(MUSIC) MOZART: String Quintet in E Flat Major
What witty, intelligent faces.
They are the successful dramatists of 18th-century Paris,
and their busts stand in the foyer of the French National Theatre
that theatre which for a hundred years
did so much to promote good sense and humanity.
And here is the wittiest and most intelligent of them all.
In fact, at a certain level, one of the most intelligent men that have ever lived,
Voltaire.
He's smiling...
the smile of reason.
You know, there's a character called Fontenelle - a French philosopher -
who, by living to be nearly a hundred,
bridged the 17th and 18th centuries,
the world of Newton and the world of Voltaire.
He held a position known as Perpetual Secretary at the Academy of Science.
He told an interviewer that he had never run and never lost his temper.
The interviewer asked him if he had ever laughed.
He said, "No, I have never made ha-ha."
But he smiled
and so do all the other distinguished writers, philosophers, dramatists and hostesses
of the French 18th century.
It seems to us shallow.
We've got into deep water in the last 50 years.
We feel that people ought to be more passionate,
more convinced or, as the current jargon has it, more committed.
The smile of reason may seem to betray
a certain incomprehension of the deeper human emotions,
but it didn't preclude some strongly-held beliefs.
Belief in natural law, belief in justice,
belief in toleration.
Not bad.
The philosophers of the Enlightenment
pushed European civilisation some steps up the hill...
..and in theory, at any rate,
this gain was consolidated throughout the 19th century.
Up to the 1930s, people were supposed not to burn witches
and other members of minority groups,
or extract confessions by torture,
or pervert the course of justice,
or go to prison for speaking the truth,
except, of course, during wars.
This we owe to the movement known as the Enlightenment
and above all, to Voltaire.
Although the victory of reason and tolerance was won in France
it was initiated in England
and the French philosophers never concealed their debt
to the country that, in a score of years,
had produced Newton, Locke and the Bloodless Revolution.
When Voltaire visited England in the 1720s,
it had enjoyed a quarter of a century of very vigorous intellectual life,
and although Swift, Pope and Addison
might give and receive some hard knocks in print,
they weren't physically beaten up by the hired gangs of offended noblemen,
or sent to prison for satirical references to the Establishment.
Both these things happened to Voltaire,
and as a result he took refuge in England in 1726.
It was the age of the great country houses,
and in 1722 the most splendid of all
had just been completed for Marlborough.
There it is - Blenheim Palace.
(MUSIC) HANDEL: Firework Music, Minuet II
A superb setting, but not everybody's idea of a pleasant country retreat.
When Voltaire saw it, he exclaimed
"What a great heap of stone,
without charm or taste!"
Well, it was built as a monument to military glory,
and the architect, Sir John Vanbrugh, was a natural romantic
a castle builder who didn't care a fig for good taste and classical decorum.
18th-century England was the paradise of the amateur,
by which I mean men rich enough and grand enough to do whatever they liked,
who, nevertheless, did things that require a good deal of expertise.
One of the things they chose to do
was architecture.
Wren began as a brilliant amateur
and, although he made himself into a professional,
he retained the amateur's freedom of approach to every problem,
and two of his chief successors were amateurs by any definition.
Sir John Vanbrugh wrote plays,
but he also designed the vast and complicated structure of Blenheim.
Lord Burlington was a connoisseur and a collector and arbiter of taste.
The sort of character nowadays much despised,
but he built this small masterpiece of domestic architecture - Chiswick.
(MUSIC) MUDGE: Concerto in D Major
One may wonder how many professional architects today
could handle these problems of design
as expertly as Lord Burlington has done.
These steps and colonnades Look very imposing,
but the building behind them is quite small,
about the size of an old parsonage.
In fact, Chiswick was not meant for day-to-day existence,
but for social occasions -
conversation, intrigue,
political gossip and a little music.
Of course, it's only a miniature,
a kind of glorified jewel box,
and yet I don't feel that it's at all pinched or constricted.
In a way, these 18-century amateurs
were the inheritors of the Renaissance ideal of universal man
and it's significant that the typical universal man of the Renaissance, Alberti
had also been an architect.
If we may still consider architecture to be a social art
an art by which men may be, enabled to lead a fuller life
then perhaps the architect should touch life at many points
and not be too narrowly specialised.
18th-century amateurism ran through everything:
chemistry, philosophy, botany and natural history.
It produced men like the indefatigable Sir Joseph Banks,
who refused to go on Captain Cook's second voyage
because he wasn't allowed to have two horn players
to make music for him during dinner.
There was a freshness and a freedom of mind in these men
that is entirely lost in the rigidly-controlled classifications of the professional.
And they were independent,
with all the advantages and disadvantages to society that result from that condition.
They wouldn't have fitted into our modern Utopia.
I recently heard a Professor of Sociology
say on television,
"What's not prohibited must be made compulsory."
Not a suggestion that would have attracted those eminent visitors
Voltaire and Rousseau
who drew inspiration from our philosophy and our institutions...
..and our tolerance.
But as usual, there was another side to this shining medal,
and of this we have an exceptionally vivid record in the work of Hogarth.
(MUSIC) In the days of my youth I could bill like a dove
(MUSIC) Falala, la, la, lalarala, la-di
(MUSIC) In the days of her youth she could bill like a dove
(MUSIC) Like a sparrow at all times was ready for love
(MUSIC) Falalala, la-di, falalala, la-di
(MUSIC) Falala, lalala, la-la-la-di
(MUSIC) The life of all mortals in kissing should pass
(MUSIC) Falala, la, la, lalarala, la-di
(MUSIC) The life of all mortals in kissing should pass
(MUSIC) Lip to lip while we're young
(MUSIC) Then the lip to the glass
(MUSIC) Falalala, la-di
(MUSIC) Falala, lalala, la-la-la-di (MUSIC)
Drinking, wenching, stealing...
No more than today, I suppose,
but rather more openly.
All this coarse life
is painted with great delicacy.
And although Hogarth's compositions are rather a muddle
one can't deny that he had a gift of narrative invention.
In later life, he did a series of pictures of an election
that are easy to follow, and a very convincing comment
on the much-cracked-up democracy of 18th-century England.
Here's the polling booth,
with imbeciles and moribunds being persuaded to make their marks.
And an old soldier
loyally voting for the Establishment
with his hook.
And here's the successful candidate like a fat, powdered capon,
borne in triumph by his bruisers,
who are still carrying on their private feuds.
And I must confess that Hogarth conquers my prejudice by this blind fiddler,
a real stroke of imagination outside the usual range of his moralising journalism.
The truth is, I think, that 18th-century England
in the aftermath of its middle-class revolution
had created two societies very remote from one another.
One was the society of modest country gentlemen -
of which we have a perfect record in the work of a painter called Devis -
comically stiff and expressionless in their cold, empty rooms.
True, it developed into the world of Jane Austen,
which was not lacking in critical intelligence,
but was somewhat deficient in energy.
The other was the urban society, of which Hogarth has left us many records.
Plenty of animal spirits,
but not what we could call by any stretch "civilisation".
I hope you won't think it too facile if I compare this print,
called A Midnight Modern Conversation...
..with a picture painted in the same decade called A Reading From Moliere
by the French artist de Troy.
In this series I've tried to go beyond the narrower meaning of the word "civilised",
but all the same, it has its value
and one can't deny that this is a picture of civilised life.
Even the furniture contrives to be both beautiful and comfortable at the same time.
And one reason is that
whereas all the characters in Hogarth's Midnight Conversation are male,
five out of the seven figures in the de Troy are women.
In talking about the 12th and 13th centuries,
I said how great an advance in civilisation was achieved
by a respect for feminine qualities...
..and the same was true of 18th-century France.
I think it absolutely essential to civilisation
that the male and female principles be kept in balance,
and I've observed that where, at a party, men and women hive off into separate groups,
the level of civilisation declines.
In 18th-century France, the influence of women was benevolent
and, on the whole, creative
and it produced that curious institution of the 18th century - the salon.
Those small social gatherings of intelligent men and women
drawn from all over Europe,
who met in the rooms of gifted hostesses like Madame du Deffand
were for 40 years the centres of European civilisation.
They were less poetical than the court of Urbino,
but intellectually a good deal more alert.
The ladies who presided over them were neither very young nor very rich.
Here's Madame Geoffrin, eating dinner while her servant reads to her.
We know exactly what they looked like, because French artists of the time
have portrayed them without flattery,
but with a penetrating eye for their subtlety of mind.
How did these ladies do it?
Not by beauty or physical charms.
They did it by human sympathy,
by making people feel at ease, by tact.
The success of the Parisian salon also depended on two accidental factors.
The Court and government of France were not situated in Paris
but here, in Versailles.
(MUSIC) Baroque trumpet and strings
It was a separate world.
Indeed, the courtiers of Versailles always referred to it
as "ce pays-ci" - "this country of ours".
And to this day, I enter this huge, unfriendly courtyard
with mixed feelings - panic and fatigue,
as if I were going into an alien world.
But the remoteness of Versailles had this good result:
that Parisian society was free from the stultifying rituals of Court procedure
and the trivial day-to-day preoccupations of politics.
The other thing that made 18th-century salons a source of enlightenment
was that the French upper classes were not destructively rich.
They'd lost most of their money in a financial crash
brought about by a Scottish wizard named David Law.
As I have said several times a margin of wealth is helpful to civilisation,
but for some mysterious reason, great wealth is destructive.
I suppose that some discipline and economy is as necessary in art as it is in life.
Also, great display is heartless.
The south front of Versailles is a masterpiece of architectural design,
but it doesn't touch us like something loved and familiar.
For example,
look at Chardin the greatest painter of mid-18th'-century France.
No-one has ever had a surer taste in colour and design.
Every area, every interval, every tone
gives one the feeling of perfect rightness.
Well, Chardin didn't depict the upper classes,
still less the Court.
He sometimes found his subjects in the thrifty bourgeoisie
- and what sweet people they are -
sometimes among the working class, where I think he was happiest
because he loved the basic design of pots and barrels.
They are noble in a way that a piece of Louis XV furniture couldn't be.
Chardin's pictures show the qualities immortalised in verse
by La Fontaine and Moliere
- good sense, a good heart, an approach to human relationships both simple and delicate -
and they show that these survived into the mid-18th century
and survive to this day among skilled workmen
- what the French call "artisans" -
who still maintain the character of French civilisation.
The salons where the brightest intellects of France were assembled
were more luxurious, but still not overwhelming.
The furniture was in a style that may seem to us rather extravagant,
but the rooms were of a normal size.
People could feel that they had some human relationship with one another.
After the Law crash, many of the French upper classes couldn't afford houses in Paris
and lived in apartments.
Comfort and elegance took the place of grandeur.
(MUSIC) MOZART: Piano Quartet in G Minor
We have a complete record of how people lived in mid-18th-century France,
because there were innumerable minor artists
who were content to record the contemporary scene,
instead of expressing themselves.
Here's part of a series modestly known as The Monument Of Costume
small masterpieces of design and execution.
The ladies have come to see their friend who is about to have a baby.
"Don't be afraid, dear friend," they say.
In this painting by Boucher, a lady is dressing by the fire,
her maid asking her what she is going to wear.
And here, also by Boucher, is the family sitting by the window
having their morning coffee, or more likely chocolate,
the little girl showing off her toys.
Well, nobody but a sourpuss or a hypocrite
would deny that this is an agreeable way of life.
Why do so many of us instinctively react against it?
Because we think it based on exploitation?
Well, do we really think that far?
If so, it's like being sorry for animals and not being a vegetarian.
Our whole society is based on different sorts of exploitation.
Or is it because we believe that this kind of life was shallow and trivial?
Well, that simply isn't true.
The men who enjoyed it were no fools.
Talleyrand said that only those who experienced the life of 18th-century France
had known the "douceur de vivre" - the sweetness of living -
and Talleyrand was certainly one of the most intelligent men who have ever taken up politics.
The people who frequented the salons of 18th-century France
were not merely a group of fashionable good-timers.
They were the outstanding philosophers and scientists of the time.
They wanted to publish their very revolutionary views on religion.
They wanted to curtail the power of a lazy king and an irresponsible government.
They wanted to change society.
In the end, they got rather more of a change than they'd bargained for.
The men who met each other in the salons of Madame du Deffand and Madame Geoffrin
were engaged in a great work - here it is.
An Encyclopaedia, or Dictionnaire Raisonné Des Sciences, Des Arts, Et Des Métiers.
It was intended to advance mankind by conquering ignorance.
It was a gigantic enterprise, as you can see.
Eventually - this is only a small part of it - there were 24 folio volumes
and, of course, it involved a great many contributors,
but the dynamo of the whole undertaking
was Diderot.
There he is, in a picture by van Loo - smiling the smile of reason - which enraged him.
He said he'd been made to look like an old cocotte
who was still trying to be agreeable.
He was a many-sided man, very intelligent
- a novelist, a philosopher, even an art critic, the great supporter of Chardin -
and in the Encyclopaedia he wrote articles on everything, from Aristotle to artificial flowers.
The aims of the Encyclopaedia seem harmless enough to us,
but, you know, authoritarian governments don't like dictionaries.
They live by lies and by bamboozling abstractions,
and they can't afford to have words accurately defined.
The Encyclopaedia was twice suppressed,
and by its ultimate triumph, the polite reunions in these elegant salons
became precursors of revolutionary politics.
They were also precursors of science.
The illustrated supplement of the Encyclopaedia is full of pictures of technical processes.
Here is one of the plates, for example,
showing the...polishing of wood.
And then another.
All the beginning, the beginning here,
shows the making of silk for the tapestry,
and this is the actual...dyeing of the wool
for the Gobelin tapestries.
And throughout the book,
there are extremely interesting examples of the techniques of the day.
In the mid-18th century, science was fashionable and romantic
as one can see from this picture by Wright of Derby.
The Experiment With The Air Pump brings us to the new age of scientific invention.
The natural philosopher, with his long hair and dedicated stare,
perhaps a trifle theatrical,
but the other characters are awfully well observed.
The little girls who can't bear to witness the death of the poor pigeon,
the sensible middle-aged man who tells them that such sacrifices must be made
in the interests of science
and the thoughtful man on the right
who is wondering if this kind of experiment
is really going to do mankind much good.
They are all taking it quite seriously,
but nonetheless, science was to some extent, an after-dinner occupation,
like playing the piano in the next century.
Even Voltaire, who spent a vast amount of time on weighing molten metal and cutting up worms,
was only a dilettante.
He lacked the patient realism of the experimenter,
and perhaps such tenacity exists only in a milieu
where quick-wittedness is less highly valued.
In the 18th century, it emerged in a country
where civilisation still had the energy of newness - Scotland.
(MUSIC) Will ye go to Sheriffmuir
(MUSIC) Bold John o'Innisture
(MUSIC) There to see the noble Mar
(MUSIC) And his Highland laddies
(MUSIC) A' the true men o'the North
(MUSIC) Angus, Huntly and Seaforth
(MUSIC) Scouring on to cross the Forth
(MUSIC) Wi' their white cockadies
(MUSIC) There you'll see the banners flare
(MUSIC) There you'll hear the bagpipes' rair
(MUSIC) And the trumpet's deadly blare
(MUSIC) Wi' the cannon's rattle
(MUSIC) There you'll see the bold McCraws'
(MUSIC) Camerons' and Clanranald's raws
(MUSIC) All the clans wi' loud huzzas
(MUSIC) Rushing to the battle
The Scottish character - and I'm a Scot myself-
shows an extraordinary combination of realism and reckless sentiment.
The sentiment has passed into popular legend and the Scots are proud of it,
and no wonder.
Where but in Edinburgh does a romantic landscape
come right into the centre of the town?
But it's the realism that counts
and that made 18th-century Scotland - a poor, remote, semi-barbarous country -
a force in European civilisation.
Let me name some 18th-century Scots.
In the world of ideas and science: Adam Smith David Hume, Joseph Black and James Watt.
It's a matter of historical fact that these were the men who, soon after the year 1760,
changed the whole current of European thought and life.
Joseph Black and James Watt discovered that heat and, in particular, steam,
could be a source of power.
Well, I needn't describe how that has changed the world!
In The Wealth Of Nations, Adam Smith invented the study of political economy
and created a social science that lasted up to the time of Karl Marx.
In his Treatise On Human Nature
Hume succeeded in proving
that experience and reason have no necessary connection with one another,
that there's no such thing as a rational belief.
Hume, as he himself said was of an open, social and cheerful humour,
and he was much beloved by the ladies in the Paris salons.
I suppose they'd never read that small book
which has made all philosophers feel uneasy till the present day.
All these great Scots lived in the grim, narrow tenements
of the Old Town of Edinburgh,
piled on the hill behind the castle.
But even in their lifetime the great Scottish architects, the brothers Adam,
had produced one of the finest pieces of town planning in Europe,
the New Town of Edinburgh.
In addition, they exploited
- I think one may almost say invented -
the strict, pure classicism that was to influence architecture
all over Europe.
In fact, another Scot named Cameron took it to Russia, with tremendous effect.
And then a Scot having popularised' neoclassicism,
Sir Walter Scott popularised the Gothic Middle Ages
and furnished the imagination of the romantically-minded for a century.
Not bad for a poor, underpopulated country.
Through the practical genius of the Scots and English,
those technical diagrams in the Encyclopaedia became a reality
and before the political revolutions of America and France had taken effect
a far deeper and more durable transformation was already underway,
what we call the Industrial Revolution.
Wright of Derby, whose imagination had been stirred
by the scientific exercises of the intellectuals,
was also moved by their first commercial application
and he painted this picture of Arkwright's mill at Cromford.
He's felt the romance of industrialism
as it begins to usurp the power of the old regime.
If, on the practical side, we had to visit Scotland,
on the moral side we must return to France.
Not to Paris, but to the borders of Switzerland
because it was there
a mile or two from the French frontier
that Voltaire made his home.
After several bad experiences,
he'd become suspicious of authority
and he liked to live in a place where he could easily slip over the border.
He didn't suffer from his exile.
He'd made a lot of money by speculation,
and his last bolthole
the Chäteau of Ferney, is, as you see, a large, agreeable country house.
Voltaire built the wings at either end.
He also planted this alleyway of beeches
for a cool promenade on a hot day.
When he was visited by the self-important ladies of Geneva,
he would receive them seated on a bench at the far end, down there behind me.
It amused him to see how they struggled to prevent their towering, powdered wigs
from getting entangled in the branches.
Well, it's grown up a good deal since then.
It was in this room that he thought up devastating witticisms
with which to destroy his enemies.
He may even have done so in this very chair,
one of a set with the covers worked by his niece, Madame Denis.
I wish I could convey the quality of his wit to you,
but Voltaire is one of those writers whose virtue is inseparable from his style,
and true style is untranslatable.
He himself said
"One word in the wrong place will ruin the most beautiful thought."
Still more would it ruin the wit and irony,
which were his peculiar gifts.
To the end of his life he couldn't resist a joke,
but on one subject he was completely serious - justice.
Many people in his lifetime, and since, have compared him to a monkey,
but when it came to fighting injustice, he was a bulldog!
He never let go.
He pestered all his friends,
he wrote an unending stream of pamphlets
and finally he had some of the victims -
like these members of a Protestant family named Calas,
who had been cruelly persecuted in Bordeaux -
living at his expense at Ferney.
Gradually, the world ceased to think of him as an impudent libertine,
but as a patriarch and sage,
and by 1778, he at last felt it safe to return to Paris.
He was 84.
No victorious general, no lone flyer has ever been given such a reception.
He was hailed as the universal man and the friend of mankind.
People of all classes crowded round his house,
drew his carriage,
mobbed him wherever he went.
Finally, his bust was crowned on the stage of the Théatre Français.
Naturally, it killed him, but he died triumphant.
The remarkable thing about the frivolous 18th century was its seriousness.
It was, in many ways, the heir to Renaissance humanism
but there was a vital difference.
The Renaissance had taken place within the framework of the Christian church.
A few humanists had shown signs of scepticism,
but no-one had expressed doubts about the Christian religion as a whole.
People had the comfortable moral freedom that goes with an unquestioned faith.
But by the middle of the 18th century,
serious-minded men could see that the Church had become a tied house
tied to property and status
and defending its interests by repressions and injustice.
No-one felt this more strongly than Voltaire.
"Écrasez l'infame." "Crush the vermin."
It dominated his later life and he bequeathed it to his followers.
I remember HG Wells who was a kind of 20th-century' Voltaire,
saying that he daren't drive a car in France
because the temptation to run over a priest would be too strong for him.
All the same Voltaire remained a kind' of believer.
He even built a chapel at Ferney.
Over the door he had inscribed the words: "Deo erexit Voltaire."
"Voltaire" in larger letters. It was an affair solely between him and God.
However, several of the contributors to the Encyclopaedia were total materialists.
And so, the late 18th century was faced with the troublesome task
of constructing a new morality
without revelation or Christian sanctions.
This morality was built on two foundations.
One of them was the doctrine of natural law.
The other, the stoic morality of ancient republican Rome.
Republican virtue inspired the most gifted painter of his day, David.
In the Lives of Plutarch
people read about those grim, puritanical heroes of the Roman republic,
who sacrificed themselves and their, families in the interests of the State
and they took these monsters as models for a new political order.
Here's David's first great revolutionary picture,
The Oath Of The Horatii.
It was painted in 1785, and it created an effect
which those of us who remember the first appearance of Picasso's Guernica
may be able faintly to imagine.
The Oath Of The Horatii is the supreme picture of revolutionary action,
not only in its subject, but in its treatment.
Gone are all the melting outlines and pools of sensuous shadow of a Fragonard,
and in their place are these firmly-outlined expressions of will.
The unified, totalitarian gesture of the brothers,
like the kinetic image of a rotating wheel,
has an almost hypnotic quality.
Even the architecture is a conscious revolt
against the refined, ornamental style of the time.
These Tuscan columns assert the superior virtue of the plain man.
Two years later, David painted an even more grimly Plutarchian picture,
The Lictors Bringing Back To The House, Of Brutus The Bodies Of His Two Sons
whom he had condemned to death for treachery.
One of those incidents in Roman history that don't appeal to us,
but which was horribly acceptable to French feeling on the eve of the Revolution.
One sees how completely the douceur de vivre had lost its hold on the European imagination,
even before 1789.
In fact, the new morality had already guided a revolution outside Europe.
Once more we must leave the ancient focus of civilisation
and travel to the edge of the civilised world - America
for it was in this virgin soil, and not in the compost heap of Europe,
that the aims of the Encyclopaedia were first realised.
In the 18th century, no white man, except hunters,
had penetrated beyond that range of hills.
(MUSIC) Drums beat rhythmically
But here, on the border territory of the Indian,
the trapper and the buffalo,
a young Virginian lawyer elected to build his home in the 1760s.
His name was Thomas Jefferson
and he called his house Monticello - the "little mountain".
It must have been an extraordinary apparition in that wild landscape.
Jefferson made it up out of the book of the great Renaissance architect Palladio,
of which he is said to have owned the only copy in America.
But of course, he had to invent a great deal of it himself, and he was highly inventive.
The interior of the house betrays the obstinate ingenuity of a creative man
who is determined to work out everything for himself.
This is his idea for a bed
placed between two rooms in the wall,
so that he could get out either side,
either into his study or his sitting room.
And to dress, he went up this little circular stair to the room above.
And this was his own design for spectacles,
in a little box the size of a patch box.
They look a little small, but in fact they're...
You can read by them perfectly well,
and with them I can read his own edition of Vitruvius...
..the classical architect who inspired so much of his building.
It's placed on a table,
a revolving table which he designed himself,
which works very well,
and a revolving chair.
Everything, everything in the room he designed.
The drapes, the mouldings - every single thing,
and it all has a kind of simple, homespun, independent air,
which is the stamp of Jefferson.
He was the typical universal man of the 18th century.
Linguist, scientist, agriculturalist,
educator, town planner and architect.
Almost a reincarnation of Leon Battista Alberti the universal man of the Renaissance
even down to a love of music...
and the management of horses and a certain crankiness -
what, in a lesser man, could have been called a touch of self-righteousness.
What a wilful, independent head.
Of course Jefferson wasn't as good an architect as Alberti,
but then he was also President of the United States
and as an architect he was by no means bad.
Monticello was the beginning of that simple, almost rustic classicism
that stretches right up the eastern seaboard of America
right up to Massachusetts,
and lasted for a hundred years,
producing a body of simple, civilised, domestic architecture
equal to any in the world.
And it reflects the grave self-assurance of the founders of the American Republic.
Jefferson is buried in the grounds of Monticello.
He left instructions for his tomb.
On it were to be inscribed the following sentences, and not a word more.
"Here was buried Thomas Jefferson
author of the Declaration Of American Independence,
of the Statute Of Virginia For Religious Freedom,
and father of the University of Virginia."
Well, the establishment of religious freedom
that earned him so much hatred and abuse in his own day,
we now take for granted.
But the University of Virginia is still a surprise.
It was all designed by Jefferson and it's full of his character.
He called it an "academical village".
There are ten pavilions for ten professors,
and between them, behind this colonnade the rooms of the students
all within reach, and yet all individual,
the ideal of corporate humanism.
And then, outside the courtyard
are small gardens that show his love of privacy.
Those serpentine walls were Jefferson's speciality.
Nobody knows where he got them from.
Needless to say, they had a practical as well as an aesthetic intention.
The great courtyard was round three sides of a rectangle.
The fourth side you saw over the mountains to Indian territory.
How confidently, in their semi-wild domain,
the founding fathers of America assumed the mantle of Republican virtue
and put into practice the notions of the French Enlightenment.
They even called on the great sculptor of the Enlightenment, Houdon
to commemorate their victorious General Washington.
And here's the result standing in the Capitol at Richmond, Virginia.
This programme began with Houdon's statue of Voltaire, smiling the smile of reason.
It could end with Houdon's statue of Washington.
No more smiles.
Houdon saw his subject as that favourite Roman Republican hero,
the decent country gentleman
called away from his farm to defend his neighbour's liberties.
(MUSIC) HEWITT: The Battle Of Trenton
In fact, the War of Independence lasted six years,
and at the end of it the British totally withdrew their forces
and the new republic was born.
Washington retired to his farm at Mount Vernon.
The ideas of the French Enlightenment
influenced the founders of the American Constitution
and, in return the success of the American rebellion
played a part in inspiring the French to overthrow their monarchy.
After the storming of the Bastille,
Lafayette sent the key of that infamous prison as a present to Washington.
Washington hung it in the hall at Mount Vernon,
and there it has stayed ever since.
By this date, Washington had little time to spend at his home farm on the banks of the Potomac.
He had been elected first President of the United States.
(MUSIC) HEWITT: The Battle Of Trenton
His monument dominates the new capital city
which was named after him.
Facing it across the Tidal Basin of the Potomac
is the monument to Jefferson
who became the third President.
(MUSIC) IVES: Variations On America - My Country 'Tis Of Thee
Not only the Palladian architecture,
but the music has crossed the Atlantic.
God Save The King has become My Country 'Tis Of Thee.
On the inner walls are quotations from Jefferson's writings.
First the familiar, noble, indestructible words
of the Declaration Of Independence.
"We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal..."
Self-evident truths.
That's the voice of 18th-century Enlightenment.
But on the opposite wall are less familiar words by Jefferson
that still give us pause today.
"I tremble for my country when I reflect
that God is just..."
A peaceful-looking scene, a great ideal made visible.
But beyond it, what problems!
Almost insoluble
or at least not soluble by the smile of reason.
(MUSIC) IVES: Variations On America