The Cathedral of Notre Dame, of course, came in for a visit. It stands, we are told, on the site on which the Roman conqerors erected a temple to Jupiter. This Cathedral is a marvel of architectural beauty. As you gaze you wonder at the skill of the architect, and also of sculpture, for there are in marble and stone fanciful scenes from bible history portrayed—the Kings of Judah; a colossal image of the Virgin Mother; Adam and Eve. There are many pointed arches and stained windows glistening in the sun’s rays. Two massive towers rising to the height of 200 feet. The interior is in keeping with the exterior, only, if possible, richer and finer; the length is about 400 feet, and the breadth about 150. It has stood in its beauty on this spot during the last 600 years.
One of the Chapels of this Cathedral contains, they tell us, some wonderful relics. For instance, “a part of the crown of thorns with which our Saviour was crowned in mockery”; also the sponge and winding sheet used at His death. Kings and princes of the Roman Catholic persuasion have vied with each other in the costliness of their offering at this sacred shrine—cups, gold cups, silver cups, vases, candlesticks, crosses in gold and silver, some studded with diamonds, and all kinds of precious stones. There are curiosities and art treasures in abundance within the precincts of this holy place. It must have been a proud day for Napoleon when he came to be crowned in this great Cathedral, heralded by Popes, Marshalls and sword-bearers. Bearers bore his train amidst the most brilliant assembly of this, or any other land.
Another notable building we visited after the Cathedral of Notre Dame, I think more interesting in its way—what was at one time the Church of St. Geniveve—now it is known as the Pantheon. It stands upon an elevation, and its magnificent dome can be seen from almost all parts of the city. It rises to a height of 267 feet. The funds to build it with, we are told, were provided by lottery at the time of Louis XV. Its approach is very attractive, being by a stately portico, and by a triumphal progress. The grand car, upon which the Sarcophagus containing the body of Voltaire was laid, was drawn by twelve white horses to the Pantheon. It is said that 100,000 people joined in the procession. Rousseau and Marat were buried with similar honours; but we are told, that so fickle is the populace, that six months after, the body of one of them was removed and buried in a common sewer. Our guide was not shy in showing us the very sad effects of the German shells. The large dome was shot through by their cannon balls, and, but for the timely help of the troops from Versailles, very likely this noble building would have shared the same fate as many others did.
Opposite the grand collonade, near the Louvre, is the Church of St. Germain, with its strange gable, buttresses and gargoyles. From the belfry of this Church, it is said, “rang out the tocsin,” which was the signal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew, on the 24th of August, 1572. At the dead of night—fit time for such awful deeds of blood and murder—at the sound of this tocsin the courtly butchers went forth to their work of slaughter, armed and shouting “for God and the King.” They forced the dwellings of the Christians. Six thousand of these assassins, wielding the weapons of the brigand and the soldier, ran about in the wildest fury, murdering without mercy or distinction of sex, or suffering, or age. Many of these fiends in human form ran shouting “kill the heretic, kill the heretic! Death to the Huguenots—Kill! Kill!!”
That day the human seemed to be turned into the fiend. It is said there perished in Paris alone, over 15,000 Christian Martyrs, and in the provinces more than as many more. The sun of that beautiful sabbath shone with its pure light upon the desolate and dishonoured homes of the victims of this terrible massacre; and the air, which should have been hushed from sound until the psalm of praise woke it, bore upon its midnight billows the yell of fierce blasphemers flushed and drunk with murder. Says one, “Unhappy, Paris, thou hast suffered many things since that unhappy time.”
There are many interesting Churches in this gay city, but I must refrain from dwelling upon their beauty and utility.
CHAPTER III.
Paris: Palace de Concorde: Champs Elysees: The Bois de Boulogne: The extensive Boulevards: The River Seine, etc.: Leaving Paris: Arrive at Dijon: Our Hotel: Dijon, its Churches, etc.: Our journey to Chambery, etc.
The Place de la Concorde. Here we were pointed out was a place where a terrible struggle took place between the Germans and the French in 1871. The work of devastation and ruin was only too apparent. We drove to the Champs Elysees. This is a most lovely place, with a broad avenue a mile long, with trees on each side of all sorts, and grass lawns and flower beds in the greatest profusion. Here wander carelessly the gay crowds, or sit in beautiful little cafes under the spreading branches of the trees. In the groves around the children are swarming, shouting, and playing. We noticed there was the ever-loved of children, “The Punch and Judy,” also with stalls with toys, gingerbread, etc., etc.
