NOTRE DAME.
The Cathedral of Notre Dame, a Temple to Jupiter--Cæsar and
Napoleon--Relics in Notre Dame--Its History--Curious Legends--"The New
Church"--Remarkable Religious Ceremonies--The Place de Grève--The Days
of Sorcery--Monsieur de Paris--Dramatic Entertainments--Coronation of
Napoleon
There is no monument of ancient Paris so interesting, by its
architecture and its historical associations, as the Cathedral of Notre
Dame; which, standing on the site of a Temple to Jupiter, carries us
back to the time of the Roman domination and of Julius Cæsar. Here,
eighteen centuries later, took place the most magnificent ceremony ever
seen within the walls of the actual edifice: the coronation, that is to
say, of the modern Cæsar, the conqueror who ascended the Imperial throne
of France on the 2nd of December, 1804.
Meanwhile, the strangest as well as the most significant things have
been witnessed inside the ancient metropolitan church of Paris.
Among the curious objects deposited from time to time on the altar of
Notre Dame may be mentioned a wand which Louis VII. inscribed with
the confession of a fault he was alleged to have committed against
the Church. Journeying towards Paris, the king had been surprised
by the darkness of night, and had supped and slept at Créteil, on
the invitation of the inhabitants. The village, inhabitants and all,
belonged to the Chapter of Notre Dame; and the canons were much
irritated at the king's having presumed to accept hospitality indirectly
at their cost. When, next day, Louis, arriving at Paris, went, after
his custom, to the cathedral in order to render thanks for his safe
journey, he was astonished to find the gates of Notre Dame closed.
He asked for an explanation, whereupon the canons informed him that
since, in defiance of the privileges and sacred traditions of the
Church, he had dared at Créteil to sup, free of cost to himself and at
the expense of the flock of Notre Dame, he must now consider himself
outside the pale of Christianity. At this terrible announcement the
king groaned, sighed, wept, and begged forgiveness, humbly protesting
that but for the gloom of night and the spontaneous hospitality of the
inhabitants--so courteous that a refusal on his part would have been
most uncivil--he would never have touched that fatal supper. In vain did
the bishop intercede on his behalf, offering to guarantee to the canons
the execution of any promise which the king might make in expiation of
his crime; it was not until the prelate placed in their hands a couple
of silver candlesticks as a pledge of the monarch's sincerity that they
would open to him the cathedral doors; and even then his Majesty had
to pay the cost of his supper at Créteil, and by way of confession, to
deposit on the altar of Notre Dame the now historical wand.
Louis XI., more devout even than the devout Louis VII., was equally
unable to inspire his clergy with confidence. Before the discovery of
printing, in 1421, manuscript books at Paris, as elsewhere, were so
rare and so dear that students had much trouble in procuring even those
which were absolutely necessary for their instruction. Accordingly, when
Louis XI. wished to borrow from the Faculty of Medicine the writings of
Rhases, an Arabian physician, he was required, before taking the book
away, to deposit a considerable quantity of plate, besides the signature
of a powerful nobleman, who bound himself to see that his Majesty
restored the volume.
[Illustration: THE CHOIR STALLS, NOTRE DAME.]
Among the many legends told in connection with Notre Dame is a
peculiarly fantastic one, according to which the funeral service of a
canon named Raimond Diocre, famed for his sanctity, was being celebrated
by St. Bruno, when, at a point where the clergy chanted the words:
_Responde mihi quantas habes iniquitates?_ the dead man raised his head
in the coffin, and replied: _Justo Dei judicio accusatus sum_. At this
utterance all present took flight, and the ceremony was not resumed
till the next day, when for the second time the clergy chanted forth:
_Responde mihi_, etc., on which the corpse again raised its head, and
this time answered: _Justo Dei judicio judicatus sum_. Once more there
was a panic and general flight. The scene, with yet another variation,
was repeated on the third day, when the dead, who had already declared
himself to have been "accused" and "judged" by Heaven, announced that
he had been condemned: _Justo Dei judicio condamnatus sum_. Witness of
this terrible scene, St. Bruno renounced the world, did penance, became
a monk, and founded the Order of Les Chartreux.
The incident has been depicted by Lesueur, who received a commission to
record on canvas the principal events in the life of the saint.
It is looked upon as certain by the historians of Paris that the
Cathedral of Notre Dame stands on the site formerly occupied by a
heathen temple. But how and when the transformation took place is not
known, though the period is marked more or less precisely by the date
of the introduction of Christianity into France. Little confidence,
however, is to be placed in those authors who declare that the Paris
cathedral was founded in the middle of the third century by St. Denis,
the first apostle of Christianity in France; for at the very time
when St. Denis was preaching the Gospel to the Parisians the severest
edicts were still in force against Christians. It cannot, then, be
supposed that the officials of the Roman Empire would have tolerated the
erection of a Christian church. It can be shown, however, that under
the episcopacy of Bishop Marcellus, about the year 375, there already
existed a Christian church in the city of Paris, on the borders of the
Seine and on the eastern point of the island, where a Roman temple had
formerly stood. Towards the end of the sixth century the cathedral was
composed of two edifices, close together, but quite distinct. One of
these was dedicated to the Virgin, the other to St. Stephen the Martyr.
Gradually, however, the Church of our Lady was extended and developed
until it touched and embraced the Church of St. Stephen. The Church of
St. Mary, as many called it, was the admiration of its time. Its vaulted
roofs were supported by columns of marble, and Venantius Fortunatus,
Bishop of Poitiers, declares that this was the first church which
received the rays of the sun through glass windows. More than once it is
said to have been burnt during the incursions of the Normans. But this
is a matter of mere tradition, and the destruction of the cathedral by
fire, whether it ever occurred or not, is held in any case to have been
only partial.
In the twelfth century Notre Dame was, it is true, known as the "New
Church." This appellation, however, served only to distinguish it from
the smaller Church of St. Stephen (St. Etienne), which had been left in
its original state, without addition or renovation.
The plan of the cathedral has, like that of other cathedrals,
been changed from century to century; but in spite of innumerable
modifications, the original plan asserts itself. From the fourteenth
to the seventeenth century the Church of Notre Dame was left nearly
untouched. Then, however, in obedience to the wishes of Louis XIII., it
was subjected to a whole series of pretended embellishments, for which
"mutilations" would be a fitter word. In the eighteenth century, between
the years 1773 and 1787, damaging "improvements," and "restorations" of
the most destructive kind, were introduced; until at the time of the
Revolution the idea was entertained of depriving the venerable edifice
altogether of its religious character. The outside statues were first
threatened, but Chaumette saved them by dwelling upon their supposed
astronomical and mythological importance. He declared before the Council
of the Commune that the astronomer Dupuis (author of "L'origine de tous
les Cultes") had founded his planetary system on the figures adorning
one of the lateral doors of the church. In conformity with Chaumette's
representations, the Commune spared all those images to which a
symbolic significance might be attached, but pulled down and condemned
the statues of the French kings which ornamented the gallery and the
principal façade. The cathedral at the same time lost its name. Temple
of Reason it was now, until the re-establishment of public worship,
to be called. Then new mutilations were constantly perpetrated, until
at last, in 1845, the work of restoring the cathedral was placed in
competent hands, when, thanks to the learning, the labour, and the taste
of MM. Lassus and Viollet-Leduc, Notre Dame was made what it still
remains--one of the most magnificent specimens of mediæval architecture
to be found in Europe. Why describe the ancient monument, when it is
so much simpler to represent through drawings and engravings its most
characteristic features?
Some of the most interesting, most curious facts of its history may,
however, be appropriately related. The Count of Toulouse, Raymond VII.,
accused of having supported the Albigenses by his arms and of sharing
their errors, was absolved in Notre Dame from the crime of heresy after
he had formally done penance in his shirt, with naked arms and feet,
before the altar.
An attempt was made by a thief to steal from the altar of Notre Dame its
candlesticks. After concealing himself in the roof, the man, aided by
other members of his band, let down ropes, and, encircling the silver
ornaments, drew them upwards to his hiding-place. In performing this
exploit, however, he set fire to the hangings of the church, by which
much damage was caused.
The interior of Notre Dame has in different centuries been turned to the
most diverse purposes. Here at one time, in view of Church festivals,
vendors of fruits and flowers held market. At other times religious
mysteries, and even mundane plays, have been performed; while in the
thirteenth century the Paris cathedral was the recognised asylum of all
who suffered in mind or body.
A particular part of the building was reserved for patients, who were
attended by physicians in holy orders. It was provided by a special
edict that this hospital within a church should be kept lighted at night
by ten lamps. All attempts, however, to keep order were in vain; and in
consequence of the noise made by the invalids while religious service
was going on, they were, one and all, excluded from the cathedral.
During the troubles caused by the captivity of King John the citizens of
Paris made a vow to offer every year to Our Lady a wax candle as long as
the boundary-line of the city. Every year the municipal body carried the
winding taper, with much pomp, to the Church of Notre Dame, where it was
received by the bishop and the canons in solemn assembly. The pious vow
was kept for five hundred and fifty years, but ceased to be fulfilled
at the time of the religious wars and of the League. In 1603 Paris had
gained such dimensions that the ancient vow could scarcely be renewed,
and in place of it, François Miron, the celebrated Provost of the
Merchants, offered a silver lamp, made in the form of a ship (principal
object in the arms of Paris), which he pledged himself to keep burning
night and day. In Notre Dame, too, were suspended the principal flags
taken from the enemy, though it was only during war time that they
were thus exhibited. When peace returned, the flags were put carefully
out of sight. Notre Dame, while honouring peace, was itself the scene
of frequent disturbances, caused by quarrels between high religious
functionaries on questions of precedence. These disputes often occurred
when the representatives of foreign Powers wished to take a higher
position than in the opinion of their hosts was due to them. It must be
noted, too, that at Notre Dame King Henry VI. of England, then ten years
old, was crowned King of France.
Under the Regency the cathedral of Paris was the scene of one of the
most daring exploits performed by Cartouche's too audacious band. A
number of the robbers had entered the church in the early morning,
and had succeeded in climbing up and concealing themselves behind the
tapestry of the roof. Their pockets were filled with stones, and at a
pre-concerted signal, just as the priest began to read the first verse
of the second Psalm in the service of Vespers, they shouted in a loud
voice, threw their missiles among the congregation, and cried out that
the roof was falling in. A frightful panic ensued, during which the
confederates of the thieves overhead helped themselves to watches,
purses, and whatever valuables they could find on the persons of the
terrified worshippers.
It was at Notre Dame, on the 10th of November, 1793, that the Feast of
Reason was celebrated, the Goddess of Reason being impersonated by a
well-known actress, the beautiful Mlle. Maillard.
The space in front of Notre Dame was at one time the scene of as many
executions as the Place de Grève, which afterwards became and for some
centuries remained the recognised execution ground of the French capital.
It was on the Place de Grève that Victor Hugo's heroine, the charming
Esmeralda, suffered death, while the odious monk, Claude Frollo, gazed
upon her with cruel delight, till the bell-ringer, Quasimodo, who, in
his own humbler and purer way, loved the unhappy gipsy girl, seized him
with his powerful arms, and flung him down headlong to the flags at the
foot of the cathedral.
In 1587, under the reign of Henry IV., Dominique Miraille, an Italian,
and a lady of Étampes, his mother-in-law, were condemned to be hanged
and afterwards burnt in front of Notre Dame for the crime of magic. The
Parisians were astonished at the execution: "for," says L'Étoile, in his
_Journal_, "this sort of vermin have always remained free and without
punishment, especially at the Court, where those who dabble in magic are
called philosophers and astrologers." With such impunity was the black
art practised at this period, that Paris contained in 1572, according
to the confession of their chief, some 30,000 magicians.
[Illustration: RUE DU CLOÎTRE.]
The popularity of sorcery in Paris towards the end of the sixteenth
century is easily accounted for by the fact that kings, queens, and
nobles habitually consulted astrologers. Catherine de Medicis was one
of the chief believers in all kinds of superstitious practices; and a
column used to be shown in the flower-market from which she observed at
night the course of the stars. This credulous and cruel queen wore round
her waist a skin of vellum, or, as some maintained, the skin of a child,
inscribed with figures, letters, and other characters in different
colours, as well as a talisman, prepared for her by the astrologer
Regnier, an engraving of which may be found in the _Journal of Henry
III_. By this talisman, composed as it was of human blood, goats' blood,
and several kinds of metals melted and mixed together, under certain
constellations associated with her birth, Catherine imagined that she
could rule the present and foresee the future.
Magic was employed not only for self-preservation, but with the most
murderous intentions. When it was used to destroy an enemy, his effigy
was prepared in wax; and the thrusts and stabs inflicted upon the
figure were supposed to be felt by the original. A gentleman named
Lamalle, having been executed on the Place de Grève in 1574, and a wax
image, made by the magician Cosmo Ruggieri, having been found upon him,
Catherine de Medicis, who patronised this charlatan, feared that the
wax figure might have been designed against the life of Charles IX.,
and that Ruggieri would therefore be condemned to death. Lamalle had
maintained that the figure was meant to represent the "Great Princess":
Queen Marguerite, that is to say. But Cosmo Ruggieri was condemned,
all the same, to the galleys; though his sentence--thanks, no doubt,
to the personal influence of Catherine de Medicis--was never executed.
Nicholas Pasquier, who gives a long account of Ruggieri in his _Public
Letters_, declares that he died "a very wicked man, an atheist, and a
great magician," adding that he made another wax figure, on which he
poured all kinds of venoms and poisons in order to bring about the death
of "our great Henry." But he was unable to attain his end; and the king,
"in his sweet clemency, forgave him."
When, after the Barricades, Henry III. left Paris, the priests of the
League erased his name from the prayers of the Church, and framed new
prayers for those princes who had become chiefs of the League. They
prepared at the same time images of wax, which they placed on many of
the altars of Paris, and then celebrated forty masses during forty
hours. At each successive mass the priest, uttering certain mystic
words, pricked the wax image, until finally, at the fortieth mass, he
pierced it to the heart, in order to bring about the death of the king.
Thirteen years later, under the reign of Henry IV., the Duke de Biron,
who had his head cut off in the Bastille, publicly accused Laffin, his
confidant and denunciator, of being in league with the devil, and of
possessing wax figures which spoke. Marie de Medicis employed, even
whilst in exile, a magician named Fabroni, much hated by Richelieu, for
whom Fabroni had predicted a speedy death.
It was in front of Notre Dame that by order of the princes, dukes,
peers, and marshals of France, assembled in the Grand Chamber of
Parliament, Damiens was condemned to do penance before being tortured
and torn to pieces. He was to be tormented, by methods no matter how
barbarous, until he revealed his accomplices, and was also required to
make the _amende honorable_ before the principal door of Notre Dame.
Thither, in his shirt, he was conveyed on a sledge, with a lighted wax
candle in his hand weighing two pounds; and there he went down on his
knees, and confessed that "wickedly and traitorously he had perpetrated
the most detestable act of wounding the king in the right side with the
stab of a knife"; that he repented of the deed, and asked pardon for it
of God, of the king, and of justice. After this he was to be carried
on the sledge to the Place de Grève, where, on the scaffold, he was
to undergo a variety of tortures, copied from those appointed for the
punishment of Ravaillac. Finally, his goods were to be confiscated,
the house where he was born pulled down, and his name stigmatised
as infamous, and for ever forbidden thenceforth, under the severest
penalties, to be borne by any French subject.
[Illustration: APSIS OF NOTRE DAME.]
Damiens had been educated far above his rank. His moral character,
however, was peculiarly bad. His life had been one perpetual
oscillation between debauchery and fanaticism. His changeableness of
disposition was noticed during his imprisonment at Versailles. Sometimes
he seemed thoroughly composed, as though he had suffered nothing and
had nothing to suffer; at other times he burst into sudden and vehement
passions, and attempted to kill himself against the walls of his dungeon
or with the chains on his feet. As in one of his furious fits he had
tried to bite off his tongue, his teeth were all drawn, in accordance
with an official order.
When the sentence was read to him, Damiens simply remarked, "La
journée sera rude." Every kind of torture was applied to him to extort
confessions. His guards remained at his side night and day, taking
note of the cries and exclamations which escaped him in the midst of
his sufferings. But Damiens had nothing to confess, and on the 28th of
January he was carried, with his flesh lacerated and charred by fire,
his bones broken, to the place of execution.
Immediately after his self-accusation in front of Notre Dame he was
taken to the Place de Grève, where the hand which had held the knife
was burnt with the flames of sulphur. Then he was torn with pincers in
the arms and legs, the thighs and the breast, and into his wounds were
poured red hot lead and boiling oil, with pitch, wax, and sulphur melted
and mixed. The sufferer endured these tortures with surprising energy.
He cried out from time to time, "Lord, give me patience and strength."
"But he did not blaspheme," says Barbier, in his narrative of the scene,
"nor mention any names."
The end of the hideous tragedy was the dismemberment. The four
traditional horses were not enough. Two more were added, and still the
operation did not advance. Then the executioner, filled with horror,
went to the neighbouring Hôtel de Ville to ask permission to use "the
axe at the joints." He was, according to Barbier, sharply rebuked by the
king's attendants, though in an account of the tragedy contributed at
the time to the _Gentleman's Magazine_ (and derived from the gazettes
published in Holland, where there was no censorship), the executioner
was blamed for having delayed the employment of the axe so long.
There are conflicting accounts, too, as to the burning of the prisoner's
calves. It was said on the one hand that the _garde des sceaux_,
Machault, caused red hot pincers to be applied in his presence to
Damiens' legs at the preliminary examination; but another version
declares this to be a mistake, and ascribes the burning of his legs to
the king's attendants, who, seeing their master stabbed, are represented
as punishing the assassin by the unlikely method of applying torches to
his calves.
The torture of Damiens lasted many hours, and it was not till midnight,
when both his legs and one of his arms had been torn off, that his
remaining arm was dragged from the socket. The life of the poor wretch
could scarcely have lasted so long as did the execution of the sentence
passed upon him. A report of the trial was published by the Registrar
of the Parliament; but the original record being destroyed, it is
impossible to test the authenticity of this report. It fills four small
volumes, and is entitled "Pièces Originales et Procèdures du Procès fait
à Robert François Damiens, Paris, 1757."
Ivan the Terrible, when his digestion was out of order, and he felt
unequal to the effort of breakfasting, used to revive his jaded appetite
by visiting the prisons and seeing criminals tortured. George Selwyn
claimed to have made amends for his want of feeling in attending to see
Lord Lovat's head cut off by going to the undertaker's to see it sewn on
again, when, in presence of the decapitated corpse, he exclaimed with
strange humour, and in imitation of the voice and manner of the Lord
Chancellor at the trial:--"My Lord Lovat, your lordship may rise." This
dilettante in the sufferings of others is known to have paid a visit to
Paris for the express purpose of seeing Damiens torn in pieces. On the
day of the execution, according to Mr. Jesse ("George Augustus Selwyn
and his contemporaries"), "he mingled with the crowd in a plain undress
and bob wig," when a French nobleman, observing the deep interest he
took in the scene, and supposing from the simplicity of his attire that
he was a person of the humbler ranks in life, chose to imagine that the
stranger must infallibly be an executioner. "Eh, bien, monsieur," he
said, "êtes-vous arrivé pour voir ce spectacle?" "Oui, monsieur." "Vous
êtes bourreau?" "Non, non, monsieur, je n'ai pas cet honneur; je ne suis
qu'un amateur."
Wraxall tells the story somewhat differently. "Selwyn's nervous
irritability," he says, "and anxious curiosity to observe the effect
of dissolution on men, exposed him to much ridicule, not unaccompanied
with censure. He was accused of attending all executions, disguised
sometimes, to elude notice, in female attire. I have been assured that
in 1756 (or 1757) he went over to Paris expressly for the purpose of
witnessing the last moments of Damiens, who expired in the most acute
tortures for having attempted the life of Louis XV. Being among the
crowd, and attempting to approach too near the scaffold, he was at first
repulsed by one of the executioners, but having explained that he had
made the journey from London solely with a view to be present at the
punishment and death of Damiens, the man immediately caused the people
to make way, exclaiming at the same time:--'Faites place pour monsieur;
c'est un Anglais et un amateur.'"
According to yet another story on this doleful subject, for which Horace
Walpole is answerable, the Paris executioner, styled "Monsieur de
Paris," was surrounded by a number of provincial executioners, "Monsieur
de Rouen," "Monsieur de Bordeaux," and so on. Selwyn joined the group,
and on explaining to the Paris functionary that he was from London, was
saluted with the exclamation, "Ah, monsieur de Londres!"
Among the minor celebrations of which the interior of Notre Dame has
been the scene may be mentioned a mass said some twenty years before the
Revolution for the broken arm of the famous dancer, Madeleine Guimard.
One evening, when the fascinating Madeleine was performing in _Les
fêtes de l'Hymen et de l'Amour_, a heavy cloud fell from the theatrical
heavens upon one of her slender arms and broke it. Then it was that the
services of the Church were invoked on behalf of the popular _ballerina_.
The interesting and graceful, though far from beautiful, Madeleine, was
justly esteemed by the clergy; for during the severe winter of 1768 she
had given to every destitute family in her neighbourhood enough to live
on for a year, at the same time paying personal visits to each of them.
"Not yet Magdalen repentant, but already Magdalen charitable!" exclaimed
a famous preacher, in reference to Madeleine Guimard's good action.
"The hand," he added, "which knows so well how to give alms will not be
rejected by St. Peter when it knocks at the gate of Paradise."
The Paris Cathedral has, strangely enough, been the scene, both in
ancient and modern times, of dramatic performances. There, in the olden
days, "Mysteries" were represented; and there, in 1790, a melodrama
was played, entitled "The Taking of the Bastille," and described as
"specially written for Notre Dame." This performance was followed by a
grand Te Deum, sung by members of the Opera, though one of the first
effects of the Revolution was to drive the best singers away from Paris.
Soon afterwards, music, history, and religion were once more to be
intermingled. This was in August, 1792. when the last day of the French
Monarchy (August 10) was at hand.
The most imposing ceremony ever witnessed within the walls of Notre Dame
was, as before said, the Coronation of Napoleon Bonaparte, at the hands
of the Pope, on Sunday, the 2nd December, 1804. The Holy Father set out
with his retinue at ten o'clock in the morning, and much earlier than
the Emperor, in order that the ecclesiastical and royal processions
should not clash. He was accompanied by a numerous body of clergy,
gorgeously attired and resplendently ornamented, whilst his escort
consisted of detachments of the Imperial Guard. A richly decorated
portico had been erected all around the Place Notre Dame to receive on
their descent from the royal carriages the sovereigns and princes who
were to proceed to the ancient basilica. Already, when the Pope entered
the church, there were assembled within it the deputies of the towns,
the representatives of the magistracy and the army, the sixty bishops,
with their clergy, the Senate, the Legislative Body, the Council of
State, the Princes of Nassau, Hesse, and Baden, the Arch-Chancellor
of the Germanic Empire, and the ministers of the different European
Powers. The great door of Notre Dame had been closed, because the back
of the Imperial throne was placed against it. The church, therefore,
was entered by the side doors, situated at the two extremities of the
transept. When the Pope, preceded by the cross and by the insignia of
his office, appeared, the whole assembly rose from their seats, and a
body of five hundred instrumentalists and vocalists gave forth with
sublime effect the sacred chant, _Tu es Petrus_. The Pope walked slowly
towards the altar, before which he knelt, and then took his place on a
throne that had been prepared for him to the right of the altar. The
sixty prelates of the French Church presented themselves in succession
to salute him, and the arrival of the Imperial family was now awaited.
The cathedral had been magnificently adorned. Hangings of velvet,
sprinkled with golden bees, descended from roof to pavement. At the foot
of the altar stood two plain arm-chairs which the Emperor and Empress
were to occupy before the ceremony of crowning. At the western extremity
of the church, and just opposite the altar, raised upon a staircase of
twenty-four steps and placed between imposing columns, stood an immense
throne--an edifice within an edifice--on which the Emperor and Empress
were to seat themselves when crowned.
[Illustration: THE LEADEN SPIRE, NOTRE DAME.]
The Emperor did not arrive until considerably after the hour appointed,
and the position of the Pope was a painful one during this long delay,
which was due to the excessive precautions taken to prevent the two
processions from getting mixed. The Emperor set out from the Tuileries
in a carriage which seemed entirely made of glass, and which was
surmounted by gilt genii bearing a crown. He was attired in a costume
designed expressly for the occasion, in the style of the sixteenth
century. He wore a plumed hat and a short mantle. He was not to assume
the Imperial robes until he had entered the cathedral. Escorted by
his marshals on horseback, he advanced slowly along the Rue St.
Honoré, the Quays of the Seine, and the Place Notre Dame, amidst the
acclamations of immense crowds, delighted to see their favourite general
at last invested with Imperial power. On reaching the portico, already
spoken of, Napoleon alighted from his carriage and walked towards the
cathedral. Beside him was borne the grand crown, in the form of a tiara,
modelled after that of Charlemagne. Up to this point Napoleon had worn
only the crown of the Cæsars: a simple golden laurel. Having entered the
church to the sound of solemn music, he knelt, and then passed on to the
chair which he was to occupy before taking possession of the throne.
The ceremony then began. The sceptre, the sword, and the Imperial robe
had been placed on the altar. The Pope anointed the Emperor on the
forehead, the arms, and the hands; then blessed the sword, with which he
girded him, and the sceptre, which he placed in his hand; and finally
proposed to take up the crown. Napoleon, however, saved him all possible
trouble in the matter by crowning himself.
"This action," says M. Thiers, in his description of the ceremony, "was
perfectly appreciated by all present, and produced an indescribable
effect," though it may be doubted whether in crowning himself Napoleon
departed from the traditional practice at Imperial coronations. We have
at all events in our own time seen, at several coronations, emperors,
and even kings, assert the autocratic principle by taking the crown
from the hands of the officiating prelate to place it on their own head
without his aid.
Napoleon, taking the crown of the Empress, now approached Josephine,
and as she knelt before him, placed it with visible tenderness upon her
head, whereupon she burst into tears.
He next proceeded towards the grand throne, and, as he ascended it, was
followed by his brothers, bearing the train of his robe. Then the Pope,
according to custom, advanced to the foot of the throne to bless the new
sovereign, and to chant the very words which greeted Charlemagne in the
basilica of St. Peter, when the Roman clergy suddenly proclaimed him
Emperor of the West: "Vivat in æternum semper Augustus!" At this chant
shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded through the arches of Notre Dame,
while the thunder of cannon announced to all Paris the solemn moment of
Napoleon's consecration.
The coronation of Napoleon has been made the subject of a masterpiece
by David, whose work may be seen, and with interest studied, in the
galleries of Versailles. The moment chosen by the painter is that at
which the Emperor, after crowning himself with his own hands, is about
to place the crown on the head of Josephine, in presence of the Pope,
the cardinals, the prelates, the princes, the princesses, and the great
dignitaries of the Empire. There are no less than 150 figures in this
composition, and the portraits, conscientiously painted, are, for the
most part, very like. The two principal figures occupy the centre of
the picture. Napoleon is standing up on one of the steps of the altar,
clad in a long tunic of white satin and a heavy cloak of crimson velvet
sprinkled with golden bees. His hands are raised in the air, holding the
crown which he is about to place on the head of the Empress. Josephine
is kneeling on a cushion of violet velvet, attired in a white dress,
above which she wears a crimson cloak sprinkled with bees, held up by
Mme. de la Rochefoucauld, and Mme. de Lavalette, both in white dresses.
Behind the Emperor is the Pope, seated in an arm-chair and holding up
his right hand in sign of blessing.
David had originally represented Pius VII. with his hands on his knees,
as if taking no part in the solemn scene. Napoleon, however, insisted on
the painter giving him the attitude just described. "I did not bring him
here from such a distance to do nothing!" he exclaimed.
[Illustration: GARGOYLES IN THE SACRISTY, NOTRE DAME.]
"In his picture of the coronation," says M. Arsène Houssaye, "David,
carried away by his enthusiasm, has reached the inaccessible summits of
the ideal. His Napoleon is radiant with health, strength, and genius.
The face of Josephine beams with conjugal tenderness and exquisite
grace. The group formed by the Pope and the clergy is exceedingly fine."
The execution of this picture occupied David four years. When it was
finished Napoleon went to see it, not, by any means, for the first
time, and said to the painter: "Very good; very good indeed, David. You
have exactly seized my idea. You have made me a French knight. I am
obliged to you for transmitting to future ages the proof of an affection
I wished to give to her who shares with me the responsibilities of
government."
When the picture was exhibited a friendly critic pointed out to the
painter that he had made the Empress younger and prettier than she
really was. "Go and tell her so!" was the reply.