CHURCHES--NOTRE DAME--L'AUXERROIS--SAINT CHAPELLE--ST.
FERDINAND--EXPIATOIRE--MADELEINE, ETC.
NOTRE DAME.
The churches of Paris are full of gorgeous splendor--how much vital
religion they contain, it is not, perhaps, my province to decide. But in
beauty of architecture, in the solemnity and grandeur of interior, no
city in the world, except Rome, can excel them. The church of the
Madeleine is the most imposing of all; indeed, it seemed to me that in
all Paris there was no other building so pretentious. But Notre Dame has
that mellow quality which beautifies all architecture--hoary age.
I started out one morning to see it, crossing on my way one of the
bridges to _Isle la Cite_, and was soon in sight of the two majestic
towers of the old cathedral. You can see them, in fact, from all parts
of Paris, rising magnificently from the little island city, like beacons
for the weary sailor.
The morning was just such an one as Paris delights to furnish in the
month of June--fair, clear, and exhilarating--no London fog, mud, or
rain, but as soft a sky as ever I saw in America. We stopped a moment
before the church, to gaze at the high-reaching columns, and admire the
general architecture of the church. Workmen were scattered over
different portions of the building and towers, (this was on my first
visit to Paris,) engaged in renewing their ancient beauty. My first
emotion upon entering, was one of disappointment, for although
externally Notre Dame is the finest church in Paris, internally it is
gloomy, exceedingly simple, and has an air of faded beauty. Still, the
"long-drawn aisles" were very fine. Gazing aloft, the eye ached to watch
the beautiful arches meet far above. Then to look away horizontally on
either hand through the graceful aisles, filled one with pleasure.
I scarcely know how, but as I was passing a little altar where a priest
was saying mass, I unaccountably put my cap upon my head. I was
instantly required to take it off. I was reminded of the fact that but a
few days before, when entering a Jewish synagogue, upon taking off my
hat, I was instantly required to replace it. Such is the difference
between the etiquette of a Catholic church and a Jewish synagogue.
I noticed that the threshold of Notre Dame, like that of St. Germain
l'Auxerrois, was very much worn away by the feet of the crowds who have
crossed it during many centuries. The organ is an excellent one. It is
forty-five feet high, thirty-six broad, and has three thousand four
hundred and eighty-four pipes. Its power is great, and as the organist
touched some of the lower notes, the cathedral walls reverberated with
the sound.
The _Porte Rouge_ is a splendidly sculptured door-way. Under the
arch-way there is a sculpture of Jesus Christ and the Virgin crowned by
an angel. Behind it there are bas-reliefs representing the death of the
Virgin--Christ surrounded by angels, the Virgin at the feet of Christ
in agony, and a woman selling herself to the Devil. The interior of the
church abounds with sculpture of every description, and some of it was
executed in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.
There now remains only one of the old peal of bells which used to exist
in Notre Dame--but one has escaped the fury of French revolutions. It
was hung in the year 1682, and was baptized in the presence of Louis
XIV. and Queen Theresa. Its weight is thirty-two thousand pounds--the
clapper alone weighing a thousand pounds. A clock in one of the towers
is world-renowned for the intricacy and curiosity of its mechanism. The
feats it performs every time it strikes the hour and quarter-hour, can
hardly be credited by one who has not seen them.
It is supposed that the first foundations of a church on this spot were
laid in the year 365, in the reign of Valentian I. It was subsequently
several times rebuilt, a portion of the work which was executed in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries still remaining. The other portions
were built in 1407, by the duke of Burgundy, and are of a deep red
color. The _Porte Rouge_ was built under his special superintendence. He
assassinated the duke of Orleans, and built this red portal as an
expiation for his crime.
In 1831, when the church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois was sacked, the mob
crowded into Notre Dame and completely destroyed everything within its
reach, including, among other things, the coronation robes of Napoleon.
The archbishop's palace was next attacked, and in one short hour all its
rich stores of ancient and modern literature were thrown into the Seine.
The palace itself was so completely ruined, that the government
afterward removed every vestige of it. Nothing is more terrible in this
world than a mob of maddened people. And though such Vandal acts as
these cannot be defended, still it be hooves us to remember, that the
conduct of the inhabitants of these palaces was such as to bring down on
their heads the just indignation and censure of the people.
Slowly passing through the aisles of the cathedral, I passed again the
threshold into the street. The majestic towers and turrets were bright
beneath the gaze of the sun, and it seemed to me that I could stand for
hours to look at them. It is not so with the Madeleine. Its
architectural beauty is great, but it is new--it has no age. Notre Dame
has seen centuries, and is full of historical associations, and I could
have lingered about it and dreamed over them till the sunlight faded
into night.
* * * * *
ST. GERMAIN L'AUXERROIS.
The oldest church in Paris, is called the St. Germain l'Auxerrois. It is
one of the quaintest specimens of architecture I ever saw. A church was
founded on the spot, many centuries ago, by Childebert. It was of a
circular form, and was destroyed by the Normans, in 886. A monastery was
established here in 998, and the church at that time was dedicated to
St. Germain l'Auxerrois. The ecclesiastics were formed into a college,
to which were attached upwards of forty clergymen. It was for many years
one of the most celebrated schools in France. In 1744 the college was
united to that of Notre Dame, and it was considered to be the college of
the royal parish.
This church passed through the terrible scenes of the revolution
unscathed, and it would have been perfectly preserved until now, but for
a foolish attempt of the royalists to celebrate in it the death of the
duke de Berry. This occurred on the 13th of February, 1831. A great
tumult arose, and the interior of the church was entirely destroyed. It
was with the greatest difficulty that the furious mob was prevented from
tearing it down. On the same day, the palace of the archbishop was also
completely devastated. St. Germain l'Auxerrois was now closed, and
remained so until 1838. It was then restored, and reopened for public
worship. At one time it was one of the finest interiors in Paris, the
royal painters and artists vying with each other in its adornment. It is
now, however, only as a third-rate church in its decoration. It is
cruciform in shape, with an octagonal termination. At one corner there
is a tower which was built in 1649, and some portions of the building
were erected in 1400. The western front has a finely sculptured portico,
with five low, but rich Gothic arches. The three central ones are higher
than the others, and crowned with a parapet The porch was built in 1431,
by Jean Gossel. The other parts of the church were built before the
regency of the duke of Bedford. The door-ways are splendidly sculptured,
and the church has a rich and ancient appearance.
We entered at one of the little side doors, the friend who was with me
remarking,
"See how the feet of centuries have worn away these solid stones."
It was true. A path two feet deep had been worn into the stepping-stone
at the entrance. It was a striking exhibition of the power of time.
The interior of this church afforded me one of the most impressive
sights I ever witnessed. It had recently been painted in the Byzantine
style, and the fresco paintings were as varied and beautiful as the
traceries of the frost upon our autumnal woods. You can scarcely
conceive the effect it had upon me, just emerged from the ever busy
street. The beauty overwhelmed me.
There was a large fresco painting of Christ upon the cross, which
particularly arrested my attention. You saw in it every feature of the
man, united with the holiness and majesty of the Divine. The face
expressed every shade of sweetness and agony; yet it was only a fresco
painting. Another represents Christ preaching on the Mount of Olives,
with his disciples and the people gathered about him. I was struck with
a series of frescoes which were executed to illustrate the most
important precepts of Christ. One is that of a warrior, sheathing his
sword in the presence of his deadly enemy. It would well grace the walls
of a non-resistant, but not those of a French church, which ever
reverberate to the music of the drum. The church has generally
illustrated that precept of Christ by pictures, not by works. Another of
the frescoes represents two brothers embracing each other. Still
another, a beautiful young woman giving alms in secret to a poor old
blind man. A painting to the right represents Christ issuing the
command, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every
creature." The Magdalen kneels below, in devout admiration, and still
lower is the Virgin surrounded by a group of pious women.
On the keystone of one of the vaults, "The Last Supper" is sculptured in
solid stone; on another, "The Ordination of the Shepherd." Within the
church there are several chapels. The first in the southern aisle
contains a magnificent fresco by M. Duval, representing Christ crowning
the Virgin. Not far from it there is a fine fresco by Guichard,
representing the descent from the cross. The windows upon this side are
magnificently decorated with figures of saints and stained glass.
In the center of one transept there is a marble basin for holy water,
surmounted by a finely sculptured group of three children supporting a
cross. The design is by the donor--the wife of Alphonso de Lamartine,
the poet. I noticed in one compartment some admirable traceries in solid
oak, and before the high altar an elaborate gilt-bronze lamp--the gift
of the wife of Louis Phillippe; but the most brilliant portion of the
ulterior is the fresco painting.
As we walked slowly from chapel to chapel, and transept to transept, I
could see men and women--principally the latter--with great apparent
devotion kneeling before the altar, or at the confessional. It was not
Sunday, yet many people were constantly passing in and out. I might
perhaps infer from this fact, that the French possess much religious
feeling--but I cannot believe it. Art and literature swallow up
religion.
The war-spirit soon eats out vital religion--and revolution and blood
sap the morals of any people. The reader will remember that even our
revolution rapidly dissipated the good morals of the nation. Never was
there a time in the history of New England when vice of every sort made
such progress as in the time of the revolution. This is not strange, for
war necessarily blunts the religious sensibilities, and opens the door
of almost every vice.
We left the interior of the church and stood upon its steps. The Louvre
in all its magnificence stood before me. I looked up at the tower of the
church, and listened to the very bell which, more than three hundred
years ago, gave the signal for the commencement of the massacre of St.
Bartholomew. While I stood there it seemed to me that I could go back
to the past--to that night of horror when the Protestants were gathered
at the fete of St. Bartholomew. When twelve had struck, in the dead of
night, the bell in St. Germain l'Auxerrois gave out the solemn signal,
and there ensued a scene of horrible atrocity, such as the world has
rarely witnessed, and which will make the names of its perpetrators
infamous so long as the world lives.
It was in the house of the dean of St. Germain l'Auxerrois that the
beautiful Gabriel d'Estrees lived for awhile and died.
* * * * *
SAINTE CHAPELLE.
The Sainte Chapelle is one of the finest specimens of florid Gothic
architecture in the world, and I went with a Frenchman one day to see
it. It is impossible to give the reader any adequate idea of its
peculiar beauty, but I can briefly sketch it, and at least point out
some of its most striking features. It was erected by St. Louis in 1248,
and set apart for the reception of relics bought of the emperor of
Constantinople. The Chapelle consists of an upper and a lower
chapel--the upper communicating with the old palace of the ancient kings
of France. It was formerly appropriated to the king and court. The lower
chapel opens into the lower courts of the palace, and was appropriated
to the use of the common people in and around the palace. The interior
has of late undergone extensive repairs, and it is now thoroughly
restored.
The entrance is unpleasant, for it is very narrow--so much so that a
good view of the front cannot be had. It has a portico of three Gothic
arches with intersecting buttresses, and in connection with lateral
buttresses there are two spiral towers with spiral stair-cases. Between
the towers there is a splendid circular window, which was constructed by
Charles VIII. The spires of the church are octagonal, and are adorned
with mouldings and traceries, and also at about half-height with a crown
of thorns. The different sides of the Chapelle are in the same
style--with buttresses between the windows, gables surmounting these,
and a fine open parapet crowning all. The roof is sloping, and the
height is over a hundred feet. The spire measures, from the vaulting,
seventy feet. We entered by a stair-case the upper chapel, and an
exquisite view presented itself. A single apartment, a half-circular
chair, with fine, large windows, detached columns with bases and
capitals, and fine groining--these all strike the eye of the visitor as
he crosses the threshold. The whole is gorgeously painted and
interspersed with _fleur de lis_. In the nave there is a carved wooden
stair-case of the thirteenth century. The windows are filled with
stained glass of 1248, which has escaped destruction during two great
revolutions.
Near the altar there is a side chapel, to which access is had from
below. Here Louis XI. used to come, amid the choicest relics, and say
his prayers. Some of the relics are still preserved, and consist of a
crown of thorns, a piece of the cross upon which Christ was crucified,
and many antique gems. The Chapelle and the relics cost Louis two
millions eight hundred thousand francs--the relics alone costing an
enormous amount.
There was a richly endowed chapter in connection with the Chapelle and
what is a little singular, the head of it became renowned for his
litigous disposition. The poet Boileau, in _Lutrin_, satirized this
character--and was, after death, buried in the lower chapel.
At the time of the great revolution, this ancient and beautiful building
escaped destruction by its conversion by the government into courts of
justice. The internal decorations were, however, many of them destroyed.
The church, as it exists now, in a state of complete restoration, is one
of the finest church interiors in Paris, and the best specimen of its
peculiar kind of architecture in the world.
My friend was a little surprised at the enthusiasm I manifested. _He_
seemed to look as coolly upon the exquisite architectural beauty, and to
contemplate the age of the building as quietly, as a farmer would survey
his promising wheat-field. I reminded him that I came from a land where
such things do not abound, and where one cannot gratify the desire to
look upon that which is not only ancient, but around which cluster the
choicest historical associations.
* * * * *
CHAPELLE EXPIATOIRE.
While wandering one day though the Rue d'Anjou St. Honore, I came
unexpectedly upon one of the most beautiful chapels my eyes ever
beheld--the _Chapelle Expiatore_. It was originally a burial-ground in
connection with the Madeleine church, but was afterward set apart to
commemorate the sad fate of the elder Bourbons. When Louis XVI. and his
queen were executed, in 1793, they were obscurely buried on this spot. A
friend, M. Descloseaux, at once cared for their remains, else they would
have been lost amid other victims of the bloody revolution. It is a
singular fact, that Danton, Herbert, and Robespierre were also buried
in this same place, together with the Swiss Guard.
An early entry in the parish records of the Madeleine, still shows to
any one who has the curiosity to see, the plainness with which the queen
was buried. It is as follows: "_Paid seven francs for a coffin for the
Widow Capet_."
M. Descloseaux watched carefully over the graves of the king and queen,
purchased the place containing their bodies, and converted it into an
orchard, with the view of shielding them from the fury of the populace.
His plan was successful, and it is said that he sent every year a
beautiful bouquet of flowers to the duchess d'Angouleme, which were
gathered from the ground beneath which her royal parents were sleeping.
The restoration came, and the orchard was purchased from M. Descloseaux.
The bodies were transferred to St. Denis, with great pomp. The earth
which had surrounded the coffins was preserved, as also were all remains
of the Swiss Guards, and buried on the spot. Over it an expiatory chapel
was built, with buildings adjoining, the whole forming a very beautiful
structure. An inscription on the front informs the gazer of the
principal facts I have enumerated. The adjoining garden is filled with
cypresses.
The interior of the chapel is simple, but gives a pleasant impression.
It contains two statues, one of Louis XVI., and the other of Marie
Antoinette. Each is supported by an angel, and on the pedestal of the
king his will is inscribed in letters of gold, upon a black marble slab.
On the pedestal of the queen's statue are extracts, executed in a like
manner, from her last letter to Mme. Elizabeth.
There are several niches in the chapel which contain very fine
candelebra, and on a bas-relief the funeral procession to St. Denis is
represented.
I was struck while here (as indeed I was in many other places) with the
fact, that the whole past history of Paris and France is written in her
chapels and churches. The stranger cannot, if he would, shut out the
fact from his sight. It glares in upon him from every street. The
revolutions of France have imprinted themselves upon Paris in
ineffaceable characters.
As I stood in this chapel, the sad history of Marie Antoinette came into
my thoughts, and she stood before me as she stood before the crowd on
the day of her execution. Her downfall, the wretched neglect with which
her poor body was treated, and the obscure burial, were all before me.
Only "seven francs," for the coffin of "Widow Capet!" What a contrast to
the pomp and ceremony of her second burial, aye what a contrast to her
life!
I had seen enough for that day, and set out sadly on my way back to my
apartments. The gayety in the streets, the bright and balmy air, could
not take the hue of melancholy from my thoughts. For always to me the
history of Marie Antoinette has been one of the most sorrowful I ever
read. I have few sympathies for kings, and much less for kingly tyrants,
but I could never withhold them from her, queen though she was. And I
never wish to become so fierce a democrat that I can contemplate such
sorrows as were hers, such a terrible downfall as she experienced, with
a heartless composure.
THE MADELEINE.
[Illustration: Eglise de la Madeleine.]
The Madeleine looks little like a church to the stranger, but more like
a magnificent Grecian temple. Its impression upon me was by no means a
pleasant one, for the style of its architecture is not sufficiently
solemn to suit my ideas of a place where God is publicly worshiped. It
is, however, one of the finest specimens of modern architecture in the
world, and is so widely known that I can hardly pass it over without a
slight sketch of it.
An edifice was erected on the spot where the Madeleine stands, in 1659,
by Mademoiselle d'Orleans. That building was soon found to be too small
for the accommodation of the people in its neighborhood, and in 1764,
the present building was commenced by the architect of the duke of
Orleans. The revolution put an end for a time to the work upon the
church, but Napoleon, after his Prussian campaign, determined to
dedicate the Madeleine as a Temple of Glory, "to commemorate the
achievements of the French arms, and to have on its columns engraved the
names of all those who had died fighting their country's battles." The
necessary funds were given and architects were set at work immediately
upon it. But Napoleon's plans were frustrated, and in 1815 Louis XVIII.
restored the building to its original destination, and ordered that
monuments should be erected in it to Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, Louis
XVII., and Mme. Elizabeth. The revolution of 1830, however, interrupted
this work, and it was not till the reign of Louis Phillippe, that it was
completed. The entire cost of the Madeleine was two millions six hundred
and fifteen thousand and eight hundred dollars. It stands on a raised
platform, three hundred and twenty-eight feet long and one hundred and
thirty-eight broad, and has at each end an approach consisting of
twenty-eight steps, the entire length of the facade. The architecture is
Grecian, a colonnade of fifty-two Corinthian columns entirely
surrounding the building, giving to it a grandeur of appearance to which
few structures in Europe attain. Between the columns there are niches,
and a row of colossal statues stand in them. They represent St. Bernard,
St. Raphael, and a score of others. The colonnade is surmounted by a
beautiful piazza, and a cornice adorned with lion's heads and palm
leaves.
The pediment of the southern end contains a large altorelievo by
Lemaire. It is one hundred and twenty-six feet long and twenty-four feet
high. In the center is a figure of Christ; the Magdalene is beneath in a
suppliant attitude; while HE is pardoning her sins. On the
right hand the angel of Pity gazes down upon the poor woman, with a look
of deep satisfaction. On the other hand is the figure of Innocence,
surrounded by the angels, Faith, Hope, and Charity. In the angle of the
pediment is the figure of an angel greeting the new-born spirit, and
raising his hand, points to the place prepared for him in heaven.
On the left of the pediment the angel of Vengeance is repelling the
Vices. Hatred is there with swollen features; Unchastity, with
disheveled hair and negligent dress, clings to her guilty paramour;
Hypocrisy, with the face of a young woman, a mask raised to her
forehead, looks down upon the spectator; and Avarice is represented as
an old man clinging to his treasures.
The pediment is filled completely by the figure of a demon, which is
forcing a damned soul into the abyss of woe. This is the largest
sculptured pediment in the world, and occupied more than two years in
its execution. The figure of Christ is eighteen feet in length, which
will give the reader an idea of the size of the sculpture.
The doors of the Madeleine are worthy of particular notice. They are of
bronze, measuring more than thirty feet by sixteen. They are divided
into compartments each of which illustrates one of the Ten Commandments.
In the first, Moses commands the tables to be obeyed; in the second, the
blasphemer is struck; in the third, God reposes after the creation; in
the fourth, Joshua punishes the theft of Acham, after the taking of
Jericho, etc. etc. The doors were cast in France, and are only surpassed
in size by the doors of St. Peter's.
On entering the Madeleine, the magnificent organ meets the eye of the
visitor. On the right, there is a chapel for marriages, with a
sculptural group upon it, representing the marriage of the Virgin. On
the left, there is a baptismal font, with a sculptured group,
representing Christ and St. John at the waters of the Jordan. There are
twelve confessionals along the chapels, which, together with the
pulpit, are carved out of oak. The walls of the church are lined with
the finest marbles, and each chapel contains a statue of the patron
saints. The architecture of the interior it is useless for me to attempt
to sketch, it is in such a profusely ornamented style. Fine paintings
adorn the different chapels. One represents Christ preaching, and the
conversion of Mary Magdalene; another the Crucifixion; still another,
the supper at Bethany, with the Magdalene at the feet of her Lord. Over
the altar there is a very fine painting by Ziegler, which intends to
illustrate, by the representation of persons, the events which, in the
world's history, have added most to propagate the christian religion,
and to exhibit its power over men.
The Magdalene, in a penitent attitude, stands near Christ, while three
angels support the cloud upon which she kneels, and a scroll, upon which
is written, "_She loved much_." The Savior holds in his right hand the
symbol of redemption, and is surrounded by the apostles. On his left,
the history of the early church is illustrated. St. Augustine, the
Emperor Constantine, and other personages, are painted. Then follow the
Crusades, with St. Bernard and Peter the Hermit, with a group of
noblemen following, filled with holy enthusiasm.
Near the Magdalene there is a group of men who figured in early French
history--the Constable Montmorenci, Godefroy de Bouillon, and Robert of
Normandy. The struggles of the Greeks to throw off Mussulman rule, are
represented by a young Grecian warrior, with his companions in arms.
On the left of the Savior, some of the early martyrs are painted--St.
Catherine and St. Cecelia. The Wandering Jew's ghostly form is upon the
canvas, and, to come down to a later day, Joan of Arc, Raphael, Michael
Angelo, and Dante each occupies a place in the mammoth picture.
The choir of the Madeleine forms a half-circle, and is very richly
ornamented. The great altar is splendidly sculptured. The principal
group represents the Magdalene in a rapturous posture, borne to heaven
on the wings of angels. A tunic is wrapped around her body, and the long
hair with which she wiped her Savior's feet. This group of sculpture
alone cost one hundred and fifty thousand francs.
I have thus given the reader a sketch of the most gorgeous church in
Paris, that he may get an idea of the style of religion which obtains at
present there. It is like this church. It is pretentious, imposing, in
bad taste, without simplicity and a real sanctity. I was disgusted with
the Madeleine from the moment I knew it to be a church. At first I saw
it only as a fine building--an imitation of the Parthenon--and I was
struck with admiration. But when I was told that it was a temple for the
warship of God, I was shocked, and still more so when I entered it. The
interior, as a collection of fine paintings and statues, as a specimen
of gorgeous Gothic architecture, is one of the best in the world; but I
would as soon think of attending public worship amid the nakedness of
the Louvre, as in the Madeleine. Had Napoleon's idea been carried out,
and this modern Parthenon been dedicated to Mars, it would adorn Paris,
and add much to the pleasure of the stranger; but as it is now, it only
serves to illustrate one of the weak points in the French character.
The genuine Parisian is so fond of appearance, that he cares little for
the substance. The churches of Paris, therefore, abound with all that
can impress the eye, however repugnant to a refined taste. For I dare
to hold, that the French love not the true refinement in matters of
religion. Having little vital piety, it is impossible for them to judge
of church architecture. Solemn old St. Paul's in London, will always
linger in my memory as a fit temple of the living God. Its impressive
grandeur contrasts strongly with the rich magnificence of the Madeleine.
The latter inspires only admiration, as the figure of a Greek warrior,
but St. Paul's inspires awe; and that is just the difference between
them.
* * * * *
CHAPEL OF ST. FERDINAND.
The interior of this chapel is one of the most beautiful in Paris. It
was the scene of the death of the duke of Orleans in 1842. He left Paris
in the forenoon of the 13th of July, in an open carriage, with but one
postillion, intending to call upon the royal family at Neuilly, and
proceed to the camp at St. Omer. As he approached Porte Maillot, the
horses became frightened. The driver began to lose his control of the
horses.
"Are you master of your horses?" asked the duke.
"Sir, I guide them," was the reply.
"I am afraid you cannot hold them," again cried the duke.
"I cannot, sir," was the reply.
The duke then endeavored to get out of the carriage, but his feet became
entangled in his cloak, and he was thrown with great force to the
ground, his head striking first. It was dreadfully fractured, and he was
carried into the house of a grocer near at hand, where he expired at
four o'clock the same day, entirely unconscious. The royal family were
with him when he died. The house with the adjacent property was bought,
and two distinguished architects were commanded to erect a commemorative
chapel on the place. In July, 1843, it was consecrated by the
archbishop, in the presence of the royal family.
The building is fifty feet long, twenty in height, is built in the
Lombard-Gothic style, and resembles an ancient mausoleum.
Opposite the entrance there stands an altar to the Virgin, on the very
spot where the duke breathed his last, and over it there is a strikingly
beautiful statue of the Virgin and child. Beyond, there is a Descent
from, the Cross in marble. On the left, is another altar dedicated to
St. Ferdinand, and on the right a marble group, which represents the
duke on his death-bed. An angel kneels at his head, as if imploring the
Divine Mercy upon the sufferer. It is a fine figure, and is doubly
interesting from the fact that the Princess Marie, sister of the duke,
with her own hands wrought it, long before he was still in death.
Beneath this marble group there is a bas-relief, representing France
leaning over, and near, the French flag drooping at her feet. There are
four circular windows of stained glass, with St. Raphael, Hope, Faith,
and Charity, upon them. There are fourteen pointed windows, stained with
the patron saints of the royal family. Behind the altar the very room is
preserved in which the duke died--the sacristy of the chapel now. The
oaken presses, chairs, and prayer-desk are all clothed in black, giving
an air of gloom to the whole apartment. Opposite the entrance there is a
large painting by Jacquard, representing the death of the duke. He is
lying upon a couch with his head supported by physicians; his father is
opposite, apparently stupefied by his deep emotions. On the left is a
group, consisting of the queen and Princess Clementine, the Dukes
Aumale, and Montpensier, Marshals Soult, Gerard, and the cure of Mery.
The picture is a touching one. There is a small apartment detached from
the chapel, which was fitted up for the accommodation of the royal
family--the family now exiled from the land. In another room there is a
clock with a black marble case, on which France is represented as
mourning for the death of the duke. The hands of the clock mark ten
minutes to twelve, the exact moment when the prince fell; and in another
apartment there is a clock with the pointers at ten minutes past four,
the moment when he died.
The interior of this chapel impressed me as the saddest I ever was in.
Everything in it was in perfect keeping with the sentiment of complete
melancholy, though it was rather too luxurious to express deep grief.
Sorrow which is poignant, is not expressed in so sensuous a manner. But
the chapel is unique; there is nothing else like it in the world, and
that is quite a recommendation.
ST. VINCENT DE PAUL.
In my enumeration of the splendid churches of Paris, it would never do
to omit that of St. Vincent de Paul. It is in the Rue Lafayette, and is
now a Protestant church.
The approaches to the building are fine, and the structure forms a
parallelogram of two hundred and forty-three feet by one hundred and
eighty. At the southern end, there are two large towers with Corinthian
pilasters. The church stands upon the brow of a hill, and presents a
striking appearance from the streets Lafayette or Hauteville.
The interior of this church is profusely decorated, and is, in fact, so
richly ornamented as to detract from its beauty. Over the portal, there
is a stained window representing St. Paul surrounded by the sisters of
charity. The choir is semi-circular, and has a fine skylight. A richly
sculptured arch, over sixty feet in height, gives access to it. The
altar-piece is a crucifix on wood. Behind it is a stained window,
representing the Virgin and the Savior. The chapels have also
beautifully stained windows. There are no oil-paintings in St. Vincent
de Paul, but in other respects it is as faulty as the Madeleine. It may
be the result of early education, but I sickened of this excess of
ornament. It was too forced--too unnatural. If I had never entered the
church I should have received a good impression, for its exterior is
everything of which the Ionic order is capable, and its situation is the
finest of any church in Paris.
I will simply allude to a few of the other churches in Paris. The _Notre
Dame de Lorette_, is a very beautiful church in the street _Fountain
St. George_. It is built in the renaissance style, and the sculptures of
the interior are of the highest order. The gorgeous decorations of the
church are unsurpassed. The interior is one blaze of splendor, and the
feelings inspired by a contemplation of it, are not the ones appropriate
for a place of worship. The choir of the church is fitted up with
stalls, a gilt balustrade separating it from the rest of the nave. The
walls are adorned with rich marbles. The altar is executed in the
highest style of magnificence. Behind it is a piece entitled "The
Crowning of the Virgin," wrought on a background of pure gold. The
Parisians boast a great deal of this church, as a gem of the renaissance
style, and with reason, when it is regarded simply as a work of art, but
the less they boast of it as _a church_, the better. The cost was one
million eight hundred thousand francs.
_St. Roch_, in the _Rue St. Honore_, was built under the patronage of
Louis XIV. and Anne of Austria, in 1653. The renowned financier, Law,
gave one hundred thousand livres toward its completion. The steps are
high, and from them crowds of people during the revolution saw the
executions which took place but a short distance away. A mob once filled
the steps, and were cleared away by Napoleon's cannon. The duke of
Orleans, and Corneille, the poet, lie buried in it, together with other
distinguished persons. St. Roch is not beautiful in its architectural
decorations, but is, nevertheless, the richest church in Paris.
_St. Eustache_ is the largest church, except Notre Dame, in Paris, and
is very old. The style is a mixed Gothic.
The _St. Paul et St. Louis_, is a church built in the Italian style, and
is a fine edifice.
All the churches of Paris are open every day of the week, from early in
the morning till five or six o'clock. They have bare pews or slips, and
no seats. There are a plenty of chairs which may be had on Sundays and
festival days, for two cents each, of an old woman who attends them.
This custom is a singular one to the American, accustomed as he is to
well-cushioned, and even luxurious pews. The pulpits, too, are nothing
but upright boxes, with a spiral stair-case leading to them--not like our
broad platforms, with rich sofas and tables in front.
[Illustration: Church of St. Eustache.]