As we walk up the Rue Soufflot and see the great domed PanthÉon facing us in its Classic glory, it is difficult to realise that the space occupied by the modern building is but a small portion of what was formerly the domain of the important abbey of S. GeneviÈve belonging to the Augustinian canons. When the religious orders were suppressed in France, Paris contained nine abbeys: S. GeneviÈve, S. Victor, belonging to the Augustins; S. Germain des PrÉs to the Benedictines; Val des GrÂce to the nuns of S. Benedict; Port-Royal, Pantemont, l'Abbaye aux Bois, and S. Antoine to the Cistercian nuns; and the CordeliÈres to the order of the Poor Clares. An inspection of a pre-Revolution map of the city shows us that a large part of it was swallowed up by these abbeys and other monastic lands and properties.

SAINTE-GENEVIÈVE FROM THE RUE SOUFFLOT.
SAINTE-GENEVIÈVE FROM THE RUE SOUFFLOT.

The foundation of the abbey of S. GeneviÈve was due to the desire of Clovis to celebrate his victory over the Visigoths in the plains of VouillÈ. Having overrun a great part of Gaul, and annexed it to the kingdom of the Franks, what was more natural than that he should offer his thanks for robbery, violence, and slaughter, by the building of a church upon the hill overshadowing his Palais des Thermes? He dedicated it to S. Peter and S. Paul, and put it under the charge of some monks who were succeeded later on by secular canons, and eventually in the 12th century, by regular canons of S. Augustin. Clovis died ere the church was terminated, but Queen Clotilde was able to carry the work on, and it became the resting place of both sovereigns, as well as of the children of Clodomir, who were done to death by their loving relatives after the manner of some modern Africans. In the 11th century, the church was put under the patronage of S. GeneviÈve in consequence of the numberless miracles performed at her tomb, for the maid of Nanterre had been laid to rest in this church. The legend of S. GeneviÈve is picturesque in the extreme, affording endless subjects for the artist, as witness the wall paintings in the modern church. Born in 421 at Nanterre, a little village situated upon the plain over which the fort of Mt. ValÉrien now frowns, she was employed, as are many of her compatriots of the present day, in tending sheep. A graceful, if somewhat affected picture by GuÉrin, represents her with a distaff in her hands. When about seven years old, S. Germain, bishop of Auxerre, passed through Nanterre on his way to Britain. A crowd assembled to receive the good bishop's blessing, and among them were S. GeneviÈve and her parents. La pucelette was already famed for her piety and humility, and S Germain, wise man, had no sooner cast his eyes upon her than he became aware of her future glory; and finding that she desired to be a handmaiden of Christ, he hung round her neck a small coin marked with the symbol of the cross, thus consecrating her to God's service. Many were the miracles which she wrought by prayer, even in her childhood; as for instance, when her mother, being struck blind for boxing her little Saintship's ears, recovered her sight through the prayers of the daughter. Some say that GeneviÈve prayed for her hasty parent after a year and nine months had elapsed; but surely it is better to believe that the prayers were unanswered for that length of time, than that the daughter, whose intercession was so efficacious, should have omitted to help her mother for so many months.

At fifteen, GeneviÈve renewed her vows, but remained with her parents until their death. She then took up her abode with an old kinswoman in Paris, where, from her piety and devotion, she became the subject of disputes between those who venerated her as a saint, and others who considered her sanctity and benevolence mere hypocrisy and sham piety. And so it came about that at night, when she kept her vigils, the arch enemy, not content with putting into the hearts of men the desire to slander and vilify the godly maiden, set himself to worry her, by extinguishing her candle. But she had a tinder-box in her faith and prayer, and so she was never left in darkness. This is a favourite subject of the old artists; one frequently sees the Saint holding her taper, while a demon is blowing it out, sometimes using a pair of bellows, as at the doorway of S. Germain l'Auxerrois, S. Nicholas, and other French churches; and it is obvious that the legend grew out of the promise that God never leaves those in darkness who pray for light. So, too, the holding up of the re-kindled taper in the face of the fiend, and his consequent flight, symbolises the Light of the World chasing away evil. Another legend relates that when a storm overtook her and some friends on their way to S. Denis, and blew out their tapers, an Angel descended to relight them in answer to GeneviÈve's prayers.

The Saint was a sort of early Jeanne d'Arc, inasmuch as she delivered the city from its enemies; but GeneviÈve depended only upon her prayers; and yet, simply by these means, she caused the Huns, who were besieging Paris under Attila, to flee. On another occasion, when the city was invested by ChildÉric, she took command of some boats which were sent up the river to Troyes for succour, and brought them back laden with provisions. When the city was taken, GeneviÈve was treated with great respect by ChildÉric, and it was through her influence that Clovis and his wife, Clotilde, were converted to Christianity, and the first Christian church was erected in Paris.[74] GeneviÈve died at the ripe old age of eighty-nine, and was buried in what was then called the church of SS. Peter and Paul; and it was in consequence of her miracle-working tomb that the patronage of the church was given over to her, the Apostles falling into complete oblivion. Among these miracles was a cessation of a terrible visitation of the plague called the mal ardent, which raged in Paris in the reign of Louis le Gros; hence the dedication of a church to S. GeneviÈve-des-Ardents, situated near the cathedral, and long since destroyed.

Most painters of modern times have depicted the Saint as a shepherdess, somewhat after the Chelsea china pattern, and a few have given her the suggestiveness of the nymphs of Boucher. Watteau's is a charming picture, but the graceful maiden scarcely comes up to our ideal of the pious little peasant girl of Nanterre. GuÉrin's is pure and refined, if somewhat affected, but one feels inclined to hail our old friend with the fiend behind her puffing or blowing the bellows as a more worthy reading of the character of S. GeneviÈve. In the church of S. Merri there is a very curious picture representing the maid surrounded by her sheep, and enclosed by a circle of huge stones after the manner of those at Stonehenge.

The legend of feeding the besieged Parisians is said to be the origin of the pain bÉnit of the Paris churches, a custom peculiar to the old Parisian rite, and almost the only one kept up since that use was superseded by the Roman, some few years since. This blessed bread is a large brioche offered by some of the parishioners, and brought into church in procession during the offertory. It is usually piled up on a stage and decorated with flowers and lights, the whole being carried on the shoulders of acolytes. Preceded by the beadle and donor, it is taken to the altar and sprinkled with holy water; some prayers are said, the donor is presented with a pax to kiss, and the procession then returns to the sacristy, where the bread is cut up and put into baskets, which are then carried round the church, and the brioche distributed among the congregation. One often sees strangers refuse this, thinking it something peculiarly popish; indeed, I was once assured by a friend that he had been offered the Sacrament, "which of course he had refused." But we may be certain that if the pain bÉnit were considered so exceedingly holy, promiscuous strangers would not get the chance of partaking of it. It rather figures a sort of amicable meal after the manner of the early AgapÆ, and is a very pretty ceremony; besides, it is always refreshing to witness any little peculiarity in ritual, instead of the dull uniformity which recent papal decrees have enforced over western Europe.

In the 9th century S. GeneviÈve became the patron of the abbey; and some of the capitals of the church of that period are now in the court of the École de Beaux-Arts. In the 13th century the church was rebuilt, but gradually falling into decay, it was condemned in the reign of Louis XV., and demolished in 1801-7 to make way for the Rue Clovis. When the crypt was destroyed a large quantity of stone coffins, medals, pottery, shields and lances of Gallo-Roman and MÉrovingian workmanship were found.

The early capitals mentioned above are rude in treatment, and the personages, Adam and Eve, and other Old Testament worthies, are coarse, but the scraps of ornament are quaint, and the carving of the foliage is vastly superior to that of the figures. The crypt of the church was the largest of any in Paris, and being the burial place of so many holy and regal persons, was interesting in the extreme; but to the men of the 18th century what mattered it that 13th century work should be swept away? The street was required as a short cut, a deviation of five minutes more or less had to be rectified; and so all that remains of the abbey church is its tower. But from the ruins many precious fragments were saved. The stone coffin of S. GeneviÈve was carried off to S. Étienne hard by, and there enveloped in a gorgeous shrine; which, besides being a work of art, had the advantage of being portative, and so could be marched about when processioning was resorted to as a remedy for city troubles. In the Statistique Monumentale de Paris, published by Albert Lenoir, may be seen some plates representing this motley crew of fragments. Portions of stone coffins, sculptured with crosses and monograms, were sent to the museum of the Petits-Augustins, but do not seem to have survived the dissolution of the collection; they were similar to those at the HÔtels de Cluny and Carnavalet.

The reliquary of the Saint was in the form of a church, and was executed by order of the abbot, Robert de la FertÉ-Milon, in 1242. The craftsman was one of the most cunning goldsmiths of the city, Bonnard. It contained 193 marks of silver and 7-1/2 marks of gold; and kings, queens, and commoners vied with each other to cover it with precious stones. Marie de' Medici crowned the front with a mass of diamonds; and Germain Pilon was engaged to sculp a group of four women standing upon a marble pedestal to support the chÂsse. This graceful work of art was all that was saved in 1793: being of wood it was of little value to a starving and poverty-stricken mob. Or, had the municipality any reverence for it as an art treasure? Certain it is that, whereas the reliquary was melted up into coin, and the jewels sold, the part which was really the most precious was saved, and is now in the Renaissance Museum of the Louvre. But in spite of the value and beauty of the chÂsse, the Conventionel GrÉgoire, in his report, gives 21,000 livres only as the sum obtained by its destruction.

Some of the monuments of the church were saved; that of the Cardinal FranÇois de la Rochefoucault, abbot of S. GeneviÈve, and High Almoner of France, who died in 1645, sculptured by Philippe Buister, being placed in the chapel of the Hospital for Incurable Women, of which he was the founder. The statue of Clovis, renewed in the 12th century, is now at S. Denis, owing to the accident of its having been replaced in the 17th century by a superior one in white marble, which was destroyed in 1793.[75] Another tomb, that of a chancellor of Notre-Dame de Noyon, who died in 1350, is now in the École des Beaux-Arts. The monument of RenÉ Descartes was less fortunate, for, after having been transferred to the museum of the Petits-Augustins, it was dismembered, and dispersed or destroyed; but the remains of the great philosopher were re-buried at S. Germain des PrÉs.

Some of the conventual buildings remain and form part of the LycÉe Henri IV. The tower is Romanesque at the base and pointed at the upper stories—14th and 15th century respectively. The cloisters and refectory form part of the school buildings, but they have been much modernized. The latter is an elegant structure of the 13th century, and now serves as the school chapel. In the sacristry is a large stone statue of the patroness (13th century) which formerly formed part of the central pillar of the principal doorway of the abbey church; it represents her with a demon on one shoulder blowing out her candle, and an Angel on the other relighting it. What was formerly the library is a series of galleries upon the plan of a cross, with a cupola at the intersections. It is no longer used for this purpose, all the books having been placed in the new building on the other side of the square.

"Contiguous to the Sorbonne church there stands, raising its neatly-constructed dome aloft in air, the Nouvelle Eglise Ste. GeneviÈve, better known by the name of the PanthÉon. The interior presents, to my eye, the most beautiful and perfect specimen of Grecian architecture with which I am acquainted. In the crypt are the tombs of the French warriors. From the gallery running along the bottom of the dome, the whole a miniature representation of our S. Paul's, you have a sort of panorama of Paris, but not a favourable one. The absence of sea-coal fume strikes you very agreeably, but I could not help thinking of the superior beauty of the panorama of Rouen from the heights of St. Catherine."[76] This "perfect specimen of Grecian architecture" owes its birth, it is said, to Madame de Pompadour; and if this be so, it must have been one of the last of that lady's contributions to art, as she died in April, 1764, the foundation stone being laid in the following September. It is curious how artistic the French kings' handmaidens were, and, with the exception of the daughters of the house of Medici, how little we owe to the queens in the way of fine works of art. Whether this particular handmaiden obliged the king to decide upon the rebuilding of the old church, which had been tumbling into decay for a long period, or whether it was the king's fright lest he should fall ill again if he did not propitiate the Saint who had cured him of a sinking fever, it is impossible to decide. Very likely it was the king's own fears. He had all but died at Metz; he had appealed to the patroness of Paris; she had answered his prayers, somewhat unwisely perhaps, in the interest of his hapless subjects; and in sheer gratitude, thus proving himself far more honest than many a holier and more godly man, he decided that the much-talked-of church should be set going, and that it should be worthy of the maid of Nanterre. And so it is. Soufflot was the architect, and his design is one of the happiest of its class. But what a strange life the church has had! And what an extraordinary jumble of Christianity and philosophy the great dome has witnessed! Emblems of the Roman Republic and the religion of Christ stand side-by-side. Cardinals repose in the crypt by the side of Voltaire and Jean-Jacques. At one time masses are said for the repose of the souls of defunct Christians; at another, funeral allocutions are delivered by laymen. And the chopping and changing about! Scarcely finished in 1791, the Constitutional Assembly decreed that the new church should become a Temple of Fame, and be known as the PanthÉon. The cross was taken down from the summit of the dome, the inscription, Aux grands hommes, la Patrie reconnaissante, was substituted for D.O.M. Sub invocatione sanctae Genovefae sacrum; and under the peristyle was written: PanthÉon franÇais, l'an III. de la LibertÉ. The words of the report issued, describing the changes to be adopted in the building, are in the accustomed grandiloquent language of the First Republic: ... "en un moment oÙ tout doit contribuer À renforcer dans l'ame des citoyens toutes les sensations que l'enthousiasme de la libertÉ fait puiser dans l'amour de la Patrie, &c." Mirabeau, Marat, and Lepelletier Saint-Fargeau were laid to rest in the crypt.

One of Napoleon's first acts was to decide that "l'Église Sainte-GeneviÈve serait rendue au culte, conformÉment À l'intention de son fondateur, sous l'invocation de Sainte GeneviÈve, patronne de Paris." But it was also to preserve the destination ascribed to it by the Constituante, that of being the burial-place of senators, officers of state, dignitaries, officers of the Legion of Honour, and of citizens who had rendered eminent service to their country. The divine offices were to be conducted by the canons of Notre-Dame, and to this end they were increased by six members. With the restoration of Louis XVIII. all homage to "great men" disappeared, and the old inscription was restored. Baron Gros was commissioned to paint the dome with the Apotheosis of S. GeneviÈve, a work described by an old writer in not over flattering terms: "On one of the cupolas of the dome, which is surrounded by a colonnade of Corinthian pillars, is painted the Apotheosis of St. GeneviÈve. Her saintship is in the costume of a shepherdess, breathing all peace, all happiness, all immortality. Nothing of earth is in her composition. Beside her is Louis XVIII. and little winged angels. They are very busy—the angels—in scattering flowers about the saint. Above her is Louis XVI. and his queen, as elegant as she was upon the threshold of Versailles, and Louis XVII., all surrounded by celestial glory. Before her are the persons the most illustrious of each race; Clovis, who looks very savage; St. Clotilde, very pretty; Charlemagne, very heroic; and St. Louis and Queen Margarite, who look very pious.... The floor of this temple, incrusted with various-coloured marble, is very remarkable and very beautiful. It is exclusively occupied by Voltaire and Rousseau, at opposite extremities. Who would have thought that these two champions of Infidelity, who were refused Christian burial, would one day have assigned to their remains the first church of France, and one of the first in Christendom, as their mausoleum? I wonder if Jean-Jacques, in his prophetic visions, foresaw this? Why did they not lay them at the side of each other, that we might all learn how vain are the jealousies, the petty competitions and animosities of men so soon to come to this appointed and unavoidable term of all human contentions? It was once the custom of these old countries to multiply a man by burying him piecemeal,—his heart at Rouen and his legs in Kent,—because the world was then on short allowance of heroes; but modern times have reversed this practice; and Bonaparte has laid up together a whole batch of them in the basement of this church, for eternity, as you lay up potatoes in your cellar for winter. Here are the names graven overhead in a catalogue, on the marble, of men famous for giving counsel to the Emperor (who never took any) in the Senate, and of men who gained a great deal of celebrity by having their brains knocked out on the fields of Austerlitz and Marengo. When Marat was deified by the Convention he was interred here in 1793, and in 1794 he was disinterred and undeified, and then thrown into his native element, the common sewer, in the Rue Montmartre—to purify him."[77]

In 1830 another bouleversement took place, and the law of the Constituante was promulgated once more; but inasmuch as some former heroes had found their way, through change of opinion, into the sewers, it was decreed that nobody's ashes should be considered worthy of burial in the national Walhalla until ten years had elapsed from the time of death. Thus citizens could be turned into les grands hommes in a comparatively short period, as compared to the years often required for beatification or canonization. The second Republic also busied itself with lowering the cross, and replacing the inscription Aux grands hommes, la Patrie reconnaissante. It was used as an ambulance during the 1848 troubles, but restored to divine service by that devoted son of the Church, Louis-NapolÉon, soon after his iniquitous massacre of the people in the streets of the city; and then, having endowed himself with Imperial honours, he obtained the aid of the archbishop to create a number of chaplains to serve at the altar of S. GeneviÈve. The decree of 1851, which took "ultÉrieurement des mesures pour rÉgler l'exercise permanent de culte catholique," only lasted nineteen years. When the city was besieged, the permanency of the services exploded like the bombs from Mont ValÉrien, and the crypt became a powder-magazine. The church was shored up, the windows were bricked, and the interior was filled with some 30,000 bundles of straw, as a precaution against the enemy's artillery. But the German invasion left the building as it found it, and the troubles in the immediate future were the work of the ComitÉ central. The soldiers were replaced by National Guards, who began their occupation by industriously sawing off the arms of the crosses upon the pediment, and at the summit of the dome, and converting the emblems of Christianity into flagstaffs for the red flag of the Commune. From the 26th March until the 24th May it waved aloft in all its pride; but upon the latter day it saw the church occupied by the Versaillais, who entered just in time to save the building from the vengeance of the FedÉrÉs, who had threatened it with fire. Like all the other churches and public buildings, the PanthÉon suffered far more from the shells of the Communists than from those of the enemy; and it took some years before all the repairs were executed, and "le plus beau gÂteau de Savoie qu'on est jamais fait en pierre"[78] was restored to its former condition. Some few years ago the Republic suppressed the chaplains, and re-converted the church into what the Parisian press fondly calls "their Westminster"; and the next grand homme who was laid in "the most lovely gÂteau de Savoie" was, oddly enough, Victor Hugo himself. He was buried there immediately after his death; but it is not likely that posterity will ever wish to reverse our judgment of the poet's greatness, or look upon him as anything but one of France's noblest sons.

The sculptures of the pediment, representing that sentimental personage La Patrie accompanied by Liberty and History, are by David d'Angers. La Patrie is throwing crowns about to its great men; Liberty is fabricating the crowns, and History is religiously writing up the names, that there may be no mistake. Civilians stand on the right, messieurs les militaires are relegated to the left, while several young men and youths are labouring vigorously in order to attain in the future their right to be amongst the elect. It is no case of Angels and scales, no weighing of good and bad deeds; the services of Madame la Justice are not even required; it is simply Patriotism which selects and serves up for glory those who have deserved well of their country. The bas-reliefs of the peristyle are by Nanteuil. Here La Patrie, holding a palm in one hand, is guiding with the other one of her sons who has died in her service; while Renown is puffing away at a trumpet to herald forth the deeds of this devoted hero. In another bas-relief Art and Science are honouring the country by their works; a warrior is, one knows not why, refusing the crown tendered to him; and a woman, representing Study and Intellect, is propounding the advantages of Education to the mothers who have brought their children to Madame la Patrie. The bronze doors are the work of Destouches, and recall, in style of ornamentation, those of Ghiberti at Florence.

The interior is, no doubt, grand. Originally lighted by windows in the walls, it is now somewhat dark and sombre, suitable to a temple for the repose of the dead. The walls have been covered with paintings, which partially relieve the dull monotony of the stone; but a building devoid of sunlight must of necessity be gloomy in a city the sky over which is, for half the year, grey and colourless.

Although the first of the 425 steps leading to the summit of the dome is upon the level of the top of the towers of Notre-Dame, the view is not nearly so interesting as from the latter. There is no river winding at our feet, and none of those guardian monsters who gaze at the city from the heights of the cathedral.

The decoration of the interior is now almost completed, and, whether for good or for evil, it is irrevocable. It was not probable that so artistic a nation as the French would allow such a building to remain in an incomplete state; they would rather run the risk of perpetuating failure than leave the work undone. We English are different. S. Paul's is double the age of the PanthÉon, and we are still squabbling over its decoration; we hang up designs and drag them down again, we lay out enormous sums in the embellishment of the altar, and then we spend ever so much more in trying to circumvent our neighbours, and get rid of the ornament. It is a fate not necessarily peculiar to our country or this city, because at Brompton a magnificent church has been designed, built, and decorated in a few years, a model of refinement, beauty, and grandeur. But the embellishment of S. Paul's is attempted by spurts only, and up to the present time has left much to be desired.[79] That may perhaps be an advantage; if nothing is done, there can be nothing to regret. But the French have acted otherwise, and the PanthÉon embellishment is almost an accomplished fact.

With one or two exceptions, the painting of the church has been confided to artists with reputations, wearers of the palm-embroidered coats; the procession of decorators being led by Baron Gros and GÉrard, who covered the dome with pictures in the false, pretentious style of the First Empire, leaving it a glowing mass of bad taste, as a warning to their successors. Baron Gros was a great painter, an early naturalist, as witness his Battlefield of Eylau, in the Salle des Sept CheminÉes of the Louvre. There is an amount of realism in the painting of the dying and the dead, of the snow and the "man of bronze," that is not surpassed by the realists of the day. But when he set to work upon Saints and Angels, he must fain idealise and sentimentalise; and so, instead of having a S. GeneviÈve in modest dress as befits a village maiden, we see a sprawling lady in flowing garments of silk and satin, receiving her guests of kings and queens in a cloudy apartment of the seventh heaven.

The first, or one of the first walls attacked by the decorator was Alexander Cabanel's. Here we have the Great works of S. Louis treated in the academic fashion. Learned in composition and refined in style, with a good deal of historical truth in costume and character, it is nevertheless crude and harsh in colour, unharmonious, stagey, and completely undecorative. The best of the panels is S. Louis learning to read at his mother's knee, which has a certain pathos in the fair child's expression.

The Coronation of Charlemagne by Leo III. in the old basilica of S. Peter, by Henri LÉvy, looks as if it had lost its way, or had been taken to the PanthÉon until a suitable dwelling could be found elsewhere. Like Cabanel's S. Louis, it is neither Classic, nor MediÆval, nor Modern—simply weak and smooth, respectable and historic, after the manner of the Delaroche school. It is a pity, for, in other hands, these subjects would have been a treasure. Think of the charming frescoes by Olivier-Merson in the gallery of the Cour de Cassation of the Palais de Justice, how exquisite is the simplicity of the boy king, and the grave beauty of his mother. The Coronation of Charlemagne is composed as an academician would be sure to conceive the subject. A flight of steps, with the emperor sitting at the top; churchmen and laymen adoring, and an Angel swooping down with a crown. At the bottom of the steps, a warrior standing with sword and shield, and a sitting monk instructing some children from an open book.

Completely opposed to these works are the panels of Puvis de Chavannes, one of the first decorative artists of our time. His painting is vague, and somewhat foggy; his figures are clumsy, thick of ankle, neck, and wrist, but otherwise attenuated to the last degree; and were it not that the far-off people are smaller than those near the spectator, no one would know that they are on different planes, for of aËrial perspective there is none. Yet there is a certain purity of sentiment about this, as in all M. de Chavannes' work, which is almost Archaic. The very dulness of the surface and the opacity of the medium employed render these pictures a suitable wall covering for Soufflot's grandiose classicality. The treatment is dignified, poetic, refined, but at the same time intensely modern and realistic—witness a hen and chickens picking up some grain in the foreground, and the charming vistas of landscape background. The colour is tame, and all the members of the GeneviÈve family are remarkable for plainness, not to say ugliness of face and clumsiness of figure; but the feeling which pervades the whole work is that of a sort of Pagan Renaissance, suitable to Soufflot's "gÂteau de Savoie."

The first of the series, properly entitled La jeunesse et la vie pastorale de Sainte-GeneviÈve represents the maiden praying, while a woodcutter and his wife are looking on. The centre and principal compartment is occupied with the discovery by S. Germain of her little saintship, surrounded by her father and mother and a small and admiring crowd. On the left, boatmen are contemplating the scene from the river bank, while upon the right is an old man trying to bend his knee to receive the good bishop's blessing. A youth, sick unto death, and a poor little beggar are being led to the man of God, and two women hurry up from milking to see what is going on. The Seine flows through the pastures of Nanterre, and Mont ValÉrien smiles down upon the company, not having yet learned the art of war. This is all delightfully pastoral and naÏve. The little maid's face, as she looks up at the good bishop, is sweetness itself; the parents bend their heads, and a neighbour holds up her wee swaddled babe; but the ensemble is marred by the parrot-like profile of S. Germain and the general ugliness of the company. Ugliness is a veritable passion with Puvis de Chavannes, a gospel which he never loses faith in, a partner allied to eccentricity in all his works.

In another panel we see Faith, Hope, and Charity watching over the child's cradle, by which is a lamb, the emblem of innocence, purity, and the pastoral life. Above is a frieze of saints, illustrating the national religious history of France; SS. Paterne of Vannes, ClÉment of Metz, Firmin of Amiens, Lucien of Beauvais, Lucain of Beauce, Martail of Limoges, Solange of Berry, Madeleine and Marthe of Provence, Colombe of Sens, CrÉpin and CrÉpinien of Soissons, Saturnin of Toulouse, Julien of Brioude, Austremoine of Clermont, Trophime of Arles, and Paul of Narbonne.

The picture by Th. Maillot is equally wanting in aËrial perspective, but instead of an obscuring fog overwhelming the good citizens of Paris who are pouring down the "mountain" with S. GeneviÈve's chÂsse, a glaring sun cuts out the figures from the background. The scene represents a procession through what is now the market of the Place Maubert. It was the 12th of January, 1496; so says a manuscript in the BibliothÈque Nationale. Rain had been pouring down incessantly for an unnatural period, although there was then no Eiffel tower upon which to lay the blame. What was to be done? Clearly an appeal must be made to the patron Saint, and her intercession supplicated to stay the flood. And so the bishop, the abbot, and the canons regular and secular, trudged barefooted down the montagne bearing the chÂsse containing the relics of the maid of Nanterre. An account of the event is given in a letter from Erasmus to his friend Nicholas Werner. The sage was ill of a fever at the time, but that did not prevent him from taking part in the procession, and we easily recognise his familiar physiognomy in the foreground of M. Maillot's work. "Il y a trois mois qu'il pleut ici, sans cesse. La Seine Étant sortie de son lit, a inondÉ la campagne et la ville. La chÂsse de Sainte GeneviÈve a ÉtÉ descendue et portÉe en procession À Notre-Dame. L'ÉvÊque, accompagnÉ de son clergÉ et du peuple, est venu au-devant. Dans cette auguste cÉrÉmonie, les chanoines rÉguliers, prÉcÉdÉs de leur abbÉ marchant nu-pieds, conduisaient les reliques et quatre porteurs en chemise Étaient chargÉs de ce prÉcieux fardeau. Depuis ce temps le ciel est si serein qu'il ne peut l'Être davantage."

The bishop is represented with a gilt mitre, the abbot wears a white one. Behind them are the provosts, the military, the magistrates, the canons, and the people, the procession terminating with the king's drummers and trumpeters. The crowd of people seem to be walking, or rather tripping down a very perpendicular street, to cross a zigzag wooden bridge with no side rails. The horizon is close to the top of the frame, so that the chÂsse appears to be falling off the shoulders of the men who are carrying it, and the people seem to be stepping down a steep incline. The colour is bright, and the costumes are picturesque, the whole picture having the effect of an early Flemish work, or of a page torn out of an old manuscript; so early is it in style that it is as incongruous in its place as would be a van Eyck, or a van der Weyden. Imagine Raffaello and Michael Angelo decorating S. Peter's after the manner of Giotto, Botticelli, or Ghirlandajo, and you have no greater incongruity than Maillot's fresco in S. GeneviÈve. Placed in S. Germain l'Auxerrois, or Notre-Dame, the picture would be in keeping with the architecture; in the PanthÉon one feels that the decoration preceded the building.

Totally different in style, but equally out of keeping with the building, are the noble pictures of J. P. Laurens, The last moments and the funeral of the Saint. The artist has endeavoured to depict the semi-barbarous Gallo-Roman period. S. GeneviÈve, old and dying, is surrounded by women who are bringing their children to receive her last blessing. Rich and poor, nobles and serfs, old men and children, matrons and young girls, priests and soldiers—all are tearful at their approaching loss. Splendidly drawn and full of vigour and dramatic power (which are the characteristics of all M. Laurens' works) the pictures are somewhat black in colour; and, by reason of their very strength, they look completely out of harmony with the cold, grey purity of this Classic temple. M. J. P. Laurens is a grand artist, a lover of dramatic effect and movement, but in the Death of S. GeneviÈve he is subdued and reposeful. The grouping of the figures round the bed of the Saint, the wistful gaze of the children, and the prayerful expression of the mothers, are all most truthfully rendered; but might not the Saint have had a little more beauty; might she not have been a little idealised?

M. Bonnat's Martyrdom of S. Denis is well known. The Saint, just decapitated, clutches at his head; upon the block blazes a nimbus of the sun tribe; above is an Angel, hurrying down with a palm and crown; general consternation is depicted upon the faces of the assistants, as might be expected. It is a masculine work, full of power, but over dramatic and heavy in colour.

Of J. E. Delaunay's work we can form no idea yet awhile; he began it, but death cut him off too soon, and another must finish it. One of France's greatest artists, the painter of the Peste À Rom in the Louvre, is not likely to have failed in his designs for the PanthÉon. Baudry was also commissioned, but he, too, went all too soon, or we might have had some panels which would have been fit pendants to those of Puvis de Chavannes.

The Return of Clovis from Tolbiac, by M. Joseph Blanc, is also academic and correct; superb in drawing, and sober of colour, its chief interest is in the fact that it contains contemporary portraits—Gambetta, Arago, Lockroy; and Coquelin figuring as a monk.

Jeanne d'Arc is no more fortunate here than elsewhere; it seems as if she were an impossibility in art. When one contemplates the number of painters, sculptors, poets, and musicians who have essayed her history and sung her praises, one is appalled by the results. One of the most sublime pages of history; the finest character among heroines; the grandest of women, of patriots, and of dreamers; the most modest, the most saint-like, the most unselfish of warriors, la Pucelle seems to oppress everyone who tries to depict any scene from her life. Perhaps the greatest success of modern times is FrÉmiet's fine Renaissance statue in the Place des Pyramids. Very beautiful also is Bastien-Lepage's Jeanne as a whole; but the figure does not possess the nobleness which one attaches to the militant maiden. Certainly M. Lenepveu's compositions form no exception to the general failure of Jeannes d'Arc. The maid is tied to the stake surrounded by a goodly assemblage of faggots; one monk reads, another flings a cross into her hands—as if the poor maid had objected to the cross! Soldiers are all about, and old Rouen at the back is picturesque with its gabled houses, and the cathedral in the distance. A man is just seizing a torch, and you know the end is near; but you are not impressed; you either do not care, or you do not realise the horror. But it is popular with the populace, and so serves one purpose for which it was painted—that of pointing a moral of patriotism and unselfish devotion almost unique but for the recent example of Garibaldi.

Last, but not least, charming in design, refined, and quite in harmony with the style of the building, are the mosaics of A. E. HÉbert, which are among the best works of the artist, and quite exempt from the affectation and sentimentality which, somewhat too often, mar his pictures. These compositions occupy the apse. In the centre Le Christ montre À l'ange de la France les grandes destinÉes du peuple dont il lui confia la garde. Below this are the words: Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat. At the side of the Saviour is the Blessed Virgin interceding for France; near her, the patroness, clad as a shepherdess, with a lamb under her arm, is praying for the city under the symbol of a ship. Above are the following subjects, The baptism of Clovis by S. Remi in the presence of S. Clotilde; S. Louis seated between Justice and Power; Jeanne d'Arc listening to the voices.

The ornamental framing of the several pictures has been executed by a master of decorative art, the late V. Galland. The borders are formed of garlands of flowers in a low scale of colour, which are divided at regular intervals by tablets bearing inscriptions and monograms. On the whole, the decoration of the PanthÉon gives little encouragement to other nations who are desirous of covering large surfaces of wall in their public buildings. The art seems to be lost; for if the greatest of the French painters have, from one reason and another, failed to produce an harmonious scheme of decoration, who is likely to succeed? At best, the church presents a sort of pot-pourri. No schools are so dramatic as the French; and yet these wall paintings fail to impress us in the same way as do those, for example, of the Riccardi Palace, by Benozzo Gozzoli. It is probably the religious spirit which is wanting. We can draw better and paint better than the early Italian or Flemish artists—but the sentiment is lacking; and thus, whether we turn to Paris or MÜnchen, to Berlin or London, we find the decoration of large buildings, and particularly of churches, more or less a failure. Perhaps the worst examples are the terribly dismal, cold, maudlin Nibelung series at MÜnchen, compared to which the PanthÉon is Raffaelesque. Had Puvis de Chavannes been allowed to do the whole church, the result would have been certainly more harmonious, and possibly more edifying; but though gaining in harmony, the frescoes might possibly have lost in variety. Sometimes too much of a good thing results in a wearisome monotony.

Sculpture will also be represented later on by a group of the Revolution, by FalguiÈre; and doubtless we shall have monuments to Victor Hugo, RÉnan, and other grands hommes, from their grateful country. Let us hope the decoration may always be as Catholic as heretofore; for S. Louis, Clovis, GeneviÈve and Jeanne d'Arc form as much a part of the history of France as do Voltaire, Mirabeau, Danton, and Dumouriez. We may not care to sing the "Marseillaise" with Camille Desmoulins, and we may wish we could forget the fourteenth Louis and all the NapolÉons; but it is as foolish to deny their influence upon the nation as to sponge out the fact recorded on a door-head that Louis-Napoleon joined the Louvre and the Tuileries.