The tomb of Louis XII (d. 1515) and his wife, Anne de Bretagne (d. 1514), is the earliest of the great Renaissance tombs in France, and the first in order in this Basilica. Long believed to be of Italian workmanship, it is now known to be the production of Jean Juste of Tours, unknown otherwise, but supposed to be a Florentine. It is imitated from the Giangaleazzo Visconti, already mentioned, in the Certosa di Pavia. This tomb, the first you see, struck the keynote for such works of the Renaissance in France. It is a good and apparently French imitation of the Italian original, and it fitly marks Louis XII’s place in the artistic movement. Remember his statue by Lorenzo da Mugiano in the Louvre, and his connection with Cardinal d’Amboise and the Château de Gaillon.
The next important monument is that of Dagobert I (d. 638), the founder of the Abbey, probably erected in his honour, as a sort of shrine, by St. Louis in the 13th cent. In order to understand this tomb (which you are only allowed to see across the whole breadth of the choir), it is necessary to know the legend to which the mediæval sculptures on the canopy refer. When Dagobert died, demons tried to steal his soul; but he was rescued by St. Denis, to whom he had built this abbey, assisted by St. Maurice and St. Martin of Tours—a significant story, pointing the moral of how good a thing it is to found a monastery. The narrative is told in three stages, one above the other. (1) An anchorite, sleeping, is shown by St. Denis in a dream that the king’s soul is in danger; to the R, Dagobert stands in a little boat (like the boat of Charon); demons seize him and take off his crown. (2) The three saints come to the king’s rescue, attended by two angels, one swinging a censer, the other holding a vase of holy water; St. Martin and St. Denis see the tortured soul; the soldier St. Maurice, sword in hand, attacks the demons. (3) The three saints, attended by the angels, hold a sheet, on which the soul of Dagobert stands, praying. The Hand of God appears in a glory above, to lift him into heaven. These are on the canopy; beneath, on the tomb itself, lies a modern restored recumbent statue of Dagobert; there are also erect figures of his son Sigebert (restored), and his queen, Nantilde (original).
The tomb of Henri II (d. 1559) and his queen, Catherine de Médicis (d. 1589)—the third of any importance—was executed by the great sculptor, Germain Pilon, during the lifetime of the latter. (It was he, too, you will remember, who made the exquisite group of figures, now in the Louvre, to support the urn which was to contain their hearts.) As in many contemporary tombs, the king and queen are represented alive and kneeling, in bronze, above, and nude and dead in marble on the tomb below. (We saw a similar tomb at the Louvre.) A second monument, close by, to the same king and queen, has recumbent marble figures on a bronze couch,—Catherine is said in her devouter old age to have disapproved of the nudity of the figures on the first tomb—but as it was usual to distribute relics of French kings to various abbeys, such duplicate monuments were once common.
The tomb of Frédégonde (d. 597) from St. Germain-des-Prés, is a curious mosaic figure of marble and copper, almost unique in character. It is not of the Queen’s own age, but was added to her shrine in the 12th century. Most of these early kings and queens, founders and benefactors of monasteries, were either actually canonized or were treated as saints by the monks whom they had benefited: and tombs in their honour were repaired or reedified after the Norman invasion and other misfortunes.
Two monuments of the children of St. Louis, from other abbeys, carried first to Lenoir’s Museum, are now in this Basilica. They are of enamelled copper, with repoussé figures, executed at Limoges.
The most costly, though not to my mind the most beautiful, of the Renaissance tombs is that of François Ier (d. 1547). On the summit are kneeling figures of the King, his wife Claude, and their three children. The reliefs on the pedestal represent the battles of Marignano and Cerisole. This tomb, like that of Louis XII, is ultimately based on the Visconti monument in the Certosa, but it exhibits a much later and more refined development of French Renaissance sculpture than its predecessor. It is by Germain Pilon, Philibert Delorme, and (perhaps) Jean Goujon. The architectural plan is noble and severe: but it lacks the more naïve beauty of Jean Juste’s workmanship.
It was the curious custom to treat the bodies of French Kings (who, as royal, were almost sacred) much as the relics of the Saints were treated. Hence the head and heart were often preserved separately and in different places from the body to which they belonged. François Ier himself was interred here: but an urn to hold his heart was placed in the Abbaye des Hautes Bruyères, near Rambouillet. This urn is a fine Renaissance work by Pierre Bontemps. Taken to Lenoir’s Musée des Monuments at the Revolution, it was afterwards placed beside the king’s tomb in this Basilica.
Look out in the Apse for the Altar of St. Denis, and his fellow-martyrs. Near it used once to hang the Oriflamme, that very sacred banner which was only removed when a King of France took the field in person. It was last used at Agincourt. A reproduction now represents it.
The other monuments can be best observed by the brief notes given as we pass them. The arrangements for seeing them are quite as bad as those in our own cathedrals, and it is impossible to get near enough to examine them properly. Therefore, take your bearings from the Nave before you enter, and try to understand the architecture of the choir as far as possible before you pass the barriers.
Disregard the remarks made by the guide (who expects a tip), and read these brief notes for yourself as you pass the objects.]