With the cathedral of Nôtre Dame I conclude what I had in my mind to say to you of the progress of Gothic architecture, previous to its full development in the cathedrals of Amiens and Beauvais. Another proud specimen of architecture of that period is found in the cathedral of Rheims. It was founded, we are told, in 818, but I have some doubt whether the early structure thus spoken of was not the church of St. Remi, and not one occupying the site of the present cathedral. It was burnt in 1210, together with great part of the city of Rheims. A new cathedral was immediately begun, but the ancient crypt was left; now we are not shewn any ancient crypt at the cathedral, but there is one at St. Remi. The work went on with great rapidity, for the altar was dedicated on the 18th October, 1215, and the body of the church was finished in 1241. It appears probable that this finishing does not include the famous western front, which however was completed before 1295. Thus you see the bulk of the building was erected in thirty-one years; while at Paris two active bishops could not bring theirs to so forward a state by forty-three years of persevering exertion, although the foundations were previously laid, and probably a considerable quantity of materials prepared, and although the transept was not included. The size was not much greater, and the expense must have been decidedly less, on account of the inferior richness of the latter building. This difference is rather surprising, especially when we take into consideration, that the Parisian bishops had the support of the monarch. Of the portal, or west front, the plate in Whittington is the best I have seen, though it retains many errors of a large but very bad engraving, published in 1625. It must have been partly copied from this, or from some other, which may be traced to a common origin, but not without a reference to the building, because several mistakes are rectified, and the details are better given, though the drawing is on a much smaller scale. One important error is not to be attributed to the old plate; the octagonal turrets placed at each angle of the western towers, are not closed, but entirely open, consisting merely of the slender shafts, which are kept in their upright position by numerous iron ties. The part above the arches supported by these shafts is the base of an unfinished spire, and the whole summit of the towers is evidently of a temporary nature; even as a temporary finish, however, there neither are, nor apparently ever were, any fleurs-de-lys.
In the richness and magnificence of the external architecture, Rheims is superior to any other cathedral I have seen, and probably to any which has ever been erected. Whittington’s plate above cited will give a tolerably correct idea of the western front, but none of the effect produced by the same profusion, extended over the whole surface of a great building. I do not know whether the view of the back of the choir is not even more striking than that of the great entrance, the buttresses all terminating in little spires, all the parts running up into pinnacles, all subordinate to a spire, 256 feet in height, which crowns the rond point, and is surmounted by an angel of gilt bronze. I do not know, by the bye, whether this angel be of gilt bronze, but I know that such a piece of magnificence existed at Chartres, and my imagination, rather perhaps than my memory, pictures it here. Nothing but an angel would do in such a place, the situation is far too dangerous for that of any human being. This spire on the chevet, perhaps rather hurts than assists the general effect of the church, when seen from a distance, but after passing near the back of the choir, no one could wish it away, and if the spires in front, and whatever was intended in the centre, were completed, it would probably form an agreeable accessory from every point of view. All these spires and pinnacles are richly decorated, and what is more, the ornaments are highly beautiful, both in design and execution; the sort of plume which finishes some of the pinnacles, is one of the most graceful terminations I have met with. There are some trifling differences of detail in the corresponding parts, but the general form is always similar, and the character is uniformly preserved. None of these differences are distinguishable without examination.
Passing from the outside to the interior, the first circumstance which struck me was the obscurity of the nave, contrasted with the light of the aisles. The coloured glass of the former has been preserved, while that of the lower windows has very little colour. The opposite disposition of white glass in the clerestory, and coloured in the nave, would be preferable, yet this has a better effect than I should have expected à priori, and I conceive would even find advocates. It is probably owing to this arrangement that the coloured glass at Rheims seems to have little brilliancy. The whole length of the building is 466 feet, that of the clerestory 386, the width of the latter 47. The nave is 121 feet in height; the aisles I suppose about 54 feet, or something less than half: all the parts are well finished, but the interior has by no means the predominating beauty of the exterior. We may judge of details by rule, but the only true method of estimating the excellence of an architectural composition is by the sentiment it produces. I must acknowledge that this is in some respects, an uncertain criterion, as the impression produced depends in part upon the temper of the mind at the moment, and even on the feelings of the body. However, we may make allowances, and we may repeat the trial under different circumstances. It is on this ground that I pronounce the inside of the cathedral at Rheims to be inferior to that of Amiens or of Chartres. The capitals of the columns of the nave in this cathedral are of very full and deep relief; the foliage runs round the capital, and is often very gracefully disposed; this is a step towards the third style of French Gothic, the first and second having in general only detached leaves or figures. The construction of the roof is very curious: the architect seems to have intended to gain double strength by applying a king-post truss on each side of the timbers of a queen-post truss. The latter rises on the outside of the walls, the former on the inside, and its principal rafters meet in a point considerably lower than if they followed the direction of those of the other truss. The tie-beams are about 12 feet above the point of the vaulting. All the timbers are said to be of chesnut, and the proof is, that no spiders are found upon it. Over the great arches of the intersection are four semicircular arches, evidently intended to discharge the weight of a central tower or spire, from the pointed arches of the internal vaulting, and therefore proving the intention of raising such a tower. From the frequent mention we find of central towers in the descriptions of the French churches, it is probable that this intention was coeval with the design of the church. Of all these described stone central towers or pyramids, however, I have not had the good fortune to meet with one, and a large proportion of them seems to have been destroyed.
Besides its Gothic architecture, Rheims has to boast an interesting relic of Roman times. It is unfortunately built up in the modern wall of the city, and not easily seen, except in a general view of such parts as project from the face of the later work. Three columns and an arch are sufficiently visible, and parts of three other columns; and enough remains to enable one to make out the plan, and to shew that there were three nearly equal arches, and eight columns disposed in four pairs; the larger intercolumns are of course occupied by the arches, the smaller have niches and medallions; the entablature is entirely gone, but it is possible to creep into a vault in the thickness of the city wall, where we see near at hand the soffite of one of the arches, with the ancient stucco. The design was not very simple, but the execution is good for its purpose. The flutes of the columns finish square under the capital. The astragal of the necking has been cut; the capitals are too much wasted to form any decided opinion from them, but on the whole it appears to be a monument of a good period.
There is also a vaulted chamber, probably a sepulchre, which was discovered in 1738. The vault is ornamented with octagonal compartments and roses, in stucco, and the walls with painting. I did not see it, and only know it from a little printed description, for which I am indebted to the kindness of Comte Gregoire.
LETTER V.
RETURN TO PARIS.
Paris, June, 1816.
I have tried your patience in my last two letters with long disquisitions on architecture and on dates. I propose to give you in this, a little more of what Humboldt would call my personal narrative, i. e. to mention every thing which I think will at all interest you, but for which I have prepared no other place. I dined every day at Rheims at the table d’hôte, the time for which was five o’clock, but it was called half-past four. The company usually assembled a few minutes before dinner, and consisted in all of about twenty persons; five of them were members of a Juré, of a sort of court of appeal: who the others were I cannot tell you: there were some changes every day, but several were constant attendants. In England we so constantly see fish at the commencement of the entertainment, that we fancy this to be its natural place. In France the order of dishes follows rather the mode of dressing than the substance of the meat, and you have first boiled, then fried, afterwards stewed, and at last roast. Birds in each mode follow the more solid food, and here, with the roast meat, we often had plain boiled fish. The French rarely eat the meat and vegetables together, each is considered as a distinct dish, and eaten separately; indeed all the mixtures are made in the kitchen, and you hardly ever see a Frenchman unite in his plate the contents of two different dishes—that is the cook’s privilege. Thus you see the spirit of independence distinguishes us from our neighbours even in these trifles. Last came cheese, pastry, and fruit. Among the last were always walnuts, and one of our amusements was to crack them in various modes. The man who bore the bell in this exercise placed the back of a knife on the nut, and struck the edge with the naked palm of his hand, so forcibly as not merely to break the shell, but to smash it completely. French knives are seldom very sharp, but these were nearly new, and better than common, and I have often met with blunter at an English table. The conversation, as you may suppose, was various: politics were sometimes incidentally mentioned, but never formed the direct subject. The institution of juries seemed to be considered too good to admit of any question. An advocate related to us various stories which had occurred to him professionally; and as they were well told, I was much interested by them. One was of a Chouan chief, who being accused of rebellion, was desirous, against the opinion of his advocate, of clearing himself by certain witnesses of expurgation. I do not recollect the term, but the fact was, that these witnesses were to give evidence on oath, not merely as to character, but also to express their full assurance of his innocence. I do not know if any thing of this sort now exists in France, or whether it was general at the time the advocate was speaking of, or confined to some province: you will recollect, that we had such a custom in the ecclesiastical courts in England. The first witness called, said that he knew personally nothing about the prisoner, but relying on common report, he believed him to be a rebel. The poor Chouan fainted on finding his hopes thus blasted, but the advocate taking advantage of the name, which was a common one in the country, contrived, by confounding him with other persons, to get him off.
Some time afterwards, as the lawyer was travelling from Bayonne to Rochelle, the diligence was attacked by a party of rebels, but he being asleep, did not at first comprehend what was the matter, till one of his companions pulling him by the arm, and at the same time calling him by name, told him he must get out. The chief of the robbers hearing the name, inquired for further particulars, and on learning who he was, embraced him eagerly, and though his face was half covered with a mask, the advocate felt his tears on his own cheeks. There was some money belonging to government in the carriage; this was taken; but the Chouan would permit none of the private property to be touched, and gave to the driver a pass, by means of which they arrived safely at Rochelle, through three other bands which infested the road. The advocate wrote a particular account of the whole story and sent it to a gazette, but the government of the day, unwilling to have it acknowledged that a Chouan could possess gratitude, or any good feeling, would not permit the publication.
Just out of Rheims there is a fine public promenade, planted with several rows of good sized trees, with many diverging paths; it leads from the highest gate of the town, down to the water-side, and is really a very pleasant place in itself, and particularly so in a country so generally bare as this is. No French town of any size seems to be without an accommodation of this sort, which is alike conducive to the beauty of the place, to health and pleasure. Why is it that we have so few examples of the sort in England? Is it that our taste, or our pride, would not permit us to enjoy it? Or does it proceed from a sort of stinginess, which so strongly pervades some of our public institutions, while in others they are characterized by the opposite vice of profusion? Beyond the promenade is a public garden, called Trianon. Here a ball was given one evening, the price of admission to which was two sols, “une mise decente” was essential, but a person might be admitted in jacket and trowsers. Some persons were dancing in a small garden by the light of a few lamps, and others were looking on, but the company was not numerous, and my companion complains that dancing is gone out of fashion in France. Nobody, he says, dances now but old women and children.