The Churches of Paris, from Clovis to Charles X

by Sophia Beale

The choir and the apse are surrounded by square and polygonal chapels. The lower arches are round, the upper pointed; the intermingling being in no way inharmonious. Most of the present capitals are copies of the twelve remaining original ones which were transferred to the garden of the Hôtel Cluny; but they are of very inferior workmanship. The subjects treated are various: Angels, Saints, the Lamb of God, Daniel surrounded by the lions, priests celebrating the Holy Mysteries, Samson breaking the jaw of the lion. The old capitals are rough, but full of character, whereas the modern ones are utterly devoid thereof. A few of the old ones may be studied embedded in the walls of the aisles; the subjects being: The Visitation, The Birth of Christ, Warriors costumed as Roman soldiers, Syrens, male and female, surrounded by fish, interlaced serpents, hippopotami holding smaller beasts between their paws, and other quaint imagery peculiar to the Romanesque period. In the Hôtel Cluny may also be seen the upper part of an early ivory crozier belonging to the abbey, which was found in a coffin during some excavations in 1854—and some fragments of stone coffins. The choir, beautiful in its vigorous simplicity, remains as the 12th century left it. It was dedicated by Pope Alexander III., on the 21st of April, 1163; and on the same day Hubald, bishop of Ostia, assisted by three other bishops, consecrated the apsidal chapels. On entering the church at the west end, and looking towards the altar, it will be seen that the building deviates considerably from a straight line, which M. Guilhermy ascribes rather to difficulties of construction, which always occur when a new building is placed amongst older ones of which it is to be a part, than to the legend which attributes this arrangement (so common in Mediæval churches) to the position of our Lord upon the Cross. S. Étienne du Mont is even more out of a straight line—it turns more than any church I have seen. The columns resemble those of Notre-Dame in their massiveness. All the arches of the choir and chapels are round, but those of the apse and clerestory are pointed. The capitals of these choir pillars are all worthy of study, being in the best style of the period, and full of the quaint symbolism of the Middle Ages: human heads of a grotesque style, lions, harpies, birds pecking vigorously at the heads of men and women, griffins, and winged animals. The bases are all ornamented with foliage; but between the second and third chapels on the south side is an example of ornament which is probably unique, viz., two slippers, one embroidered and one plain, evidently those of a bishop or abbot.

The original High Altar, renovated in 1704, has been destroyed since 1792, up to which time it had existed in all its pristine beauty and splendour. The frontal was of gilt copper, with silver-gilt figures under canopies; and upon the retable rested the châsse of S. Germain, a magnificent specimen of smithcraft enriched with precious stones. It was made in the time of Abbot Guillaume III., about 1408 or 1409, and contained twenty-six marks two ounces of gold, 250 marks of silver, 260 precious stones, and 197 pearls. One would like to know what became of so many gems. Six of the cipolin columns of the baldachino, which were brought from the ruins of a Roman town upon the African coast in the reign of Louis XIV., are now doing duty in the gallery of paintings of the Louvre. The tomb of S. Germain, which was the scene of so many miracles and wonders, has been suppressed and covered up by the pavement. It was sunk below the level of the church, near the fourth column of the choir on the north side, and for centuries was a favourite spot for prayer and meditation. The chapel of S. Symphorien, at the end of the nave on the south side, is modern, having been consecrated by the great teacher, S. François de Sales, on the 27th April, 1619; the monument which marked the first burial-place of S. Germain being no longer in it. The chapels of S. Marguerite and of S. Casimir, in the transept, are ornamented with marble columns. That of the Blessed Virgin is modern, and in wretched taste; and the High Altar, the first stone of which was laid by Pius VII., is equally out of keeping with the rest of the church.

In an apsidal chapel are some fragments of 13th century glass, representing SS. Anna and Joachim, The Annunciation and the Marriage of the Virgin. In the south side of the nave is a large marble statue, called Notre-Dame la Blanche, given in 1340 by Jeanne d'Évreux to the Abbey of S. Denis. Placed at the Revolution in the Musée des Petits-Augustins, it was afterwards transferred to S. Germain. The marble statue of S. Marguerite is by one of the brothers of the convent, Jacques Bourlet; and that representing S. François Xavier is by Coustou the younger. The following tombs were partially restored in 1824: Jean Casimir, King of Poland, who, having renounced his throne, became abbot in 1669, and died in 1672 (the kneeling figure is by Marsy, the bas-relief by Jean Thibaut, of the Congregation of S. Maur); Olivier and Louis de Castellan, killed in the service of the king in 1644 and 1669 (the figures and medallions are by Girardon); William Douglas, eighteenth Earl of Angus, who died in 1611, and his grandson James Douglas, killed in 1645, near Douai, aged twenty-eight. The epitaphs, which the Academy set up in 1819 to the memory of Nicholas Boileau, of René Descartes,[89] of Jean Mabillion, and of Bernard de Montfaucon, which were formerly at the Musée des Petits-Augustins, were placed here on the dispersal of that museum. Boileau reposed formerly in the Sainte-Chapelle, and Descartes at S. Geneviève. What remained of the royal tombs was transferred to S. Denis. Of the riches of the Treasury nothing whatever was saved; it was all pillaged and dispersed.

The whole church has been painted in polychrome; red shafts and gilded capitals, a blue-and-gold starred vault. All round nave, transepts, and choir, just below the clerestory, are the exquisite frescoes by Flandrin, one of the few 19th century religious painters who has shown the possibility of uniting the sentiment of the early Florentine and Flemish schools with the, in some respects, superior knowledge of the modern. His work is so purely religious, and yet so essentially modern, that one wonders whence he drew his inspiration. There is nothing of the Archaic in his pictures; his figures are never attenuated, and yet the sentiment is as full of piety as in the work of Angelico: it is as if the Frenchman had drunk in the beauty of form of the Greeks, and amalgamated it with the faith of the Early Christians. And yet there is none of the false sentimentality of the modern school, the Saints who simper, and the milk-and-water misses bearing palm branches and crowns, and calling themselves martyrs. Flandrin's is essentially a masculine type of art; it is powerful as well as graceful, vigorous as well as refined. His Saints and Angels have all the sweet expression of those of Fra Angelico and Filippo Lippi; while they are as perfectly modelled as a Greek Apollo, or the figures of Buonarroti and Raffaello. But Flandrin was not ashamed of calling himself a believer in the doctrines and mysteries of the Christian faith, and in the Biblical subjects which he was called upon to illustrate. The man who considered religious painting to be "the height of Art, and the most worthy employment of genius," and who wrote upon the door of his studio, "Thou, Lord, hast made me glad through Thy work, I will triumph in the works of Thy hands," could not have been, as a Christian, on a much lower level than Fra Angelico, who is said to have painted while assuming the attitude of prayer. Flandrin was the favourite pupil of Ingres, and won the Grand Prix de Rome of 1832. Humble-minded, gentle, courageous, he worked for love rather than for fame or money. His early struggles when he first arrived in Paris from his native place were terrible. He lived in a veritable garret with his brother, sacrificing anything in order to work at painting. Often in winter they went to bed at 5 o'clock in the afternoon to escape the cold of their attic. Their dinner was frequently some fried potatoes bought at stalls in the streets and squares; and it is probably to the privations endured for love of art that his bad health and early death may be attributed. But his enthusiasm carried him on; and he lived long enough to count his sacrifices as nothing compared to his successes. He stands out in this 19th century an example to all artists, and as the one man who can be compared to the blessed monk of Fiesole.

Like so many artists, he had to surmount many a home obstacle; and, being the fourth of a family of seven children, with two brothers devoting themselves to their father's calling, it is no wonder that the good mother wished Hippolyte to try some trade by which he could live. The father had been ambitious; but had been obliged to give up genre for miniature painting. The boys, however, plodded on, and sketched all that came in their way, which seems to have been mainly soldiers; and when a sculptor named Fayatier, happening to see their drawings, gave them a little encouragement, the mother's opposition melted, and they entered the studio of Magnin at Lyons. There and at the Beaux-Arts, they remained seven years, selling drawings and lithographs wherewith to gain a little nest-egg to enable them to go to Paris, the goal then, as now, of ambitious students. It was little enough, but the journey, being taken upon foot, the whole hoard was reserved for household expenses and lessons. Once in the capital, the brothers resolved to put themselves under M. Ingres, if he would allow them, and so encouraging was his welcome, that a friendship soon sprang up between master and pupils. Many traits in Ingres' character which came out in the history of the Flandrins' early artistic career prove him to have been sympathetic to the highest degree; and not a little pleasant is it to find that, when he heard of his pupils' forced asceticism, he exclaimed, "And I was taking their money!" Indeed, there are many anecdotes which prove as much the love of the master for the pupils as the devotion of the pupils for the master. He was inconsolable when Hippolyte failed to gain the Prix de Rome. "You have no notion how hard it is for a young man's hopes to be dashed to the ground!" he said to his wife; and he spoke of him as the "Lamb which had been slaughtered." He knew that it was unjust, and he felt the injustice as much as if it had been done to himself.

The account Hippolyte gives his brother Auguste of the whole affair is most touching.[90] "Mon bon ami, mon cher Auguste, I have experienced the last trial in competing for the Grand Prix, but it has been dreadful! The subject was a figure in painting, three feet high. I executed it, and yesterday was the day of the decision. I was satisfied with myself, and was hopeful, mais tu verras. M. Ingres, M. Guérin, M. Granet, and three other members of the Institute, on entering the exhibition hall, wished to place me first. Mais non: M. Gros and his party carried it otherwise; and instead of first, I have been voted last. M. Ingres, in despair, at length left the room, protesting with all his might against the proceedings of the meeting; and I have not been received. You may imagine what I felt when I heard I was excluded.... I dared not call upon M. Ingres; still I could not reproach myself; my figure was far the best; I can say so without pride. At last, in the evening, I determined to go. I found him at dinner, but he ate nothing. Several members of the Institute had come to comfort him, but he would not be consoled. He received me with, "Behold the lamb they have slaughtered!" ... And all this with the accent of a heart so deeply moved that tears filled his eyes. He made me sit at his table, dine with him, and at last embraced me as a father would his son. I went away and was comforted. Oh! what do not I owe to this man who has already done so much for us, and who, on this occasion, has perhaps done more.... But sometimes regret seizes me, for this would have been the means of taking a great step.... And then it was the only way to show my gratitude to M. Ingres; for to you, my brother, I can say that my good master had founded great hopes on my picture." The next year the same difficulties (want of money to pay for models, &c.) made him almost give up the idea of competing; but getting some portraits to do, and knowing that his master was keen upon the matter, he sent in his name. One of his sitters happened to be a gen-d'arme, whom he had promised to paint for 30 fs. When the portrait was finished, the man was so pleased that he said to the painter, "I promised you 30 fs., but here are 35 fs.!" Flandrin often said that he never was so pleased as when he received those additional 5 fs.

But a greater enemy to work than poverty appeared—cholera, the scourge of 1832. One of the competitors for the Prix de Rome died on his way to the school, and Hippolyte was attacked. He struggled against it, and, weak though he was, he went on working; but at length he had to give way, and for a whole month he was in bed. A few days before the time for sending in the pictures, he returned to work, and managed to finish his subject, which was at once pronounced as having the Grand Prix. At Rome, Flandrin was in his element; he studied the great masters, and drank in all their wisdom, working almost entirely upon religious subjects. Even Ary Scheffer, then at the height of his fame, felt the extreme beauty of his young rival's art. "No, I know nothing, nothing at all," he said to Hippolyte, on seeing the latter's picture of Jesus with the Little Children.

Flandrin's first commission for Church decoration was in his native city, S. Severinus of Lyon; his second, S. Germain; but his greatest work was the mural painting of S. Vincent de Paul, which he accomplished some years later.