The Abbey of S. Germain-in-the-fields, of which nothing remains but the church and the abbot's palace, was, after Notre-Dame, the oldest foundation in Paris. It dates back to the earliest period of the French monarchy, and its history is interwoven with that of some of the best and noblest sons of France. The Saint to whom this church is dedicated was an early bishop of Paris, and must not be confounded with S. Germain of Auxerre, whose legend is described on page 178.

The foundation of the abbey was in this wise. Childebert I. having made a second expedition against the Visigoths in Spain, returned in 543 with much loot of various kinds: S. Vincent's tunic; a rich gold cross ornamented with precious stones, from Toledo; some vases which had belonged (so said tradition) to King Solomon; and a quantity of chalices, patens and golden covers for the Gospels. What could be more natural, in the 6th century, than to consult a holy man as to the future destination of such valuables? Accordingly, Childebert communed with S. Germain on the subject, and the bishop suggesting the foundation of a church as a fitting home for the treasures, the king laid the first stone amid the green fields and woods of what is now the densely populated Faubourg S. Germain. The enclosure extended from the Rue Jacob on the north, to the Rue Ste. Marguerite on the south, while upon the east and west the boundaries were the present Rue LachaudÉ and the Rue Bonaparte. The buildings within the precincts were very numerous, almost forming a city in themselves, enclosed by walls and surrounded by a moat filled by the waters of the Seine. There were three gates: the Petit-Bourbon, Ste. Marguerite, and St. Benoit. The church was originally dedicated to the Holy Cross and S. Vincent, the consecration taking place upon the very day of Childebert's death in 558.[84] It was cruciform in plan; the roof, which was covered with plaques of gilt copper, was supported by enormous marble columns; the walls, decorated with paintings upon gold grounds, were pierced with numberless windows; and the pavement was laid in mosaic. At the end of the church was the chapel of S. Symphorien, which in 576 became the burial-place of good Bishop Germain, and was subsequently the scene of many wondrous and miraculous cures, so many indeed that the original patrons, S. Vincent, S. Symphorien, and the Holy Cross, drifted into almost complete oblivion; and S. Germain, getting the credit of the cures, became the acknowledged and chief patron of the famous abbey. Before the foundation of S. Denis by le bon roy Dagobert, S. Germain served as the burial-place of the MÉrovingian kings and their consorts. Thus, during the 6th and 7th centuries, the following princes were interred there: the Kings Childebert I., ChÉrebert,[85] ChilpÉric I., Clotaire II., and ChildÉric II.; the queens Ultrogothe, FrÉdÉgonde, Bertrude, and Bilihilde; the sons of MÉrovÉe, Clovis, and Dagobert; the princesses Chrodesinde and Chrotberge, daughters of the first Childebert. Some of these tombs were opened in the time of Dom Bouillart (1655), who gives an account of the performance in his Histoire de l'Abbaye. The bodies were swathed in shrouds of silk and other precious stuffs; some of them reposed on beds of odorous herbs, others were surrounded by phials of aromatic scents. The coffins were of stone, without any exterior ornament, and contained, besides the bodies, fragments of drapery, of crossbelts, and foot gear.[86] Some of these stone coffins may be seen at the HÔtel Carnavalet, which, besides having been the dwelling-place of Madame de SevignÉ, is most interesting on account of its unique collection of curiosities. But we have been anticipating.

When the abbey was finished, S. Germain sent to its namesake, S. Symphorien at Autun, for some monks to serve it. At first they followed the rules of S. Anthony and S. Basil; but shortly after the foundation, they joined the order of the great legislator of the monks of the west, S. Benedict. In the 17th century a second reform took place, and they adopted the rule of S. Maur; and it was after this return to primitive discipline that the monks of S. Germain became famous throughout Europe by the works of Jean Mabillon, Bernard de Montfaucon, and other members of their order. The abbots were formerly all-powerful, exercising spiritual and temporal jurisdiction over the whole Faubourg S. Germain; but jealousies occurring there as elsewhere, between the ecclesiastical and the lay element, and squabbles arising between the bishops and the mitred abbots, it came about that the kings, uniting their forces with those of the bishops, were enabled to restrict the power of the abbots to the immediate precincts of their abbey. Among the famous persons who bore the dignity of abbot of S. Germain were Hugues Capet, Jean Casimir, King of Poland, several princes of the House of Bourbon, and many cardinals.

When the Normans swooped down upon France, Paris was their goal, and the monasteries and churches their desire. Over and over again they came; pillaging, burning and destroying all they could not carry off. Once in, or near Paris, S. Germain lay at their feet; its fame, its riches, its magnificence, made it a mark for attack; and upon one occasion, when King Eudes had driven out the barbarians, all that was left of church and monastery was a heap of ruins. But Morard, the twenty-ninth abbot, who ruled the community from 990 to 1014, undertook the entire restoration, or rather the rebuilding of the abbey; and it is to him that we owe the oldest portions of the nave of the actual church. Whether Morard left the work unfinished, or whether the monks resolved to improve upon his design, we know not; but about a hundred and fifty years later we find the choir being rebuilt upon a plan of great magnificence.

Situated as it was, amidst what was termed the PrÉ-aux-Clercs, the resort of students and other bellicose persons, it became necessary to guard against assaults and incursions, by surrounding the monastic buildings with fortified walls and a moat, strong gates and watch-towers, from whence to keep an eye upon dangerous neighbours. Later, when students at the University had become more civilized, when danger of civil war had faded away, and the Huguenots had been suppressed, streets took the place of the moat, and houses occupied the site of the fortifications. At the commencement of the last century the monks built several large houses from plans by Victor d'Ailly, for artisans and labourers; but for the privileges obtained by living within the abbey precincts they paid a heavy rental. These habitations formed the Rues Childebert, Ste. Marthe, Cardinale, Abbatiale, and de Furstemberg—all within the walls. Originally there were two cloisters situated to the north of the church, but with the exception of a portion of the larger one, which has been converted into dwelling-rooms, they have been completely destroyed. The round arches and Doric pilasters belong to the 17th century; the older part, which was built by Abbot Eudes, was cut through and improved away, for the completion of the Rue de l'Abbaye. The same streets, and the houses thereof, have also to answer for the destruction of the refectory, the chapter-house, the great sacristy, and the Lady Chapel, to which the little cloister gave access. The refectory was a large hall constructed during the life of Abbot Simon by the celebrated architect of the Sainte-Chapelle, Pierre de Montereau. It was filled with stained glass bearing the arms of France and of Castille, some fragments of which may be seen in the church. The stone statue of Childebert, that stood at the entrance gorgeous with painting and gilding, is now in the Renaissance Museum of the Louvre. Dom Jacques Bouillart, describing the refectory as built between 1239-44, speaks of this statue as "apparently modelled upon a more ancient one."[87] De Montereau was also the artist-builder of the chapel of the Virgin, commenced under abbot Hugues d'Issy, who died in 1247, and finished under Thomas de Mauleon, who resigned his dignities in 1255. This chapel had but one rival, the chef-d'oeuvre of its architect; but all authorities speak of the beauty and gracefulness of the Lady Chapel, and its similarity to the Sainte-Chapelle in style and plan. When the great architect died, in 1266, the then abbot GÉrard de Moret, desiring to perpetuate the memory of him who had done so much to beautify the convent, caused a magnificent tomb to be erected in the chapel of his creation. Pierre was represented with a rule and compass in his hand, and the epitaph describes him as Flos plenus morum and Doctor latomorum.[88] GÉrard be Moret was the builder of the chapter house, an oblong edifice divided into two naves by a row of four central columns, paved with encaustic tiles and illuminated with stained glass. Passing behind the church down the Rue de l'Abbaye, is the abbot's palace, a handsome stone and redbrick building erected by the Cardinal de Bourbon, about 1586. At the summit of one of the pavilions is a figure of a woman bearing the arms of the founder upon an escutcheon. Fragments of the chapel of Our Lady, columns, capitals, gargoyles, balustrades, and other remains of ornament which were found in a garden hard by, have been placed in the grounds of the HÔtel Cluny; but the statue of the Virgin and Child, which was formerly upon a pier, was sent some years ago to S. Denis.

The gaol was rebuilt in the 17th century, and was flanked by four turrets. It was the scene of many horrors from time to time, the abbots possessing the power of punishing as well as of trying criminals; and during the Revolution it was filled with priests and nobles, who suffered for the crimes of their forefathers, as well as for their own, being the scene in 1792 of the hideous September massacres. It was afterwards used as a military prison, and in 1854 was pulled down. The library was justly celebrated for its manuscripts, printed books, and other objects of value; but was destroyed by fire at the commencement of the Revolution.

SAINT-GERMAIN DES PRÉS.
SAINT-GERMAIN DES PRÉS.

The only part of the church which contains any remains of Childebert's structure is the apse, into the triforium of which are built some early white marble capitals and some various coloured marble shafts; but inasmuch as they have been painted over, all interest in them is destroyed.

The earliest part of the present church dates from the beginning of the 11th century, the choir and apse from the second half of the 12th century. The best view of the apse with its flying-buttresses is to be obtained from the garden of the abbot's palace; but since the clearing away of the houses which formerly were almost built on to the church, and the planting of gardens round it, the view is very picturesque from any point. An insignificant 17th century porch leads to the west door, which is underneath the tower, and has, in its tympanum, a much mutilated bas-relief of The Last Supper. The tower has been so much restored and renovated from time to time that little of the original remains. It has a high, but stumpy spire covered with slates. Dom Bouillart relates that on the 2nd November, 1589, Henri IV. mounted to the top of it (accompanied by only one ecclesiastic) to examine the situation of Paris; and, continued the monk, "He afterwards walked round the cloisters, and without speaking one word, departed." Of the other two towers which were formerly at the angles of the choir and transepts, nothing remains but the bases, which were considered necessary for the support of the church. It seems that they were pulled down about 1822, to save the expense of their restoration! a piece of vandalism which destroyed the originality of the building and the raison d'Être for its nickname of "l'Église aux Trois Clochers."

The building is 265 feet long, 65 feet broad, and 59 feet high. The nave is divided into five bays, the choir into four, and the apse into five; but these latter are much narrower than those of the nave. In the 17th century, the timber roof of Abbot Morard gave place to a stone vault, the transepts were rebuilt, and the nave much altered; but quite recently it has been restored to its primitive condition and decorated with frescoes by Hippolyte Flandrin. The church having been used during the Revolution as a saltpetre manufactory, the corrosive waters had so undermined the foundations of the pillars that they were obliged to be supported by enormous scaffoldings while the bases were repaired.

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.

On the 21st of March, 1864, Flandrin died at Rome of small-pox, whither he had gone for his health. He was buried at PÈre-la-Chaise; but the funeral service was held in the church he did so much to embellish; and, two years after, his friends placed a monument by M. Oudine to his memory, upon the wall of the north aisle. It is composed of white marble, four columns supporting a pediment, and resting upon a freize. Below the bust is an epitaph which is little in keeping with the man or the place:

À HIPPOLYTE FLANDRIN.
SES AMIS, SES ELÈVES, SES ADMIRATEURS, LYON, 22 MARS,
1809,—ROME, 21 MARS, 1864.

Not one word of what he loved above all things, his home, his country, his art, and his God; and yet his friends, his pupils, and in fact everyone acquainted with him, must have known that such a man would have liked a few words upon his tomb which would have borne witness to the depth of his religious feelings. Here is an extract from a letter to his eldest brother which breathes through it his piety and his love of home: "You cannot imagine how I long to see you and embrace you, as well as the mother and father. Almost every night I fancy myself at Lyon, and yesterday I was really angry with Paul (his brother, helper, and fellow-student), because he awoke me just at the moment when I thought I was kissing you. I was crying for joy.... Remember that we agreed to pray for each other every evening. I never fail to do so, and I feel sure our poor mother never forgets: she loves us so much, and she is so far off. Pauvre pÈre, la bonne mÈre, vous n'Êtes plus entournÉs par tous vos enfants."

The choir was the first part of S. Germain which was decorated, and it is the most successful, the nave pictures being somewhat flat, and faded in colour; but without the use of gold it was impossible to make the subjects effective with the bright polychrome surroundings, and Flandrin justly considered that the nave should be subordinate in splendour to the choir and sanctuary. On the right and left of the commencement of the choir are two large compositions: Christ entering into Jerusalem, and The Way of the Cross, both upon gold grounds. Above these are the twelve Apostles clothed in white, and the allegorical Virtues; and higher still are the founders of the church, Childebert and S. Germain, with the patron S. Vincent, Queen Ultrogothe, and abbot Morard. All these works are full of intense feeling, and the group of the Blessed Virgin and S. John have rarely been surpassed, from the pathetic point of view, by any religious painter. There is a certain modernness about them; the figures seem to emphasize the human element in our Lord's person, the sympathy, the love, and the sorrow; there is no weak sentimentality depicted—and yet the treatment adheres to the conventional traditions. The richness of the gold around, too, enhances the beauty of the compositions, and makes them almost as gorgeous as mosaics.

The frescoes of the nave occupy the space between the arches and the clerestory windows—in all, twenty compositions. The subjects are taken from the history of our Lord, and the corresponding Old Testament types. The two pictures forming one subject in each architectural division, show how perfectly the arts of painting and architecture may be made to harmonize, to be welded together as it were, although seven centuries separate the builder from the decorator. Except for a certain modernness of style, Flandrin might have lived and worked with the original architect, for his plan is that so often seen in the works of the MediÆvalists, as for instance in the Biblia Pauperum.

In the first arcade on the left, on entering the church, we see The Annunciation and the Burning Bush, and under the window the text: "Domine mitte quem missures es" (Exodus iv. 13). The characteristic of the first of these pictures is the simplicity of the Virgin's expression, as she hears the Angels' message. Next comes The Nativity and its type, The Fall, with the legend, Per hominem mors, per hominem resurrectio (1 Corinthians xv. 21). The figures of Adam and Eve are excellent examples of the purity of form so commonly found in Flandrin's work. The Nativity is treated in the conventional manner, except that three Angels watch the child and its mother (who lie upon a rustic bed); while behind them, a Seraph bears a banner upon which is written: "Gloria in, Excelsis Deo."

This is followed by The Adoration of the Magi and Balaam, the text being: "Habitantibus in regione umbrae ... lux orta est" (Isaiah ix. 2). The Old Testament subject depicts the moment when Balaam, taken to the top of Pethor by Balak, blesses instead of curses the enemy. Before them is the altar; around them are the princes of Moab, angry and threatening; in the background are the tents of the children of Israel. The victims are ready for the sacrifice, but to the astonishment of the king and his followers, Balaam lifts up his voice and blesses those he was brought to curse. How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel! This is one of the finest of the series.

In The Baptism we see the ascetic figure of S. John the Baptist pouring water upon Our Lord's head, while three Angels kneel upon the bank of the river, doing homage. Above is the descending dove and the verse: Erit Sanguis Vobis in Signum (Exodus xii. 13). In the Passage of the Red Sea, the majestic figure of Moses stands upon the shore, his hair and drapery blown by the wind. He raises his hand, and the waters close over the Egyptians, while the Israelites lift up their voices in triumphant songs, Miriam leading them to the sound of the timbrel: Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.

The Institution of the Eucharist is treated from the purely Roman Catholic point of view. Our Blessed Lord is standing, holding up the wafer for adoration, while He places the other hand upon His side, symbolical of the gift of the sacred heart combined with His precious body. The Apostles form two groups, one on each side: Novi Testamenti Mediator est (Hebrews ix. 15). The Old Testament type is Melchizedek appearing to Abram: And Melchizedec King of Salem brought forth bread and wine; and he was the priest of the most high God.

The next pictures, close to the choir, are badly lighted, but both are very fine. The Treason of Judas, and Joseph sold by his Brethren: Pro salute vestra misit me Deus (Genesis xiv. 5).

And now we come to a subject into which Flandrin threw all his strength—The Crucifixion—which is not inferior in feeling to the great Angelico in the Convent of San Marco at Firenze. The divine expression of the dying Saviour, the heart-rending sorrow of the Mother, and the passionate grief of the Magdalen, are all exquisitely portrayed. So, too, The Sacrifice of Isaac, which is its type, is full of pathos and true religious sentiment. Proprio filio non pepercit (Romans viii. 32) is the text.

In the treatment of Jonah, the type of The Resurrection, the painter has avoided what must always be a difficulty—the great fish. Those who saw this tableau years ago at Ober-Ammergau must remember that even the good souls of that village could not divest the subject of the ludicrous element, and they did well, in 1890, to omit it. But Flandrin has got over the difficulty by making his prophet walking upon a beach, with waves breaking upon the shore around him. He has been ejected from the whale, and is giving thanks for his deliverance. Signum JonÆ ProphetÆ (Matthew xii. 39).

That the Gentiles should be fellow-heirs and of the same body, and partakers of his promise in Christ by the Gospel, is the legend of the charge to Peter. Gentes esse cohaeredes ... promissionis in Christo (Ephesians iii. 6). In the foreground kneels S. Peter, to whom Our Lord gives the keys of heaven and hell: but the rest of the Apostles stand around, and form part of the group: Feed my sheep. The type is The Dispersion of the Nations subsequent to the building of Babel; and Flandrin has most graphically described the wonder and amazement of the crowd, who, not being able to converse any longer, leave the town and scatter themselves over the face of the earth.

Above the frieze of subject-pictures are numerous personages in the panels which surround the windows, all from the Old Testament: Adam and Eve, Jacob Blessing his Children, Job, Samson, Aaron, Joshua, Miriam, Deborah, Judith, and ending with John the Baptist. Adam and Eve are, perhaps, the finest of these figures. Adam stands erect, thoughtful, repentant, and ashamed; but his clasped right hand seems to indicate steadfastness of purpose to retrieve the past. Eve abandons herself to sorrow, and leans upon her husband's shoulder as if resolving in the future to depend upon him. The treatment is at once almost Classic in its simplicity, and realistic in its naturalism; the only discordant note being a something in the way in which Eve's hair falls upon her forehead, an echo, as it were, of the model, and the ugly fashion of dressing the hair peculiar to the thirties and forties, which so often shocks us in the Nymphs and Venuses by Etty, and gives them an unclothed appearance.

Formerly, judging from Dibden's account of the church, there was great display in the religious functions at S. Germain: "The immediate vicinity of S. Germain is sadly choked by stalls and shops—the West front has been cruelly covered by modern appendages. It is the church dearest to antiquaries, and with reason. I first visited it on a Sunday, when that part of the service was performed which required the fullest intonations of the organ. The effect altogether was very striking. The singular pillars of which the capitals are equally massive and grotesque, being sometimes composed of human beings, and sometimes of birds and beasts, especially towards the choir—the rising up and sitting down of the congregation, and the yet more frequent movements of the priests—the swinging of the censers—and the parade of the vergers, dressed in bag wigs, with broad red sashes of silk, and silk stockings—but above all, the most scientifically-touched, as well as the deepest and loudest toned organ I ever heard—perfectly bewildered and amazed me! Upon the dispersion of the congregation—which very shortly followed this religious excitation—I had ample leisure to survey every part of this curious old structure, which reminded me, although upon a much larger scale, of the peculiarities of S. Georges de Bocherville and Notre-Dame at Guibray. Certainly, very much of this church is of the twelfth century, and, as I am not writing to our friend N., I will make bold to say that some portions of it yet 'smacks strongly' of the eleventh."

I cannot say that I have ever noted much ceremonial, or any fine music, at S. Germain. Times have changed probably; certainly, its chief beauty now is the building itself—its grand architecture and beautiful decoration.