by Grant Allen
Later on, St. Germain of Paris having died, was buried in turn in Childebert’s church of St. Vincent. His body being preserved here (as it still is), and working many miraculous cures, it came about in time that St. Vincent and the Holy Cross were almost forgotten, and the local bishop whose bones were revered on the spot grew to be the acknowledged patron of the mighty abbey which surrounded his shrine. Such of the early Merovingian kings as were buried in Paris had their tombs in this first church: their stone coffins may still be seen at the Hôtel Carnavalet. The abbey, which belonged to monks of the Benedictine order, grew to be one of the most famous in Europe: its name is still bestowed upon the whole of the Faubourg (long since imbedded in the modern town) of which it forms the centre. It was to the South Bank what St. Denis was to Northern Paris.
The existing church, of course (save for a few small fragments), is of far later date than the age of Childebert. Most of the Paris churches and monasteries suffered severely at the hands of the Normans: even those which were not then burnt down or sacked, were demolished and rebuilt in a more sumptuous style by the somewhat irreverent piety of later ages. This, the present church of St. Germain-des-Prés, belongs for the most part to the 11th century. It is therefore older than Notre-Dame or the Sainte Chapelle, and even as a whole than the greater part of St. Denis. It exhibits throughout that earlier Romanesque style which formed the transitional term between classical architecture and the pointed arches of the Gothic period. (What we call “Norman” in England is a local modification of Romanesque.) Portions of the building, however, show Gothic tendency; and the upper part is pure Pointed. Most of the Abbey has long since been swept away; a small part of the building still remains in the rear of the existing church. St. Germain should be visited if only on account of the fact that it is the earliest large ecclesiastical building now standing in or near Paris. Flandrin’s noble modern frescoes have given it of comparatively recent years another form of attractiveness.
During the Renaissance period, while many of the nobility fixed their seats in the eastern and north-eastern part of Paris-within-the-Boulevards on the Right Bank, not a few erected houses for themselves in the open spaces of the Faubourg St. Germain. The most magnificent of these later buildings is the Palais du Luxembourg, erected for Marie de Médicis, after the death of Henri IV, by Jacques Debrosse, one of the best French architects of the generation which succeeded that of Jean Goujon and Philibert Delorme. It was built somewhat after the style of the Pitti Palace at Florence, where Marie was born, and it exhibits the second stage of French Renaissance architecture, when it was beginning to degenerate from the purity, beauty, and originality of its first outburst, towards the insipid classicism of Louis XIII and Louis XIV. It was for this building that Rubens executed his great series of pictures from the life of Marie, now in the Louvre; while Lesueur painted his St. Bruno legends for a Carthusian monastery within the grounds. The gardens which surround it are interesting in their way as being the only specimen now remaining in Paris of Renaissance methods of laying out; most of the other palaces have gardens designed by Le Nôtre in the formal style of Louis XIV. The Palace is now occupied by the Senate: it is practically difficult of access, and the interior contains so little of interest that it may well be omitted save by those who can spend much time in being ushered round almost empty rooms by perfunctory officials. But the exterior, the gardens, and the Medici fountain should be visited by all those who wish to form a consistent idea of Renaissance Paris.
In the same excursion may be easily combined a visit to St. Sulpice, a church which occupies the site of an old foundation, but which was entirely rebuilt from the ground in the age of Louis XIV, and which is mainly interesting as the best example of the cold, lifeless, and grandiose taste of that pompous period.
The Faubourg St. Germain and the quarter about it, as a whole, are still the region of the old noble families. The western end of this Faubourg, especially about the Quai d’Orsay, is given over to embassies and political machinery, particularly that connected with foreign affairs. The South Bank is also the district of the Legislature, in both its branches. The Quartier Latin, however, has largely overflowed of recent years into the Luxembourg district and that immediately behind it, which are now to a great extent occupied by the students, artists, and other Bohemian classes.]
Cross the river, if possible, by the Pont de la Concorde. The classical building which fronts you proclaims itself legibly on its very face as the Chambre des Députés. But it has borne in its time many other names. This façade towards the river is of the age of the First Empire; the main edifice, however, is much older, being the Palais Bourbon, built in 1722 for the Duchesse de Bourbon. In 1790, it was confiscated, and has ever since been the seat of one or other legislative body, according to the Government of the moment.
You can go round to the back, as you pass, to inspect the original façade, in the style of Louis XIV, facing the little Place du Palais Bourbon. The interior is uninteresting, but has a few good pictures, which should only be visited by those whose time is unlimited.
The river front is on the Quai d’Orsay, the centre of modern political and diplomatic Paris. The building to the R of the Chamber is the official residence of its President; still further R, the Ministère des Affaires Étrangères. The broad thoroughfare which opens obliquely south-eastward, L of the Chamber, is the Boulevard St. Germain, which we have crossed before in other parts of its semi-circle. It was Haussmannized in a wide curve through the quiet streets of the Faubourg, and the purlieus of the Quartier Latin, with ruthless regularity. Many of the tranquil aristocratic roads characteristic of the region lie R and L of it; their type should be casually noted as you pass them. Down the Rue de Lille stands the German Embassy; on the Boulevard itself, R, the Ministère de la Guerre, and further on, L, the Travaux Publics. Other ministries and embassies cluster thickly behind, about the diplomatic Rue de Grenelle and its neighbours. To the R, again, the Boulevard Raspail, another very modern street, not yet quite complete, runs southward through the heart of the Luxembourg district. Continue straight along the Boulevard St. Germain, till you reach the Place of the same name, with the church of St. Germain-des-Prés full in front of you. (It may also be reached directly by the Rue Bonaparte; but this other is a more characteristic and instructive approach to the Abbey Church which forms the centre of the quarter.) Observe how the new Boulevard skirts its side, giving a clever effect of its having always been there; the front of the church is round the corner in the Rue Bonaparte.
The exterior, with the houses still built against it in places, though picturesque, has little minute architectural detail. The massive tower has been so much renewed as to be practically modern; but the Romanesque arches near the top give it distinction and beauty. The mean and unworthy porch is of the 17th cent.; the inner portal, however (though its arch has been Gothicised), belongs to the Romanesque church and is not without interest. Observe the character of the pilasters and capitals, with grotesque animals. Statues of St. Germain, of Childebert and Ultrogothe (as at the other St. Germain) and of Clovis, etc., which once flanked the door, were destroyed at the Revolution. In the tympanum are the unusual subjects of the Eternal Father, blessing, and beneath Him a Romanesque relief of the Last Supper (not, as commonly, the Last Judgment).
The interior still preserves in most part its Romanesque arches and architecture; but the lower part of the nave is the oldest portion (early 12th cent.); the choir is about a century later. Most of the pillars have had their capitals so modernized and gilt as to be of relatively little interest, while the decorations, though good and effective, are in many cases of such a sort as effectually to conceal the real antiquity of the building. The church was used during the Great Revolution as a saltpetre factory, and was restored and re-decorated in polychrome a little too freely under the Second Empire. A few capitals, however, notably those of the Baptistery to the L as you enter retain their antique carving and are worthy of notice; while even the modern gilt fig
ures on those of the aisle are Romanesque in character and quaint in conception. (You can examine some of the old ones which they replace in the garden at Cluny.)
Walk round the church. The architecture of the ambulatory and choir, though later, is in a much more satisfactory condition than that of the main body. The arches of the first story are mostly round, but pointed in the apse; those of the clerestory are entirely Gothic. The detail below is good Romanesque; study it. Observe the handsome triforium, between the two stories; and more especially the interesting capitals of the columns — relics of the original church of Childebert, built into the later fabric. The choir, on the whole, is a fine specimen of late 12th cent. work. The Lady Chapel, behind, is a modern addition.
After having thus walked round the aisles and the back of the choir to observe the architecture, return once more to the doorway by which you entered and proceed up the nave, in order to notice the admirable modern frescoes by Flandrin (Second Empire). These are disposed in pairs, each containing subjects, supposed to be parallel, from the Old and New Testaments. Note in these the constant survival of early traditions, revivified by Flandrin in accordance with the art of his own period. The subjects are as follows: —
Begin on the L. (1) The Annunciation (treated somewhat in the traditional manner, the relative positions of the Madonna and the Angel Gabriel being preserved); typified by the Almighty appearing to Moses in the Burning Bush, as His first Annunciation. (2) The Nativity, as the pledge of redemption; typified or rendered necessary by the Fall. (The New Testament scenes are of course the usual series; those from the Old Testament foreshadow them, for which reason they are placed in the opposite from the chronological order.) (3) The Adoration of the Magi (reminiscences of the conventional, entirely altered by Oriental costumes and attitudes of submission); typified by Balaam blessing Israel — a famous picture. (4) The Baptism in Jordan (positions conventional, with the three angels to the L as always); typified by the Passage of the Red Sea. (5) The Institution of the Eucharist, very original in treatment; typified by Melchisedec bringing forth bread and wine to Abraham. Now return by the R side, beginning at the transept: — (6) The Betrayal of Christ by Judas; typified by the Sale of Joseph. (7) The Crucifixion — a very noble picture; typified by the Offering of Isaac, full of pathos. (8) The Resurrection; typified by Jonah restored from the sea, the whale being with great tact omitted. (9) The Keys given to Peter; typified by the Dispersion of the Nations at Babel. (A little thought is sometimes required to connect these subjects, which are occasionally, as in the last pair, rather to be regarded as opposites than types — the one remedying the other. Thus, the counterpart to the Dispersal at Babel is Christ’s command to preach the Gospel to all nations.)
Above this fine frieze of subject-pictures runs a course of single figures, grouped in pairs, on either side of the windows in the clerestory. They are Old Testament characters, from Adam and Eve onward, ending with John the Baptist, as the last of the prophets. But as all the characters have their names legibly inscribed beside them, I need not enumerate them; all, however, should be observed, especially Adam and Eve, Miriam, Deborah, and Judith. Hold your hat or a book to cover the light from the windows, if the glare is too great, and after a little while you will see them distinctly.
Now proceed again to the front of the choir. On either side are other mural paintings, also by Flandrin: L, The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, very beautiful: R, The Bearing of the Cross. Round the choir, the Twelve Apostles: by the pointed arches of the apse, the symbols of the Evangelists — the angel, lion, bull, and eagle. Above all — an interesting link with the earlier history of the church — are the pious founders, Childebert and Ultrogothe; the original patron, St. Vincent, with his successor, St. Germain; and finally, Abbot Morard who rebuilt the church, substantially in its present form, after the Norman invasion. He is thus commemorated in the beautiful choir which represents the work of his successor, Abbot Hugues, in the next century.
Before leaving, observe, architecturally speaking, how a Romanesque church of this type leads up to the more complex arrangement, with chevet and chapels, in Notre-Dame and later Gothic churches. Note the simplicity and dignity of the choir. Note also the peculiar character of the vaulting, comparing it with the later type at Notre-Dame, and especially with the reversion to much the same form in Renaissance times at St. Étienne-du-Mont, and St. Eustache. In spite of its newness, much of the modern decorative work is extremely effective; indeed, as a specimen of almost complete internal decoration, this church, notwithstanding the cruel overlaying of its early Romanesque sculpture by gold and paint, is perhaps the most satisfactory of any in Paris, except the Sainte Chapelle. I strongly advise you to sit down for some time and inspect the capitals built into the aisle, and the beautiful Merovingian pillars of the triforium, with an opera-glass, at your leisure.
On quitting the church, walk round it for the view on every side, which is picturesque and characteristic. Behind it, in the Rue de l’Abbaye, stands an interesting portion of the 16th-century Abbot’s Palace — the only remaining relic of the vast conventual buildings, once enclosed for defence by a wall and moat, and containing a large lay and clerical population, like a little city. The sumptuous carved and gilded figure of Childebert, the founder, in the Mediæval Sculpture Room at the Louvre, came from the doorway of the old Refectory — a magnificent work by Pierre de Montereau (the architect of the Sainte Chapelle) — now wholly demolished. After you have visited each church, you will often find it pleasant to look out for such isolated works, divorced at present from their surroundings, and placed at Cluny or elsewhere. They will always gain new meaning for you by being thus identified as belonging to such-and-such an original building. For instance, in the Christian Antiquities Room at the Louvre, you will find an interesting capital of a pillar belonging to the Merovingian church of St. Vincent.
Now return to the Boulevard St. Germain, which a little further on occupies the site of the old Abbey Prison, famous as the scene of the massacres in September, 1792. Take the Rue Bonaparte on the opposite side, and go straight on till you reach the Place St. Sulpice, with its huge church in front of you. The building replaces an earlier one to the same saint: under Louis XIV, when the Faubourg St. Germain was becoming the quarter of the nobles, it was rebuilt in a style of ugly magnificence, befitting the maker of Versailles and Marly.
St. Sulpice, a vast bare barn, is chiefly interesting, indeed, as a gigantic specimen of the coldly classical type of church built under Louis XIV, when Gothic was despised, and even the Renaissance richness of St. Eustache and St. Étienne was decried as barbaric. It is a painful monument of declining taste. The exterior is chilly. The façade, whose sole recommendation nowadays is its size and its massiveness, is a triumph of its kind; it consists of two stories, with arcades of Doric and Ionic pillars superimposed on one another, and crowned with a pair of octagonal towers, only one of which is completed. The scanty detail of the sculpture is of the familiar character of the decadent period. But Fergusson praises the general effect of the exterior.
The interior consists of a cruciform pseudo-classical nave, with aisles, two bare single transepts, and a choir ending in a circular apse, — all vast, gloomy, barren, and unimpressive. The pillars and pilasters have Corinthian capitals, and most of the sculpture betrays the evil influence of Bernini. The holy water stoups, by the second pillars, however, are more satisfactory: they consist of huge shells, presented by the Republic of Venice to François Ier, standing on bases by Pigalle, — an effective piece of decorative work in this unpleasing edifice. As a whole, this chilly interior stands in marked contrast to the polychromatic richness of St. Germain-des-Prés, and to the exquisite Gothic detail of Notre-Dame and St. Germain-l’Auxerrois. The roof and false cupola contrast very much to their disadvantage with the charming Renaissance vaulting of St. Étienne-du-Mont and St. Eustache. Accept this visit as penance done to the age of Louis XIV. Save historically, indeed, this barren church is almost devoid of in
terest. Like everything of its age, it aims at grandeur: it only succeeds in being gaunt and grandiose. The very size is thrown away for want of effective vistas and groups of pillars; it looks smaller than it is, and sadly lacks furnishing.
