The Memoirs of Victor Hugo | Page 7

debris littered the pavement and was swept away. For a long
time I had in my possession a head of Christ that fell in this way. It was
stolen from me in 1851. This head was unfortunate; broken by a king, it
was lost by an exile.
Nodier was an admirable antiquary, and we explored the cathedral from
top to bottom, encumbered though it was with scaffolding, painted
scenery, and stage side lights. The nave being only of stone, they had
hidden it by an edifice of cardboard, doubtless because the latter bore a
greater resemblance to the monarchy of that period. For the coronation
of the King of France they had transformed a church into a theatres and
it has since been related, with perfect accuracy, that on arriving at the
entrance I asked of the bodyguard on duty: "Where is my box?"
This cathedral of Rheims is beautiful above all cathedrals. On the
façade are kings; on the absis, people being put to the torture by
executioners. Coronation of kings with an accompaniment of victims.
The façade is one of the most magnificent symphonies ever sung by
that music, architecture. One dreams for a long time before this oratorio.
Looking up from the square you see at a giddy height, at the base of the
two towers, a row of gigantic statues representing kings of France. In
their hands they hold the sceptre, the sword, the hand of justice, and the
globe, and on their heads are antique open crowns with bulging gems.
It is superb and grim. You push open the bell-ringer's door, climb the
winding staircase, "the screw of St. Giles," to the towers, to the high
regions of prayer; you look down and the statues are below you. The
row of kings is plunging into the abysm. You hear the whispering of
the enormous bells, which vibrate at the kiss of vague zephyrs from the
sky.
One day I gazed down from the top of the tower through an embrasure.
The entire façade sheered straight below me. I perceived in the depth,
on top of a long stone support that extended down the wall directly
beneath me to the escarpment, so that its form was lost, a sort of round
basin. Rain-water had collected there and formed a narrow mirror at the
bottom; there were also a tuft of grass with flowers in it, and a
swallow's nest. Thus in a space only two feet in diameter were a lake, a

garden and a habitation--a birds' paradise. As I gazed the swallow was
giving water to her brood. Round the upper edge of the basin were what
looked like crenelles, and between these the swallow had built her nest.
I examined these crenelles. They had the form of fleurs-de-lys. The
support was a statue. This happy little world was the stone crown of an
old king. And if God were asked: "Of what use was this Lothario, this
Philip, this Charles, this Louis, this emperor, this king?" God
peradventure would reply: "He had this statue made and lodged a
swallow."

The coronation occurred. This is not the place to describe it. Besides
my recollections of the ceremony of May 27, 1825, have been
recounted elsewhere by another, more ably than I could set them forth.
Suffice it to say that it was a radiant day. God seemed to have given his
assent to the fête. The long clear windows--for there are no more
stained-glass windows at Rheims--let in bright daylight; all the light of
May was in the church. The Archbishop was covered with gilding and
the altar with rays. Marshal de Lauriston, Minister of the King's
Household, rejoiced at the sunshine. He came and went, as busy as
could be, and conversed in low tones with Lecointe and Hittorf, the
architects. The fine morning afforded the occasion to say, "the sun of
the coronation," as one used to say "the sun of Austerlitz." And in the
resplendent light a profusion of lamps and tapers found means to beam.
At one moment Charles X., attired in a cherry-coloured simar striped
with gold, lay at full length at the Archbishop's feet. The peers of
France on the right, embroidered with gold, beplumed in the Henri IV.
style, and wearing long mantles of velvet and ermine, and the Deputies
on the left, in dress-coats of blue cloth with silver fleurs-de-lys on the
collars, looked on.
About all the forms of chance were represented there: the Papal
benediction by the cardinals, some of whom had witnessed the
coronation of Napoleon; victory by the marshals; heredity by the Duke
d'Angoulême, dauphin; happiness by M. de Talleyrand, lame but able
to get about; the rising and falling of stocks by M. de Villèle; joy by the
birds that were released