Pass through the Tuileries Gardens, or across the Place du Carrousel, and traverse the river by the Pont Royal or the Pont du Carrousel. The second turn to the R, after the last-named bridge, the Rue Bonaparte, will take you straight to the door of the École. The building occupies the site of the old Couvent des Petits-Augustins; the convent chapel and a few other remains of the original works are embedded in it. Enter the courtyard. Here, during the Great Revolution, the painter Alexandre Lenoir founded his Musée des Monuments for the accommodation of the tombs removed from St. Denis and other churches. To his indefatigable exertions almost alone we owe the preservation of these priceless Mediæval and Renaissance relics. Under the Restoration, most of the monuments were replaced in their original positions, and we shall visit several of them later at St. Denis. To the R of the entrance in this First Court is the beautiful doorway of the Château d’Anet—that gem of Early French Renaissance architecture, which was erected for Diane de Poitiers by Philibert Delorme and Jean Goujon, by order of Henri II, in 1548: many objects from the same building we have already seen elsewhere. The portal is now placed as the entrance to the old Abbey Chapel. The end of this court is formed by part of the façade from the Château de Gaillon, erected for the Cardinal d’Amboise, Minister of Louis XII, and one of the favourite residences of François Ier. It presents mixed Renaissance and Gothic features, as did the sculpture of Michel Colombe from the same building, which we saw at the Louvre. Both these imposing works—the portal of Château d’Anet and this façade—should be compared with the Italian Renaissance doorway from Cremona and the Gothic one from Valencia, which we saw in the collection of sculpture at the Louvre. They are indispensable to a full comprehension of the French Renaissance. The Château de Gaillon was destroyed during the Revolution, and many of its finest monuments are now at the Louvre. If you have time, after seeing this Museum, go back and compare them.

The Second Court, beyond the façade, contains several fragments of buildings and sculpture, among which notice the capitals from the old church of Ste. Geneviève (Romanesque), and a fine stone basin of the 12th cent., brought from St. Denis.

Now, return to the First Court, and visit the former Chapel. It contains plaster casts, adequately described for casual visitors by the labels, as well as copies of paintings. These plaster casts, especially those of the pulpit from Pisa, by Nicolò Pisano, the first mediæval sculptor who tried to imitate the antique, will enable you to piece out your conception of Italian Renaissance sculpture, as formed at the Louvre. Do not despise these casts: they are excellent for comparison. Among the pictures, notice the copy of Mantegna’s fresco of St. James conducted to Martyrdom, from the church of the Eremitani at Padua. The fresco itself is a work of Mantegna’s first period, and I select this copy for notice because it will help you to fill in the idea you formed of that great painter from consideration of his originals at the Louvre. Notice, for example, the strenuous efforts at perspective and foreshortening; the introduction of decorated Renaissance architecture; the love of reliefs and ornament; the classical armour; and many other features which display the native bent of Mantegna, but not as yet in the maturity of his powers. Observe, again, the copy of Ghirlandajo’s exquisite Adoration of the Magi, with its numerous portraits, disguised as the Three Kings, the Shepherds, and the spectators, to which I have already called attention when speaking of Luini’s treatment of this subject in the Louvre. I do not enlarge upon these mere copies, as the originals will occupy us at Florence or Munich; but the student who has become interested in the evolution of art will find it a most valuable study to trace the connection, first, between these subjects and others like them in the Louvre, and, second, between these copies of works by various masters and the originals by the same artists preserved in that collection. Compare, and compare, and compare again ceaselessly.

The Inner Court, the Cour du Mûrier, leads to another hall, the Salle de Melpomène, entered on Sundays direct from the Quai Malaquais. This room also contains a large number of copies which are valuable for study to those who have not seen the originals, and which will often recall forgotten facts in new connections to those who have seen them. I would call special attention, from the point of view of this book, to the good copies of Raphael’s and Perugino’s Marriage of the Virgin: as the originals are respectively at Milan and Caen (two places sufficiently remote from one another), the composition of the two can be better compared here than under any other circumstances. As examples of development, I shall notice them briefly. Perugino’s is, of course, the older work. It was painted for a chapel in the Cathedral at Perugia, where it still hung when Raphael painted his imitation of it. First look carefully at both works, and then read these remarks upon them. The Sposalizio or Marriage of the Virgin, one of the set subjects in the old series of the Life of Mary, and often used as an altar-piece, consists traditionally of the following features. In the centre, stands the High Priest, wearing his robes and ephod—or what the particular painter takes for such: he joins the hands of Joseph and the Madonna. Joseph stands always on the L side of the picture, which Perugino has rightly assigned to him; though Raphael, already revolutionary, has reversed this order. He holds in his hand a staff, which has budded into lily flowers—the tradition (embodied in the Protevangelion) being that the High Priest caused the various suitors for Mary’s hand to place their staffs in the Holy of Holies, as had long before been done in the case of Aaron, intending that he whose staff budded should become the husband of the Holy Virgin. Joseph’s put forth leaves and flowers; and so this staff, either flowering or otherwise, is the usual symbol by which you can recognise him in sacred art. Behind Joseph stand the other disappointed suitors, one or more of whom always breaks his staff in indignation. Behind Mary stand the attendant maidens—the Virgins of the Lord—together with Our Lady’s mother, St. Anne, recognisable by her peculiar head-dress and wimple. (Compare Leonardo in the Salon Carré.) A temple always occupies the background. Perugino took the main elements of this scene from earlier painters. (You will find numerous examples in the churches and galleries at Florence and elsewhere.) But he transformed it in accordance with his peculiar genius and his views of art, substituting a round or octagonal temple of Renaissance architecture for the square Gothic building of earlier painters. Such round buildings were the conventional representation of the Temple at Jerusalem among Renaissance artists. The peculiar head-dress and the balanced position are also characteristic of Perugino. How closely Raphael followed his master on these points of composition you can see for yourself by comparing the two copies. But you can also see how thoroughly he transformed Perugino’s spirit; retaining the form while altering the whole sentiment and feeling of the figures. You see in it Perugino’s conception, but Raphael’s treatment. I have called special attention to these two pictures because they admirably illustrate the value and importance of comparison in art. You cannot wholly understand the Raphael without having seen the Perugino; nor can you wholly understand the Perugino without having seen the Ghirlandajos and Fra Angelicos, and Taddeo Gaddis which preceded it. Go from one to the other of these two pictures and note the close resemblance even in the marble pavement, the grouping of each component cluster, and the accessories in the background. Nay, the more graceful attitude of the suitor who breaks his staff in the Raphael is borrowed from a minor figure in the background of the Perugino. It is only by thus comparing work with work that we can arrive at a full comprehension of early painting, and especially of the relations between painter and painter.

I will not call special attention to the various other copies in this Museum. I will merely point out, as casting light on subjects we have already considered, Verocchio’s Baptism of Christ, Perugino’s group from the same subject, Raphael’s Entombment, Botticelli’s Adoration of the Magi, and Madonnas by Filippo Lippi, Giovanni Bellini, Correggio, and Mantegna. Many of these can be compared here and nowhere else. For those who are making a long stay in Paris, a judicious use of this collection, in conjunction with the Louvre, will cast unexpected light in many cases on works in that Gallery which it has been impossible here to describe in full detail.

The Amphithéâtre, approached from the Second Court, contains in its Vestibule a number of plaster casts, also valuable for purposes of comparison. The transitional archaic period of Greek sculpture, for instance, ill represented at the Louvre, is here well exemplified by casts from the statues in the pediment of the Temple of Athenè at Ægina, now in the Pinakothek at Munich. Compare these with the reliefs from Thasos in the Salle de Phidias. Similarly, casts of the Children of Niobe, belonging to the same school as the Venus of Milo, are useful for comparison with that famous statue. The Amphithéâtre itself, behind the Vestibule, contains Paul Delaroche’s famous Hémicycle, one of that great painter’s most celebrated works. Do not think, because I do not specify, that the other objects in this Museum are unworthy of notice. Observe them for yourself, and return afterwards to the Louvre time after time, comparing the types you have seen here with originals of the same artists and variants of the same subject in that collection.

VI
ST. DENIS

[ABOUT six miles north of the original Paris stands the great Basilica of St. Denis—the only church in Paris, and I think in France, called by that ancient name, which carries us back at once to the days of the Roman Empire, and in itself bears evidence to the antiquity of the spot as a place of worship. Around it, a squalid modern industrial town has slowly grown up; but the nucleus of the whole place, as the name itself shows, is the body and shrine of the martyred bishop, St. Denis. Among the numerous variants of his legend, the most accepted is that which makes the apostle of Paris have carried his head to this spot from Montmartre. (Others say he was beheaded in Paris and walked to Montmartre, his body being afterwards translated to the Abbey; while there are who see in his legend a survival of the Dionysiac festival and sacrifice of the vine-growers round Paris—Denis=Dionysius=Dionysus.) However that may be, a chapel was erected in 275 above the grave of St. Denis, on the spot now occupied by the great Basilica; and later, Ste. Geneviève was instrumental in restoring it. Dagobert I, one of the few Frankish kings who lived much in Paris, built a “basilica” in place of the chapel (630), and instituted by its side a Benedictine Abbey. The church and monastery which possessed the actual body of the first bishop and great martyr of Paris formed naturally the holiest site in the neighbourhood of the city; and even before Paris became the capital of a kingdom, the abbots were persons of great importance in the Frankish state. The desire to repose close to the grave of a saint was habitual in early times, and even (with the obvious alteration of words) antedated Christianity—every wealthy Egyptian desiring in the same way to “sleep with Osiris.” Dagobert himself was buried in the church he founded, beside the holy martyr; and in later times this very sacred spot became for the same reason the recognised burial-place of the French kings. Dagobert’s fane was actually consecrated by the Redeemer Himself, who descended for the purpose by night, with a great multitude of saints and angels.

The existing Basilica, though of far later date, is the oldest church of any importance in the neighbourhood of Paris. It was begun by Suger, abbot of the monastery, and sagacious minister of Louis VI and VII, in 1121. As yet, Paris itself had no great church, Notre-Dame having been commenced nearly 50 years later. The earliest part of Suger’s building is in the Romanesque style; it still retains the round Roman arch and many other Roman constructive features. During the course of the 50 years occupied in building the Basilica, however, the Gothic style was developed; the existing church therefore exhibits both Romanesque and Gothic work, with transitional features between the two, which add to its interest. Architecturally, then, bear in mind, it is in part Romanesque, passing into Gothic. The interior is mostly pure Early Gothic.