How France Built Her Cathedrals Part 7

After three years and three months of pa.s.sionate work, the choir of St.

Denis was finished, and on June 11, 1144, the dedication day, the relics were installed. That date, forever memorable in the annals of architecture, may be called the consecration of the national art. At the ceremony a.s.sisted Louis VII with his queen, Alienor of Aquitaine, whose strange destiny was to make her patroness of that entirely different phase of Gothic called the Plantagenet school. The chief barons were present at the dedication, as well as five archbishops and some fourteen bishops. They looked and wondered, and not a few of them returned home to imitate. The bishops of Noyon and Senlis hastened to rebuild their cathedrals in the new way, and some of Suger's masons pa.s.sed into the service of the former prelate. Bishop Geoffrey de Leves went back to Chartres to build the most beautiful tower in the world, and the sculptors who had made Suger's western portals (now no longer extant) worked on the three west doors of Chartres.

On the day of St. Denis' dedication, Abbot Suger, small and frail in person, but towering in personality, was honored on every side. When the abbot of great Cluny, Peter the Venerable, pa.s.sed from the marvels of the new church to Suger's narrow cell, he cried out in honest distress: "This man condemns us all. He builds, not for himself, but for G.o.d alone!"

Though the last half of Suger's life was an example of monastic simplicity, not always had he been content with a monk's cell. Perhaps because of his conversion midway in life, he appeals to us in a more human way. Not that he was converted from evil doings; his purpose always was high. But in his position as St. Denis' abbot, as a powerful feudal lord, he lived sumptuously, according to the accepted standards of the time. He mixed freely in the world; he directed state affairs for the king to whom he was devoted; he went on emba.s.sies; he even led armies. In 1124, when an irate German emperor was marching on Rheims, which he had vowed to destroy, Suger in person led against him some ten thousand of his abbey's retainers. That was the first time the oriflamme of St. Denis was carried as the national emblem.[32] Suger had grown up in the secular atmosphere of the Royal Abbey, and took its worldliness as a matter of course.

Of peasant parentage himself, he had been brought, a child of ten, to live with the monks, because he already showed exceptional qualities.

Among his fellow students in the abbey school was the king's son, the future Louis VI, and an intimacy began between the two lads destined to continue till death. When Suger became a monk he was sent on notable missions, for he was gifted with tact and good manners, vivacity and charm. Sweetness of disposition, mental energy, courage, and absolute integrity won for him general esteem. Early and often this born lover of things beautiful made the journey into Italy. It was while returning from one of his missions there, in 1122, that he learned of his election as abbot by his fellow monks in St. Denis. Louis VI had come to the throne; henceforth Suger was to lead in all state affairs.

The genius of this son of field workers had pierced to the vital need of the age--unity of government. Only a strong, central administration could cope with the disintegration which was feudalism. For its very existence the feudal system depended on the absence of well-enforced general laws. It was Suger's strong hand that guided the early steps toward national unity, and king and people worked for it together. Under the king whom Suger served France began her great role of redresser of wrongs. Louis VI was the first to use the t.i.tle, king of France, not king of the Franks. The ideal of this XII-century statesman was a strong central monarchy, coexistent with a national a.s.sembly. His high conception of solidarity was to fructify, within a hundred years, under Philippe-Auguste, the grandson of Suger's master.

Suger was one of the first in Europe to understand political economy. He laid the base of a sound financial administration. His confirmation of a charter for the townsmen of St. Denis gave security to trade; he relieved the abbey serfs of _mainmorte_, built a Villeneuve for homeless nomads, and found time to study agriculture scientifically. In his writings we feel the first breath of a national patriotism. A new note in that age of unfettered personal impulse when might meant right, was Suger's constant reference to "the poor weighed down with taxations," to "that which has been too long neglected, the care of the surety of laborers, of artisans, and of the poor." Many a modern politician could well ponder Suger's censure of the spoils system. "The officers dismissed carry off what they can lay their hands on," he said, "and those who replace them, fearing to be likewise treated, hasten to steal, to secure their fortune."

Suger's pre-eminence in public affairs continued during two reigns.

Louis VII, after stumbling some years without guidance, turned to his father's counselor and, during his absence on the Second Crusade, appointed him regent of France. So masterly was the abbot's rule that king and people publicly proclaimed him _Pere de la Patrie_. Suger studied the causes of the crusade's lamentable failure; he felt that forethought and prudence might win success, and, though he was seventy years of age, he began preparations to carry out a crusade at his own expense. Time was not given him again to prove his genius for leadership. When news of his death (1151) reached the court, the king and the Grand Master of the Templars, who was with him, burst into tears. On his grave in the abbey church which he had built they cut the simple inscription, "Here lies Abbot Suger." No need of panegyric. "The single names are the n.o.blest epitaphs."

The commanding place held by this monk in the estimation of Europe is vouched for by letters from pope, kings, and many a dignitary. The king of Sicily wrote to beg a line from him; the king of Scotland sent gifts; the bishop of Salisbury made the journey to France expressly to know Suger. By one clear stroke after another--and above all by his own writings--every line of which is of historical value--the picture is filled in of this admirable churchman who was as soundly honest and forceful as the architecture he fostered, and whose delicate, ardent soul accomplished remarkable things with the reasoned orderliness of the art he loved.

Suger's sudden but thorough conversion is attributed to St. Bernard. Up to middle life he had been a type of those who soar as high as human abilities can reach without super natural aid. Entangled in the mesh of various employments, his soul could not rise to heavenly things. Then the trumpet of Bernard's reform sounded in Europe. Men's hearts were set on fire with repentance and aspiration toward the highest. Bernard's clear eyes read beneath the outer circ.u.mstance of Abbot Suger's life. He saw that here was a good man, capable of becoming a holy one. He wrote fearless words of disapproval. "One would think it was a governor of a province, not of souls," he wrote, when he saw the abbot of St. Denis ride by with sixty hors.e.m.e.n.

Suger began to scrutinize his manner of life. Grace touched his soul, pomp was laid aside, and he set about his conversion with the same thoroughness that he displayed in all his acts. Before reforming his monastery, he completely reformed himself. With St. Bernard, who was ten years his junior, he was linked in enn.o.bling friendship to the end. "I know profoundly this man," Bernard wrote of Suger to the pope, "and I know that he is faithful and prudent in temporal things, that he is fervent and humble in things spiritual. If there is any precious vase adorning the palace of the King of Kings, it is the soul of the venerable Suger." When Suger lay dying, he wrote to St. Bernard: "Could I but see your angelic face before I die, I should go with more confidence." And Bernard, who was to follow in a year, begged that when Suger reached Paradise he would "think of him before G.o.d."

Yet, if the overwhelming saint could change the whole tenor of Suger's life, the cultivated little abbot of St. Denis offered a gentle, stubborn opposition to the puritanic ideas of Bernard in the domain of art. "Vanity of vanities," cried the ascetic, in the well-known open letter in which he denounced the new luxury in church building. Churches were made too long, he complained, too high, and needlessly wide; the capitals were carved with monsters more apt to distract than to lead to pious recollection.

The art lover in St. Denis' abbey smiled at such iconoclastic vehemence.

Suger thought that nothing was too precious for the house of G.o.d. He proceeded to erect an abbey church as imposing as a cathedral, and to enrich its treasury with goldsmith work. Over the three gilt-bronze entrance doors of his church he inscribed, "The soul on its earthly pilgrimage rises by material things to contemplate the Divine." To this day both men have vigorous partisans, and those who set out on a cathedral tour in France are more likely to be on Suger's side in the controversy.

Suger's subtle mind reached beyond the ascetic's maxim. Well he knew that both saint and art patron were needed, well he knew that Bernard of Clairvaux was as instrumental as himself in the formation of the cathedral builders. A living example of Christian perfection, Bernard fortified the faith of all Europe. He might advocate church simplicity, but it was not without cause that his apostolate preceded the most fecund creative period of mankind's art. His impa.s.sioned love of G.o.d warmed the imaginations of the men who began the big Gothic churches.

What remains to-day of the XII-century abbatial built by Suger of St.

Denis? Comparatively little. The lower parts of the west facade and the two first bays of the nave which form a narthex, or vestibule, are his work. In the choir, his beautiful ambulatory begins at the third bay of the double aisles. There are nine bays of Suger's processional path, and from them radiate seven apse chapels. The pillars that divide the lovely curving double pa.s.sage are the very ones which the generous enthusiasm of the people dragged from Pontoise, and, in memory of the little abbot, some will touch those slender columns with reverential gesture. It was Suger who created the disposition of the _rond point_ found in its perfection at St. Denis and copied in the great cathedrals. The crypt also is his work, though its nucleus belonged to an underground shrine built by Abbot Hilduin in the XI century. When Abbot Suger had finished his choir, he proceeded to make a new Gothic transept and nave; but of them scarcely a vestige remains. Some sculpture at the north door of the transept is of the XII century. Whether the construction was faulty, or whether the monks desired a more ample church, there was a total reconstruction of St. Denis' abbatial, a hundred years after Suger's day.

THE ST. DENIS OF ST. LOUIS

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims, the architect who planned (Albeit laboring for a scanty band Of white-robbed scholars only) this immense And glorious work of fine intelligence.

--WORDSWORTH.

From 1231 to 1280, at St. Louis' own expense, the present nave and transept of St. Denis were built, and the first bay of the choir as well as the upper parts of the chevet were reconstructed. Inasmuch as the new nave was wider than the choir, a canted bay of the latter joined it to the transept.

St. Denis, as it now appears, presents the n.o.ble elegance of Gothic art in its golden hour. The new transept was made of exceptional width; its aisles and stately piers compose picturesque vistas. The triforium of the reconstructed church was glazed, one of the first essays of a feature which was to be in general use in the XIV century. To unite triforium and clearstory in a brilliant sparkle of color added to the magnificence of a church, but it marked a decline in the sound structural laws of Gothic. The purpose of a triforium arcade was to beautify the plain wall surface necessitated by the lean-to roof over the side aisles. When that blind arcade was opened, the lean-to roof of the aisles had to be changed to a conical one, which signified an inner channel for rain water and the ultimate deterioration of the masonry.

Suger's St. Denis had started the delight in stained gla.s.s, and the St.

Denis of St. Louis merely carried out its consequences--the suppression of wall inclosures. The present upper windows of the abbatial are poor examples of Louis-Philippe's day.

The architect of Louis IX, Pierre de Montereau, designed St. Denis as we have it to-day, so says a record recently unearthed by M. Henri Stein.[33] He was an innovator who here first accentuated the upward sweep of Gothic lines. To that XIII-century master they attributed for a time the Sainte-Chapelle of the king's palace in the Cite, but now that it is certain that he planned St. Denis, it is doubted if he made the Sainte-Chapelle, as there is little kinship between the two. There is a decided likeness between St. Denis and the chapel of the palace at St.

Germain-en-Laye, and also with the Lady chapel of St. Germer-en-Flay.

Pierre de Montereau was buried in 1267 in a now-destroyed Sainte-Chapelle which he had erected within the monastery inclosure of St. Germain-des-Pres, at Paris.

Both Montereau and Montreuil claim this distinguished master. Probably he was born in the former town on the border of Champagne, as his church at St. Denis shows a trait of that region, the gallery of circulation under the windows of the side aisles. Moreover, two of his abbot patrons came from Montereau. The architect Eudes de Montreuil, whom St. Louis took with him on his first crusade, and who worked on the fortresses of Aigues-Mortes and Jaffa, was a son of Pierre de Montereau, it is supposed, and his name should be spelled in the same way.

No tomb in St. Denis' abbey church predates the XIII century. To honor King Dagobert, founder of the abbey, St. Louis put up an elaborate monument and ordered the effigies that distinguish his royal predecessors' graves. With the tombstone of St. Louis' son, Philip the Bold, began portrait work. An exact likeness of Charles V, the good Valois king, was made by his Flemish sculptor, Andre Beauneveu, and of almost too great realism is that of his general Bertran Duguesclin, whom King Charles ordered buried with royal honors in the national necropolis.

It was the XVI century that added to St. Denis' the three tombs of most architectural pretensions, those of Louis XII, Francis I, and Henry II.

The monument of Louis XII and Anne of Brittany was undertaken (1516-32) by Jean Juste, who with his brothers had come north from Florence, being among the first to bring into France the ideals of the Renaissance.[34]

It has been suggested that the king's and queen's kneeling images are from the studio at Tours of Guillaume Regnault, who for forty years was co-worker with Michel Colombe, last of the great Gothic artists. The priants are still quite French in treatment. Jean Juste made the gisants and his brother and nephew aided with the lesser sculpture. It was Louis XII who ordered artists at Genoa to make, in 1502, the Carrara marble tomb of his father, the poet-duke, Charles d'Orleans, and of his grandfather, the murdered duke of Orleans, builder of Pierrefonds Castle, and son of the art-loving Valois king, Charles V.

The tomb of Francis I (1549-59) was designed by Philibert de Lorme.

Pierre Bontemps fashioned the bas-reliefs that celebrate the wars in Italy; he and other masters made the _priants_ and _gisants_. The tomb of Henry II and Catherine de Medici (1570) of less artistic value, has a complicated history. The Italian, Primatici, directed the works; Domenico Florentino made the king's kneeling figure, and Germain Pilon his _gisant_; Jerome della Robbia chiseled the queen's death image.

To sum up: there are in St. Denis' abbatial three totally different parts, built in different periods. There is Suger's forechurch, in which linger Romanesque echoes; there is the ambulatory of purest Primary Gothic built a little later by the same great abbot; and finally there are nave, transept, and the main parts of the choir erected during the reign of St. Louis in the zenith of Gothic art.

As one stands in the center of the church, gazing along its vaulting, it is easy to perceive that the axis is broken three times, and each divergence from the straight line conforms to one of the different stages of work. The deviation of the axis line once was called poetically _inclinato capite_ (_et inclinato capite, emisit spiritum_--St. John xix:30). It was thought to symbolize the inclining of Christ's head on the Cross. When M. Robert de Lasteyrie proved that a constructive miscalculation was the cause of the irregular line, the beautiful idea had to be renounced.[35] In each successive addition to a church it was difficult for the architect to start the new part exactly on the same axis as the old, since usually a temporary wall shut off the portion of the church already finished and in use. The slightest miscalculation at the start led to a very apparent deflection of alignment. Those churches which show irregular alignment are known to have been built in successive stages. A number of church choirs slant to the south, whereas were the figure on the crucifix taken as model they would deviate to the north. In churches without a transept, or, in other words, churches that lack the extended arms of the cross, is sometimes found a decided slant to the north. Moreover, the crucifix of that epoch represented a triumphant Christ with erect head, for the art of the XIII century was serene; the pathetic in religious iconography was a later development. No writer of the period mentions a symbolic interpretation of the deviated axis, not even Bishop Guillaume Durandus, in his noted _Rationale_, or _Signification of the Divine Offices_.

There is, instead, a text of the XIV century which says that a certain architect was so chagrined at having built a tortuous axial line that he never returned to be paid by the cathedral chapter. Mr. Arthur Kingsley Porter thinks that the deviation of the axis was intentionally done, in order to overcome that tendency of perspective which lessens the apparent length of a church by foreshortening its far bays. By slanting the east end, the distant bays could be brought into view, and thus the edifice would seem longer.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _St. Denis-en-France and Its Royal Mausoleums_]

The Royal Abbey of St. Denis suffered during the Hundred Years' War, from which period dates the crenelated wall at the birth of the towers.

In those checkered times the silver tombs of St. Louis, of his father Louis VIII, and of his grandfather Philippe-Auguste, disappeared. In the XVI-century religious wars the abbey was pillaged, and its library, a national treasure, was burned. The Calvinists carried off Suger's altar vessels of silver and gold, on which the learned little abbot had inscribed Latin verses. The Revolution completed the havoc; of the monks' quarters nothing remains to-day. The Committee of Public Safety voted to destroy the tombs of "our ancient tyrants" on the first anniversary of the August 10th that had unseated the monarchy. So the mob sallied forth to St. Denis and scattered the dust of the patriot Suger, whose life work had been the public weal, and the dust of St.

Louis, the most conscientious man who ever ruled a nation and the first to give France her written laws. The gruesome account of the wrecking of the royal tombs was written by an eyewitness.[36]

In the opening years of the XVIII century, the abbey church was described by Chateaubriand as in a ruinous state, with the rain falling through its roof and gra.s.s growing on the broken altars: "The birds use its nave as a pa.s.sageway; little children play with the bones of mighty monarchs. St. Denis is a desert." Napoleon began its restoration, and many of the scattered tombs were brought back. During the first half of the XIX century some deplorably bad work was carried on, and the robust primitive profiles were chiseled away. No sooner was the spire on the north tower finished than cracks showed, and the tower was dismantled to the level of the roof. Later changes have repaired some of the stupidity of those tasteless renovators.

The very history which had been enacted within the walls of the great abbatial would suffice to make it a national relic. To the Primary-Gothic church which Suger was building came Louis VII for the oriflamme, the banner carried before the army in momentous wars. He shared bed and board with the monks the night before he set forth on the Second Crusade. To the same early-Gothic church, in 1190, came his son Philippe-Auguste, to receive the oriflamme for the Third Crusade. The flame-colored abbey gonfalon on its gold lance flouted the German emperor when Bouvines' great victory was won in 1214. At the funeral of Philippe-Auguste, in 1223, a little lad of eight marched to St. Denis'

behind his grandfather's bier. It was the first time that the populace had beheld their future saint-king, and an old record tells how his n.o.ble bearing gladdened their hearts. At his side walked Jean de Brienne, king of Jerusalem, leader of the recent Fifth Crusade. When St.

Louis came to St. Denis for the oriflamme in 1247, it was to find a totally reconstructed church, for Pierre de Montereau had been many years at work. Joinville in his memoirs described the landing in Egypt of the Royal Abbey's banner, how for miles the sea was dotted with the gleaming ships of the crusaders, how the king, standing head and shoulders above the rest, on perceiving that the leading vessel which bore the oriflamme had touched sh.o.r.e, leaped into the sea, sword in hand, with the cry, "Montjoye St. Denis!" And uttering the same battle cry of France, princes and knights followed. Five years later, tested by defeat and imprisonment, as fine gold is by fire, Louis IX brought back the oriflamme to St. Denis. Again he returned for it in 1270 for his last crusade. Within a year, the whole nation, in mourning, came out to the abbey. In a reliquary, the king's bones, embalmed with fragrant spices, had been brought from Tunis, and the new king bore the _cha.s.se_ solemnly, and wherever he paused, on the way from Notre Dame to St.

Denis, a memorial cross was erected. But, to give the annals of the abbey church would be to tell the history of the French monarchy.

The first time that the gonfalon of St. Denis was carried against Frenchmen was in 1413, two years before the defeat at Agincourt, in the black days of the Hundred Years' War, days as fatal to the builders' art as to the civic life of France. What those dire times were that rent France to shreds, and how _la fille de Lorraine a nulle autre pareille_ came to the rescue, have been sung by a poet whose high destiny it was to fall in recent battle. Charles Peguy, in his poem, linked the momentous epochs of the capital: St. Denis, who brought the Light; Ste.

Genevieve, the sentinel patroness of Paris, who guarded it, and Jeanne d'Arc, who lifted up the torch from the mire--the torch which the fallen heroes of the World War have pa.s.sed on refulgent.

In the V century it was at Genevieve's instigation that a basilica was raised to honor St. Denis. In the XV century Jeanne d'Arc paid tribute to the first martyr of Paris. Her troops lodged in the town of St.

Denis, then moved in closer to Paris, and in a shrine dedicated to St.

Denis, in the village of La Chapelle, Jeanne heard Ma.s.s, the morning that she led the a.s.sault on the walls of Paris, September 8, 1429. When wounded she was carried back to La Chapelle (to-day a dense industrial faubourg of the city), and on St. Denis' altar she offered tribute.

During her trial at Rouen they asked her what arms she had offered to St. Denis.[37]

"A complete knight's outfit in white, with a sword that I had won before Paris," was Jeanne's reply. "And why did you make that offering?" asked the judge, bent on twisting her every act to sorcery. Jeanne answered hardily: "For devotion, and because it is the custom for all men-of-arms when they are merely wounded thus to give thanks. Having been wounded before Paris, I offered my arms to St. Denis because his is the cry of France."

But let Charles Peguy speak, he who fell between Belgium and Paris in August, 1914:[38]

Comme Dieu ne fait rien que par misericordes, Il fallut qu'elle [Ste. Genevieve] vit le royaume en lambeaux, Et sa filleule ville embrasee aux flambeaux, Et ravagee aux mains des plus sinistres hordes;

Et les coeurs devores des plus ba.s.ses discordes, Et les morts poursuivis jusque dans les tombeaux, Et cent mille innocents exposes aux corbeaux, Et les pendus tiront la langue au bout des cordes;

Pour qu'elle vit fleurir la plus grande merveille Que jamais Dieu le pere en sa simplicite Aux jardins de sa grace et de sa volonte Ait fait jaillir par force et par necessite;

Apres neuf cent vingt ans de priere et de veille, Quand elle vit venir vers l'antique cite ...

La fille de Lorraine a nulle autre pareille ...

Gardant son coeur intact en pleine adversite, Masquant sous sa visiere une efficacite, Tenant tout un royaume en sa tenacite, Vivant en pleine mystere avec sagacite, Mourant en plein martyre avec vivacite ...

Jetant toute une armee aux pieds de la priere.[39]