The Churches of Paris, from Clovis to Charles X
TextAnother monument, or rather statue, by Bosio, of Antoine de Montyon, was removed from the old Hôtel Dieu when it was pulled down, and placed over the last burial-place of the philanthropist. Originally interred at Vaugirard, M. de Montyon's body was afterwards placed under the peristyle of the hospital, where it remained until the demolition. M. de Montyon is principally known by his prix de vertu given annually by the Immortals of the Institut. But he left other legacies for prizes: to whomsoever should discover the means of rendering certain industries less unhealthy; to a poor French subject who should write a book the most conducive to morals; for the advancement of medical science or surgery; also for the poor who require aid on leaving the Paris hospitals. All the prizes are distributed by the Academy, and the whole sum left amounted to some seven millions of francs, a considerable fortune seventy years ago (1820) when M. de Montyon died. The principal prize, pour l'action la plus vertueuse, generally falls to the lot of some obscure person, who has passed years of self-sacrificing devotion to the old, the sick, or the poor; virtuous actions, in M. de Montyon's opinion, being those unrecorded works of love and charity which are done in simple homes, without excitement or glamour; works which become great because of their very monotony and which prove the patience and unselfishness of the true Christian.
À LA MEMOIRE
D'ANTOINE J. B. ROBERT AUGET DE MONTYON,
BARON DE MONTYON,
CONSEILLER D'ÉTAT,
DONT L'INÉPUISABLE BIENFAISANCE
ET L'INGÉNIEUSE CHARITÉ
ONT ASSURÉ
APRÈS SA MORT, COMME DURANT SA VIE,
DES ENCOURAGEMENTS AUX SCIENCES,
DES RÉCOMPENSES AUX ACTIONS VERTUEUSES,
DES SOULAGEMENTS À TOUTES LES MISÈRES HUMAINES
NÉ LE 23 DEC. 1733. – MORT LE 29 DEC. 1820
ICI REPOSE SA DÉPOUILLE MORTELLE
TRANSPORTÉE DE LA COMMUNE DEMEURE DES MORTS
À L'ENTRÉE DE L'ASILE DES PAUVRES, SOUFFRANTS ET SECOURUS,
COMME À SA PLACE LÉGITIME,
PAR LA PIEUSE RECONNAISSANCE
DE L'AUTORITÉ MUNICIPALE ET DE L'ADMINISTRATION DES HOSPICES
AUXQUELLES SE SONT ASSOCIÉES
L'ACADÉMIE FRANÇAISE ET L'ACADÉMIE DES SCIENCES,
XXVI MAI M.D.CCC.XXXVIII
M. de Montyon was a remarkable man, in that he refused the exalted office of Keeper of the Seals offered him by Louis XVI., for fear of his moral character deteriorating: "Dites à Sa Majesté que je suis confus de ses bontés. Si je fais un peu de bien dans la place que j'occupe, c'est que je ne suis pas en évidence. En acceptant celle que l'on me propose, je serais exposé à toutes les intrigues, à toutes les cabales de l'envie; je n'aurais peut-être ni le talent ni la force nécessaires pour y résister; dans le doute, je dois m'abstenir."
SAINT-LAURENT
There is nothing in the present somewhat spick-and-span church to recall its former state in the 6th century. The patron of Nürnberg, of the Escorial, and of Genoa; the young martyr, who from the earliest beginnings of Christian art has been one of its most popular subjects; the saintly deacon, who, as painted by Fra Angelico, charms us by his expression of sweet sanctity, and who, when depicted by the disciples of horrors, makes us shudder and close our eyes – S. Laurence, the deacon, has always been a favourite, and many are the churches dedicated to him. He was a native of Osca or Huesca, in Aragon, and acted as deacon (although a priest) to Sixtus II., bishop of Rome, in the middle of the 3rd century. He had the care of all the precious vessels of the church, and of the money. Times were bad, and Sixtus was denounced as a Christian; then Laurence, following the example of S. Stephen, petitioned the good bishop to allow him to share the captivity. Before Sixtus died he ordered Laurence to distribute all the money and treasure amongst the poor, and predicted his disciple's martyrdom as worse than his own. Laurence went about the city and distributed the alms, which, when the tyrant heard thereof, caused him so much anger that he thrust the deacon into prison, where he converted his gaoler. But the Prefect ordered him to give up his treasure. Then Laurence gathered together the poor and the sick, and presented them to the Prefect; and he being enraged, concocted a new and terrible torture. He made a sort of gridiron bed, upon which the young deacon was laid, and fire being placed underneath, the victim was roasted to death. "Seest thou not, O thou foolish man, being roasted on one side, thou shouldst turn me over, that the other be well cooked," are the words recorded to prove his steadfastness. Then he lifted his eyes to Heaven, and said, "I thank Thee, O my God and Saviour, that I have been found worthy to enter into Thy blessedness"; and so he passed away into bliss, and was buried in the Via Tiburtina.
Grégoire de Tours speaks of a monastery of S. Laurence in Paris; and S. Domnole, bishop of Le Mans, who died in 581, had been previously its abbot. This abbey has long since disappeared, and been lost to memory; and the parish, which since the 13th century has taken its place, became a dependency of the priory of S. Martin. The façade of the present building is no older than 1622; the nave and transept were erected in the 16th, the choir and apse in the 15th century. A niche containing a statue of S. John Baptist is commendable, and some of the details of corbels, gargoyles, cornices, and other exterior decoration are quaint and often grotesque: little beasties jumping about in foliage; small children in fool's caps tumbling about in grotesque attitudes; one little imp being whipped by the schoolmaster; Angels with animal continuations; a hunter shooting arrows at a salamander, and divers other monstrosities.
The interior is cold and uninteresting, the bosses being the best part of the decoration. They are of all manner of devices: S. Nicholas blessing his children; crowns, garlands, Angels' heads; foliage and draperies, and a mass of ornament and little personages – the Virgin and Child, S. John Baptist with his cross, S. Laurence and his gridiron, the scenes from the Passion, and many other conceits.
The apse has been disfigured, after the manner of S. Séverin and S. Germain l'Auxerrois, by Corinthian columns, pilasters, monograms, and trophies – the work of Lepautre. The jubé has gone, and divers other Gothic "excrescences," and the church remains a grand example of the last century barbarism. Well has Victor Hugo described those gentlemen, so-called artists, who fell down and worshipped Fashion, as set by its 18th century votaries: "Les modes ont fait plus de mal que les révolutions. Elles ont tranché dans le vif, elles ont attaqué la charpente osseuse de l'art; elles ont coupé, taillé, désorganisé l'édifice, dans la forme comme dans le symbole, dans sa logique comme dans sa beauté. Et puis, elles ont refait; prétention que n'avaient eue, du moins, ni le temps, ni les révolutions. Elles ont effrontément ajusté, de par le bon goût, sur les blessures de l'architecture Gothique leurs misérables colifichets d'un jour, leurs rubans de marbre, leurs pompons de métal: véritable lèpre d'oves, de volutes, d'entournements, de draperies, de guirlandes, de franges, de flammes, de pierre, de nuages, de bronze, d'amours replets, de chérubins bouffis, qui commence à dévorer la face de l'art dans l'oratoire de Catherine de Médicis, et le fait expirer, deux siècles après, tourmenté et grimaçant, dans le boudoir de la Dubarry."
SAINT-LEU-SAINT-GILLES
About the year 600, the town of Sens was besieged by Clotaire's general, Blidebodes, and grievous was the pain and suffering to which the inhabitants were subjected. But the bishop, Lupus,99 Leu, or Loup was a holy man, and while the warriors fought he passed his time in prayer. Then he bethought him of a little stratagem. Ostensibly for the object of collecting the citizens for prayer, he set to, and vigorously pulled the church bell. The crowd rushed from all parts of the town, and following the example of their spiritual father, they threw themselves on their knees. Presently came the news that the siege was raised; at the sound of the bell, the enemy had fled precipitately. This, all but miracle, may be accounted for by the fact that bells were first introduced into France about this time (615); and if Clotaire's soldiers, coming from the north and west, had never heard any before, they may have felt much the same sort of terror as was said to have been instilled into the natives during the Ashantee war by the Scottish bagpipes.
Considering that the church has two patrons, it ought surely to be in some way remarkable; but the fact is, it is a very insignificant little building, and devoid of beauty of any kind. It formerly belonged to the Abbey of S. Magloire from which it was separated by only a small space of ground; the abbey having been situated in the Rue S. Denis, and the church in what is now the Boulevard Sebastopol. The latter must have been built in the 13th century, as the abbé Lebeuf found a notice in the archives of S. Magloire to the effect that some little bells had been placed in S. Leu. The church has been so repaired, so cut about (the east end was lopped off when the new boulevard was pierced); it has been so mutilated and travestied, that little remains of the old building. Some of the bosses are elegantly and curiously carved. We see S. Giles and his hind, and S. Loup in episcopal vestments; the 17th century marble bas-reliefs illustrating the Passion; quaint emaciated bodies and large heads are the characteristics of the crowd.
In one of the chapels, the first on the south, is a curious picture commemorating a terrible event, which led to a miracle. The inscription reads thus:
CETTE IMAGE A ESTÉ FAITE L'AN 1772
EN L'HONNEUR DU SIGNALE MIRACLE ARRIVÉ À PARIS À LA RUE AUX OURS PAROISSE DE ST. LEU ST. GILLES LE 3ME JUILLET L'AN 1415 EN MEMOIRE DE QUOY.
LES BOURGEOIS DE LA DITE RUE TOUS LES ANS À PARCIL JOUR BRULENT L'EFIGIE
DU MALFAICTEUR QUI MALHEUREUSEMENT FRAPPA L'IMAGE DE LA SAINCT
VIRGE DE LA QUELLE SORTIT DU SANG ET FUT PUNI PAR ARREST DE LA
COUR DE PARLEMENT COME IL EST REPRÉSENTÉ CY DESSOUS.
The picture represents the Virgin and Child sitting under an elegant baldachino, the curtains of which are borne by Angels, who are holding, at the same time, a crown over the head of the holy mother. The following description by Père Du Breul100 gives the story of the miracle:
"Le troisième du mois de juillet 1418, veille de sainct Martin,101 Bouillant, un soldat ou goujat sortant d'une taverne qui estoit dès lors en la rue aux Ours, désespéré d'avoir perdu tout son argent et ses habits à jouer, jurant et blasphémant, frappa furieusement d'un couteau une image de la Vierge Marie qui estoit au coin de ladite rue. Laquelle image rendit du sang en abondance; de quoy estant advertie la justice, il fut mené par devant l'image, fut frappé d'escourgées depuis six heures du matin jusques au soir, tant que les entrailles luy sortoient, et eut la langue percée d'un fer chaud. Au mesme lieu, tous les ans et à tel jour, on fait un feu pour souvenance de ce miracle… Audit lieu se voit encores une image de Nostre Dame enfermée d'un treillis, auprès de laquelle, contre la parvy, le jour que ce faict ledit feu, l'on attache une tapisserie où est représenté l'histoire susdite."
Horrors of this kind were common enough in the 14th and 15th centuries; indeed, when we think of Damiens' tortures, even the 18th century was no more humane or decent. In the account of the Black Death in 1348, when 500 persons were buried daily, and Jews were tortured and burnt for poisoning the people (as the populace affirmed), an order of Philippe IV. was issued that all blasphemers should have their lips or tongues cut off, as a sanitary measure to dispel the plague. It is curious that such doings should be commemorated in a church dedicated to S. Giles, that gentle hermit who screened the wounded hind from its pursuers, and gave an eternal reproof to the votaries of the hunt. One can imagine what the hermit-Saint would have thought of thus torturing a man, being not only the protector of hunted animals and woodlands, but also of those specimens of human misery, the lepers. Yet for many years the hideous cruelty described above was celebrated as a sort of Guy Fawkes festival, with fireworks, and mannikins of gigantic size, which were marched about the neighbourhood to the terror of all the youthful inhabitants.
SAINT-LOUIS D'ANTIN
Little need be said of the church which formerly belonged to the Capuchins who were transferred from the Faubourg S. Jacques to the new quarter of the Rue d'Antin in 1783. The church was built by Brongniard, but is of no importance whatever. It now forms a part of the Lycée for those connected therewith who do not find science and literature all that is requisite to their souls' weal.
SAINT LOUIS EN L'ILE
This church stands upon the little island of the same name, and was commenced by Louis Levau in 1664; Gabriel Leduc continued the work, and Jacques Doucet finished it in 1726. Men are said to be happy if they are minus a history. Not so churches; without it they are anything but interesting. And so we will pass on from the second S. Louis, just noting some of the modern woodwork as respectable.
SAINT-LOUIS DES INVALIDES
Built by Libéral Bruant from 1671 to 1679, this church has a certain grandeur, and could the dome be seen from it by taking away the intervening partition of ugly painted glass, it would be very imposing. The latter, the burial-place of Napoleon and of some of his generals, contains also monuments and statues of other military heroes. This part, the cupola (or Tombeau as it is generally termed), was built by Jules Hardouin Mansard, and dedicated by the Cardinal de Noailles in 1706. The exterior is very fine, and, with its gilding, forms a beautiful landmark for all parts of the city and suburbs. The interior, if somewhat pompous, and over addicted to yellow glass, is nevertheless very grand; and the general effect of the magnificent baldachino over the altar (just such an arrangement as was wanted in S. Paul's), and the subdued light, make a decidedly striking coup d'œil.
The statues of Charlemagne and of S. Louis are by Coyzevox and Nicolas Coustou; the cupola was painted by Charles de Lafosse and by Jouvenet. The statue of Turenne, which has at last found a resting-place, after having been shunted about since its departure from S. Denis, is the work of Tuby and Marsy. In the centre, under the beautiful dome, is Napoleon's tomb, sunk some feet below the surface.
In the chapel proper are rows of flags of all nations suspended from each side of the roof; but beyond these there is little that is picturesque except during the military mass on Sunday morning. Then, when the pensioners line the aisle, bearing their swords and halberds; when the drums beat at the Elevation, and the old men present arms, the effect is both grand and intensely pathetic. Formerly the military band played throughout the offices; now the duty is done by the organ.
LA SAINTE-MADELEINE
If good materials and excellent workmanship can make a building interesting, assuredly the Madeleine ought to be so. Commenced in 1764 as a church, its fate was somewhat similar to that of S. Geneviève, for, in 1806, Napoleon, then busy in Posen, sent his orders that it should be finished as a Temple of Glory. The pediment was to bear the following inscription: – "L'empereur Napoléon aux soldats de la grande armée;" and the 5th article of the decree was thus composed: "Tous les ans, aux anniversaires des batailles d'Austerlitz et d'Iéna, le monument sera illuminé, et il y sera donné un concert précédé d'un discours sur les vertus necessaires au soldat, et d'un éloge de ceux qui périrent sur le champ de bataille dans ces journées memorables… Dans les discours et odes, il est expressément défendu de faire mention de l'empereur."
Pierre Vignon carried on the work, and the building grew into a magnificent temple, planned upon the Maison Carrée of Nismes. The results of Waterloo turned it again church ways, but it was not finished until 1842. The bronze doors are perhaps the best work of Baron de Triqueti; and the group of the Magdalen over the altar may be no more mundane and meretricious than is usual in Marochetti's performances. The picture in the vault over the altar is a jumble by Ziegler of sacred and secular personages, from the Magdalen and her Master down to Napoleon the arrogant. It is supposed to be an allegory of the history of Christianity, which Clovis introduced to France, and Napoleon patted on the back by means of the Concordat. The most important position in the picture is occupied by the last-named brigand – the poor Pope even being in a secondary place, somewhat inferior to the imperial eagle. The group in the baptistry is by Rude; the one opposite, in a chapel dedicated to marriage, by Pradier. It was in the Madeleine that some of the Communards were massacred in 1871. At the end of the struggle, about 300 of them were driven into the church; and there, before the altar where their victim, the abbé Duguerry had officiated, they were mown down in terrible retribution, with no more mercy shown them than they had accorded to the hostages.
In the interior fittings of the church, no expense has been spared, and what it lacks in beauty as regards sculpture and painting it possesses in its marble walls and its carved woodwork. The pulpit is an excellent piece of modern wood-carving; the details of the ornament are in the best style; and so are most of the worshippers; for it is one of the fashionable churches of Paris. There, especially at the lazy mass (as the old writer has it, "la messe des paresseux," which was said at "la plus haute heure du matin," at "unze heures,") you see "des mondaines" by the dozen; only the lazy eleven o'clock has become one in the afternoon. What in the world would the old chronicler have said to the swarms of fashionables who just save their souls by hurrying off after a comfortable déjeuner to those one o'clock masses? But there is a mixture at the Madeleine; old ladies of the noblesse; nouveaux riches; a few soldiers who like the music; half-a-dozen husbands who go as a duty to their wives; an old Bretonne gorgeous in chains and muslin, and velvet bodice; and two or three black women, charming in the yellow silk handkerchiefs which swathe their heads. It is a mixture, and what brings them? Probably the music, for at no church in Paris, and few elsewhere, do you hear such refined, soft, emotional strains as there. Sometimes the boys' voices are not of the best; but the artistic taste with which they sing is always there. S. Roch has a reputation for its choir, gained many years ago by its execution of the masses of Mozart and Haydn; but it no longer deserves it. S. Eustache also is celebrated for its music. But there is a special tone about that of the Madeleine one meets with nowhere else; it aims at raising one's soul from the earth upon which it is supposed to grovel; it certainly never interrupts prayer or disturbs thought. Even on Good Friday, when the old Passione by Haydn, or the new one by Dubois, is performed, refinement, not clatter, is the distinguishing characteristic. If only some of our London organists would take a leaf out of the Madeleine music-book! Just think of the noise at a certain West-end church, which is the model of all that ritual should be. From its foundation, what we all loved was the refinement of its music; it was the exponent of Gregorian chants and Plain song. Now the most elaborate compositions are performed for the edification and vanity of the choir. Church music ought certainly to be an aid to prayer, not a disturbing force; but what else can it be, when organ and choir are all shrieking Haydn's Imperial Mass, or Beethoven in C, and each man or boy is trying to get the mastery? It is a bitter duel between organ and voices. All the great masters' masses are sung at the Madeleine; but you can devote yourself to your own prayers all through them without being disturbed, if you so wish. Moreover, one hour suffices in Paris for what in London endures an hour and a half, or more. And is not the long, elaborate credo answerable for the objectionable Roman practice of sitting through the greater part of it? Of course church music should be of the most perfect kind; but perfection is sure to be greater where less is attempted; and the mere repetitions of words, and the placing of the accent upon the wrong note in the English translation, make these elaborate masses unsuitable in our churches.
The ceremonial at the Madeleine always gives strangers the impression of having been over-rehearsed. The black-clothed beadles walk about with measured steps, particularly the frog faced one; the Suisses in their cocked hats leisurely saunter about with their halberds looking the essence of flunkeyism, and never issue from their stereotyped expression of importance and unmixed boredom, except upon occasions when a foreigner fails to kneel at solemn moments. Why need the good Protestant remain sitting when the bell rings, feigning a kneeling posture by a sort of zigzag attitude? Up comes the Suisse, and shaking the back of his chair, tries to jerk him out of it. Why not stand, if rags of popery and scarlet women prevent you kneeling? Or why go at all, if you cannot do at Rome as Rome does? I confess to feeling a sensation of distress, and am much upset when that chair-tipping begins. And the worst of if is that, although the victim is innocent of what lies in store for him, we, who know the ways of the Suisses, anxiously anticipate the fatal moment. Sometimes, too, the British-born struggles to look pious, while he furtively reads his Baedeker, never dreaming that the benighted foreigner knows that Classic by its blood-red exterior. We are a great people, and are justly proud of our institutions; but we should be no less great if we had a little more respect for other folks, and other folks' manners and customs.
It is curious how the church beadle varies. At the Madeleine he is pure flunkey. His cocked hat is high and broad, like the old Bumble of our childhood; he is whiskered, but not bearded; he has an arrogant way with him as he precedes the priest who makes the collection; and as he carries the bag into which the alms are emptied from time to time, he looks the essence of important officialism. Likewise, when he demands, in a commanding voice, "Pour les pauvres, s'il vous plait!" few persons would say him nay. Not so the Suisses of S. Eustache; they have the military air; the cocked hat is low, and worn as by the Marshals of France. Such are they also at S. Roch, and at both churches they salute at the Elevation, à la militaire.
It has always seemed to me that the author of Monsieur, Madame et Bébé, pictured the Madeleine in his scenes of Madame at church; at all events I have often seen the like. She kneels on her velvet-covered prie-Dieu, and tells her beads; and then, between a Pater Noster and a new batch of Ave Marias, she turns round to a neighbour, "Ah! chère madame, comment allez vous? et monsieur votre mari? Et la chère petite Bébé?" "Merci, chère baronne, mon mari ne va pas trop mal; il a la migraine, voilà tout. Et Bébé, c'est un ange; elle est ravissante, le petit chou. Mais moi, je souffre, oh, comme je souffre! je suis tellement éreintée que… Je vous salue Marie, pleine de grâce."… "How adorable is the Madeleine," said Dibden; but he meant its exterior at twilight, when the lights spring up on the neighbouring boulevards. And so it is in its way; but its way is to some of us not the most beautiful way.
Many are the functions which take place there; marriages and funerals by the score. At the latter, it affords ample room under its portico for that terrible French custom which forces all the family of the deceased to stand by the door and receive the condolences of their friends and acquaintances. How do they ever survive it? And why do they not rebel against the conventionality, and give it up? Because they are at once the most conventional of nations, added to the most revolutionary. The funeral terror is greater in France that here at home; it is one of the few things in which we are ahead of our neighbours. We do not waste quite so much upon putting our friends underground, although we too are compelled to pay twice as much as we ought. But in some respects the French are far more decent. Men raise their hats at passing funerals, and I have never seen the undertakers sitting in the open car when returning from the cemetery; an indecent proceeding like the one immortalized in Figaro. "Mon Dieu! What strange people, ces Anglais! When they return from a funeral, the friends of the deceased ride upon the top of the hearse with their legs hanging over it!"
One of the beauties of the Madeleine is the flower-garden at its feet, and the tree-planted boulevards which surround it. How pleasant it is to be able to sit down in the air upon a warm evening; would that we could do likewise! Here, sunset is the last moment when we can breathe the air of most of the parks, without perpetually tramping round and round upon our weary legs. But in Paris we may sit and gaze upon the buildings by moonlight if we like; and certainly, that is the most flattering time for the Madeleine. Its portico, lighted up by the moon with the dark shadows thrown behind it, has a decidedly grand appearance.