The first object of my curiosity in every town is the cathedral. This city possesses a magnificent one. A little description of Lyon, which I have purchased, says, that the nave appears to be of the age of St. Louis, (1226 to 1271), I wanted history, and not conjecture, but this is probably about the truth. There is less ornament, and less ingenuity in the management of the different parts than at Amiens, but the piers are more slender, and more complicated; the bases have more projection, and the capitals are smaller than in that edifice, and I can easily believe it to be a little, though but little later. The choir is more ancient, but I must give you a little description.

The original building consists of a nave with side aisles, a transept without them, a chapel of two arches on each side of the choir, but neither aisle nor chapel in the chevet. The choir is lower than the nave, and there is a rose, or rather a wheel window above it. The chevet is polygonal, and its windows are divided into two parts by a little column, and have a sort of trefoil in the upper part.

The straight part of the choir and the transept have the windows placed by threes, or perhaps it would be better to say, divided into three by small columns, but the parts are not united either externally or internally by a common arch.

At each end of the transept is a fine wheel window, understanding by this term a circular window, in which little columns placed as spokes in a wheel, form the principal part of the composition. I do not know if, when this arrangement was first introduced, the centre was ever left solid, but we have very early specimens, in which it was perforated. Each division between the columns was usually terminated towards the circumference by a trefoil, but sometimes there is a simple or a double arch. By degrees other perforations were made beyond these primary divisions, but still included in a common circle. After a time the spokes ceased to be little columns, and the direct radiating lines became a very small portion of the composition. Other arches and ornaments were introduced, and the former were frequently based upon the circumference instead of appearing to spring from the centre; and lastly, the divisions variously branched seemed to lose all relation to the original idea, except in the general circular form. I have three names to apply to these different distributions, which might form botanically, five species.

1st. Columnar spokes and no exterior openings, as at St. Stephen’s at Beauvais, and the window over the choir at Lyon.

2nd. Columnar spokes and exterior openings. In France we find such at Chartres, and in the end windows of the transept of which I am now treating: to both these I should give the name of wheel windows.

3rd. No columns; the divisions are variously branched, but still exhibiting an appearance of radiation. Such as this we have at Amiens, Beauvais, Lyons, and many other places, and I should appropriate to them the name of rose windows.

4th. Arches and ornaments arising from the circumference as well as from the centre. This disposition gives a squareness to the ends of the divisions which may well merit the name of marigold windows, the cathedrals at Mantes and at Chalons sur Marne, will offer examples.

5th. No radiation preserved in the principal divisions. I do not know that I can cite for this any other example than that at the cathedral at Troyes, and it may, without inconvenience, be left without a name.

I believe these different arrangements succeeded each other nearly in the order I have mentioned, but not uniformly so. In small windows of the same epoch, the disposition is generally more simple than in the large ones, but after the columnar spokes had once been abandoned, it does not appear that they were ever resumed.

The gallery or triforium, of the transept and choir, has semi-circular arches resting on columns almost Corinthian, and on pilasters which might be deemed of the renaissance, if some of the latter were not zig-zag. On the whole, if I had met in the north of France with a building corresponding in character with the choir and transept of the cathedral at Lyon, I should say that it had been erected about the year 1200, or rather earlier, when the first style of pointed architecture was beginning to give way to the second. In the nave, the larger shafts are connected with the masonry of the piers and walls, the smaller are constructed separately. At NÔtre Dame at Dijon, exactly the reverse takes place; there, the large shafts have an independent construction, and the smaller are united with the mass of the work. Some of the pillars next the choir, as well as those of the choir itself, have nearly the ancient Attic base; in others, the Gothic forms are fully developed. The groining of the vaults is oblique, and the last pair of pillars seems to be an addition of the fourteenth century. In the fifteenth century, several chapels were added to the nave; the last and most beautiful of which is that which was built for Charles, Cardinal de Bourbon, who was king of France for four hours. This Charles, Duke de VendÔme, Cardinal Archbishop of Rouen, and legate of Avignon, was born in 1523, put upon the throne in 1589 by the Duke de Mayenne, and died in 1590; is it possible we can have Gothic architecture in this city of so late a date? My guide-book tells me that his brother, Pierre de Bourbon, who finished this chapel, married the daughter of Louis XI. and multiplied the thistle among his ornaments, to signify that the king had made him a ‘cher don.’ Louis XI. died in 1483, and I suspect that my history is not correct. This chapel is entirely in the pointed style, and part of the vaulting exhibits some indication of the manner of our Henry the Seventh’s chapel at Westminster. We find also the bases of adjoining parts on different levels, and mouldings lost and re-appearing, or seeming to pass one behind the other; but I cannot find the complicated arch, so common in the late French Gothic, in any of the ornaments.

The towers of this cathedral are placed, one at each end of the transept. The lower part, and perhaps the whole of what has been executed of the northern, seems to be of the same date with the nave. The southern tower is of the fifteenth century. They are both unfinished, except by a sort of balustrade, on which is laid a modern Italian tiled roof, a termination not at all in harmony with the character of the building.

The portal, including in that term the whole western front, is said to be of the time of Louis XI., who reigned from 1462 to 1483. It hardly seems to me all of one date, I should have assigned to some parts an earlier epoch, but there is a considerable quantity of ornamental work above the doorway, which may well belong to the date assigned. The filling in of the rose window belongs to the third style of Gothic. The idea of the composition seems to have been a square, with a turreted buttress at each angle, crowned with a gable in the middle, and a tower at each extremity, but without any thing below to carry the division of these parts down to the ground. The towers, however, have never been finished, and at present do not rise so high as the gable. On the sides of the nave, the windows of the clerestory are divided into three parts, with three roses above them pyramidally disposed, but not united externally in a common arch.

Besides the cathedral, there is a church dedicated to St. Paul, of Saxon architecture, said to have been built by Saint Sacerdos, in the sixth century, and repaired, first by Ledrade in 802, and afterwards by Hugh the First, in 1103. The ancient work remaining is probably of the last date, but the inside is a poor modern restoration. The intersection is crowned with an octangular tower, ornamented with Norman arches, and a fine cornice with modillions, many of which are sculptured with the heads of men and animals.

The church of St. Nizier is more deserving of attention; it was built by a citizen of the name of Renouard, who begun it in 1300, and finished it before 1315, and we find here most of the characters of the fourth style of Gothic. There are small capitals at the springing of the arches of the nave, but the ribs are carried up and spread upon the vaulting without any thing to mark the termination of the upright part. The Attic base is entirely abandoned, and we have a simple ogee in its place, and the bases of the different parts occur at different levels, though not with all the intricacy which is found in some buildings of a later period.

The vaulting in France seems to have proceeded gradually from the circular to the obtusely pointed arch, and afterwards to the more acute; it then flattened again in elliptic curves. I did not think that the latter change had taken place so early as the beginning of the fourteenth century, but as we find some examples at St. Nizier, we may probably assign to it this date. This church may be considered as an important evidence to fix the earliest introduction of these three peculiarities of the later Gothic; to all of which I should otherwise attribute a much more recent period. The windows of the clerestory are leafy, and the ribs of the roof are disposed so as to have something of the same effect.

As we proceed south we observe more evident traces of the imitation of Roman mouldings and ornaments, but this is most conspicuous in the earlier edifices. In proportion as the pointed architecture obtained a distinct style and character, these smaller parts were made to correspond with the general design, and forms quite peculiar to it were introduced. Thus we find considerable evidence of the imitation of Roman art in the cathedral, but none in St. Nizier.

One of the most curious antiquities of Lyon is the church of Aynai, a name, according to the Tableau de Lyon, derived from Athenas; it is situated a little out of the town on the long point of land which divides the Saone from the Rhone. The building was originally founded by St. Badoul in the fourth century, but destroyed by the Saracens in the eighth, and the present edifice was begun in the tenth, and perhaps not finished till 1070. The outside is ornamented with a sort of mosaic of red brick, or tiles inserted into a whitish stone. The western tower has a pyramidal roof, and a smaller quarter pyramid at each angle. All these seem to me to belong to the original construction. The inside forms a cross, with a dome at the intersection supported on four granite columns formed from two ancient ones, each of which has been sawn in two; each piece is about thirteen feet six inches high. They are said to have decorated the altar of a temple of Augustus. Over the dome is a central tower. The choir is little more than a semi-circular recess, with a semidome: this arrangement alone is a proof of very high antiquity. The ancient apsis was nothing more than a large niche, and the complete development of the cross, in the plans of our churches, is not prior to the eleventh century.

There is a building close to the cathedral called the Hotel de ChevriÈre, supposed to be of the same date as the church at Aynai. It is ornamented like that edifice, with red tiles inserted in the masonry, and resembles it in some other peculiarities of its architecture. It has been much cut up by modern alterations, but the original disposition was not perfectly regular. The principal decoration arises from a row of little semi-circular arches, some of which rest on Corinthian-like columns, and others on small and unornamented corbels, under each of which was a square recess containing a statue. There is a large arched doorway, but all the present windows are modern, and I doubt if there were originally any windows towards the street. Tradition asserts that this building was once inhabited by St. Thomas À Becket.

Besides these antiquities, Lyon boasts some remains of Roman magnificence, which however, in their present condition, are more interesting to the antiquary than to the architect. The principal is an aqueduct, a considerable fragment of which I visited, but it is so surrounded by high stone walls, that it was impossible to obtain a good view. This aqueduct is the more curious, as according to M. Millin, it is conducted across three of the deeper valleys, in leaden pipes, like syphons reversed, descending the hill on one side, and ascending on the other. I believe we have no other example of such a disposition in the Roman aqueducts, and it has even been asserted that the ancients did not know that water would always rise to its level.

There is an ancient crypt under the church of St. Irene, which is attributed, perhaps on no solid foundation, to the Romans. It is a continued vault supported on columns and arches. There is not sufficient character in its architecture to enable me to pronounce on the time of its erection, but I should doubt its being prior to the eleventh century.

Let me now conduct you to modern objects; a fine old convent has been converted into a museum; the suite of rooms being disposed round a quadrangle. These large convents have been very convenient for public purposes. I wish we had preserved some of them for that use in England. This at Lyon has twenty-one windows in a range towards the Place des Terreaux. Fragments of architecture and sculpture, altars and inscriptions, principally found in the neighbourhood, form a very respectable collection of antiquities. The building includes also a gallery of paintings, which, if it cannot boast any of the masterpieces of art, yet contains many paintings worth attention. The catalogue enumerates Rubens and Guido among the artists, but I saw no production of either. M. FrÈre Jean, a merchant of this city, conducted me there, in company with an artist of the name of Epinat, and introduced me to M. Hurtault, the director, who is a very able antiquary. I afterwards dined with M. FrÈre Jean, who is a very pleasant, friendly man, at his country house, if one may apply the expression to a habitation within the city. It has a nice garden, and commands a noble view, extending to the distant Alps. I endeavoured to persuade him and M. Epinat, that Napoleon was really at St. Helena, but I believe I left them incredulous. They did not seem, however, very confident, that it was the English who helped him back from Elba. This is the first time I have met any Frenchman willing to entertain a doubt on that subject.

An Englishman travelling in France, is frequently struck with the total deficiency, even among respectable merchants and artists, of that sort of general knowledge, which might enable them decidedly to reject any fable that the government or a party leader may endeavour to impose upon their credulity. I have heard here, as a most certain and authentic piece of intelligence, from one who boasted that he had been in London, that Napoleon had escaped from St. Helena, and was about to return to France at the head of an immense army of Americans; that the latter had already declared war against England, and taken Gibraltar.

There are many beautiful spots in the neighbourhood of Lyon, and indeed the situation of the city is one which affords great variety of scene. It is placed at the junction of two rivers, one of which passes through a romantic valley, between two lofty rocks, the other coasts the hills under steep banks, leaving a rich and fertile plain on the opposite side. These hills are adorned in many parts with country houses of great variety of form, which are often very picturesque, though perhaps none of them are individually beautiful. At some distance are higher hills, or rather mountains, which by the contrast of form, and rich aerial tints, set off the cultivated plain and slopes of the immediate neighbourhood; here and there a point of the Alps appears above them, marked only by the brilliant whiteness of the snow with which it is covered, and belonging, in appearance, rather to the heaven than to the earth.

My pleasantest walk was on the bank of the Rhone. For the whole length of the town, there is a fine broad quay along the shore, and the road to Geneva continues for some miles by the side of the stream, offering fine views of the river, and of the white summits of the distant Alps. A steep gravelly hill, presenting occasionally perpendicular cliffs, bounds the road on the left, but receding from the town, the slope becomes more gradual, and coffee-houses and gardens in ascending terraces, present themselves soon after leaving the city. The most celebrated of these is the CafÉ de Gaillet, where the Lyonnese drink beer, eat bread and cheese, or sweet cakes, and take ices. Some amuse themselves under the shade of the orange trees; others seek the shelter of a noble saloon, I suppose 150 feet long, and 40 feet broad, and ornamented with looking-glasses. If the style of decoration be French, it is certainly good of its kind; and besides, the taste for gaiety and glitter is extremely well exercised in a coffee-house. On a fine Sunday afternoon all the population of Lyon, in their gayest attire, seem to come out on this road. In London the people scatter themselves on such an occasion in all directions; in these French towns all seem to direct their steps to one point, and pains are taken by the government or the community, to make that point agreeable. This coffee-house has however at present, one disadvantage; the garden is on a terrace level with the saloon, and a row of young plane trees by the side of the road below, is just of a height to shut out the prospect from the whole range. Another coffee-house, which has its little summer houses and Chinese pavilions scattered about at different elevations, is better in this respect, but inferior in every other.

At my inn, the Quatre Nations, there is a table d’hÔte rather too early for my convenience. When there, I generally find some one whom I recognize as the companion of some former portion of my journey, but unfortunately none of those who pleased me the most. Comparing the peasantry of France with that of England, I should say there is less of prompt and servile obedience, where you think you have a right to command, but greatly more attention and real politeness, where you have no such claim. In those of a class a little superior, or at least who think themselves so, the French have not the same advantage. In all classes there seems to be much more freedom of remark than in England, and sometimes such remarks as would put an Englishman out of humour. In the little intercourses of life the Frenchman has the appearance of being the most good humoured, if not the most polite. I get laughed at for my pronunciation, and frequently perhaps by those who would themselves be ridiculed at Paris. One of the guests amused himself with talking to me in bad French, just as you sometimes talk bad English to children. Another of the party found fault with this, telling him that he would be better understood by speaking correctly, but slowly, and distinctly, without saying parlier, entendier, and without using verbs instead of substantives. “But,” replied the former, “I do not say parlier, entendier, nor do I use verbs for substantives, I only make use of the participle instead of the infinitive, and I confound the genders, as this gentleman does.” I observed that these people in their conversation almost always sounded the r of the infinitive mood.

I went to the theatre at Lyon; here I first saw what I am told is common in the south of France, a pit without seats. The theatre is simple and good, because without affectation, and where the artist goes straight forward to his object, the result may not be admirable, but can never be ridiculous. The acting was respectable, but my bile was excited by some officers in the boxes, who insisted that every thing should be conducted at their good pleasure; and somewhat also by the people for submitting to their impertinence. They were furiously loyal, but it is impossible such men can be friends of a constitutional government. Liberty is out of the question, they are fit for nothing but to be the tools of a military despotism.

I have already mentioned a crypt under the church dedicated to St. Irene, which is said to be of Roman construction. At the same place I was shown an opening, now boarded up, which leads to a space containing, if you believe the tradition of the place, the bones of 19,000 martyrs, without reckoning women and children, who, as my conductress observed, must have been at least as many more. There is also a well full of relics, but I did not understand whether these were included in the previous number, or an addition to it.

South of Lyon we may begin to observe the constructions in PisÉ, which I suspect would not suit a climate so wet as ours; the material seems to be gravel and clay, formed into blocks in a sort of mould on the work itself, and separated by pretty thick beds of mortar. In some districts these blocks are pretty regular parallelopipeda, about six feet long and three thick; in others, they are very irregularly shaped, like CyclopÆan masonry.