Part 22

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.

SAINTE-MARGUERITE.

The church, dedicated to

_Mild Margarete, that was God's maid;_ _Maid Margarete, that was so meke and mild,_

is not of much importance. The popularity of S. Margaret was so great in the Middle Ages that it seems strange so little notice has been taken of her in Paris. Only think what a lovely dragon the sculptor of the monsters upon the towers of Notre-Dame would have contrived! We have only to look upon them to picture to ourselves the dreadful worm.

Maiden Margrete tho (_then_) Loked her beside, And sees a loathly dragon Out of an hirn (_corner_) glide: His eyen were ful griesly, His mouth opened wide, And Margrete might no where flee, There she must abide.

Maiden Margrete Stood still as any stone, And that loathly worm, To her-ward gan gone, Took her in his foul mouth, And swallowed her flesh and bone. Anon he brast--(_burst_) Damage hath she none! Maiden Margrete, Upon the dragon stood; Blyth was her harte, And joyful was her mood.[102]

The church of S. Marguerite is in the Rue S. Bernard, Faubourg S. Antoine. The chapel of the Souls in Purgatory is a curious composition by Louis, dated 1765; and still more curious was the burying, in 1737, of the tomb of Antoine Fayet, one of the _curés_, because of the indecent nudity of the white marble Angels, a piece of astounding prudery in that peculiarly indecent period of French history. Some pictures illustrative of the life of S. Vincent de Paul are remarkable from the truthfulness of the portraiture; they were formerly in the Lazarists' Church. A marble _Descent from the Cross_, designed by Girardon, and sculptured by his pupils Le Lorrain and Nourrisson for the church of S. Landry, found its way to S. Marguerite in 1817, where it accompanies another _Descent_ painted upon wood, and very excellent in its way.

SAINT-MARTIN DES CHAMPS.

Situated upon the east side of a square which lies between the Rue S. Martin and the Boulevard Sabastopol is the Conservatoire des Arts et Métiers, formerly the rich priory of S. Martin. As its name indicates, it used to be surrounded by fields and gardens; now it is an oasis of antiquity, built up upon every side but the square with huge modern houses. Its old walls enclose a museum; its chapel contains hydraulic machines, and its refectory is a public library. One of the twenty or more turrets which surmounted the wall at intervals still remains; but the chapel of S. Michel, which old Nicolas Arrade founded in the 13th century as a tomb-house for himself and his descendants, the chapter-house, the tower, the Lady-Chapel, and several statues of royal personages, have all been demolished--not by Revolutionists, but by the latter-day monks, who also saw fit to rebuild their cloisters, and ornament them with handsome Doric columns. These acts of barbarism were perpetrated some hundred and fifty years ago. But in spite of adversity, S. Martin still gives us some idea of a conventual foundation, and in Paris it is the only one which has survived improvements by friend and foe. It still has its gate leading into a large courtyard, with church, refectory, and a portion of the cloisters.

Although the priory ranked after all the abbeys of Paris, it was well-nigh as important, and as rich. The prior enjoyed a revenue of 45,000 _livres_, and had the right of nomination to sixty benefices, twenty-nine priories, and many curacies and chapels.

The legend of S. Martin bestowing half his cloak upon a beggar is well known, and a frequent subject for painters. But he was given to other works of mercy, and one, healing the leper, is said to have taken place upon the site of this particular convent. S. Martin is the patron of soldiers. Born in the reign of Constantine the Great, at what is now Stain, in Hungary, Martin early became a Christian, but his parents being Pagans, he was not baptized until comparatively late in life. His father was a Roman soldier and tribune, and the son was enrolled in a cavalry legion. Obliged to leave his native country for Gaul, we find him in the year 332 quartered at Amiens; and here it was that he performed the act which has made him so famous in literature and art--the cutting of his cloak in two to clothe a starving beggar. His namesake, Martin Schoen, gives him such a voluminous mantle that one feels the act of cutting it in half to have been that of a highly-practical mind--enough for you, and enough for me. But other painters, on the contrary, depict the cloak as of such very small dimensions that one can only marvel that the Saint did not give it all to the beggar; for a portion of the garment could scarcely have benefited either party. This act brought him, however, praise from Heaven, and he hastened to receive baptism, being then twenty-three years of age. At forty he left the army, and was elected Bishop of Tours; and again we read of a similar story of clothing the naked, this time with his sacerdotal vestment during the celebration of mass.

S. Martin founded several churches and monasteries, and many more were dedicated to him after his death. Marmoutier, near Nantes, was a very celebrated convent; and in England there are a great many churches of which he is the patron. S. Augustine, when he came to Britain, found a chapel in the neighbourhood of Canterbury, which had been dedicated to S. Martin as early as the 5th century, and there he baptized his first converts. The church is certainly one of the earliest in England, and the font cannot be later than the 11th century; but whether it be the identical one at which King Ethelbert stood to be baptized in the 7th century is considered doubtful. Still, though much restored from time to time, the building retains numbers of Roman bricks incorporated into its walls; and that Queen Bertha worshipped in a church upon the same spot, or close by, is certain, tradition also pointing to a stone coffin in which she lies.

To return to S. Martin, the legend relates that when he was entering Paris, as Bishop of Tours, he met a wretched leper at the gate, and, filled with compassion and love, he embraced him, and thus healed him of his leprosy. This was the act which King Henri I. commemorated by founding the priory in 1060. His son Philippe I. dedicated the church in 1067, placing the new foundation under the patronage of the abbot of Cluny, of which monastery S. Martin des Champs was the third daughter. Its domains originally consisted of several acres of land, which, as time went on, became more and more valuable; and probably, in consequence of its great wealth, it was governed by a long succession of illustrious men; at first regular, and subsequently, titular abbots, of which class was his eminence the Cardinal Richelieu.

It is owing to the cession of the last of the turrets, built by prior Hugues IV. to the town in 1712, and to the erection of a fountain at its base, that we now possess this fragment of the old wall. The principal gate, dating 1575, and ornamented with statues of the two royal founders, was unfortunately demolished at the same time.

The church belongs to two distinct periods. The nave was built about the middle of the 13th century, and is without aisles or pillars. It is lighted by pointed windows, and covered by a pointed timber roof. The choir and apse belong to the middle of the 12th century, and are peculiar in their arrangement. The choir is raised from the nave, and round it on a lower level are double aisles, divided by clustered columns which support the vaulting. Thus, the choir is approached from the nave by steps in the usual manner; but to enter the apsidal chapels one has to descend three or four steps from the nave. There are a few fragments of tombs with effigies of the priors, and some mutilated stone coffins. All the rest of the contents of the church have disappeared; it is in fact, architecturally, an empty shell. The statue of the Blessed Virgin sculptured in wood, and held in great veneration by the faithful worshippers at S. Martin, was taken to S. Denis. The whole building has been gorgeously decorated in colour, and, if restored to its proper use, would be, after the Sainte-Chapelle, the most interesting church in Paris; but the desecration grates upon our religious sentiments, and the noise of the machinery in motion distracts one's nerves. The study of architecture is not rendered easier by the rattle of a dozen or more steam engines, compared to which the confusion of tongues must have been a very small clatter.

Tradition gives Pierre de Montereau as the architect of the refectory, which is a _chef-d'oeuvre_ of the 13th century. It is an oblong building with seven tall, elegant, single-shaft pillars down the centre, dividing it into two equal parts longitudinally. Upon the side walls are an equal number of columns reaching about half-way down, and supported by foliated corbels to match the capitals; the vault, springing from these and the pillars, divide the length into eight bays. The windows consist of two lights surmounted by a rose; but upon one side they have been blocked up. The reading pulpit, which is built into the wall, is a beautiful specimen of its kind. It is lighted from the back by three little windows, and approached by a staircase in the wall, with open arcading to give light upon the refectory side. The building has been decorated with colour, and a painting representing S. Martin dividing his cloak, mediævalized by M. Steinheil--the whole sufficiently harmonious.

The rest of the buildings are modern, or have been modernized; most of the destruction having been perpetrated by the monks, who, like all authoritative Paris of the last century, had Classicism on the brain. At S. Martin, as at S. Nicolas des Champs, S. Germain l'Auxerrois, and S. Séverin (not to mention other churches), Doric columns have taken the place of the old work--they must have been sculptured by the hundred. The chapel of the Virgin, the chapter-house, the old cloister, which, according to Piganiol de la Force, had not the like in Paris, and the statues of divers Kings and Saints, were all swept away to make room for modern improvements; but the refectory was left intact, and having been used as the library, the transformation of the convent into a museum has affected it less than the chapel. As we pass into it from the outer world of trams and omnibuses, with all the _va-et-vient_ of a great city, we seem to be suddenly transported into the olden time--into a world which, if not a better, was certainly a more artistic and a quieter one.

SAINT-MÉDARD.

The French S. Swithin shares with his brethren on the opposite bank of the Seine, _les frères Gervais et Protais_, a predilection for drenching us on and after his _fête_ day; so that, what with S. Médard's 8th of June, S. Gervais' and S. Protais' 19th June, and S. Swithin's 15th July, we who live upon our respective sides of the ditch may reckon upon a good three weeks of wet, over and above the forty days, if unhappily it rains upon the earlier of those unlucky festivals.

S'il pleut le jour de Saint-Médard, Il pleut quarante jours plus tard; S'il pleut le jour de Saint Gervais et de Saint Protais, Il pleut quarante jours après.