An Autobiography [117]
utility--total inversion, as it appears to me, of the fundamental principle which ought to govern all classes of architectural structures. This is, unfortunately, too evident in most of our public buildings. See, for instance, our new Law Courts.
One thing I was especially struck with at Nismes--the ease with which some thousands of people might issue, without hindrance, from the Amphitheatre. The wedge-shaped passages radiate from the centre, and, widening outwards, would facilitate the egress of an immense crowd. Contrast this with the difficulty of getting out of any modern theatre or church in case of alarm or fire. Another thing is remarkable--the care with which the huge blocks of magnesian limestone* [footnote... I believe Dolomite is the proper geological term. This fine material abounds in this part of France, and has materially contributed to the durability of the Roman mason work. ...] have been selected. Some of the stone slabs are eighteen feet long; they roof over the corridors; yet they still retain the marks of the Roman chisel. Every individual chip is as crisp as on the day on which it was made; even the delicate "scribe" marks, by which the mason some 1900 years ago lined out his work on the blocks of stone he was about to chip into its required form, are still perfectly distinct.
This wonderfully durable stone is of the same material as that employed by lithographers. Though magnesian, it is of a different quality from that employed in building our Houses of Parliament. As this was carefully selected, the latter was carelessly unselected. It was quarried at random, in the most ignorant way; some of it proved little better than chalk; and though all sorts of nostrums have been tried, nothing will cure the radical defect. This, however, is a wide digression from my subject of the admirable mason work, and the wonderful skill and forethought employed in erecting that superb arena and the other Roman buildings at Nismes.
I proceeded to Marseilles, where I had some business to transact with Philip Taylor and Company, the engineering firm. They were most kind and attentive to me while there, and greatly added to the enjoyment of my visit to that remarkable city. From Marseilles I proceeded to Toulon, the last of the marine dockyards I had to visit. There was no railway between the places at that time, and it was accordingly necessary that I should drive along the usual road. In the course of my journey to Toulon I went through the Pass of Col d'Ollioulles. It was awfully impressive. The Pass appeared to consist of a mighty cleft between two mountains; the result of some convulsion of Nature. There was only room for the carriage road to pass between the cliffs. The ruins of a Saracenic castle stood on the heights to guard the passage. It was certainly the most romantic scene I had ever beheld.
Looking down into the deep cleft below me, at the bottom of which ran a turbulent stream, I saw the narrow road along which our carriage was to pass. And then suddenly I emerged in full sight of the Mediterranean, with the calm blue heavens resting over the deep blue sea. There were palms, cactuses, and orange trees, mixed with olive groves. The fields were full of tulips and narcissuses, and the rocks by the roadside were covered with boxwood and lavender. Everything gave evidence of the sunny South. I had got a glimpse of the Mediterranean a few days before; but now I saw it in its glory.
I arrived in due time at Toulon. The town is not very striking in itself. It is surrounded by an amphitheatre of mountains of hard magnesian limestone. These are almost devoid of vegetation. This it is which gives so arid an aspect to this part of the coast. Facing the south, the sun's rays, reflected from the bare surface of the rocks, place one at mid-day as if in the focus of a great burning mirror, and send every one in quest of shade. This intense temperature has its due effect upon the workers in the dockyard. I found the place far inferior to the others which I had visited. The heat seemed
One thing I was especially struck with at Nismes--the ease with which some thousands of people might issue, without hindrance, from the Amphitheatre. The wedge-shaped passages radiate from the centre, and, widening outwards, would facilitate the egress of an immense crowd. Contrast this with the difficulty of getting out of any modern theatre or church in case of alarm or fire. Another thing is remarkable--the care with which the huge blocks of magnesian limestone* [footnote... I believe Dolomite is the proper geological term. This fine material abounds in this part of France, and has materially contributed to the durability of the Roman mason work. ...] have been selected. Some of the stone slabs are eighteen feet long; they roof over the corridors; yet they still retain the marks of the Roman chisel. Every individual chip is as crisp as on the day on which it was made; even the delicate "scribe" marks, by which the mason some 1900 years ago lined out his work on the blocks of stone he was about to chip into its required form, are still perfectly distinct.
This wonderfully durable stone is of the same material as that employed by lithographers. Though magnesian, it is of a different quality from that employed in building our Houses of Parliament. As this was carefully selected, the latter was carelessly unselected. It was quarried at random, in the most ignorant way; some of it proved little better than chalk; and though all sorts of nostrums have been tried, nothing will cure the radical defect. This, however, is a wide digression from my subject of the admirable mason work, and the wonderful skill and forethought employed in erecting that superb arena and the other Roman buildings at Nismes.
I proceeded to Marseilles, where I had some business to transact with Philip Taylor and Company, the engineering firm. They were most kind and attentive to me while there, and greatly added to the enjoyment of my visit to that remarkable city. From Marseilles I proceeded to Toulon, the last of the marine dockyards I had to visit. There was no railway between the places at that time, and it was accordingly necessary that I should drive along the usual road. In the course of my journey to Toulon I went through the Pass of Col d'Ollioulles. It was awfully impressive. The Pass appeared to consist of a mighty cleft between two mountains; the result of some convulsion of Nature. There was only room for the carriage road to pass between the cliffs. The ruins of a Saracenic castle stood on the heights to guard the passage. It was certainly the most romantic scene I had ever beheld.
Looking down into the deep cleft below me, at the bottom of which ran a turbulent stream, I saw the narrow road along which our carriage was to pass. And then suddenly I emerged in full sight of the Mediterranean, with the calm blue heavens resting over the deep blue sea. There were palms, cactuses, and orange trees, mixed with olive groves. The fields were full of tulips and narcissuses, and the rocks by the roadside were covered with boxwood and lavender. Everything gave evidence of the sunny South. I had got a glimpse of the Mediterranean a few days before; but now I saw it in its glory.
I arrived in due time at Toulon. The town is not very striking in itself. It is surrounded by an amphitheatre of mountains of hard magnesian limestone. These are almost devoid of vegetation. This it is which gives so arid an aspect to this part of the coast. Facing the south, the sun's rays, reflected from the bare surface of the rocks, place one at mid-day as if in the focus of a great burning mirror, and send every one in quest of shade. This intense temperature has its due effect upon the workers in the dockyard. I found the place far inferior to the others which I had visited. The heat seemed