f \ / N /' : ^/^.'^. /"N /• V / \.< \.^^ N '^ N • N / ^ y N/' N ITS SITES MONUMENTS P/-\ N/ \ VN.^^/ N'^ \'^ ^.-^ \.^ ^•'' ^.^ \''i \1 Hot CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Date Due msji ^wi u 1 1 ' » > I I igB*^ M p ^_.,t.y^lIl^...,-.. X' PRINTED IN U. 9. A. (*?5' ^^V^, CAT. NO. 29233 wn and not that r»f a section of her people, even here and there chiselling out something as durable as Europe. Look at the great line before you and note these evidences of a mind at work. Here, on your right, monstrous, grotesque and dramatic in the extreme rises that great ladder of iron, the Eiffel, to its thou- sand feet, meant to be merely engineering, and there- fore christened at its birth by all the bad fairies, but INTRODUCTION. 5 managing (as though the spirit of the city had hiughecl at its own folly) to assume something of gracCj and losing in a very delicate grey, in a good curve, and in a film of fine linesj the grossness which its builders intended. It stands up, close to our Avestern standpoint, foolishly. It is twice as high as this hill of Valerian from Avhich Ave are looking ; its top is covered often in hurrying clouds, and it seems to be saying perpetually : ^^ I am the end of the nine- teenth century ; I am glad they built me of iron ; let me rust." It is far on the outskirts of the town, Avhere all the rest of the things that Paris has made can look at it and laugh contentedly. It is like a passing fool in a crowd of the University, a buffoon in the hall ; for of all the things that Paris has made, it alone has neither wits nor soul. But just behind it and somewhat to the left the dome you see gilded is the Invalides, the last and, perhaps, the best relic of seventeenth century taste, and with that you touch ground and have to do with Paris again j for just beneath it is Napoleon, and in the short roof to the left of it, in the chapel, the flags of all the nations. Behind that, again, ahnost the last thing the eighteenth century left us, is the other dome of the Pantheon. How great a space in ideas between it and the Invalides ! Between Mansard and Soufflot ! Its dome is in a false proportion ; a great hulking colonnade deforms its middle; its sides and its decorations are cold and bare. The gulf 6 PARIS. between these two, compared, is the gulf between Louis XIV. and the last years of decay that made necessary the Revolution. It stands, grey, ugly and without meaning, the relic of a grey and ugly time. But you note that it caps a little eminence, or "what seems, from our In^ght and distance, to be a little eminence. That hill is the hill of Ste. Genevieve, "' j\Ions Lucotetius," Mont Parnasse. On its sides and summit the University grew, and at its base the Revolution was born in the club of the Cordeliers. It will repay one Avell to look, on this clear day, and to strain the eyes in watching that hummock — a grev and confused mass of houses, with the ugly dome we spoke of, on its summit. A lump, a little higher than the rest, half-way up the hill, is the Sor- bonne ; upon the slopes towards us two unequal square towers mark 8t. Sulpice — a heap of stones. Yet all this confusion of unlovely things, which the dis- tance turns into a blotch wherein the Pantheon alone can be distinguished, is a very noteworthy square mile of ground *, for at its foot Julian the Apostate held his little pagan circle ; at its summit are the relics of Ste. Genevieve. Here Abelard awoke the ^' great curiosity" from its long sleep, and here St. Bernard answered him in the name of all the mystics. Here Dante studied, and here Innocent III. was formed. Here is the unique arena where Catliolicism and the Rationalists meet, and where a great strug- gle is never completed. Here, as in symbol of that INTRODUCTION. 7 wrestling, the cross is perpetually rising above and falling from the Pantheon. — now torn down, now rein • stated. Beneath that ugly dome lie Voltaire and Rousseau ; in one of the gloomy buildings on that hill Robespierre was taught the stoicism of the ancients and sat on the bench with Desmoulins ; at its flank, in the Cordeliers, Danton forged out the scheme of the Republic ; it was thence that the lire spread in '92 Avhich overthrew the old rcg'uue ; here, again, the students met and laughed and plotted against the latest despotism. It was from the steps of that unlovely Pantheon, with ^^ To the great men of France" carved above him, that dambetta declared the third Republic. It Avas the 4th of September, 1870, and it rained. There is, however, in the view before you another spot, touching almost the hill Avhich avc have been noting, and of yet more importance in the story of the city, though it may not be so in the story of the world, — I mean the Island of the Cite. From this distance Ave cannot see the gleam of the water on either side of it; moreover, the houses hide the river and the bridges. Nevertheless, knoAving Avhat lies there, Ave can make out the group of build- ings Avhich is the historic centre of Paris, and from Avhence the tOAA^n has radiated outAvards during the last fourteen centuries. We are five miles away, and catch only its most evident marks. We see the square mass of the 8 PARIS. Palais, whence, uninterruptedly, for eiglitern hundred years the government has held its courts and its share in the administration of the town. Perhaps, if it is very clear, the conical roofs of the twin towers of the Conciergerie can be made out; and, certainly, to the right of them Ave see the high-pitched roof and the thin spire of the 8ainte Chapelle, Avhich St. Louis Luilt to cover the Holy Lance and the Crown of Thorns. ]3ut the most striking feature of the Island and the true middle of the Avhole of Paris will be clear alwavs even at this distance, — I mean the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The distance and the larger aspect of nearer things make exiiruous the far towers as thev stand above the houses. You look, apparently, at a little thing, but even from here it has about it the reverence of the middle ages. Li that distance all is subdued ; but these t()A\'ers, M'hicli are grey to a man at their very feet, seem to possess to a watcher from Valerian the quality of a thin heriznn cloud. I know not how to describe this model of the middle ages — built into the modern toAAii, standing (from whichever way you look) in its very centre, so small, so distant, and yet so majestic. Amiens and Rlieims, ►Strasburg, ( 'hartres and Rouen — all the great houses of tlie (rothic, as they pass l>efore our minds, have something at once less pathetic and less dignilied. Th(^3' are no larger than Notre Dame; they have not — even Rheims has not — her force of repose, of Notre Dame from the River INTRODUCTION. 9 height and of dctsign. But they stand in pr()vincial cities. Tlie modern world affects, without trans- forming, their surroundings. Amiens stands head and shoulders above the town: Eheims, as vou sec it coming in from camp, looks like a great sphinx brooding over the champaign and always gazing out to the west and the hills of the Tourdenoiso; Stras- burg is almost theatrical in its assertion ; Chartres is the largest thing in a rural place, and is the natural mother of the Beauce, the patroness and protectress of endless fields of corn; and even Rouen, though it stands in the hum of machinery and in the centre of countless industries, is so placed that, come from Avhichever A^ay you \yill, it is tlie dominant fact in the town. But Notre Dame is always one of many things and not the greatest. 81ie was built for a little Gothic town and a huge metropolis has outgro^^'n her. The town was once, so to speak, the fringe of her garment ; now she is but the centre of a circle miles around. There are but three spots in Paris from Avhich the old church alone takes up the mind, as do the churches of the provincial towns f I mean from the Quai de la Tournelle, from the Parvis, and from the Place de Greve. And yet she gradually becomes more to the spirit of those who see her than do any of these other churches, for the very anomaly of her position leads to close observance, and she touches tlie mind at last like a Avoman who has been continually 10 PARIS. silent in a strange company. To a man who loves and knows the city, there soon comes a desire to con- stantlv communicate with the memories of the Cathe- dral. And this desire, if he is wise, grows into a habit of coming close against the towers at evening, OY of waiting under the great height of the nave for the voices of the middle ages. Notre Dame th-is lost in distance, central and re- mote, is like a iadj grown old in a great house, about Avhose age new phrases and strange habits have arisen, who is surroinided witli the vouth of her own lineao-e and \vi is content to licar and inidcrstand without re- plying to their speech. She is silent in the midst of energy, and forgotten in the many activities of the household, yet she is the centre of the estate, and but for lirr the family would be broken up and the home groAv desolate. And to me at least, Avhen I see in that famous view her stpiare t(>wers draped and A'eiled Ijy distance, it has something of the effect made by a single small liarbor-light Avhich shines when one is coming in at the dead of a night, and with sweeps from lack of wind, a\ hilc all about one, in a high port- city and in the great black landscape of cliffs, no other beacon is showing. There stands, then, in the midst of our view this little group of the Island of the (Jite, the old Roman town with wliich so much of our history will deah As the eye turns to the left, that is to the northern half of the town, it is passing over the place of itj INTKODUCTION. 11 great expansion. It is here that Paris has worked and has grown^ while Paris of the centre governed and Paris of the south thouglit and studied. It is in this half of the city that we shall note her greatest theatres^ her most famous modern streets, her houses of rich men, her palaces, even her industries. But this northern half has little to distinguish it in a general panorama ; here and there a spire or towur or a column, but as a rule only a mass of high houses in which even the distant Louvre seems to possess no special prominence, and in which the Palais Royal, the Madeleine, the Bourse are so many roofs only, con- spicuous in nothing but their surface. Tlie old world makes but little effect from the distance at which we stand, and indeed is less apparent in the northern half of the city even to a spectator who is placed within its streets. Close against the Island you may perhaps catch the fine scpiare tower of St. Jacques, the last of the Gothic ; but with that exception the vicAV of the left side is modern. If we may connect it Avith any one period or man rather than another, it is Napoleon that its few prominent points recall. Between us and the heart of the city is the ridge of Passy, less than a mile from the fortihcations and on the summit of this ridge the great Triumphal Arch full of his battles and his generals' names. You may see beyond it, towards the more central parts of the town, a line here and there of those straight streets so many of which lie planned; and 12 PARIS. nearly all of Avliieh are clue to his influence upon Paris. Thus opening straight before you, but miles away, running to the Louvre and on to the Hotel de Ville, is that Rue de Itivoli which is so characteris- tically his, obliterating, as did his own career, the memories of the Revolution. Running over the spot where the riding-school stood, and where Mirabeau hcl])od to found a new world, draining the Rue 8t. Honore (that republican gulf) of half its traffic, it strikes the note of the new Paris which the nine- teenth century has designed. Just off the line of this street you may catch the bronze colunm, the Vendome, which again perpetu- ates Napoleon ; it stands Avell above the houses and rivals the other column which distance scarcely per- mits us to discern, and which overlooks the site of the Bastille. But when we have noted these few points, have tried to make out the new Hotel de Ville (as distant and less clear than Xotre Dame), and have marked the great mass of the opera roof, the general aspect of the northern bank is told. There is nothing on which tlie eye rests as a central point. Only in itself, and without the aid of momunents, the great expanse of wealth and of energy fringing off into the indus- tries of the northern and a\ estcrn roads shows us at once the modern Paris that works and enjoys. (Jne last feature remains to be spoken of while we are still looking upon the view at our feet, and before INTRODUCTION. 13 we go doAvn into the city to notice the closer aspect of its streets and buildings. I mean the liill of Mont- martre. It lies on the extreme left as we gaze, that is in the northernmost part of the city, just within the fortifications, and rises isolated and curiously steep above the wliole plain of the northern quarter. No city has so admirable a place of vantage, and in no other h the position so unspoiled as here. -For cen- turies, from the time Avhen it Avas far outside the media?val A^'alls, Montmartre has been tlie habitation of bohemians and chance poor men. Luckily it has remained undisturbed to this day. And if you climb it you look right down upon the town from the best and most congenial of surroundings. Nothing there reminds you of a municipality forcing you to acknoAvl- edge the site and the view. There is not a park or statue, not even a square. A ramshackle cafe ^vith dirty plaster statues, a half-finished churcli, a pano- rama of the true Jerusalem (the same all falling to p)ieces Avith old age and neglect), a number of little houses and second-rate vilhis, a few dusty studios ; this is the furniture of the platform beneath Avhich all Paris lies like a map. Long may it remain S(> untouched. For the hill is noAV truly Parisian. The tourist does not hear of it, even the systematic traveller avoids it. But it is dear to the student, and to that type in Avhich Paris is so prolific. I mean the careless and disreputable young men Avho grow up to be bourgeois and pillars 14 PAKIS. of society. For them the slopes of the hill are al- most sacred ground. Half the minor verse of Paris has been born liere, and that other hill of the Latin quarter has arranged^ as it Avere, for its play-ground in this forsaken and neglected place. Paris inspires you Avell as you look down upon it from such sur- roundingSj and for one who understands the race there is a pecidiar pleasure in noting that officialism, Avhich is one product or rather aspect of the national character, has spared Montmartre to the carelessness and excess Avhich is its paradoxical second half. Not so long ago a crazy windmill marked the summit. It has disappeared, but it is characteristic of the hill that it should have lingered to so late a date. Not another square yard of Paris, perhaps, has been so left to chance as this admirable opportunity for the interference of official effect. Such, imperfectly described, is Paris when you see it first from the highest of the western hills. But our insistence upon this or that particular point must not misrepresent to the reader the general effect. These domes, arches, towers, spires — even the hills, are but incidents in the vast }>lain of houses with which our sunnnary began, and which is the note of the Avhole scene. AVliat is this plain, seen from with- in ? AMiat is the character of its life, its architec- ture, its monuments ? Above all, what surmise gi'adually rises in us as Ave pass through its streets INTRODUCTION. 15 and try to discover the historic foundations upon which all this modern society rests f To answer these questions let us go in to the city by one of the western gates and gain close at hand an impression of her buildings and streets. This is what you will notice as you pass through the thoroughfares of Paris. Two kinds of streets, and, to match them, two kinds <»f public buildings 5 and yet neither clearly defined, but merging into one another in a fashion Avhich, as Avill be seen later, gives the characteristic of continuity to the modern town. As an example of the first, take the Rue St. Honore j as an example of the second, its immediate neighbor the Boulevard des Italians. The Rue St. Honore is narrow, paved Avith square stones, sound- ing like a gorge on the sea-coast. Its houses are high, and with hardly a pretence of decoration. Their stone or plastered Avails run grey and haA^e black streaks Avith age. Commonly an old iron balcony Avill run along one or more of the iqoper stories. They are covered AA'ith green-grey Mansard roofs, high in proportion to the buildings. From these look the small AvindoAvs of attics, Avhere, in the time these houses Avere built, the apprentices and serA^ants of the bourgeois householders Avere lodged. The ground floor, as CA^eryAvhere in Paris, is a line of shops. Tlie street is not only narroAv and high, but sombre in ef- fect. Here and there (but rarely) an open court^ 16 PAEIS. looking almost like a well^ lets in more light. The street is not straight, but follows the curves of the old meclireval artery upon Avhich it Avas built. You would look in vain for the Gothic in such streets as these. Even the Renaissance has hardly remained. Their churches and their public buildings date from much the same time as tlie houses. They are uniformly of the seventeenth or early eighteenth centuries. It was in such surroundings that the grand siecle moved, and in such hotels lived the dramatists and the orators of the Augustan age of literature. These streets, all of much the same type, are the old Paris. They are least disturbed, perhaps, in the Latin cpiarter. They are, of course, not to be found in all that outer ring of the city which has been the creation of our own time, and in hne they still make up a good propor- tion of the circle within the boulevards, Avhich is the heart of Paris. It is in them that you will note the famous sites of the last two hundred years almost unchanged, and waiting under their influence the student can at last reproduce the scenes and the spirit of the Revolution. Whole sections of the town — the He St. Louis, for example — show no architecture but this, and the high, sad houses, the narrow, sombre streets, the age- marked grey walls are stiU the impression left most vividly on one Avho knows a little more of Paris than the Grand Hotel. Through these old quarters, cutting them up, as it INTRODUCTION. 17 were, into isolated sections, run like a gigantic web of straight lines the modern streets. The founda- tion of the system is the ring of internal boulevards. Here and there great supplementary avenues cut through the heart of the city within their limits, and finally the inner and the outer boulevards are similar- Iv connected with a series of broad streets lined witli trees. Thus the new Paris holds the old, as a frame- Avork of timbers may hold an old wall, or as the veins of a leaf hold its substance. And what is to be said of these new streets and of the new quarters about the interior of the city ? It is the fashion to belittle their effect, and more espe- cially do foreigners, whose foreign pleasures are ca- tered for in the newest of the new streets, compare unfavorably this modern Paris Avith the old. They are heard to regret the rookeries of the Boucherie. They would not have the toAver St. Jacques stand in a public square, and some, I dare say, have found hard Avords CA^en for the great space in front of Notre Dame and for its statue of Charlemagne. This attitude Avith regard to the new Paris seems to me a false one. Certainly its architecture suffers from uniformity. Light rather than mystery, comfort rather than beauty, has been the object of its design. They are to be regretted, but they are the characters of our generation. And Paris being a living and a young citv, not a thing for a museum, nor certainly a place for fads and make-believes, it is well that our 2 18 PARIS. century should confess' itself even in the Haussman- izecl streets, in the wide, shaded avenues of three or even five-carriage roads side by side, and the per- petual repetition of one type of modern house. Moreover, Paris is here very true to the character she has maintained in each one of her rebuildings. She shows the whole spirit of the time. If she gives us, in a certain monotony and scientific precision and an over-cleanliness, the faults of the new spirit, she cer- tainly has all its virtues. Her taste is excellent. These open spaces and broad streets make, for the monu- ments, vistas or approaches of an admirable balance. You will see them lead either to the best that is left of her past or to the more congruous designs of her modern public buildings, and the effect, never sink- ing to the secondary, often rises to the magnificent. Take (for example) the present treatment of the Tuileries. The Commune burnt that old palace, leaving the three sides of the Louvre surrounding a gaping space. It has been harmonized with the Tuile- ries gardens by planting, and the whole great sweep down from the Arc de FEtoile, though the Tuileries gardens to the court of the Louvre is, as it were, an approach to the palace. The grandeur of that scene has the demerit of being obvious, but it has also the singular value of obtruding nothing that can offend or distract the eye. Even the Avenue de I'Opera, with the huge building at the end of it, Avill bear praise. If it lacks de Triomphe INTRODUCTION. 19 meaning yet it does not lack greatness, and the Opera itself has something in it of the fantastic which avoids the grotesque. It is a ^' Palais dii Diable/' and it is not a little to say for a modern building that it holds the statuary Avell and harmoniously, especially when there are such groups in that statu- ary as ^^ La Danse." Moreover, if you will notice, Paris does not so an- nounce her failures j no great avenue leads up to and frames, for instance the Trocadero. As to the silly reasoning that any rebuilding was an error, it is fit only for a club of antiquarians. Paris has rebuilt herself three separate times, and had she not done so Ave should have none of those archi- tectural glories which are her pride to-day. The Revolution was not the first profound change of ideas that the city experienced. The great aAvakening that made the University turned Paris into a Gothic city almost in a generation. The '^ Grand Siecle " swept aAvay that Gothic city and replaced it by the tall houses that yet mark all her older quarters. In this last expansion Paris is but following a well- known road of hers, and the people who will come long after us will find it a good thing that she did so. This also is to be noted: that if Paris is somewhat negligent of what is curious, yet she is careful of what is monumental. As we shall see in this book, the twelfth and even the sixth centuries — the fourth also in one spot — come against one in the midst of a 20 PARIS. modern street. Much that has been destroyed was not destroyed by the iconoclasm of the nineteenth, but by the sheer hick of taste of the eighteenth cen- tury — a time that coidd add the horrible false-Renais- sance portico to the exquisite Cathedral of j\[etz and that was capable of the Pantheon, pulled down Avithout mercy. We suffer from it yet. There is one feature which is perhaps not over- obvious in the buildings of Paris and Avhich it is well to point out in this connection, especially as it is the modern parallel of a spirit which Ave shall iind in all the history of the toAvn. I mean a remarkable his- torical continuity. Paris to the stranger is ncAV. Or at least Avhere it evident] V dates from the last or even from the se\^en- teenth century, it yet seems poor in those groups of the middle ages AAhich are the characteristic of so many European toAvns, and one Avould say at first sight that it Avas entirely lacking in many relics of still earlier times. This impression is erroneous, not only as to the actual Ijuildings of the city, but espe- ciallv as to its historv and spirit. P>ut it is not AA'ith- out an ample excuse. There is nothing in Paris so old but that its surroundings give it a false aspect of modernitAS nor is there any monument so A^enerable but that some part of it (often some part connected Avith the identity of the main building) dates from our oAvn time. The reason for this is tAvofold. First, Paris has INTRODUCTION. 21 never been checked in its development. Yon find no relics because it has never felt old a,<;e, and that species of forgetfidness which is necessary to tlif preservation of old things untouched lias never falh-u upon her. For^ if you will consider, it is never the period just pad Avhich we revere and with which w e forbear to meddle ; it is always something separated by a century at least from our own time. It needs, therefore, for the growth of ruins^ and even for tlie preservation of old things absolutely unchanged, a certain period of indiiference in Avhich they are neither repaired nor pulled down, but merely neg- lected. Thus we owe Roman ruins to the dark ages, much of the English Gothic to the indifference of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Such periods of indiiference Paris has never experienced. Each age in her history, at least for the last six hundred years, has been ^'modern/' has thought itself excel- lent, has designed in its own fashion. And on this account the conductor of Cook's tourists can find in the wdiole place but little matter for that phrase so dear to his flock : ^'It might have stepped out of the middle ages." Secondly, Her buildings are at the present mo- ment, and have been from the time of the Revolution, kept to a use, repaired and made to enter into the present life of the city. The modern era in Paris has had no sympathy Avith that point of view so com- mon in Europe, which Avould have a church or a 22 PARIS. palace suffer no sacrilegious hand, but remain a kind of sacred toy, until it positively falls with old age, and has to be rebuilt entirely. The misfortune (for ex- ample) which gives us in Oxford the monstrosity of Balliol new buildings in the place of the exquis- ite fourteenth century architecture of which one corner yet remains to shame us; or, again, the condi- tion of the west front of Peterborough Cathedral, which (apparently) must either be rebuilt or allowed to fall down — such accidents to the monuments of the past Paris has carefully avoided. She Avas taught the necessity of this by the eighteenth cen- tury conservatism, and if she is too continually re- pairing and replacing, it is a reaction from a time when the stones of the capital, like the institutions of the state, had been permitted to rot in decay. There are one or two points of view in Paris from which this character is especially notable. We shall see it best, of course, where the oldest monuments naturally remain, — I mean in the oldest quarter of the city. Stand on the northern quay that faces the Conciergerie and the Palais de Justice, and look at their walls as they rise above the opposite bank of the stream. What part of this is old and what new? Unacquainted with the nature of the city, it would be impossible to reply. That Gothic archway might have been pierced in this century; the clock-tower, Avitli its fresh paint and the carefully repaired mould- ings on its corners, might be fifty years old. Those Conciergerie (Quai de l^Horloge) INTRODUCTION. 23 twin towers of the Conciergerie might be of any age, for all the signs they give of it. Part of that build- ing was destroyed in the Commune, and has been rebuilt. Which part ? There is nothing to tell. It is only when we know that it is against the whole genius of the people to imitate the styles of a dead age, — when we are told (for example) that such things as ^' the Gothic Revival," under which we groan in England to-day, and which is the curse of Oxford and Hampstead, has not touched Paris, — it is only when we appreciate that the French either create or restore, but never copy, that we can see hoAv great a work has been done on this one building. The wall and the towers before you are not a curiosity or a show; decay has not been permitted to touch them ; they are in actual service to-day in the working of the law-courts. Yet that corner clock- tower w^as the delight of Philippe le Bel. It was Philippe the Conqueror who built those two towers, with their conical roofs, and from one of their windows he would sit looking at the Seine flowing by, as his biographer describes him ; through that pointed arch- way St. Louis went daily to hear the pleas in the Palace gardens ; from such and such a window the last defense of Danton was caught by the mob that stretched along the quay and over the Pont Neuf. Or, again, take a contrasting case — one where a spectator would believe all to be old, and yet where the moderns have restored and strengthened. As you 24 PARIS. stand on the quays that flank the Latin quarter and look northward to the IsLand and the whole southern side of Notre Dame, it is not only the thirteenth cen- tury at which you gaze ; at point upon point Aiollet le Due rebuilt and refaced many of the stories — some, even, of the carvings are his work; yot you could never distinguish in it all what aid the present time had given to the work of St. Louis. As for the 8ainte Chapelle, it is at this day so exactly what it ^\as when 8t. Louis first heard ]\Iass m it, — and that has been done at tlie expense of so much blue and gold, just such color as he used, — that the traveller Avill turn from it under the impression that he is suffering at the hands of the third Republic, and Avill say, "How gaudy !" It is only when you note that the stained glass is the gaudiest thing in the place that you begin to feel that here alone, per- haps, in Europe, the men wlio designed the early Gothic would feel at home. And if this continuity in her buildings is so striking' a mark of modern Paris, and goes so far to explain her newness, you Avill find something yet more re- markable in the preservation of her sites. To take but three. The place of the administration, of the central worship and of the markets are as old as the Roman occupation. The Louvre- has grown steadily from similar use to similar use through more than a thousand years ; the Hotel de Ville, through more than seven hundred. And a man mav ao over the INTRODUCTION. 25 Petit Pont from the southern bank, cross the Island, and come over to the northern side by tlie Pont Notre Dame, and be following step by step the road that so spanned the two branches of the stream centuries and centuries ago, — not the road of Roman times, but one earlier yet^ — back in the vague time when the Cite was a group of round Gaulish huts, and when two rough w^ooden bridges led the traveller across the Seine on his Avay to the sea-coast. And this continuity in buildings and in places is matched by one spirit running all through the action of Paris for lifteen hundred years. This is the fixed interest of her historj^, and it is this which so many men have felt who in the studios, or up on the hill of the University, though they had learned nothing of the past of the city, yet feel about them a secular experience and a troubling message difficult to under- stand — that seems to sum up in a confused sound the long changes of Christendom and of the West. Well, Avhat is the pecidiar spirit, the historical meaning, of the town whose outer aspect we have hitherto been describing? No history can have value — it w^ould perhaps be truer to say that no his- tory can exist unless Avhile it describes it also explains. Here w^e will have to deal Avith a city many of whose actions have been u.nique, much of whose life has been dismissed in phrases of w^onder, of fear, or of equally impotent anger. If this is all that a book 26 PAKIS. can do for Paris, it had better not have been written. To stand aghast at her excesses, to lift up the hands at her audacity, or to lose control over one's pen in expressing abhorrence for her success, is to do "svhat any scholar might accomplish, but it would be to fail as an historian. WJiy has Paris so acted f The answer to that question, and a sufficient answer, alone can give such a story value. What is her nature! What is, if we may use a term properly applicable only to human beings, her mind ? You will not perceive the drift towards the true reply by following any of those laborious methods which stultify so much of modern analysis. You will not interpret Paris by any examination of her physi- cal environment, nor comprehend her by one of those cheap racial generalizations that are the bane of popular study. In all the great truths spoken by Michelet, one is perhaps pre-eminent, because it seems to include all the others. He savs : ^^La France a fait la France ;" and if this be true (as it is) of the nation, it is more especially true of the town. There is within the lives of individuals — as we know by experience — a something formative that helps to build up the whole man and that has a share in the result quite as large as the grosser part for wliich science can account. So it is with states, and so, sometimes, with cities. A destiny runs through their development which is allied in nature to the human soul, and Avhich material circumstance INTRODUCTION. 27 may bound or may modify, but which certainly it cannot originate. In the first place Paris is, and has known itself to be, the city-state of modern Europe. What is the importance of that character I A¥hy that certain habits of thought, certain results in politics which we can observe in the history of antiquity, are to be noted repeating themselves in the actions and in the opinions of Paris. It is a phenomenon strange to the industrial nations of to-day yet one with which society will always have to deal, perhaps at bottom the most durable thing of all, that men will associate and act by neighborhood rather than by political definitions. And this influence of neighborhood, which (with the single important exception of tribal society) is the greatest factor in social history, has formed the vil- lage community and the walled town whose contrast and whose coexistence are almost the whole history of Europe. When great Empires arise, a fictitious veil is thrown over these radical things. Men are attached to a wide and general patriotism covering hundreds of leagues, and even in the last stages of decay and just before the final cataclysm, Rhetoricians love to talk of a federation of all peoples, and mer- chants ardently describe the advent of a universal peace. But even in such exceptional periods in the history of mankind, the village community and its parallel the city are the real facts in political life ; and when, in the inevitable fall and the subsequent recon- 28 ' PARTS. struction of society, the fictions are destroyed and the plirases lose themselves in realities, these fundamen- tal and original miits re-emerge in all their rugged- ness and strength. Upon the recognition of such units the healthy life of the middle ages reposed ; in the satisfactory and human conditions of such societies the arts and the enthusiasms of Greece took life. It is in the autono- mous cities of Italy that our civilization reappeared, and the aristocratic conceptions upon which the social order of Europe is still founded sprang from the isola- tion and local politics of the manor. In a time Avhen the facility of communication has been so greatly augmented, and Avhen therefore the larger units of political society should be at their strongest, Paris proves to the modern world how en- during the ultimate instincts of our political nature mav be. The unit that can practically see, understand and act at once and together ; the '^ city that hears the voice of one herald," is living there in the midst of modern Europe. By a paradox Avhich is but one of many in French politics, the centre which first gave out to other societies the creed of the larc:e self-^ov- erning state, the power Avhence radiated the enthu- siasm even for a federal humanity, '^ the capital of the Republic of mankind " from which poor Clootz, the amiable but mad German Baron, dated his corres- pondence — this very town is itself an example of INTRODUCTION. 29 an intense local patriotism^ peculiar, narrow and exclusive. Paris acts together, its citizens think of it perpetu- ally as of a kind of native country, and it has estab- lished for itself a definition which makes it the brain of that great sluggish body, the peasantry of France. In that definition the bulk of the nation has for cen- turies aquiesced, and the birthplace of government by majority is also the spot where distinction of political quality and the right of the head to rule all the mem- bers is most imperiously asserted. It is from this standpoint that so much of her his- tory assumes perspective. By recognizing this feat- ure the chaos of a hundred revolts assumes historical order. You Avill perceive from it the Parisian mob, with all the faults of a mob, yet organizing, creat- ing and succeeding 5 you will learn Avhy an ap- parently causeless outburst of anger has been fruitful, and why so much violence and so much disturbance shoidd have aided rather than retarded the devel- opment of France. It is as the city-state (and the metropolis at that) that Paris has been the self-appointed guardian of the French idea. Throughout the middle ages you will see her anxious with a kind of prevision to safe- guard the unity of the nation. For this she watches the diplomacy of the Capetians and fights upon their side, for this she ceaselessly stands watch with the King over feudalism and doubles his strength in every 30 PARIS. blow that is dealt against the nobles. It is this feat- ure that explains her attitude as the ally of Philip the Conqueror^ her leaning later on the Burgundian house, her hatred of the southerner in the person of the Armagnac. You Avill find it, without interruption, guiding her conduct in the history which links the middle ages to our own time. She is the faithful servant of Louis XI. ; she is the bitter fanatic for religious unity in the religious wars. Thus you see her withstand- ing Henry IV. to the last point of starvation, and thus a population, careless of religion, yet forces a religious formida upon the Huguenot leader ; and when the first Bourbon accepted the mass with a jest, it was Paris which had exacted, even from a con- queror, the pledge of keeping the nation one. In the Revolution all this character appears in especial relief. >She claims to think for and to govern France ; she asserts the right by her energy and initiative to defend the whole people and their new institutions from the invader, and she ratifies that assertion by success. With this leading thought she first captures, then imprisons and finally over- throws the King ; lays (on the 2d of June) violent hands upon the Parliament, directs the terror, and then, when her system is no longer needed, per- mits in Thermidor the overthrow of her own spokes- man. If the condition of the city is considered, the INTRODUCTION. 31 causes of this strong local unity will become ap- parent. Paris is a microcosm. 8he contains all the parts proper to a little nation, and by the reaction of her own attitude this complete character is intensi- fied ; for since she is the head of a highly organized state all is to be found there. Here is at once the national and the urban government ; the schools for every branch of technical training. Here is the centre of the arts — not by a kind of accident such as will make the London artists live in Fitz-Johns Ave- nuCj nor by the natural attraction of the great schools of the pasty nor through peculiar collections such as cause the congeries at Munich, at Venice, or at Flor- ence or at Rome, but by a deliberate purpose : by the placing within the walls of the city of all the best teaching that the concentrated effort of the nation can secure. Within her w^alls are all the opposing factors of a vigorous life. She is not wholly student nor wholly industrial nor wholly mercantile, but something of all three. Even the noble is present to add his little different note to the harmonious discord of competing interests •, and, alone of the great capitals of the world, she is the seat of tlie old Universitv of the nation. Here, running wild through a whole quarter of the city, is that vigorous youth, undiscoverable in London or in Berlin ; I mean the follies, the loves and the generous ideals of the students. They keep it fresh with a laughter that is lacking in the cen- 32 PARIS. tres of the modern world, and they supply it with a frank criticism bordering on intellectual revolt, A\'hich the self-satisfaction of less fortunate capitals, mere seaports, or simple military centres, fatally ignores. They, from their high attic windows on the Hill, in- terpret her horizons ; and, as they grow to fill the ranks of her art and science, help to keep the city worthy of the impressions with which she delighted their twentieth year. And Paris has also the last necessary quality for the formation of a city-state. I mean that her stories are so many memories of action Avhich she has un- dertaken unaided, and that her view of the past is one in which she continually stands alone. It is a record of great sieges, in which no outer help availed her, and in which she fell through isolation or suc- ceeded by her own powers. ]\Iore than one of her monuments is a record of action that she undertook before the nation which depends upon her was willing to move J and she records herself, from the Column of July to the Arsenal of the Invalides, the successful leader in movements that the general people applauded but coidd not design. Her history has finally produced in her what Avas in the middle ages but a promise or perhaps a thing in germ, — I mean the sentiment and the expression of individuality. The story of her growth from the dim origins of her political position under the early Cape- tians, through the episode of Etienne Marcel to the INTRODUCTION. 33 definite action of the seventeenth century and finally of the Revolution J is the story of a personality grow- ing from mere sensation to self-recognition^ and to functions determinate and understood. It is a transi- tion from instinct to reason, and at its close you have, as was expressed at the opening of this chapter, a true and living unit, not in metaphor but in fact, with a memory, a will, a voice, and an expression of its own. Such is the first great mark of Paris, and with that clue alone in one's hand the maze is almost solved. But, if Paris has these characteristics of continuity and of being the city-state, she has also a third, which, wdiile it is less noticeable to her own citizens, is yet more interesting to the foreigner than the other two. She is the typical city, at least of the western civilization, — I mean, her history at any moment is always a reflection peculiarly vivid of the spirit which runs through western Europe at the time. To say that she leads and originates, which is a common- place with her historians, is not strictly true; it is more accurate to say that she mirrors. It cannot be denied that her action at such and such a crisis has difl^'ered from the general action of the European cities ; nor can it be forgotten that her course has more than once produced a sense of sharp and some- times painful contrast in the minds of her neighbors. Paris has not been typical in the sense of being the average. That character would have produced a 34 PARIS. history devoid of features, Avhereas all the Avorld knows that the history of Paris is a series of strong pietures too often overdrawn. If she has hoen the typieal eity of the west, it is rather in this sense, that on her have been focussed the various rays of European energy 5 that slie has been the stage upon Avhich the contemporary emotions of Europe have been given their PersoiKc^ through whose lips they found expression; that she has time and time again been the laboratory wherein the problems that per- plexed our civilization have always been analyzed and sometimes solved. It may be urged that every, city partakes of this character, and that the civilization which has grown up upon the ruins of Rome is so much of a unity that its principal cities have always reflected the spirit of their time. This is true. But Paris has reflected that spirit with a peculiar fidelity. While it has, of course, been filled with her own strong bias of race and of local character, yet her treatment of this or that time has been remarkable for proportion; you feel, in reading of her past action, that not the north or the south, not this people or that, but all Europe is (so to speak) being '^ played" before your eyes. The actors are French and, commoidy, Parisian ; the lan- guage they speak is strange and tlie action local, yet the subject-matter is something which concerns the whole of our world, and the place given to each part of the movement is that which, on looking over the INTRODUCTION. 35 surrounding nations^ we should assign to it Avcre wc charged with draAN'ing up an accurate balance of the time. Before pointing out the histoi'ical examples Avhich show how constantly Paris has been destined to play this international role^ it is well to appreciate the causes of such a position. First among these comes the feature Avhich has been discussed above. The fact that she contains within her walls all the parts of a state fits her for the character of representative, and makes her action more complete than is the case with another European city. The intr-'rests of exchange and of commerce, of finance (which in this age may almost be called a separate thing) ; the struggle be- tween the proletariat and capital ; the unsatisfied quarrel between dogmatic authority and the inductive method; militarism, and the reaction it creates 5 even the direction which literature and discussion may give to these energies, — all these are found within the city, and the general result is a picture of Europe. But this quality of hers is not the only cause of her typical character. Geographical position explains not a little of its origin. She is of Latin origin and of Latin tradition ; her law and much of her social custom is an inheritance from Rome, yet the basis of the race is not Latin, and among those in the studios who almost reproduce the Greek, there is hardly a southern face to be found. Her lawyers and orators will model themselves upon Latin phrases, but you 36 PARIS. would not match their expression among the Roman busts ; and it has been truly said that the Italian pro- file Avas more often met with in England than in northern France. Even the insular civilization of England, which has had so great an effect upon the politics, if not the society, of the world, is to be found strongly represented in this medley. For England looks south (or, at least, the England which once possessed so great an influence did so), and Paris is the centre of those northern provinces upon whom the British influence has been str(>ng. Though this part of her thought is of less importance than some others, yet it is worth carefully noting, for it has been neglected to a remarkable degree. It is from this that you obtain in Parisian history the attempts at a democracy based upon representation ; it is from this, again, that the principal modern changes in her judi- cial methods are draAvn ; and so curiously strong has been the attraction of English systems for a certain kind of mind in Paris, that even the experiment of aristocracy and of its mask — a limited monarchy — has been tried in these uncongenial surroundings. The greatest of the men of '93 regret the English alliance. Mirabeau bases half his public action upon his mem- ories of the English whigs. Lamartine delights in calling England the Marvellous Island. And, if we go a little deeper than historical facts and examine those subtle influences of climatic con- dition (which, as they are more mysterious, are also INTRODUCTION. 37 of greater import than obvious things)-, we shall find Paris balanced between the two great zones of Europe. It is hard to say whether she is within or without the belt of vineyards ; a little way to the south and to the east you find the grapes ; a little w^ay to the north and Avest, to drink wine is a luxury, and the peasants think it a mark of the southerner. There are days in Chevreuse, in the summer, when a man might believe himself to be in a Mediterranean valley, and^ again, the autumn and the winter of the great forest of Marl}'- are impressions purely of the north. The Seine is a river that has time and again frozen over, and the city itself is continually silent un- der heavy falls of snow. Yet she has half the custom of the south, her life is in the open air, her houses are designed for warmth and for sunlight; she has the gesture and the rapidity of a warmer climate. For one, period of her history you might have called her a great northern city, when she was all Gothic and deeply carved, suited to long winter nights and to weak daylight. But in the course of time she has seemed partly to regain the traditions of the Mediterranean, so that you have shallow mouldings, white stone and open streets, standing most often under a grey sky, which should rather demand pointed gables and old deep thoroughfares. The truth is that she is neither northern nor southern^ but, in either climate (they meet in her latitude) an exile, satisfying neither, and yet containing both of 38 PAEIS. the ends betSveen which Europe swings ; so that^ in all that is done within Paris, you are at a loss whether to look for influence coming up from the Mediter- ranean, or to listen for the steep waves and heavy sweeping tides of the Channel and the North 8ea. Only Avith one part of Europe — a part which may later transform or destroy the Avest — she has no sym- pathy, — I mean that which lies to the east of the Elbe. She was a town of the Empire, and the darker and newer part of Europe is as much a mystery to her as to the nations which are her neighbors. If you will notice her first prominence, you will discover that Paris rises upon Europe just where the modern period begins. It is as a town of the lower Empire, of the decline, of the barbarian invasions, of the advent of Christianity. Paris first becomes a great city just as the civilization to which Ave belong starts out upon its adventures, and her history at once assumes that character upon Avhich these paragraphs insist. She receives the barbarian; the mingled language is talked in her streets; her palace is the centre of the Teutonic monarchy, Avhich has car\^ed its province from the Empire; of the tAVO extremes, she seems to combine either experience. She does not lose her language (like the Rhine vaUey), nor her religion and customs (like Britain); but, on the other handj she is strongly influenced by the conquest, and knows nothing of that lingering Roman civilization, almost untouched by the invader, which left to Nimes, INTRODUCTION. 39 Aries and the southern cities a municipal organization lasting to our own day. At the outset of her history she includes the experience of the south and of the north . During the Carlovingian epoch she loses her place for a time ; but, with the rise of the nationalities that followed it, and Avith tlie invasions, she is not only intimately concerned but again furnishes the example of which we have been speaking. She sustains siege after siege ; like the Europe of Avhich she is the type, she hnallvjbut with great pain, beats off the ])iratcs,and in her walls rises the first and what is destined to be the most complete type of the national kingships. Tlie Robertian House Avas neither feudal nor a reminis- cence of imperial power ; it was a mixture of both those elements. It Avas founded by a local leader Avho had defended his subjects in the " dark century," and in so much it attaches closely to the feudal character ; on the other hand, its members are consecrated kings; they have the aim of a united and centralized poAver, and in this they hold even more than do the Ottos to the Imperial memory. Note hoAv, as Europe develops, the experience of Paris sums up that of the surrounding peoples. The Roman laAV finds her an eager listener, but it does not produce in her case the rapid effect AAdiich you may notice in some of the Italian cities. Custom weighs hard in the northern toAvn, and Philip Au- gustus, after all his conquests, could never hear the 40 PAKIS. language Avhich the professors of Bologna used to Barbarossa just before his defeat. On the other hand, the power of the king Avhich that law was such a powerful agent to increase, was not destined to suffer from repeated reaction as it did in England, and the kings of Paris never fell beneath a direct victory of aristocracy such as that Avhich crushed John at Runny mede, and centuries later destroyed the Stuarts. The struggle between government and feudalism was destined to last much longer in France than it did in the neighboring countries, and as it goes on, Paris sees all its principal features, and the croA^Ti finally triumphs only in that same generation of the seventeenth century which saw the complete success of the aristocracy in England and in the Empire. In the religious world the experience of Paris has been equally typical. She heard the first changes of the twelfth century ; the schoolmen discussed in her University ; Thomas Aquinas sat at table with her king. When the sixteenth century shook and split the unity of Christendom, its treble aspect Avas vividly reflected in Paris. The evangelical, the Catholic and the Humanist are represented distinctly and in profusion tliere 5 for it is in Paris that Calvin dedicates his book, that Rabelais is read, and, finally, that the St. Bartholomew is seen. She does not change hor creed at the word of a dynasty, nor is she swept by the same purely religious zeal for re- INTRODUCTION. 41 form that covers Geneva and so much of Holland ; nor does she stamp out the new movement with the ease of the Italian or the Spaniard ; but all the powers of the time seem to concentrate in her^ and, as she has always done, she pays heavily for being the centre of European discussion. The appeal with her (as elsewhere) is to arms, and the struggle is still continuing under Louis XIV., when its imj:)ortance Avanes before the rise of a rationalism around which the future battles of her religious Avorld will be fought. This is always the lesson of her history and the way we should read it if we wish to understand. We are looking down into a little space where all our society is Avorking out its solutions. Whether we dwell upon the Gothic Paris of Louis XL, fixing nationality and centralized government, or upon the Paris of '93, — cutting once for all the knot of eigh- teenth century theories, — or the Paris of '48, where the old political and the new economic problems met; or upon the Paris of 1871, wdiere the older social forces and the love of country just managed to defeat the revolt of the new proletariat; in whatever aspect or at whatever time, she is always the picture of Europe, catching, in a bright and perhaps highly colored mirror, the figures which are struggling in the nations around her. And it is in this character that her history will be most easy of comprehension and will leave with us an impression of greatest 42 PARIS. meaning. But whenever we think of the city we do well to remember Mirabeau : ^^ Paris is a Sphinx." He added, ^'I will drag her secret from her;'' but in this neither he nor any other man has suc- ceeded. LUTETIA. 4i 'J CHAPTER II. LUTETIA. To understand the development of the city of Paris it is necessary to carry the reader back to the historical origins of the Celtic tribe whose rendezvous it wasj and from whom the name of the modern town has been derived. As Avill be seen later in this chapter^ the prehis- toric remains which some other portions of France furnish in such abundance have been but rarely dis- covered in the territory of the city or of its suburbs, and even the rough memorials of Celtic barbarism, such as are studded over Wales and Brittany, are scarcely to be found in the neighborhood. Our knowledge of the place and of its people can only be said to begin with the Roman invasion of Gaul under Caesar, though he furnishes us with some clue as to the events immediately preceding his con- quest. What was the nature of the territory which this tribe of the " Parisii " occupied ! A modern traveller who looks over the town from the heights of Montmartre, or from the dome of the 44 PAKIS. Pantheon, on a clear day, sees before him a great plain, encircled on almost every side by distant and low hills, those on the south and west being nearer than those upon the north and east. The extent of this great " basin," as the geologists have called it, is larger than that occupied by any modern city, hardly ever less than twenty miles in diameter, in places far more. London itself, with its suburbs, would not fill the vast circumference. Paris occupies but the southern portion. The river Seine enters this plain from the south- east, coming from the high land which separates Bur- gundy and Champagne, and Avhich forms the main watershed of northern France. The river turns through this plain in a great arc or bow (of which the cord is the southern range of hills), strikes the western heights where the suburb of Sevres now stands, turns nortliAvard, skirts these hills for several miles, and finally escapes from the great plain by a wide gap, on the south of which stands the modern fort of Mount Valerian, and on the north the pointed hillocks of Enghien and Montmo- rency. It is by this gap that the Western Railway enters tlie plain of Paris, and a traveller who comes from Havre, Dieppe or Cherbourg, passes through it some twenty minutes before reaching the city. But it is so wide, and the hills on either side are compara- tively so low, that it is difficidt to distingiush the mo- ment of entry into the plain. LUTETIA. 45 From the above description it will be apjoarent that the river Seine confines its great bend to the southern and western extremities of the plain. It is never very far distant from the hills on the south^ and runs, as w^e have said, quite close under those on the west, so that any city growing (as a city must grow) round the waterAvay would be certain to lie on the southern side of the plain we have described, and this is, of course, the position which Paris occupies to-day. While we have spoken of this great circle, or oval, as a '^ plain," it must be noted that the surface of it is diversified by isolated ridges and hills, rising, in the extreme instance of Montmartre, to the height of three hundred feet or more. This is especially the case in the southern portion, where the city of Paris has arisen, and we will describe the appearance and situa- tion of these lesser heights after haA-ing given some account of the original site or nucleus of the town. A boatman rowing one of those light-draught vessels which, even before the Koman conquest, were plying a trade upon the Seine, if he were coming down stream, as did Labienus in his famous attack on the place, would have found his course following the great bend of the river, carrying him in a north- w^esterly direction, and leaving the southern hills at an increasing distance upon his left. After some miles of such a progress, just before he reached the northernmost portion of the great bend, and before the river turned southward to meet the hills again, he 46 PARIS. would have noted three large islands lying in the stream, which here flowed between banks of from ten to twenty feet in height. The first two islands he would have left on his right and passed, for they contained nothing but brushwood and marsh. They lay close up against the riglit bank of the river, and were uninhabited. But the third island would have foriiied an excel- lent place to halt with his merchandise, for it Avas evi- dently a tribal centre of some kind. It lay right in midstream, was probably surrounded by a stockade of wood and pointed beams^ and within this could be discerned a number of Gaulish huts, round, Avith flat dome-roofs, made of wattled boughs and daubed Avith clay, dispersed in no very regular order, containing a population of a few hundred souls. On lookii^g for a mooring-place at which to land, he woidd have found none upon the island,* for such an arrangement wT)uld have spoiled its powers of de- fence ; but on the right bank, just opposite the isl- and, he would have noticed that the bank had been shelved, either naturally or artificially, and that there ran, for a hundred yards or more, a sloping shore upon Avhicli boats could be beached. Here he Avould land, finding probablv a few of the local boatmen assembled, for the place seems to have had, even before the Roman conquest, a guild of such * There is some doubt on this. Some authorities believe the Port St. Landry to have been originally a Gaulish wharf. LUTETIA. 47 felloAvs. Crossing a wooden bridge lying immedi- ately to the west of the landing-place^ he would find himself in the Island of Lutetia. This island is to Paris what the " Urbs quadrata '^ is to Rome, and what the City is to London. It is the sacred spot of the whole city, the nucleus round which Avas to gather, ring by ring, the Paris of His- tory, till at last the little separate place appears, to those who do not know its story, like an insignificant accident upon the great map of the town, save that, even to the most casual observer, it would seem strik- ing that in this little space should be crowded the eccle- siastical, administrative and judiciary centres of the capital, almost to the exclusion of any private houses. But to return to our Gaulish boatman. Had he that curiosity which Caesar attributes to his country- men, he would have learned that the island Avas the stronghold and rendezvous in time of war of the Parisii. The old men (if the stranger is supposed to arrive just before the Roman invasion) Avould tell him that they could remember how this tribe had been chased from the north-east of Gaul by the Bel- gic confederation, Avhose frontiers lay close to their town ; how they sought protection of the great tribe of Senones lying to the Avest, their kinsmen, and Avere granted this land Avhich they noAV occupied, stretch- ing all OA^er the distant hills, and especially into the Avoods on the Avest of the islands. The stranger, as he Avalked in the place, Avoidd 48 PARIS. have noted such features as the following : The length of the island upon which he found himself was just more than half a mile 5 it Avas not much over a furlong in Lreadth, and even this space of less than fifty acres was not Avell filled. Towards the western extremity the houses failed altogether ; part of the open space was devoted, presumably , to gardens ; and beyond a narrow ditch lay two quite small islands — not one hundred yards in length — lying side by side, and bringing the total number of the group to five ; two that is bevond the three Avhich he had al- ready noticed. Returning to the centre of the island, another wooden bridge would have been perceived, uniting the village to the left or southern bank of the river. This (he would have learned) connected the great road from the south with that which went north to Senlis, over the bridge by which he had entered. The two structures Avere probably in a line with each other, and the only regular street in the little place Avas that Avhich connected them. Thus Lutetia formed a halting-place for many a traveller or messenger coming from the Loire and going to certain parts of the sea-coast, or to some of the Diorthern cities, though it lay too far to the Avest io be (tn the main line of communication between the Rhone valley and the channel, Avhich formed the prin- cipal road in Gaul. It must be remembered that the great bidk of communication Avith the sea, especially in earlier Roman times, centred upon the Straits of LUTETIA. 49 Calais, and but few travellers in Gaul had occasion to pass through Paris in order to reach the narrow sea. Now let us suppose our traveller to observe his surroundings, what would he have noticed ? From the level of the island little could be seen. On the south, within a very short distance of the river bank, rose a low but steep eminence, whose later Latin name was Mons Lucotetius. Down the side of this hill came the southern road to cross the bridge into the town. On the north, at a distance of some miles, he might have caught the sharp outline of a steep hill — higher by far than anything surrounding it, and iso- lated in the plain. If, however, he had climbed some fairly high building on the island, such as one of those wooden watch-towers which were raised in time of danger, he would have had on everv side but that which was screened by the " Mons Lucotetius," a very extensive view. On the south-east side he would have looked up the river from which he had just landed. Perhaps he would have just barely caught a gleam of the Marne where it falls into the Seine, three miles away. Then, as his gaze SAvept round to the south, he would have noted the rise of the heights that bound the plain in this direction, and would have marked a little river (the Bievre) coming through them and falling into the Seine almost immediately beneath him. The 4 50 PAKTS. view due south would be ina.sked, as we have said, l>v tlie liill on whicli the Pantheon now stands ; but a little west of this he Avould again s<'e tlie hills beyond all that Avide level s})aee Avhieh is now the. Faubourg St. Germain, the Invalides and the Champ de Mars. Here, as he looked to the south-west, he Avould see the Sehie completing its great bend, and, very far away, turning suddenly to tin- i*ight and to the north, to skirt the western hills, lirtwren himself and those hills, however, from two to three miles away, he would notice a long, low ridge covered with a dense Avood. It is now known as tlie Heights of Passy. It rose from the river-bank and ran northward, sinking into the plain at some little distance from that sharp hill of ^lontmartre, which would stand so clearly deiined to the north of his position. If the day were clear he might scc^ beyond this, very faintly, the heights of Enghien, where the river leaves the plain of Paris ; but in hardly any conditions could he catch, (in the extreme verge of the horizon, the low hills that bound it on the north. To the right of IMont- martre more or less disconnected ridges and plateaus would be seen, growing lower and lower, until finally a })erfect level completed the circle, and led the eye to the river again in the south-easterly direction, u here it had begun its circuit. From this description it will be seen that a kind of great half-oval, level district lay on the right bank of the river, dotted round with ridges and low, iso- lATTETlA. T)! lated hills — a (Ustrict some five miles from east to west — wliile from the islands to ]\[ontmartre, at its extreme northern point, Avould be about two and a half to three miles. It is upon this plain that the greater part of Paris has sinee been built, but at the time of whieh we speak it was a stretch of Avaste, swampy, unprofitable land, contrasting with the good, arable land on the other side of the river. This northern flat was on the eastern side a mere marsh, becoming in winter a kind of large, shallow lake, while its western side (below the heights of Passy, spoken of above) Avas drained by a rivulet, to whieh a later age gave the name of Menil-]\[ontant. It fell into the Seine just a mile and a half below the islands. Through this northern flat the road to Senlis picked its way across the driest portion, namely, from the wooden Ijridgc almost due nastille, and from the Boulevard de Belleville on the east to about the line of the Rue Saint-^Iartin on the w^est. The Canal Saint-Martin of our day would act as a drain down the very centre of the marsh, did it still exist. The fields bordering the left bank, on the other hand, w^ere arable. They were probably planted in wheat, barley and hay, as (Jiesar describes those which he saw along the shores of the Lftire ; while roads must have been opened, in order that the countrymen and farmers might convey their produce to the settle- ment confined within the narrow limits of the island. '•■ The Pont Notre Dame is thought to be identical with tl»e northern one of these, though there is some uncertainty on this point. The southern one is known to be exactly where the Petit- Pont to-day unites the island with the left bank of tlie Seine. LUTETIA. 65 The industries of tliis period were presumably coii- iined to tlu^ inaiiut'acture of rough pottery and the spinning of wool for clothing, both of them purely doniestie. It was left for Rome to introduce the cen- tralized capital and the gangs of slaves Avhich, after three centuries, proved her econonuc ruin. The real Itisforif of Paris begins with the " Com- mentaries " of Ciesar, wherein, as he speaks of the collection of fishermen's huts on the island in the Seine, he calls it Lutetia, clearly employing* a latin- ized form of the nanui^ by which it was already known. 8trabo writes it Lacotocia. and Ptolemy LHCotccKiy Avhile the Emperor Julian, writing from the city to which he was s(> deeply attached, calls it Lonchrtid. Of these various spellings that employed by Csesar is, however, the one commonly adopted, though it is Avorth noting that the hill of the Univer- sity was known for centuries as " Mens Lucotetius." The derivation of the name has been the subject of much research. Scholars have attempted to trace it to Celtic sources, and especially to the dialect surviving in lower Brittany, but no conclusive proof has been found to support any one theory. The settlement on the Island of the Seine was at this time hardly a town, but rather the central district of a tribe — an arrangement found in many other Celtic Carlyle's guess in this matter, when he speaks of the " Mud- Town of tlie Borderers (Lutetia Parisiorum, or Barsiorum)," is of course based on nothing. 56 PARIS. groups. ^Vlien Ca?sar attended tlie assemblage of the tribes of Gaul, convoked by him at Lutetia, its inhabitants formed a division of a clan or tribe called, by the author of the ^^ Commentaries," the Parisii^ a name used to indicate the district Avhich they occupied. He says of this tribe, ^^ The Parisii are inhabitants of a tract bordering upon that of the Senones, Avith whom traditi»>n says they were once allied." This tract must have covered about the same extent of ground as that included in the ancient diocese of Paris before the year 1622, that is the entire depart- ment of the Seine, and a part of that of Seine-et- Oise. The etymology of the name Parisii has been no less a subject of dispute than that of Lutetia, but in this instance the occupation of the inhabitants may serve us somewhat as a guide. According to Bullet's Celtic dictionary, the word Bar* or Par, in that tongue, signifies a boat. In lower Britanny the cargo of a ship is called the far or /(nd. The Celtic word j^^f^'j then, signifying a boat, may Avell have pro- duced that of Parisii, meaning boatmen ; and it must be especially noted that the most ancient emblem of Lutetia is a boat, as may be seen by the very inter- esting carving which ornaments the base of one of the vaults of a roof in the ancient Palais des Ther- mes, on the left bank of the Seine ; that same boat * Let those who are Celtic scholars decide. Lavalle^ assures us that the same root signifies " Border," LUTETIA. 57 also to-day indicates the city on her public monu- ments.* Thus the powerful association of the NaaUi' Parisiacl — Parisian Boatmen — which, later on, we iind playing so prominent a part in the affairs of the city, may he traced to a Celtic or Gallic origin. Caesar must have found it completely organized, since his contemporary, Strabo, refers to the various products transported from the south by the Gauls, as much by water-ways as overland. Those iifty boats em- ployed by Labienus to convey his army from Melo- dununi (Melun) to Lutetia, in order to make himself master of that town, probably belonged to the Nautai. This guild or association was the ancestry, no doubt, of that other Avhich, in the reigns of Louis le Gros and Louis VIL, was called Me no fores Aqufr Parisiacl J who, in turn, were the forerunners of the municipal body charged with the oversight of the navigation of the Seine and the water-carriage. There is nothing more valuable as an object-lesson of the historical truth that the Roman Empire was transformed,, and did not die, than the story of this association. It is one of a thousand continuities, but a striking one. At the same time it is worth noting that Paris, which (as we shall see) only becomes im- portant at the close of the Empire, is the typical transitional city just before the barbarian invasions. * The triple prows which you may see on the larap-posts of modern Paris is an emblem 1500 years old, and without a break of continuity. 5H PARIS. They had^ just after tlie Roman conquest, a port of embarkation and disembarkation on that side of the island bordering on the wider arm of the Seine, wliich was always navigable. There their boats could be unloaded right in Lutetia. In the middle ages this port went by the name of Saint-Landry, that bishop having had an oratory, or possibly his dwelling there.* In addition to these known facts we may fairly presume that the Nautte must have had a central ad- ministration for the traffic on the river. As we have said earlier in the chapter, the princi- pal place for unloading was on the other bank of the Seine at the Greve, Avhere later we tind the Pre vote dc I'eau established, out of which grew the municipal body of Paris. These river tradesmen formed a powerful corpora- tion, from wliose number were chosen for a long pe- riod the magistrates charged with the conduct of the (xovernment. It developed later into the Hansc FarlsioDir^ that company of merchants which achieved such celebrity in the middle ages, the kernel of the ( V>llege of Magistrates or Corps of the City of Paris. In the time of the Lower Empire, in the reign of Posthumus, the northern faubourg developed to such an extent that it became necessary to establish a * The Gallo-Roman ruins discovered in 1844, when the Rue de Constant ine was opened, may have belonged to a forum or food market. LUTETIA. 59 market there. And in connection witli this is a A'erv interesting example of that continuity Avhich is so marked a feature in th<^ storv of the town. This market has occupied tor centuries exactly the same spot, and to-day the vast city uses it for its central Hahes, and the Quai de la Greve must assuredly have been then, as it has been ever since, a port where merchandise, transported thither from the upper Seine, couhl be unloaded for the use of this place of exchange. When the southern suburb, situated near the line of tin' great road leading from Lutetia to Genabum,* spread and increased in importance, still another quay aa\is created, situated apparently on the southern bank C)f the river, on the spot which, ever since the middle ages, has gone by the name of Quai de la Tournelle, from the great tower erected there in place of one which had formed a part of the south- ern walls of defense constructed under Philip Au- gustus. The chief settlement of the Parisii was situated, as has been already stated, on the largest island in the Seine, now forming ITsle de la Cite. At the time of the Roman conquest it had made but little ad- yance towards civilization. Though they had ap- parently submitted to the conqueror, the Parisii were loyal at heart to the national cause ; for when, in the year 54, Vercingetorix summoned all -^ Orleans. 60 PARIS. the people of Gaul to take part in the final struggle against the Romans, they, together Avith the neigh- boring tribes, undertook to intercept Labienus, one of Caesar's lieutenants, who, with four legions, was march- ing south, endeavoring to rejoin his commander. Deeming their town insufficiently provided Avith the means of defense, they burned it, and destroyed the bridges which connected it with the mainland. Then they proceeded to entrench themselves behind those marshes that extended along the Seine near Juvisy and the mouth of the Orge. After sundry strategic movements, the encounter finally took place probably at some spot lying between the modern villages of Ivry and Vitry, on the left bank of the Seine. After a fierce struggle the legions, moulded in a superior discipline, triumphed over the allied forces, and the latter were completely subdued. The obstinate resistance of the Parisii drew do^\^l upon them the wrath of their conquerors, and Lutetia was ranked among the " ^^ectigal " or tributary cities J that is, in the lowest grade of conquered towns. The assertions sometimes made that Ctesar took pleasure in strengthening and beautifying Lu- tetia, and that it was he Avho built tlie defenses on the mainland, to protect the northern and southern bridges (defenses afterward called Grand and Petit Chatelets), are without contemporary proofs. At the same time, in spite of the disadvantages under which she labored, in less than a century after Caesar's time, LUTETIA. 61 the settlement of the Parisil, risen from her ruins, had become one of the great centres of water-carriage in the interior of Gaul. In the reign of Tiberius — that is, some time between the years 14 and 37 of our era, the Society of Nautfe, or Navigators, already spoken of, erected an altar to Jupiter on the eastern extremity of the island. The ruins of this altar were discovered in 1711, in the course of some excava- tions made beneath the choir of the Cathedral Church of Notre Dame. And here, even more than in the instances already mentioned, the characteristic of continuity appears; for within a few yards of the spot on which that altar stood, rose the high altar of the first Christian church, again, the present high altar of Notre Dame, is but a few feet to the west. This pagan relic appears, after more than 1700 years, to confound us with our Roman origin. On a stone set in the principal facade of this monument may be read the following inscription : ^' Under Tiberius CiTesar Augustus the Parisii sailors have publicly raised this altar to Jupiter, most good, most mighty." We thus have most satisfying proof, by the way, of the existence of this Society in the time of Ti- berius. The next event of importance in the history of the city, of which we have any record, is the arrival, towards the middle of the third century, of Saint Denis with his two companions, a priest named Rus- ticus and a deacon called Eleutherius, charged with a <;2 VAKIS. mission to preaeli tho Gospel to the people of Lu- tetia. In Caesar's time the national — that is, the Druidical — religion was still in force. Augustus for- bade its practice by Roman citizens, and in the reign of Claudius it had entirely disappeared. These mis- sionaries of still another form of religion do not seem to have been well received by the people of Gaul, for Gregoire de Tours tells us that ^Smder the Emperor Drcius (249-251) Saint-Denis, sent to Gaul and made Bislioj) of Paris, having suffered many tor- mrnts for the name of Christ, ended his eartlilv life by the sword.'' (Hist. Francor., i., xxx.) It is AA'ortliv of note that the above reference constitutes the sole liistorical account of the deatli which gave Bayard his battle-cry and St. Just his repartee, and which produced so vast a mass of mediaeval legend. During the ensuing century a number of emperors came to Lutrtia, sometinn'S rl^siding tliere, and it was now that tlie city began to issue from its obscurity and to take a j)romin<'nt jjosition in th<' world. It is with the end of Rome that the eity d('stin«_'d to per- petuate tl)e Latin idea in modern times becomes great. Constantius Chlorus, Constantine the Great, and his two sons, Constantine the youngr'r and Constan- tius, in turn lived in the capital of the Parisii. To the first-named is nsuallv credited the erection of tlio Palais des Thornn's, thr ordinarv residence of the Emperors, LUTETTA. O:^/ Julian, Constantino's nephew, commonly called Ju- lian the Apostate, spent the Avinters of the years 358 and 359 there, as Avell as a part of the year 360, and occupied the Palais des Thermos. This prmce was deeply attached to the place. He calls it his '^ Darling Lutetia." Here he lived in great contentment, far removed from the troubling and dangerous life of the imperial court, surrounded by a little household of philosophers and scholars, steeped in the pleasant but misleading dream that the pro- orress of the mvstics and the tide of the Faith would be turned. One of this circle, the physician, Oribasius, edited a curtailed editi(m of the writings of Galen — " the first work," says Chateaubriand, in his Etudes HisforiqiieSy ^^ that was published in this city destined to enrich literature with so many masterpieces." It is interesting to note that thus early in her history Paris is the chosen abiding-place of Julian and of his little coterie of pagan philosophers, and that her first book issues from such a place as her greatest men of the Revolutionary time would have delighted to honor. In his writings Julian speaks with enthu- siasm of the climate of Lutetia, of her vineyards and fig trees j and — an opinion that should please the for- eign ear to-day — he speaks, above all else, of the austere morals of her inhabitants, who, for the most part, were still pagans. It was here that the Roman soldiers, refusing to obev the (U'der issued by Cvered by the present sacristy of Notre Dame, and f(n' nearly three hundred years Avas the (Vithedral of Paris. When Saint Germain cured Childebert of a serious illness the King, to show his gratitude, built a fine new church at the eastern end (►f the island, and on the site of th<^. altar raised by the Nautje to Jupiter. From that time — the early part of the sixth century — until now, Notre Dame has b<^rought with him from Spain. Gislemar, an elcvmth century chronicler, gives a glowini;" d<'scription of the original basilica, Avhich 116 PARIS. was dedicated in 558, and a religious order estab- lished in the abbej attached to it. Saint Germain was buried in an oratory close by, but in the middle of the eighth century his body was transferred to the basilica, which henceforth went by his name, and placed behind the altar of Ste.- Croix. Childebert and his Avife had already been laid there, as were their successors of the Merovingian line until Dagobert founded St. Denis in the seventh century. The church and abbey of St. Vincent were richly endowed by their founder. In addition to the enor- mous fief of Isciac or Issy, Avhich stretched away to the west as ftxr as across the Meudon, it owned the exclusive right to fish in the Seine, a roadway eigh- teen feet wide on both banks, from the Petit-Pont to Srvrcs, gardens, vinoyards, the riuirch of St. Andre dcs Arts, which liad replaced the oratory of St. Aii- deol, and much otluM' property, so that 1)V thr ])*'- ginning of the ninth century St, -Germain des Pres owned land inhabited bv more than ten thousand souls, yielding an enormous income. In the Norman inva- sions the abbey was particularly unfortunate; repeat- edly pilhiged and nearly destroyed three times, it had to be rebuilt in the beginning of the eleventh cen- tury. Tlie large square tower of the present fagade is thought to be a part of the Merovingian Church. It only now remains for us to speak of the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, built bv Clovis on Mons I.ucotctins ; h<' was buried there, and after him Clo- PARIS IN THE DARK AGES. 117 tilde and Sainte-Genevieve. It Avas plundered and burned by the Normans^ but rebuilt, and from its association with the patroness of Paris, came to be called by her name. This ends the list of buildings belonging to this period ; most of them, as will be noticed, Merovingian in their origin, the Carlovingian kings having hardly even preserved Avhat their predecessors left them. In closing this chapter it will be well to take a rapid survey of the town, just as the pivot-point is reached, after which the ascent of Europe is so marked and so continuous. Let us imagine a distant traveller from Toulouse or from Provence arriving by the great southern road at the period where this division closes — I mean toward the end of the lirst third of the eleventh century. In the first place, he is approaching a foreign town. For hundreds of miles already the language has been all but unintelligible to him, save where he could talk low-Latin with some priest or bailiff — and even then the southern accent would make it difficult to follow. The Paris Avhich is before him is, to him, a great town of the north, the centre of a country of which he has often heard, the " Duchy of France." He knows, however, that quite lately, in his own lifetime, perhaps, the title of ^^ King " has been given to its particular lord. This title gives him a vague — a very vague — feeling of the old unity of Gaul ; but certainly in his mind the conception of sovereignty is attached 118 TARTS. tn the lord of his owji c-ouiitry, us, for instance, tho (Amnt of Toulouse, or even (if he l>e a eountryman) to the little local lord of the manor from which he comes. That vague feeling, however, Avill be the more enduring, and on it the strong edifice of French patriotism is soon to l)e founded. He comes over the brow of a hill which has lost its old name of " Lucotetius," and which he hears the peas- ants call "^[ont de St(\ Genevieve," and as he cross(\s the sunnnit, the squat Romanesrpie church where she is buried, which had been in view for miles, lies close to him on his right. Its architecture is that part of the northern countrv Avhich most reminds him of home. Indeed, all the western Avorld was building in the same way ; copying, that is, the later Roman w(»rk. Thick pillars crowned Avith rude capitals, these carved now and then with rough foliage, or attempts to represent animals and men ; a flat or wide-angled roof; sometimes a massive srpiare t<^wer, and e\ervwhere in Avindi>w and door the plain round arch, three great specimens of which Avould form the main entrance on the west front — such Avere the feat- ures of this and of a hundred other buildings with A\ hicli he was already' familiar. But lie Avould cor- a.' tainly notice how much ruder Avas this than the south- ern Avork, and especially how terribly fallen from the relics of the fourth and fifth centuries, in Avhich his native province abounded. Strength obtained only by thickness, irregularity PARIS IX THE DARK AdKS. 110 of outliiK', lack of flnisli in the surface of tlie stonew- all tins w(Kil(l contrast unpleasantly, in his eves, with the memories of his own towns. The church would have about it nuich scaffolding'. It was indeed a feature of everv town for trenerations to conic 5 for the buildings undertaken were great and tlie progress made was extremely slow. About the church a great burial-place still stood, but already numerous houses, a kind of little village, had groAvn up. Square, with low doorways and few Avindows, they formed the worst dwellings that the })lace had known since the Graulish huts gave place to the dwellings of the Romans. Beneath him as he passed this suburb the town of Paris would be spread out. First he would notice to his left, and close to him, — less, indeed, than a mile away, — a large monastery and church, the latter incomplete, covered with a tem- porary wooden roof, while the workmen were still laboring at its Avails. In some places these Avails Avould be evidently far older than in others, and such spots Avould have often a charred and dark surface. All round the monastery and church a great A\'all Avould be seen, enclosing many acres of ground. These Avere the house and garden of the ncAv 8t. Germain des Pres — the great shrine Avhich had been burnt more than a century ago by the Normans, and which the last two licnerations had been rebuildinji-. About this church was a little A'illage, like that ucar 120 PAKIS. Avbich he stood. Following the view to the right, and along the riviT, he Avould come to a great square enclosure, round which ran a wall still Roman in its brick- work, but buttressed here and there by the rude masonry of his o^^^l time. This garden, he woidd be told, was the '^ Clos de Laas," and he would see it stretching right up to the river in a northerly direction, Avhile easterly it ran three-quarters of a mile, all the way from the abbey of 8t. Germain to the great ruin at his feet. This great ruin, a con- fused mass of burnt and charred stone, built up here and there into temporary dwelling-places, and in other places again quarried of its old stones for the purposes of the later buildings, was, of course, the palace of the Thermes — the road ran right past it, through the wall of the " Clos deLaas," and reached a little wooden bridge going over to the island. Round the island itself was a great and thick wall, Avhile on the main-land end of tlie little bridge a has- tioUj as it were, called the '^ Petit Chatelet,'^ defended its approach. The walls, both of the Petit Chatelet and of the island were of that large, coarse work which distinguishes all the works of defense up to the Cru- sades. The best idea of this kind of building may be found by looking at one of those great ^^ keeps " which yet remain in some of those castles of England that date from the eleventh century. Probably these walls of the Cite Avere not thirty fe«'t high, but iunnensely thick — fifteen feet, let us PARIS IN THE DARK AGES. 1:21 say — built of two outer cases of masonry and iilled in between with clay and large stones. This wall would have neither battlement nor projection of any kind. Here and there a window in places where a house stood against the inside of it ; at long inter- vals a slightly projecting square tower, a little higher than the rest of the structure, would defend it by flanking its assailants. Finally, around it all was a continuous and broad Avalk, on which, as he ap- proached the city, our traveller would probably have seen a watch stationed. On the island itself was a dense mass of private build- ings, hemming in the public monuments on all sides. Indeed, the traveller would see little more than the roofs of the churches and the upper story of the palace. Still, by what could be seen, he would have made out on the extreme left of the island the old Roman palace, little changed, and having a garden between it and the Avestern point of the island. Outside the wall at this spot lay two small islands, which were, and remained for many centuries, uninhabited and unused. Beside the palace, and to the right of it, that isj towards the eastern end of the island, he would have seen the Church of St. Stephen, close to the river bank and just to the right of the bridge. The walls would appear to him partly old and partly repaired, for the edifice had suffered greatly in the Norman siege of more than a century before, 122 PARIS. Behind this cliurcli (wliicli Avas of the Basilican type), overhipping it as it were, and partly appear- ing to the left of it, stood the Romanesque Chiircli of Notre Dame; low, flat-roofed, with small, round ^\indows on the south side, which was turned to the s|)ectator. The Church of St. i\Iartial, and probably a great sjpiare prison tower on the northern bank of the island, standing above th<^ churches and towers, would be all he Avould see of the town. Beyond it, however, a northern woodunded tho Place de Greve ; Avhile further vet to the right the two large islands spoken of in the last chap- ter still lay, unbuilt upon and unbridg SiR'li was tlio Paris (►(* tlio early ('a[»ctians, upon wliic'li our traveller would ^aze. Ou the road there might he }>assing hinij going into the city^ a group of villeins in rough tunics, entering it to sell their niarket-produc(% or perhaps a group of nobles and fighting men, the former armed with a great sword, a long kite-shaped shield, a little conical cap of iron, and tln^ bodv onlv covered with links of mail, Avhile the legs remained unarmed. They would be riding on great thick-set horses. These were by no means like our riding-horses (whose Arab Vjlood was intro- duced through the Crusades), but rather like our cart-horses. By the side of these lords of manors^ or in