A QUARTER OF a century after its opening, the Musée d’Orsay has undergone its first serious refurbishment and redisplay. Some elements of Gae Aulenti’s original design remain virtually intact, notably the always problematic cabinet-sized spaces, with their over-designed embattled façades, that face onto the vast central nave; but on the top floor the obstructive metal arcading in the space that used to house Post-Impressionism has been swept away, leaving an open gallery that will be used as a secondary temporary exhibition space. However, the principal transform­ations are the wall-colours of the galleries and the overall layout and sequence of the various sections.

All the spaces, apart from those clad in Aulenti’s beige limestone fascia, have been transformed by the adoption, throughout, of a range of muted and downright dark wall-colours – a dull olive green, deep blue, slate grey and a deep dull purple. This marks a radical shift in taste towards a far more theatrical presentation and a wholesale rejection of the residual echoes of the modernist ‘white cube’ aesthetic in Orsay’s original installation. Enhanced by adjustments in the lighting, the visibility of the pictures, some dramatically spotlit, is generally better. The transformation is esp­ecially marked in the Impressionist galleries, still installed in the suite of spaces along the river front on the top floor, but now with slate-grey walls – a far cry from the previous off-white. The skylights still illumine the central axis of these galleries, helping to light the pictures installed on the screens that cross them; but the side walls are virtually entirely artificially lit. Individually the pictures are effectively illuminated, but in daylight conditions there is a marked discrepancy in the quality and intensity of the lighting between the side-walls and the cross-screens.

The new installation has created some very cogent and effective smaller groupings of works, but the overall organisation raises a number of problems – perhaps inevitably in a building as complex as this former railway station. The most striking improvement is the decision to move Courbet’s monumental canvases to the space (artificially lit) at the extreme north-east corner of the ground floor; augmented by the loan of two more major hunting scenes, this room now allows one to appreciate the ambition and bravado of Courbet’s achievement. Other particularly revealing groupings include the juxtaposition of early Manet with early Cézanne in one of the cabinets alongside the main nave.

In terms of overall organisation, the 1986 configuration had a clarity to it, with, on the bottom level, the more ‘academic’ and draughtsmanly work in the galleries to the right, the more ‘realist’ and painterly to the left, leading in a roughly chrono­logical sequence to the escalators that transported the visitor to ‘Impressionism’, followed by ‘Post-Impressionism’, and, on the intermediate floor, late nineteenth-century Salon painting. In outline, this arrangement is maintained in the cabinet spaces alongside the nave, with, on the right, Puvis de Chavannes and Gustave Moreau replaced by a puzzlingly named ‘Ecole de Paris’ that encompasses fashionable genre paintings by Tissot and Stevens, but also works by Ribot and Regnault. On the left side, the former Courbet transept and the long walkway beyond it are now devoted to large-scale Salon painting, whose presence is much to be welcomed.

The long gallery and the outer side galleries on the south side introduce a whole new dimension: under the title ‘Symbolism’, we are presented with the now much-criticised narrative of Puvis, Moreau and Redon as the points of origin of the anti-naturalist tendencies in late nineteenth-century painting. Apart from questions of definition, though, the segregation of a separate ‘Symbolist’ thread creates awkward relationships with other parts of the display. A major canvas by Puvis is the centrepiece of the Salon paintings newly installed in the north transept, and, as in the original hang, many ‘symbolist’ Salon paintings appear in the large square galleries on the upper level on the north side. Most confusingly, paintings of very similar types by Gauguin, the Pont-Aven painters and the Nabis appear both in ‘Symbolism’ and in the principal Post-Impressionist galleries. It is these galleries that will doubtless prove most problematic for, displaced from the top floor, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Neo-Impressionism and the early work of the Nabis are all installed in the suite of small galleries on the (terrace) level on the south side – directly above ‘Symbolism’. In themselves, these spaces display the pictures to good effect, but the three galleries that house the primary displays of both Van Gogh and Gauguin will become very overcrowded with visitors during the tourist season.

The awkward relationship between the small and large galleries on the lower level still defies any attempt to use these contrasting spaces to make the distinction between the public art of the Salon and the emerging significance of the small, private-market canvas. Beyond this, the complex sequence of spaces on the lower level prevents the creation of any sort of coherent sequential parcours. In a sense, this can be seen as an advantage, in highlighting the striking and at times startling contrasts that make the art of the period such a challenging field of study; but, on this reading, the ‘Symbolism’ thread seems an intrusion, in proposing one narrative, while the remainder of the installation works against any such reading, and in favour of an experience that emphasises multiple simultaneous pictorial possibilities.

A further crucial element in Orsay’s mission is to act as a leader in research into the art of the period, both through exhibitions and publications. In the 1980s and 1990s, before and after the opening of the Museum itself, Orsay curators originated a sequence of authoritative, scholarly exhibitions which provided both spectacular visual experiences and catalogues of funda­mental importance. At the same time, the sequence of Dossier exhibitions and Orsay’s periodical publications made their own distinctive contribution to the understanding of the arts in the period. Recent exhibitions such as Monet, shown at the Grand Palais, and Manet at Orsay itself have demonstrated little sign of such thoughtful maturation or fresh research; and it is worrying to learn that the Museum’s most recent periodical, its 48/14 Revue, has been summarily terminated. Orsay is guaranteed vast attendances simply through the names of the artists whose work it houses; its responsibility is to give those visitors as rich and rewarding an experience as possible, but also to pioneer and foster fresh knowledge and understanding of those works.

This issue devoted to nineteenth-century French art is dedicated to the memory of John House who died on 7th February. He contributed to the above Editorial, having written an account of Orsay after it first opened (129, 1987, pp.67–73), and his last review for the Magazine appears on pp.253–55 below.