|
By Ethan Gilsdorf
During the early 1870s, food and provisions became desperately scarce
in Paris. German forces had cut off supply lines. Canals and aqueducts
bringing fresh water into the city had been diverted or destroyed. It
is said residents were so hungry that they slaughtered zoo animals for
food.
Such were the brutal effects of the siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian
War. But Parisians, dissatisfied with the peace treaty, turned their anger
into civil war. Working class Communards fought against the French government.
The city still burned.
It was not until the slaughter of some 30,000 Parisians by National Guard
troops that the Paris Commune ended and attention finally turned to rebuilding
the capital’s infrastructure and its citizens’ morale. Quite unexpectedly,
a wealthy benefactor, art collector and Francophile named Sir Richard
Wallace, son of the fourth marquis of Hertford, would play an important
role in the city’s resurrection.
Born in London but having spent most of his youth and adulthood in Second
Empire Paris, the expatriate Wallace (1818-1890) enjoyed a life of privilege.
Yet he also witnessed the ravages of the hemorrhaging city first hand.
When the smoke finally cleared and he left the enclave of his chateau
at Bagatelle, Wallace was shocked by the desperate shortage of clean,
fresh, drinkable water.
The philanthropist sought to remedy the situation. His goal: to make potable
water available to Parisians in every neighborhood. (An auxiliary goal
was, in the words of a publication from 1876, “to make less dreadful the
temptation of bad wine.”) Wallace’s solution was to create public drinking
fountains, similar to what he had seen in England, for every city quartier.
The first was installed on Boulevard de la Villette. By the end of 1872
he had donated 50 (or roughly two per arrondissement) to the city, which
deemed them a success and soon added 30 more. Each fountain cost 675 francs
to build; Wallace also donated funds for their upkeep. A foundry in Haute-Marne,
a company that still exists, cast them. Today, either 74 or 77 fountains,
depending on how they’re counted, remain as reminders of both Wallace’s
generosity and Paris’ chaotic past. 
But these fountains were never meant to be simply utilitarian sources
of water. In a day when function held its own against form, Wallace devised
a list of criteria to which his fountains ought to conform. First and
foremost, they had to be beautiful to look at, clearly visible from the
street and easily accessible to the public. Another factor was how efficient
they were to produce, install and maintain, but never at the expense of
aesthetics.
From Wallace’s own sketches, sculptor Charles-Auguste Lebourg first created
a “grand modèle” (large model) fountain. Said to have been inspired by
the Fontaine des Innocents at Les Halles, Lebourg’s 8.9-foot-high form
now seems more like sculpture than public works. Indeed, it is also a
kind of shrine to the four virtues of Simplicity, Temperance, Charity
and Goodness, which are represented by four toga-clad figures. These female
pillars, called caryatids, are each 2.4 feet high. They stand upon a cruciform
stone base and hexagonal pedestal, holding an elaborate dome above their
heads. They face in four different directions, with their backs to each
other. Falling out of the dome into the space behind their backs is a
steady stream of water, appearing like an afterthought. Users who even
notice the trickle must awkwardly reach between the females to get at
it. Despite the fountain’s overall weight and materials—1,345 pounds of
cast iron—the ladies seem light-footed if not impatient to toss that dome
off their heads and escape their fate as water bearers.
This “grand modèle” is Wallace’s most common and recognizable fountain
design, but he also had made another version, the so-called “appliqué”
fountain. Set flat into a wall facade, this type was also based on a Renaissance
design. From a semi-circular pediment juts a naiad’s head, which spouts
water into a basin set between two pillars. Wallace created this second
design because it would be “less costly; could be installed in all the
city halls, hospitals, barracks, ministries and other public buildings;
and would yield a great service without taking up too much space.” Sadly,
only one example of this type has survived Paris’ growing pains (it can
be found at the crossroads of Rue Geoffroy-Saint-Hilaire and Rue Cuvier,
5th, at the western entrance to the Jardin des Plantes).
The city later commissioned two other types: the so-called “petit modèle”
and the four-column model. The first is a four-sided, 4.3-foot-high obelisk
with push-button spout and emblazoned with a relief of the seal of Paris
(castle, ship, laurel and oak motifs); the second is nearly identical
to the “grand modèle” except classical columns replace the female figures.
Though examples of each of these four models exist today, purists consider
only the large and appliqué models to be genuine Wallaces, since the latter
two designs were installed without Wallace’s direct support and blessing.
“It’s not so much about making a pure distinction between ‘real’ and ‘fake’
Wallace fountains but rather remembering the true origin of each,” writes
Anne Savoy on her website “Le site web des Wallace” (http://membres.lycos.fr/savoy/).
Savoy’s French website offers perhaps the most comprehensive background
on Wallace fountains, from the use of water throughout history to each
model’s exact technical specifications.
From Savoy’s site we learn that the fountains flow, in general, from March
to the beginning of December—that is, when danger of ice has passed—though
an informal inspection of fountains reveals that several remain shut off
year-round, or else are broken. Each fountain was once equipped with a
cup attached to a chain, from which passersby could directly drink, but
for obvious hygiene reasons these were removed in 1952. Nowadays one does
not often see people drinking from them so much as admiring them, or pausing
to ponder their history and purpose—if they notice them at all. Back in
the 19th century, the generous size and public location were intended
to draw one’s attention. Now, however, it seems their ornate forms are
rather lost in the jumble of cars, storefronts and billboards (plus their
dark green color camouflages them nicely, when you look at them against
a backdrop of park benches and trees).
When you do notice one, careful examination does reward the eye. First,
the caryatids may seem identical, but in fact among the four figures there
are slight differences in the way a knee is bent or fabric is draped.
Moving on to the fountain’s pedestal and scrollwork, you’ll find fantastic
detailing in the form of sea shells, fish and floral patterns. At the
dome’s peak, sea monsters wrap themselves around the spike of the finial.
On the base, some fountains still bear the stamp of the sculptor and foundry—“Sculpteur
Charles Le Bourg 1872 Fonderie Val d’Osne”—but the name “Wallace” appears
nowhere. It’s a shame his name isn’t better marked or even remembered.
If people have heard of Richard Wallace, it’s more likely as the inheritor
of an impressive collection of art on public display at the Hertford House
museum in London.
Still, even if Wallace is largely unknown himself, evidence of his legacy
has spread far, not only to the Bois de Boulogne, where Boulevard Richard
Wallace pays tribute to his gift to the city, but throughout France and
abroad. Four of his fountains can be found in Bordeaux and others ended
up in Switzerland, Mozambique and South Africa. Maurice Chevalier and
Brigitte Bardot ordered reproductions for their homes. La Poste, the French
postal service, released a .58E “Fontaine Wallace” stamp in 2001. No one
seems to know how one of the fountains made its way to St. George’s, Grenada,
but a restored version of a smashed “grand modèle” was re-installed in
August 2002 on the grounds of that city’s Alliance Française. Which proves
that even distant lands desire a little piece of Paris to decorate their
boulevards and courtyards.
|