NOTRE DAME DE PARIS
A SHORT HISTORY & DESCRIPTION
OF THE CATHEDRAL, WITH SOME
ACCOUNT OF THE CHURCHES
WHICH PRECEDED IT

BY
CHARLES HIATT

AUTHOR OF
“CHESTER CATHEDRAL,” “BEVERLEY MINSTER,”
“WESTMINSTER ABBEY,” ETC., ETC.

WITH FORTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS 1902

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I.
A BRIEF HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF THE CATHEDRAL.

Strange it is that, where so much has been changed, the cathedral church of Notre Dame has remained almost unaltered in outline and general effect. Revolutions have surged round it; monstrous rites have been perpetrated within it; even the hail of shot and shell have left this wonderful Gothic creation poorer only in decorative detail. There is a certain fascination in the grimness of this mysterious building in la ville lumière, and I am disposed to agree with Mr. Richard Whiteing that it symbolises the underlying sadness, as opposed to the superficial gaiety of the Parisian. Thousands of French churches are dedicated to Notre Dame: even in Paris itself we have Notre Dame de l’Assomption, Notre Dame de l’Abbaye aux Bois, Notre Dame des Blancs-Manteaux, Notre Dame des Champs, Notre Dame de Lorette, and Notre Dame des Victoires. But still when we speak of Notre Dame we allude instinctively to that vast edifice which frowns over the slow and winding Seine. The cathedral church of Notre Dame is almost as closely connected with the history of the French people as is the Abbey of Westminster with that of the English. And indeed the gray-white building whose foundations are nearly washed by the waters of the Seine has seen pageants more superb, and tragedies more luridly dramatic, than our own proud Minster of the West. Although it can boast no such marvellous continuity of vital historic episodes, Notre Dame is the one building in the French metropolis which seems to stand as a symbol for the whole city in all its memorable phases: with it may not be compared the bragging grandeur of the Arc de Triomphe, the extensive splendour of the Louvre, nor the rebuilt Hôtel de Ville. We do not forget the exquisite beauties of La Sainte Chapelle, the strange fascination of the resting-place of the Great Napoleon, nor the majesty of the once royal church of Saint Denis. None of these, however, will bear serious comparison with the great Metropolitan Cathedral of Paris. Notre Dame has an almost unearthly power of asserting its existence. Neither in full sunshine, nor in the twilight, nor when night has finally set in, will it allow its majestic proportions to be overlooked. Mr. Henley has finely spoken of “the high majesty of Paul’s,” but even our own metropolitan cathedral, with its overwhelming dome, is scarcely more predominant than Notre Dame.

The geographical position of the Cathedral of Paris is not unlike that anciently possessed by Westminster Abbey, and by that crown of the Fens, Ely Cathedral. We find that Notre Dame dominates an islet of the Seine. At its east end is that tragical commentary on the life of modern Paris, The Morgue. The late Mr. Grant Allen, with a cheerfulness which we are far from sharing, noted that this triumphant example of the best Gothic in the world has often been restored. We believe that he was one of many intelligent persons who derive a real satisfaction from the so-called “restoration” of an ancient work, of which no real “restoration” is possible, though repair is an obvious duty.

The mediæval churches of western Europe nearly all claim a pre-Christian origin. It is charming to the mind of a certain type of antiquary to discover the origin of a Christian cathedral in the wreck of a Roman temple. For Westminster Abbey and for St. Paul’s Roman foundations have, with more or less accuracy, been described. In the case of Notre Dame it is certain that the remains of an altar of Jupiter were discovered in 1711, which would seem to indicate that a pagan temple once stood on or near the site in the Gaulish city of Lutetia Parisiorum. In point of fact, it is a matter of no small difficulty to make out clearly the origin of Notre Dame, or to describe with certainty the ecclesiastical buildings which in the dim past occupied its site. A lady writer who has discussed the church with much intelligence writes on this matter as follows:[1]

“The origin of Notre Dame is enveloped in mystery. Whether its first bishop, St. Denis, or Dionysius, was the Areopagite converted by St. Paul’s preaching at Athens, and sent by St. Clement to preach the Gospel to the Parisians, or whether he was another personage of the same name who was sent into Gaul in the third century and martyred during the persecutions under Decius, it is impossible to say, as there is no evidence of any value. Certain it is, however, that the first bishop of Paris bore the name of Denis, and that he suffered martyrdom, with his two companions Rusticus and Eleutherius, on the summit of the hill now called Montmartre. Tradition went so far as to point out the spot where they first gathered their followers together—the crypt of Notre Dame des Champs; also the prison where our Lord appeared to them and strengthened them with His Holy Body and Blood at St. Denis de la Chartre; the place, at St. Denis du Pas, where they suffered their first tortures; and lastly, Montmartre, where they were beheaded. But, with the exception of the latter, all these holy spots have disappeared. So, too, have the crosses which marked the route taken by the Saint, when he carried his head to the place chosen for his burial, at St. Denis. An ancient church covered the remains of the three saints until the present splendid building was erected, in the reign of Dagobert I. Under the Roman dominion, Paris was comprised in the fourth Lyonnaise division, of which Sens was the metropolis. Hence the bishops of Paris acknowledged the Archbishop of Sens as their primate until 1622, when, at the request of Louis XIII., Pope Gregory XV. raised Paris to the see of an archbishopric. The succession has consisted of one hundred and nine bishops and fifteen archbishops, eight of whom have been raised to the dignity of Cardinal. Besides St. Denis six have been venerated as Saints: Marcel, in the fifth century; Germain, in the sixth century; Ceran, Landry, and Agilbert in the seventh, and Hugues in the eighth century.”

We must leave this ancient and hazy story of saints and martyrs, and return to the thorny question of the origin of the cathedral. From the brief account of Notre Dame by Mr. A. J. C. Hare in his entertaining volume on Paris, we glean that about the year 375 a church, dedicated to St. Stephen (St. Etienne), was built on the islet under Prudentius, eighth bishop of Paris. “In 528,” says Mr. Hare, “through the gratitude of Childebert—‘le nouveau Melchisedech’—for his recovery from a sickness by St. Germain, another far more rich and beautiful edifice (dedicated to Sainte Marie—) arose by the side of the first church, and was destined to become ecclesia parisiaca, the cathedral of Paris. Childebert endowed it with three estates—at Chelles-en-Brie, at La Celle near Monterau, and at La Celle near Fréjus—which last supplied the oil for its sacred ordinances. The new church had not long been finished when La Cité, in which the monks of S. Germain had taken refuge with their treasures, was besieged by the Normans; but it was successfully defended by Bishop Gozlin, who died during the siege. It is believed that the substructions of this church were found during recent excavations in the Parvis Notre Dame,[2] and architectural fragments then discovered are now preserved at the Palais des Thermes.” It may be taken for granted that Childebert’s church took the form of a Roman basilica, and it is probable that Roman materials were used in its construction. In 1847 further Roman remains were discovered on the site which doubtless formed part of Childebert’s building. Some of them are preserved at the Hôtel-Cluny.

I am, however, inclined to agree with M. de Guilhermy and M. Viollet-le-Duc,[3] that the story of the cathedral previous to the episcopacy of Bishop Maurice de Sully (1160–96) is, if not absolutely fictitious, at least merely conjectural.

Between the years 1235 and 1240, a fire seems to have broken out at Notre Dame. On this subject history is silent, but that it did serious damage is maintained by Viollet-le-Duc on what appear to be sufficient grounds. According to him, repair was made in haste, so that rose windows, flying buttresses and other structural details were ruthlessly sacrificed. The west front seems to have escaped mutilation. Up to 1245 the cathedral, vast as was its area, possessed either no chapels at all, or chapels of inconsiderable dimensions. In that year, however, the addition of new chapels was proceeded with. It would appear that, shortly after, the plainness of the transept fronts in comparison with the splendidly decorated west façade was acutely felt. In 1257, Jean de Chelles was engaged on reconstructing the southern doorway. At this time St. Louis was King of France, and Renaud de Corbeil bishop of Paris. The northern door and the chapels next the transepts on either side were altered immediately after the southern entrance. In 1351, Jean Ravy and Jean de Bouteiller were engaged about the cathedral as sculptors.

During the next three centuries Notre Dame escaped anything in the nature of important change, destruction or addition; but in 1699 an era of reckless mutilation began. Between the last-named date and 1753 the Cloister, the stalls of the sixteenth century, the old high altar, many sepulchral monuments, and a vast quantity of stained glass were destroyed. The work done in the names of “repair” and “beautification” deprived the cathedral of mouldings, foliated capitals, gargoyles and pinnacles. The damage inflicted by the architect Soufflot (who designed the Panthéon) will be noticed later. Towards the end of Louis XV.’s reign the church was refloored with squares of marble. The new pavement involved the tearing up of a number of curious tombstones, some of which covered the dust of men greatly distinguished in French history. Between 1773 and 1787 minor alterations in the taste of the time were made in various parts of the building, but further additions were brought to an end by the outbreak of the Revolution. That any sculpture of a religious or royal character was spared at Notre Dame during that terrific upheaval seems to have been due to the eloquence of Citoyen Chaumette and the influence of Citoyen Dupuis. Of the great work of repair and addition performed by the architects Viollet-le-Duc and Lassus, their assistants and successors, much will be said when we consider the cathedral in detail.

We have already discussed the early story of Notre Dame, and noted the vicissitudes through which the fabric has passed. I propose, before concluding this introductory chapter, to state in the briefest possible way the great historical events with which the cathedral is connected, from the death, in 1196, of Maurice de Sully to the present time.

From the tenth century up to the end of the fifteenth century the extraordinary Fête des Fous was celebrated in Notre Dame. One of the cathedral employés was elected Evêque des Fous, and, wearing the actual vestments used in religious services, was honoured with a great banquet accompanied with grotesque dances and songs. This orgy took place in the church itself, and was so popular that it flourished in spite of the most determined efforts to suppress it. A similar custom was observed in La Sainte Chapelle. During the early years of the thirteenth century the Dominican order was established. St. Dominic himself preached once at least in Notre Dame. During his prayer before the sermon, the Virgin is said to have appeared to him in a cloud of light and to have given to him a book containing the subject-matter of his discourse. Raymond VII., Count of Toulouse, underwent the discipline of the lash for heresy before the door of the cathedral in 1229. This spot was for centuries occupied by a pillory. From 1220 onwards a series of disputes took place between the officials of the church and the university. During the long reign of St. Louis, which ended in 1271, the power of the bishop and chapter of Paris had increased enormously, and a host of vassals did homage to Bishop Etienne II. for their lands. The body of St. Louis was laid in state in Notre Dame previous to its burial at St. Denis. This custom was followed in the case of many other French monarchs and princes of the blood.

On April 10th, 1302, Philippe-le-Bel held the first meeting of the States-general in the cathedral. In the month of June, 1389, Isabeau de Bavière made a solemn entry into Paris. Froissart tells us that: “Devant ladite église de Notre-Dame, en la place, l’évêque de Paris étoit revêtu des armes de Notre-Seigneur et tout le collège. Aussi on moult avoit grand clergé et la descendit la royne et la mirent hors de sa litière les quatre ducs qui là estoyent, Berry, Bourgogne, Touraine et Bourbon.... La royne de France fut adestrée et menée parmy l’église et le chœur jusqu’au grand autel et la se mit à genoux et fit ses oraisons ainsi que bon lui sembla, et bailla et offrit à la trésorerie de Notre-Dame quatre draps d’or et la belle couronne que les anges lui avoient posée sur la porte de Paris.”

“In the annals of Notre Dame,” says Mr. W. F. Lonergan in his Historic Churches of Paris, “from the days of Louis XI., the rebellious dauphin who succeeded his father, Charles VII., to the reign of the fourteenth Louis, there is chiefly a long record of Te Deums after the victories of the French army. Historic Rheims, where Clovis had been baptized by S. Remi in 496, was the favoured city of the Merovingians, who had accorded it great privileges.” Amongst these was the right of crowning and consecrating the Kings of France. Save Henri Quatre and Louis XVIII., all of them were crowned at Rheims; but it was the custom of the newly made sovereigns to go in state to Notre Dame at Paris to return thanks for their advent to the throne. Amongst the most interesting of the historic events which took place in, or were magnificently celebrated at Notre Dame, were the following: the French victory over the Venetians at Agnadel or, as the Italians call it, Vaila, in 1509; the marriage of Louis XII. with Mary, sister of Henry VIII. of England; the victories of Francis I.; and the marriage of Mary Stuart with the Dauphin. The marriage of Henri, King of Navarre, with Marguerite de Valois, took place at the entrance to the cathedral, as the King was a Protestant. In 1590 the Catholic nobles swore at the altar of Notre Dame to fight this same Henri to the bitter end. In 1593, however, he became a Catholic, and attended mass at the cathedral on the occasion of his accession to the throne as the first monarch of the Bourbon line. The metropolitan see was raised to the dignity of an archbishopric by Pope Gregory XV. in 1622. In 1682, under Louis XIV., the great bell or bourdon of the church was christened Emmanuel Louis Thérèse, the King and Queen being the sponsors. Later on, in 1699, the great changes in the church, undertaken in fulfilment of the vow of Louis XIII., were begun. The first stone of the new altar was laid by the Archbishop with the utmost pomp. The foundation slab was inscribed: “Louis the Great—son of Louis the Just—after he had suppressed heresy, established the true faith in his kingdom, terminated gloriously wars by land and sea, wishing to accomplish the vow of his father, built this altar in the cathedral church of Paris, dedicating it to the God of Arms, Master of Peace and Victory, under the invocation of the Virgin, patron and protector of his State, A.D. 1699.” During the reign of the “Grand Monarque,” Te Deums were even more frequent than before.

We come at length to the part played by the cathedral during the Revolution. We need say nothing of the fate of the fabric itself, for that has already been alluded to. Its escape is little short of marvellous. The result of the sack of the treasuries of the churches of Paris is best told in Carlyle’s vivid translation of Mercier: “This, accordingly, is what the streets of Paris saw: Most of these persons were still drunk, with the brandy they had swallowed out of chalices;—eating mackerel on the patenas! Mounted on Asses, which were housed with Priests’ cloaks, they reined them with Priests’ stoles; they held clutched with the same hand communion-cup and sacred wafer. They stopped at the doors of Dramshops; held out ciboriums: and the landlord, stoup in hand, had to fill them thrice. Next came Mules high laden with crosses, chandeliers, censers, holy-water vessels, hyssops;—recalling to mind the Priests of Cybele, whose panniers, filled with the instruments of their worship, served at once as storehouse, sacristy and temple.” On November 10th, 1793, the Cult of Reason was decreed by the Convention, and Notre Dame converted into the temple of the new religion. To quote Carlyle again: “For the same day, while this brave Carmagnole-dance has hardly jigged itself out, there arrive Procureur Chaumette and Municipals and Departmentals, and with them the strangest freightage: a New Religion! Demoiselle Candeille, of the Opera; a woman fair to look upon, when well rouged; she borne on palanquin shoulder high; with red woollen nightcap; in azure mantle; garlanded with oak; holding in her hand the Pike of the Jupiter-Peuple, sails in: heralded by white young women girt in tricolor. Let the world consider it! This, O National Convention, wonder of the universe, is our New Divinity; Goddess of Reason, worthy, and alone worthy of revering. Her henceforth we adore. Nay, were it too much of an august National Representation that it also went with us to the ci-devant Cathedral called of Notre Dame, and executed a few strophes in worship of her?... And now after due pause and flourishes of oratory, the Convention, gathering its limbs, does get under way in the required procession towards Notre Dame;—Reason, again in her litter, sitting in the van of them, borne, as one judges, by men in the Roman costume; escorted by wind-music, red nightcaps, and the madness of the world. And so, straightway, Reason taking seat on the high-altar of Notre Dame, the requisite worship or quasi-worship is, say the Newspapers, executed; National Convention chanting ‘the Hymn to Liberty, words by Chénier, music by Gossec.’ It is the first of the Feasts of Reason; first communion-service of the New Religion of Chaumette.” The real heroine of this orgy was probably an opera dancer called Maillard. ‘Demoiselle Candeille’ was an actress and writer of some repute, who strenuously denied that she ever had anything to do with the Feast of Reason. An imitation “mountain” was erected in the nave for the “fête,” on which was built a Gothic temple inscribed A la Philosophie. Around were busts of famous philosophers, and below an altar surmounted with the so-called Torch of Truth. The goddess sat on the hill, hymns were sung in her honour and vows of fidelity to her were taken. In 1794 the church was used as a bonded store for the wine seized in the cellars of guillotined or outlawed Royalists. The month of May in the same year saw the “Temple of Reason” turned into that of the “Supreme Being,” for Robespierre persuaded the Convention to sign a decree recognising “the consoling principle of the Immortality of the Soul.” In 1795 Christian worship was once more restored at Notre Dame. Nothing of great importance happened to the church until the star of Napoleon rose—until, indeed, the first Consul had become Emperor.

Of all the magnificent ceremonies of which Notre Dame has been the scene, the most splendid was the joint coronation of Napoleon and Josephine in the winter of 1804. A full account of it will be found in the Mémoires de la Duchesse d’Abrantès, of which I quote a part, purposely leaving it in the original French, as any translation would be comparatively colourless and unpicturesque: “Le pape arriva le premier. Au moment où il entra dans la basilique, le clergé entonna Tu es Petrus, etc.; et ce chant grave et religieux fit une profonde impression sur les assistants. Pie VII. avançait du fond de cette église, avec un air à la fois majestueux et humble.... L’instant qui réunit peut-être le plus de regards sur les marches de l’autel, fut celui où Joséphine reçut de l’empereur la couronne et fut sacrée solennellement impératrice des Français. Lorsqu’il fut temps pour elle de paraître activement dans le grand drame, l’impératrice descendit du trône et s’avança vers l’autel, où l’attendait l’empereur, suivie de ses dames du palais et de tout son service d’honneur, et ayant son manteau porté par la princesse Caroline, la princesse Julie, la princesse Elisa et la princesse Louis.... Je vis tout ce que je viens de dire dans les yeux de Napoléon. Il jouissait en regardant l’impératrice s’avancer vers lui; et lorsqu’elle s’agenouilla ... lorsque les larmes qu’elle ne pouvait retenir, roulèrent sur ses mains jointes qu’elle élevait bien plus vers lui que vers Dieu, dans ce moment où Napoléon, ou plutôt Bonaparte, était pour elle sa véritable providence, alors il y eut entre ces deux êtres une de ces minutes fugitives, unique dans toute une vie, et qui comblent le vide de bien des années. L’empereur mit une grâce parfaite à la moindre des actions qu’il devait faire pour accomplir la cérémonie. Mais ce fut surtout lorsqu’il s’agit de couronner l’impératrice. Cette action devait être accompli par l’empereur, qui, après avoir reçu la petite couronne fermée et surmontée de la croix, qu’il fallait placer sur la tête de Joséphine, devait la poser sur sa propre tête, puis la mettre sur celle de l’impératrice. Il mit à ces deux mouvements une lenteur gracieuse qui était remarquable. Mais lorsqu’il en fut au moment de couronner enfin celle qui était pour lui, selon un préjugé, son étoile heureuse il fut coquet pour elle, si je puis dire le mot. Il arrangeait cette petite couronne qui surmontait la diadème, en diamant, la plaçait, la déplaçait, la remettait encore, il semblait qu’il voulût lui promettre que cette couronne lui serait douce et légère.”

The great festivals of the Church are celebrated at Notre Dame on a scale of almost unrivalled magnificence. On Assumption Day, in particular, splendid music, wedded to the most ornate ritual, produces an effect never to be forgotten. The pulpit of the metropolitan cathedral has been occupied by a succession of great preachers, amongst them Bossuet and Bourdaloue, and the services and conferences are noted throughout the Roman Catholic world. The Dominican Lacordaire began in 1835 a series of majestic and picturesque discourses, which earned for him the title le Romantique de la Chaire, and he has been described as filling as a preacher the place occupied in literature by Victor Hugo and in painting by Delacroix, H. Vernet, and Delaroche. In recent times among the most popular pulpit orators have been the fiery Jesuit Père Ravignan, Monseigneur d’Hulst, Père Monsabré, and M. Hyacinthe Loyson, better known to fame as Père Hyacinthe.

Needless to say, this is the merest outline of the wonderful history of the Cathedral Church of Paris. If the columns of Notre Dame could speak, they would—to adapt a phrase of Viollet-le-Duc—be able to recount the history of France from the time of Philip Augustus to our own day. It is therefore natural that the whole French nation has for Notre Dame a feeling of veneration and affection similar to that which is called forth in English hearts by the Abbey Church of Westminster.

CHAPTER II.
THE PLACE OF NOTRE DAME IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF FRENCH GOTHIC.

The place of the Cathedral of Paris in the evolution of French Gothic[4] is so important that I propose to devote a brief chapter to it. The subject is essentially technical, but I will endeavour to make it as easy of comprehension as possible. The reader will doubtless ask himself what is the difference between Gothic and the style which preceded it. The reply, unfortunately, cannot consist of a dogmatic statement. The subject is a great one, and only a few sentences of this handbook may be devoted to it. I shall rely for the most part on the materials for a definition of Gothic given by M. Viollet-le-Duc in his Dictionnaire Raisonné de l’Architecture Française. The question is one of essential structural peculiarity as opposed to mere decorative idiosyncrasy. I am aware that many English writers whose opinions are entitled to respect hold views in conflict with those here maintained. The style which immediately preceded Gothic is known generically as Romanesque. In Romanesque the system may be described as one of inert stability: in Gothic the system is one of scientifically calculated thrusts and counter-thrusts. It was the affair of art to inform what one may call the mechanics of the building with interest and beauty. There have been many attempts to compromise the two systems, so that we often find Romanesque features in obviously Gothic buildings. Much will be said in subsequent pages of the vaulting of Notre Dame. I would willingly have left this vexed question alone, but were I so to do, this handbook would be little more than a descriptive catalogue of objects of interest together with some historical reminiscences. For the vaulting is of the essence of the whole matter: compared with it the consideration of mouldings and of ornament is relatively unimportant. To put the matter plainly, the very existence of a Gothic church depends upon the proper arrangement of what we may call its mechanism—i.e. its vaulting, piers, buttresses and so forth. The mechanics being duly devised, art steps in, and renders the essential beautiful.[5]

It is not at Paris that we can trace the first attempt to break away from the principles of Romanesque: the first step in the distinctly Gothic development of French architecture, according to some recent authorities, is to be found in the apse of the church of Morienval. Morienval is a Romanesque church, but it has ribbed vaulting, of which there is no earlier instance in France. At St. Germer-de-Fly we find the first truly Gothic apse on a large scale ever constructed. It belongs to the second quarter of the twelfth century. The same church possesses a vaulted triforium which may fairly be considered the forerunner of the far grander one at Paris. Again, the now suburban church of St. Denis has double aisles, which clearly foreshadow the noble arrangement which exists at Paris, Amiens, and elsewhere. Many writers are agreed in regarding St. Denis as the starting-point of French Gothic.

Notre Dame was the first of the greater French cathedrals in which Gothic principles of construction were logically carried out. The choir was begun, according to M. V. Mortet in his Etude Historique et Archéologique sur la Cathédrale de Paris, in the year 1163.[6] The nave (with the exception of the extreme west end) was completed about the year 1195. The west façade was built in the early part of the thirteenth century. Notre Dame is thus older than the cathedral of Amiens, with which one naturally compares it. Amiens was built between the years 1220 and 1288, except the lower stages of the west front, which were only completed towards the end of the fourteenth century. The towers are a “debased” addition. In England the work being done while the older parts of Notre Dame were in course of erection was transitional; the new style had by no means been fully understood and put into practice. Perhaps we do not overstate the case when we say that the science (as well as the art) of Gothic found its first real expression on a large scale in the Cathedral of Paris.

A glance at the ground-plan of Notre Dame shows us how widely it differs from that of our own great churches. First of all we notice that not merely the nave, but the choir, possesses double aisles—a feature which is lacking in English churches[7] on so vast a scale as Canterbury, York, Ely or Peterborough. The magnificence which the system of double aisles lends to a great church need hardly be insisted upon. For a French church the nave of Paris is long, consisting of ten bays. The smaller Norman nave of Norwich possesses, however, no less than fourteen bays. At Paris one is struck by the slight projection of the transepts. In nearly all the greater churches of England the transepts are of large proportions, and frequently (as at Canterbury and Lincoln) we find two pairs of transepts. The transepts at Notre Dame are without aisles, and are so shallow that the church is only just cruciform. Speaking of these transepts Professor Roger Smith observes: “They do not project beyond the line of the side walls, so that, although fairly well marked in the exterior and interior of the building, they add nothing to its floor-space.”

The east end of Notre Dame takes the form of a magnificent semicircular apse,—a form assuredly the most appropriate to a Gothic church. The square eastern termination, so common in England, is rare amongst the larger churches of the best period of French Gothic. “A more beautiful eastern termination than the Gothic apse,” says Mr. Charles Herbert Moore,[8] “could hardly be conceived. No part of the edifice does more honour to the Gothic builders. The low Romanesque apse, covered with the primitive semi-dome, and enclosed with its simple wall, presented no constructive difficulties, and produced no imposing effect. But the soaring French chevet, with its many-celled vault, its arcaded stories, its circling aisles and its radial chapels, taxed the utmost inventive power, and entranced the eye of the beholder.” It seems to me that throughout his study of Gothic Mr. Moore is a little less than fair to the Romanesque builders. The Gothic apse, which he so justly admires, is, after all, evolved from the Romanesque apse, which he holds in such light esteem. While we may admit the superiority of the Gothic apse, it is going too far to assert that the Romanesque apse “produces no imposing effect.” The apse of Norwich or Peterborough, or of St. Bartholomew’s (London) is assuredly imposing in a very high degree.

In a subsequent chapter the structural and decorative details will be fully discussed. It may, however, be noted in passing that, although the Cathedral of Paris is in all essentials a Gothic building, the influence of the Romanesque style is so marked in some of its details that it is frequently described as a transitional structure. As we have seen, the greater part of Notre Dame belongs to the twelfth century; and De Caumont, who in his Abécédaire attempted for French architecture a work of scientific division similar to that which Rickman essayed for English architecture, describes French work of the twelfth century as Architecture Romane-Tertiaire ou de Transition. The Abécédaire, however, is now considered ingenious rather than authoritative.

With a few words about the west front this brief chapter must be concluded. The great façade of Notre Dame was begun in 1202. It bears a general structural resemblance to that of the cathedral of Senlis, which dates from the second half of the twelfth century, especially in the matter of its triple portals and the towers at the termination of the aisles. At Senlis we have unmistakable evidence of the Gothic spirit, but in its main plan this front is similar to the Romanesque Abbaye-aux-Hommes at Caen. The builders of the west front of Notre Dame thus owe something to the designers of Senlis and the Abbaye-aux-Hommes, but they have achieved a variety and symmetry of which their forerunners probably did not dream. In construction, as well as in the organic significance of its wealth of sculptured decoration, the façade of Notre Dame is genuinely Gothic as opposed to Romanesque.

CHAPTER III.
THE EXTERIOR.

I have already said enough in reference to the commanding position occupied by Notre Dame among the monuments of Paris. The great cathedral seen at a distance looks ancient indeed, but a closer inspection proves to us that the hands of modern men have been at work on it. Indeed, one writer goes so far as to regret that it has been scraped and patched without, and bedizened and bedaubed within. In the first edition of Victor Hugo’s famous novel, Notre Dame, he tells us that if we examine one by one the traces of destruction imprinted on this ancient church, the work of time would be found to form the lesser portion—the worst destruction has been perpetrated by men—especially by men of art. Since Hugo wrote this much more “restoration” has been carried out at the metropolitan church of Paris. But though I regret so-called “restoration” on principle, I cannot help feeling that the work executed by M. Viollet-le-Duc and M. Lassus is far less objectionable than it might have been. Fortunately, unlike so many great Continental churches, Notre Dame stands free and clear, and may be examined on all sides without difficulty. Indeed, it is now perhaps somewhat too isolated at the west end. Of course it does not possess one of those venerable closes, with a supplement of ancient ecclesiastical buildings, which is the glory of the great churches of our own land.

The Façade.—The west fronts of the greater Gothic churches of France are as a rule the most majestic features of their exteriors. One might write much to prove that the west front of Amiens or of Chartres is superior to that of Notre Dame, but this, after all, is an arguable question. When we stand in front of the church by the Seine we are struck by the reticence, by the obvious disdain of the easily obtained picturesque, which seem to have animated its designers. The thing is symmetrical with a fine symmetry rare among buildings of the time. Before we discuss the façade in detail, let us quote a translation of Victor Hugo’s detailed description, in the romance already alluded to:

“Assuredly there are few finer pages of architecture than this façade, in which, successively and at once, the three receding pointed portals; the decorated and lace-like band of twenty-eight royal niches; the vast central rose window flanked by the two lateral ones, like the priest by the deacon and sub-deacon; the lofty yet slender gallery of trefoiled arcading, which supports a heavy platform upon its light and delicate columns; and lastly the two dark and massive towers with their eaves of slate,[9]—harmonious parts of an entirely magnificent whole,—rising one above another in five gigantic stories,—unfolding themselves to the eye combined and unconfused, with innumerable details of statuary and sculpture which powerfully emphasise the grandeur of the ensemble: a vast symphony in stone, if one may say so—the colossal work of a man and of a nation ... on each stone of which one sees, in a hundred varieties, the fancy of the craftsman disciplined by the artist: a kind of human creation, mighty and prolific as the Divine Creation itself of which it seems to have caught the double characteristics—variety, eternity.” In the last few phrases Victor Hugo has, perhaps, been guilty of the licence readily granted to so great a master of rhetoric; but the west front of Notre Dame was a monument certain to appeal to a writer to whom none deny the gift of eloquence. Even a specialist who scrupulously avoids rhapsody is compelled to use superlatives in his description of this façade: “This vast and superb design is not only the most elaborate that had been produced up to its time, but in point of architectural grandeur it has hardly ever been equalled.” Mr. C. H. Moore, in the book alluded to in a former chapter, rightly insists that the component elements of the front are so treated as to manifest the Gothic spirit not merely in the portals, the arcades, and the apertures, but even in so comparatively small a matter as the profiles of the mouldings.

The sculptured decoration of the three great portals exceeds, if not in actual ornateness, at all events in real beauty, that of any cathedral in the west of Europe. Much of it has suffered at the hands of the iconoclast, but, looking to the vicissitudes through which Notre Dame has passed, it is wonderful that so much of the original sculpture has been preserved. The recent restoration has been carried out with a skill which is simply marvellous, and the uninformed observer may easily be betrayed into the belief that he is looking at an unaltered ancient work. Whether this is a gain or a loss each of us must decide for himself. Some able writers have urged that the success with which ancient work has been imitated shows that modern artists are capable of the triumphs of the middle ages. Others dismiss the new work as an unpardonable forgery. It is outside the scope of this book to attempt to describe in detail the wealth of statuary and carving which the thirteenth-century craftsmen and those of modern times have lavished on these portals. For such a description we must refer the reader to the voluminous accounts of Viollet-le-Duc and other writers. The sculptures of the north door, called the Portail de la Saint Vierge, have been described as constituting a complete poem in stone. Viollet-le-Duc considered the portal as the masterpiece of French carving of the early thirteenth century. I adapt the following description of the chief sculptures from Mr. Lonergan: On the pedestal of the central pier are bas reliefs representing the Creation of Eve, the Temptation in the Garden of Eden, and the Ejection from Paradise. Above is the Virgin crowned, and over her a small gabled construction referring to the Ark of the Covenant. On the upper part of the arch in the lower division are three prophets and three kings. In the second angels hold the winding-sheet in which Mary’s body lies, near a coffin-shaped tomb. Over this stands Christ with eight apostles. In the third division we see Mary glorified. In the voussure are sixty figures of angels, patriarchs, kings and prophets as witnesses of the Virgin’s glorification. Under the large statues are medallions referring to incidents in the lives of those represented. Thirty-seven bas reliefs ornament the sides and pillars, amongst them being the signs of the zodiac and symbolic representations of the months of the year. The ironwork of the doors of this and of the adjoining portals is of a splendidly elaborate character, due, according to a quaint tradition, to the skill and energy of the devil.

The Central portal has suffered more from mutilation than those which are on either side of it. In the eighteenth century the architect Soufflot—a man who was nothing if not “classic”—removed the dividing pier and cut away the lower division of the tympanum in order to facilitate the passage of processions on high ceremonial occasions. All traces of his vandalism have been removed, and the dividing pillar bears a modern statue of Christ by Geoffroy Dechaume. The pedestal is a pentagon, and has seven bas-relief medallions. At the sides are the apostles, while in the medallions are represented the virtues and vices. Traces of mutilation are apparent in much of this work. The tympanum itself is devoted to the Last Judgment. “First we have figures of the dead rising at the blast of the trumpet. Men and women of all conditions and ranks wearily shake off the sleep of death.” Also there is the Archangel, with representations on the right of “the elect joyfully glancing heavenwards, while on the left the grinning demons haul a row of chained souls to hell. Crowning all is seen the Redeemer, showing the wounds in His hands. Near Him are two angels, and behind the Virgin and St. John the Evangelist interceding on their knees for fallen humanity. As a setting to this magnificent composition are six rows of sculptured forms, making a voussure or set of curves, with figures of prophets, doctors, martyrs, devils, toads, damned souls, and a hideous ape with crooked toes and fingernails. Some of the ornamentation of the six ranges of arch curves is gruesome and terrible. It relates either to the celestial or infernal results of the last judgment.” In its original state this great doorway must have been a work of unrivalled dignity. Nowhere else do we find carving more expressive, nor more perfectly subordinated to the architectural scheme.

The doorway on the south is variously described as the Portal of St. Anne or St. Marcel. According to some writers it is the most ancient of the three, and contains fragments of “the sculpture which formerly adorned the old church of St. Stephen (St. Etienne). These, it is said, were executed at the expense of Etienne de Garlande, who died in 1142. The dividing pier or trumeau bears the statue of St. Marcel (see p. 33). The tympanum is adorned with the “History of Joachim and Anna,” the “Marriage of the Virgin,” and the “Budding of Joseph’s Staff.” Each side is occupied with four statues of saints of the Old Testament. The four main buttresses which divide the façade perpendicularly into three parts are pierced with niches containing statues on a level with the vaulting of the portals. These statues represent Religion, Faith, St. Denis, and St. Stephen.

The second story of the façade is occupied by a noble arcade which shelters twenty-eight colossal statues. This is known as La Galerie des Rois, and stretches across the entire width of the front. The statues were formerly believed to be conventional representations of the ancient kings of France, but they are doubtless intended for the kings of Judah as ancestors of the Virgin. A similar feature will be found as part of the façade of Amiens. There, however, the statues are at a greater height from the ground, and are twenty-two in number. Above the Galerie des Rois at Paris there is a graceful open arcade of slender arches and columns. The five large statues here date only from the year 1854. The third main division has in the centre a vast wheel window with open tracery, while in each of the lateral bays we have pointed arches with twin pointed openings and small circular panels in the tympanum. The vacant space in the spandrels of each division is occupied by a trefoil panel. At Amiens once more we meet with a main division similarly composed. At Notre Dame, immediately over the division containing the wheel window, is an open arcaded screen of gigantic proportions, surmounted by a parapet or pierced cornice behind which rise the two towers. So dexterously has this arcade been planned, so graceful are its lines, so delicate its details, that the impression which it leaves on the mind—in spite of the solidity of its construction and the vastness of its scale—is almost that of some such unsubstantial material as lace. To the platform supported by this screen everybody should ascend, if only to make the acquaintance of the famous Chimères or “Devils of Notre Dame.” This collection of specimens of fantastic sculptured zoology is without parallel in Europe. These weird beasts which scowl from their point of vantage upon the French metropolis fascinated the great etcher Méryon, and more recently they have formed the subject of a series of admirable drawings by Mr. Joseph Pennell, the value of which has been enhanced by an essay, partly descriptive, partly philosophical, from the pen of the late R. A. M. Stevenson. The chimères are not merely curious examples of the extravagantly grotesque. Their horror lies, not in their departure from natural forms, but in the fact that, while the features of various beasts or monsters are retained, they are impressed with characteristics of ferocity and cunning which are essentially diabolical or suggestive of the lowest depths of human depravity. They have nothing in common with the crude and impossible gargoyles so frequently found in buildings erected when the pointed style was in its decadence. Speaking roughly, their anatomy is possible: it is conceivable that they should breathe and live.

Readers of Hugo’s Notre Dame will remember his description of the Archdeacon as he clung to the lead gutter of the tower: “Meanwhile he felt himself going bit by bit; his fingers slipped upon the gutter; he felt more and more the increasing weakness of his arms and the weight of his body; the piece of lead which supported him inclined more and more downwards. He saw beneath him, frightful to contemplate, the pointed roof of St. Jean-le-Rond, small as a card bent double. He looked, one after another, at the imperturbable sculptures of the tower—like him suspended over the precipice—but without terror for themselves or pity for him. All around him was stone,—before his eyes the gaping monsters; in the Parvis below, the pavement; above his head, Quasimodo weeping.”