proof that for the last three or four years he had been engaged in printing a work at Paris on this very subject. It was discovered, afterwards, that this work was a Latin commentary on the 10th book of Euclid; and it actually issued from the Paris press some time after its author’s death. As for M. de Vatan, he made no offers of sub- mission, but having collected about one hundred armed men from among his vassals, allowed the troops to take up a position outside the town, and endeavoured to defend that place against them. He does not seem to have been backed by men of courage; for after the thirteenth discharge of the besieging batteries, he abandoned the town and retired within the castle, carrying into it his lieutenant, M. de Maeny, badly wounded by a cannon ball. The troops, after estab- lishing themselves in the houses, commenced operations against the castle itself, which appears to have been unfurnished with artillery, and to have depended for its defence only on the thickness of its walls and the harquebuses of its small garrison. After a smart resistance, the besiegers made a breach in the outer wall of the chateau, and rushed into the great cowt, where some of them, approaching too near to the draw- bridge that led into the main body of the building, were killed by a brisk discharge from the garrison. The ensuing morning saw a regular battery raised in the court at a few paces from the wall, and the garrison, giving themselves up for lost, compelled their chief to ask for a capitulation, while the greater portion of them, retreating through a postern, escaped into the open country. On the Count de Chiverny promising that he PLACE DE LA GREVE., 129 would intercede for M. de Vatan at court, the draw- bridge was lowered and the troops entered the great hall of the castle, where, with signal treachery, they immediately massacred all on whom they could lay hands. M. de Magny, the lieutenant, was brought out and hung: and some officers then made their way into a room, where they found M. de Vatan. On being asked for his sword he refused to give it, but said they might take it if they pleased, and he was immediately disarmed, placed under a strong guard, marched off to Orleans and thence to Paris, escorted by a numerous body of soldiers, and confined in the prison of Fort VEvéque. As for his chateau, it was pillaged, and a valuable library contained in it totally destroyed. It was Christmas Eve when he arrived in the capital, and by the following Thursday he had been tried and con- demned to death for opposing the King’s troops. For the remainder of his story we quote the words of the account written soon after his ‘tragedy,’ as it styles his fate, occurred ;— “When he had been interrogated the last time, and had been shut up in prison, he began to suspect that he was condemned to die; for at his dinner they gave him only a single bottle of wine and a brown loaf, whereas he had previously been furnished with two good bottles and a couple of dishes of meat. His fellow-prisoner, for he had not been allowed a cell to himself, tried to comfort him: but he ate only a morsel or two, drank a drop of wine, and then rising walked up and down his cell, saying to himself that he was certainly doomed to die. Soon after he threw himself on his knees, and continued at his devotions for a long time, until the gaoler coming to unbar the door he arose, and seeing several persons enter, exclaimed, ‘Hé bien, il faut K 130 PLACE DE LA GREVE. mourir! allons!’ He was then led to the chapel of the prison, and ordered to go on his knees while sentence of death was read. According to the terms of this de- cree he was to be drawn in a tumbril to the Place de la Gréve, there beheaded, and his body burnt to ashes; his head being stuck on a lance, carried to Vatan, and placed over one of the town gates. The chateau was to be rased, the ditches filled up, and nobody allowed to build on its site, under pain of being declared rebels to the King; while all his estates were to be confiscated for the royal use. This part of the decree was afterwards remitted by the Queen Regent, and his sisters were allowed to retain possession of the chateau and its ter- ritories. On rising from his knees he asked for a protestant minister, and the registrary told him he might send for any one he could name; but when one came with some of his friends, and they were going to sing psalms, the catholics who were present declared they would not tolerate it within the chapel, and forced them to leave off. It was three o’clock when the pro- cession set out for the Place de la Gréve; and M. de Vatan, on taking leave of the minister who had attended him, was four times heard to say, ‘Sir, pray to God for me and I will pray to Him for you when I shall be up on high;’ thus acting in conformity with the practice of the protestants not to pray for the dead. As he moved along he said to those he knew, ‘Adieu, my friends, it is necessary that I should be made an example!’ He was left alone by himself in the tumbril as they took him to the Gréve, praying earnestly all the way; and when he mounted the scaffold, such was the dexterity of the executioner, that while he was shut- ting up the shears, after cutting off the hair behind M. de Vatan’s neck, and as he was asking him whether he would like to have his eyes bandaged, he struck off his PLACE DE LA GREVE. 131 head at a single blow unawares!’ The body was then burnt in compliance with the sentence. The printer who was engaged on his Latin Commentary was so much alarmed at his employer's fate, that he left his shop, fled from Paris, and soon after died of fright.” During the reigns of Louis XIII and his two succes- sors, though state executions on the Place de la Gréve became less common, the executions of ordinary crimi- nals went on there as usual, At the time of the great Revolution, it was the common spot for inflicting the extreme penalty of the law; and, next to the Place Louis Quinze, no locality, while the revolutionary mad- ness lasted, saw more innocent blood shed. Until within a few years there used to be shown a famous lamp-post on the Place, near the corner towards the river, where victims of every class had been hung up by dozens. After the Restoration, and until 1830, the same state of things continued, and a most injudicious display was generally made here of the crimes and the sufferings of humanity. The usual course of proceeding was to place the criminal in the Conciergerie, by the river side, as soon as a sentence of capital punishment had been pronounced; and he never left that prison again, unless for death or for a reprieve. A scaffold, with the guillotine upon it, was erected during the night on the Place de la Gréve; and, as the materials for its construction were kept in the Conciergerie itself, the unfortunate prisoner could hear the cumbrous beams dragged forth in the stillness of the midnight hour, and rumbling along the quays, beneath the old towers of the prison, towards the spot where his own tragedy was in a few hours to be acted. The prisoners might easily have been executed early in the morning, but this was never done; and from what cause we know not, the K 2 132 PLACE DE LA GREVE. time of execution was always fixed for four in the afternoon. The preparations were made so accurately that, just as the clock of the Hétel de Ville gave the fourth stroke, the fatal axe fell, and the prisoner's sufferings were over. This has been wrought up into an ideal narrative of the most heart-thrilling horror by Victor Hugo, in his Dernier Jour Pun Condamné, a work too well known to need much allusion; and all the circumstances of execution just mentioned may there be found detailed by a master’s hand: it is well worth the perusal of all who take an interest in de- scriptions of such a painful nature. We will merely add, that in 1835, after executions had ceased to be such prominently public spectacles in Paris, a most infamous murderer, Lacenaire, who used to decoy people into his room and there murder them for the sake of the few francs he might find in their pockets, was brought to the scaffold. Some days before he was executed, the following verses appeared in one of the Parisian papers, and excited great attention, as they were rumoured to have been written by the crimi- nal himself, who had once been a sort of homme de lettres. They were in reality the production of a young Parisian barrister, M. A. Lemarquier, but they had the temporary effect of making many credulous people believe that Lacenaire would be reprieved, on account of his being a ‘‘ Bel Esprit!” They are full of allusions to the old ceremonial of the Place de la Grave, and we annex to them a liberal translation :— DInsomnie du Condamné. Elle est longue la nuit quand le criminel veille ; S’il s’endort, il maudit le bruit qui le réveille ; Libre et non criminel dans un songe il vivait. Que voit-il maintenant aux lueurs des étoiles ? L’aleove ott l’araignée a suspendn ses toiles, Tit la paille de son chevet. PLACE DE LA GREVE. 133 C’est un bien! c’est alors que vient & sonner V’heure Oi, seul et sans témoins, l’assassin prie et pleure ; Son orgueil se fait humble et sa fierté mollit ; Son cceur est poignardé par des remords intimes : Les fantémes sanglans de toutes ses victimes Se dressent au pied de son lit. Tl a beau fermer l’qil, un bras glacé le touche ; Un cadavre tout nu vient partager sa couche ; Tl livre son oreille & d’infernales voix : Tl entend sur les quais une pesante roue : T entend le bourreau, le gibet que l’on cloue, Le chant lugubre des convois! Alors le criminel s’amende: alors il pense A celui qui punit et qui nous recompense, Celui qu’on nomme Dieu dans le langage humain ; Qui, sur son tréne, attend que le criminel meure, Et le conduit, absous, 4 la sainte demenre Dont seul il connait le chemin. On peut mourir athée, alors que le délire Dans le livre des cieux nous empéche de lire ; Quand le lit est déja le funébre caveau ; Quand le sang suspendu dans la veine glacée Au malade expirant ne laisse de pensée Dans le coeur ni dans le cerveau ; Mais lorsqu’on va mourir dans sa jeunesse verte, A lage ou nétre vie & peine s’est ouverte, Avant que son printemps ait fait place 4 Vhiver, Et que Clamart est 1a, le hideux cimetiére ! Demandant notre chair, notre chair tout entiére, Pour servir de pature au ver ; Alors, croyez le bien, une agonie immense Vous rend votre raison et chasse la démence ; Avant de dire au monde un éternel adieu, L’homme veut éviter le céleste anathéme, Et court a V’échafaud, comme au sanglant baptéme Qui réconcilie avec Dieu. 134 PLACE DE LA GREVE. Slow wanes the long night, when the felon awakes : And he curses the noise that his slumber breaks ; For he dream’d of other days, When his soul was free from the stain of crime, And he lived in a better and happier time. But now, by the stars’ pale rays, And the doubtful light they shed, What sees he but only the dim alcove, Where the spider hath spun her toils, above, And, below, his straw-strewn bed ! To him ’tis a good! for the bell’s solemn tone Sounds the hour, when, unwitness’d and all alone, The assassin prays and weeps ; The pride of his heart is brought full low, And his savage temper is soften’d now, And Remorse her dagger steeps In his heart-core’s secret blood. Around him his victims, a ghastly band Of bleeding shades, vindictive stand By his bed in angry mood. His eyes he may close :—but the cold icy touch Of a frozen hand, and a corpse on his couch Still come to wither his soul. He listens! ’t is only to fill his ears With voices from hell, and unholy fears : He hears the waggon’s roll, And on the quays a heavy tread,* And the headsman’s voice, and hammer’d blows Of nails that the jointed gibbet close, And the solemn chant of the dead ! It is then that the criminal tries to amend, And he thinks of him who alone can send Reward or punishment. Of the Being, for whom the human mind The name of God hath essay’d to find, In adoration bent. * All this could be well heard in the stillness of the night from the towers of the Conciergerie. See Victor Hugo’s description in the Dernier Jour, ete. PLACE DE LA GREVE. 135 For still on his awful throne The Deity waits, till the Sinner shall come, Then leads him absolv’d to a holy home By a path He knows alone. We may die without God in the world, when the skies’ Mysterious volume is hid from our eyes, And clos’d is its wondrous page: When the bed that once refreshment gave Is loath’d as a foretaste of the grave From sickness or old age. When that, which was wont to dart Through all the veins, is slow and cold, And the dying man’s sensations hold No more in his head and heart. But when death is our doom in the greenness of life, When the flow’r of existence with strength is rife, And as yet but hardly blown; Before its hopeful spring-time hath fled, And wint’ry age his hoary head To frighten us hath shewn ; When, Clamart!* thy hideous form Sepulchral, is come to demand its prey, Where our body, all, shall moulder away As food for the gnawing worm ; Oh! doubt not! ’t is then that the soul in its woe Brings reason back and bids madness go: E’en then, or ere he die, To the world, as for ever it fades from his view, Man gives his one long last adieu ; He wishes then to fly From Heaven’s chastising rod: And the scaffold’s steps he hastes to mount, As to a blood-baptizing fount, That reconciles with God! H. L. J. * The cemetery of Clamart is an enclosed spot near the Jardin des Plantes in the south-eastern part of Paris, appropriated to the sepulture of criminals. 136 V.—SKETCHES IN OLD FRANCE. VERSAILLES. WHoeEver wanders through the green alleys of the park and bosquets of Versailles, or paces the endless galleries and ever-succeeding suites of rooms that compose its stately palace; be his object curiosity for the present or inquiry for the past, a feeling of sadness as well as re- verence must be excited in his breast, as he wakes with solitary step the long silent echoes of this, the once brilliant abode of courtly elegance and regal grandeur. The slightest tincture of historical lore will revivify such ground to a mind of even ordinary sensibility; the trees would utter music, the shrubberies tell their tale, the stones themselves would seem instinct with life and voice to the least poetical imagination, if it could by possibility forget that at Versailles it was treading in the steps of all that was once the brightest and the loveliest of Europe ; of all that was great and powerful in those stirring and energetic times when the nations of this quarter of the globe were assuming their present relative stations, and when Versailles was the centre of the politics, the arts, the literature and refinement of the civilised world. True it is, that the sterner virtues which hallow the plain of Marathon and the walls of Iona had seldom, if ever, their echo on this spot: the patriot and the religionist, at least in the usual accepta- tion of these words, rarely appeared among the demi- gods of this French Olympus ; the very idea of simple and natural excellence was almost unknown to the gay, VERSAILLES. 137 magnificent crowds that peopled this now deserted abode. Man existed here in an artificial state ; the good he aimed at, while within the circuit of Versailles, was good only in a peculiar and restricted sense; and the deities, if deities he worshipped, were never more exalted in purity than the Muses, while they more fre- quently took the form of Mars or of Mercury, of Bellona or of Venus. The originator, the creator of the whole, by whom and for whom it existed, assumed, as is known, the attributes of the God of Day; and his motto, which still glitters on the walls of the palace, “Nec pluribus umpar”, stamped at once the character of the place and of its inhabitants. But though the severer developments of the human mind and the more pure and beneficent of its operations, found little room for exercise and scanty encouragement to action within the precincts of the court residence of the Bourbons, the full tide of human passions boiled and swelled, ebbed and flowed here, with a more than ordi- nary concentration of fearful violence. Pride and ambi- tion, avarice and selfish cruelty, the thirst of blood and the fever of lust, the mean workings of intrigue as well as the heart-gnawing anxieties of jealousy, hope, fear, revenge, and murder; even love,—for love was once no stranger at Versailles,—all have borne their parts in the great dramas enacted here; and none from the sove- reign to the page but was a slave to one or more of these imperious masters. State crimes and State virtues, whatever their kind, have all been brought into exer- cise at Versailles : at one time the lives and fortunes of neighbouring nations hung here by no firmer link than the flimsy thread that determined whether a window accorded or not with the indications of the mason’s plummet ; at another, the gloomy conscience of a royal 138 VERSAILLES. penitent, anxious, perhaps, to compound for earlier errors, was worked upon in the confessional to sign the edict that should banish liberty of worship from his realms, and sow in its place the first seeds of future re- volution ; the unfortunate exiles who had lost a rival throne, were received here with a generosity and a de- licacy of feeling that have never since been equalled ; and again, in later times, the virtues of other and still more unfortunate sovereigns, exalted by the melancholy exigencies of the times, here shed the parting ray of their lustre on halls and groves, soon to be visited with the long night of political oblivion. The evil probably prevailed over the good in the springs of action thus assembled and made to exercise their power. We are perhaps warranted in so concluding from the effects which the system of Louis XIV and his successor ulti- mately produced; for we can certainly trace back most, if not all, the faults of the eighteenth century to the foundation of folly and extravagance laid so widely and deeply in the seventeenth. Had not that monarch in- troduced the system of State mistresses, had he not carried on the wars of aggrandizement, had he not levelled all the boundaries of old laws and customs to pamper his own will or caprice, France perhaps had not seen the public profligacy of the Regency, nor the private libertinism of Louis XV; the Aristocracy would most probably have preserved their fortunes, their ter- ritorial influence and the love of the people ; while the Clergy would have kept their moral hold over the nation, and known how to stem the great social and political cataclysm that afterwards swept and purified, though it ruined and remodelled, the entire framework and ap- pearance of the Gallic community. It cannot be denied that the great French Revolution was the offspring of VERSAILLES. 139 the system of the Grand Monarque ; but it is, perhaps, idle to speculate in the present day on what might or might not have been the results of courses of action that were never adopted ; or to place men on their trial be- fore posterity, when posterity itself is possibly not act- ing a whit more prudently, or with any greater regard to what may hereafter result from its own political sys- tems and constitutions of society. We would rather turn from the gloomy side of the story of Versailles to look at it in a favourable light ; for we do not desire the ungrateful task of criticising what once was great and magnificent, and universally reckoned to be good. Our present purpose is rather to seek out a bright spot of the system identitied with Versailles, and to trace the march of what constituted the peculiar glory of Louis XIV, the fine arts of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as they existed in France from the accession of the third monarch of the House of Bourbon to the melancholy dethronement of the fifth. Aware, therefore, of all that may be advanced against the Augustan age of the French nation, and by no means taking up the gauntlet as its apologists, we leave to others the task of being its defenders and judges; and pass on to inquire into the mutual action which the court system and the cultivation of the fine arts exer- cised on each other during that period. From the en- lightened taste and the really patriotic enthusiasm of Francis I, who was in many respects the greatest monarch that had till then swayed her sceptre, France had made a rapid advance in the fine arts; and was in possession of a school of native artists that bade fair to rival, if not ultimately to excel, the longer established masters and more cultivated skill of the Italian States. 140 VERSAILLES. The immediate successors of the monarch in question, though they did not equally encourage, yet by no means neglected the branch of civilisation that had been fa- voured by their ancestor. Henry I, for example, was as fond of art and was as kind a patron of artists as his father, Francis I, but he was not a man of the same energy of mind or the same activity of body: he was well calculated to fall in with the general inclination, but not to lead the fashion of his age ;—and what may be termed his premature death tended, by its political consequences, greatly to check French art and refine- ment of every kind. The ambition of Catherine de Medicis, working on the infantine minds of the two next sovereigns; the gloomy religious wars to which the fanatical tyranny of these monarchs subsequently gave rise ; and the lamentable period of the reign of the last of the Valois ; all these went well nigh to banish art, or at any rate so far disturbed and discouraged those who cultivated it, that the good effects of what Francis I had done were nearly obliterated. The dreadful mas- sacre in which Peter Ramus lost his life, and Jean Gou- jon was shot while chiselling a public monument, was a signal for the peaceable lovers of the fine arts to gird up their loins and betake themselves to more favoured re- gions. They did so ;—France, with a few exceptions, was left to herself, and Henry IV, on his entering Paris, came into a ruined city, no longer the abode of the muses. The public mind was too much absorbed by the change of dynasty and the turmoil of civil and ecclesi- astical discord to attend to the embellishments of life : parties were contending, not in the senate, but in the tented field, for political supremacy ;—Catholics and Protestants disputed not so much with books as with swords; Art found no place of quiet abode in a country VERSAILLES. 141 so distracted within itself; nor was there any hope of fresh progress for it until Henry IV was firmly settled on the throne. The last quarter of the sixteenth century, considering the bright period that had preceded it, and the state of art on the other side of the Alps, was a time of dark- ness for France. That great architect and man of science, Philibert Delorme, was a worthy continuator of the school of Jean Goujon, Germain Pilon, and Jean Cousin ; but he was about the last original genius of that class of artists; and with him the spirit of what is technically termed in France the school of the Renais- sance may be said to have become extinct. He was, we have said, the last originator: for, though great archi- tects and men of excellent taste sprang up after him, at no very long intervals of time, yet when they appeared before the public they came forward as imitators of classic, or at least of Palladian, elegance: they no longer professed to be members of a French school with its own peculiar standard of taste:—and hence, to instance architecture alone, that part of the Tuileries which is contemporary with Henry IV, the Hotel de Ville, and the Church of St. Eustache at Paris, may be mentioned as probably the latest of the really oraginal buildings erected by French architects. It may be said that the school of the Renassance, itself a branch of the earlier schools of the Middle Ages, was in its decline only keeping pace with the general falling off of the antecedent styles in other countries of Europe. The objection is valid to a certain extent. The Italian schools were daily extending their influence at the termination of the sixteenth century ; but yet it is not to be conceived that the influence of such men as Goujon, Cousin, etc., could so suddenly become extinct 142 VERSAILLES. had not other and extraneous causes, foreign to art, contributed to effect the change. For instance, the Elizabethan style of architecture and even the remains of the Tudor, the pointed Tudor school, remained longer in force in England than the style of the Renaissance in France: not that the English was, properly speak- ing, at that time an original school, led, as we believe it to have been, in great part by foreign artists; yet had not the troubles of the civil war intervened, symptoms are not wanting to show that a purely English school might have been resuscitated. We cannot therefore but infer that the French school, which was at its brightest period under Francis I and Henry II, would have continued to produce great original works, had not its progress been checked by the untoward course of events. The architectural wants of northern nations being comparatively greater than those of the south of Europe, there is every probability that the schools of England, Germany, and France, in this branch of the fine arts at least, would have retained the superiority which they gained during the Middle Ages, and would have developed their principles of taste to an indefinite extent, had they not all been more or less thwarted and finally cut off in their growth by wars and political troubles. The death of Henry IV was in its consequences a great blow to civilization in France, plunging the country as it did into the intrigues and wars of the early days of his son’s reign; but its effects were in part modified by the rise of the great Cardinal, and by the international communication, which was then be- coming daily more and more common between the various populations of Europe. The Italian schools had fully established their pre-eminence ;—Rome was then VERSAILLES. 143 the centre of study, as it has been ever since;—art had become a matter of foreign importation into France ;— Poussin and Claude Lorrain were of Italy, rather than of Gaul; and, in fact, everything was prepared for the flood of Italian taste that Cardinal Mazarin afterwards let in upon the country. It is about this period, 1627, when Richelieu was coming into power, and Louis XIII yielding partly to his melancholy temperament, partly to his fondness for the green solitude of the woods and diversions of the chase, used to lodge for the night at the miller’s in the remote village of Versailles, that our interest in this place commences. That sovereign pitched upon the spot as one entirely buried in the woods, where courtiers were never likely to interfere with him, and as being at an easy ride from the stately abode of Francis I and Henry IV at St. Germains ; the requisite estates were soon made Crown property; and the modest chateau rose, which afterwards served as a nucleus for the gigan- tic constructions of his successors. It is not our pur- pose to go into the details of the history of Versailles, of the various epochs of its growth and alterations, of its rise or fall; we intend rather to consider it in the different phases of its existence, as indicative of the actual condition and progress of art at successive periods ; we leave, therefore, to the regular chronicler, and to none more able than M. Vatout, to describe all the changes that successively took place in this great palace, and refer our readers to the large work of M. Gavard, for the admirable graphic illustrations that give ocular evidence how the building grew and prospered. When Louis XIII constructed his little chateau on the site of the mill, just on the brow of the eminence where a long valley, opening for miles towards the 144 VERSAILLES. south-west, afforded an enchanting sylvan prospect, it was by no means his intention to make it anything more than a hunting seat; and it was in fact one of the smallest of the royal residences. Built of red brick and coped with stone, surrounding a small quadrangle, and itself protected by a fosse, it was the complete type of what a monarch, who loved country life, might wish as a place of comfortable retirement. It sufficed for his easily satisfied desire of rural elegance, and formed an agreeable contrast to the more rigid and stately magnificence of St. Germains. At this latter place, on the brow of a long table-land, formed by a bending of the ever-winding Seine, stood the royal chateau, the Windsor of France, in which Francis I, after Fontaine- bleau, so much delighted, and which Henry IV had so greatly embellished. The part erected by the former of these monarchs, a great pentagonal pile in red brick, half castle and half mansion, stood on the summit of the hill; it still remains there, shorn indeed of its splen- dour, and vilely desecrated by the bad taste of a former day, which had converted it into a prison: but now re- stored by the good sense of an enlightened monarch, and still stately and royal in all its outline. The part added by Henry IV consisted of pavilions and connect- ing galleries sloping down the side of the hill, and in- termingled with gardens that ended only at the river's brink. Of this nothing but two of the smallest pavi- lions is now to be seen; the giant hand of destruction and the plough of revolution having literally effaced the very traces of its foundations: but it was here that Anne of Austria kept her court, and it was here that Louis XII soothed his ennu7, as best he might, in the stately circle of his gloomy attendants. He mounted his horse in the morning and galloped over the hills of VERSAILLES. 145 Marly to the woods of Versailles, to avoid his wife, whom he hated, and Richelieu his minister, whom he feared ; Versailles became the abode of his predilec- tions ; and as such was remembered with filial affection by his son, who, on determining to erect a palace such as had never before been seen, and in the newest style of Italian taste, preserved intact the interior of the court built by his father, and thus handed down to us’ a precious relic of the first half of the seventeenth century. We borrow the following from M. H. Fortoul’s spirited Mistory of Versailles:— “As you approach by the Place d’Armes, where the town dies away at the foot of the railings of the Chateau of Versailles, you make out the different parts of which this imposing mass of buildings is composed; you see the movement of its lines and the arrangement of its edifices. In the midst of all these wings, opening and resting one on the other, you discover, in the cen- tral part and in the furthest removed of the various planes of building, a morceau of a peculiar style of archi- tecture. It is modest and retiring, compared with the adjacent masses of masonry, but it wears a serious air, that attracts attention much more surely than all the blanched walls by which it is surrounded: it shines among them like a little diamond of great price en- chased in metal of which it was easy to be prodigal. This is all that remains at Versailles of the chateau built by Louis XIII. The architecture of the time of Louis XIIT breathes a perfume of vierlle gentilhommerce, which hardly survived it. After him royalty imposed its solemn and uniform livery upon everything; whereas in the monuments in brick of the first half of the seven- teenth century we still see the aristocracy of ancient times shining forth,—an aristocracy of good stamp, and L 146 VERSAILLES. though of noble bearing yet without fastidious external display : slightly countrified, still smacking somewhat of the old country manor houses, which it had hardly given up inhabiting, and yet full of urbanity and ele- gance, and of a frank and open character.” M. Fortoul has here happily characterised the style of a period little known and still less relished in France, but one which is perfectly appreciated in England. The time, the habits, and the customs of Louis XIII and his Court correspond to those of the end of James I and of the unfortunate Charles: a period which, whatever may be the political opinion entertained as to its acts and their results, is one peculiarly grateful to all who love chivalrous and noble deeds. At that period the nobility and gentry of France and England, though somewhat lessened in their baronial privileges and in the rather dangerous power they had possessed in the times of the Valois and Tudors, still kept up great state in the country in their ancestral halls amid their numerous retainers. They had not yet learnt to congregate in towns or to flutter in numbers about a court, as after- wards under Louis XIV and Charles II ;—they still maintained the grand feature of a noble hospitality, and lived, for the most part, loving and beloved amid their tenants and friends. Though not very learned, they were beginning to improve; and they had already shown themselves just appreciators of the arts, both in their residences and in their personal habits of luxury and ornamentalism. Holbein had enriched the galleries of many an English noble, and he was followed by Rubens and Vandyke; while Inigo Jones was begin- ning to give a decided bias to the national taste, and to add his share—no small one indeed—to the cultivation and diffusion of the fine arts. In France, we know how VERSAILLES. 147 much Jean Goujon and his school had done in Henry Il’s time ;—Poussin and Philippe de Champagne had already decorated part of the palace of the Luxembourg for Marie de Medicis, and had left France for Italy; Claude Lorrain was flourishing; Puget was developing his sculptural genius; and the future designers of the park and palace of Versailles were laying the founda- tions of their after-fortunes. Vouet was then the leader of the French school of portrait painters; and he had, like Vandyke, grand materials to work upon. At that period, the graceful costume of Spain was in full vogue throughout the south and west of Europe—that costume, the best that our ancestors ever wore. The ample folds of the mantle, the sober dignity and even grace of the vest and the broad hat, the elegant display of fine linen, of convenient and well fitting boots, and the easy adaptations of the whole to either magnificence or modest plainness, every thing was in favour of the portrait painter of those days. For the fairer portion of creation, the elegantly proportioned length and swell of the silk or velvet robe, the gracefully tapering and yet not too much confined waist, the modest and becoming dress of the neck, and the coquettish espréglerie that lurked in the delicate little curls of a beauty of the first Charles’s or the thirteenth Louis’s court, all this made the painter’s a task of comparative ease and en- joyment. Asa matter of art, it was one of the greatest injuries that Louis XIV caused to Europe to banish, as he ultimately did, this elegant style of dress, and to patronise in its stead the unnatural wig and stiff coat of the men, and the untidy negligée, or the buckram armour, in which the ladies of Versailles and, in imita- tion of them, the world, were made to delight. To carry the comparison still further, if we could suppose L 2 148 VERSAILLES. Vandyke himself set down to pourtray a beauty of the court of George III or of Louis XV, it might very well be questioned whether he would produce anything beyond the wretched daubs that used to be called pictures and likenesses about the year 1770. Spain was still a great and powerful nation in the time of Louis XIII; and from her rough and picturesque country, where the aristocratical ideas of the age, like those of monarchy, found their most stately and solemn type, she sent forth tastes, fashions, and manners that subsisted in the world long after her power had begun to decline. Spain was always original; and it is to be lamented that so much of what she has done for the embellishment and improvement of social life should have been so slightly preserved, so seldom copied in later times, and so little studied. To any one familiar with the solemn canvases of Velasquez, the real dig- nity of his figures, aided in no small degree by their dress, will be vividly apparent when they are compared with the contemporary productions of French artists :— and there can be no hesitation in placing him and Van- dyke at the head of those who knew how to delineate the noble patrons and the gentle beauties of their times. Every thing relating to art in the days of Charles I and the Commonwealth of England, of Philip IV in Spain, and of Louis XIII and Richelieu in France, was grand, solemn, and, to a certain extent, melancholy. Art partook of many of the lights and shadows of the time; and in one particular branch, and in some respects the most permanent,—architecture,—the traces of this state of things have come down to the present day. The part of the palace of Versailles built by Louis XIII, is the most simple in its arrangement, and almost the most gorgeous in its decoration of the VERSAILLES. 149 whole edifice. It includes the famous Cour de Marbre, and the state bed-room of Louis XIV; the well-known Chil de Boeuf, and the Petits Appartements of that king. The internal decorations were made by Louis XIV it is true, but the general spirit is that of his predecessor; on the other hand, the spirit of the Siécle @Or and of the Grand Monarque is shown in the Long Gallery, and in the stately Saloons of Peace and War, by which it is terminated at either end. A splendid monument of the ecclesiastical architecture of that period is found in the church of the Val de Grace, at Paris, built by Anne of Austria in fulfilment of her vow on the birth of Louis XIV; it is Italian through- out, but is bold, and in many respects original; and it is one of the most elegant edifices of that date now remaining in France. Another instance is the church of the Jesuits, dedicated to St. Paul and St. Louis, in the Rue St. Antoine, also in Paris. Cardinal Richelieu performed mass in this church at the epoch of its ter- mination, and all the solid grandeur of the time is displayed in its facade as well as in its dome. The capital contains another fine facade of the same date, that of St. Gervais; and another curiously tormented and altered erection in the western part of St. Etienne du Mont. All these are monuments not much attended to by strangers who visit the French metropolis; but we adduce them as some of the few remaining instances of the grand and rather solemn style, that characterises the epoch of the great Cardinal and the melancholy King. The corresponding edifice in London that will at once occur to recollection is Inigo Jones’s splendid frag- ment of Whitehall. O, sisic omnia!—had all our British palaces been like this! Louis XIII was not more governed by his minister, 150 VERSAILLES. Cardinal Richelieu, than his kingdom was tyrannised over by that proud and able ecclesiastic. The Cardi- nal’s influence over the political condition of the coun- try is foreign to our subject, but his enlightened pro- tection of the fine arts entitles him to rank amongst the greatest statesmen produced by France. The Palais Royal, originally constructed by him, was at that time the centre of all that was refined, learned, and artistic, of the court and capital. The Cardinal himself was, if not an artist, at least a warm admirer of all that related to art; a fabricator of dramatic pieces if not an original author: and Richelieu laid the foundation for Mazarin, just as the latter paved the way for Louis XIV. Cardinal Mazarin may be regarded as one of the most enthusiastic patrons of arts and artists, and one of the most earnest promoters of courtly refinement to be found in the annals of the French nation—for though an Italian by birth, by circumstances he was altogether a Frenchman. The splendid collection of pictures which he formed, and the library he left to the College des Quatre Nations, now the Institute, are too well known to need more than an allusion; but he, who would learn the private state of this ecclesiastical minister, should traverse the long galleries of the Bibliotheque du Roi, at Paris, and examine the ar- rangement of the suites, the ornamentation of the walls, and the decorations of the ceilings. They form one of the richest series of’ examples of domestic splendour that we are acquainted with; and the paintings, princi- pally, we believe, by the hand of Lebrun, are well worthy of study. Another Parisian instance of the taste of this epoch is to be found in the ancient hotel of a President of the Parliament, the most eastern VERSAILLES. 151 mansion on the Isle St. Louis, now known ag the Hotel Czartoryski, but built by M. Lambert in the time of the Cardinal, and decorated throughout by Lebrun and Leseur:—the paintings of the Great Gallery are here as fresh as on the first day of their exhibition, and all bear testimony to the grand and solemn taste that characterised the epoch. The mention of Lebrun leads us naturally to Louis XIV, and to consider the state of the fine arts in his half century of glory. The causes that led this monarch to raise the immense structure of Versailles are very uncertain: but the idle story that he wished to fly from St. Germains because he could not bear the sight of St. Denis, where he knew he should be one day buried, is more than improbable; especially since he con- tinued to hold his court in the old palace of Francis I for twenty-one years, from the date of the first works begun at Versailles. M. Fortoul says that the monarch was led to the scheme as much from love for Mlle. de la Valliére as from any other cause; but he does not make out a very clear case in proof of his assertion :— the grand fétes that took place on the opening of the new chateau were no doubt given in her honour: so also was the grand carousel in front of the Tuileries: but Louis would have built quicker had love been his real stimulant. We are inclined to attribute it partly to his desire of rivalling other monarchs; partly to that of placing his own magnificence out of all danger of eclipse by that of any of the great lords of the land; and partly to his warm perception of and relish for all that promoted art. The Spanish monarch had already been installed at the Escurial, the Popes had long dwelt in the Vatican; and for the French court to be lodged more splendidly than either of these, the courts then 152 VERSAILLES. imitated as the most polished throughout Christendom, it was necessary to have a residence of greater size and more modern luxury than the half-feudal, half-palatial chateau of St. Germains. To effect this, Louis XIV offended deeply against what now would be called all rules of good taste in pitching the royal residence amidst woods, well suited indeed to the hunting tastes of Louis XIII, instead of fixing it on that ample plateau, the terrace of St. Germains, which overlooks the plain of St. Denis and almost that of the capital. If the inspirations of Mlle. de la Valliére went for any- thing,they may have been influential here in making the monarch sigh for a quiet valley and soft bosquets; but the truth is, that the taste for the picturesque hardly then existed—or, if any where, only in Italy and Flanders. Louis, troubled with few ideas of the kind, laid out in his own mind plans which, had they been realised, would have made the valley of Versailles one of the sweetest spots in France. As an example, it may be mentioned that the king’s original intention was to turn the river Eure out of its course and to bring it into the Seine at Sévres, instead of leaving it to flow through Lower Normandy. St. Germains too, it should be remembered, was not equal to the royal chateau of Blois or to that of Chambord, and hardly to Fontaine- bleau; nor was it so much superior to the chateaux of several of the nobility as appeared necessary to a young king, who remembered the insolence of the Fronde. Jealousy, therefore, of some of his courtiers acted pro- bably as a stimulus to the alterations and enlargements of Versailles. An old story that throws some light on this subject is so well told by M. Fortoul, that we hope to be excused for repeating it in his words:— ‘Mazarin had scarcely been dead four months when VERSAILLES, 153 the intendant Fouquet invited the king and the court to an entertainment which he had prepared at his chateau of Vaux. This chateau, recently built in the neighbourhood of Melun, had acquired such a reputation for richness and elegance that it was confidently said St. Germains and Fontainebleau could not be compared with it:—it had cost eighteen millions of livres: the gardens were the first essay of a young man named Le Notre, who promised to excel in this style even the Italians, by whom, however, the art was supposed to have been carried to perfection; nothing had ever been seen so majestic and so grandly distributed. As for the chateau, marbles, balustrades, and columns, had been lavished upon it:—it was a prodigy of luxury and novelty. An artist, a young man also, who had recently arrived from Rome, and was named Charles Lebrun, had adorned the interior; it was said that the pictures which he had painted there would cause a revolution in art, and would at length create a real school of painting which France would be able to oppose to the glorious schools of foreign nations. On the afternoon of the 17th August, 1661, the court came to visit the chateau. The king, the queen-mother, monsieur, madame, and a number of princes and seigneurs were assembled there; but the queen was unable to come on account of her pregnancy. The court began by visiting the gardens, and examined with evident pleasure the water-works and basins, to which forms of great beauty and variety had been given. The king appeared to share the general satisfaction expressed on this occasion: he was observed however to stop before the coat of arms of Fouquet, which met the eye on every side, and which was charged with a squirrel, and the motto Quo non ascendam?...... It has been said that Colbert, who was 154 VERSAILLES. present at this féte, then first informed Louis XIV that Fouquet had offered 230,000 livres to Mlle. de la Valligre as the price of her virtue. The king was at that time enamoured of this young lady: he however concealed his anger, which this intelligence had worked up to the highest pitch, and partook with good grace of the supper served up after the promenade, and the honours of which were performed with infinite tact by Madame Fouquet. After supper he went with a per- fectly composed countenance to the play that had been prepared, and for which a theatre had been erected at the bottom of the great alley of fir trees. Torelli had made all the machinery, etc. of the piece, and Lebrun himself had condescended to paint the scenes. Moliére gave the first representation of his comedy Les Facheux; and Pélisson, who was employed in one of Fouquet’s offices, had composed the prologue. The comedy was exceedingly successful. Menage declared that it was one of the best that Moliére could write, the verses were perfect, the characters happily and vigorously traced. The king was quite charmed at it; he desired to express his satisfaction to Moliére, and while he was complimenting him, M. de Soyecourt, the greatest sportsman in France, happening to go by, the king added,—‘ There’s an original whom you have not yet copied!’ Moliére took from this hint the subject of the new scene of the Chasseur, which he was determined on adding to his comedy, and soon after set to work upon it. After the representation was terminated, the Court went to see the fire-works, which were much ad- mired. While the petards were battling with the waters and the rockets were marking a thousand glit- tering paths through the air, La Fontaine, placed in a corner, was considering the pleasure he should have in VERSAILLES. 155 writing the details of these fétes to his friend De Mau- croix at Rome; he was already collecting the rhymes for his narrative, and thinking of his beloved patron, Fouquet, who would enjoy ‘wne fortune @ lasser la ré- nommee’. On a sudden, the noise of the royal trumpets suc- ceeded to that of the fire-works; for the king, de- sirous of returning the same night to Fontainebleau, had ordered the mousquetaires to be in attendance. Louis XTV all this time let no indication escape him that could dissipate the enchantment of the innocent- hearted poet, and before leaving he desired Fouquet himself to accompany the Court on its intended excur- sion into Britanny. The Intendant went thither; but he was arrested at Nantes a few days after, and trans- ferred successively to Angers, Vincennes, and at length to the Bastile. His trial was held before the Parlia- ment in a chamber composed of the relations and friends of Colbert. The examination lasted three years; and at the end of this time Fouquet was condemned to banishment. Louis XIV was not to be turned from his purpose either by the intreaties of Mlle. de la Val- liére or the verses of La Fontaine. He even once said, ‘If his death is decreed by the Parliament, I shall allow it to take place’. He thought the members of the Par- liament had but badly ministered to his anger; he in- creased the punishment, and changed the decree of banishment into that of rigorous and eternal imprison- ment. Before he was led to it, the unfortunate Fouquet learnt that the king had just given orders to make Versailles surpass not only the Chateau of Vaux, but all the palaces of the world; that Le Notre had been entrusted with the laying out of the gardens, and Le- brun with the decoration of the apartments ; that fétes 156 VERSAILLES. which had never been paralleled had already been given in the palace, for which Molitre had also written comedies; and that in fine Louis XIV had concentrated round his person all the ¢éclat of luxury, of art, and of genius, which the unfortunate Intendant had had the culpable idea of sharing with the monarch.”* This féte and the episode attached to it formed a fit- ting introduction to a series of similar entertainments of which Versailles was afterwards the scene, and of arbi- trary acts of power equally inexcusable and equally calling for the hand of retributive justice. We need not do more than allude to these festivities, for they are so mixed up with the personal history of the monarch and of the great characters of the day, political and literary, that they are fairly parts of history, and are besides in the recollection of every reader. It rather concerns us to remark that from this period the age of Louis XIV, properly so termed, commenced, and that the arts of every kind now began to take that universal hold on the nation, which they have never afterwards lost, except during the melancholy period of the Revo- lution. The school of Louis XIV was now definitively established ; it soon rose to such pre-eminence in the opinion of the north and west of Europe that France became the centre of taste and of civilised arts: and a bright galaxy of great names it was that then appeared in this western clime. To specify only a few out of many eminent men: Lebrun, Jouvenet, Nicolas and Pierre Mignard, Noel and Antoine Coypel, Bon and * We have only to add to the above, that although doubt has of late been thrown on the very existence of such a person as the famous Iron Mask of the Island of St. Marguerite, yet common tradition is ucarly unanimous in believing that he was the ill-fated Fouquet. We doubt whether Fouquet’s sentence was reckoned anything more than an excusable coup d’étut in those days. VERSAILLES. 157 Louis Boullogne, Vander Meulen, Rigaud, and Watteau, of the painters ;—Coysevox, Puget, and the two Cous- tous, of the sculptors ;—Puget again, Francis and Jules- Hardouin Mansart, and Gabriel, of the architects ; Lendtre, the creator of landscapes; and Keller the great founder in bronze :—all these names shed their full lustre on the period in which they lived, and on the monarch by whom they were protected. To go into a detailed criticism of their works would be superfluous: all that we contend for is, that they formed part of one and the same great school, that they partici- pated in a sort of community of principles, and that they may be very well judged of and appreciated in a body. They drew their inspirations from one and the same source ; they had all the same principal patrons ; their models were all taken from the same court; and their works were all submitted to the same fashionable crowd or the same junta of connoisseurs. Hence, little variety is to be found, for the painters, in their style of face, of position, of dress in their portraits; Pierre Mignard being, perhaps, the one who showed the greatest indica- tions of originality, notwithstanding the bland style and soft accommodations of his palette. In their histo- rical compositions they differed more widely according to the liberty given to them by their subjects, the palm being closely disputed between Jouvenet and Lebrun. Of the sculptors no doubt can be entertained in assign- ing the first place to Puget, and after him to Coysevox: —of the architects Jules-Hardouin Mansart, the builder of Versailles, Marly, Trianon, and the Invalides, is by far the greatest: but he was ably seconded by his illustrious contemporaries, and was rivalled in the de- gree, not the kind, of his peculiar merit by Lendtre, to whose genius for accommodating the works of Nature 158 VERSAILLES. to those of art he was more indebted than he was pro- bably aware. One of the principal characteristics of the whole school of fine arts in the time of Louis XIV was the grandeur and magnificence of general design softened by the ideas of luxury and elegance that were becoming habitual to the nation. Thus, in all the elaborate com- positions of Lebrun that adorn the ceilings of Versailles, though everything is majestic and royal, there is little either sombre or melancholy. The reigning monarch was of an infinitely more joyous temperament than his predecessor, and setting himself up, like Apollo, to give light and life to the whole universe, he affected the brilliant and dazzling rather than the terrific and gloomy. Hence the general character imparted to the whole school :—-and, as two of the best examples of it, the ceilings of the Salon de la Paix and the Salon de la Guerre at Versailles may be cited. The series of sacred pictures that surround the interior of the choir of Notre Dame at Paris, all of them masterly productions, are also good types of this school as contradistinguished from all those of Italy. How different, too, from the Poussins, the Philippe de Champagnes, the Claude Lorrains, the Vouets, and the Valentins of a former day, imbued as they were with Italian ideas, and hardly to be reckoned among the painters of France! In sculp- ture the style was greatly changed from that of Jean Goujon, Jean Cousin, and their contemporaries ; and it had suffered by the alteration : the Milo was the prin- cipal work of Puget, but it is doubtful whether it ought to be preferred to the Diane de Poitiers of Goujon. The admirable busts of Coysevox are in no small degree the basis of his fame, but they are not evidences of any improvement on the preceding school either in taste or VERSATLLES. 159 execution. Still they were grand and correct as the sculptors of this age; and they did not fall further below their predecessors than did the painters below those of the half century preceding them. In these two branches, however, of the fine arts, it cannot be denied that France, under Louis XIV, had not equalled either her own painters, the Poussins, etc., of the period just alluded to, or her sculptors of a still earlier epoch. In architecture the styles had become so different from those of the sixteenth and the earlier part of the seventeenth century, that it is difficult to institute a comparison. The Mansarts, however, uncle and nephew, certainly did effect a great change in French taste, and in fact fixed it for upwards of a century: they carried the Palladian principles to a high degree of refinement, and they superadded an abundance of minor ornaments which the severer, and perhaps purer, taste of the Italians would have led them to reject. If we take the Chapel of the Invalides at Paris, or the Chapel of the palace at Versailles, we shall find all the system of sculptured garlands, of fruits and flowers, of panels with richly ornamented mouldings, of the breaking up of spaces by the introduction of niches and figures, brought into full demonstration. The contrast of the excessive ornamentation of each of these sacred edifices with the plainness of many parts of the main buildings to which they belong, cannot but strike the most indifferent eye: but the cause is, that what the architect effected in one case the painter and the ornamental decorator was left to do in the other: and again, it was perhaps a religious feeling, that the House of God should be more magnifi- cent than the house of man, which led them to establish the distinction. As a whole, the facades of Versailles towards the 160 VERSAILLES. gardens are the grand constructions on which the fame of their architect mainly depends: nor, indeed, can anything be devised of more courtly elegance or more stately beauty than the long series of windows and columns and statues, of which the whole erection is composed. The building was admirably suited to the purposes and the taste of the monarch, whose intention was to make his court not only the most magnificent, but also the most elegant of Europe. Louis XIV is entitled to the name of “the Great” for this the main idea of his life: he wished to be first in all that apper- tained to monarchy; in power, in civilization, in litera- ture, in art: and on the whole he succeeded: he was the Great King of the epoch. Versailles was all that such a sovereign could wish: the palace, in its extent, could lodge the largest court that had ever been col- lected round a throne, and the extent of which may be judged of from the fact that the Grand Commun accommodated two thousand servants every night. In its internal arrangement and decorations it was all that the most sumptuous taste, limited by no fears of expense, could make it;*—and in its position it was a striking example of the victory gained over almost insuperable difficulties by labour and skill. The framing a new system of court etiquette came, therefore, as a natural consequence when the court entered into possession of this splendid abode: and it was the completion of the monarch’s scheme. In form- ing to ourselves a picture of what Versailles was in the bright and palmy days of its full glory, if we would * M. Vatout after having examined all the documents, public and private, that were of any authority on the subject, gives up the task of fixing the sum which Versailles cost Louis XIV: it varies, ac- cording to different calculators, from sixteen millions sterling to a much larger amount. VERSAILLES. 161 rightly appreciate it, we should take into account the ideas of the time; for this immense monument was in fact ‘the expression of the monarchy such as Louis XIV had conceived it;—it was the faithful résumé of the work of the Great King. We wonder sometimes that his reign, so fertile in men of great genius, never produced an epic poem :—but, in fact, poetry in these days adopted any form except this; and the epopeia of the seventeenth century was Versailles itself...... During the two centuries that the French was an absolute monarchy, nothing was done that had not either its cause or its effect at Versailles. All the policy of the time was debated on within its walls; every cannon-shot fired in Flanders, in Germany, or in Spain, awoke here an echo. veges The history of Versailles is the history of civiliza- tion during the last two centuries; the chateau itself is one of those culminating points, from which the sight of the mental eye loses itself in boundless prospects; and, as from the summits of the Alps we perceive the forests that clothe the shoulders of these mountains, the streams that issue from their sides, the towns em- bosomed in their shade, the states they divide from each other; so from Versailles we discover the move- ment of the manners, the wars, the diplomacy, the literature, the arts, and the powers that have agitated Europe for two hundred years. To place oneself on the balcony of Versailles is to view the whole world from the throne of Louis XIV.”—Fortoul, p. 7, Hist. Vers. The ideas here suggested are ably followed up in the book we have just quoted. M. Fortoul has suc- ceeded in laying before his readers a very pleasing and original outline of the whole of the reigns of Louis XIV, Louis XV, and Louis XVI, as connected with the palace of Versailles and the scenes occurring M 162 VERSAILLES. within it. He puts the artistical point of view in the chief place of his plan, and round it he collects a vast number of anecdotes and reflections that well repay the trouble of perusal. M. Vatout, in leading his reader through the palace, as it is at the present day, recalls to mind, at each step that he takes, the principal events connected with each hole and corner of the historic rooms through which he conducts us. He performs, in good truth, the office of a guide, but in a very agreeable manner; and he supplies us with a considerable collection of anecdotes and circumstances either unknown or little remembered, which all throw additional light and interest on the times to which they refer. With these two works, added to M. Gavard’s won- derfully accurate representations of all the architectural details and all the decorative riches of the palace, the fireside traveller, or the historical student, who never stirs beyond his library’s threshold, may have a very fair idea of this central pivot of the ancient monarchy of France. The illustrations of the gardens, one of the most interesting parts of this royal residence, and of the satellites, as they are termed, or the small palaces that surround Versailles—the two Trianons, that is to say, with Marly, Meudon, St. Cloud, Sceaux, etc., are to be found in M. Fortoul’s work, with an interesting notice to each. Versailles, as finished by Louis XIV, should not only be regarded by the historical examiner with his mind full of the events of the times, in which it was con- structed, and with the spirit of the Great Court and King, whether good or bad, before him; but should also be looked on as a portion of a system of royal display which is worthy of notice in all its parts: especially VERSAILLES. 163 when the question of art is concerned. Thus the im- mense park and gardens that surround it, in themselves the best and grandest examples of the magnificent ideas of the times, must never be omitted either by the reader or the visitor of this palace ;—nor must the ensemble of Versailles, park, gardens, and all included, be contemplated, without connecting it with the other palaces and domains of the crown. In truth, though the modern style of landscape gardening is by no means in accordance with the taste that prevailed in the time of Louis XIV, there is much to admire in the system adopted by Lenétre and other horticulturists of his age —in the stateliness and solemn grandeur of his masses of wood, his bosquets, and his groves, the principal lines and the lights and shadows of which accorded so well with the architectural magnificence and stiff forms of society in the days when he lived.* * In England, we have certainly gone into the opposite extreme in our ideas of horticultural elegance: it is all very well to surround the cottage ornée with the green lawns and undulating groves and glades that form the only kind of landscape gardening now tolerated; but, to think that a stately feudal castle or a Palladian villa must necessarily look well in any kind of artificial rustic scenery that we may choose to form round it, is inconsistent. All styles and orders of architecture were formed with certain intentions, grew up in ac- cordance with certain customs and ideas, made part of the national mind of the people that originally used them; and there is always something that shocks the eye when they are found incongruously or inconsistently applied. Fora feudal castle to be surrounded with “ tall ancestral groves”, with deep fosses bathing the walls, or with broad and ample terraces, all this is very well; but to see the same edifice placed in the midst of a nicely shorn lawn, with beds of roses and geraniums fantastically interspersed, without any outward cha- racter of stern defence, without anything that can remind us of the approaches of a baronial tenement in former days—all this is absurd, and destroys the illusion that the mind would gladly form to itself. We are not sure that the comparison might not be carried still farther, and that particular styles of residences should not only be M 2 164 VERSAILLES. We should bear this in mind when we examine the rural system of Lendétre as displayed at Versailles, at Marly, at Meudon, at the Tuileries, and at many a noble chateau throughout France; and we are quite sure that he is entitled to the praise of being the greatest master in his art. To one standing on the great garden terrace in front of Versailles and looking down the long valley to the west, one of the finest specimens of cultivated nature that is any where to be found is developed: there is nothing mean, nothing little, to be perceived in any direction ; nothing that can offend the eye or convey a disagreeable impression to the senses. A rich expanse of groves and woodlands, an undulating succession of well cultivated hills, and a series of magnificent terraces sinking one beneath the other immediately under the feet of the observer—everything has a beautiful, elegant, and royal air of richness and luxury. One of the great charms of Versailles, and, indeed, of most of the royal and noble residences of France (as they were originally formed) is, that every thing is in keeping, and consistent with all around it: it is all real;—no sham, no make- believe; royal, or noble, or ecclesiastical, just as the case accompanied by their own appropriate styles of rural cultivation, but even limited in accordance with the style and class of persons who are to dwell in them. Thus it may be very well for a nobleman of extensive territorial possessions and long lines of proud ancestry to inhabit a cottage or a forest lodge at the seasons when taste or rural pursuits are supposed to lead him thither, because it may be taken for granted that he possesses houses as various in their nature as his estates are in their position and natural qualities; but for the tallow-chandler who has realised his few thousands to go and build his “Gothic castle” at Richmond, at Highgate, etc., is grossly absurd ; because by no force of the imagination can any ideas of an- tiquity or feudal power be attached to the line of the Stubbses or the Stileses, etc. There is ample room for the formation of a strict code of etiquette, or rather of good sense, in matters of this kind. VERSAILLES. 165 may be; and the eye and the mind are alike satisfied. We speak of things as they were in France, not of things as they are.* In all the subordinate chateaux of the French court, when they were in their full glory, at the time of Madame de Maintenon’s coming into favour, the system of Versailles was repeated on a smaller but almost equally brilliant scale. Marly, indeed, though a satel- lite in some respects, eclipsed the central planet itself’; that is to say, in elegance and the minor agiémens of court society. Upon all these residences we would re- commend our readers to consult M. Fortoul for a spirited sketch of their condition; and, should they visit Ver- sailles, they will find two or three rooms of the Cour de Marbre (once indeed the ball-rooms of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette) filled with highly interesting contem- poraneous views of the various royal residences, just as they were about the time above indicated. These pictures are occupied in nearly all their foregrounds with groups of the principal personages of the court; the likenesses being highly finished in most cases, and the whole forming a most instructive series of illustra- tions of all that has been written on the age of Lows XIV. * Jt should not be forgotten that the influence of the Court of Louis XIV was felt as much in England as in any other part of Europe, introduced as it was by Charles II, and maintained even after the Revolution of 1688, notwithstanding the hostilities of the two countries. This part of the history of England, the social in- fluence of our Gallic neighbours on ourselves, is too well known, as to its general facts, to need more than a cursory allusion : but to the lovers of domestic history, and to those who amuse themselves by tracing the whims and fancies of mankind, in their fitful course of wandering from the inventive nation through all the imitative popu- lations, there is an ample field of inquiry ah regard to what we may call the Gallo-mania of England at the end of the seventeenth century. 166 VERSALLLES. At the time of this great monarch’s death, Versailles was the complete expression of the social tastes, and the social ideas of France: and to form a really accurate idea of what that Age did, and thought, and wished for in matters of art, we must always recall to our imagina- tions Versailles in its primitive glory. When the aged king was dead, the spirit of the monarchy received a mortal wound; absolute power had under him attained its highest pitch, consistent with the high degree of civilization that prevailed at the time. After him the political influence of the monarch declined no less rapidly than his moral prestige over a nation, that had become not less dissipated in its upper classes than miserable and degraded in its lower. Art did not so soon decline;—the first attribute it lost was grandeur, and the first symptom of this was shown by the taste of the regent in quitting Versailles for the Tuileries. Court etiquette relaxed; courtiers became more demoral- ised than they had ever been; plebeian tastes began to infect the nobility; and Paris, under the influence of the Regent and Cardinal Dubois, was a sink of infamy. Versailles never improved after this period; its true soul had fled with that of the monarch who had erected it: no one else was capable of inhabiting it as it de- served ; and, as a sign of this, the state bed-chamber of the grand monarque was never afterwards used. Louis XV, giving himself up to an unrestrainable life of debauch, and preyed upon by hundreds of intriguers of each sex, destroyed many internal arrangements of the great edifice to suit the exigences of his mistresses. M. Fortoul well observes that Madame de Maintenon’s wish at Versailles was the Chapel; that of Madame de Pompadour the Salle de ’ Opéra: the comparative ex- cellence of these two buildings is an exact measure of VERSAILLES. 167 the relative tastes and ideas of the times. The latter is very sumptuous no doubt, and when it was first erected was a marvel throughout the world; but it does not stand the test of time like its neighbour the sacred edifice; this latter is as magnificent now, com- pared with other chapels, as it was then; the former is surpassed by twenty other theatres in Europe. The general school of art declined in the same way as the court :—elegance was preserved, and even volup- tuousness of idea introduced; but grandeur and origi- nality were gone. Bouchardon, the younger Coypel, and Vanloo, did not sustain the reputation of Mignard, Lebrun, and Jouvenet:—Gabriel the younger erected nothing that could be compared with Mansart’s works: —the younger Coustou had degenerated from the elder, and from the traditions of Puget or of Coysevox:— Lendtre had no one to replace him. Whoever has studied the whole of the subdivisions of the French school must be aware of what is here advanced. There cannot be a more convincing proof of it than the general fact that Louis XV attempted nothing grander than the erection of Choisy and the Petit Trianon—not to speak of his harem at the Parc aux Cerfs :—he added the theatre to Versailles, but he destroyed one of the grand stair- cases, and he spoiled many of the best apartments. In- stead of founding any new and great institutions in favour of art, he tamely and coldly patronised what already existed; and art, as might have been foreseen, inevitably declined. It was at this time that the pon- derous decorations of the interior of noble mansions were no longer formed of solid marble, crystal, and stone, but of gilded wood; with an universal and undue charging of all objects with ornament, breaking up the grand lines that give force and dignity to architectural 168 VERSAILLES. compositions, and frittering away labour and expense upon parts that would have remained far better had they been simple. No farther improvements were made in landscape gardening: Lendétre was implicitly followed; and this, to a certain extent, was fortunate, for it kept things from deteriorating so soon as they would other- wise have done:—but the genius of natural and artifi- cial gardening was extinct: nothing except imitation remained. Dress, which first of all began to affect simplicity, at last became ungraceful, inconvenient, and unnatural:—witness the common habit of the end of Louis XVth’s time, as compared with that of the beginning of the same century ;—the curling wig, which might or might not be possible, changed for the absurd cauliflower or the pigtail; the negligé of the ladies, which at least had some plausible excuse on its side, driven out by the monstrous hoop; and the long locks of hair, with their natural colour, altered for the stiff toupée, and the disgusting use of powder. All had declined; all was getting disorganized; all was going wrong: there was a malady at work in society itself, which affected all outward demonstrations of human intellect: the State itself was hastening to its decompo- sition; and Art, the constant index of Civilization, was degenerating with scarcely less rapidity. The melancholy period of Louis XVI, although the personal virtues of the monarch and his queen for a time seemed to check the evil, saw the woes and ills of society galloping on to their final goal. Under them little was done at Versailles, little at the other palaces :—one name alone of any really great eminence appears among the painters, Vernet:—one only, Souftlot, among the archi- tects. The sole act of any notoriety ordered by Louis XVI at Versailles, was to cut down all the trees in the VERSAILLES. 169 gardens, and replant them:—a melancholy type of what was coming upon the palace, upon the kingdom, and upon himself! Marie Antoinette, on the other hand, laid out the beautiful gardens of the Petit Trianon—but this was not in the style of France; England, Switzer- land, furnished the models; French art was dead. All, however, that the martyr-sovereigns did is hallowed by their deaths ; and, to the visitor of sensibility, the little relics they have left behind them in the great palace, like the scenes that under them made so many parts of that edifice remarkable, form some of the most attrac- tive causes of interest that occur to his notice. But here our inquiry stops ;—the infuriated mob from Paris are in the Cour de Marbre, the dead bodies of the guards are on the staircase ;—madness and treachery are without the palace, fear and indecision within :—the court sets out for the capital, and the palace becomes the monument of the dead. What has been said above concerning Versailles was written some years before 1848 and the fall of Louis Philippe, when the works of that king in forming the galleries of art at Versailles had nearly attained completion. It was originally intended as a Review of the excellent books by Vatoul, Fortoul, and Gavard; but, on a revision of the whole, at an interval of nearly thirty years, it has been condensed into the form of an Essay. Nothing has occurred during that period in the history of the Palace to change the author’s convictions, though the memory of Versailles has acquired for him a melancholy, or rather a tender interest, on account of its holding the graves of his Mother and a beloved Nephew. 170 VI. MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND.* Ir is one of the best points in the French national character, that at almost all periods of the history of the Gallic people, they have retained and evinced a warm sense of art, a lively perception of the beauties of imitative skill, and an innate taste for well-conceived decoration. Not to allude to the French monastic painters of the middle ages, their architects, or their sculptors and monumental engravers, whose admirable works made France, and have even yet left it, such a rich mine for the archzeological connoisseur, we may ob- serve, that an immense impulse was given to French artistical genius, by the great men, native as well as foreign, of the days of Francis I. That period, which was so bright for most of the nations of western Eu- rope in all that related to arts and literature, confirmed the existence of a French national school of art; and the stimulus then given to the tastes and inclinations of the people, has made its effects felt even to the pre- sent day. It is not our purpose to dwell on the merits of Jean Goujon and Jean Cousin, or their followers; nor on those of N. Poussin and Philibert Delorme, of a subsequent period; nor even on those of Puget, Coy- sevox, Lebrun, Mignard, the Mansarts, and all the host of the reign of the “Grand Monarque”—the task has * Originally published in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine for December 1841. MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART. 171 been already performed ;—we wish to make a few re- marks on the state of art in France at the present day —on the merits and demerits of the more eminent among her painters, sculptors, and architects; to add some brief observations on their imitators, if not their disciples, in Belgium and Switzerland (the only two relative schools); with a word or two of advice to the artistical world, and the amateurs of our own country. We are far from wishing to proclaim ourselves uni- versal admirers of the French; we have too often had occasion to point out defects in their political and social systems, to allow of our being suspected of such an in- clination. But, after a careful examination and compari- son of the actual state and progress of the French and the English schools in the various branches of art, and after a conscientious weighing of their respective excel- lences and defects, we cannot refrain from expressing our opinion, in limine, that English artists, and especially English amateurs, are guilty of great injustice in making those sweeping condemnations of the products of their continental brethren, in which they are so fond of indulging. It is a painful thing for the connoisseur, for one who has studied the immortal masters of former days, to witness the fantastic and unnatural flights of fancy displayed by the daubers and plasterers of what is, in many points, a degenerate epoch; but it is scarcely less painful to the conscientious amateur, as he walks through the Louvre, while the great Spring exhibition of modern artists is open, to hear the flippant criticisms of the British loungers, nine-tenths of whom have never been initiated into the mysteries of the pencil, the palette, or the chisel, and who think to exalt the merits of their fellow countrymen by crying down those of all other nations. We wish to say this at the outset of 172 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART 1N our remarks, since our object is that of exercising im- partial well-founded criticism; not with the view of discouraging the meritorious labours of our own national school, but, on the contrary, to show in what points the French school is more or less advanced, and in what respects its artists may safely be imitated by those on the British side of the Channel. The justice and the necessity of making such a comparison, was most forcibly impressed on our attention, after a visit to the ex- hibition of 1841, at the National Gallery in London. We had previously inspected the annual exhibition, for 1841, at the Louvre—the Salon, as it is techni- cally termed—and the comparison of the merits of the two exhibitions was mortifying to those feelings of national pride, from which a Briton is probably never exempt. The exhibition at the National Gal- lery was not striking for its excellence—certainly not; but we had seen many at Somerset House not a a bit better; whereas the exhibition at the Louvre was complained of by every artist in France, as one of the weakest which had been witnessed for many years; nearly all the great names were absent from the cata- logue; they were the tyros in art whose canvases, drawings, and statues, filled the galleries; and the English visitors were more loud than common in their condemnation of its contents. We were greatly dis- appointed with it ourselves, and lamented what appeared to have been a year nearly lost to the arts. Well! after rushing impatiently to Trafalgar Square to appease our artistical longings, and after going there “determined to be pleased,” we were compelled to admit, that what we had seen in Paris was far superior to what we then saw in London; superior not only in manual execution, and in the special technicalities of art, but also in the FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 173 life and soul of imitative skill, in the poetry of painting, of sculpture, and of design; in all points that form the serious solid qualities of creative imagination and re- cordant observation. In the French exhibition, we had seen the strongly pronounced features of a divided school; in the English, we found no traces of any school at all; in the former case, it was evident that there was a corps of artists at work, who would gain a name and reputation in future times; in the latter, it struck us as doubtful whether there were any just claims to immortality.* We shall advert to the proba- ble causes of this difference by and by; at present, we repeat our caveat against being supposed to wish to trumpet the praises of French rather than those of British artists, and we proceed with our remarks. Towards the end of the last century, when the great Revolution broke out, the French school of Art had fallen into a kind of elegant enervation, not unlike that of the upper classes of French society. The painters, who depended for their support on the taste of their noble and royal patrons, were forced to accommodate themselves to the ideas and opinions of the epoch ; and the prevailing characteristic of the French school at that day was mediocrity, sustained upon an ancient foundation of scientific and practical tradition. Histo- * It may be said, that English artists are under a great dis- advantage from having their works exhibited in such a place as the miscalled National Gallery ; and the observation, as far as it implies comparison with the Louvre, is correct. Nothing can be worse than the rooms of the National Gallery in which the paintings and draw- ings are exhibited, except the hole in which the sculpture is piled ; that at Somerset House used to strike us as the “lowest deep” for any purposes of this kind, but Wilkins’s cellar is a “lower still”, the very bathos of architecture.—We said this in 1841, but we are writing now in 1870, when Burlington House has been utilised for the pur- poses of Art,—a happy feature of the Victorian sera, 174 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN rical painting had dwindled away, till it was scarcely to be met with; landscape painting was tolerated rather than encouraged, and the principal occupation of a painter during the latter half of the eighteenth cen- tury, was to delineate the portraits of all who claimed distinction or notoriety of any kind. We do not know of any remarkable historical paintings, by French artists, of that epoch, worthy of mention; among the landscapes, the large canvases of Joseph Vernet, who was in every sense of the word a most eminent artist, are honourable and highly striking exceptions; while, for portraits, every gallery in France, every house, and every broker’s shop, contains pleasing specimens of the courtly style which then prevailed. There was more of traditional skill in the French school of that day, than of positive pictorial science: painters then studied very little be- yond the lineaments of the face—the severer labours of the studio, and the working from the living model, were not practised to a hundredth part of the extent to which they now prevail. There was no demand for anything beyond the representations of well-bred faces, aristocratic hands, powdered perukes, and silk or satin robes; a correct delineation of the torso would have puzzled a French painter or sculptor, in the time of Louis XVI; and very few, if any, could have attacked with success, a stiff bit of mountain or woodland scenery. Animal painting and flower painting, on the other hand, were rather flourishing, because they fell in with the taste of the upper classes of society; and architecture still maintained itself at a respectable height of excel- lence, based on the recollections of the days of Louis XIV. The school wanted life, and energy, and origin- ality; it was too formal, too conventional, too wide from Nature and from simple truth. At this period, pictorial FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. Lio art was at a much loftier pitch in England. Sir Joshua Reynolds, the founder of the English school, and whose name each succeeding year shows more and more clearly entitled to rank with those of Titian and Velasquez, had attained the zenith of his fame. Gainsborough, too, and Wilson, the greatest landscape painters till then since the time of Gaspar Poussin, had shed a de- gree of illustration on art, never before witnessed in England. These were giants in art; they possessed all the bold vigorous qualities which French painters wanted, and they were justly entitled to fix their stamp and style on a school which must ever consider them with profound veneration. In sculpture, Nolle- kens was beginning to continue the masterly practice and scientific combinations of Roubiliac ; but in archi- tecture we had no name that could claim peculiar dis- tinction, and English buildings of the latter part of this century, are monuments only of the absence of all taste and science. On the whole, however, art was more deeply and more truly felt, and more efliciently patronised in England at this period, than in France. That melancholy and disastrous catastrophe, the great Revolution, put a momentary stop to all progress in art, as it did to all other things that were good ; and it might have been expected that a total extinction of the French school would have ensued. Some of the richest collections in the country were dispersed and carried to foreign lands; the patrons of art and artists had lost either their lives or their fortunes ; everything that was noble and civilised in the nation had disap- peared; and the people received that stamp of ferocious vulgarity, which even yet prevails, and, under various forms, has totally metamorphosed the old and agreeable character of the French. Art was dead, or dormant, 176 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN for several years, and the merit of reviving it may be entirely attributed to the genius of the greatest man who has ruled France since the days of Francis I. The patronage given to artists of all kinds, when the First Consul had subdued the hydra of revolution at home, and had restored something like order and subordination to society—the importations of foreign collections re- sulting from conquest or spoliation, and probably his own innate love for all that was grand and beautiftl— all this made the career of Napoleon one of hope and promise. The splendour of the Empire, and the reviving taste of the nation, succeeded in placing the fine arts on their proper footing; and the comparative state of peace which has since ensued, added to an increasing degree of public patronage within the last few years, has allowed of every thing that concerns art receiving con- siderable development. There was only one good effect that the Revolution produced in the French school, violent and lamentable as were the causes by which it was brought to pass—this was the complete sweeping away of the old effete system of the ci-devant courtly painters, and the placing of artistical patronage on a much wider and surer basis. Instead of painters con- fining themselves to one or two branches of art alone, and those not the highest, historical painting came to be practised by them, and ultimately landscape painting was revived. The sculptors, too, again found employ- ment; and architects, though for a time thrown into the background, were destined to enter on a new and more rational course of study and practice than they had before experienced. As, however, one of the fondest and falsest dreams of the revolutiouary mad- men who came into short-lived power on the downfall of the monarchy, was the Romanising of every thing; FRANCE, BELGIUM, aND SWITZERLAND. 177 and as even the State itself attempted to deck itself out in the ill-assorted paraphernalia of the Roman republic —so public taste took a similar direction, and all persons who cultivated the fine arts either followed the general impulse of their own accord, or else accommodated themselves to the turn of national fancy; hence the classical and heroical school arose. Architectural forms of all kinds, external and internal decorations, articles of furniture, and even parts of female dress, assumed a character more or less antique; the pseudo-Hellenists and the quasi-Romanists carried the day in all matters of painting, designing, or sculpturing. David and his disciples fixed the standard of taste in these matters, and his Leonidas at Thermopylae, with his Rape of the Sabines, may be considered as at once the types and the chefs-d’e@wvre of the French Revolutionary school. The dates of these productions are, it is true, posterior to the great cataclysm—but they are never- theless the results and the crowning points of the system, beyond which it could not effect anything better. The painters, who were contemporary with David during the earlier days of the Consulate and the Em- pire, and who were employed in recording the vic- tories and the deeds of Napoleon, were most of them below mediocrity. Their works have been lately col- lected at Versailles, and are ranged in the galleries which contain the Napoleonic series, where they form a curious assemblage of the most atrocious daubs and croutes that ever were misnamed paintings. They possess interest, indeed, from their subjects, and from the portraits, more or less faithful, which they contain; but as works of art, they are generally beneath notice. Some of David’s own productions constitute bright ex- N 178 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART 1N ceptions, such as his large picture of the Coronation of Napoleon—which, though exceedingly poor in manual execution and colouring, is vigorous in its drawing, and is grouped with no small ability. It is by no means, however, one of his best paintings; and in the great Hall of the Guards at Versailles, where it stands, another picture by the same artist, on the opposite side —the Distribution of the Eagles to the Legions in the Champ de Mars—is a glaring example of all the defects of the Davidian school. One of the ablest painters of that day was Gros, as his Buttle of Aboukir, placed by the side of the two pictures of David just mentioned, evinces ; and as may also be inferred from his Battle of Eylau in the Louvre. Though he survived David a considerable time, and, in fact, terminated his life by his own hand only a few years ago, these two painters may be considered as the chiefs and masters of the Revolutionary and Imperial schools; and contemporary French artists, in all their works, painted, or tried to paint up to them. There was a sweet flower-painter pursuing his quiet career during this period—the ami- able Rédouté; and his works, far above the other pro- ductions of his day in intrinsic merit, will survive in reputation the larger and more ambitious canvases of his friends and companions.* Sculpture was almost in an embryo state during the Consulate and the Empire; and the name of Bosio is almost the only one of eminence which can be connected with that of Napoleon. Sculpture, to be efficiently patronized, requires, more than painting or architecture, * Rédouté’s own private collection of pictures was sold a year or two ago in Paris; it contained numerous gems. He has had the great merit of founding a most flourishing school of flower-painters, male and female, at the Garden of Plants in Paris. FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 179 a period of political repose and national prosperity. No persons, except the great and the wealthy, can foster this branch of art on anything like an extensive scale ; and itis only when noble and wealthy patrons are more intent upon recording the eminent deeds of their an- cestors, than upon gaining power or renown for them- selves, that a demand for sculpture exists. Napoleon did a good deal to encourage French sculptors; but nothing of any moment has been executed since the days of Louis XV, until within our own time. As for architecture, during the Napoleonic era it displayed itself rather in projects than in actual erec- tions. Noble works were undertaken and finished, in bridges and other monuments more nearly connected with public utility than with public ornament; but the number of great monumental edifices actually built during the empire, was as small as that of medizeval buildings destroyed was unfortunately immense. The buildings planned were, some of them, of august character, and reflected great honour on their architect- ural designers; among them may be noticed, at Paris, the great Triumphal Arch at the upper end of the Champs Elysées, the church of the Madeleine, and the Palace on the Quai d’Orsay. To have imagined these, there must have been a body of architects of consider- able merit existing; but the private buildings erected throughout France at that period, were vastly inferior to what were constructed during the reign of Louis XV; and on the whole, as a school of national architecture, the Empire witnessed little that was really worthy of the name. Napoleon had the good sense to maintain and en- courage a Royal Institution, founded at Rome in the days, we believe, of Louis XIV—the French Academy N2 180 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN of Fine Arts; and, by establishing a similar division in the Institute at home, where the directing impulse was to originate, he kept all the painters, sculptors, archi- tects, and engravers of the epoch, in a well-organized national corps. The foundation of public gratuitous schools of design—the formation of a body of efficient teachers, who have since grown into the professors of the Ecole des Beaux Arts—and the opening of all the great collections of objects of art to the public—these judicious measures gave the greatest impulse to public taste, and they constitute one of the chief glories of what was in itself a glorious era. The uniting of so many fine works of art at the Louvre, and the almost constant facility of access afforded to the public and to students, revived some of the sparks of civilization in the bosom of the nation. Succeeding years have blown these sparks into a flame; and whatever taste the French public now possess for art of various kinds, may be attributed, in great part, to the trouble taken by successive governments to cultivate the national eye and the popular mind. The grafting of the French school of painting of the present day on that of the Empire, was effected during the Restoration, or a little previous, when Géricault and Girodet produced, the former his Wreck of the Medusa, and the latter his Endymion and his Atala, so well known to the visitors of the Louvre, and the collectors of modern French engravings. The latter painter, indeed, belonged to an earlier epoch; but we mention them together, because their productions formed a remarkable transi- tion from the military and heroic style of David and Gros, to the more natural and more truly historical style of the present day. They were both painters of great merit, as their productions just named will ever FRANCK, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 181 evince; the example they set has not been lost on their successors; they led the way to a better and more en- during style of art; and they may be looked on as amongst the best French artists of this century. It was during the peaceful reigns of Louis XVIII and Charles X, that the fine arts in France acquired a wholesome degree of development. Those monarchs, themselves inclined to encourage merit of all kinds, devoted a due share of attention to this branch of national greatness; and though various political cireum- stances hindered each of them from carrying into effect all the good intentions they had formed, yet the degree of protection they afforded to artists of different de- nominations, and the regular action of the institutions mentioned above, effected much steady progress and solid good. The Royal School of Fine Arts, which was made an introductory establishment to the Academy at Rome, came to be well esteemed by the public, and students flocked to it with regularity and eagerness. At this school, a body of professors, selected from the ablest painters, sculptors, and architects of the capital, give public gratuitous instruction in their several de- partments to young men who wish to devote themselves to the arts, and who fulfil certain unimportant formali- ties at the time of their entering. Every year prize subjects are given out for competition; and the pupil who is fortunate enough to obtain the grand prize—the Prix de Rome as it is technically termed—is sent at the expense of government to the eternal city, where he is sumptuously lodged in the French academy—one of the noblest palaces in that capital, and maintained for five years. During the period of his stay in Italy, each pupil is bound to send home every year one or more productions, which are exhibited at the Heole des Beaux 182 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN Arts, and the artistical world, as well as the public generally, are thereby enabled to judge of what is the progress making by the younger competitors for artist- ical fame. On the return of the students from Rome, they are either employed by Government, or are already so well known by their works to the public, that their fortunes may be said to be secure, and their future career is one of comparative brightness. It sometimes happens that two grand prizes for the same subject are adjudged in the same year, or that a second candidate is thought worthy to be sent to Rome: so that, on the average, the French nation has always about twenty young men of especial promise, studying upon scientific principles at the very fountain-head of excellence. The post of director of the academy at Rome is one of con- siderable honour, and is conferred for five years: while the professorships in the same institution are objects of peculiar ambition to all who are able to compete for them. The course of patient study continued for several years at home in the Hole des Beaux Arts, and the subsequent advantages of the residence at Rome, seldom fail to produce an accomplished painter, sculptor, or architect: but even those candidates in Paris who miss the grand prize, are not therefore neglected; they are known to their professor, they become introduced to the notice of Government, and they attain public favour in proportion to their several merits. The operation of this gratuitous and perfectly open school, is admitted by the profession to be of the utmost use and value, both as a means of instruction and of encouragement. The gratuitous schools of design, intended for workmen in trades connected with ornamental opera- tions of every kind, produce an under-current of art, which is not without its effect on public taste and FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 183 public wealth. By their instrumentality, numerous young people of both sexes are annually sent out into the world skilful designers, and imbued with fixed principles of taste: and, were there no other proof of the value of these acquisitions in a national point of view, we would point to the rapidly increasing trade of France in all ornamental objects, in bronze works of a superior kind, in furniture, and in figured stuffs of every description, as a testimony of the good these institu- tions produce. The ability of French pattern-drawers is almost entirely attributable to these minor but useful institutions. To return, however, from this digression to the actual French School of the Fine Arts, we will give a sketch of its principal members, and will begin with the highest department—that of historical painting. Horace Ver- net, grandson or great-grandson of Joseph Vernet, is decidedly the chief and leader of the school: and on the whole, we do not know whether France possesses any painter of greater talent than himself. We are not aware under what master he first studied, except under Carl Vernet his father; but he was a most suc- cessful student of the school of Paris, and much dis- tinguished himself at Rome. The forte of Horace Vernet is his extremely bold and accurate drawing, and his intimate acquaintance with the anatomy both of men and animals. His delineations possess all the vigour of Rubens, without any of that illustrious master’s exag- gerations, and his colouring in many instances has shown that he has been a careful student of the great Fleming’s best qualities. He is not only bold, but very rapid in his execution, and anecdotes are told of some of his feats, in painting against time, that are quite surprising: the truth is, that he never has occasion to 184 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN correct what he has once touched; and as he depends much more on his drawing than his colouring for effect, he can produce what he desires in a comparatively short time. In all his larger canvases he draws and paints in the broadest and boldest manner, yet without any ex- aggeration or mannerism, and studiously avoids all tricks of the art. His grouping is at once graceful and scientific, and while he attains much vivacity of action, he never descends to-the ridiculous or the improbable: this constitutes one of his great excellences; and the extreme naturalness of all that he paints, is sure to be impressed on the most indifferent observer. It is not always that he attacks large canvases: on the contrary, he often paints cabinet pictures, and then, going into the opposite extreme, finishes them with all the care that would be bestowed on a miniature. There are many of the smaller paintings of this master, the handling of which is equal to that of a Vander Werf, though it would be an exaggeration to say that it re- sembled that of a Gerard Dow. In all his smaller compositions great sweetness and delicacy of composi- tion are to be observed, and we would instance the well-known groups of his Arab figures—his Abraham and Rebecca, his Abraham and Hagar, his Lien Hunt, etc.—as instances of what we have mentioned. His large pieces are nearly all military subjects, most of them relating to real actions of the present day, and a few of them ideal. Of the latter there is one at Versailles, the Battle of Fontenoy, which, in many respects is the best painting he has produced. The design of the subject is graceful in the extreme, the moment being that when Marshal Saxe presents the British colours to Louis XV and brings up a convoy of prisoners to the royal presence. The drawing is quite FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 185 a la Rubens, only with greater delicacy of form; and the colouring is of the same school, only it is too light and too sketchily put on for a canvas of such large size. His Storming of Constantine is another of his capital pictures; and these, with his numerous other works, are sufficient to stamp him as the most vigorous and ori- ginal of French painters since the times of Lebrun and Lesueur. He is at the head of a large school of pupils, by whom he is greatly beloved, as, indeed, he is by all the profession, being one of the most liberal open- minded men breathing, and spending the handsome fortune he has amassed in the most generous and honourable manner.* The second painter of the modern French school in the military line is Couder, who is very much in the same style with Horace Vernet; and though not possessed of the same versa- tility of talent, nor of the same vigour of conception, is still entitled to a high place in the annals of art. His pictures will live, and do him much honour in future times. There are several large battle pieces by him at Versailles of great merit, and one, a decidedly histori- cal picture, The Opening of the States-General, which is as good a canvas as perhaps could have been produced on that subject. Alfred Johannot promised to be a first-rate painter in this line, but he has been prema- turely snatched away by death: and the pictures he has left give more favourable indications of what he would have been than of what he actually was. This Branch of the Historical School in France includes numerous followers, and among them are some young artists of great merit: Monvoisin, Fragonard, Bellangé, and Eugéne Lami (though the two latter seldom paint any * We are not aware that any of Horace Vernet’s works are in England, but there are several, we believe, at St. Petersburg. 186 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN pictures but those containing small figures) are the best. At the head of another branch of the French His- torical School is Paul Delaroche, a master between whom and Horace Vernet it is difficult to draw a com- parison, their styles being so widely apart; but if he yields in merit to any, it is to him alone. Paul Dela- roche may be called a historical painter, par éminence : he seldom, if ever, touches a military composition, and his attention is generally turned to the tragic scenes of civil life. He possesses great science in drawing, though he has not the vigour and originality of Vernet: but his compositions, which are evidently the result of much forethought and labour, are almost faultless, and no painter better than himself knows how to tell a volumi- nous story with the aid of few figures. His chiaro- oscuro is full of breadth and force, and his colouring rich and harmonious: his principal fault is in the hand- ling, which is deficient in firmness, and he proceeds far too much upon the opaque principle—the besetting sin of the French school. Three of his pictures will be suffi- cient to stamp his merits in the eye of the British con- noisseur—one, in the Palace of the Luxembourg, which goes by the name of the Hnfunts d Edouard, the sub- ject being the young King Edward V and the Duke of York in the Tower—well-known from the masterly en- gravings that have been taken of it; the others are in the possession of Lord Francis Egerton, and are Strafford going to Execution, and Charles I insulted by the Parliamentary Soldiers. We have no painter in England that could produce pictures such as_ these. Paul Delaroche, like Horace Vernet, is at the head of a most numerous school of pupils, and is very popular among all his brethren of the palette. There are nu- FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 187 merous artists who follow in his wake; one of the best known among whom is Steuben; but in our own opinion his merits have been greatly overrated: his colouring is too gaudy, and his handling woolly and otherwise faulty: he is, notwithstanding, an immense favourite of the French public—we do not say with the artistical world ; and his pictures are readily bought and quickly engraved. A much more masterly painter, and second only to Paul Delaroche, is Tony Johannot; he is one of a severer class than the leader of this division of the school, and possesses great originality and energy of conception; he is famous for painting conspiracies, or councils, or murders, and carries into practice upon his canvas some of the best principles of Vandyke. Alaux is a rising artist, who, though not on a level with Johan- not, has of late produced some historical pictures of no small merit; but he must yield the palm to a younger competitor, Gigoux, who is one of the best hopes of the French school, and who, for powers of drawing, comes near upon the footsteps of Horace Vernet. His spirited illustrations of the late French edition of Gu Blas, are well known to the European public. This subdivision of the historical school is very numerous, as we have already stated; and, though we do not men- tion their names, contains a strong corps of really able artists, far outweighing, both in number and merit, their rivals on this side of the Channel. There is one among them, however, who for his eccentricity, if for nothing else, cannot be passed over in silence—Eugéne Delacroix. This artist is a better poet and a better musician than he is a painter, and yet, in his latter qualification, is the envy or the terror of almost the whole French school. He has taken a great master for his model in colouring, Paul Veronese; but he exag- 188 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART 1N gerates the principles of that admirable painter to a fearful degree, and indulges in most unjustifiable tours de-force with ceerulean-green and brownish-purple tints, etc. His drawing is often faulty, but his compositions are masterly and original. He copies from no one, and in his handling and rapidity of painting throws most of his contemporaries into despair. He is not at all understood by the public, but in every atelier in Paris his name is mentioned as an object either of intense admiration or undisguised astonishment. A Medea killing her Children is one of his best works. There are two painters in this division of the Historical School whose names must also be mentioned, not for their ex- cellence, but for the contrary qualities. The first, Court, made his debut some years ago by a masterly pro- duction, now in the gallery of the Luxembourg, of Mark Antony haranguing the Romans over the dead body of Cesar; but since that time, though he has been largely employed by the present Government to paint public subjects, he has been getting deeper and deeper into the bathos of painting, till at last he has nearly for- feited all claims to excellence. Sometimes he turns out a good portrait; but that is the utmost he can do. The other is Deveria, a painter as much employed in Government orders as Court, and nearly as bad an artist. He has done several good things in former days, and he still retains a certain degree of boldness of drawing, but he is getting worse and worse every year. Louis Philippe swearing to the “Charte-vérité,” in the Chamber of Deputies, is one of his largest and worst productions: it is kept at Versailles, along with other delineations of equally notorious acts of the “Best of Republics.” M. Schnetz, who is now Director of the Academy at Rome, which honourable post he obtained FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 189 as a matter of Government favour, not from his indi- vidual merit, may be ranked among the third or fourth- rate painters of the same division. There is a rather important class of painters who compose what may be termed the third subdivision of the Historical School. We allude to those who treat of religious and sentimental or poetical subjects. Great demand exists in France for pictures to adorn the churches, and, though high prices are seldom paid for such productions, yet a considerable number of artists make a good living by it. The head of this division of the school, though not so much in the religious as the poetical line, is Ary Scheffer, one of the most accom- plished painters of whom France can boast, and quite entitled to take his stand by the side of Horace Vernet and Paul Delaroche. He used formerly to paint mili- tary subjects; but of late years he has had the good taste to leave that branch of the art, for one which is much higher, and in which he has attained the greatest eminence. He hardly ever exhibits any of his produc- tions, considering it, as many of the more notable French painters do, to be infra dig.; but his pictures, whenever they are to be met with, excite the warmest approbation. He chooses subjects from Goethe’s ballads, or some of the more poetical episodes of the Scriptures, and he treats them as no one else of his countrymen can do. In 1839, he exhibited at the Louvre an Agony in the Garden, which was in every respect a chef- @euvre, together with a Faust and Margaret, a Mignon, and a King of Thule, than which we never saw more beautiful paintings of the present century. He was the master of the unfortunate Princess Marie ; and on all hands, both by artists and amateurs, he is considered, with justice, as the head of his own peculiar 190 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART 1N line. His drawing is bold and firm, without any exag- geration of Nature; his light and shade very broad and forcible ; his colouring transparent, rich, and warm, yet anything but glaring. If any painter in France can be said to resemble Cornelius of Munich, it is Ary Scheffer. The three painters who generally turn out the best sacred subjects from their ateliers, after Ary Scheffer, but far below him, are Hess, Decaisne (we are not sure whether he is not a Belgian), and Brune :—they stand nearly on a level for ability, though differing much from each other in their practice, and their pictures are fairly entitled to respectable places wherever they are exhibited. On the whole, though we could name a dozen more artists of real merit in this subdivision, it is not a branch of art in which the French school shines. Perhaps in future years, if the national taste continues steady, it may acquire increased importance. The fourth and last division of the Historical School is the mythological and heroic. The chief painter in this, though he continually produces sacred subjects, is Ingres, late Director of the French Academy at Rome, and who is generally admitted to be the fourth great painter in the historical line. This artist is full of science and experience in his profession, and has studied the ancient masters more, perhaps, than any of his contemporaries. He has selected an admirable model, Raffaelle, and keeps his drawing and his com- position strictly within the limits observed by that im- mortal painter. All the works of M. Ingres are full of scientific design, and are forcible for their chiaro-oscuro; as compositions too, though sometimes stiff, they are always pleasing; but he has committed the fatal mistake of disregarding colour, or rather of establishing one fixed and uniform olive-green tint, which pervades FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 191 every corner of his palette. One would say that his eyes laboured under some physical infirmity, such abhorrence has he to prismatic rays; the evil, however, is not confined to himself, for his disciples, and they are numerous, have carried out his prejudices or princi- ples to a false extent; and an artist of his school, an Ingrist, as the French would term hin, is signalized by the flatness and viridescence of his canvas in a moment. Ingres has lately returned to France from Rome, and has been received in the most enthusiastic manner. The artists of Paris gave him a public banquet, and he is constantly a guest at the table of Louis Philippe. A chef-d’eurre of his execution, a Madonna, has just been painted for the Emperor of Russia; and another, a Stratonice, for the Duke of Orleans. His works, in general, are seldom seen; but he is now engaged on a large composition, the ceiling of the New Chamber of Peers in the Luxembourg Palace. Of his pupils, M. Flandrin, a young man, has attained the greatest repu- tation; but he fails greatly from the monotony of his colour, which detracts from the effect which his Raffaellic drawing would otherwise produce. Papety, another pupil, still at Rome in the Academy, gives high promise of future excellence. There was a painter who was rather of the same way of thinking as Ingres, and who would perhaps have supplanted him, Sigalon; but he was prematurely cut off by fever, a few years ago, in Italy. Next after what is most commonly understood by the Historical School, comes one to which it is difficult to apply a generic name, and equally difficult to assign any approximate limits. It includes all the smaller historical works, cabinet pictures, Tubleaua de Genre, comic pictures, and a heterogeneous assemblage of pro- 192 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN ductions, numerous as the “leaves in Vallombrosa.” Within it are ranged some painters who have every title to be considered as historical painters, properly so called, if we look at some of their productions; and we are compelled to include in the same class all those who have failed in the higher branches of art, and yet retain some pretensions to thrust their thumbs through a palette. This, with the class of landscape-painters, is always the most numerous in the French and indeed every other school. Contenting ourselves with the gene- ral remark, that there are a considerable number of very meritorious artists in this division, we will single out the four leaders and types, whose productions are already not a “little known to fame.” Robert Fleury stands in the first rank: he is a serious painter, though, when he likes, he can paint festive or fairy scenes with a truly magic touch. As a colourist, he is perhaps the first painter in France, both for the richness and transparency, as well as for the science and harmony of his tones. His handling is bold or delicate, according to his sub- ject: his drawing is very able and vigorous: and his breadth of light and shade is, at times, marvellous. To instance among other subjects some that he exhibited at the last Salon, and that of the year before, we may point out the Tortures of the Inquisition, the Death of Ramus in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Eve, the Council of Divines at Poissy, Michael Angelo and his sick Servant, and a large picture of St. Genevieve, as admirable examples of his style. If we might venture on a bull, we would say that his pictures are all bought long before they are painted. Camille Roqueplan is the second of this division; nearly equal to the preceding, and superior to him in some points from the lovely landscapes he can turn out: his failing is that of in- FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 193 dulging in a little mannerism, and in not sufticiently subduing the warmth of his colouring: he is just as red as Ingres is green. Jacquand, the third, is one of the sweetest painters that ever touched a palette or a brush: rising at times to the highest points of historical dignity, and the next moment indulging in all the breadth with- out any of the coarseness of an Hogarthian caricature. His rich interiors of feudal palaces or monasteries are well known, not only from the original pictures, but from highly popular engravings; and one, Gaston de Foix, or another, Louis XJ, are so familiar to the lounger in all print shops, whether of London or Paris, that they need no further specification. His comic subjects are little known out of his own country, where, however, they are highly valued; and they are certainly the acme of comedy in genteel life. He is one of the most fortunate among the brothers of the brush in the French capital: he has realized a handsome indepen- dence, and a picture of his is not to be got for love or money. His Gaston de Foix was purchased by the Société des Amis des Arts at Lyons, and on being drawn for by lottery among the members, fell into the hands of an honest épicter of that city, who stuck it up in the back parlour’of his shop. Jacquand was in despair ; he set off for Lyons immediately ; offered the astonished tradesman 10,000 franes for the picture, (it had been sold to the Society for 8,000 francs;) came with it in triumph up to Paris; and then started with it for Rotterdam, where a distinguished collector purchased it for 12,000 francs. This serves to show the animus of the artist. The last of the four is Biard, a sort of uni- versal painter, who can execute any thing he takes into his fancy; and who, in the same Salon, will exhibit four or five different kinds of pictures. He is, however, 0 194 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN chiefly known as the comic painter, par excellence, of the French school; and his Strolling Comedians in the Luxembourg, his Suite d’un Bal Masqué, his Post-Office, and his Confessional, are certainly not surpassed by any thing that Hogarth ever did. Biard has been to “many a place that’s underneath the world,” and he has con- sequently been able to depict a Shipwreck among the Cannibals of the South Seas, a Passing of the Line, a Scene in an African Desert, and a vast series of Views from Spitzbergen and Lapland, all with equal force and facility. There are very few painters in any country, who can at all approach him in versatility of talent, and he resembles our own lamented Wilkie in a very re- markable degree. Charlet, the caricaturist, may be appended to this class: but his paintings are very seldom seen, and he is too much of a mannerist. The portrait painters form a class quite by themselves, though there are many among them who are also known in other lines: but in the French school the distinction is tolerably decided, and those who are eminent among them are strong only in their own way. By far the ablest painter in this branch is Charpentier, who pro- duces, from time to time, canvases not unworthy of Sir - - Joshua. Without beimg a disciple of that great master, whose pictures, perhaps, he has seldom seen, he has arrived at similar results by his own talent, or rather by following the same rules; and he paints with a breadth, boldness, richness of surface, and warmth of tone, that are quite admirable. He is by no means a flatterer, and hence he is not a fashionable painter: but his portraits of Monsieur George Sand, Mademoiselle Rachel, and other celebrities, have stamped his reputa- tion beyond the possibility of dispute. Chatillon and Béranger follow him in many points, and so does FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 195 Schlesinger: they are all three of the school of Sir Joshua. M. Amaury Duval is an Ingrist, but not a green one, or not much so: he possesses wonderful powers of delineation, but is too fond of exhibiting ‘tours de force, such as rosy complexions on pink back- grounds—a yellow drapery on a sky-blue ground, and other incongruities, under which any but a skilful man would infallibly break down. Winterhalter is a young man rising fast into note, and possessed of the where- withal to make a good artist; but he has latterly got too much about the Tuileries, and has adopted a bad style of designing, probably to be accounted for from the models he finds there, which, if he does not hasten to lay them aside, will cause him to degenerate. There is only one man in France who can paint children, and that is Jules Laure: he has adopted Sir Thomas Law- rence for his model, professes an enthusiastic admira- tion of our late President; and has been fortunate in having some of the loveliest English children, that have been taken to the French capital, to sit by the side of his easel. The fashionable portrait-painter of the day in France is Dubufe,—the most fortunate painter in Europe, if the smallness of his artistical means be taken into account. He is a dauber in the real sense of the word, wretched in handling and in colour, and without the least spark of poetry in his imagination ;—but he is an unhesitating flatterer, can give a fashionable air to a vulgar subject, and can hit off a silk-velvet robe in a dashing manner that catches the undiscerning eye. He has had the dubious honour of painting most of the personages, male and female, who form the present court of the Tuileries, and has contrived to amass a very respectable income. Some of the principal French historical painters, such as Ingres and Paul Delaroche, 02 196 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN condescend at rare intervals to paint portraits; but, notwithstanding their contributions, we doubt whether, as a division of a general school, there is not a stronger corps of portrait painters in England than in France. We now come to that large and important division in the French school that includes the painters of land- scapes, marine subjects, and architectural views, whether of the exterior or the interior of buildings:—that de- partment in which the English school is richer than perhaps all the world besides. Till lately, no school of landscape painting worthy of the name existed in France: the love for the picturesque was not known in the time of Napoleon, and the Champs Elysées or the Bois de Boulogne were in those days considered as the ne plus ultra of all out-of-door beauty. The present painters of this division therefore—for the same remark will apply to the marine and the architectural painters —are all the founders of the school: they have been their own teachers ; they have had no theories to follow but those of their own establishing; and, hence, their methods and their progress become objects of peculiar artistical interest. French landscape painters are divided into two distinct and hostile camps: the one adopting the transparent and laborious—the other the opaque and the off-hand principle :—the one conforming to the traditions and practice of the old masters—the other following ideas of their own. We need hardly say which is « pron the most likely to succeed; but, what is of more importance, antecedent speculations are in this case fully justified by the result. We will begin with what we consider the better and more im- portant subdivision of the landscape painters, and at their head we place—though he does not hold the post without a rival—Decamps. This great painter, or FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 197 rather master—for he is worthy of the name—is possessed in his peculiar province of almost the versa- tility of Biard: his taste leads him to choose, nearly exclusively, eastern subjects, such as views in Syria and Asia Minor, or Egypt, streets in Turkish villages, in- teriors of caravansaries, etc.; and he treats them in a manner entirely his own, and of wonderful power. His colouring is necessarily rich, but not too much so for the scenes he represents; he has studied all the hues of Oriental nature on the spot, and has imbued his soul with all the warmth and variety that Asiatic climes can impart : his drawing is bold and masterly; and, reposing on his own accurate observation, he is exceedingly effec- tive in giving the most vivid delineations of the scenes he selects. He draws men and animals of all kinds with the same power that he represents inanimate objects ; and his pictures are commonly full of living objects. His colouring and handling go jointly on the transparent system, with a copious use of well-planned glazings, and the effect of his surfaces is unusually rich and substan- tial. His brethren reproach him with laying on his colours too thick; and there is a well-known caricature of this artist studying at his easel with a hod of colours and a trowel, building upon the canvas a regular wall of paint: it is said, in fact, that some of his earlier pictures are beginning to crack and peel; if so, it isa great pity, for they are all gems. He will choose a simple subject, such as Arab Children playing with a Tortoise by a Well-side ;—a group of camels with their drivers near the edge of a rocky ravine—Joseph sold by his Brethren ;—a dusty valley in Syria with a fight of the natives—Sampson and the Philistines ;—or any thing else of this kind, and he will work into his picture such an infinity of details, that the spot or 198 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN country he represents is brought before the spectator in all the vividness of reality. His skies and distances are wonderfully wrought, and it is an object of no small curiosity to the connoisseur to trace, one under the other as they appear at intervals, the different coats of colour by which the ultimate effect is produced. We cannot compare him with any English painter, because we know of no one that proceeds on the same code of principles as himself, nor who treats of the same class of scenes. He is also famous for painting dogs and monkeys—especially the latter! and we doubt whether Landseer himself could hit off our first cousins in a more effective style. There is only one opinion among all his contemporaries as to his merits: he is above the reach of praise or of envy, and he is followed by a crowd of imitators. It is almost superfluous to add, that his pictures fetch extravagant prices: he never touches even a small canvas under 2,000 or 3,000 francs: his whole soul is given to his art, and he paints all day and every day. His rival in landscape painting is Jules Dupré, who takes Ruysdael for his model with as much suc- cess as Decamps has adopted Salvator Rosa. Jules Dupré is one of the enthusiasts in painting that have hardly ever been met with since the days of Raf- faelle and his compeers: he lives only in his art, he is identified with his pursuit, and knows no other occu- pation, no other enjoyment, than that of investigating sylvan nature in her wildest recesses, and in transferring the results of his observations to canvas. He is a strict theorist in his practice, and has laid down for himself a code of laws, from which he never departs: thus, while he paints upon nearly the same principles as his friend Decamps, he allows many months to intervene between FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 199 the superposing of each coat of colour, and he piques himself on a picture, even the smallest, never quitting his easel under two years; we have seen some of his productions, not very large, which have been jive years in hand. His reason is, that the vehicle of the colour takes a much longer time to dry than is commonly imagined; and that it is essential for each tint to be- come, at least a little, modified by time before a fresh one is laid upon it. He boasts that his coats of colour are as hard and tight as stone, and that they will never chip nor crack; his glazings are laid on over and over again, and all his colours are applied nearly dry. Asa peculiarity of his handling, we may mention that he works with brushes, the handles of which, even for the smallest quantity of bristles or sable, are made extra thick and heavy on purpose—and, for his finest as well as for his boldest touches, he never allows his hand to approach within eighteen inches of the smallest picture. And yet he works with surprising delicacy, quite in the old Flemish style at times, and produces pictures of which Ruysdael himself would not have been ashamed. His peculiar subjects are glades in woods, scenes from the picturesque country of the Limousin, from the south of Devonshire, Brittany, and other similar spots. There is not a thread of canvas that comes into his atelier but is bespoken for some noble or royal patron, not in months, but in years to come; and he does not possess a finished picture, nor hardly an oil sketch of his own. When he is not painting, he reads Shakespeare or Walter Scott. A pupil of Dupré’s holds a very high place among the painters of this portion of the school—Troyon, who, though a young man, has, like his master, pro- duced some astonishing pictures on the same princi- ple, but with greater rapidity of execution. He, too, 200 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN adopts silvan scenes, and is fond of introducing a good many figures into his compositions: he has not, how- ever, the same delicacy of taste as Dupré, nor the same firmness of touch; but he is, notwithstanding, an artist of high promise. Some of his large paintings put one quite in mind, for the tone of their colouring, of the best of the few good landscapes that remain to us of Gainsborough. There is another young artist, Cabat, who partakes of the best qualities of both Decamps and Dupré, but yet is entirely an original painter: he has taken Gaspar Poussin for his authority, and he produces pictures which, without being copies of that great master, run very close upon his heels. The year before last he exhibited a picture of this kind, the Good Samaritan, a fine woodland scene in Italy; and the year before that a similar subject, the Road to Narni, which made an immense sensation in Paris, and put the seal on his reputation. He is the pupil of Flers, a meritorious artist of the same kind of style, but whom he has far surpassed. Marilhat is a disciple of Decamps: like him he has travelled much in the east; and, like him, paints eastern scenes with great vigour. Some recent views in Egypt, in the Delta, at Cairo, ete, which he has exhibited, have added considerably to his reputation. Chacalon is of the same school, and so are Diaz and Jeanron, each of great merit. All these painters proceed upon the transparent principle, and adhere to the precepts and practice of the old masters: their names and their works will live. They differ ma- terially from any of ow own painters in the immense masses of colour they employ: there being as much weight of colourmg matter on some of their canvases as would cover an English painter’s picture of three times the dimensions. FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 201 The opaque division of the landscape school is headed by Jules Coignet, an artist of great reputation and suc- cess, who can command a host of pupils and followers, and who is not unworthy of his fame. His chief quali- fication is that of admirable drawing: there is, perhaps, not such a landscape draughtsman in France; and his intimate acquaintance with, and observance of Nature in all her forms, confer on him a great advantage: there is no one who can draw a tree better than Coignet, however many there may be who can colowr it more naturally or more poetically. He is famous for his stumps of trees, brook-side scenes, pools with cattle, etc. ; he is also a first-rate painter of game pieces, and there are few painters better acquainted with Swiss scenery: but his main faults are his too glaring colours, the rawness of their tones, resulting from their entire opacity, and his persistance in finishing his outlines in too decided a manner, transeressing thereby the scienti- fic rules which Harding has expounded and practises in such a masterly manner. His works do not re- semble those of any ancient master, and we confess we do not think they will stand the test of time. Another artist of the same division, only indulging a little in transparency, is Lapito: he, too, is a first-rate draughts- man, but a raw colourist; and even his beautiful Italian scenes have an unpleasing effect from this circumstance. Hostein is a painter of woodland scenery on the opaque plan, but, notwithstanding, gets out of the scrape better than might be expected: he has executed several good works, especially Swiss scenes. Justin-Ouvrié is in the same division, but inclined to be transparent in some of his compositions; he is perhaps a better painter of architectural subjects than that of champaign scenery, and possesses much merit as a water-colour draughts- 202 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN man. Giroux, son of the well-known colour dealer, is a painter of vast promise, who redeems the fault of opacity by the boldness and skilfulness of his handling. In 1837, he exhibited at the Louvre a large view of A Ravine in the Alps, which was by far the best picture of the year. Mozin is a skilful delineator of coast scenes, something mm the style of Callcott, but at a great distance behind him: he has a true perception of colour, and his effects are always natural. The opaque division of the French landscape school, includes nine-tenths of all who aspire to the name of landscape painters: the transparent division consists only of a select few, but the works of those few are destined to live in future times. Among the painters of marine subjects, there are two who stand decidedly at the head of their class ; rivals in almost all respects, and so nearly equal in merit, that it is difficult to decide on their respective claims to pre-eminence—Gudin and Isabey. They are both excellent landscape painters, and the latter has the ad- vantage of being a first-rate painter of rich interiors, alchemists’ studios, and so forth: he also paints vessels better than Gudin, having much more practical know- ledge of them; but he cannot give the same effects either to his sky or his water. Gudin is a painter full of poetical imagination : one who, for the radiancy and warmth of his sunny dreams, resembles Turner, with- out running into any of his mad conceits : he can paint morning and evening skies, as no one, save Claude, ever did before him; and he knows how to give his waves that lucid effect, which none but those who have long studied the sea can attain. He works with ex- traordinary rapidity, and inclines to the defect of making his paintings too sketchy; he is the most FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 203 transparent of all French painters, putting on a thin but warm ground, and then, with a few opaque touches, bringing out his subject in all its details. No painter in France is so completely master of his brush as Gudin; he can do anything with the merest stump, and he seems to take delight in setting all means and appliances of art at nought. At the same time, he is a most careful and scientific observer of Nature, and the variety of forms under which he has depicted the ocean, is quite astonishing. A few years ago, he exhibited a celebrated picture of a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a mast in a deep blue sea, with the sun setting in one corner of the canvas, and the moon rising in the other : (he is very fond of the effect of the double light.) This was one of the most beautiful things ever painted, and he was immediately commissioned to execute three or four of the same subject—one was sent to the Emperor of Russia—and they all fetched fifteen thousand francs a-piece. On another occasion he exhibited a Single Wave in a stormy sea—nothing but a wave with a white curling top; there never was such a piece of accurate painting witnessed before or since: it was a perfect chef-d’euvre. In the last Salon but one, he had his sketches of Constantinople and Gibraltar, two brillant gems, especially the latter. He is one of the most fertile painters in the world, but has fallen into the serious fault of allowing his pupils to paint considerable portions of his pictures, giving a few finishing strokes himself, and then affixing his name—an act of high treason, we hold; but even his own genuine pictures come off his easel in astonishing numbers, and the prices they produce are always extravagantly large. He is believed to be in the receipt of 70,000 or 80,000 francs a-year. He is a great personal favourite of Louis 204 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN Philippe, by whom he is most extensively and liberally employed: he lives like a prince; and, if report does not belie him, has not a sol in his pocket! Isabey is not a court favourite; there is hardly a touch of his on any royal wall; but he is in most extensive and substantial practice; and to procure a picture from him, is a favour to which few persons can aspire under several years. He is well known for his great Naval battles, and for his Fishing-boat scenes. He seldom attempts the atmospheric effects of Gudin, but he commonly in- troduces portions of rocky coast scenery into his com- positions, and, in executing them, is beyond all rivalry. One of his principal works is now in the United States, representing an action on one of the North American lakes during the war of 1812, in which the English were defeated. It is a large canvas, fifteen feet by ten; he was assisted in some parts of it by Morel Fatio, his pupil; but from the first stretching of the canvas on its frame to the time of its shipment for New York, the period that elapsed was under two months! Heisa transparent painter, but not so much so as Gudin, and in many respects he resembles Callcott: his interiors, which are very scarce, are invaluable; and the princi- pal one is in possession of the Duke of Orleans. Isabey is a good-natured little man, just like a sailor, with a ereat deal of the Englishman about him: keeps a small yacht of his own; sails about all the summer; paints only in winter; is a good pére de faniille ; and lives as happy as a king on his 30,000 francs a-year. Lepoittevin is an able young artist, who partakes of many of the good qualities both of Isabey and Biard. He paints all sorts of things—no subject comes amiss to his easel: but his principal strength lies in marine pieces—battles and storms—in the execution of which FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 205 he is to be ranked next after Isabey. He has been much patronised both at St. Petersburg and Berlin. Morel Fatio, mentioned above, has been in the navy, and is therefore quite wu fact in the delineation of ship- ping. He has not as yet got into the poetic region of his art, and paints rather crudely ; but, on the whole, he must be classed among the good painters. There is avery promising artist of Boulogne, named Delacroix, whose marine subjects are daily gaining for him in- creased public approbation. He delights in groups of fishing-boats, and sometimes treats market-scenes on the coast in a very able manner. Dubois, Tanneur, and two or three others, sustain the reputation of the French marine school, which, though of not more than ten or twelve years’ standing, has already reached a point of great excellence, and promises to be one of the best departments of French art. We now come to the painters of architectural sub- jects, exterior and interior. Of these, Dauzats is one of the most able. His pictures are rarely to be met with, but they are painted with great force and breadth, are firm in their touch, sober in their colouring, and always mathematically exact in their drawing. His labours have been principally in Spain. Sebron is a most excellent artist, whether for interiors or exteriors; but he chiefly devotes himself to the former. He com- menced his artistical career by painting the Dioramas, which all the world has been taught to ascribe exclu- sively to Daguerre and Bouton, his employers; and the accurate drawing he displayed in them is well known all over Europe. Of late, he has been treating Spanish and Italian subjects with great skill, and has produced a series of views of St. Mark at Venice, and the Duomo at Milan, which are works of the highest merit. Joyant 206 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART IN is an imitator of Canaletti, whom, pace sud be it said, we think he in most points greatly excels. He resides entirely at Venice, and paints nothing but Venetian subjects. These, however, he treats in the ablest man- ner; and, from the results he has obtained, by copying Canaletti, there is little doubt but that when he strikes out an original style for himself—for he is still young —he will become a painter of great eminence. Frére is a young artist, who has been much at Algiers and in Egypt, and he has returned from thence with his mind well stored with Eastern scenes, and the rich effects of southern climes. He paints with astonishing breadth, and has a certain wholesome tone of colour in all that he does, with a bold masterly style of handling, which show that he is destined to rise high in the ranks of his profession. lLafaye is very able in his delineation of old rooms, furniture, etc. ; the first, indeed, in that line. Granet, as a painter of interiors, has established his fame by good works done in former days: he is now, however, a pictor emeritus; and if he could be per- suaded to leave off exhibiting, would follow one of the soundest maxims, for his own sake, that Horace ever laid down. This division of the French school does not number many followers, but it is one of a fair degree of promise ; what it wants is more encouragement. Until within the last few years animal painting had hardly been heard of in France since the times of Louis XV: the great Revolution, and the pecuniary distress entailed thereby on the country, had entirely extin- guished a branch of art which can only flourish among a people who are rich and prosperous. Of late, how- ever, it is coming into vogue, and there are several painters of merit under this head who deserve to be noticed. Alfred Dedreux is celebrated for his spirited FRANCE, BELGIUM, AND SWITZERLAND. 207 delineations of horses, and the “animals” that mount them—jockeys, grooms, and “angels”. In the drawing and painting of subjects of this kind he is of extraordi- nary force, and surpasses, we think, many of our animal painters, strong as they really are. He paints with great boldness, and depends perhaps more on his draw- ing and his chiaro-oscuro than on his colouring, which, however, is exceedingly correct. In the management of his shadows his science makes him stand quite alone, his bits of landscape are generally good, and there is a cer- tain style about his productions which no one but himself can attain. He spends his whole life in study- ing the animals he loves to paint; has a beautiful black Arabian mare in his stable, is well-known on the turf at Chantilly and Newmarket, and is one of the greatest dandies in Paris. Jadin is the rising Landseer of France—an able young painter, who has got the spirit of our great master upon him, and who in time, if he attends to Landseer’s transparent colouring, may rival him in reputation. He cannot, however, boast of that universality of talent which falls to Landseer’s share; but he draws figures notwithstanding in a skilful man- ner, and on the whole is full of brilliant promise. Robert is a careful and delicate, yet spirited, painter of animals and birds, especially the latter: and has lately exhibited some elaborate canvases at the Louvre which reflect on him the highest credit. There are several other artists practising in the saine line, but their numbers are comparatively small. The flower school has always been a respectable one in France, and at the present moment can boast of a master who has not been equalled since the days of Van Huysum—we mean Jacobber. He studies on the same principles as the great Dutch painter, and follows 208 MODERN SCHOOLS OF ART 1N him in practice closely. He is not such a master, how- ever, of light and shade, as Van Huysum was ; other- wise he would approach him more nearly. There are several painters in the same branch, all of considerable merit, and most of them have been pupils of that admirable institution, founded under Rédouté, at the Garden of Plants. Here a certain number of young artists of promise, male and female, study botanical painting under direction of the ablest teachers and professors of the capital. The hot-houses are at their disposal, and they are constantly occupied in producing a series of drawings for the Government, which are afterwards preserved in the botanical library of the in- stitution. Their practice is almost exclusively (at least for the exhibited subjects) on vellum. The number of female painters who are thus put in an independent and honourable position, is considerable. There is another royal establishment which we may mention, in this place, as having been productive of the best results, and which is daily gaining ground in public reputation; we mean the school of paint- ing attached to the Royal Porcelain Manufactory of Sévres.