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 late P. G. Hamerton has well expressed a feeling of vague disappointment which many persons who are not experts in Gothic construction and decoration feel on seeing the west front: “May I confess frankly,” says Mr. Hamerton, “that until I had carefully studied it under the guidance of Viollet-le-Duc, the front of Notre Dame never produced upon me the same effect as the west fronts of some other French cathedrals of equal rank? I believe the reason to be that Notre Dame is not so picturesque as some others, and does not so much excite the imagination as they do. It is well ordered, and a perfectly sane piece of work (which Gothic architecture is not always), but it has not the imaginative intricacy of Rouen, nor the rich exuberance of Amiens and Reims, nor the fortress-like grandeur of Bourges, nor the elegant variety of Chartres.... The truth is that the virtues of the west front of Notre Dame are classic rather than romantic. Everything in it seems the result of perfect knowledge and consummate calculation. There are none of those mistakes which generally occur in a work of wilder genius.”

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.”