CHAPTER XXI.
THE LOUVRE.
PARIS, the magnificent, has thousands of structures that are worth a voyage across the Atlantic to see, but there is in all that wonderful city no one that is so utterly bewildering in its magnificence as the massive pile, the Louvre, one of the largest as well as grandest places in the world. Its long galleries and beautiful salons, with hundreds of winds and turns, form a labyrinth in which, without a guide, one may almost be lost.
It required a great deal of time to build the Louvre, as its completion was being continually retarded. But through all the years and the changes in the styles of architecture, a general oneness of plan was maintained, and the noble structure, though constructed piece-meal, is consistent and symmetrical.
It is admirably located near the banks of the Seine, and with the Tuileries, occupies forty acres of ground. It is of a quadrilateral form, enclosing an immense square. Approaching it from the Place du Royale, its imposing front challenges attention and then invites study. Admiration is excited by the solidity, as well as symmetry of the pile, and this is increased by its elaborate ornamentation.
Such buildings are impossible in this day and age of the world. Private means are not sufficient. An American railroad magnate might do something in this direction, but when the idea of expending even a few paltry millions upon a residence for himself comes to him, he puts it off till after he has attempted a corner in some stock or another, which generally makes a lame duck of him, and he is glad to retire to the humble mansion which he always has—in his wife’s name.
THE STRUGGLE FOR THE LEADERSHIP.
Modern governments cannot do it, for they haven’t the facilities of the ancient Kings for this kind of work. All that the old French Kings had to do when they wanted a palace of this kind was to call upon the workmen of the nation, with spears, and set them about it, and feed them upon black bread and very sour and cheap wine, and take possession of the stone quarries and the lumber mills, and put it up. The painters and sculptors and the makers of the furnishings they were compelled to pay, but that was nothing. An extra tax on everything the people lived upon was levied and collected with great vigor and much certainty, and so without any bother or worry the King had a new palace, with fountains, and trees, and flowers, and pictures, and statuary, and all that sort of thing, in the most gorgeous style. A French King, a few hundred years ago, had what an American would not unjustly style a soft thing of it. It was a good situation to hold, and I don’t wonder that Nobles fought to be Kings, and Kings struggled to be Emperors. Everybody wants power.
And this reminds me of a little incident that happened in my own beloved America, illustrative of this principle. In a certain county in the good State of Ohio was, and is, a township called Cranberry, inhabited largely by Germans and those of German descent. These Germans, without exception, adhered to one political party, and all voted one way, and their devotion to their party was such that it was considered an unpardonable sin to “scratch” a ticket, or in any way run counter to the action of their convention. In politics they were as regular as a horse in a bark-mill.
One man, always the stoutest and best one physically, of the party, stood at the polls, and every one of his organization as he came to vote was expected to show his ticket to this recognized King, that it might be made certain that no one scratched or acted unorthodox. This man was by right entitled to a county office, and held one as long as he could maintain his position at home.
One Peter Feltzer had been King of Cranberry for a great many years, and by virtue of his position had been successively Commissioner, Treasurer, Representative, and, in fact, had gone up and down the ladder of earthly glory a great many times, and was waxing as full of glory and honors as he was of years.