Episode 34 - Saving the Louvre

On August 25, 1939, Hitler came knocking on the door of France, and the keepers of the great art of Paris sprang into action. Jacques Jaujard, director of France’s National Museum, and René Huyghé saved the art of the Louvre and planned it for over a year. This is the evacuation that many have heard about, but it wasn’t the first.

In July 1830, the famous Revolution captured by Eugène Delacroix put the Louvre in trouble for the first time. The Louvre opened in 1793 in the midst of the Revolution and survived unscathed since it was given to the people.  On those three Glorious Days in July 1830, Vicomte de Cailleux, a 93-year-old security guard, began removing the paintings from the walls of the Grande Galerie, which hung floor to ceiling. Working through the night, it took dozens of people on tall ladders to move them away from the wall of the Seine. 

Cailleux created a quick sign “Respect the National Property”. As the rioters entered and fired their way through door locks, they didn’t touch a thing. Five months later, on December 21, they pushed their way in again but left the Louvre as it was. In February 1848, as the next king woke the Revolutionists again, another sign was placed at the entrance, and the Louvre was bypassed. 

In 1870, the Louvre came the closest to disaster. On July 18, Napoleon III declared war on Prussia. As troops moved closer to Paris, the first evacuation of the Louvre began, setting the stage for what followed. On August 30, 1870, they worked quickly for 4 days to pack the most precious pieces and send them to a military fortification in Brest. On September 1, the Mona Lisa and Wedding Feast at Cana left the Louvre. Over the next two weeks, 123 crates of paintings, sculptures, and objets d’art would join them. 

On January 6, 1871, the Venus de Milo was moved to a nearby Prefecture on the Ile de la Cité, hidden behind a brick wall, and covered with sandbags. The Prefecture was destroyed, but Venus survived with just a bit of damage to the cement and glue placed between her torso and her hips. A month later, after a treaty was signed, the end was in sight, or so they thought. In the coming months, it was the Revolution within the country again, and one that would destroy many of the historic buildings of Paris. 

In May, for two straight days in 1871, the Palais des Tuileries burned. Flames ravaged through each historic wall, painting, and piece of furniture.  Connected to what we now know as the Musée du Louvre, flames threatened to travel through the Grand Gallery and the national art collection. However, there was a group of men who would do all they could to save what we now hold so dear. Henri Babet de Jouy was a curator of the national museum and would later become curator of the Louvre. Buckets of oil were thrown from the Pavillon de Flore to the Pavillon de Marsan, and across the entire Palais des Tuileries in between. Jouy, with help from Antoine Heron de Villefosse, curator of antiquities, and administrator Leon Morand, did all they could to save the collections on the nights of 23 and 24 May 1871.

The Louvre curators were aided by the other real hero of the moment. Martian de Bernardy de Sigoyer, commander of the 26th Battaillon de Chasseurs à Pied, was called to the Tuileries on the night of 24 May.  As the flames grew closer, he ordered his men to do everything they could to save the Louvre and the art it held. Using whatever weapons they had, they began breaking down doors and windows, and even the roof, to cut holes for the flames to escape. With his men, he would save the Louvre but his own life would be lost that night. 

 Today, a plaque hangs on the wall above the stairs leading to the Daru Gallery, commemorating these great men.  Jouy is buried in Père Lachaise, and with Sigoyer they will forever be known as the saviors of the Louvre.  Most people walk right past and never even notice or know their story. 

The next challenge would come in 1914. On August 1, a few weeks after World War I began, items in the Louvre were moved again. In the afternoon of August 24, the Germans began to advance, and by noon the next day, August 25, which would be a significant day 25 years later, the curators were told to quickly bring down the art. In those days, the art was attached to hooks in order for a quick exit. Three days later, they were told to pick up the pace. They removed large paintings like David’s Sacre de Napoleon from their frames and rolled them onto large cylinders. Along with Venus, many of the treasures were put on a train in the dark of night and sent to Toulouse. The largest painting in the Louvre, Vernonese’s Wedding Feast at Cana, remained, and a faux wall was created to cover it. 

Wooden crates became scarce, and worried curators packed the paintings directly onto the back of trucks and covered them with a tarp. They removed 720 paintings, along with a handful of objets d’art and sculptures. Over the next four years, more and more art was evacuated, but the Louvre remained open to the public, although only a few rooms in the Denon wing. At the end of November 1918, five weeks after the war, the art slowly returned to Paris, and by mid-February 1919 the Louvre was back to normal, although only for the next twenty years. 

The end of the War to End All Wars also left curators and museum officials on edge, and they began to plan for what to do if it ever happened again. Members of the National Museum, including Deputy Director Jacques Jaujard, considered the worst-case scenario: a full evacuation of the museums of Paris. 

Jacques Jaujard

Jacques Jaujard was born on December 3, 1895, and served in WWI for one year before he had to leave the war due to tuberculosis. After the war, he became a journalist, then a secretary to Paul Painlevé, and eventually worked at the Ministry of War, which brought him to the attention of the National Museum in 1925. 

In 1938, the Spanish Civil War raged in Madrid, and the Prado Museum and a committee of high-ranking officials asked Jaujard to help save its art. Seventy-one trucks packed with crates of the Prado collection traveled to Switzerland for safekeeping. It was the perfect trial run that Jaujard didn’t know he would need. 

In August 1938, the Musée National leased two very large vaults at the Banque de France headquarters and began looking at other places in France they could use to store art. The State owned a few châteaux, but they needed many more. Each needed to be secluded but also close to the water in case of fire, and they would shortly learn they also needed to be outside the Occupied zone. 

Hitler had taken power, and his plans were beginning to emerge. The frustrated artist who wasn’t allowed into art school coveted the best pieces in Europe. He brought in the best art experts, who compiled large books filled with pages of art by country to decide what he should take. A few of these books remain, and his path through Europe can be traced through each page. 

On September 22, Hitler took Sudetenland, and the plan was moved to the top of the pile. On Monday, September 26, the Louvre received its official order. The next morning at 6 am, several trucks left the Louvre for Chambord, carrying the most important paintings, the crown jewels, and the Rubens Medici cycle. For the next four days, more pieces left until September 30, when the Munich Agreement was signed, and everyone took a breath. The war was over, or at least they thought it was. Quickly, the trucks returned to Paris. The Mona Lisa found her home again on the wall, and things were calm for almost 11 months. 

On August 23, 1939, Germany and Russia signed a non-aggression pact. On August 24, the museums of London closed, and on August 25 the Louvre began its biggest evacuation yet.

On August 25, the Louvre was closed for “cleaning” for three days. However, what really happened during those three days would alter the dictator's plans and his greedy looting. On those three days, the staff of the Louvre, volunteers, and students worked around the clock removing paintings from their frames, rolled and placed in crates. 

René Huyghe

Jacques Jaujard worked closely with René Huyghe, the curator of paintings. Huyghe was a French writer, art historian, and curator of the Musée du Louvre. Born on May 3, 1906, he studied philosophy at the Sorbonne before attending the École du Louvre. He may not be a household name, but he was part of one of the greatest moments in the history of the Musée du Louvre.  Named the curator of paintings in the 1930s and a professor at the École du Louvre, Huyghe’s life was all about art. 

On August 26 at 1 am the 50 most important paintings were in crates once again. Jaujard and Hughé needed more help, and students from the École du Louvre and theater employees were called in. Gabriel Cognacq, nephew of Marie-Louis Jay-Cognacq and owner of the Samaritaine, also served on the national museum council and brought in all his trucks, crates, and employees to assist. 

Early Sunday morning on August 27, the Cour Carrée closed after an endless stream of trucks arrived in the dark hours. 

When the art was packed, a system of codes and stickers was utilized. For the national collection, MN, Huyghé’s painting department LP, and antiquities LR. Red stickers were added to the top-priority pieces. Two red dots for the most important, green for the most significant, and yellow for the lowest significance. For the most famous painting, Madame Lisa was given three stickers, and her crate was labeled MN. She was then strapped to a gurney and rolled into a truck labeled 2162RM2 that Jacques would then write ahead to the depot to know what to look for.  

On August 28, 1939, at 6 a.m., when all of Paris was asleep, out of the Cour Carrée and onto the Quai were the first 8 trucks, including the Mona Lisa, Seated Scribe, the Crown Jewels again, and 225 other crates. The entire Quai along the Louvre was lined with trucks and drivers waiting for their loads. That same day at 2 p.m., six more crates were left. 

On August 29, the next  23 trucks left. As soon as they reached their destination, they quickly returned to Paris for more precious cargo. Twice a day until September 2, two convoys a day of 9 trucks left the Louvre. Each driver put his life in danger with each mile. 

At first, many pieces were considered too fragile to move. Pastel paintings by Boucher and Degas found their way to the vaults of the Banque de France. Winged Victory, Venus, Diane de Versailles, and Michel-Ange’s Slaves stayed in the Louvre under arches and piled with sandbags. 

At the start of September, the Germans moved into Poland, and the workers were told to move faster. This time, they needed to remove The Wedding Feast at Cana. Taken out of its frame and off its backing, the immense canvas was rolled onto a large oak log, longer than the 20-foot-tall painting. David’s Sacre was rolled once more, but the huge paintings wouldn’t fit in any of the trucks they had on hand. The Comédie Française came to the rescue with large scenery-moving trucks. 

The next issue was Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa. Theodore Gericault used Bitumen, the tarry substance added to paint to deepen dark colors, but since it never fully dries, Huyghé was worried the painting would be ruined if rolled.  The painting was left on its stretcher, carried out of the Louvre and placed on a truck along with a few other large works. Slowly making its way through the streets a large pole was used to lift wires so the paintings could easily move through

Once the caravan reached Versailles, they forgot the trolley lines that are fixed in place. As the painting slid through, a loud crack was heard, and sparks flew. The truck was moved sideways, and the electricity to the entire city was cut, causing many to panic that the Germans had arrived. Magdeleine Hours, a curator at the Louvre rushed to the Château and banged on the door until a pajama-clad curator found the door in the dark.  The Raft and the other pieces were left at Versailles for a few days before they checked the rest of the route. 

On September 1, 1939, World War II began, and the rest of the art deemed too fragile in the Louvre needed better protection. 

The most precious and beautiful, Winged Victory of Samothrace, stands at the top of the Daru staircase. Her 9-foot figure, which weighed 3 and a half tons, was the biggest challenge. On September 2, she was tied up inside an open crate with a system of pulleys, chains, and ropes and was slowly lowered down the 53 steps covered with a few boards as everyone stood by holding their breath. That same day, 95 trucks of 120 crates left, but Victory, Venus, and the Slaves remained. 

On September 3, 1939, England delivered an order to Hitler to stop and leave Poland within two hours. At 5 pm France declared war on Germany. By September 3, 90% of the Louvre was empty, and things quickly stopped. Officials worried the Germans would be on the cobblestones of Paris in days, but by the 6th, when nothing had happened, the project resumed, and convoys continued to move. At the end of the month, Jaujard decided the remaining art wasn’t safe and needed to be removed.
It took until the end of October, on the 29th, when Victory, Venus, and the Slaves left in a convoy of 29 trucks to the Château de Valencay in the Loire. Delacroix’s ceiling in the Galerie d’Apollon was rolled and just behind Victory on its way to safety. 

In just over 5 weeks, 2000 crates in more than 200 truckloads left the Louvre filled with 3,691 paintings and thousands of objects, furniture, and sculptures from not only the Louvre but the Cluny and Carnavalet as well as some high-value personal collections given to the Louvre for safekeeping. 599 crates from Versailles, 1400 from the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, and 6000 crates of private collections.

The Château de Chambord dates back to 1519 when Francois I wanted a hunting lodge on the edge of the forest. He intended to live there, but in the end, he only spent 42 days in 35 years. Its immense size, the largest in the Loire, played a key role in the evacuation of the Louvre. As the art left the Louvre, all convoys stopped at Chambord to be inventoried and then transferred to their final destination. 

Chambord had drawbacks because of its size. It was highly visible from above, and its double staircase, designed by Leonardo da Vinci, made it difficult to move crates of art. The doorways were also quite low, and many were damaged in the process. Delacroix's Apollo ceiling remained, along with the department of drawing collection and the prints given by Edmond de Rothschild. Archivist Lucie Mazauric brought along thousands of books and files from the archive collection, many of which I still benefit from today. 

The Musée de l’Armée houses models of French cities, many created under Louis XIV, also found protection in Chambord. 

Other châteaux include Fougères-sur-Bievre, Chevrnay, Valencay, Louvigny, Courtalain, Chereperrine, Le Pelice, and Ailleres. They thought everything through. Curators and guards traveled with the caravan. When the first convoy rolled through the small towns, the tarped-covered trucks got lots of looks. Many thought the circus was coming to town; little did they know it was the Winged Victory flying through. 

The painting department consisted of 3,691 pieces and had to be split out into multiple locations. They needed to be near each other so curators and restorers could travel quickly as they worked. At the Abbaye de La Pelice and the Château de Louvigny, most paintings were hidden away. Louvigny also had the other large framed paintings. The Château de Chèreperrine held the large rolled paintings, including the Sacre de Napoleon, Wedding Feast at Cana, and Gros’ Napoleon in Jaffa. 

The Raft of the Medusa had to stay in Versailles a bit longer until they were sure they could make the trip safely to Chambord. On the back of an open scenery truck, it garnered attention wherever it went. While the other trucks in the convoy traveled to Chambord, they did so in the dark without lights. Upon arriving at the chateau, they realized a truck was missing, filled with Watteau paintings. They found it the next morning as the sun came up on the banks of the river Loire. The driver mistook the lights on a bicycle for another truck. 

When they packed the Mona Lisa, they wrapped her in special paper to absorb humidity and placed her in a red, silk-lined box. When she left Paris, she left in a hermetically sealed truck. When she arrived in Chambord, National Museum officer  Pierre Schommer passed out due to a lack of air but was thankfully revived. She moved on to the Château de Louvigny along with curator Andre Chamsen. Chamsen was the assistant curator at Versailles just before the war began. Born on June 6, 1900, in Nîmes, he began his job at the Louvre just weeks before the war was a whisper. 

Chamsen met Lucie Mazauric, and the two married on July 26, 1924. When the art moved, so did they, along with their daughter Frederique.  As an archivist, her collection and job were just as important as the art that hung on the walls and what they held in their armoire, the most important piece in the Louvre collection. 

In the Petit Salon of the Château de Louvigny, La Joconde was hidden away and brought out every week to check for any moisture. Daughter Frederique said in the amazing documentary, and what started me on my own journey, The Rape of Europa, that she remembered her father opening it and pulling back the red silk. 

As the war raged on, the locations of the art hung in the balance, and decisions along the way had to be made. In the spring of 1940, the Germans closed in, getting closer and closer. On May 16, 1940, a large plume of smoke could be seen from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on the Quai d’Orsay as they tossed archives out the window into a burning pile to destroy before the Germans arrived. Jaujard knew the art wasn’t safe and needed to be moved. The isolated Abbaye de Loc-Dieu was chosen as it was 80 miles NE of Toulouse and farther into the country. The threat of being seen moving was far greater than the first time. There also were fewer staff, trucks, fuel, and time to make the move. 

Four paintings were excluded from the move. The Wedding Feast at Cana, Sacre de Napoleon, Napoleon visiting Jaffa, and the Battle of Eylau. It was thought that three paintings depicting Napoleon and the Wedding Feast, being the one he stole, may have a high value to Hitler and the Germans. The one place Hitler had to visit on his one day in Paris was the tomb of Napoleon. 

On May 29, 1940, Jaujaurd and Germain Bazin, assistant curators, built a timeline for moving all the art. A few curators refused to take part, as it was a dangerous undertaking. Once the move began, it took three days because of the busy, horrible roads, but everything arrived on time. 

Over the next 5 years, much of the art moved three times before it finally returned to Paris. The Mona Lisa moved six times, with her caretaker and family moving right along with her. At each location, she had her own room and guards 

On December 26, 1944, the last German bomb was dropped on France, but the art stayed put. On April 30, 1945, Hitler killed himself, and a week later, on May 7, the Germans surrendered to the Allies. 

Now curators faced a new obstacle. The cold and lack of coal in Paris made it almost impossible to heat the large galleries. The cold and rising visitor temperatures caused humidity, one of the worst enemies of art.  

On June 15, 1945, at 5 am the first convoy of art left the Château de Montal. Two hours later, all 3 and a half tons of Winged Victory left for Paris on a truck provided by the British army. It took 9 hours to go the 150 miles back to Paris. 

The next day, Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People, as well as Boucher and Watteau paintings. At the time of the war, there was no Musée d’Orsay. The collection you see in the Orsay today was once in the Louvre. Along with the French and Italian masters, the Louvre evacuation also included van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Renoir, Cézanne, and all the Impressionists. 

On June 21, Winged Victory was back at the base of the Daru Staircase. The entire staff of the Louvre stood by to watch her make the slow push up the steps that would take over two hours. Of course, they stopped for lunch for 90 minutes before completing her move, and she was once again sitting atop her ship. 

On June 30, Venus and Michel Ange’s Slaves returned. It had been 6 years since they had last seen the inside of the Louvre.  In the following weeks, the rest of the art, antiquities, crown jewels, furniture, and more returned to Paris. Since the Louvre wasn’t ready yet, they held a special exhibition in the smaller rooms off of Winged Victory beginning on July 10, 1945, where 83 paintings, including the Mona Lisa, could finally be seen again. 

While the art was gone, curators worked to restore and conserve many of the most important pieces, although the Mona Lisa was never touched. 

The larger paintings didn’t return until February 1946, and the Belle Allemande joined the Louvre collection after Gorring “traded” for her. Today she is down on the ground level in a side room just off the Cour Leuffel without a mention of her travels

One of the last pieces to return was the one that made the greatest exit. Gericault’s Raft of the Medus, which had such a sparkling start, finally returned on July 9, 1946, from the Château de Sourches with 8 other large paintings. 

On October 17, 1947, after  8 years, the Louvre was finally fully open to the public. 

While it was closed, they also developed a new strategy for hanging the art. Before the war, the paintings were much closer together and stacked on top of each other. Now, after the remaining workers inventoried the frames and the chalk marks on the wall, they planned the new, more spacious layout we see today.

For more, watch the fantastic documentary The Rape of Europa

And read one of my favorite books, Saving the Mona Lisa by Gerri Chanel

I have listed many great books on my website on the subject as well as on the history of Paris, check them out here

Episode 33 - The Liberation of Paris

There are many events that truly altered and changed the entire trajectory of hundreds of thousands of people's lives. Every five years, we mark the rounded anniversaries of the Armistice, VE Day, D-Day, and the Liberation of Paris. While the clean numbers on the 5s and 10s look good, we should be reminded of many things every single year.

At the end of August 1944, the Parisians had had enough, and after four years of occupation, they were going to take matters into their own hands. 

It all began in the most French way possible: strikes. On August 10, 1944, the SNCF metro and train workers went on strike. The trains had been an integral part of the Nazi looting of art, furniture, and the deportation of French citizens. The resistance frequently blew up train tracks and disrupted the lines as often as possible over the four years of occupation. 

Prefecture of Paris with reminders of the Liberation

After the SNCF began to strike, the Parisian police and national Gendarmes followed on August 15. The next day, La Poste and the telegraph followed. Paris came to a grinding halt.

 Since June 6 and Operation Overlord on the beaches of Normandy, there was a quiet rumble of hope that the end of the war was coming. On July 14, 1944, more than 100,000 people marched through Paris and the surrounding area. For the first time in four years, the people marked the Fête Nationale together and in public, singing La Marseillaise. 

The Germans were not giving up their hold and control. On August 16, after leading Resistance fighters into a false meet up in the Bois de Boulogne, they executed all 35 members, sending a message. Although the writing was on the wall, they still managed to get the last train of deportees out of Drancy, including over 2000 people. 

Everything changed on August 18. Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy, head of the French Forces of the Interior, known as the FFI.  With the backing of General Leclerc and General de Gaulle, Rol-Tanguy released a plea to the French people ot mobilize and revolt. In the dark of night, posters were hung on walls and published in newspapers, although the collaborationist papers declined to print them. 

The order called for “all able-bodied French men aged 18 to 50, to arm themselves by all means, in particular by recovering equipment from enemy soldiers”; To “attack the enemy wherever they are in the street or in their premises, their vehicles and fuel depots.” They also needed to protect all public services from attack, such as water, gas, and electricity. 

The lack of artillery was a major concern within Paris; Rol-Tanguy counted around 600 rifles up against more than 20,000 armed Germans. That wasn’t going to stop the people. Barricades were built using anything they could find, cobblestones, the heavy iron tree grates, furniture, and even cars.  

On August 19, at the Paris Prefecture in the shadows of Notre Dame de Paris, 3000 of the striking police, dressed in plain clothes, stormed the prefecture and launched the battle to liberate the capital.  The FFI encircled the Prefecture with barricades built on the left and right banks. From the Square Viviani to the Fontaine Saint Michel on the left bank, to the Hotel de Ville and Place du Chatelet on the right. 

The same day, Swedish Consul General Raoul Nordling paid a visit to General Dietrich von Choltitz  at the Hotel Maurice on the Rue de Rivoli.  Choltitz had been appointed the General of Paris by Hitler on August 7, 1944. Nordling was born in Paris in 1882 to a Swedish father and French mother. In 1905, he was named the vice consul of Sweden and later the consul general in 1926. With a gift of diplomacy, he spoke for Sweden with the French. In the later years of WWII, Nordling was a trusted spokesperson, mediating between France and Germany. Trying to urge Goering and Vichy leader Marshal Pétain to convince Hitler to retreat after D-Day wasn’t getting anywhere 

On August 17, the two would meet for the first time.  Nordling was able to negotiate on behalf of the French Red Cross with Choltitz for the release of all of the prisoners in the surrounding prisons. Just 10 days after his arrival, he knew the German position was losing ground quickly.  Choltitz wanted to know what he would get in return. Nordling promised they would release all German prisoners, although Choltitz had no idea it was just a handful of people. Nordling sent trusted aides to the prisons of Drancy, Compiègne and Romainville to order the release. He was too late at Compiègne; the train had already left, but would be intercepted in a few days. Nordling's efforts gave 4,231 people their freedom from the Germans. 

On August 19, in the hours after the FFI took control of the prefecture, the inevitable couldn’t be avoided much longer. Georges Bidault and Alexandre Parodi, leaders of the National Council of the Resistance, wanted to negotiate a ceasefire with Choltitz. The FFI were unwilling to deal and wanted to keep the fight going. They had brought the Germans to their knees on their own before either army arrived. 

Nordling, within a few short days, had proven to be the Choltitz whisperer and asked again to pull off the ultimate win. Representatives from all sides gathered at the Hotel de Ville in central Paris, recently restored to the French. Nordling negotiated between all the parties and by noon had an agreement. 

The ceasefire was to start on August 20 at 3:30 pm and was announced over loudspeakers across Paris. Although many on both sides chose to ignore it and kept fighting. Rol-Tangy, leader of the FFI, said as long as the Germans are in Paris, we will keep on fighting. 

As the uprising poured into the streets, German soldiers with white flags on their cars drove up to the barricades at the corner of the Square Viviani, opposite Notre Dame, and began to shoot and kill anyone they came across. With the reports of arrests of Nazi soldiers on the horizon, they weren’t going down without a fight. 

At the same time, German soldiers had been spending the last few weeks attaching explosives to the many monuments and all the bridges in central Paris. Three tons were brought to Notre Dame, two tons to Les Invalides, and another two at the Arc de Triomphe, all from the direct order of Hitler.  Hitler gave the order to destroy Paris: “Paris must not pass into the Allies' hands except as a field of ruins”.

General Charles de Gaulle returned to France on August 20, landing in Cherbourg at 8 am and heading straight to meet with General Eisenhower. Ike wanted to avoid Paris as he didn’t see it as a priority, and taking the Germans in the city would be a logistical nightmare. At Ike’s headquarters in Tournières,  just outside of Bayeux, De Gaulle met with Ike to try to convince him. General Leclerc arrived earlier and started the ball rolling, and Ike would not budge. 

On August 21, De Gaulle wrote up another plan and sent in an admired general to hand deliver the proposal. General Koenig successfully led the campaign in Bir Hakeim. Over the next 24 hours, the news from Paris and the FFI capture and control of many of the streets and former Nazi strongholds, as well as the likely surrender of Choltitz, convinced Ike they just might head to Paris after all. 

On August 22 at 2 pm, it was agreed between Ike and De Gaulle that General Leclerc’s 2nd Armored Division of the French army, along with the American 4th Infantry, would make their way to Paris. 

Just after 6 am, before the sun rose on August 23, the 2nd Armored Division, which included more than 16,000 soldiers, set off from Rambouillet, 48 kilometers SW of Paris. With 200 tanks and 370 cannons towed to Paris, the drive took nearly a full day. The American forces of 14,000 soldiers included 30 tanks and 350 cannons and one American writer, more on that in a minute. 

On August 24 at 8 pm, before the French and Americans arrived at the capital, a group of Spanish fighters known as “La Nueve” reached the cobblestones first. A part of Leclerc’s 2nd Armored Division made up of 208  Spanish Republican and French soldiers. By 9:22 pm, the group arrived at Hotel de Ville to great applause. Led by Lieutenant Armando Granell, who would also be a part of the downfall of Choltitz the next day.

It was on the 24th that for the first time since the war and occupation, the bells of the churches of Paris began to ring. At 10:10 pm, Emmanuel, the largest and oldest bell of Notre Dame, rang out for the first time, followed by the bells of Saint Sulpice, Saint Germain des Prés and on and on and on. People in the street sang La Marseillaise and screamed Vive la France, although the Germans and armed militia still stood their ground in Paris. 

As the French and American soldiers traveled to Paris, every town and road they passed through was lined with thousands of thankful French citizens. Open jeeps were filled with bottles of wine, champagne, and beer, so much so that once they entered Paris, they were handing it out to anyone who approached. At 7:45 am on the morning of August 25, in southern Paris, the 2DB arrived.  Coming through the Porte d’Orléans and Port de Gentilly. In Paris, the FFI now numbered 20,000, as did the police and security forces.  Later that evening, the British Army and American 4th Infantry arrived.  The 17,000 German soldiers that remained were highly outnumbered. 

By August 25, the tide had turned. The arrival of the French, British, and American armies was more of a parade than a way to bring the Germans to their knees. The FFI had already done that. 

Around 1 pm, FFI soldiers and Henri Karcher of De Gaulle’s army entered the Maurice on the Rue de Rivoli and demanded to see Choltitz. Threatened that he would be tried as a war criminal, he was taken into custody. At the prefecture on the Ile de la Cité where the FFI first rose up just six days before, Choltitz signed his surrender at 2:45 pm. 

 At 5 pm at Gare Montparnasse, with General Leclerc and General de Gaulle, Choltitz ended the occupation by surrendering the German army. Choltitz would be sent to London with other high-ranking German officers while many others were rounded up, arrested, and held outside in the Salon Carrée of the Louvre. 

At 7:30 pm in front of the Hotel de Ville, Charles de Gaulle would make a speech that would follow him the rest of his life and be immortalized in stone and bronze. 

 "Paris! Paris outraged! Paris broken! Paris martyred! But Paris liberated! "

That night, Paris was filled with an energy few had felt in over four years. But the war wasn’t over, and there were still the last German holdouts, and the militia was growing. During the war, the militia, known as Milice and created in 1943, was made up of soldiers and devotees of the fascist Vichy regime. Given carte blanche to detain and deport Jews and others they felt were unworthy of remaining in France with the Nazi ideals. They were given incentives to join and appealed to angry men who also needed money.  

Led by former French WWI war hero Joseph Darnand, who became an SS officer and pledged his allegiance to Hitler, he was told "to create special courts martial to try on the spot" persons caught in violent acts against the state. The law was "without precedent in modern French legal history." 

By the end of the war, others joined in the Militia, including Japanese, Americans, Germans, and many other angry men and women who hid behind masks. 

Durnand was arrested in Italy by the British in July 1945  and later tried and executed for his collaboration. 

(History, you can’t make this up) 

In the final days of the Liberation, the Militia joined the remaining Germans in a fight to the death. There was one man who took on the Militia in Paris. 

Ernest Hemingway was staying in the city of Rambouillet, with his makeshift troop of men composed of Americans and FFI soldiers. As the days to the Liberation of Paris got closer, he wanted to head back to the center of the action and celebration. A convoy of soldiers, including Hem, headed towards the City of Light. 

Just after Noon, Hemingway and his band of men crossed into Paris over the Seine at the Pont de Sèvres. It was August 25. 1944, and the drive into the city was filled with people standing along the road, cheering the soldiers as they passed by. His first stop was to see a dear friend, Sylvia Beach. Living at 18 Rue de l’Odeon, Hemingway came barreling down the street, yelling out her name. Sylvia ran down the street, brought her dear friend upstairs to the 4th floor, and wondered what he could do for her.  Sylvia and Adrienne asked him if he could remove the Germans & militia still firing from the roofs of the Odeon.  Hemingway returned to his liberated Mercedes, grabbed some men and guns, and returned to the roof of her building. Gunfire was heard for a few minutes, then total silence; Odeon was liberated, and the nightmare was over. 

The story of where he went next is a story many “think” they know. 

As the story goes, Hem wanted to be the first American to liberate the Ritz. He pushed his way to get an audience with General Leclerc to ask for men and weapons. Leclerc told him to “buzz off,” but he wasn’t to be deterred. With his driver, Sergeant Red Pelky, and a handful of soldiers and journalists, they swung into the door of the Ritz. With machine guns in hand, he saw manager Claude Auzello and asked where the Germans were. “Monsieur, they left long ago”. He invited them in but had to leave the machine guns in the Mercedes.  

Hem and his men marched into the Ritz Bar and instructed the barman to make them the Montgomery Martini: 17 parts Gin, 1 part Vermouth, which is how British Marshal Montgomery liked to face his Germans: 17 men to 1 German. Everyone, including the Ritz, says Hem himself drank 51 of these alone. In fact, his entire party drank them together. The Bar Hemingway was named in 1994 in the former ladies’ bar space.  The bar where he drank these martinis is now the Ritz patisserie. 

A few years ago, I found a website dedicated to capturing the stories of those who lived through the WWII occupation in Paris and the small towns of France. As the Greatest Generation disappears, it's more important to inscribe these recollections before they are lost forever. 

3 Rue Palatine

One I uncovered I have never forgotten. André Auvinet was a 56-year-old lawyer for SNCF and lived at no 3 rue Palatine across the street from the south side of the Église Saint Sulpice. Auvinet kept a detailed account noting the days leading up to August 26, specifically in his Saint Germain des Prés neighborhood. 

Each morning, he walked with his colleague Tricot down the Rue de Seine to the Pont des Arts. On August 19, he noted that the air in Paris had changed. What had once been calm and quiet, with people hiding in their homes, now carried a bit of agitation. A young girl they passed in the street told them she just saw German soldiers machine-gun a crowd of people on the Rue de Bac. 

On August 20, Auvinet saw posters calling for French aged 18 to 50 to grab arms and join the fight to take back Paris. At the same time, another mass shooting occurred on the corner of Rue Vaugirard with the Germans on the roof of the Senate.  The truce was in place, but they didn’t care. The shots continued in front of the Eglise Saint Germain des Prés up Rue Bonaparte to the Place Saint Sulpice. 

On August 21, the FFI began to outnumber the Germans, but the gunfire increased. People sheltered in the dark corners of their homes as the Germans and militia could be seen on the roofs running from building to building. On August 22, French tanks increased their presence on the Boulevard Saint Germain and Boulevard Saint Michel where the barricades were built. 

On August 23, Auvenet noted “Roof shooters out our window for the 4th night. They were Germans dressed in civilian clothes with women and Asisans of the Darnand Militia”.  The French papers began to publish again on this day, adding a return to normalcy. 

August 24, Auvinet and his wife have dinner, then begin to hear cries and screaming in the street. This time it wasn’t out of fear, a sound they hadn’t heard in a very long time. People in droves were heading to the Hotel de Ville to see General Leclerc. At 10:10 pm they heard the bells of Notre Dame followed by the bells of Saint Sulpice just out their window. 

August 25, “tanks of Leclerc roll through the Rue de Four and Rue du Buci. A walk through the neighborhood that evening, André found the markings of the gunfire along the buildings on Rue Bonaparte, Rue de Fleurs, and one of the worst on the Rue Auguste Comte along the walls of the Lyceé Montaigne. These reminders all remain to this day all over Paris, but especially in the 5th, 6th and the Ile de la Cité. 

On the very early morning of August 26, André and his family left at 3 am to walk to the Avenue de Champs-Élysées to join in the parade led by Charles de Gaulle. 

There isn’t a day I walk through the same streets Auvinet mentioned and don't think about his words. 

On August 26, Paris celebrated the final defeat of the Germans and the end of the Occupation of their city. WWII in Europe would end on May 8, 1945, but on this August day 86 years ago, they celebrated. 

At  3 pm, De Gaulle arrived at the top of the Champs-Élysées. Laying a wreath at the tomb of the unknown soldier and took a brief moment. Shortly after, alongside General Leclerc and other members of the Free French and resistance, he took his tall 6.5-foot stature and strolled down the Champs-Élysées towards Notre Dame. 

Over two million people lined the avenue and the Place de la Concorde. The city may have been liberated, but the German snipers still fired down into the crowd, killing 582 people in the days of the liberation. 

Arriving at Notre Dame, De Gaulle carried on unfazed by the German gunfire. Inside the cathedral, the crowd sang Te Deum as they hid under their hymnals as Germans shot at them inside the church.  

Today at the edge of the Champ Élysées, a tall statue of De Gaulle in a perfect depiction of his wide gate looks ahead. Created by J. Cardot, it was inaugurated on November 9, 2000, the 30th anniversary of his death. Before his death, he expressed his wish that no monuments be dedicated to him. His son later agreed that they should have at least one marking the great man at a very heroic and monumental moment.  On the side emblazoned in bronze are his words of Augst 24,

"Paris, Paris outragé, Paris brisé, Paris martyrisé,  mais Paris libéré."

Around, Paris, over 2,000 plaques are scattered throughout Paris today, and everyone has a story. Below each plaque is a small ring on which the city places a bouquet each year on the anniversary of the Liberation

Paris did not waste any time installing the plaques, and they began to appear as soon as October 1944. Placed on buildings and in parks, family members left flowers and inscribed the walls with memories of those they lost. 

Georges Bailly, a student at the age of 24; Michel Mouchet, a member of the Sapeurs-Pompiers; Jean-Claude Touche, age 18; and Madeleine Brinet, a nurse, and so many more all died for France on August 25, 1944. When you come across these plaques in Paris, stop and take a minute to look at them. The pleasure of strolling the streets of Paris is partly due to their sacrifice.

On the Rue de Seine, on the wall of the Institut de France, is a small niche with a plaque for Commander Louis Helie, killed on this spot on August 19. The 55-year-old resistance fighter survived being captured by the Germans in WWI and fought against them. The niche also holds one of my favorite drawings of a guardian angel by John Charles de Castelbajac.

During WWII many women stood up to fight for France in any way they could and for many years they were left off from the pages of history. 

Marie Madeleine Fourcade, born November 8, 1909, followed the path of most young girls. She attended the Couvent des Oiseaux, where all good girls went to become the perfect wife. At 18, she married Colonel Méric, and five children quickly followed. Being a wife and mother was not all she hoped and dreamed it would be, so she became a journalist at first for the Vichy papers. When she realized what was truly behind the far-right movement, she moved into the Resistance. 

In 1939 she met George Loustaunau-Lacau, a high-ranking official and friend of Charles De Gaulle, and became his chief of staff of the Alliance Resistance.  By 1940, they had to go underground. Marie would become the head of the Alliance and recruited over 1500 people to serve in the network as pilots, couriers, and radio operators. Known as Hedgehog, she was fearless and faced death every day. When the Germans figured out who she was and found her in a chateau and arrived to arrest her, she convinced them she needed to take a bath first. When the officers went outside to smoke, she slipped out the door and made her way to Lyon. 

Arrested in November 1942, she was able to escape on the way to the Castres prison thanks to a few compliant officers. With each attack on the Alliance, she would constantly rebuild the network time after time. Highly decorated after the war, she would live a long life until 1989. 

Cécile-Rol-Tanguy was born on April 10, 1919, in Royan to activist parents. At the start of WWII, she was a “godmother of war,” essentially a pen pal, to a young soldier named Henri Tanguy. The two finally met face-to-face and were married on April 19, 1939. In 1940, they moved to Paris and began working underground for the Resistance. She strolled through checkpoints with her baby stroller, which could be filled with guns, money, and grenades. After changing her name and papers, she stayed one step ahead of the Germans. 

When the war ended, and de Gaulle arrived in Paris and marched down the Champs Élysées, he held a reception in the Hotel de Ville. Cécile was the only woman in attendance, and this was only because of her husband. After WWII, she became a Friend of the Fighting Spanish, and when François Hollande wanted to award her for her bravery, she initially declined. Eventually, she decided she would accept it but only on behalf of the women who had fought in the resistance.

After the war, she and Henri continued their commitment to fighting fascism. With her daughter, she led Les Amis des combattants de l'Espagne république and lived to the age of 101. 

Simone Segouin could be the most recognized of the ladies of the Resistance. Her father worked in the Resistance and in the local government. She was just 16 years old and dared to blow up bridges, lay traps, and damage German held villages. In Chartres, she stole a bicycle, repainted it, and spent a year riding all over the Loire delivering messages.  On August 23, 1944, she took part in the Liberation of Chartres and two days later arrived in Paris for the big fight, the Liberation of Paris. Her most famous image was shot on the streets of Paris. A young girl standing against a wall holding a large German machine gun taken from a soldier. 

Photographer Jack Belden captured this moment on film, and it was featured in Life Magazine, making it the most famous image of the Resistance. After the war, she became a nurse, had six children, and never married. When she was offered the Legion of Honor award, she initially refused it, but accepted it in 2021. Simone lived to be 97 years old on February 21, 2023

Musée de la Liberation

In Paris visit 

The Liberation museum in the 15th http://www.museeliberation-leclerc-moulin.paris.fr/

Musée de l'Ordre de la Libération ( at the Musée de l’Armée)

https://www.ordredelaliberation.fr/fr

Musee de l’Armée  (open 7 days a week) 

​​https://www.musee-armee.fr/accueil.html

1966 Is Paris Burning 

A French Village MHZ choice on apple tv or amazon

Episode 32 - The Theft of the Mona Lisa

Six days a week, for 115 years since her theft, more than 30,000 people a day push and shove to snap a photo or selfie with the Mona Lisa, and most have no idea why they even do it. 

On a hot Sunday, August 20, 1911, at around 4 pm. Vincenzo Peruggia entered the Musée du Louvre just like any other visitor. In the final moments, as the museum closed and guards ushered people out, Peruggia slipped into a storage closet between the Galerie d’Apollon and the Salon Carré. With a chunk of cheese, a small bottle of wine, and a baguette, he waited until the dark of night to emerge to begin the heist of the 20th century. 

The portrait of a Florentine woman, painted by a Renaissance master, hung on the north wall of the Salon Carré. She had been placed within a new double frame with glass just weeks before by the man who was about to steal her. 

This was long before the days of cameras and alarm systems, and one could easily hide in the Louvre overnight and wander around; how dreamy.   

The sun rose on Monday, August 21, as our thief prepared for his escape. At 7:30 am, Peruggia emerged from his hiding place in his white Louvre coat, walked past the wall where his stolen loot once hung, took a few steps through the Grande Galerie, and made a quick turn into the Salle des Sept Mètres.  On the right, a door still there today and heavily alarmed hid a small staircase only used on Mondays.  Through the door, spinning down to the Cour de Sphinx, only to be met with a locked door.  Using the screwdriver he brought to unleash our lovely lady from the tomb he created for her, he removed the doorknob, but it only made matters worse. 

It was August, and Paris was quiet as Parisians had fled to the coast and to the south. The remaining employees of the Louvre had just begun to move around for the day. Around 8 a.m., plumber Jules Sauve heard knocking from a door as he walked by. With a wrench, Sauve opened the door and let the man who would become the most wanted thief in the world out, along with the priceless painting. A quick bonjour et merci, and Perrugia walked out of the Cour Visconti with Mona under his arm; he tossed the doorknob into the Jardin de l’Infante and jumped onto a bus. 

The rest of that Monday within the Louvre was business as usual. Floors were cleaned, and paintings and statues were dusted, and nobody noticed anything out of the ordinary. One of the greatest crimes of the 20th century had happened, and nobody noticed.  

On Tuesday, August 21, around 9:30 am, the museum guards began arriving and heading to their posts. At the time, only former military and police officers served as guides in the Louvre, not so much now.  Brigadier Maximilien Alphonse Pauparin (Poh-pour-anne), a guard in the Salon Carré, had served in the French military but had no idea what he was about to face on the morning of August 21, 1911. 

At 10 am, the Musée du Louvre opened its doors. There were no long lines of tourists waiting to get in, just a few loyal visitors and artists coming to wander the Grande Galerie. 

Artist Louis Béroud arrived just after the Louvre opened and carried his easel up the Escalier Daru, giving a little wink to Winged Victory and to the Salon Carré. Béroud, a copyist, was commissioned to paint a portrait of a woman looking at what would become the most famous painting in the world. As he walked to the wall, he noticed a large hole. Between Titian’s Allegorie Conjugale and Correggio’s Mystic Marriage, and below Veronese’s Wedding Feast at Cana. 

In 1911, the paintings in the Salon Carré hung within inches of each other on the wall, much closer than they are now, so a large hole should have been pretty easy to spot.  

Béroud walked over to Pauparin and asked where the portrait was. The brigadier scoffed and said it had to be in the photo studio, as they removed paintings all the time without alerting anyone, and in the middle of the day. 

Without any sense of urgency, Pauparin said he would head down and check. On the way, he stopped for a long cigarette break before popping in. 

In the photography workshop tucked away deep in the basement, Pauparin walked in and asked, “Où est La Joconde?” She’s not here," they responded, “but maybe she was moved to another room.” Pauparin asked a few more people,  then panic set in. It was noon on August 22, and the Portrait of Mona Lisa by Leonard da Vinci had been gone for over 29 hours; they just didn’t know it yet. 

The doors of the galleries of the Louvre slammed shut, and the few visitors in attendance were ushered out the door. The staff was told a water pipe had broken and there was no need to panic. Pauparin, on the other hand, was experiencing a panic attack. 

At the time, Director of the Louvre, Jean Théophile Homolle, was on the Yucatan peninsula on an archeological expedition, leaving Georges Bénédite (ben-ah-deet), curator of the Egyptian department, in charge. At 12:30  pm, two and a half hours after the museum had opened, Bénédite was beside himself and wondered why this had to happen on his watch. Phone calls ran through a switchboard, and to keep the incident on the QT, Bénédite ran from the Louvre to the Palais de Justice on the Ile de la Cité. 

Out of breath, Bénédite alerted the police to the unimaginable. Immediately,  Louis Lepine, head of police, arrived at the now-closed Louvre to investigate. The theft was kept very quiet, but the rumors began to spread. 

At the same time, the police were told a Louvre official sent a letter to the Beaux Arts museum in Quimper requesting their copy of the Mona Lisa be sent to Paris immediately. Painted in Leonardo's atelier by an unknown student, it is thought to be the best copy and the closest to the original portrait we have today. The Louvre thought they could keep the theft quiet and also force the thief to make a mistake, and make it easier to nab. The museum didn’t send the painting and still has the letter in its archives. 

Lepine arrived at the door of the Louvre with dozens of police officers in tow. Passersby knew it was much more than a water leak. Investigators fanned out to every corner of the Louvre, which was much smaller than it is today. When they found the two frames that once held her in the stairwell, they knew the unimaginable had happened.  

The national gendarmerie, the ministers of culture and the interior, and the president of France, Armand Fallières, were alerted. The train stations were closed, and the borders of France were alerted; however, none of that would help find the Mona Lisa. 

One of the first to be questioned by police was a very upset Brigadier Maximilien Pauparin.  About to have a nervous breakdown under the pressure, he was asked about the woman he saw every day. He said, “Mon Dieu, she was there Sunday night when the museum closed.”  

In his years at his post, he saw many things. Lovelorn men brought her flowers and letters pledging their undying love to her, and one man was even said to have killed himself in front of her. I haven’t found any info to back that up, but it does make for an interesting little addition. 

One young German man was so devoted to her that his story spread around the world. There is even rumors that she has her own mailbox at the Louvre, still to this day. 

The police searched high and low for more evidence. They found a partial print of the left hand on the frame casing, but at the time, they had only been taking prints from the right hand. With little to go on, the Louvre thought she might be gone forever. 

In searching the Louvre, and finding the newly created security frame discarded in the stairs that was only used for staff on Mondays, Lepine believed the thief had to have had knowledge of the Louvre and had worked there. Lepine interrogated the staff, and a plumber named Jules Sauve gave the only clue they had. 

Lepine brought in Alphonse Bertillon, who served as the chief of judicial identity and had been working on a new way to identify people through fingerprints and profiling. The entire staff was called in, and fingerprints on the right hand were taken, but one man didn’t show up. 

Meanwhile, the last to know of the theft was the Louvre director  Jean Théophile Homolle, who was deep in the Yucatan forest. Once asked if the Mona Lisa could be stolen, he laughed and said it would be like someone stealing the towers of Notre Dame, impossible. He was on the first ship back to France. 

It was impossible to keep the news out of the press. On the evening of August 22, the story appeared in Le Temps newspaper, and from there it went around the world.  

To understand why this theft and specifically this painting captured the attention of the world, you have to understand what was happening in that moment in time.  Today, this story would have spread online in a matter of seconds, and it did back then, in a way. This was the period known as the Belle Epoque, the beautiful era. Since the end of the Siege of Paris and the Commune of 1871, Paris had fully entered a new age. Each day, Paris had more than 35 different journals, selling an astonishing two million copies, and that was just in France. 

Newspaper and printing presses could now add photos and drawings, and with the expanded train travel as well as wire services, the news and, even more importantly, images could spread quickly and across the ocean.  

In 1858, Luigi Calamatta created the first copper engraving of the Mona Lisa, which was heralded as the best representation of the painting. It was the image that spread around the world, and it's why everyone suddenly knew the face of this mysterious woman from Florence.  

The Louvre closed its doors for a week while the investigation hit one dead end after another. The government called for its own investigation into how this could have happened. In an all-too-familiar scene, played out exactly 10 months ago, all parties involved began pointing fingers at each other. 

Security at the Musée du Louvre had been pretty laughable for quite some time. Reporters hid in a sarcophagus overnight to test the security and even stole small pieces to see if they could get away with it, and they did. 

One week later, on Monday, August 28, the search of the Louvre was finished, and the museum would reopen the next day. It would also be the day director Homelle returned to the Louvre. 

On Tuesday, August 29, 1911, at 10 am, the Musée du Louvre opened its doors to thousands waiting in a two-hour line to enter for a glimpse of the wall where the Lady of the Louvre once hung. Four policemen and six museum guards surrounded the now-empty wall, along with many undercover agents in the crowd, hoping the thief might return.  Of the thousands of people who came, many brought notes and flowers to leave on the distinctive parquet floor. Outside the doors, trinket sellers peddled anything they could with her image on it, and even some entrepreneurial prostitutes hid in the shadows waiting for clients. 

Visitors were also greeted by two very angry dogs, Jack and Milord, and a slew of security guards roaming the galleries. 

On August 31, the ministers of interior and culture called an emergency meeting, and Homelle was removed from his position; Pierre Eugéne Pujalet, who had a background in security and police work, was appointed interim director. 

While the news of the theft spread around the world, poet and art critic Guillaume Apollinaire & Pablo Picasso read the headlines in the paper just like everyone else. 

On September 5, Apollinaire visited the Paris Journal to say he might know who stole the Mona Lisa and turned in the stolen objects. He confessed that a friend, using the fictional name Baron Ignace d’Ormesan, would steal small sculptures from the Louvre. Guillaume and Picasso benefited from his stolen loot and thought they would do the right thing and tell the authorities. 

The two friends panicked and tried to rid themselves of the objects from the Louvre.  At midnight on September 5, the two men packed the pieces into a suitcase, worried they would be captured riding the metro or a bus, and walked from his studio in Montmartre to the Seine River. Once there, they feared being seen and decided to walk back up to Montmartre with the heavy suitcase in tow. 

On September 6, the front page of the Paris Journal ran “L’Affaire des Statuettes,” which also alerted the police, who visited Apollinaire and brought him in for questioning. The thief’s real name was Honoré Joseph Géry Pieret-Belgien, who also worked as a secretary for the writer.  That same morning, police visited the Boulevard de Clichy and Picasso's apartment. 

When questioned, he said he never heard of Apollinaire and was released later that day. Apollinaire wasn’t as lucky and was held for a week. It would be the only lead and arrest the French police had in the theft of the Mona Lisa, and it was a dead end.  The incident would ruin the friendship of the artist and writer and would be one of Picasso’s few regrets in his life. 

In February 1912, the spot that had been left empty was a makeshift shrine until officials decided to move Raphael’s Baldassare de Castiglione into her place.  Close in size and, more importantly, in pose, the subject was arranged much like Lisa. Raphael had briefly seen the painting while Leonardo worked on it. 

In January 1913, the Louvre released its updated catalog, and Leonardo’s Mona Lisa wasn’t part of it. The trail had run cold, and the case had been closed. They believed she would never return home again. 

But what did happen to the Mona Lisa, you ask? 

Let’s go back to the morning of August 21, 1911. 

Born October 8, 1881, in Dumenza in northern Italy, Vincenzo Perugia was the oldest of five children and began working at twelve as a house painter in Milan.  In 1908, Vincenzo moved to Paris, where he became very sick and was hospitalized for lead poisoning, a nugget that will come into play later. He moved away from the painting business and got a job with Maison Gobier, which had worked on the glass and windows of the Musée du Louvre since 1832.  

In 1911, two paintings were slashed, and the Louvre knew its most important pieces needed protection behind glass in new security frames. The Maison Gobier company was replacing windows in the Louvre and was tasked with protecting the paintings. It consisted of French workers and one Italian, Vincenzo Peruggia.  His French coworkers made fun of him and called him Macaroni. 

Each day for a year, Peruggia was up close and personal with each of the Italian paintings that had once belonged to the kings of France. After the Raphael paintings were completed, Vincenzo tackled the Leonardo da Vincis and, of course, the Mona Lisa. This gave him an in-depth knowledge of the future star of the Louvre, although he hadn’t decided to steal her quite yet. 

For days on end, he worked in the Salon Carré and Grande Galerie, removing paintings from the wall as visitors filed past him. As his coworkers' teasing increased, so did his anger. Vincenzo believed Napoleon had stolen everything in the Louvre had been stolen by Napoleon from Italy. It had been close to 100 years since that was rectified (listen to episode 28 for more)  

Peruggia had an idea, and he was going to take a painting back to where it belonged: his native Italy. On these long days, he overheard a lot of people talking about. A painting that nobody lines up and pushes to get a selfie with, but does hang on the wall opposite the other Da Vincis. 

Andrea Mantegna’s Mars & Venus was painted in 1496 for Isabelle d'Este. It entered the Louvre’s collection through Cardinal Richelieu, not Napoleon. The painting is 6 x 5 feet and some change, and had it been stolen, he most likely would not have gotten very far. 

Peruggia realized that the Mona Lisa was a safer bet. It was smaller, he knew how to remove it from the frame, and she was a Da Vinci after all. 

On the morning of August 21, with the Mona Lisa, measuring 2.6 feet by 3.3 feet in tow, he jumped on a bus and headed home.  Vincenzo stayed in his small top-floor apartment at 5 Rue de l’Hopital Saint Louis overnight and into the next day. On the morning of August 21, when it was discovered she was gone, Vincenzo stayed home with the grand lady in his closet. 

When the entire staff of the Louvre was called in to be interviewed and fingerprinted, Vincenzo did not show up. The police and Lepine arrived at his small apartment to question the thief, who let them in and slowly answered their questions. Meanwhile, the Mona Lisa was turned around and propped up in his closet. Lepine never looked around and left without a bit of suspicion. 

Worried he would return, Peruggia left his apartment with Lisa in a case and checked into the Hotel Rive Gauche on Rue Saint Peres in Saint Germain and requested a top-floor room in case he needed to make a quick escape to the rooftops. Hiding in room 603 for three days, he waited for news of the theft to spread through Paris.  

Today it is the Hotel Da Vinci, and you can stay in the room where Vincenzo and his Florentine lady once stayed, with your own copy of Lisa hanging on the wall. 

On Wednesday, August 23, the headline was International news, but not even a whisper of a suspect.  Peruggia felt he was in the clear and returned to his tiny apartment on rue de l’Hopital Saint Louis, where the Mona Lisa had stayed and would remain for the next 28 months. 

For two years, the Mona Lisa returned to her early days, stuffed into a closet without the adoration of thousands, though this time it was a tiny apartment near the Canal Saint Martin. 

In the winter of 1912, Peruggia left Lisa in his apartment, but this time in a box he slid under his stove. A quick trip to London to see art dealer Joseph Duveen, who is hailed as the individual to broker more European art to wealthy Americans than anyone else.  When the short, 5-foot-3-inch Vincenzo walked in, Duveen immediately laughed him out of his gallery. Peruggia returned to Paris and Lisa to her tomb under the stove and waited another year before his final act. 

For all of 1912 and into 1913, Vincenzo went on with his life, although he did not return to his job and stayed quiet and close to home while the world wondered where the Mona Lisa was. 

On November 29, 1913, Vincenzo once again appeared.  This time, in a letter sent to Alfredo Geri, an antique dealer in Florence. It stated that the “Stolen work of Leonardo is in my possession. It seems to belong to Italy as the painter was an Italian. My dream is to give back this masterpiece to the land from which it came.”  Signed Leonard 

Geri was skeptical at best, but contacted Giovanni Poggi, curator, and Corrado Ricci, director of fine arts of the Uffizi. 

Deciding they had nothing to lose, Geri responded and set up a meeting for December 22 in Milan. “Leonard” decided he didn’t want to wait any longer and arrived in Florence on Wednesday, December 12, 1913. Walking into Geri’s shop on the Via Borgo Ognissanti, “Leonard Vincenzo” introduced himself and asked the owner if he was interested in seeing the painting.  

Two hours later, Geri and Poggi were in Peruggia’s tiny hotel room on the 3rd floor of the Albergo Tripoli-Italia. When they turned the painting over and saw the Louvre inventory code MR 316, they knew they were looking at what was now the most famous painting in the world. The thief brought her back to Italy in a large custom-made crate with a false bottom topped with clothes, tools, and a mandolin. The director was shocked to see what was lying on top of her. 

Vincenzo said he wanted 500,000 lira for her (today that is worth 2.2 million dollars). The two agreed and told the thief they wanted it checked at the Uffizi before they paid. As the three men walked out of the hotel, a front desk staff member stopped them. The clerk thought they were stealing a painting from the hotel room, much tighter security than at the Louvre. Once the painting was verified, Geri and Poggi told Peruggia to go back to the hotel, and they would bring the money over.  Vincenzo must have walked back to the hotel lighter than air, thinking all his dreams were about to come true. Instead, the police were called and arrived as Vincenzo lay down to nap and was quickly arrested. 

Episode 31 - The Birth of the Musée du Louvre

Most people walking into the stunningly beautiful and reopened Galerie d’Apollon are looking at the golden ceiling and may miss one of the most important markings on the entire Palais du Louvre. Just above the Iron gates that were once a part of the Château de Maisons is an inscription noting the decree of September 16, 1792, and the opening of the museum on August 10, 1793.

On a warm summer day in the midst of the French Revolution, the Grande Galerie was opened to visitors. A chance to view what once hung on the walls of the great châteaux of the kings. The Musée Central des Arts de la République was opened to the public; you know it as the Musée du Louvre. It was August 10, 1793, the one-year anniversary of a very symbolic day marking the end of the French monarchy. 

At its opening, the museum held 538 paintings, 48 sculptures from the Salle des Antiquities, 39 antique and modern busts, and 29  hard stone tables with 36 hard stone vases, 37 porcelain as well as many bronze clocks, objets d’art, and two large Sèvres vases filling the Grande Galerie, and no Mona Lisa in sight. 

Although it was opened as a gift to the citizens of France, they were only allowed to visit a few days a week. These were the Revolutionary years, and the ten-day calendar was in place. The first five days of the week were for artists and copyists, followed by two days of cleaning; the last three days of the week were for the public. Opening hours depended on the daylight. During the winter, the museum would have much shorter hours as they hadn’t installed lighting yet. 

On that first day, the large doors of the Rotunde de Mars opened. While the people were fighting against the monarchy and blood was being shed in the streets, visitors inside could view paintings by Da Vinci, Raphaêl, Veronese, and Titian. Where did all this art come from? A few weeks ago, I shared the story of the looting of art done under Napoleon and the Directory (episode 28). But the opening collection dates to a much earlier period. 

It all began with Francois I, who changed everything about the monarchy. Rising to the throne on January 1, 1515, at 21 years old, following the death of his cousin Louis XII. He was raised by his mother, Louise de Savoie, with an appreciation of art, architecture, music, poetry, and all things of the Renaissance. During his rule, he began the transformation of the Palais du Louvre into what we know it as today. 

It was on August 2, 1546, 480 years ago, that architect Pierre Lescot was given the task of building a palace fit to reflect the French Renaissance and outshine anything the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V had. Francois I died the next year, but his son Henri II would continue his vision, as did each king that followed. Francois didn’t just want a palace; he also wanted a place to showcase his art. 

With a fondness for Italian art, Francois began to amass many of the paintings of the Italian masters and even a few of the masters themselves. The most famous being Leonardo da Vinci, whom he was able to convince to pack up his paintings and move to France. (For more, listen to the past episode 23). Other artists, including Rosso Florentino & Francesco Primaticcio, also moved to France and worked on the Château de Fontainebleau. 

François I is credited not only with the creation of the royal collection of art but also with the Crown Jewels of France. However, there were a few pieces already attached to the throne when he arrived in 1515. 

Louis XII obtained Fra Bartolomeo’s Noli me tangere, or Le Christ jardinier et la Madeleine, in 1506 from Père Perini, a Dominican monk, and passed it to his cousin Francois I, who would succeed him. Another well-known painting, often called  La Belle Ferronière  by the one and only Da Vinci, also most likely arrived in the hands of Louis XII, a few years before the master himself moved to France. The title of the painting was given by Ingres a few hundred of years after it was painted, when he thought the painting was that of one of the mistresses of Francois. These names stick even if they aren’t correct.

François I by Jean Clouet

Francois gathered many more paintings that sadly didn’t survive. Châteaux were drafty and damp and not the best climate for paintings predominantly painted on wood. Francois hung many of his paintings in one of his favorite rooms, including the Mona Lisa, the appartement des Bains. If you know a little French, then you know that is a bathroom. 

This wasn’t the bathroom we think of today; it was a very large room, with basins but also without running water, fans, or drains. Pretty much the last place you want to hang a portrait painted on poplar wood. Many of the exquisite paintings he once had, sadly, never survived. We don’t even have a complete inventory, but from what did survive the years of steam and humidity, it would have been pretty great. 

His surviving collection includes a few more Da Vincis. The Virgin and Sainte Anne, Madonna of the Rocks & Bacchus are now associated with his atelier more so than Da Vinci. Andre del Sarto’s Charity. La Visititation by Sebastiano del Piomo and Fra Bartolomeo’s Incarnation of Christ. He once had a painting of Saint Sebastian by Bartolomeo that was one of the many lost. Then we have Raphaël. 

The great Italian artist most likely met Francois I in Bologna. The king was also gifted a few paintings by Raphaël from Pope Leo X. Within the Grande Galerie, displayed near each other, the Raphaëls of the king include a favorite Saint Michel Slaying the Demon, La Grande Sainte Famille de François I, La Belle Jardinière, Portrait of Jeanne d’Aragon, Portrait of two artists including Raphaël and unknown friend and Sainte Margarite in honor of the king's sister. 

After the death of François I, his son Henri II acquired a few pieces but didn’t have the fervent passion for art that his father had.  His three young sons who followed barely ruled or lived long enough to collect and were more focused on war than anything else.  

Henri IV didn’t add as much to the collection of paintings, but we can attribute the Galerie du bord de l'eau, built to link the Palais du Louvre to Catherine de Medici’s Palais des Tuileries. Begun in 1595, the 1500-foot-long corridor was used by the young Louis XIII for fox hunts; maybe they should bring back a fox or two in the high season.

After the death of Henri IV in 1610, Marie de Medici made up for lost time. She commissioned large projects, including the Rubens cycle intended for her Palais du Luxembourg. Her son Louis XIII added a few pieces, but it was really a pair of cardinals that ramped up the collecting into overdrive. Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin each became great advisors to Louis XIII and later Louis XIV. 

Medici Cycle

They commissioned and purchased so much art that they each had to build palaces just to hold it.  Richelieu with the Palais Royal, across the street from the Louvre and Mazarin with what is now the Bibliothèque Nationale de France on the Rue de Richelieu. After each of their deaths, their collections became property of the king of France. 

Their collections were so vast that entire rooms of the Louvre today are filled with sculptures Richelieu once owned, and the Galerie d’Apollon once held the massive collection of glass and hard stone vessels Mazarin acquired. Mazarin had close to 600 paintings that fed into the Royal Collection. 

One of my favorite paintings that once belonged to Cardinal Mazarin. Raphaël’s Baldassare de Castiglione.  In 1528, Castiglione published his “Le Livre de Courtisan,” filled with the stories of court life in Italy, a 16th-century Downton Abbey. 

Today he hangs in the Tribune of the Grande Galerie, once home to the Mona Lisa, a painting he also has a tie to; I’ll share more about that next week. Recently, Baldassare spent a few months in New York at the Met exhibit dedicated to Raphaël, but I was very happy to see him at home in the Louvre this last week. 

Baldassare de Castiglione by Raphaël

While Louis XIV loved music, dance, and architecture, when it came to art he let others tell him what he should collect. German-born collector Everhard Jabach held a large number of paintings and drawings of Italian and Northern artists and sold hundreds of pieces to Louis XIV in 1661 & 1671. He also advised him on art that was for sale in England and other cities he should acquire. In the 72 years of his reign under Louis XIV, only a fraction of less than 5 years were focused on art, but one might never know it when entire books are filled with listings of paintings, sculptures, objets d’art, and drawings he acquired. Jabach’s name is all over the plaques of the Louvre and I wondered for years just who he was. 

Many of the most famous pieces Louis XIV gathered came through Jabach, including Saint Jean Baptiste by Da Vinci, Caravaggio’s Death of the Virgin, and The Country Concert by Giorgione that inspired Manet to paint Dejeuner sur l’herbe. Veronese’s Holy Family with Marie Madeleine in Renaissance clothing. Bernardino Luini’s Salomé receiving the head of Jean the Baptist, one that always catches people's eye. The Man with a Glove by Titian and plenty of paintings from the Northern school, including Hans Holbein le Jeune's recently restored portrait of Anne de Clèves. 

Louis XV added a few pieces to the Royal gallery, including Raphaël’s Virgin with a Veil or Virgin in the blue tiara, as it's more commonly known. However, his focus was more on parties and ladies than art. It was his favorite mistress, Madame du Pompadour, who was a great friend and champion of the artists and began the subtle whispers to create a museum to hold a portion of the Crown's collection. 

Louis XV’s grandson Louis XVI did have an interest in art. A very inquisitive young man who loved to read and create maps, he had an appreciation for art. Seeing a large void within the collection of French art, he instructed his many advisors, including the Comte d’Angivillier, to acquire more French artists. 

There were two paintings in the Royal Collection that became the favorites of Louis XIII,  XIV, XV, and XVI and even traveled to Paris after the royal family was forcibly taken from Versailles. Veronese Pilgrims of Emmaus, painted in 1559. It depicts a scene after the Resurrection of Christ, sharing a meal with a few of his disciples and the wealthy family that commissioned the painting.  Today it hangs on the eastern wall in the view of the Mona Lisa.  

The other painting, Charles Le Brun's, Tent of Darius, was painted in 1661 at the Château de Fontainebleau. The painting depicts Darius' mother throwing herself at the feet of the King of Macedonia. Louis XIV loved paintings and sculptures of great leaders and warriors. 

Both paintings were first hung in the king's bedroom at Versailles, and Louis XVI personally had them included in a handful of paintings he wanted at the Palais des Tuileries in 1791. They would also be two of the first added to the collection on the day the Louvre opened. The Le Brun painting is sadly not on display and was hung in the Élysée Palace until the start of WWII.  

The first museum available to the public opened on October 14, 1750, within the Palais du Luxembourg. Located in the east and west wings, it included Rubens' cycle of 24 large paintings of the life of Marie Medici. It was made up of the leftovers of the Royal collection that weren’t hanging at Versailles and included fewer than 100 paintings and a handful of drawings. Twice a week on Wednesdays and Saturdays, the public could visit for three whole hours. 

At the time of the opening of the Luxembourg, the Royal Collection expanded into over 1800 pieces, a bulk added under Louis XIV. Many were so tightly linked to Versailles it was out of the question to move them. Imagine being the king and sleeping alongside Raphael, Veronese, and Charles le Brun. 

Meanwhile back at the Louvre, when Louis XIV decided to flee to Versailles in 1678, he gave up the Palais du Louvre to the artists and academics. Sculptors, painters, tapestry weavers, engraving workshops, and even a doctor and his son were on hand to give the artists lessons in anatomy. Filling the ground floor and grand galerie of the Denon wing as well as the Galerie d’Apollon and all the way to the Colonnade on the eastern edge, even when it was without a roof. They helped pave the way for the idea of the once grand palais becoming a museum. 

The Musée du Luxembourg closed its doors in 1779 as the future Louis XVIII was moving in. A greater interest in creating a public museum had been gaining traction. None more so than Charles Claude Comte d’Angiviller, minister of the king's buildings under Louis XVI. Beginning in 1775, he started to dream up a plan to fill the long Galerie Bord de l’eau with the greatest art, including portraits of the king and high-ranking ministers and officials. 

Angiviller's idea of a museum lost ground when he was forced into exile on July 28, 1789. He returned a year later to only end up in exile again just before the king and queen would be forced from Versailles. While France was turning away from the Absolute Monarchy and to the rights of the people, a group of Royal Academy artists suggested that art should be added to the three pillars of the new French society. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité. 

On August 9, 1792 the new government of Paris, the Paris Commune, moved into the offices of the Hotel de Ville. During the night, they met to come up with a plan to “save the state”. Meeting until 3 a.m., one side wanted to attack the king and the other fought against it. Louis XVI wasn’t playing along with the changes in the government, and it was all about to end. 

At 8 am on August 10, 1792, thousands of men, women, and even children armed with weapons charged the Palais des Tuileries. Louis XVI had the 950 Swiss Guards moved inside the palace to guard the family and left 930 gendarmes and 2000 national guards outside to keep the angry mob at bay. One little issue: they had very little ammunition. The royal family was able to escape and ran through the garden to the Assembly for safety.

It was the end of the monarchy as the Legislative Assembly ended all rights of the king. On the same day, they voted to destroy all items and properties tied to the monarchy. The next day, on August 11, a commission was created to halt the process and search for and care for these items of national heritage. 

On September 16, 1792, three years into the French Revolution, the National Assembly of France declared a museum would be created “bringing together monuments of all science and arts”. For the next year, things would move slowly, although art from the churches and emigrant families that left France had already begun to be amassed.

In 1793, the Royal Academy of Paintings and Sculpture created the General Commune of Arts led by Jacques Louis David and Jean Bernard Restout. The Royal Academy would be disbanded, as it was tied to the monarchy, but the artists still united now to form a museum.  Many believed the new museum also needed to be a place for the artists themselves. One where they could copy the masters, learning the very techniques that would hopefully one day see their art in the national museum. 

Artist Jean François Garneray even suggested a library be added to the museum for the artists to study art history as a fundamental portion of their education. 

All were in agreement that the museum should not have a political agenda of any kind, just a focus on art and the artists themselves. I think we all know how that works out. 

Jean Marie Roland de La Platière served as the Minister of the Interior from the very day that the Monarchy fell until just after the death of Louis XVI. He proposed a new idea for a museum that would be smaller in scale and should be known as the Musée Girondin for the political party he founded. Paintings of historical matters would be admitted on approved subjects.  Roland appointed a group of artists, many of whom were a part of the General Commune of Arts as well as many former members of d’Angiviller’s circle. 

To say the museum opened in turbulent times is an understatement. On January 21, King Louis XVI was guillotined; the Girondins and the Montagnards were fighting for power. Ending with the arrest of the Girondins on June 2. War in the Vendée, the Death of Marat on July 13, and the imminent trial of Marie Antoinette. 

Roland was replaced with Dominique Joseph Garat as Minister of the Interior and announced that the museum would open on August 10, 1793, the same day as the 1793 Salon, and marks the one-year anniversary of the fall of the monarchy.

The original museum was much smaller and different from the stunning temple of art seen today. Much of the art was added and in place by the start of February 1793.  While there were over 700 pieces in the Grande Galerie, only half of the space was used. The gallery itself was in bad shape, and all plans to restore it before opening were abandoned.  Lighting was an issue, and at the time the ceiling was solid and without windows. Only the side windows were used and didn’t adequately light the space, and also the southern windows let in damaging direct sunlight. 

Between each window or bay, only twenty-eight sections were used. On the North side from the door of the Salon Carré, seventeen bays were used, and on the south side just nine. Partition walls were added to shrink the space. The three hundred-year-old floors creaked and at times even gave way just enough for objects displayed on tables to fall off and break. 

The majority of the 538 paintings were split between the Northern School and Italian masters. 190 of the Northern School, including Van Dyck’s Venus Having Arms Forged and plenty of Rubens. The Italian masters included Da Vinci, Raphaël, Titian and  Veronese of course. France was represented by Nicolas Poussin, Champaigne, Eustache le Sueur and Charles le Brun and many more. The day after the decree was signed, the commission removed all of the paintings held at the Château de Versailles and brought them to Paris. 

The paintings were hung with the largest at the top of the wall, with the smaller at eye level. They filled each bay, almost from frame to frame 

While the museum opened on August 10, 1793, it didn’t last long; in fact, it only opened for one day. On August 11, the doors closed and didn’t reopen again until November 18, 1793. Outside, the Terror was raging through Paris and the government was in total disarray. 

The Palais du Louvre survived the anger of the Revolution and Terror unscathed. The supreme figure of the royal family of Paris was left without a mark because it was given back to the people of France in the middle of one of its darkest times. 

The museum had to close on April 26, 1796, when the building was falling into disrepair. It was one thing to have a public palace turning into a shrine to art; it was another to dip into the purse of the government to keep it going. Over the next five years, it would open and close many times until July 14, 1801, when it was once again fully open for everyone to visit. 

As time went on, more and more art was added to the museum. The Château de Versailles held all of the art and paintings of the French school while the Louvre focused those first few years on the International school, mostly made up of Italian and Northern European artists.  

In November 1800, the Musée des Antiques moved into the summer apartments of Anne of Austria below the Galerie d’Apollon and was inaugurated by Napoleon. He would, of course, rename it the Musée Napoléon during his rule and even bring the Mona Lisa to his bedroom in the Palais des Tuileries. 

Today, when you visit the Louvre, the Grande Galerie is still filled with the paintings that were picked and adored by the kings of France. However, on this date, August 10, 1793, 233 years ago today, the birth of my beloved Musée du Louvre came to be, and she continues to evolve and grow.

Listen to the new episode out now

Episode 30 - The Vow of Louis XIII and Notre Dame de Paris

Almost 2 years ago, the Cathedral Notre Dame de Paris reopened once more to the faithful.  The devastating fire of April 15, 2019, damaged much more than just the roof and spire; it also broke the hearts of people around the world. 

Under thé 12th and 13th-century roof once known as the forest, inside the stone walls, hold countless historic pieces of art, stained glass, and statuary. Within the choir, a set of three statues marks a historic moment in French history dating back to the 17th century that is still remembered every year to this day. 

Louis XIII, son of Henri IV and Marie de Medici, was hoisted to the throne on May 14, 1610, after the death of his father. His mother would step in as regent until he came of age, plus three more years. After the death of Hot Legs Henri IV, in an effort to repair the fractured relationship between France and Spain, Marie de Medici orchestrated the “exchange of the princesses”. In March 1612, her daughter, Elisabeth de France, was betrothed to Prince Phillip IV of Spain and his sister Anne d’Autriche to the Dauphin, Louis XIII.  

The big exchange would occur three years later on November 9, 1615, on the Ile des Faisans  between France and Spain and captured in Rubens ’ Medici Cycle of the Louvre.  Married by proxy on October 18, they would finally meet face to face at their wedding celebration on November 21, 1615, in Bordeaux. 

Anne and Louis were both born in September 1601, five days apart, and barely 14-year-olds the evening of their nuptials. Marie de Medici and other officials stood in the royal bedroom waiting for the young couple to consummate the marriage. Unsure of what to do, the night was a disaster, and depending on the account you read, its unsure if it was a success. Either way, it left the future king and queen of France traumatized and took at least four years before they shared a bed again. 

The new princess had little interest in anything French and surrounded herself with Spanish ladies in waiting, asking for Spanish foods and dressing in Spanish clothes. Mommy dearest Marie de Medici eventually put a stop to that and expelled anything and anyone Spanish from the Palais du Louvre. An heir to the throne was needed, and now it involved the many advisors to the king. 

Without an heir to the throne, other family members could have their own dreams of royalty, and the clock was ticking. Anne did become pregnant a few times, and all ended in miscarriages. For her part, Anne, who was very pious, had many abbeys, monasteries, and churches built, including Saint Sulpice and Val de Grace in hopes that God would bestow a child onto her, and he may have done just that. 

Window of Notre Dame des Victoires

On October 27, 1637, Friar Fiacre de Saint Marguerite at the Basilique Notre Dame des Victoires in Paris had a vision of the Virgin for four days. Mary told the friar that God was going to give France a son and that he needed to tell Queen Anne, who had now been married for 23 years, and she would need to visit three specific churches to pray. At each, the Notre Dame de Paris, Notre Dame des Victories in Paris, and Notre Dame des Graces in Cotignac , she must pray and ask for navenas of the rosary. 

From November 8 to December 5, 1637, Louis XIII and Anne traveled to the three churches, doing just as she was told. A month later, Anne discovered she was pregnant; today they believe that December 5 was the day of conception.  However, there are two alternative versions of this miraculous moment, both of which might not even be true, but both are pretty great. 

True love between kings and queens was a rarity. Marriages were about property, money or power and never love. The relationship between Louis XIII and Anne was no different. If the two slept together, it was out of obligation, but they always had separate bedrooms. On December 5, 1637, the King had left his small hunting lodge at Versailles to head to the Château de Saint Maur, on the eastern side of Paris. 

As Louis passed through Paris, a storm rolled in, flooding the streets. His carriages headed to the Louvre to stay the night and ride out the storm. Then in the sultry candlelight of the stone walls of the Louvre….. Well, you know what happens next. 

Scenario no. 2 brings in Cardinal Mazarin, the close advisor to Louis XIII, who had become a confidant and friend to the queen as well. Some thought, very close. Many rumored that the Sun King was the result of that close relationship, but Mazarin was in Italy at the time, which would throw a whole Da Vince Code kink into the Royal Lineage of Louis XIV. 

Anne d’Autriche by Jean de Saint-Igny

Louis XIII first wrote of a Vow as early as 1630 and in Latin at that. Seven years later, he returned to the Vow under the influence of Cardinal Richelieu and Joseph du Tremblay. The long-running French Wars of Religion ended after more than 36 years in 1598, but the effects lasted far longer. Richelieu and Tremblay, known as shadow leaders under Louis XIII, believed a formal decree would help move the church forward. 

On November 11, 1636, the Spanish & Bavarian troops surrendered to the French at Corbie in the midst of the Thirty-Year War. A year later, in December 1637, the repeated wars with the House of Habsburgs and Ferdinand II led the king and his shadow advisors to bring the Vow back to the forefront. 

Add in the desperate need for an heir to the throne, it was also around the same time that Anne of Austria was finally with child. 

On February 10, 1638, in the Château de Saint Germain en Laye, King Louis XIII signed the decree putting “his state, his crown and his subjects”  under the protection of the Holy Virgin with a celebration each year on August 15, the Assumption of the Virgin. 

The decree also stated that every Catholic church in France had to devote the largest chapel sitting behind the choir to the Virgin Mary. The highest honor would go to the Cathedral Notre Dame de Paris, where the choir itself would be transformed, and a sculpture to represent the Vow would be created. 

The first ceremony was celebrated on August 15, 1638, in the Minimes Convent chapel of the Virgin in Abbeville in the north of France. Followed by a long procession through the streets with Louis XIII and Cardinal Richelieu leading the way.  The same day, Monseigneur de Gondi performed the same consecration in Notre Dame de Paris. 

On September 5, the same year Louis Dieudonné was born at the Château de Saint Germain en Laye. From his birth, Louis Dieudonné, meaning God given, could only be destined to become one thing: the Sun King of France. 

Louis XIII jumped right into the dedication and immortalizing the Vow in art. He commissioned paintings he hoped to place in notable cathedrals. 

One of the best representations of the Vow is the painting and the first commission of the event from Louis XIII to the painter Philippe de Champaigne in 1638. Commissioned to be hung on the southwest transept of Notre Dame, Champaigne, the personal painter of the king and Cardinal Richelieu, beautifully links the king to the life of Christ. On the right, Christ lies against the legs of the Virgin while a small angel holds his arm and wipes away a tear. Above, a choir of angels looks down with a glowing light behind them. On the left, Louis XIII in full coronation robe kneels before Christ and presents his crown and scepter. Removed during the Revolution, it would be sent to the Musée des Beaux Arts in Caen in 1803 after the Concordat. 

Another version commissioned by the King, painted in 1638 by Simon Vouet,  and originally placed in the Église Neuilly Saint Front. Christ is on the cross, and on the lower right, Louis XIII kneeling in devotion. Jean and Mary Magdalene are on the left. 

The 1638 Vow wasn’t the first one Louis XIII dedicated. Ten years before, during the Siege of La Rochelle, with Cardinal Richelieu at his side, Louis XIII pledged that if they were successful, he would have a church built and dedicated to the Holy Virgin and be named the Notre Dame des Victoires.  The same church that the royal couple would visit in 1637 under the orders of the Virgin herself. 

In the back choir, a painting by Carl Van Loo commemorates the earlier 1628 Vow. Painted under Louis XV in 1746. Louis XIII, on his knees, holds his hands open as the Virgin above hands a palm frond to the king. On his left, Cardinal Richelieu looks back at the military and religious leaders, and on the right of the king, Jean Guiton, the Alderman of La Rochelle, presents the keys to the city to the Virgin.  Removed during the Revolution, the painting found its way to Versailles, which refused to return it to the church. Napoleon made a call, and the painting returned to the church where it belongs the next day. 

In the transept high above the chapel of Saint Augustin, a stained glass marks the importance of the church, now a basilica, on Louis and Anne and the promise of the next king. 

Louis XIII on the left kneels and presents his crown and scepter while Louis IX presents the ultimate crown, the Crown of Thorns.  The Virgin and Child in the center above an altar with the crest of the king of France surrounded by the Order of the Saint Esprit insignia.  Anne d’Autriche kneels on the right with Sainte Anne, the mother of the Virgin at her side. 

On the lower left, the scene of Brother Fiacre in prayer as the Virgin and Child came to him in a vision foretelling the birth of a child to the royal couple. On the right, Anne sits on her throne as the Cardinal de La Rochefoucauld comes to hear the news. Created in 1854, it was commissioned and donated by Sosthènes II La Rochefoucauld, descendant of the Cardinal and his wife, Yolande de Polignac, daughter of Jules de Paulignac, who was involved in the Three Glorious Days Revolution in last week's episode.

The church was elevated in 1927 to the title of Basilica and is home to more than 37,000 ex votos. Located a few blocks from the Palais Royal, it’s a must see in Paris, and I will share more soon. 

Other depictions include a lithograph by Abraham Bosse in 1638 with Louis XIII with crown and scepter on the left and Anne d’Autriche on the right presenting the newborn Louis XIV. 

Louis XIII had health issues most of his life; chronic stomach issues as well as bouts with tuberculosis ended with his death on May 14, 1643. The same date as his beloved father, Hot Legs Henri IV, in 1610. His wish of having the great choir of Notre Dame would not be fulfilled before his death. 

Louis XIV hadn’t even hit his fifth birthday at the time of his father's death. On March 25, 1650, at the age of 12, Louis XIV announced that he would renew his father's wish. 

Philippe de Champaigne painted a second tableau in 1650 marking Louis XIV's renewal and promise of the Vow his father had made in 1638. Louis kneels and presents his crown and scepter, just like his father had to the Virgin and Child. Behind him, his younger brother Philippe d’Anjou and his mother Anne were dressed in a morning gown.

On February 21, 1660, Louis XIV and his mother returned to Notre Dame de Graces in Colignac, praying and thanking the Virgin for his life. 

On June 7, 1660, in the village of Cotignac in the Var, shepherd Gaspard Ricard came across an old man who told him that under a large stone was a water spring. It had been known that the entire area was dry, and no source could be found for miles. 

A large spring began to rise from the earth. Just 3 km from the vision, Notre Dame de Graces, a chapel dating to 1519, became a pilgrimage site for followers, including the king. 

While Louis XV renewed the vow again on March 25, 1650, it would take 60 years to begin to bring the wish to life.  Wth the insistence and money of Cardinal de Noailles the project finally began in 1699, 61 years after the Vow. 

On December 7, 1699, following Mass, Cardinal de Noailles laid the first stone of the new altar, marking the beginning of the work on the choir of Notre Dame de Paris. A plaque was added: “Louis Le Grand, wanting to fulfill the vow of the King, his father, and add a mark of his piety, had an altar made in the Cathedral Church of Paris, with its ornament of a magnificence above the first project.” Gold medallions of the two kings were added at each end of the altar. 

The work on the choir began under the king's architect Jules Hardouin Mansart with a lavish Baroque altar and canopy much like the one you can find in Val de Grace today. Mansart passed away on May 11, 1708, before the work was complete. His son-in-law, Robert de Cotte, completed the vision of the entire choir, adding Campan red and green Languedoc marble and an Egyptian marble altar.

The choir is crowned by three sculptures representing the Vow, created by the Coustou family. Louis XIII had specifically requested that a statue of the Virgin and Christ be added as the central part of the holiest part of the cathedral. 

The original altar was destroyed in the Revolution and a new one added by Viollet-le-Duc in the mid-19th century. To the right of the altar, Louis XIII, carved by Guillaume Coustou, kneels and presents his crown and scepter to the Virgin and Christ. Using the earlier paintings for reference, although for Notre Dame, Christ appears after his death and not as a young child, also projecting the importance of the Vow throughout the years. 

On the left, Louis XIV wouldn’t be Louis Dieudonné if he didn’t also include himself in the scene. On the left, Louis XIV, with his trademark curls and his Bourbon crown at his side, holds his right hand to his chest and extends his left toward the Pietà. Created by Antoine Coysevox, uncle to the Coustou brothers. 

Both kings were completed in 1715 and placed within the choir. 

The Pietà, a fixture in Catholic churches and often varied. Nicolas Coustou, who won the prestigious Prix de Rome in 1682, spent countless hours studying and sketching Michelangelo’s Pietà in the Vatican. In his own interpretation, the Virgin Mary gazes towards the heavens with arms outstretched reminiscent of the cross, while her son rests against her legs. Two angels flank them, their eyes turned toward the mother and son.  Before the Revolution, the Virgin’s upward gaze met a sculpted angel and a marble cross rising behind her.

The Pietà took longer to complete, with Nicolas Coustou finishing it in place within Notre Dame in 1723. The choir design was finally completed at the same time, eighty years after the death of Louis XIII and eight years after the death of Louis XIV. 

During the Revolution, the two kings were removed and taken to the Petit Augustin by Alexandre Lenoir, who single-handedly saved many of the important monuments of France.  From there they were taken to Versailles in 1815 and eventually placed in the Louvre in 1849. Under Viollet-le-Duc, they returned to the choir of Notre Dame on July 4, 1861. 

The statues and cross that once hung over the pietà, were destroyed with the altar in 1790 during the French Revolution. For over two centuries, Notre-Dame was without a cross behind the Pietà. That changed in 1994, when Cardinal Jean-Marie Lustiger commissioned a new one. 

Created by artist Marc Couturier, the six-meter-tall Cross of Glory, gilded in gold leaf, was inaugurated on October 16, 1994.  Above it floats a delicate, white-gold gilded fish, symbolizing the soul.

The day after the fire, when we got our first glimpse inside the cathedral in photos, there she was. The Pietà in front of the large gold cross, with each king on either side, rising above the embers.

Surrounding this sacred scene are six bronze angels holding the Instruments of the Passion: the Lance, the Rods of the Flagellation, the INRI inscription, the Sponge soaked in vinegar, the Nails, and the Crown of Thorns. These were designed by Antoine Vassé and sculpted by several artists: Claude Cayot, Corneille Van Clève, Poirier Simon Hurtrelle, Philippe Magnier, and Anselme Flamen.

During the Revolution, on August 14, 1792, the Vow was abolished. In August 1814, Louis XVIII reestablished the Vow once again within a crumbling Notre Dame de Paris. Louis Philippe decided to abolish the Vow in August 1831.  In 1922, Pope Pius XI announced that France would once again recognize the Holy Virgin as its Patron Saint and the Vow of Louis XIII. 

For more than one hundred years, she has remained the Patron Saint of France. Former Archbishop Jean Marie Lustiger called for the procession to return to the Assumption of the Virgin celebration beginning August 15, 1988. 

Today, this ensemble remains not only a profound artistic and devotional centerpiece but also one of the few poignant reminders of the 2019 fire. A keen observer might notice, nestled in the right hand of Christ, a small bit of melted lead—fallen from the burning roof. It is a subtle yet powerful nod to the tragedy of that night, and to the resilience and beauty that rose from its ashes, perhaps renewing the Vow of Louis XIII once again.

The vow is still celebrated at Notre Dame each year for the  August 15 celebration of the Assumption of the Virgin. 

The reading of the Vow will be on Saturday, August 14th at the end of the Mass for the Assumption in Notre Dame de Paris at 8:15 pm (the Cathedral is only open for prayer that afternoon and the 15th). 

Today you can see the sculptures through the beautiful iron gate recreated under Viollet-le-Duc. You can enter the choir, but just for prayer, and no phones are allowed. 

September 22, 2018, before the fire.

 On a visit to Paris in 2018, I stayed near Notre Dame so I could visit every morning after it opened at 7:45. I wanted to research every single inch of the historic cathedral. Before the fire, the mornings were very quiet. Normally, just a few people were cleaning and getting ready for the morning Mass. Each day I would poke my head into the back gate of the choir, dying to get a closer look at the statues and decoration. Knowing it was reserved for prayer, I never wanted to disrespect the space. One morning, after two weeks of visits, I saw a sweet man cleaning the floors, and we were so familiar that we always had a quick bonjour and smile and went our separate ways. 

This one morning, my sweet friend saw me pass by the choir gate, rested his broom against the column, walked over, and asked if he could take me inside.  For a few minutes I stood within the choir in complete silence and looked at the statues created under the wishes of two kings and dedicated to the Queen of the Heavens. 

It is still a moment I will never forget and one of my very favorites, and one I think of every time I am in Notre Dame.

Listen to the full episode here

Episode 29 - Liberty Leading the People & the Three Glorious Days

The most recognized painting by the Romantic master Éugène Delacroix, La Liberté Guidant le Peuple au 28 Juillet 1830, depicts the event of this day, 196 years ago. Painted in 1830 for the Salon of 1831, the painting commemorates the Paris uprising of 1830, known as the Trois Glorieuses  (Three Glorious Days), which ousted King Charles X. 

France's timeline is marked by more than one Revolution. Most know of the big one that resulted in the beheading of Marie Antoinette & Louis XVI, which began in 1789. Four decades later, the people would rise up again against the brother of Louis XVI. After the fall of Napoleon in 1814, the Bourbons returned. First with Louis XVIII in 1814 and again in 1815 after Napoleons less than triumphant return, and ruling until his death on September 16, 1824. Without an heir, Louis’s brother the Comte d’Artois would take the name Charles X and the throne of France. 

Charles X started strong with removing the censorship of the press; his reversal of that six years later would be his demise. A lover of the arts, he added his own museum within the Louvre dedicated to Egyptian antiquities, created in 1826 and advancing the purchasing of collections to add to the Louvre. The rooms of Charles X still stand today with lavishly decorated ceilings and are filled with Egyptian and Roman antiquities and are steps away from the Galerie d’Apollon. 

While Charles X's rule began with popular measures, he would eventually return to the more monarchical ways of his Bourbon roots. Citizens began to realize that things were not getting better as promised. Unemployment was high, food prices were soaring, all leading to rising poverty, and the generation made up of the children of the French Revolution was tired of it. 

Charles X by François Gérard

To gain control, Charles X wanted to restore the Absolute Monarchy, the same one that ended with his older brother, Louis XVI. Clearly Chuck forgot how that worked out for Louis. The parliamentary government of the Chamber pressed back against him when they convened on March 2, 1830. Believing his announcement of entering Algiers to reclaim the port would unite everyone behind him. 

Charles X made many missteps along the way, including putting Prince Jules de Polignac in the role of the President of the Council of Ministers.  If the last name sounds vaguely familiar, it may be because of his mother. Polignac was born on May 14, 1780, and raised at Versailles. His mother, Madame de Polignac, was besties with Marie Antoinette, a relationship that alienated many at court and even spread rumors of an affair. Madame de Polignac was also very close to the Comte d’Artois, future Charles X, even spreading the rumors that he was the father of Jules de Polignac. 

After fleeing Versailles and France during the Revolution, he remained in close contact with Louis XVIII and Charles X. When the Bourbons returned to Paris and the throne, Jules was one of the most trusted advisors and would ascend through the government. 

When the people began to mistrust the king and government, having such a close reminder of the major Revolution and the monarchy's excesses would work against Charles. The ministers and chamber members quickly backed away from the crown and sided with Adolphe Thiers and the more progressive members, who were becoming increasingly outspoken.   

After the king's announcement at the opening and the backing by Polignac, a vote was held a few days later. Known as the Address of 221, in regard to the 221 votes for and 181 against the king's decrees. In response, on March 19, 1830, the king suspended meetings and adjourned the chambers, sending them all home. Sitting on it for two months, he eventually dissolved the entire chambers on May 16, 1830. 430 chamber members were all out of a job. He set a new vote for July 5, 13 & 19, at which 430 new officers would be elected, with the majority being the Liberal party and the Ultraroyalists, led by Polignac, in the minority. 

Jules de Polignace by François Gérard

Charles X was really upset at this point and, in response, issued four decrees that would put the nail in the coffin of his reign. Issued on July 25, the first would cripple the press, essentially ending the freedom of the press by ordering that journalists and papers had to have a license issued by the king.  The second, once again, dissolved the Chamber of Deputies and called for another election in September. The third would change the election law altogether, and the fourth would give the king full power to appoint his Ultraroyalist members to any office he wished.  (Any of this sound familiar?)

On Monday, July 26, more than 50 newspapers were forced to stop the presses, but not all of them obeyed. Many published articles spoke out against the king and the crackdown on the press, provoking further ire at the throne. 

The next morning, the press gathered and vowed to fight back. Claude Mangin. Prefect of Paris and another good ol’ boy of Polignac and the King, was ordered to seize their presses from the twelve newspapers that published pieces overnight against the king. As the officers of Mangin arrived, they were met with workers who were waiting for them and were not going to go down easily.  

By the afternoon, one by one, the editors, owners, typesetters, journalists, and printers began to march into the center of Paris. The Place Vendôme, Place de la Bastille, and Place du Carrousel saw large crowds of outraged citizens that the police were no match for. 

July 28, the pivotal day of the uprising, brought everyone together. People traveled from outside of Paris to support and speak out against the King and Polignac. What made this Revolution different than the one at the end of the 18th century is that it united everyone. The rich, the poor, and even past supporters of the king and monarchy. 

On the Rue de Richelieu, across the street from the Palais Royal, sat the gunsmith Fauré le Page, who had serviced the crown since Louis XV, including Charles X. On the morning of July 27, third-generation owner Jean André le Page and his employees worked around the clock to melt down and forge weapons and ammunition to give to the protestors to fight against the Garde Royal.

With weapons in hand, the crowds gathered in front of the Hotel de Ville, and the Garde Royal was quickly outnumbered. The angry crowd gathered every cobblestone and projectile to build barricades, and also tossed them at the police force. At 1:30 p.m, the crowd entered the Hotel de Ville, seized control, and raised the tricolor flag. 

The significance of this moment and the return of the French flag we know today marks the symbolic end of the Bourbon reign. The tricolor flag was adopted in February 1794, in the midst of the major Revolution. Prior to that, the flag had been solid blue or white with fleur de lis or white with the coat of arms of the monarchy. To rid itself of anything associated with the king, the Tricolor flag was created and inspired by the ribbon cockades the fighters wore on their hats at the time. 

The colors have many meanings and have changed in size over time until Napoleon decreed they should all be the same size. The bleu for Paris, the bourgeoisie, and fraternité. Blanc for Saint Martin, the clergy, egalité, and the Royalists. And finally rouge for the city of Paris or Saint Denis, the nobility, and even liberté. You can take your pick, as there are many versions. 

When Louis XVIII and the monarchy returned, so did their blue flag with fleur de lis, so the triumphant moment the tricolor returned in 1830 was quite significant. A fantastic painting at the Petit Palais by Léon Cogniet  captures the transformation of the flag from the Bourbons to the flag we know today that also represents the 1830 uprising. 

As the sun rose on the morning of July 29, the Royal Guard, King and Polignac knew they had been beaten. A third of their 8,000 soldiers had been killed, and they were outnumbered, with even more protestors arriving overnight.  Charles X and Polignac fled to the Château de Saint-Cloud and discussed how they would survive this. Other leaders were proposed for the chamber, but back in Paris, Adolphe Thiers and the leaders of the liberal party weren’t having it. 

Before Restoration

The Marquise de Lafayette, war hero and member of the chamber, had been opposed to Charles X and his move to absolute monarchy. At the start of the uprising, Lafayette was hoisted as the leader of the newly restored National Guard, even at 73 years old.  As the hours ticked by on July 29, leaders including Thiers and Lafayette met with the Duc d’Orleans in the Palais Royal, and put their support behind the “man of the people” 

On July 30, the deputies voted 47 to 3 to name the duc d’Orleans the Lieutenant General of the Kingdom. Meanwhile, Charles was still holding tight and naming his own government.  It took quite a bit of convincing, but the duc accepted on July 31. Charles X would finally abdicate the throne on August 2 but tried to name his son, Louis de France, Louis XIX, as heir to the throne, followed by his 9-year-old grandson, Henri d’Artois, as his heir. (His story and that of his mother are a great one; I will add it to my list for an upcoming episode) It involves hiding in a chimney. 

Since there was never a Louis XIX or Henri V, king of France, you know that didn’t quite work out how Charles wanted it to. 

The Duc d’Orleans, on August 9, 1830, in the Palais Bourbon, took the name Louis Philippe, King OF the French. The July Monarchy would reign for 18 years until another revolution took him down in 1848, and in comes Louis Napoleon Bonaparte. 

It was on the penultimate day of the uprising that inspired the 32-year-old artist, Eugène Delacroix, sitting in his atelier, a mile down the river at 15 Quai Voltaire, Delacroix was moved to capture this moment of the Trois Glorieuses Jours. 

In 1818, Delacroix’s good friend Théodore Géricault painted the monumental Raft of the Medusa. (listen to the past episode for more) The current-events painting won over plenty of fans and skeptics. History paintings in the lexicon of art were deemed the pinnacle of artistic styles, but they were rarely painted so close to the moment of the event. Another thing his pal Géricault did.

After the untimely death of his friend in 1824, Delacroix was thrust upon his own throne, as the leader of the Romantic movement, although reluctantly. 

After Restoration

On October 12, 1830, in a letter Delacroix wrote to his brother Charles Henri, “I have undertaken a modern subject, a barricade, and if I have not conquered for the fatherland, at least I will fight for it. This has put me in a good mood,” and he did just that. 

For three months, he sketched and painted from September 20 to mid-December 1830. An astonishingly quick period to create such a large piece and bring the entire moment to life.  

The entire scene was one of the lower and upper classes, as well as men of all ages, united. This was exactly why the Three-day Revolution is marked as such a defining moment in French history, as told in art and also remembered by the July Column in the Place de la Bastille. It was the mix of all classes that stood up against the monarchy. While the first Revolution began with the poor vs the monarchy, the July Revolution saw all classes in arms together. 

Delacroix perfectly captures that in his grand tableau. To the left of center, we see what appears to be a wealthy man wearing a top hat. Many incorrectly identify it as a self-portrait of the artist, but it’s most likely Delacroix’s close friend, Frédéric Villot, artist and curator of the dept of paintings at the Musée du Louvre. Villot was the first to write the record of paintings of the Louvre and a description of each in 1851. 

Delacroix was a Bonapartist; his father, Charles François Delacroix, served under the Empire as a prefect, and a man rumored that could have been his father, Talleyrand, was a minister of Napoleon until he turned on him. A few things were added to the painting that give a nod to Napoleon. The man on the left in the white shirt carries a briquet sword used by the Napoleonic armies.  Representing a print worker, Delacroix added a few details that link the 1830 revolution to the Vendée War of 1793. Adding the handkerchief of Cholet, a very notable symbol and rallying cry, at his waist that holds his gun. In the background, now clearly visible since the most recent restoration, is a gentleman wearing a Napoleon bicorne hat. 

Just below, crawling from the edge of the painting, a young boy wearing a National Guard cap, the same guard the King dissolved at the start of the year, but the people and leaders of the left brought back.

Below on the left edge of the painting is the figure often called “Hector” in reference to the poem by Homer’s Iliad. Hector is killed and dragged behind Achilles' chariot, a scene depicted many times, including by Jacques-Louis David. For Delacroix, it’s another artist that he was paying homage to, Théodore Géricault. While painting The Raft of the Medusa, Géricault had such trouble painting the feet of one of the figures that he gave up and covered them with socks. Delacroix put one blue sock on the man, which signifies the men the soldiers were pulling from their homes and killing on the streets. 

On the lower right, a Swiss soldier of the Royal Guard in his coat recalls the Swiss guards who were killed in the August 10, 1792 siege of the Tuileries. Beside him, a French Cuirassier soldier head down in his chest armor. Walk down a few steps to the left of Liberty to see another Géricault painting, the Wounded Cuirassier (  1814), for a full look at his uniform. 

In the center, it is impossible not to be drawn to the lovely allegory of Liberty, which is also known as the symbol of the Republic, Marianne. In her yellow-tinted cream dress, she bares her breast in homage to motherhood and the birth of the nation. Inspired by the Greek statuary and the goddess Victoire, the beautiful draping of her dress is reminiscent of my other favorite in the Louvre, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. However, Delacroix never would have seen this beauty. Discovered in 1863, the same year of Delacroix’s death, only her surviving torso was on display from 1865 to 1871. 

Delacroix was the master of colors and uses them perfectly in this painting, but with very few hues. Bleu, Blanc et Rouge stands out in this painting, exactly as they should, and every variation of gray from the darkest to the lightest. Using color and light, he directs your eye to what he wants you to see first: the figure of Liberty and the French flag.

Delacroix also uses it on the man below who is crawling up the barricade and looking up at the Goddess Liberty. The last figure Delacroix painted, the print worker in his blue shirt with a bit of white peeking out and his red sash, also evokes the flag and that of the people devoting themselves to liberty. 

When the painting was first exhibited, her Phrygian cap was a much brighter red, and he was asked to mute the color to a deeper shade in 1855. The cap itself dates back to Roman times when it was placed on freed slaves and thus an image of freedom. In her left hand, she holds a rifle that brings the classic Greek & Roman image to the contemporary moment. 

While Liberty holds up the French Tricolor, she turns her perfectly sculpted face of a Roman coin back to the crowd that has gathered to follow her. At her side is a young boy with two pistols in the air and an ammo bag around his torso, which he took off a guard and was ready to take up the fight today and into the future. 

The classic pyramid structure, much like Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa, is a mix of hope and despair. At the top of the pyramid, you have the flag, and as your eye travels down to the base, there is death. In the top right, don’t miss the towers of Notre Dame de Paris. The symbol of France and the conservative monarchy was topped with a tiny French Tricolor, visible against the smoke, as the rise of the French Republic was underway. 

Accepted on April 13, 1831, for the Salon, it would be unveiled in the Salon Carré of the Louvre on May 1 under no 511. One of the largest Salons, with 3,211 pieces exhibited. Of which 52 reflected the July Revolution, in paintings, drawings, or sculpture. 

Displayed under the title Scenes de Barricades, it was met with a wide mix of criticism. Many thought the allegorical woman was dirty, displaying her hairy armpit and filthy feet while the nude man and his visible pubic hair were right at eye level. 

At the Salon, the painting was purchased by the State for 3,000 francs, but it was displayed only briefly at the Musée du Luxembourg in 1833 & 1834. Adolphe Thiers was worried it would inspire another uprising and had it removed and returned to Delacroix in 1839. The painting was hidden away in the Val d’Oise with his aunt, Felicité Riesener, until 1848. 

Returned to the Musée du Luxembourg, but it was kept hidden until the 1855 Universal Exhibition, when he also had to darken her cap. Special permission had to be obtained for the unveiling, and after the painting went back into storage. In 1863, when it was finally returned to the public with the Luxembourg, it was too late for the master to see it hung; the father of the Romantic movement was gone on August 13, 1863.  In November 1874, , it finally appeared in the Musée du Louvre in the Salle des États, eventually moving to the Salle Mollie,  where you can still see it today.

Restoration 

The last restoration of Liberty Leading the People was done in the summer of 1949, following World War II. The varnish was lightened, but multiple overpaintings were discovered, done by the restorer at the time, Michel Zezzos. (ZAY-ZO) The art of restoration has changed since the mid-20th century. At the time, Zezzos added orange highlights to the dress to create folds and green to the sky that altered the clouds and smoke that weren’t noticeable until under the watchful eye of the C2RMF restorers in 2024. 

The restoration took 6 months, from mid-October 2023 to April 2024, and was on view Thursday, May 2, 2024, when I was there first thing in the morning to see its beautiful return.

Today, with the help of advanced technology, restoration starts long before they touch the canvas. With the assistance of ultraviolet,  infrared reflectography, and false-color infrared 

Through the X-rays, they can see the multiple adjustments Delacroix made before the final composition, many of them in the positioning of the key figures' faces. Originally, the face of Liberty was looking a bit more straight ahead, and both eyes were visible. An early sketch held by the Musée Delacroix shows Liberty looking straight ahead, with the flag flying to the right.  The artists would do dozens and dozens of sketches; by the time it was ready to paint, the subject was worked out. Although there were a few changes found under the X-ray. Just below, the man in the blue shirt was also changed to be captured in profile. 

The young boy next to Liberty was initially sketched closer to her but later separated from her, allowing him to stand on his own and giving him greater importance. In the 2024 restoration, once ther layers of varnish were removed, the figure of the young boy literally stepped in front of Liberty. Prior to it, it was as if they were side by side; once cleaned, the depth was revealed. 

The last addition was the man in the blue shirt, looking up at Liberty as if he had crawled into the scene, giving him a sense of movement. 

The restoration of Liberty was the fourth in the undertaking of bringing the master of color painting back to their vivid creation. Normally, large companies and benefactors contribute to the high cost of restoration, but with a painting that can signify the very essence of France, the Louvre and the state took care of the cost. 

Stand back and take in the entire painting. The lower parts are dark and reflect the reality of the uprising, conflict, and death. In the center, the glowing warmth of Liberty represents the dawn of a new day, a path forward, and better times ahead.

Women from Algiers in their Apartment

Within the Salle Molien, four other paintings tie in to Delacroix’s Liberty. Another restored Delacroix masterpiece is just behind. The Women from Algiers in their Apartment, painted four years after Liberty. Delacroix uses the same profile on the seated woman on the right in the white shirt. 

In 1808, Antoine Jean Gros painted Napoleon on the Battlefield of Eylau , February 9, 1807, commissioned by Denon to be used to create a large tapestry. Multiple figures inspired Delacroix, including the bodies in the lower center and the gentleman on his knees looking up at Napoleon. 

Then there is Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa and the figure with socks alongside his Wounded Cuirassier.

Jean-Jacques le Barbier’s Jeanne Hachette au siege de Beauvais en 1472

One painting that might have inspired Delacroix for the entire scene is Jean-Jacques le Barbier’s Jeanne Hachette au siege de Beauvais en 1472. Sadly destroyed in 1940. 

In the last 196 years, Delacroix’s masterpiece has continued to inspire.  Frederic Bartholdi visited the Musée du Luxembourg and saw our lovely Delacroix Liberty, which inspired the design of his very own, the Statue of Liberty. 

Liberty Leading the People by Christian Gumy in Hotel de Ville

Today, Delacroix’s well-known painting has been copied onto clothes, reimagined on billboards, inspired other artists to adopt it as their own, projected onto the side of a plane, and even applied to my beloved Swatch watch. The former mayor of Paris, Anne Hidalgo, had a great contemporary version created using stencils by Christian Gumy in her office at the Hotel de Ville. Apropos, as the event takes place outside her window.  Then there is the cover of Coldplay's 2008 album Viva la Vida. 

Another favorite was an advertising campaign by Qualcomm technology that reimagined the scene from the other side. The photo was hung on the Palais du Louvre outside the windows of the Musée des Arts Décoratifs in December 2021.

It is the only painting Delacroix created in his entire career that represented Paris, and in turn he represented the  liberté, egalité and fraternité of  France 

Episode 28 - Napoleon's Looting of Art

Napoleon has carried the brunt of most of the blame for the looting of art from Italy and other European countries, but not all of it lies on his shoulders. 

The looting of art from country to country isn’t a new idea. It all started with the Romans and the Greeks and continues to this day. There are a few more international rules in place to stop this, but not everyone follows them. In the 12th century, Doge Enrico Dandolo looted treasures and the horses later known as the horses of Saint Mark’s while in Constantinople. Something Napoleon would steal as well. 

Henry VIII and the English, well, they take the cake, and still to this day a huge controversy. Many would take things from the very places they invaded to fund their crusades against their enemies. Then there is WWII and Hitler; we won’t go into that today, but put it this way: Hitler was a big fan of Napoleon. 

Napoleon was born on August 15, 1769, on the island of Corsica. Had he been born a year earlier, he would have been Italian, but on May 15, 1768, under the Treaty of Versailles, Corsica became part of France. His rise to greatness would come from his father cutting a few corners, allowing him to enter the prestigious military schools in Brienne and eventually Paris. 

Quickly rising through the ranks, he got the attention of the leaders of the Revolution and the Directory. Paul Barras, one of the five members of the Directory, noticed the young, brash general and realized he could use him to his advantage. Within days, Napoleon’s name was being spoken in every corner of Paris. No longer was he being made fun of or bullied in class; now he was given anything he wanted. 

The young hotshot General Napoleon was given his first major appointment, leading an army of more than 48,000 soldiers into Northern Italy. The first Italian campaign under Napoleon was one of the most defining of his life. From March 24, 1796, to April 1797, General Napoleon forged through Italy, defeating the armies of Austria and Sardinia and forcing the Pope to his knees. A practice Napoleon grew quite fond of. Then there was all the looting, but before we talk about what Napoleon did, we need to go back a few years. 

On August 10, 1793, the  Musée Central des Arts de la République- you know this as the Musée du Louvre opened in the midst of the Revolution and less than a month after the death of Marat (if you missed that episode, listen to it after this one). The museum's foundation would be the King's Royal Collection, which began under François I and was greatly expanded by Louis XIV. The paintings of Italian artists made up the bulk of the collection, including those of Leonardo da Vinci, who moved to France at the request of François I and brought with him many of his unfinished works. A real Italian Renaissance fan, François I frequently visited Italy, often returning with many paintings he filled his palaces, including Fontainebleau. 

In the 16th century, Henri IV became so enamored with art that he moved many of the artisans into the Palais du Louvre itself to work on pieces at his request.  As for Louis XIV, the Sun King who loved performing and building massive châteaux, when it came to art, he just purchased what he was told to. German born collector Everhard Jabach held a large number of paintings and drawings of Italian and Northern artists and sold hundreds of pieces to Louis XIV in 1661 & 1671. He also advised him on art that was for sale in England and other cities he should acquire. In the 74 years of reign under Louis XIV, only a fraction of less than 5 years were focused on art, but one might never know when entire books are filled with the listings of paintings, sculptures, objets d’art, and drawings he acquired. Jabach’s name is all over the plaques of the Louvre and I wondered for years just who he was.

During the Revolution, once the museum opened, collections from those who fled France in fear of the guillotine and precious items taken from churches would also fill the Grande Galerie, but the leaders had loftier goals: to obtain the greatest art in Europe. 

On June 26, 1794, the French army defeated the First Coalition, made up of the Holy Roman Empire (including Austria & Sardinia) and England, at Fleurus in what was then Austria. Drunk with power, they were ordered to take art, treasures, and military trophies. One of the most coveted items was Rubens' Descent from the Cross, painted in 1611, which was stolen from the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Antwerp. 

On September 20, 1794, the Descent of the Cross, among the 150 paintings by Rubens, Van Dyck & Rembrandt and other prominent artists, arrived in Paris and was placed in the museum. Their arrival was declared a triumph, stating that the arrival in the homeland of the arts and genius in the homeland of liberty and sacred equality. Although created by foreign artists, their absence from France was seen as a travesty. 

They wouldn’t stop there. The collecting continued into Holland, Antwerp, Bruges, Aix la Chapelle, Liège, Bonn, Koblenz, and Cologne. All orchestrated by the Directory to obtain the greatest works in Europe. In Ghent, they grabbed the famed altarpiece by Van Eyck, the exact one that would be stolen again during WWII and five other times. They began to send art experts into the battle zones who would know what to grab, a bit of a reversed Monuments Men scenario, taking rather than saving.

The Committee of Public Safety gathered these experts from every corner and added additional specialties as needed. Botanist André Thouin and geologist Barthélemy Faujas de Saint Fond would both enrich the National History Museum with their finds. Architect Charles de Wailly also worked on the Eglise Saint Sulpice including the pulpit, and one of the many who updated the chapel of the Virgin knew what to take, including the columns of Charlemagne's final resting place. Many opposed this practice, but their concerns were ignored. 

Entire collections were taken, belonging to fleeing leaders like Frederick, Prince of Orange in Holland, which consisted of 194 paintings by artists of the Northern School. And it went on and on and on. 

Columns of Charlemagne, a few remain in the Louvre

The Directory was off and running, and now with Napoleon in their pocket, they couldn’t be stopped. Although when Napoleon stepped in, he did it somewhat legally. Well, as legal as you can get. With each theft, he left behind treaties he had worked out with the city's leaders, who had been backed into a corner, which they would sign off on and, at times, hand over the art, gold and silver, weapons, and, quite often, horses for his soldiers, and even food. 

The Directory ordered Napoleon to take everything he could. In a letter in May 1796, he was told to “Leave nothing in Italy which our political situation will permit you to carry away, and which may be useful to us”

Growing up, Napoleon was more focused on maps and history than he was on art. He quickly understood what art meant and, more importantly, what having it could do. At the end of May, Napoleon wrote a letter to Guillaume Faipoult and asked for “a list of the pictures, statues, cabinets and curiosities in Milan, Parma, Piacenza, Modena and Bologna.”  In another letter less than a week later, Napoleon asked for a list of “three or four known artists to choose what is fitting to take to send to Paris.”

The Directory requests didn’t end with art; they extended into manuscripts, antiquities, plants and even animals. There were many who opposed the systematic looting, including the first director of the Louvre, Dominique Vivant Denon, who would later change his tune, take anything he could get his hands on, and become the first director of the Louvre. 

The Directory took it up a notch and, on May 11, 1796, decreed an official commission led by Gaspard Monge, a mathematician and scientist who was more interested in amassing manuscripts than in art. Arriving in Italy as early as June 1796, he brought botanists and scientists as well as artists Jean-Simon Berthélemy, Jean-Guillaume Moitte, and future Napoleon artist Antoine-Jean Gros.  

As quickly as Napoleon looted a city, he just as quickly left a treaty behind to give the appearance that what he did was legal. In every treaty, he tacked on a line requiring them to hand over at least 20 paintings to the French. When the battles kept swinging heavily in the direction of the French, Pope Pius VI conceded more art in appeasement and to hold off the outright plundering. 

The Treaty of Tolentino, the treaty to rule all treaties, was signed on February 19, 1797, between the French and the Papacy of Pope Pius VI. Nine months into the campaign, seen as a success by the French in many ways, especially in the gathering of art. The treaty stated that the French would have full access to any building, including churches, public museums, businesses, and private homes, and could take whatever they wanted.  Then they went to Venice. 

For centuries, Venice had been known for holding some of the greatest art in all of Europe.  Artists Veronese, Tintoretto, Titian, and Bassano all called Venice home, and the wealthy lines of Doges poured money into the art for the churches, palaces, and official buildings. With the treaty in place, it was time to visit the floating city.  

At the time, there were many things, especially in the churches, that Venice took from other countries and cities, especially Constantinople. (Listen tp episode 20 Siege of Constantinople here) 

Within the Monastery of San Giorgio was the massive creation by Paolo Veronese depicting the Wedding at Cana and the first miracle performed by Christ, turning water into wine. Commissioned by the wealthy abbot of San Giorgio, Girolamo Scrocchetto, on June 6, 1562. Veronese painted the masterpiece on canvas, which was unusual for Renaissance artists. 

Until then, paintings were often done on wood, but the damp conditions of Venice made that difficult. Fresco was almost impossible in the humidity, and canvas was becoming more mainstream and accessible. 

The massive painting stretches out over 32 feet across by 22 feet high. The same measurements as the wall itself. Finished by October 6, 1563, the painting is in the High Renaissance style and is filled with 130 figures, including Christ and the Apostles, as well as leaders of Europe at the time, including Francois I and many of the great Venetian artists, but Veronese never stated who anyone was. 

For over 230 years, the Wedding at Cana hung on the wall of the San Giorgio until 1797, when Napoleon’s soldiers entered and removed the painting, cut it in half, rolled it up, and added it to their art booty.

In December 1797, 640 crates were sent from Italy in a mass convoy and arrived in Paris on July 27 & 28, 1798, and were greeted with a two-day celebration, the Festival of Liberty and the Arts.  For two full days, the convoy drove through the streets of Paris. The Apollo Belvedere stood tall and held a banner that read, “Greece lost them; Rome lost them. Their fate has changed twice; they won’t change again”.  

Many years ago, I came across the lithograph by Pierre Gabriel Berthault of the long procession in an unrecognizable Champ de Mars, as we know it today. The four horses of Saint Mark’s take pride of place in the center, and on either side a cage of lions and even a few camels. 

Napoleon returned as a hero, and within a few short years he would be ruling France. 

On July 22, 1803, the Musée Central des Arts de la République was renamed the Musée Napoléon and filled with his personally captured booty from Italy. The former summer apartment of Anne of Austria held the many Roman statuary, including the large Tiber taken from the Vatican along with the statue of the Nile. (In 1815, the Nile was returned to Rome, but the Tiber remained in the Louvre and still in the Anne of Austria rooms, but currently in storage. You can see copies of each created in the 17th century in the Tuileries. 

The looting continued into the start of the 19th century. Dominique Vivant Denon opposed it early on but later became one of its most prominent advocates. In the summer of 1811, Denon visited Tuscany and Pisa, and removed the 13th-century masterpiece by Cimabue,  the Maestà,from the church of Saint Francis, along with Giotto’s Saint Francis of Assisi Receiving the Stigmata. Today, both are still in the Salon Carré of the Louvre. 

Denon took paintings of Fra Angelico, Fra Filippo Lippi, and Botticelli from Florence, all legally, under the condition of the Treaties of Tolentino and Campo-Formio. All still in the Louvre. 

After the fall of Napoleon in 1814, Louis XVIII, brother of Louis XVI and a Bourbon, returned once more to the throne of France. Trying to wipe away the memory of the First Empire, he began removing many of the effigies and reminders that Napoleon had added to Paris, but stopped short of returning any of the art that had been taken.  

The first Treaty of Paris, signed on May 30, 1814, marked the end of strife between France, England, Austria, Prussia, and Russia. The end of Napoleon launched the return of the Bourbon king & reshaped the French territory to what it was before the Revolution in 1792, including returning Venice to the Austrians. One clause was left out, that of the art. It wasn’t going anywhere.  

Napoleon’s surprise return from his first exile didn’t sit well with the countries that agreed with the first treaty, especially when he headed to Waterloo. 

The Prussians took matters into their own hands.  They were really riled up about the massive loss of life they endured due to Waterloo, and Napoleon was to blame. Arriving in Paris in the last few days of the Waterloo campaign, a Prussian envoy visited the Louvre and Denon and demanded the return of works. Denon refused unless he was told by the king of France and turned them away. 

On the morning of July 11, Prussian soldiers returned to the Louvre and physically removed many of the paintings & sculptures that had been taken by the French in 1794. 

All the graces of the first treaty were now in jeopardy, and a second Treaty of Paris was drawn up over five months. Since the subject of looted art was completely ignored in the first treaty, it would be in the second. Signed on November 20, 1815, it returned the rights to the artwork to its country of origin. However, because of changes in borders and even in who controlled the area in 1815 as opposed to who had it at the time of looting, this threw a kink into the plan to France's benefit.

Even with the treaty in place and clearly written that the art needed to be returned, Louis XVIII and the director of the Louvre Dominique Vivant Denon, were slow, or more like immovable, in the action of actually doing so. 

Klemens von Metternich, an Austrian diplomat, had once orchestrated the marriage between Napoleon and his second wife, Marie Louise, and later signed the treaty of his exile. Now in Paris, he ordered that the artwork be returned to Austria, which included Venice.   Here is where it got tricky: at the time of the looting, Venice didn’t belong to Austria; it didn't until the Treaty of Campo-Formio on October 18, 1797.

The Horses of Saint Marc’s were removed in September during a second attempt. The Austrians arrived to remove them in the middle of the day, banging and cutting at the sculptures and arc. Parisians, outraged, tried to stop them, and soldiers had to be brought in. They were finally removed days later in the dark of night, leaving lasting damage to the horses and the arc. Although shouldn’t they actually go back to Istanbul? Today there are copies, recently restored; more on that soon. 

Venetian sculptor Antonio Canova was tasked by Pope Pius VII himself with collecting and returning the thousands of pieces taken from the Vatican. Canova believed that Napoleon violated the terms of the Treaty of Tolentino by holding Pope Pius VII captive in France following Napoleon's coronation in 1802. Because of this, any and all art, manuscripts, treasures, gold, and stones taken from the Vatican must be returned. The problem was, nobody else believed that, at least not in Paris. Eventually he did find one ally, the British William Richard Hamilton. A man himself known for his own looting throughout Greece, including the major pieces of the Parthenon, still a lively debate today. 

In September, the Belgians were also calling for the return of their own art but met with a very stubborn Denon, who was protecting the Louvre.  Finally allowed in on September 18, 1815, and for two weeks reclaimed more than 80 paintings that had been taken mainly from churches between 1794-1796.

Canova was finally allowed to enter after lengthy negotiation on October 2, 1815.

For days, they loaded up paintings and sculptures along with the hundreds of manuscripts. Three weeks later, on October 24, a convoy of 41 vehicles left Paris and headed back to Italy.  Although only a fraction of what was taken was returned. 

Canova kept an inventory, completed in Italy, of what was taken. He noted 506 paintings, taken from Italy between 1796 and 1814, although the bulk was taken in the first two years. A handful of paintings & sculptures were lost, and in the end 294 were returned to Italy.  Of the ones that remained in the Louvre, they were either gifted by the Pope or traded; such is the case with the largest painting in the Louvre. 

Once the Wedding Feast of Cana arrived at the Louvre on July 31, 1798, it was glued back together, placed on a stretcher, placed into a frame, and hung in the Salon Carré. When it was noted that the painting was on the list to be returned in 1815, Denon stated that it was far too large to send back and that attempting to ship it to Venice would be damaging to the piece. Clearly the Venetians & Austrians didn’t want it cut up again and allowed the painting to remain in the Louvre in exchange for a much smaller painting by Charles le Brun of Le Repas chez Simon now kept in the Gallerie dell’Accademia in Venice. 

Canova was able to return many of the sculptures, including three that Napoleon held in the highest regard and that formed the basis of his Antiquite collection in the museum. The marble Apollo Belvedere was a 2nd-century Roman copy of a Greek statue. Pope Julius II placed it in the Belvedere Palace in the Vatican. The very tall Apollo stretches out his arm that once held a bow ready to strike. 

The Laocoön is a group sculpture that includes the Trojan priest of Poseidon, Laocoön, and his sons as they are attacked by snakes. Also placed in the Belvedere by Pope Julius II and was first noticed by Francois I in 1515, who asked the pope if he could have it. It would be quite the accomplishment for Napoleon to finally obtain the statue for France, even if only briefly. 

The Louvre may have the Venus de Milo, but it originally also had the Venus de Medici. Copied in the 1st century from a Greek statue of Aphrodite. The once definitive example of Venus it was copied many times, including by Louis XIV, and copies can still be found all over France, from the Tuileries to Versailles. Part of the Villa Medici collection in Rome, it was taken from Palermo, where it was hidden to avoid Napoleon’s reach, but was still discovered and taken to Paris in 1803.  

Today, many still remain in the Louvre, but have remained through diplomatic treaties and exchanges. Should they have been taken in the first place? That is up for more debate. There are the things that normally happened during the periods of conflict and war between many countries. 

On July 29, 1899, at the first Hague Peace Conference, a formal decision and Regulations concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land was adopted and signed by 23 states, including France, Italy, Belgium, Germany, Greece, the Netherlands, and Spain.  

Article 56 specifically stated:

The property of the communes, that of religious, charitable, and educational institutions, and those of arts and science, even when State property, shall be treated as private property. 

All seizure of, and destruction, or intentional damage done to such institutions, to historical monuments, works of art or science, is prohibited, and should be made the subject of proceedings

At the 2nd International Peace Conference in 1907, an updated version was signed on October 18, 1907, and adopted by 101 states. It has become the rule, even if it's not always respected. 

In the 1930s and 40s, Hitler and his ERR would toss the entire regulation out as he carved his way through Europe, taking anything he wanted, including many of the same things Napoleon once took and had been returned. 

Episode 27 - The Death of Marat

On July 13, 1793, Charlotte Corday talked her way into the apartment of writer Jean-Paul Marat and plunged a knife into his chest while he soaked in the bath, killing the Voice of the People within seconds.  

It was a pivotal moment in the French Revolution and was made famous by the painting by Jacques Louis David. A copy by his atelier hangs in the Musée du Louvre steps from the Coronation of Napoleon, while the original resides at the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Belgium. A few other copies created under his watchful eye are scattered around France, and in the fall of 2025, three, including the original, were brought together for the first time in the Louvre’s exhibit dedicated to David, which was incredible. 

A painting that is as much propaganda as it is historical and has become the very definition of the event. If you say the “Death of Marat” to anyone, they don’t think of the event itself, they think of this painting, but few know of the actual details of the crime. 

Portrait of Marat by Jean-François Garneray

You could say that 1793 saw some of the most notable deaths in France. The year began with the death of Louis XVI on January 21, an event in which Marat was directly involved. On October 16, the blade fell on Marie Antoinette, ending the once-ruling monarchy. 

Jean Paul Marat, the voice of the people, was born on May 24, 1743, in Boudry, Switzerland, and moved through Paris and England as a doctor and writer, and even treated the future King Charles X. 

In the 1780s, his attention began to turn to politics and speaking out. By the end of the decade, on September 12, 1789, he published the first issue of L’Ami du Peuple, the Friend of the People, from his office in Odéon. Less than a month later, the royal family would be forced to leave Versailles and settle into the Palais des Tuileries, and the French Revolution, as we know it picked up speed. 

Through it, Marat became increasingly outspoken and poured all his feelings into writing. Often calling for the death of officials and the king, and gaining the support of the people to stand against them, he became one of the most feared men in Paris. Think of pamphlets as the 18th century newspaper, and more than 6,000 of each issue were printed, handed out on the streets, and pasted to the walls. 

He was frequently threatened, brought before the court, hid in the sewers, and even fled France on one occasion, but it was more because he had an affair with his printer's wife. 

Serving in the National Assembly, he voted for the death of King Louis XVI on January 20, 1793, and aligned himself with Robespierre and the artist Jacques-Louis David. The last Issue, no 685 of L’Ami du Peuple was published on September 21, 1792, but had already riled up a young lady living in Normandy. You can find most of the issues in French online at the national library website

Marie Anne Charlotte de Corday d’Armont was born on July 27, 1768, in Normandy to a noble but broke family. Educated under the nuns at the Abbey aux Dames in Caen, she was introduced to the French philosophers and an entirely new view of the world that differed from her family's. Her brothers had fought for the king, and her parents and grandparents were anti-revolutionists. 

She believed Marat was inciting violence and must be stopped. The September massacres of 1792, which Marat’s writing fanned the flames of violence calling for the death of thousands. While tensions escalated in Paris, many Girondin members fled to Calvados and Caen, falling into the lap of Charlotte. Just a few doors down from her home, the outspoken members held meetings that she attended, and she was able to learn even about what was happening in Paris. Marat became enemy number one and the reason for all the strife, and must die.

Charlotte Corday by Tony Robert-Fleury

Charlotte left Caen on July 9, 1793, and traveled to Paris. She was told that Marat would be at the National Convention on the 11th and would be easy to approach. Just before noon on Thursday, July 11, she arrived in Paris at the (28) Rue Notre Dame des Victoires and stayed at the Hotel de la Providence, a few blocks away, at 19 rue des Vieux Augustins (today Rue Hérold). 

The next day, she takes care of a few things her new Girondins friends asked her to do and then writes a bit of a manifesto to the “French friends of laws & peace”

Waking up early on Saturday, July 13, she walked the very quiet streets of Paris to the Palais Royal just blocks from her hotel. Then known as the Palais Egalité, she found the Badin cutlery store open at 8 am at no 177 in the Galerie de Valois. (a few doors down from another event tied to the artist David) For 40 sols, she purchases a 6-inch black-handled kitchen knife and sheath and slides it into her bodice. 

After she buys a newspaper, she sits down for a coffee. The headline of the paper calls for the execution of the leaders of the Girodins; it was all she needed to erase any doubt she might have had. 

At 9 am, it was time, but she wasn’t sure where Marat lived. Asking a carriage driver, he offered to take her there, to the Rue des Cordeliers. Through the right bank, past the Louvre and over the Pont Neuf to Marat’s building, but she hadn’t quite planned how she would get inside. Knocking on the door, she meets the concierge, Marie-Barbe Pain, who acknowledges that Marat lives on the first floor but refuses to let her in. 

A few hours later, she returns and is able to enter and reach the first floor. She gets as far as Simone Évrard, Marat’s wife, who turns her away. Frustrated, Charlotte travels back across the river to the right bank and her hotel, where she writes and sends a letter to Marat. The letter states that she arrived at his home earlier in the day and was refused, and she has important information for him regarding those who stand against the Convention, and begs for his help. 

Charlotte Corday, la dernière toilette by Mathieu Ward

Waiting at the hotel for an answer, she had a little spa time and had her hair curled and styled, a girl's got to take care of herself. She puts on a brown and pink dress and a black hat with a green ribbon, then slides the knife into her bodice once again. Marat didn’t answer her letter, and now she must finish her mission. She also takes her baptismal papers with her in case her body needs to be identified later. 

It's now just after 7 pm on a hot July 13, 1793, and Charlotte is not taking no for an answer. She arrives at the door, and Simone tries to turn her away. Charlotte raises her voice, and from the bathtub, Marat calls to let her in. She gives him her second letter, and they speak for fifteen minutes, when suddenly, Charlotte lunges forward with the knife and stabs Marat in the chest, on his right side, and the blade cuts through the aorta, heart, and pierces his lung. He dies within minutes. 

Marat assassiné ! by Jean-Joseph Weerts 1880

Simone lunges and attacks Charlotte and forces her to the ground with the help of Laurent Bras, who works with Marat. The neighbor across the way saw a chair being held in the air and attacking a woman, and rushed over to hold Charlotte down as Simone tried to tend to Marat, but it was too late. 

Word of his death spreads quickly on the streets below. The police arrive and interview everyone in the apartment. The two were alone at the time of the killing, unlike many depictions in drawings and paintings, but Charlotte truthfully tells the facts and even why she did it. Quickly removed from the scene and taken to the police station, and by the end of the day, she sat in the Abbey prison down the street where Boulevard Saint Germain and Rue de Four cross. 

Two days later, on July 15, Charlotte Corday was moved to the Conciergerie, better known as the Antichamber of death. In a few weeks, Marie Antoinette would also arrive. Charlotte’s trial was held on July 16. Earlier that morning, she wrote a letter to her father admitting to the entire crime, and with this one death, she would save “hundreds of thousands of citizens”. It was intercepted and used against her at her trial. 

Court cases of this kind back then were a bit of a joke; they all ended the same way: at the guillotine.  On Wednesday, July 17, at 8 am,  Corday was sentenced to death, and the execution would happen in a matter of hours. Around 5 p.m., executioner Henri Nicolas Charles Sanson entered her cell to take her on the same walk he would do with Marie Antoinette almost exactly three months later.  

At 5:30 pm, she was led up the stairs and into the Cour du May beside the courthouse, wearing the red shirt of a murderer. The streets are filled with angry people who want to see the killer for themselves. The less than two mile route took almost two hours; it’s basically a test run for the path the queen would also take to the Place de la Révolution (Place de la Concorde). 

At 7:30 pm, the blade dropped, and the life of Charlotte Corday was over. Immediately following her death, an autopsy was ordered on her body, but not for the reasons you might think. The same officials who tried her in court couldn’t believe that a woman would pull off such a crime on their own and had to have been spurred on by a man or at least driven mad by one. So they called for a doctor to see if she was still a virgin or not. She was 

On July 18th, Charlotte’s body and head were laid to rest at the Madeleine cemetery in pit number 5. Today, this is the Chapelle Expiatoire, noted for the final resting place of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette following their own beheading and built after they were moved to the Basilique Saint Denis.  The location of Charlotte’s pit is essentially where the chapel stairs are today. Charlotte’s bones are now mixed with the thousands of other Parisians in the Catacombs, but her skull has had another life and many different versions of who may have it or where it is. 

In the hours after the death of Marat, Jacques Louis David was contacted to create a portrait to elevate the writer to that of a martyr. David had successfully done that at the start of the year for another man who would become the image of the Revolutionists. 

Louis Michel Lepeletier de Saint Fargeau was a lawyer and served in the National Assembly. On January 20, he voted for the death of Louis XVI, and his own would come the same day. Later that evening, while dining in the Février restaurant in the Northeastern corner of the Palais Royal, Philippe Nicolas Marie de Paris, a former guard of the king, walked in and stabbed and killed Lepeletier for his vote against Louis XVI. 

David had talked with Lepeletier the day before his death and was shaken by the death, and also worried for his own life.  David wasn’t just an artist; he became a politician and an event planner as well. Not only was he crafting the image of the Revolution, but he also had to design the events that surrounded it. 

On January 24, three days after his death, Lepeletier was placed high on a pedestal in the center of Place des Piques, today's Place Vendome, and draped with his bloody shirt. David created a portrait of the newest martyr of the Revolution shortly after his death, titled The Last Moments of Michel Lepeltier.  Using the same general pose as Hector in his 1783 painting of the Sorrow of Andromache, which hangs in the Louvre.  Following the viewing and funeral, he was interred into the Pantheon but removed in February 1795. 

David had visited Marat the day before his death, just as Lepeltier had. I would imagine that with that fact, nobody invited David over for dinner ever again

The reaction to his death brought out high emotions, resulting in protests and marches throughout France. Fearing for their own lives, the members of the National Assembly called for a quick funeral and burial. Due to the heat and his skin condition, Marat’s body was rapidly decomposing, making the need for a speedy burial even more important. 

His funeral was planned for July 16 and designed by David. On July 15, his body was placed in the convent of the Cordeliers, steps from his front door. His body was in such a state that they covered it with a cloth, exposing only the knife wound. On the evening of the 16th, his body was surrounded by incense burners. It was still very hot in Paris, and they tried to mask the aroma from his body. Thousands of people lined the streets to see the body of the Friend of the People one last time. Just before the funeral parade was to start, the skies turned dark, and a lightning and thunder storm raged overhead, without a drop of rain. 

On September 21, 1794, Marat was given the honor of Pantheonization and interred into the new final resting place of the great men of France. It wouldn’t last long. After the fall of Robespierre and the end of the Terror, the Convention wanted to erase any of the reminders of this period and the men who were elevated in death to its glory. On February 26, 1795, his body and that of Lepelletier were removed in the dark of night and placed in the cemetery of Saint Etienne de Mont. 

While David began painting Lepeltier immediately, he waited two months before even starting Marat. This also allowed the gravity of the event and the painting's eventual meaning to settle, which can be seen as both good and bad. The political climate was so charged at the time, with the people on one side fearing for their own lives and political careers, and the other wanting to elevate Marat to sainthood.

The first depiction of the murder was done by Jean Jacques Hauer and is held today in the Musée Lambinet in the city of Versailles. It was presented on August 10, 1793, in the newly opened museum that would come to be known as the Louvre. Although the victim and the assailant were in the room alone at the time of the murder, Charlotte is depicted as capturing the moments just after she strikes and kills. 

In the months after his death, many artists depicted the murder, but only one artist had been to the home of Marat and saw his body in the hours after his death. 

Taking his time, he finally completed the painting on October 14, 1793. A painting that is as much propaganda as it is historical and has become the very definition of the event.

David chose a simple scene, one that may seem unfinished but was also his way of letting the few elements speak for themselves. 

Marat is placed in his tub, soaking in his sulfur water to help alleviate the pain of his skin condition. Once thought to be syphilis, in recent years, they have been able to test the blood left on the letter he had at his desk. Marat suffered from a combination of atopic dermatitis, severe acneiform, and dandruff, but together they left horrible lesions and flaking skin. 

A desk was created with a flat board and a small box to hold his inkwell and extra quills alongside. He would spend the majority of his days since the start of June in this bath and wrap his head in a cloth soaked in vinegar to help with migraine headaches. 

David drew on religious imagery to depict the fallen martyr. The white turban becomes a halo, the white sheet on which he rests a shroud, and his arm dangling from the tub, a version of the pieta of Christ. The wound resembles the one Christ bore, which was touched by Saint Thomas. All subtle nods to something that then aligns this theme with something greater than just the political message. 

David was cutting his teeth for what would come in a few short years with Napoleon. 

The artist left Charlotte out  in the painting, but she is still there, in a way. The knife rests on the floor, although David painted it with a white pearl handle rather than the black one it had. The green fabric was the color of the counterrevolutionists, the same color she wore in her hat, and the letter he clutches in his left hand was based on the one she presented to him that morning, or at least represented it and bore her name. 

The painting was unveiled for the first time on October 16, 1793, and placed in the courtyard of the Louvre. In the center, a wooden pyramid was erected, and on either side, the painting of Marat and Lepeltier was displayed for anyone in Paris to see. That same day, a block away, Marie Antoinette would pass by, sitting on a box upon a flat board placed on wheels and pulled by horses. A symbolic choice of days to display the paintings, although these two men would later be seen as villains, not heroes. 

A month later, on November 14, 1793, it was presented for the first time to the Convention and would remain in the presidential gallery until July 1794.  With this painting, David captured a moment that would be carved in stone in the history of France. 

The painting was turned into an engraving, and thousands of copies were made and sent to every corner of France to hang in government buildings. Four copies within the workshop of David were created under his watchful eye to be used as cartoons at the Gobelins to be turned into tapestries.  (I have yet to find any of the tapestries online or in museums and none exist in the Gobelins collection) 

In 1795, both paintings were returned to David, and he kept them until his death. The painting of Lepeltier was purchased by Lepeletier’s daughter, Suzanne, who had become the first orphan of the state in 1793. In 1826, she destroyed the painting and any other versions of it. All that remains today is a sketch by Anatole Devosge, created when he saw the original painting in David’s atelier. 

After David’s death in 1825, friend and artist Antoine Jean Gros kept the Death of Marat and covered it with a layer of canvas, then sealed it with white lead to hide it. It wasn’t seen again until 1846. In 1886, after the death of JL David’s grandson Jules David Chassagnol, the original was donated to the Royal Museum of Belgium, where it remains today. 

However, luckily, you can see the copies made in his atelier by his students to be used to create tapestries,  in multiple museums in France, including the Musée du Louvre.  Versions stay very faithful to the original, with only a few slight changes noticeable when all are together. At the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Reims, the box is inscribed with “unable to corrupt me, they killed me”. At the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Dijon, the box is blank, as is the one held in Versailles, but rarely on view. While the original in Belgium is simply marked with A Marat, David, and at the bottom L’an deux and 17 93 that has been smudged away. 

Since then, Charlotte has been viewed more as a heroine and Marat as the villain. She is often depicted as a beautiful and strong woman, a 19th-century Jeanne d’Arc. It's a subject that still captures artists today. 

I recently saw a version by Bernard Buffet done in 1977. In 1907, Edvard Munch depicted the two as lovers with Marat lying in a bed and a nude Charlotte standing in front holding a knife. And even Picasso gave it his own reimagined existence. 

History is interesting, and art plays such a large role in how it is told. It is exactly why I love the Louvre so much and discovering all the stories held inside a painting. It is also interesting how time can alter the view of the event. At the time this was painted, Marat was raised to the highest realm of a saintly martyr, only to come crashing down within two years. 
Time gives us the opportunity to see it from many sides and gain a better understanding of it. Today it is more important than ever to really look into these things the old-fashioned way, with reading and research and not AI. 

Musée Carnavalet

In Paris, you can find more on Marat and Charlotte Corday in the Musée Carnavalet, which also holds a copy of his death mask and even part of his jaw. 

There are many reminders in the streets of Paris, especially in Saint Germain. Book a walking tour with me to uncover it all and relive the history on the very streets where it happened. 

The bathtub Marat died in was later sold by his wife and remained missing until 1804, when it was purchased by André Augustin Capriol de Saint Hilaire in Paris from a scrap metal dealer. Capriol took it with him when he moved to Taverny, north of Paris. After his death, his daughter Marie Adelaide left it to the Abbé Joseph Rio upon her death in 1861. It was then passed to Abbé Le Cosse of the bishopric of Vannes and eventually made its way to the tiny island of Île aux Moines. Le Cosse liked to show it off to people, and word eventually spread, reaching the pages of Le Figaro on July 15, 1885.  A year later, it was auctioned off and purchased by the Musée Grévin in Paris, where it is on display to this day. 

Episode 26 - The Raft of the Medusa

Many are familiar with the large painting hanging in the Salle Mollien of the Louvre by Théodore Géricault, but did you know it was based on a true story? Le Radeau de la Méduse (The Raft of the Medusa) was painted in 1818 when Géricault was 27 years old. It depicts the story of the French ship Medusa, a 40-gun frigate used during the Napoleonic Wars in 1810, which was intended as a decoy for his escape to America. 

However, the Medusa would become the very example, shining a light on what was wrong with the Restoration of the Bourbons, even as they tried to hide it. It was in their attempt to erase it that would bring the entire affair to the forefront and inspire the young French artist. 

Theodore Géricault had just returned from Rome in November 1817 and wanted to make his mark in the Parisian art community. His fellow artists, Jean-Antoine Gros and Horace, the son of his mentor Carle Vernet, were finding their own commissions. Géricault wanted something big, and the legacy-making theme would fall right into his lap. 

In 1816, France was trying to move forward and past the First Empire. Napoleon was finally exiled far, far away in Saint Helena, and the Bourbon Louis XVIII returned to the throne once more. In March of 1815, when Napoleon had returned for 100 days, Louis XVIII had fled Paris, and those who remained close to him and defended him would be rewarded later. 

Hugues Duroy de Chaumereys was just one of those men. Born on December 20, 1763, into a wealthy family, he entered the navy with the help of high-ranking members and friends of his father. At the start of the Revolution, he fled France for England and returned only when Louis XVIII came into power in 1814. 

Granted a full pardon for his departure from France, he became a close defender of the king. 

After Napoleon's abdication on April 6, 1814, the government sought to roll back the clock. The Treaty of Paris was signed on May 30, 1814, and restored France's borders to those of 1792. Territories that had changed hands with the British and Dutch were returned, including the interest in Senegal. Although slavery had been abolished in France on February 4, 1794, Napoleon would reinstate it in the French colonies in 1802. 

Retaking Senegal from the British and establishing a French colony were top priorities for the king, and he needed trusted individuals to carry out the mission. 

Which brings us back to our villain, Chaumareys. Chosen by the king on April 22, 1816, to lead an exploration and to establish Senegal with a French governor and community. 

Based in Rochefort on the Charente river in the Southwest of France, the voyage was delayed due to weather. Beginning on June 15, 1816, 365 people were loaded into small boats from the port of Rochefort and ferried out to Île d’Aix.  The same island  Napoleon visited before his exile,  just a year before, in July 1815. 

On June 17, 1816, the Medusa left the port of Aix alongside three other ships in the fleet.

The Medusa, the largest frigate, the Echo, a corvette and smaller warship, the Argus, a sailboat, and the Loire, which carried supplies.  

The four ships were filled with everyone you would need to restart a French base. Potential governor Julien Désiré Schmaltz, his wife Reine, and daughter Eliza were on board, as well as doctors, teachers, explorers, engineers, scientists, gardeners, and of course, a few bakers. 

One week into the voyage, a teenage sailor fell off the Medusa and into the sea. The recovery attempt by the captain was so badly handled that the young man died and was lost to the sea. It was the first but not the last crack in the captain's control. Rumblings on board had already destroyed the confidence of many under his leadership. 

Timeline of the wreck 

On July 1st, the four ships started the day together, with the smaller Echo the closest. The Medusa was off the coast of Mauritania just after Noon and by nightfall made the tragic mistake of breaking off at the southernmost tip of the peninsula at Cape Blanco.  It’s thought that Governor Shmaltz was anxious to get to Senegal and encouraged the captain to speed up. 

The Echo would remain close to keep an eye on the Medusa until the poor decisions of the captain made it difficult; they knew of the terrain and didn’t want to end up with the same fate as the Medusa. At 3 am on July 2, the Echo disappeared. A few of the sailors and officers attempted to trick the captain into getting the ship back on course. 

As the sun rose on July 2nd, the crew began to spot rocks and notice that the water became clearer and shallower. One even told the captain they had to be near the Argun reef and sandbar, but it was quickly ignored. It was also high tide, which could have been the worst luck of all. A storm was rolling in, and the waves crashed against the Medusa; at 3 pm, the ship brushed the edge of the sandbar. They managed to quickly navigate away, but it was brief. At 3:15 pm, scrapes, groans, and jolts, then the final blow came, and the frigate was lodged into the sand bar. On board, it was utter silence. 

They tried everything, but the combination of the storm, high tide, and an idiot for a captain left the 365 people on board in a panic. The hull was filling with water, and only one option remained. One of the members brought in to build new homes in Senegal was carpenter Valery Touche-Lavilette, who quickly sketched out a plan to build a raft to hold supplies, while the boats would be used for people. Using whatever could be found on board, the mast was removed, along with many of the deck boards. 

For two days, Lavillette and his men built the raft directly into the water. A railing around the massive raft was added to hold supplies, and the deck itself was partially open to the water, with boards haphazardly spaced and water splashing through every few inches. Nicknamed “the Machine”, it was a massive undertaking in less than ideal conditions. 

Measuring 65 by 23 feet, it was first loaded with barrels of guns, casks of wine, water, and food, and tied to the raft. Once the first few dozen men climbed on board, the raft quickly sank further into the water. The barrels of food were removed as more men came on board, but the raft continued to sink as deep as 4 feet while still remaining afloat. The voyage should be short; in a few hours, they should be at the shore and on to a new life. 

The construction of the raft with its limited supplies also made it very dangerous for people. The massive crowd had to stand on the boat because it was submerged by more than 4 feet of water. 

On July 5, as water filled the hull, the decision was made to abandon the ship quickly. 

Only six small boats were available, which could hold only half of their crew, and were reserved mostly for the elite and high-ranking officers.  

Future governor Schmaltz and his family took one of the boats, which could have held 15 more people. To make matters worse, a second boat was used just for their luggage. 

Just after 8 am, the six boats and large raft pushed off from the ship. Without any steering capability, the raft was attached to four of the small boats, but within two hours, the upper crust on the boats realized that the raft was slowing them down and cut it loose just 6 miles from the Medusa.

As the sun went down late into the evening, a storm rolled in, and 20 people died from falling into the ocean. Screams could be heard from the water below. 

Between the sun beating down on them and drinking the seawater, delirium set in quickly. On July 6th, the second night of being adrift at sea, the panic and fight for power began. The raft had five barrels on board at the start, two of which were filled with wine. Either for survival or boredom, the rafters dipped into the wine. Chaos ensued, and a battle for control between the officers and the men resulted in the death of 65 men as well as the only woman on board, who had broken her leg and was pushed into the sea. 

Three days before, as the raft was loaded, a case of biscuits was tossed from the Medusa and fell into the sea. Recovered, the flour biscuits inside turned into a salty paste. For the first two days, it was all the food they had. 

On the third day, July 7, the real horror began. Fewer than half of the original passengers remain on board. Starving, the men ate pieces of clothing, leather, and even bits of rope that had been cut during the battle the night before. Two barrels of wine were left, the only remaining source of calories.  Now the hardest decision was made. 

On day three,  just over 60 people were left on the raft, many of whom were injured and on the edge of death.  The self-appointed leaders of the raft decided that, to survive, they would need to consume the unfortunate raftmates. At first, many officers refused to be a part of it, but after another day or so, they had no choice if they wanted to survive.  Pieces were cut away and left to dry in the sun to make it a bit easier to consume.

Gericault captures this moment in a sketch that is held at the Louvre but is not on display. It’s hard to imagine this moment and those that follow. I think every one of us would say we would never do that, but in that moment, when your only chance of survival is at stake, it's hard to say. A horrific thought at that. 

As the sun rose on day 4, only 30 people remained. 

The raft continued to float at sea for days. More and more men succumbed to the elements. A brief sign of hope when a school of flying fish landed on the raft, but many used the raw fish as a side dish to get the other source of meat down. 

On July 12, 27 men remained. It was decided that only 15 were in good enough shape to survive a few more days. Between the wine and the few bottles of cognac on hand, they realized that 12 men needed to go. Three sailors and one soldier were given the job of ending the lives of the remaining men, many of whom were already close to death. 

In the final days of the ordeal, the 15 men had become emaciated, were delirious, and were barely holding on. Surviving on the little wine that remained, flesh, one lemon, and 30 cloves of garlic.  On the final morning, a white butterfly flew over the raft and sat on the mast. A few thought about eating the tiny creature, but many saw it as a sign that they were close to land. 

On the 12th day, a smaller raft was built and barrel staves fashioned into oars, but the structure sank into the ocean. It was the last hope they had. 

On July 17th, the 13th day into the ordeal, with only 15 men left alive, the sun rose on a perfectly clear day. 

Meanwhile, the more than 200 people who fled the Medusa in lifeboats were settling in Senegal. Captain Chaumerys had sent the Argus out to find the raft, but not to rescue the people. He wanted the three crates filled with 90,000 francs of gold and silver coins. 

Suddenly, a ship appeared in the distance. Unsure if it was real or just their delirium, they stacked up the remaining barrels, tied cloth around a barrel ring, and waved it in the air, hoping to be spotted. This is the moment that Géricault decided to paint.  The Argus had, in fact, given up its search and changed course to head back to Senegal.

Two hours later, the Argus would spot them and head straight for them, and they would be saved. The men were treated and given food, but Doctor Savigny cautioned them to eat only a small amount. A few men gorged on the food, and their emaciated bodies couldn’t handle it. Of the 15 found, five died over the next few days, leaving just 10 survivors.

The raft was found 104 miles from the initial wreck and 32 miles from shore. 

On July 19th, they arrived at the port of Saint Louis, no doubt happy to see land once again. Governor Schmaltz took the glory of finding the survivors at his direction. 

17 people had remained aboard the Medusa, and 12 survived for 42 days before they were found. They were left with food, water, and shelter from the elements.

Two of the raft's survivors play an important part in this story.  Alexandre Corréard, an engineer and journalist, wrote the eyewitness account of the tragedy and published it. That act led to his dismissal from his job as an engineer, prompting him to become a publisher.   Doctor Henri Savigny was one of three who volunteered to take the raft. On his arrival in Paris, he testified at the Ministry of the Navy against the captain. When he co-authored the detailed account with Corréard, he found instant fame. 

News traveled much more slowly than it does today. At the start of September 1816, the Echo arrived in Paris with Corréard and Savigny as well as the 8 other survivors. Corréard and Savigny wrote the definitive account of the horrific event for the Navy. By September 11, 1816, the ordeal appeared in every paper across France, including the acts of cannibalism. However, they barely scraped the surface of what really happened.

Chamereys returned to France in February 1817 and was arrested immediately. Before the war council on February 25, 1817, the entire affair was discussed behind the locked doors of the king and the government. On May 3, he was found guilty of abandoning the Medusa as well as the raft of 147 people. He should have been given the death penalty, but he was sentenced to three years in prison and stripped of any honors. 

Outraged by how the entire ordeal was handled, Corréard and Savigny were up in arms. Out of the shadows would come an unlikely aid. Police minister Élie Decazer obtained Savigny's report and leaked it to the Journal des Débats, where it appeared on September 13, 1816. 

The story captivated all of France, and Corréard and Sauvigny published the entire account in November 1817. The young Théodore Géricault was drawn in fresh from Rome.

Alexandre Corréard by Géricault

Géricault was a young and very handsome gentleman known for his red, curly hair and fine legs. (No evidence of this, so Hot Leg Henri is keeping his title. Attracted to art from a very early age, his father tried to steer him toward a more lucrative career. It would be his uncle Jean Baptiste Caruel and his wife who would help him follow his passion in more ways than one. 

His uncle married the young and beautiful Alexandrine Modeste de Saint Martin in 1807. She was 22 and closer in age to her new nephew, Géricault, who was 16 at the time. The two became very close friends, and Alexandrine convinced her husband to give the young artist a cover job in the tobacco business steps from the Louvre. 

The two became quite close and became involved. Caruel purchased the Château de Grand Chesnay near Versailles, where Géricault set up a small workshop to paint and spend any free time with his aunt. To help cover their relationship, the artist began dating Madame Montgolfier, daughter of Joseph and creator of the first air balloon I shared last week in episode 25.

On April 10, 1812, Géricault’s beloved grandmother died, leaving him with a large inheritance, allowing him to return to Paris, rent an apartment and atelier, and create a bit of distance between him and his aunt. 

His first foray into the official Paris Salon came in 1812, when his painting The Officer of the Chasseurs won him the gold medal. (The painting hangs in the Louvre across from the Medusa)  

The relationship with his aunt morphed into a full afair and resulted in a pregnancy upon his return from Rome. His uncle was well aware of the situation and turned his back on his nephew, writing him out of his life. On August 21, 1818, Georges Hipolyte was born on the Rue Pavee Saint André des Arts. His birth certificate left his parents' identities unknown. 

Géricault never saw his son, and little is known, although after the artist's death in 1824, Georges fought to take his father's name. He died on December 31, 1882, without ever meeting either of his parents. 

The news of the pregnancy sent Géricault into a frenzy. Without it, we may not have this stunning painting. He shaved his head, locked himself away in his atelier, and worked around the clock for days without sleep or food. 

At the beginning of 1818, Géricault contacted the two survivors and authors, Henri Savigny and Alexandre Corréard, who recalled their harrowing tales in minute detail.  Corréard would be a frequent visitor and close friend, advising him on even the smallest of details. Builder Valery Touche-Lavilette joined in, recreated a scale model of the raft, and added a few anecdotes from the story, but remained mostly silent. 

With their help, he began sketching and even carving figures in wax to place on the scale model, capturing the moment that had occurred just two hours before they were saved. Corréd, Savigny, and Lavilette serve as models for a few of the men huddled under the mast in the final painting. 

So dedicated to getting every detail correct, Géricault spent months researching every aspect. Traveling to Le Havre, he sketched the sky and the sea and interviewed sailors. To understand what could happen to the human body, he visited the morgue and hospitals, sketching people in each stage of death from the moments before and after. 

On June 28, 1818, Géricault moved to a larger studio to hold his large 16 x 23-foot canvas, purchased on February 24. The studio was located at 80 rue du Faubourg-du-Roule, now Faubourg Saint Honoré, and directly across from the Élysées Palace.  A short walk away, Géricualt visited a friend and pathologist who worked at the Hôspice Beaujon at 208 Faubourg Saint-Honoré. On one visit, he was gifted a severed head that he kept on the roof of his atelier and frequently sketched as it decayed. 

Spending time at the morgue, he sketched severed arms and legs, many of which he turned into paintings as well. One was on display at the Louvre in 2022 for the Still Life exhibit. I was quite excited to see it up close, only because of how it is tied to the raft.  

All of these gruesome details Géricault sketched and painted never actually end up in the painting. When it came time to bring the scene to life, he pivoted to depicting the unwitting sailors as strong, well-built men. Not the emaciated, struggling-to-survive men they really were. 

Within the painting, Géricault created four groups. The lower portion of the raft, which almost spills over the frame, holds six figures in various stages of death. On the left side, the older man with a red cloth draped on his head holds his dead son's body at the edge of the raft with a look of total despair. To his right is a torso of a man added at the last minute and one of the only reminders of the cannibalism that would occur on the raft. On the right, the body of a man whose leg is trapped between the boards hangs into the sea. Just above him is a bloody axe, another grizzly reminder.

Eugène Delacroix, paid a visit to the atelier on the Rue Saint-Honoré, and after seeing the piece, he ran home through the streets, amazed and inspired.  The handsome neck you see on the dead man with his hand draped over the board is Delacroix himself, who posed for his friend.

Géricault had such a hard time painting the feet of the young dead man on the left, which sits just above the water, that he gave up and covered his feet in socks. In 1830, Delacroix would pay homage to his friend in Liberty Leading the People; you see Géricault’s influence in the lower left of the painting.  

In the center, the tight group is in a perfect pyramid presentation and looks to be trying to pull themselves up in a last-ditch effort to survive. The group under the mast is a blend of fright and hope. Three of the four figures were the actual survivors of the horrible ordeal. 

The large painting perfectly captures the fear and urgency of the effort to survive. Upon closer examination, it can evoke a range of emotions. Géricault added twenty figures when, in fact, there were only fifteen historically at the time.

In the center of the painting, the men have discovered a ship, leading your eye to the horizon and pointing it out to the others. At the top of the pyramid, the hero of the tableau is a black man. The tale of Medusa and the Machine rocked the monarchy and the government. It took down a captain and a governor and caused more distrust of those in power. While Corréard and Savigny wrote about it, it inspired Géricualt to create his own painting in revolt, but for a reason few may notice. 

The voyage to Senegal was about reestablishing France's presence in the country, but it was also about slavery. There was, in fact, a black sailor on the raft, Jean Charles, but was he the one who reached up on the barrel to signal the ship? We don’t know for sure, but Géricault was going to speak out in his own way against slavery and how France continued to take part in the slave trade at the time and add three black figures.

For each of the three figures, he used Joseph, a stunning model from Santo Domingo who arrived in Paris in 1804. In 2019, the Orsay held an exhibit titled “Le Modèle Noir”. It was amazing, and I think about that exhibit every week. Curators researched many paintings from the 18th and 19th centuries and gave us names for many of these models that, until then, were unknown. 

If you are ever in LA, find the stunning portrait of Joseph painted by Géricault at the same time as the Raft of the Medusa. 

By June 1819, Géricault had moved his painting to the Théâtre-Italien, where he finished his masterpiece in July 1819. Within a month, it would make its grand debut to the public. Few had seen the painting beyond those who modeled for it, but because of its subject matter, it was already making waves within the art world.

On August 25, 1819, the Salon opened in the Louvre and included 1305 paintings with more than 110 showcasing historical moments, battles, or figures. Traditionally, the government was the largest purchaser of works at the Salon, and historical paintings were the favorites for filling the many offices, palaces, and churches. 

The annual/bi-annual artistic salons began in the 17th century and were among the few ways for artists to display their work for purchase by the State or wealthy individuals. Beginning with the king's artists, it morphed into jury-selected artists and the famous diversion of the Impressionists. 

The Salon of 1819 was a reflection of the political climate happening in France at the end of the First Empire. The largest salon since the fall of Napoleon, his return, and the rise of the Bourbons once again would include many historical paintings. 

Géricault saw the success his fellow artists had with the genre and wanted in on the action as well as to make a statement. With the large inheritance from his grandmother, he was able to do just that. Few would take on such a large project without a commission in place. It was a risky move that wouldn’t pay off as he expected or secure the pride of placement in France until after his death. 

To submit the painting to the Salon, he renamed it “Scene of a Shipwreck” to avoid political issues or expulsion from the event.  Anyone who saw the painting, as well as the largest in the Salon, knew exactly which event it referred to.  Hanging high above the western door of the Salon Carré, leading to the Grande Galerie, it was hard to miss due to its size. As a few paintings were sold, it was moved to eye level for the last six weeks of the salon, which ended on November 30, 1819.

The painting won Géricault another gold medal but failed to get a coveted sale. Deflated and depressed, he took the painting back to his atelier 

At the beginning of the next year, Géricault was contacted by James William Bullock, who requested that the painting be a part of his exhibit at the Piccadilly in London. Bullock proposed what proved to be a very lucrative deal in the end, in which Géricault would be compensated with a portion of the ticket sales. Beginning in June 1820, the painting was seen over the next six months by tens of thousands of people, resulting in a check for 20,000 francs. More than he would have ever made by selling it to the French government. 

Bullock then took it to Dublin, where it was displayed, but it had less impact, as many people had traveled to London to see it the year before. Returning to France, Géricaut attempted to sell it a few more times, and the Louvre and government officials continued to turn it away. 

Théodore Géricault wouldn’t live much longer after he painted his masterpiece. Died at just 32 years old on January 26, 1824, after suffering from a fall from his horse (or syphilis). 

The Louvre, on behalf of the director general, Count Auguste de Forbin, purchased the painting on November 12, 1824, for 6,000, and since then it has hung in the Louvre. It was sadly 10 months after Gericault died. 

In 1859, the Louvre commissioned a copy,s. Pierre-Désiré Guillemet and Étienne-Antoine Ronjat, who can be seen today at the Picardy Museum in Amiens, created the copy.

Géricault used a substance called bitumen, which made the dark browns and blacks appear even darker. Bitumen never fully dries, so the painting could not be rolled; it would stick to itself and tear. During the evacuation of the Louvre on September 3, 1939, the large canvas traveled through Versailles on a truck used to move stage scenery. As it went through town, it struck a tram power line, knocking out power in the golden town. 

The Raft was hidden away in the Château de Chambord during the war. Since its return in 1945, it has hung on the first floor of the Denon wing in the red room of the Salle Mollien, just a few steps from the Mona Lisa. Look at all the paintings in this room, including those by Delacroix and the other Romantic artists, and see how they speak to one another. 

You can visit his tomb at the Père Lachaise and find a bronze bas-relief of the Raft done by Antoine Étex, but notice that they covered the naked, naughty parts of the gentleman falling into the water. 

The painting is also a good test of how you see the world. Which parts strike you the most? Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Do you know the hope and elation at the top, or is it the despair at the lower portion? Either way, it is a masterpiece, and I never get tired of sitting in front of it alone on an early morning before the room is filled.

As for those crates filled with gold and silver coins, they have never been found. 

Episode 25 - How the First Balloon Flights Inspired the Paris Olympic Vasque

It’s hard to do anything these days that can impress the masses and capture attention for more than 20 seconds. Companies, restaurants, and museums all want that viral moment that spreads within hours but then is forgotten just as fast. 

Paris is a bit different. Are they endlessly annoying influencers telling you a cafe covered with fake flowers is the one to go to, or just take photos at? However, there is another entirely different side of Paris. One that is tied to its deep history, running through the streets like an ancient vein of cobblestones. The French love their history and their heritage. Each September, one weekend is dedicated to the many historic buildings that open for just two days. 

So when something new appears in Paris, it will first be met with a whole lot of distrust and hatred, but if you tie it to a historic moment or idea, you have a good chance the skeptical Parisians will like it or eventually come around to saying it's at least ok. 

For the 2024 Paris Olympics, organizers had a lot of work ahead of them and, of course, very lofty goals, starting with the opening ceremonies. We aren’t going to get into the entire ceremony or the ridiculous opinions that came from it, but there was one moment at the very end that did what few things can. Capture attention and keep it, returning to it each year. 

With each Olympics, every host city wants to do its best at showcasing how unique and beautiful its city truly is. Sadly, for anyone who comes after the Paris Summer Games, you are out of luck. It will be hard to top Paris's venues and skyline. The Chateau de Versailles, as the background for the equestrian competitions, even swimming in the Seine, was pretty magical with the Eiffel Tower above. 

A few months before the opening ceremonies, we heard that the Olympic cauldron would be placed in the Jardin des Tuileries, and one day a silver balloon appeared. We didn’t know how it would all tie together until we learned, at the same time as the rest of the world, that the cauldron was lit and lifted from the center of the basin and up into the air. 

During the Olympics and the Paralympics, each night after the sun set, the balloon would rise into the air. During the day, the lucky few who were able to grab tickets fast enough got close to it, but it was still just as easy to see from anywhere in the garden, the surrounding streets, and even the terrace of the Louvre. 

The balloon was seen as such a huge success that it would be brought back each summer until the 2028 Summer Olympics in LA. Lucky for those in Paris, for the next few months, you can once again see the large silver balloon and cauldron rise from its base each night, and each day, you can walk around the base without a ticket. 

What was this amazing sorcery, and how is the flame not setting the helium-filled balloon on fire, and furthermore, why a balloon? 

French designer Mathieu Lehanneur designed the torch that carried the flame from Greece through nearly every corner of France and even to French territories in the middle of the ocean, ending in Paris on July 26, 2024. 

The 51-year-old designer opened his own atelier in 2001 and has added his creations to museums, including lighting in the Café Mollien in the Louvre, which has since been removed. His contemporary lighting and furniture with rounded corners give each piece a playful quality. 

Lehanneur designed a large helium balloon at over 75 feet in diameter, with a very special nod to history, which sits above a 23-foot-diameter ring of fire. However, it wasn’t the actual flame that encircled the ring, and couldn’t be each year after the Olympics had concluded. It was created by EDF, the French energy company, and consists of LED light beams and a water mist, making it 100% renewable and with no environmental impact. Pretty cool, huh? 

Why a balloon, you ask? Well, this is Paris, and nothing happens by chance. The heritage is taken very seriously here, and the balloon is a nod to an event that happened on December 1, 1793, in this very same spot.

But first, we need to talk about the first balloon launch that took place in front of Marie Antoinette herself. 

Picture this: it's Thursday, September 19, 1783, and just after 1 pm in the courtyard of the Chateau de Versailles, a duck, a rooster, and a sheep are loaded into and tied to a basket that hangs from the balloon. Louis XVI had heard about a new invention that could rise from the earth and into the sky, and had to see this for himself. 

The Montgolfier brothers were born into a large family of 16 kids. Their father headed up a paper and stationery company that had been in the family since the 14th century. With a bevy of siblings, Etienne and Joseph headed off to Paris to follow their own passions. 

Etienne studied architecture and called Jacques Germain Soufflot the architect of the Pantheon, a mentor.  Joseph was interested in chemistry and set up a lab in Paris until 1772, when their brother Raymond died, and the siblings were all called home to work in the family business. 

In 1782, the brothers, combining all their interests and a moment of good fortune, created the first hot-air balloon. One day, Joseph had tossed a piece of paper into the fire and watched it lift into the air above the flames. This led Joseph to create a cubed frame covered in silk, place it in his fireplace, and watch it rise up his chimney; Eureka! 

By the end of the year, the two brothers had put their heads together, and by December 1782, the first steps toward flight had begun. Various fabrics from silk to wool and paper, combined with every kind of fire fueled by manure, leather, or raw meat. 

On April 25, 1783, they hit the jackpot. A 105-cubic-foot balloon, constructed of canvas and strengthened with paper from the family biz, weighing just under 500 pounds, lifts into the air and travels 1300 feet, much to the amazement of the small crowd below. 

Night and day, they worked to perfect their design, and on June 4, 1783, a bigger balloon was flown and stayed aloft for 10 minutes, traveling a mile and a half. Word spread quickly throughout the scientific community and reached Versailles and the attention of the king himself. 

Louis XVI might have been the one man in the royal lineage who never wanted to take the throne. Louis was happiest taking clocks apart, looking at large maps, plotting navigational routes, and playing with locks and keys. He was a bit of a nerd, and I mean that as a compliment. When word reached Louis of this amazing feat of flying, he needed to see it for himself. 

Much to the delight of the Montgolfier brothers, who needed funding to take their project even higher, no pun intended. The two were invited to Versailles to present the flying balloon to the king himself. 

Of course, the brothers decided they needed to create a new, larger balloon. With this, the shape of the hot air balloon we know today was created. The brothers called upon their friend Jean-Baptiste Réveillion, the owner of the Royal Manufacture of Wallpaper, to assist in creating the new, larger balloon. 

Over 1000 m3, it was tested on September 11, a week before their date with the king. It was a success, but not so fast; the rain had other ideas. Much like the same thing that happened 243 years later on the Pont Neuf to the JR structure, the wind and rain ripped apart the balloon. 

A date was set with the king for September 19; a new balloon had to be created in less than a week; the previous one had taken two months. This was also the perfect time to go even bigger on the balloon at 1400 m3. 

The big day arrived. There in the courtyard of the Chateau de Versailles before Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, and a few thousand of their friends, the Montgolfier brothers watched their balloon lift into history. 

On September 19, 1783, at 1:11 pm, with the precious cargo tied into a basket, the balloon lifted and traveled almost 2000 feet, and in eight minutes, traveled north 3 ½ kilometers to the carrefour de Maréchal in the nearby Bois de Vaucresson. A rip in the balloon brought the trio down, and to the surprise of everyone, completely unharmed, for the most part. 

The world's first astronauts were given a hero's return to the chateau and placed in the royal menagerie, where they lived out a very lavish life. Although some bystanders said the duck’s beak was broken from the sheep sitting on it. 

Physician Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier was on hand that day and was the first to see the three thriving animals for himself. The next step was to fly a human, and the physician was the first to raise his hand. 

A larger balloon was designed, and this time they covered it with wallpaper decorated with a motif fit for Versailles. On a blue background, gold intertwined L’s, the cipher of the Bourbon Louis’s, as well as the symbols of the zodiac, eagles, and of course, the sun of Louis XIV.

The first test was held on October 15th, rising 85 feet and remaining aloft for over 4 minutes. 

On October 19, on the Rue de Montreuil in the Folie Titon park of the Révillon manufactory, the first human, Pilâtre de Rozier, was launched 266 feet from the ground, this time tethered. Later that same day, André Giroud de Villette joined the good doctor and remained aloft for almost 10 minutes. 

After final approval from Louis XVI himself, the first non-tethered launch took place on November 21, 1783, from the Château de la Muette outside Paris. The king wanted to use convicted criminals for the first flight in case it ended in death, but was convinced by his advisors that it would be safe. 

The balloon not only stayed in the air, but it also quietly traveled over the Jardin des Tuileries and the city itself. Can you imagine the surprise people below would have if they were unaware of the event? For 5 ½ miles, it crossed Paris, landing SE of Paris in Butte-aux-Cailles. 

The Montgolfier Brothers would cement their place in history and science, so much so that Montgolfière is the French word for Hot Air Balloon.  Joseph would live until 1810 and be awarded the Legion of Honor by Napoleon and named to the Academy of Science. Sadly, Etienne died in 1799, but would have been given the same honors had he lived long enough. What would these two fellows think now?

As for the first man to travel into the air, Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier, he became obsessed. On June 23, 1784, Rozier returned to Versailles to fly in an even larger balloon christened La Marie Antoinette. Alongside chemist Joseph Louis Proust and in front of Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI, and guest King Gustavus III of Sweden, the two took to the sky. This time, they reached beyond the clouds, 9800 feet above the earth, and disappeared from view. In less than an hour, they traveled 32 miles before running out of fuel and dropping near the forest of Chantilly. 

Rozier’s need for speed or height would be his undoing. Bolstered by successful launches, he now wanted to cross the English Channel. On June 15, 1785, with physicist Pierre-Ange Romain, in a specially designed balloon that sat on a column to hold enough fuel for the crossing. Shortly after takeoff, strong winds blew them back over land, and the balloon lost its air and crashed to the earth.  The first man to travel into the air was also the first man to die in the pursuit of flight. 

While the Montgolfier brothers were presenting their creations before the king and queen of France, two other brothers were nipping at their heels. 

 Physicist Jacques Charles created the first hydrogen-filled balloon, which is fourteen times lighter than air. Working with brothers Ann-Jean & Nicolas Robert, a silk balloon coated in rubber was constructed in the Place des Victoires. On December 1, 1783, from close to the very spot where we find the Olympic Vasque today, Jacques Charles and Nicolas Robert took off and floated 27 miles while more than 400,000 people watched, including Benjamin Franklin. 

The 2024 Olympics, held in Paris, did a beautiful job of melding the games with the city's backdrop and a heavy dose of history. In Paris, you are constantly rubbing shoulders with history, even if you aren’t paying attention. Marble plaques attached to buildings share the story of a past figure that lived there, or a historic moment that occurred, or even mark the spot where someone died in the fight to free Paris during the Liberation of 1944. 

Everything in Paris has a story; it’s what gets me out of bed every morning hours before the sun rises. I love to find those deep connections between what we see today and how it came to be.  

This is the same as what can be found in the story of the balloon in the Tuileries, but it doesn’t end with the first balloon flights that occurred from and over the garden; it is also in the exact spot at which the balloon vasque sits today. 

The balloon is situated over the round eastern basin of the Tuileries, which sits on the invisible line that runs through Paris, known as the Axe Historique. The Jardin des Tuileries was created under Catherine de Medici in the 16th century and attached to her palace, which once stood at the end of the Louvre. Garden architect Pierre le Nôtre was tasked with designing a garden that would include a grotto, vegetables, and endless beds of flowers, all for her enjoyment. 

The garden would evolve in the 17th century under Louis XIV and Pierre’s grandson, André Le Nôtre, who would add the quintessential French design of geometric lines.  

As the king liked to escape to the countryside to his place of birth in Saint-Germain-en-Laye, he asked Le Nôtre to extend the view from the Palais du Louvre through the garden and to the top of the hill. We know it as the Champs-Élysées. 

While the axis dates to the 17th century, it was in the 19th century that monuments were added along the line, linking history forever, and finally anchored in 1989. 

Today, the axis begins at the Musée du Louvre. Off-center from the Pyramid of IM Pei (listen to episode 16 for more) is a statue originally designed by Bernini for Louis XIV and finished in 1684. Louis hated it and hid it in the farthest corner of Versailles until he had François Girardon redesign the Sun King into a Roman hero. 

While IM Pei was finishing the Pyramid and the Cour Napoléon, a copy of the redesigned statue was created in lead as the original was too fragile to move.  Upon arrival, IM Pei placed it SW of the Pyramid, which may look a bit odd, until you realize it is the beginning of the Axis line. 

Louis XIV rides his trusty steed and looks as if he is ready to head out for the weekend to one of his many countryside estates. From this spot on a clear day, or better yet, from the window of the former bedroom of Henri II on the first floor of the Louvre look west to the outskirts of Paris. 

From Louis, we see the Arc du Triomphe du Carrousel, commissioned by Napoleon and built in 1808. More on that soon. The line runs through the central path of the Arc's garden and to the Olympic balloon, cementing its place in history, even if only temporarily.  

Continuing through the Tuileries, the Place de la Concorde, and the 13th-century Luxor Obelisk, a gift from Egypt to France in 1830, and erected in 1836. The golden triangle on the top of the obelisk is easy to spot over the trees of the garden from inside the Louvre. 

Continue down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées to the crowning monument of the Arc de Triomphe. The big brother of the Carrousel was imagined by Napoleon, but he never saw it completed. Finished by Louis-Philippe in 1836 and is still dedicated to the glory of the great soldiers of France, many of whom had given their lives for the country. 

From there, the line extends along Avenue Charles de Gaulle and ends outside Paris, in the business district of La Défense, at the Arc de la Défense. Inaugurated in 1989.

As for the Cauldron, it returned this summer and will return one more time in 2027. Maybe it will return in the future; it is a rather beloved addition to Paris's skyline.

The Jardin des Tuileries opens to the public each morning at 7 am, but it can easily be seen without entering the garden. 

You can watch it rise again each night at sunset, and it stays high above the city until 2 am. It will rise 197 feet into the air until September 14th.  

Hours through July 31, garden closes at 9:30 pm, vasque rises at 10:30 pm

                          August: garden closes at 8:30 pm, vasque rises at 9:30 pm

  September 1-14, the garden closes at 7:30 pm, and Vasque rises at 8:30 pm 

Unfortunately, the Vasque isn’t designed for people or sheep, but you can travel by air for a fantastic view of Paris. 

In the Parc André Citron in the 15th near the Seine and not far past the Eiffel Tower is the Ballon Generali that offers tethered visits 150 meters into the Parisian sky for 16 to 20 euros 

https://ballondeparis.com

Episode 24 - The Affair of the Poisons

In the late 17th century, all of Paris and the court of Versailles were embroiled in the Poison Affair, and few were immune to its reach, including the Sun King.

It all began in 1662 when a gentleman named Godin de Sainte-Croix began an affair with Marie-Madeline Dreux d’Aubray. Marie-Madeline was born on July 22, 1630, in Paris to a very influential family.  Her father served in the military, and her mother, Marie Olier, was the brother of Jean-Jacques Olier, who created the Society of Saint Sulpice. 

The oldest of five children, her mother died shortly after giving birth to her youngest brother in 1637. Just 7 years at the time of her passing, her father expected her to help with her siblings and be in charge of the house. At the same age, she was raped by a neighbor, and at 10, she began to have sexual relations with her two younger brothers up to three times a week. 

Thankfully, she was able to escape the family due to her substantial dowry, and at the old age of 21 on December 20, 1651, in the Église Saint Eustache, Marie-Madeline married Antoine Gobelin, Marquis de Brinvilliers. Descendant of the family that made their money in fabric dying and tapestry. The building and the manufacturing still hold their name today. 

The marriage resulted in three children, and Antoine already had 4 illegitimate ones that she was to care for when he was away as commander of the Regime of Auvergne.  They had a high standing in the Marais, where they lived, and held parties and salons that everyone wanted to attend. Although it all began to quickly slip away due to Antoine’s constant gambling, leading him to make a break for it and eventually flee France and his many creditors. 

In 1662, Marie-Madeline was aware of her husband's infidelity as well as his gambling, and began to separate her own family money from him. One evening, her husband invited a fellow soldier to their home. Jean Baptiste Godin de Saint-Croix and Marie Madeline began quite the affair shortly after their introduction, around the same time her husband fled in the dark of night.

The two lovers did not hide their affair. Once her father learned of the relationship, he had Godin locked up in the Bastille for three months in 1663, an action that would lead to his own death. While there, Godin met Egidio Exili, who was in the Bastille for poisoning the sister-in-law of Pope Innocent X, Olympia Maidalchina, in Rome. 

Godin was already fascinated by chemistry and poisons, and Exili taught him all he needed to know about creating tasteless, odorless poisons that could not be detected and would cause a quick death. Exili told him, upon his release, to visit Christopher Glasser, a master chemist at the Jardin Royale des Plantes, to get everything he needed. 

A prison stint couldn’t keep these two apart, and as soon as he was released, he was once again at her side and teaching her everything he had learned in the Bastille. 

Godin lived at no 5 Rue Hautefeuille, the Hotel des Abbes de Fécamp, they were a short walk to the garden to get their supplies. The two would test out their poisons mixed in with sweet cakes and take them to the patients of the Hotel Dieu, where they would track the symptoms, dosage, and length of discomfort before their victims’ deaths. Killing numerous people in their research just for the thrill of it. It is not known just how many were killed, but the list could be quite long. 

Marie-Madeline took what she learned and tried it out on her father on September 10, 1666, killing him, and a few years later, in 1670, her two brothers, Antoine and Francois, and a sister were also victims of her potions.  Although their fractured relationship after years of abuse left them a bit distrustful of her.  Marie Madeline was able to place a trusted footman, Jean Amelin de la Chaussée, into their household to slowly poison and kill her brothers. The death of her sister followed later,  as a way to knock out all obstructions to get to her full inheritance. 

Saint-Crox also became concerned for his own life and began to document and make note of her actions, and even take evidence of her crimes and lock it all away in a red leather box. A note was left that if anything was ever to happen to him before she herself died, to go look inside the red box. Unfortunately for Marie-Madeleine, he died of natural causes on July 31, 1672, and it set off the Affair of the Poisons. 

Upon his death, he left a long list of creditors seeking payment and demanded that the king intervene. A search was authorized of his property, and the note was discovered a week after his death on August 8. His trusted valet, Jean Amilin de La Chaussée, was brought in for questioning, and he corroborated all the mysterious evidence in the red box. His actions led to his own demise when he was sentenced to death and killed on March 24, 1673.

After the death of Saint Croix and the discovery of his letters, Marie quickly left for London and eventually frequently moved throughout northern France, but was finally caught in 1676 in Liege, Belgium.  Charged with murder in absentia in 1673, a few determined investigators kept looking for her. One even dressed up as a priest and infiltrated the convent and waited for his moment to arrest her and bring her back to Paris on April 17, 1676. 

On April 26, the questioning and torture began. At first, she pleaded her innocence, although a letter in her own hand was filled with her endless admissions to crimes. Her torture included “water cure,” pouring gallons of water from a tube into her mouth that could often end in a quick death. Think of a beer bong without an off switch.  She admitted to killing her brother and father 

A second trial began on April 29 and culminated on July 14, with Madame de Sévigné in the front row, taking notes on everything that was said. Sevigne, the lady of letters we covered before, was born in 1626 in the Place des Vosges. Spending time at the court of Versailles, her daughter, Françoise, could have been a victim if she had spent any more time under the watchful gaze of Louis XIV. Francoise married Francoise de Grignan and left Paris on April 19, 1678, thereby beginning the letters that would document all of Parisian society. 

It was discovered in 1669 that Marie-Madeliene attempted to kill Jean-Baptiste Colbert twice, on February 18 and again on May 5. He was a close member of the court of Louis XIV and chief minister of state, but this was nothing compared to what his court at Versailles would soon endure. 

When Henriette of England, wife of Philippe I, Duc d’Orleans, and brother of Louis XIV, died on June 30, 1670, it is believed that the poison came from Marie-Madeline. A glass of Chicory was given to Henriette by the Knight of Lorraine, who was also the lover of her husband and wanted her out of the way. Later that day, she died at just 26 years old. Upon her death, her autopsy revealed that she died from suspicious causes. 

The entire ordeal captured the attention of all of Paris. The day's documenter, Madame de Sévigné, gives us the most detailed account. “Assassination is the safest; it is a trifle compared to the eight months of  killing her father and receiving all his caresses and sweetness, where she always responds with doubling the dose.” Alexander Dumas also noted all the details of the trial and used them in his books. 

The Torture of Marie Madeline de Brinvillers Jean-Baptiste Cariven

On July 16, 1676, Marie Madeline met her final fate on the Place de Grève, now Place de l'Hôtel de Ville. Beheaded and burned on a stake, her ashes were tossed into the Paris wind. Sévigné said that “Never has the city been so aroused, so intent on a spectacle”. She also remarked that Paris had now inhaled her evil and that it would return in the next seven years. 

As Marie-Madeline was taken the short way to her death, she said: “Out of so many people, must I be the only one to be put to death? Half the people in Paris are involved in this sort of thing, and I could ruin them if I were to talk”.   When news reached the king, he ordered an investigation. Louis XIV appointed Gabriel Nicolas de la Reynie, the lieutenant general of the police, to create a group to look into the allegations. He never knew how close to home it would get. 

Reynie first went to every alchemist in and around Paris, which led him to poisoners, and in no time, he was at the door of Catherine Deshayes Monvoisin. 

Catherine was born in 1640 and married Antoine Monvoisin, a Parisian jeweler. They had one daughter, Marie-Marguerite, who would later turn against her mother. Catherine was first just a palm reader and fortune teller, but that quickly led to being a potion and poison maker and performing abortions. 

Aphrodisiacs were her gateway drug. Providing for the many women of society used to arouse their spouses. Made with everything from chocolate to cocaine, cloves, and cannabis, and turned into a paste that could be rubbed on their intended love interest.

Gabriel-Nicolas de La Reynie by Pierre Mignard

Madame Monvoisin developed quite a fan base, and women of all ranks of society lined up at her door each day.  Her practice began to expand into the darker arts. One of the most horrific acts during this time was the Black Mass, a practice that had been around for centuries but was given a name in the 17th century. Another woman who loved to dabble in the occult world, Catherine de Medici, was known to hold a Black Mass on May 28, 1574. During the time of the Poison Affair, a former priest, Etienne Guibourg, revived the practice in Paris with Monvoisin in 1673. It is not for the faint of heart to hear, and the practice involves the killing of a baby, which Monvoisin was never short of. 

In 1658, Madame de Montespan was a lady-in-waiting to Henriette d’Angleterre, the wife of the king's brother Philippe d’Orleans. The beautiful Henriette and Louis XIV had a very close relationship, sharing an affection for music, parties, and the finer things in life. The TV show Versailles depicts the two in a very, very close relationship; however, there hasn’t been any proof they two were also sexually involved. 

Madame de Montespan

Henriette died June 30, 1670, at 26 years old, of suspicious causes still contested to this day. At the time, it was imagined to be a poisoning orchestrated by the lover of her husband or Montespan herself. 

Montespan had her eyes on the king, but needed to befriend  Louise de la Valliere, the current headmistress. When Louise and Queen Marie Therese were pregnant by the king at the same time, the queen asked Montespan to dine with the king each evening. It was sending the fox into the hen house, and after the birth of the king's illegitimate child, Louise left the court as Montespan moved into her place. 

La Voisin and Montespan first met in 1665, when she asked for a love potion to use on the king to attract his attention. The affair between the king and Montespan began in May 1667. Over the next eleven years, she gave birth to seven children with the king, all but one of whom survived to adulthood. In the final years, Montespan became a  little rounder around the edges, and the king turned his eyes to some of the younger members at court. 

Living in the glowing rays of the Sun King always came to an end for any of his mistresses, and Montespan wasn’t going to go quietly. 

The Black Mass became well known throughout Paris after Monvoisin’s arrest, and everyone would learn the truth about her most famous client. In 1672, Guibourg and La Voisin, as she came to be known, found an empty chateau near Orleans and François de Rochechouart de Mortemart, the Madame de Montespan. Montespan lay on a stone slab, completely naked, with her arms out like a cross and holding a candle in each hand. Guibourg placed a silver chalice on her belly and above her, holding a baby that would bleed into the chalice. 

Montespan had to chant, “Asmodée, prince of love, I beg you to accept the sacrifice of this child in exchange, I would keep the king’s affection, the favor of the princesses of the court, and the satisfaction of all desires.”  The ritual was held three times: in 1673, 1677, and 1679. Her sexual relationship with the king ended in 1678, and she remained at court for her children until it all came crashing down after March 17, 1769. 

On a sunny afternoon, La Voisin was walking out of the church and was arrested by Reynie. Although she was quite adept at the dark arts, she was also a very devoted member of the church and a high priestess. Believing her powers and actions were bestowed upon her by God, she easily walked away with the Lieutenant, thinking she had done nothing wrong. Her abilities were widely known, and every morning, people lined up outside her door to see her for one of many reasons.  

At the time, women had little to no rights, especially over their own bodies, and were happy to pay her for fortunes or alleviate a pregnancy, making her a very wealthy woman. 

An inspection of her home on Rue Beauregard in the 2nd, authorized by her daughter, found more than 2500 babies buried in her backyard. 

The court of the Chambre Ardente was held in the Arsenal in front of 13 magistrates interrogating hundreds of prisoners. Experts, including doctors, were on hand to help delve into the chemistry, poison terminology, and evidence. The windows were covered with dark cloth, as all of Paris watched day and night for a glimpse of the men and women being brought in. 

The investigation, known as the Chambre Ardente, lasted over three years and resulted in a significant outcome. 442 people were accused, of which 319 were subpoenaed, 194 were arrested, and 36 were executed, and twice as many committed suicides. 

Among these were a few closely associated with La Voisin.  Françoise Filastre was arrested in 1680 and confirmed the involvement of Etienne Guibourg and the Black Masses. Francoise was sentenced to life in prison and died in 1686, but her testimony would lead to the incrimination of Montespan. After Voisin’s arrest, Montespan had contacted Filastre to supply her with poison to use at court. 

Françoise de Dreux was of noble birth and married to a high-ranking member of the Parliament of Paris. However, she was in love with Armand Jean de Vignerot du Plessis, the duc de Richelieu, and she killed her husband so she could be with her lover.  Arrested and brought to trial for another man, M. Pajot, she was accused of also ordering the poison to kill her lover’s wife, Anne de Richelieu. She was later acquitted, but another woman would bring it all back to light. 

Margurite Joly was just as skilled and successful as La Voisin. Arrested, she was subject to water torture and gave up the names of many of her clients, including François de Dreux, who thought she was in the clear. Dreux was going to be arrested, but managed to flee France before she could be found. 

Marguerite Leféron was the wife of a judge whom she didn’t like very much. She, like Dreux, killed her husband so she could marry her lover, De Prade. De Prade was only after her money, and so she needed to kill him as well.  She was arrested and exiled, but not everyone went to the stake. 

Marie Brosse, La Brosse, was known as the first poisoner arrested in the roundup and pointed her finger at La Voisin. One night at a party after a bit too much wine, La Brosse bragged to everyone how much money she had due to selling poison to many women in Paris who wanted to kill their husbands or lovers. Someone at the party reported it back to Reynie, and Brosse was arrested, as well as her daughter and sons. Marie met her fate on the Place de Greve on May 8, 1679. 

Marguerite de Poulailon obtained poison from Marie Brosse to kill her husband, Alexandre de Pouaillon, but he survived and was able to hand her over to the police. Her beauty saved her from the same fate as many of the other women, and when Reynie heard of her lenient sentence of exile, he stepped in and had her sent to work at a holding house for former prostitutes in Angers, where she would spend the rest of her life. 

The court of the Chambre 

In 1678, the investigation was pointing in many directions to Louis XIV and the court of Versailles. Evidence mounted, and it was discovered that Louis XIV had been poisoned for 13 years. The Sun King ordered Reynie to only make notes on unattached paper so it could be destroyed.  

On July 13, 1709, 29 volumes of evidence were destroyed in a fire. Much of it against Montespan, but we have all the notes of Madame de Sévignè and the files of Reynie are still held in the Prefecture of Paris. 

Versailles season 2 is all about the Poison Affair, loosely based on the facts, but fun nonetheless. The character Madame Agathe serves the role that would have been closer to La Voisin. 

Episode 9. Black Mass  

Listen to the full episode here on Apple, Spotify or YouTube

Episode 23 - The Birth of a Legend and the Woman Behind the Mona Lisa

She is the most famous painting in the world, and everyone has an opinion of her. Are there better paintings in the Louvre? Sure, but she also deserves every bit of fame she has garnered for many reasons. Sadly, because of the chaos that surrounds her, you aren’t able to truly appreciate her the way you might other paintings.

Is she overrated, as found in an online poll a few years ago? Well, maybe a little, but you need to know her entire story and the reason why she is so famous, and also the reason she is revolutionary in the world of art. Over the next few months, I will share her story from every angle possible, and at the end, you can let me know if you still think she is overrated. I guarantee you will change your tune. 

Years ago, I wanted to know more about the theft of the painting itself in 1911, which I will share in August, and it led me deep down the rabbit hole of all things Lisa, as just about everything I do does. 

Today, we start with the story of the woman herself. 

Who is the woman behind the most famous painting in the world? Was she the mistress of Giuliano de’ Medici? Leonardo da Vinci in drag? A wealthy woman of the Renaissance and friend to the artists? Or was she a Florentine woman and wife of a wealthy silk & wool merchant? 

It is one of the greatest questions in art history, right up there with why she is famous in the first place. 

You know this lady as La Joconde or as the Mona Lisa. 

She hangs in the Musée du Louvre and every day, more than 25,000 people visit to snap a selfie and remark how small she is, but few realize she was a real person. Many don’t even know why they have to run up the marble steps, barely looking at Winged Victory on the way to take a picture and check Lisa off the list. 

On Tuesday morning, June 15, 1479,  Lisa di Antonio Gherardini was born in Florence at the corner of Via Maggio and Via Sguazza, not far from the Palazzo Pitti of the Medicis. 

The Gherardinis were the typical Florentine family. They lived in the heart of the city, came from well-known and established families, and attended church regularly. Her father, Antonmaria, came from a long line of wool merchants and had been married twice before meeting Lisa’s mother, Lucrezia del Caccia. His first two wives died tragically during childbirth,  

Lucrezia del Caccia was born in 1454 and was fifteen years younger than her husband. At twenty-five, she was practically an old maid. Lucrezia came from a well-off family that owned a prosperous wool business as well as farms and property in Chianti. Six more children would follow, and she also outlived her husband by just a year.

Hours after her birth, Lisa was wrapped up and taken in a long procession across the Arno River for her baptism at San Giovanni. Lisa di Antonio Marie Gherardini was named after her paternal grandmother, and her birth was recorded on a warm Tuesday afternoon in Florence. Little did her parents know that someday her name would be spoken around the world.

The building she was born in is now gone, but a plaque marks the address. 

In 1494, the large Gherandini family moved to the other side of the Arno near Santa Croce, a move that would place her in the center of her destiny. Residing between via del Pepi and via Ghibellina, her father met their new neighbors, the Giocondos. 

Francesco del Giocondo was born on March 19, 1465. The Giocondo family was also in the wool and silk business in Florence and owned multiple workshops in and around Florence. He had been married once or even twice before; the paperwork is a bit murky, and he lost both wives during childbirth, just like Lisa’s father. His first wife, Camilla, had a son, Bartolomeo, on February 24, 1493, but died on July 24, 1494, while delivering their second child; neither survived.

Eight months later, on March 5, 1495, at age 15, Lisa married the son of their neighbor, Francesco del Giocondo. The marriage ceremony in 15th-century Florence was a bit different from what it is today. It began with a “ring day,” when the bride would be taken to her future husband's home for the evening. If she spent the night, it was a successful match, and the next day her dowry would be transferred to her husband. Two days later, a wedding ceremony was held in the church with the entire town in attendance. 

Arno river in Florence

A year later, they welcomed their first son, Piero, on May 24, 1496, quickly followed by a daughter, Piera, on May 5, 1497. Four more children followed: Camilla in 1499, Marietta in 1500, Andrea in 1502, and finally Giocondo in 1507. Sadly, only three survived to adulthood. 

The Giocondos lived between Lisa’s parents and a gentleman named Ser Piero da Vinci.  Ser Piero, notary, called the Medici family a client as well as Antonmaria Gherardini and Francesco del Giocondo. Ser Piero came from a long line of notaries dating back to the 13th century. Born in April 1426 and following in his grandfather's footsteps, he worked in Vinci and traveled between Pisa and Florence. 

On one particularly hot July night in 1451, Piero met a young Caterina di Meo Lippi. She was 15 at the time, shocking today, but the normal age to be married or bear a child back then. The result of this hot summer night was the birth of one of the greatest artists of the Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci, on April 15, 1452.  

Piero didn’t marry the young mother, but his parents would take care of her and then little Leo once he was born. The union and result of that night was never anything shameful; the da Vinci family was very open about it and even helped with a dowry for Caterina to marry after the birth. Piero would eventually marry four times and have 11 more children. 

Ser Piero shared an office in Florence on the Via Ghibellina starting as early as 1449. Traveling between the Tuscan cities until finally settling with his large family just a few doors down from his office in March 1480. 

Between 1484 and 1497, Ser Piero served as referee and notary for Francesco and his brothers, a role he often filled within the family. He also worked for the Basilica of the Santissima Annunziata, where Francesco del Giocondo and his wife were frequent guests.

In the Spring of 1500, Leonardo arrived in Florence. His father’s house was clearly busting at the seams with children, and he stayed instead at the Annunziata. A place of worship, a convent, and also served as a hotel for visiting members of the church. Leonardo would have stayed until the autumn of 1501, when he was also going to paint a fresco within the church. It was during this time that the del Giocondos met Leonardo. 

Leonardo was 51 years old and had completed the Last Supper in Milan just a few years before. Traveling between Tuscan towns, he was asked frequently to take on portrait commissions and turned them down. Even Isabella d’Este, the first lady of the Renaissance who amassed a large collection of art, some of which is in the Louvre including one that was the first target of Peruggia on that steamy summer night in August 1911, more on that in two months. Even with Isabella’s money and clout, he turned her request down. 

Francesco del Giocondo climbed the ranks of society. Appointed to the consul of the silk guild, he became a civil servant and was elected to one esteemed post after another from 1499 to 1512. It is also thought that with Francesco’s connections, he helped facilitate the commission for the fresco of the Battle of Anghiari in the Palazzo Vecchio. Awarded in 1504, the fresco was fraught with issues, and he abandoned the project in 1505. Nothing survives today. 

In turn, Leonardo da Vinci agreed to paint a portrait of his wife Lisa. He must have caught Leo on a good day. 

Leonardo began painting Lisa in February 1503, a little over two months after the birth of her last daughter, Andrea. For days on end, the lovely Lisa sat in front of him with her right arm over her left, turned slightly, and looked straight ahead. To keep Lisa entertained, Leonardo brought in a band of musicians, entertainers, and jesters, giving her a little smile, which is also the most notable and talked about characteristic of the painting. 

A portrait of that size was rarely seen. Normally, they were much smaller, which is ironic because one of the most common responses to seeing her is that she is “smaller than people expect”. 

Leonardo worked on the painting for four or five years before he set it aside. 

Da Vinci liked to “meditate” on his paintings, work a little on a painting, then take a break to ponder what he would do next. So it wasn’t out of the norm that the painting of Lisa wasn’t finished.

During this period, Francesco ran into a bit of a problem. The Medici family was under attack, and Francesco was under suspicion of working for the exiled family. Arrested and tossed into prison until the Medici returned and bailed him out. 

Francesco never paid Da Vinci for the portrait. 

Years went by, and tragedy struck the family. Another son, Giocondo, was born on December 20, 1507, and survived only 19 days. Their daughter, Camille, entered the convent at 12 years old in 1511 and died on January 18, 1518. Worried for their lone surviving daughter, Marietta, born November 11, 1500, they took her to the nearby Sant’Orsolo convent. 

The Sant’Orsolo was the Ivy League of convents. Only the women of the top notch of society could enter as members. The family had to pay for their lodging, food, and anything else they needed throughout their lives. Marietta became Sister Ludovica on October 20, 1521, and lived there until her death in 1579. It would also become the final home of our Lisa. 

It is thought that Francesco contracted the plague and died in March 1538. He was interred in a family vault in the Santissima Annunziata. In his will, he left everything to his children; only three had outlived him, including Sister Ludovica. Lisa’s dowry was returned to her, as was the custom, and all her clothing and jewelry were hers to keep. She was placed in the care of his first son, Bartolomeo, whom Lisa adopted after their marriage, and Piero. 

Not much is known about the last years of Lisa's life. After her husband's death, she moved into the Casa Grande with her son Piero. In her final year, the convent of Sant’Orsolo (Saint Ursula) would be her home alongside her daughter. 

Lisa never saw the unfinished painting that would make her a household name worldwide. She died in the convent on July 14, 1542. The cause of death is unknown. 

Recently, in September 2025, in the San Lorenzo area of Florence, a monumental discovery was unearthed. The convent of Sant’Orsola dates back to the 15th century. In 1810, Napoleon had the convent closed for many years, and during WWII it served as a tobacco factory. In the 1980s, it was purchased by the Italian Ministry of Finance and is currently being restored. 

Less than a year ago, beneath reinforced concrete poured in the 1980s, a series of tombs was uncovered, including the tomb thought to be that of Lisa Giocondo. A few fragments of bone remain; the skull is missing, and it's unclear whether they can extract any DNA. We do know that on July 15, 1542, Lisa was interred here in the convent, not in the family vault with her husband. 

How do we know the painting is in fact Lisa Giocondo? It’s a question historians and researchers have asked for over 500 years. The first mention of the portrait painting and its connection to Lisa was written years after the deaths of Leonardo and Lisa.  

Florentine artist, architect, and writer Giorgio Vasari wrote one of the most definitive guides to the artists of the Renaissance. Published in 1550,  Lives of the Most Excellent Italian Architects, Painters and Sculptors from Cimabue until our Time.  It was a series of multiple books and editions covering the greatest artists of the time.  The second edition was released in 1568, and the da Vinci chapter was greatly updated. Multiple sources, many close to Da Vinci himself, provided information, but the original description of the Mona Lisa is still used today as the certified account, although Vasari never actually saw the painting in Da Vinci's atelier.

His account describes the painting: 

“Seeing that the eyes had that luster and watery shine which are always seen in life, and around them were all the vivid rosy tints of the skin, as well as the eyelashes, which cannot be done without the greatest subtlety. The eyebrows, through his having shown the manner in which the hairs arise from the flesh, where more thick and where more sparse, and curved following the pores of the skin, could not be more natural. The nose, with its beautiful nostrils, rosy and tender, seemed to be alive. The mouth, with its cleft and its ends united by the red of the lips to the flesh-tints of the face, truly seemed to be not pigments but flesh.”

His account came from the subject's family members, as well as other artists who saw the painting between its creation and 1550. 

One detail many notice today is that she doesn’t have eyebrows. What changed between this first account and today? In the last few years, Lisa has undergone multiple X-rays and wavelengths of light that have uncovered even more secrets and maybe a few answers. More on that in another episode soon, or we will be here all day.

In 1508, Leonardo carried the painting with him to Milan, then to Rome in 1513, and finally to France, where he spent the last years of his life. 

On December 9, 1515, Francois I arrived in Bologna to meet with Leo X after his recapture of Milan. This was the moment that a young French king met the Italian artist. At the time, Leonardo’s benefactors were falling out of power, and he needed to make a change.

Francois, I had asked in December 1515 if he wanted to move to France, but Leonardo declined.  By the summer of 1516, Leonardo changed his mind and accepted the king’s generous offer of a palace to live in, money, and anything he needed. 

On August 12, 1516, at 64 years old, Leonardo, with his assistants Francesco Melzi, Salai, as well as Ambassador Pallavicini and Battista de Vilanis, departed Rome for the long voyage to France. Nothing survives to this day that records the exact route or the trip's notes, but there are many theories about the path from Italy. 

The 270 km journey from Rome to Florence took 9 days on foot, with about 30 km per day. Staying in Florence for a few days to say goodbye to friends and family before moving on to Bologna and Castelnovo, another 220 km.  By September 6, the group had arrived in Milan and remained there for two weeks, during which Leonardo worked on the plans for the Sforza Castle. The castle wall had been destroyed by the Swiss army, and François asked Leonardo to redesign it. 

From Milan, the route gets very murky. Many historians over the last 500 years have proposed different ideas. Traveling in the fall, the snow began to fall, and some of the routes would have been treacherous for even a young man. Possible ideas include traveling through Switzerland, and one sketch has survived of a bridge over the River Rhone. The lakeside wonderland of Annecy is also a possible option. Some reports state that Leonardo rode on the back of a mule for the 1500 to 2000 km journey, others that he was carried in a chair by his two assistants. 

Packed in his bag were three paintings. Saint John the Baptist, Sainte Anne, and the Mona Lisa. As Leonardo liked to “meditate” on his paintings and also drift between mechanical sketches and his other pursuits, he took forever to finish anything. 

Some researchers believe the background landscape was inspired by his travels through the Alps, but any notes supporting that were destroyed during the French Revolution. 

On October 28, 1516, Leonardo and crew arrived at the Chateau d'Amboise to the delight of François I. Just a few weeks after Ambassador Pallavicini died of the plague, the traveling companions were all put into quarantine. Leonardo hadn’t added to his journal until a month later, at the end of November. 

The King gave his beloved artist the nearby Château de Clos-Lucé, just a short walk away. He even created an underground tunnel linking the two together so he could visit Leonardo anytime. 

Francois I was born on September 12, 1494, and was never destined to be king of France. After his father’s death, his mother, Louis de Savoy, contacted her husband's cousin, King Louis XII, and moved the family to the Palais du Louvre. Without an heir to the throne, the two decided to marry their children and named Francois I as the heir to the throne. Claude de France married Francois I in Saint Germain-en-Laye on May 18, 1514. On January 1, 1515, Louis XII died, and Francois became King of France at 20 years old. 

François I's mother, Louis de Savoy, loved the Italian Renaissance, and at a very early age, he was raised with a love of the arts. Known as the Père et Restaurateur des Lettres (father and restorer of letters), this was no doubt due to the influence of his mother. As soon as he took the throne in 1515, he headed off to Italy, where he enjoyed the lavish meals and art. 

Up until Francois I, the kings didn’t have much of an adoration for art, and only a scattering of paintings decorated the medieval castles, but that was all about to change. I think of Francois as the Father of Art for France, the man who loved it so much that he brought Leonardo da Vinci back to France and began the collection that would later become the building blocks of the Musée du Louvre. 

Leonardo da Vinci was only the first of the many artists who would move from Italy to France. The King also invited painter Niccolo Machiavelli, Michelangelo, the architect Sebastiano Serlio, and goldsmith Benicento Cellini. While living in France, Leonardo spent more time on party planning and costume designs for the King than on painting. At times, he picked up his brushes to work on the three paintings he brought with him, but in the last three years of his life, he spent little time with the canvas. 

On May 2, 1519, Leonardo da Vinci took his last breath. Died of a stroke at 67 years old. He was long thought to have died in the arms of Francois I, as depicted in many paintings in the Musée du Louvre and the Petit Palais. The king and the artist were great friends, and he believed Leonardo to be the smartest man in the world and often called him father. At the time of the death, the King was in Saint-Germain-en-Laye and would not have been at the master’s bedside, but it was a nice thought. 

Leonardo changed his will just 10 days before his death on April 23, 1519, leaving all his works to Melzi, including the three paintings. His close assistant and “servant”, Gian Giacomo Caprotti, known as Salai, also had numerous paintings and sketches in his hands after da Vinci’s death. Salai met Leonardo at age 10 and became a trusted member of his atelier, although he constantly stole from him as a teenager. Da Vinci taught him the fine craft of painting, and a few copies of Lisa are said to be by Salai himself. 

Salai was killed in a street brawl on January 19,  1524. Without a will, an inventory of his belongings was created on April 21, 1525, and many paintings were listed, including  “A Joconde” that most likely was done by Salai and not da Vinci.

What happened to da Vinci's paintings between his death and the years that followed is also a bit of a blur. Multiple reports had very different ideas before it came into François I's hands. Salai's sister is said to have had Lisa, but these are most likely copies done in da Vinci's presence. With so many copies out there at that time, it is hard to say. 

In a 17th-century inventory of the royal collection, a note states that Francois had paid 4,000 gold crowns, or 9.7 million dollars today, for the painting. However, it is a bit harder to find the transaction date. Many date this to 1518, a year before Leonardo's death, but if so, would she have left France with Salai then? 

For close to 20 years, the king of the Renaissance kept his prized lady in his Appartement de Bains (bathroom) at the Chateau de Fontainebleau. A lavish collection of rooms that included baths and steam rooms, the last place to keep a painting. Later, it moved to the Cabinet des Tableaux, renamed the Pavillon des Peintures, but damage had already been done. A 16th-century oil painting on a wooden panel was not a match for a cold chateau with horrible heating and ventilation. Many of the paintings from the original royal collection were destroyed due to neglect and a lack of understanding of proper art handling at the time. 

Today, she is held inside a concrete wall, behind two layers of triple-pained bulletproof non-reflective glass separated by a few centimeters. Within the wall, 25  pounds of silicone keep the masterpiece painted on wood at a perfect 55 degrees. Sensors for temperature, movement, and even sound. Each July, she is removed from her tomb and given a once-over under the tightest possible security. 

The History of the Pont Neuf, Yesterday & Today

Like many great cities, Paris was born from the Seine. The once-small island, which held the city of Lutetia and is now known as Ile de la Cité, was the precursor to Paris.  There are 37 bridges that cross the Seine in Paris, linking the left and right banks together, each holding its own slice of history.

Only two wooden bridges linked the island to the left and right banks for the first 800 years. More bridges were added beginning in 1378 with the Pont Saint Michel. As they were built of wood, numerous floods, river traffic, and even a deep freeze destroyed most of the bridges, and more than once.  

As the city expanded from the island, the need for another bridge was imminent. The kings had moved to the Palais des Louvre and Queen Mother Catherine de Medici had built her Palais des Tuileries, which also brought hundreds of courtiers and servants to the center of the city. Where the king goes, the businesses go, and then the people. A 16th-century gentrification of Paris. 

Paris in 1575

Henri III was under the strong thumb of his mother in 1577 and launched a commission to build a new bridge at the end of the island, linking the two sides of Paris for the first time in one span. It was by far the riskiest location in the city center. The river was at its widest, and the current constantly changed. It would be a project that only the king's architects could tackle. Architects Jacques & Baptiste Androuet du Cerceau began the project under the vision of Henri III, even if they also thought it was a little crazy. 

On May 31, 1578, Henri III laid the first stone on the left bank with his mother, Catherine de Medicis, at his side. Just days before, a duel to the death that included two of the king's closest friends and soldiers.  Louis de Maugiron and Jacques de Caylus were each killed, and it was devastating for the king. At the laying of the stone, the king was visibly upset and cried, giving the bridge the nickname "Pont Pleurs," the bridge of tears. 

Construction continued for eleven years until the sixth War of Religion reached Paris and forced Henri III to retreat. On August 2, 1589, Henri III was killed by a Dominican monk, launching the King of Navarre, the other Henri III, onto the throne of France and becoming Henri IV, aka Hot Legs Henri. 

Henri IV made his grand entrance to Paris on March 22, 1594, and was shocked at what he found. The city was falling apart. The Louvre had been without a king since 1589, while Henri IV fought for his acceptance to the throne. The far from finished Pont Neuf wasn’t more than a few piers sticking out of the Seine, and work needed to resume so it wouldn’t be lost forever. Ten years after the work had stopped, Hot Legs Henri called for the completion in May 1598, with a few changes made by architects Guillaume Marchand, François Petit, and Pierre de Illes. And to pay for it, they would tax wine as it entered Paris, with the proceeds regularly set aside to build fountains. A few hundred years later, an Englishman would use his money to create fountains to bring water to the drunk Parisians. It all evens out in the end. 

Henri IV removed the houses that his predecessor had imagined for one important reason. He wanted people to have a clear view of the Galerie Bord de l’Eau (Grande Galerie) of the Palais du Louvre. 

For five years, the work continued. The bridge would span across the end of the island, very different from what you see today. The tip of the island that includes the Pont Neuf sits on the remnants of three small islands: the Ile du Patriarche to the north, Ilot de la Gourdaine to the east, and the Ile aux Bureau on the south side. 

Paris 1609

On June 20, 1603, Henri IV made his first crossing of the bridge from the convent of the Grands Augustins to the Louvre. The bridge hadn’t been finished yet; only the south arm was complete, and all but three arches of the north. Henri, the positive guy with a bit of royal arrogance, decided he could cross the bridge on his horse and the wooden planks to reach the right bank. Many curious Parisians couldn’t wait to check out the bridge for themselves, although it ended in death after they fell into the Seine. The king ordered the bridge to be completed tout de suite. 

The bridge was finally finished on July 8, 1606, 420 years ago next month, and luckily, before the King’s untimely death on May 14, 1610. (for more, listen to episode 18)

The official inauguration was held in 1608, but it would take another 18 years before the entire project would be completed. Four hundred years ago this year, in 1626, the bridge and the surrounding area were finally finished. Sitting at over 760 feet long and 72 feet wide, it was also the first paved bridge in the western world. 

When the bridge was finished, it became the most popular spot in Paris. Every level of society would be found on a given day. From the aristocracy to the pimps and prostitutes. The sidewalks, the first not only in Paris but the first in all of Europe, were set up a few steps from the street, no longer fearing for your life as you walked down the street. 

If the police were looking for someone, they knew to wait below the statue of Henri IV at some point, every single person in Paris crossed the Pont Neuf. 

The arcades between the arches were used by merchants, booksellers, and peddlers, who would set up each day and carry their stock and furniture away each night. Just like Paris today, the pickpockets and thieves found the distracted shoppers easy prey.  In 1776, structures were built into the arcade and managed by the Royal Academy of Paintings, a gift from Louis XV years earlier. 

Henri Cognacq, a name you may not recognize, built an empire that began in one of the small arcades closest to the right bank. In 1868, under a large red umbrella, Ernest sold red knit hats and red fabric and became so successful that he opened a department store just steps away. The Samaritaine opened in 1870

The Pont Neuf became the epicenter of Paris in every way. Theatrical performances were held at the center of the bridge years before a theater was built.  Before we had the beloved bouquanistes you had the Pont Neuf. The sidewalks were lined with booksellers, with as many as 50 stalls and even individuals selling books from a tray strapped around their shoulders, set up along the bridge.  Ladies known as Bouquetières sold flowers and gifts to the smart gents passing over the bridge on their way home. 

While walking on the bridge in the day was the chicest activity in Paris, once the sun went down, it became the original no-go area and the darker side of life on the Pont Neuf. When the large cloaks worn by men in the 17th century became all the rage among aristocratic Parisians, the thieves would hide in the shadows and rob a passerby, only to cut the massive piece of fabric in two and resell it. They might have missed the moral of the story of Saint Martin. 

Built of limestone, the bridge was also the first to be decorated. Only viewed from below along the wall and lining the bridge are 381 mascarons, first conceived before 1608 and widely attributed to Germain Pilon, sculptor of the Valois family. Pilon died in 1590 but he could have possibly done a few drawings under Henri III.  The 380 male mascarons are each individually created, and no two are alike. They include scary faces of satyrs and sylvains, Roman gods of the forest. Faunes, Greek dryads, and a few faces encircled in flowers. There is only one female, a Medusa mask at the very center, looking down into the square. Some say that they represent the husbands of each of Henri IV’s conquests. None of the originals remain on the bridge today; a few can be found in the Carnavalet museum. 

The crowning decoration of the bridge is, of course, Henri IV himself. 

The idea of an equestrian statue of Henri IV was first proposed in 1604. Inspired by the great efigies of Rome and the Florentine Medicis. Built under the orders of his wife, Marie de Médicis, but his untimely murder would come before the statue was finished. Completed in Italy in December 1611, it took two years before it left Livorno in the spring of 1613 and set out from the port of Genoa to Paris. The ship was attacked by pirates and sank off the coast of Savona. 

Many months later, in 1614, the wreckage was discovered, and the statue was finally headed to Paris on a barge from Le Havre, down the Seine, arriving on July 24, 1614, and placed on the Pont Neuf and inaugurated on August 23, 1614, now as a remembrance for the king who was killed four years before.

Sitting on a pedestal created by Marchand, the statue of Henri IV was surrounded by the Four Captives statues that can now be seen in the Musée du Louvre in the Richelieu wing. Designed by Pierre de Cambrai and carried out by his son-in-law, Francesco Bordoni, in 1618. They were finally put in place in 1635 after the base was finished. A fantastic painting by Jean-Baptiste Lallemand hangs in the Carnavalet, giving you an idea of what the statue and captives looked like. 

Musée Carnavalet

 Like many monuments in Paris, it would not survive the Revolution. Broken and melted down, it was all but destroyed, an a few pieces of the statue survived and are now in the Carnavalet.

Jacques Louis David, artist and official party planner of the Revolution, suggested they add a statue dedicated to the people in the place of Henri IV. It would be created by melting down many of the statues, including Henri, repurposing marble statues, and incorporating pieces like the four captives of Louis XIV. It never happened. However, this wouldn’t stop the next megalomaniac. 

Napoleon Bonaparte found an empty pedestal, and of course, he needed to have it filled. In 1810, the base was strengthened to hold a massive 198-foot-tall stone obelisk. Napoleon was ousted before anything could actually be built.  

Napoleon was barely out the door when Louis XVIII ordered an exact replacement of Henri IV and returned it to the Pont Neuf. Henri would rise again. 

On August 25, 1818, the final statue we still see today was inaugurated and cast from the original mold using bronze from other statues in Paris, including a statue of Napoleon once in Place Vendome. Customary at the time, four boxes were placed inside the horse's belly to serve as a time capsule, including the one placed in the base the year before. A copy of the Life of Henri IV by Péréfixe, printed on parchment and bound in green leather, was also added, along with 26 medallions, a crystal effigy, a letter, and a list of the people present at the occasion, the creation of the statue, and other books.  

Inside the statue, a closely kept secret is hidden. A workman named Mesnel, a loyal Bonapartist, stuffed Henri with two cylinders of anti-royalist papers while he was being built. It was a myth until 2004, when it was restored, and the cylinders were found hidden in his elbow and neck, filled with the very papers. Before the restoration was finished, they returned the hidden treasures to the king. Check out a few photos here

Henri stands at the bridge and looks west into the Place Dauphine, the very one he had constructed in 1607.  Before the bridge was finished, the Place Dauphine was laid out. The triangle-shaped royal square was named for his son, the dauphin, Louis XIII. The royal square is surrounded by structures in the Henri IV style, and a few of the originals remain today. The two at the entrance at no 29 & 33 and 13, 15, and 19 on the south side still date to the first construction of the Place Dauphine. 

The bridge would undergo its first restoration in the 1810s and 20s, almost completely rebuilding it. The piers holding caves were filled in, and the bridge was flattened in the center of each arm, and the sidewalk was lowered as well. 

It wasn’t until 1888 that the Square du Vert Galant was built, extending the island even further. 

The square du Vert Galant was given the name in remembrance of Henri IV and his nickname, Vert Galant. Hot Legs, as you can imagine, had quite a way with the ladies. Everything you read about the nickname will say the nickname came from his many love affairs , “at his advanced age”. He died at 56. 

I have also read and overheard many a tour guide say that Henri would take his ladies down there for a romantic rendezvous. I will note again that the park wasn’t created until 1888, 278 years after his death. 

During the 17th and 18th centuries, the Seine had to be a lot cleaner than it is today. Every summer, men and women would climb down for a little swim on a hot day. Separated into their own areas, the men were able to dip and swim au naturale.

Under Haussmann and Napoleon III, the bridge, like much of Paris, went through another transformation. The stalls in the arcades were replaced with benches, turning the bridge into a park as well as a thoroughfare. 

In the same period between 1853 and 1855, Victor Baltard, the creator of many of the street “furniture” around Paris, was tasked with creating the amazing lampposts that still line the bridge today. Designed in the memory of the Dauphin Louis XIII, the nautical theme cast iron posts included dolphins, tritons, and the heads of Neptune. They are gorgeous and so beautifully done. 

Below each lamppost, a cast-iron box inscribed with 1854 once held the gas valves that turned the lamps on and off, which had to be done by hand every day. I love that they leave these little reminders for us long after they fall out of use. 

In 2018, the base and structure beneath the statue of Henri IV underwent another inspection, resulting in a restoration in 2021. New wrought-iron grills were added, and the metal grates were replaced with glass panels as a fight against the stupid locks. The walls below had shown cracks and fractured stones as well as a few of the mascarons in dire need of a facelift. Most of the work was finished by the start of 2024. 

One thing long gone is the water pump built on the northwestern side of the bridge. The first water pump in central Paris was built under Henri IV in 1608 after the completion of the Pont Neuf, and was later known as the Samaritan pump. Given that name from the bronze bas relief that hung above Christ at the well of Jacob, and met the Samaritan woman who offered him a drink. 

At the very top of the structure was an astronomical clock with a figure that came out to mark the hours, as well as the month, day, and year. Sadly, nothing remains, but there are a few paintings and even a model of the later design, made under Louis XIV by Robert de Cotte, with the relief of the Samaritan, though it no longer shows the clock. 

After Henri’s massive reconstruction and expansion of the Palais du Louvre and connection to the Palais des Tuileries, more water was needed, and the Samaritaine pump would do just that.  It would be used until 1813, when it was destroyed under Napoleon, as it was no longer needed. 

The bridge has inspired artists since its creation. Paintings can be found in the collections of the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, the Carnavalet Museum, and the National Gallery in Washington, DC. Everyone from Monet to Renoir captured the daily crossing of the Pont Neuf. A painting by Renoir in 1872 holds the modern life of Paris with carriages and women walking alone, a scandal. The country had barely survived the Siege in 1870 and the Commune in 1871 and was once again returning to normal. From a cafe window, Renoir painted it in a single day while directing his friends and family to repeatedly walk into traffic so he could capture the hectic scene. I think of this painting every single time I cross the bridge from the right bank. 

In 1985, a pair of contemporary artists took their turn, this time turning the bridge itself into a piece of art. Artists Christo and Jeanne Claude are well known for their art installations that include draping or wrapping structures in fabric. The two, both born on June 13, 1935, Christo in Bulgaria and Jeanne Claude in Morocco and met in Paris in 1958.  It was love at first sight, and the couple would spend the rest of their lives creating art all over the world. 

The idea to wrap the Pont Neuf in fabric began in 1975. It took ten years to convince the city of Paris, and in the end, from September 22 to October 7, 1985, the northern arm was wrapped in 440,000 sq ft of “Pierre de Paris” colored nylon canvas. Every element of the northern arm was wrapped, including the Baltard lampposts. It was held in place by 429,000 feet of nylon rope and 13 tons of steel chain. The project was self-funded by the artists and cost more than 10 million francs. 

On September 22, 2025, the Place du Pont Neuf, the home of Henri IV, was renamed the Place du Pont Neuf - Christo et Jeanne Claude to mark the 40th anniversary of the event. 

That same year, another project was to encase the Pont Neuf once again, but had to be rescheduled to this year. 

The Caverne du Pont Neuf, created by French artist JR, is a homage to Christo and Jeanne Claude. The couple's nephew, Vladimir Yavachev, approached JR in 2023 with an idea. JR had met Christo through Vladimir in the last years of his life and shared a love for large-scale art installations. 

As one of the keepers of the flame of Christo & Jeanne Claude, Vladimir wanted to mark the anniversary of one of their greatest works. This time it wouldn’t take ten years to convince the mayor of Paris; it took only a few months. Again, the project would be self-funded by JR through the sale of his framed art and private donations. 

JR has imagined a mountain inspired by the quarries where the stone was found to build the bridge in the 16th century. Visiting and photographed the limestone quarries and stone caves in Greece.  For months, he brought the vision to life in his studio, creating the design that would later be printed and constructed by the Air Toiles Concept, which would print and sew more than 203,437 square feet of nylon in Brittany.

After four months of manufacturing, including ten large inflatable pieces that form the structure of the 80 peaks of the cave, as well as the interior structure that will include an interactive experience involving sound and scents. JR worked with Daft Punk artist Thomas Bangalter on the interior, which promises to be amazing. It was to open on June 6 for 22 days and could hold 700 visitors at once. 

On May 11, the installation began, and it was very exciting to visit each day as the project was born before our eyes. Boats in the Seine would anchor down the printed tarps tightly with rope; there is no attaching or drilling anything into the historic structure.  As the sun set on May 20, the inflatable structure began to rise from the bridge, forming the cave. It appeared that the Alps had been moved into the very center of Paris. From the Pont des Arts, on a clear, sunny morning, it’s an incredible thing to see. 

June 4, 2026

Sadly, on June 2, after a week of high temperatures, part of the printed cover was ripped in a few minutes by the high winds of a brief storm, followed by a pelting of rain and hail. It was just four days before it was to open to the public. The opening has been delayed while they repair the structure, and we are waiting for news that we can visit the inside. It will be open 24/7 until June 28th, when they will need to begin taking it down to reopen the bridge.

I love the installation, and I also love the message JR conveys in each of his creations. Photos online do not do it justice; it really needs to be seen in person.  

On June 21,  1994, fashion designer Kenzo Takada covered the entire western downstream side of the bridge in potted flowers for the launch of his new perfume “Flowers”. 32,000 potted begonias and 42,000 ivy plants cascaded over the railings, adding a lovely scent to the air in the center of Paris. At the end, plants were given away to passersby.  I hope JR incorporates that scent into the experience. I will keep you posted.

Pont Neuf wasn’t just the “new bridge,” it was so much more. Sure, it was the first in stone, without houses, the widest and the longest, and the first to have sidewalks in Europe. It was also the first celebrity monument in Paris. People traveled from all over Europe to see it, including Peter the Great. In 1717, Peter arrived in Paris after visiting Amsterdam to collect books, check in on Madame de Maintenon after the death of Louis XIV, and see Pont Neuf for himself. 

While people today line up to view Paris from the Eiffel Tower, in the 17th and 18th centuries, the first place people wanted to see was the Pont Neuf. Long before people bought cheap Eiffel Tower keychains that went home with paintings of the Pont Neuf, brass-and-stone miniatures, and hand fans painted with the bridge's image. The bridge ushered in the new modern age and the birth of the great city we know today. 

Episode 21 - The New Windows of Notre Dame and the Repeated Destruction of History

The restoration of Notre Dame after the 2019 fire was nothing short of a miracle. In just over five years, the cathedral opened its doors once more to the faithful, but in reality to millions of tourists. However, with any major project in France or anywhere in the world, there will always be a political or self-serving edge that sneaks in.

On December 8, 2023, President Macron announced, at the so-called urging of Bishop Laurent Ulrich, his intention to add new contemporary windows to the cathedral to reflect the fire and the Renaissance. At the time, it was thought that the windows might reflect the craftsmen and women and even the fire itself, but that was not at all what we would eventually see. 

Ulrich was named bishop of Paris on April 26, 2022, and oversaw the restoration of the cathedral's interior, including its furniture and decoration. We were told by the diocese that whatever had been inside the cathedral on April 14, 2019, the day before the fire, would return. That has been far from true and a flat-out lie.

Over the last 161 years, since Viollet-le-Duc's restoration was completed in 1865, bishops and church officials have continued to erase his contributions. 

In creating this week's podcast episode, I wanted to take a deeper look at the controversy surrounding the new windows at Notre Dame, but, as with anything, it led me down another road. The systematic vandalism of Notre Dame was done by the church officials who should be there to protect it. 

Eugene Viollet le Duc, the man behind the restorations of many of the French monuments, including the Basilique Saint Denis.  Notre-Dame de Paris. Built in the 13th century, barely survived the many conflicts and the Revolution, but was thankfully saved when Victor Hugo wrote Notre Dame de Paris in 1831. Suddenly, a light shone upon this cathedral, and a cry to save it from destruction sparked a competition among architects. 

Viollet-le-Duc, the self-taught architect, and his partner, Jean-Baptiste Lassus, had just finished restoring Sainte-Chapelle and were primed to take on the monumental task. Viollet was just 29 years old and already had extensive experience with Gothic churches. They wanted to preserve as many 13th-century details as possible and restore each element and style.

Viollet wasn’t just an architect but also an artist, creating meticulous drawings of each statue, chimera, king, and stained-glass window. By hiring the best craftsmen in France, they could recreate each element lost over the years. Lassus died in 1857 during construction, leaving Viollet with the huge task and the voices of critics, which to this day have never been silenced. 

The commission was awarded on March 31, 1844, and the project was completed in 1865. For over 20 years, VLD had the spire rebuilt, redesigned the lead roof, and the 16 statues of the Apostles & Evangelists. Added the gargoyles, returned the statues of the kings to the facade, and rebuilt much of the statuary around the doors of the cathedral. 

The inside is where his brilliance really shines, none more so than in the chapels, or the chapels before 1950, I should say. Viollet looked at each chapel as a canvas, one that would incorporate all elements and combine them to tell a story, including a translucent, colored tapestry of stained glass. 

When Viollet took on this massive endeavor, the cathedral had suffered through the Revolution, the destruction of the original stained glass under Louis XV, and the near-total loss when the city tried to sell the cathedral off for parts. Thankfully, there weren’t any takers. Breathing new life also meant a return to color.  

The overall theme of a Gothic cathedral is light. The appearance of lightness that you see on the exterior, the capturing of light that fills the interior, and the guiding principles of Viollet le Duc. 

In the words of the architect himself: “First, the cathedral of Paris, as is well known, is oriented in such a way that one entire side of the monument faces south and the other north. One of these sides, therefore, receives a brighter and more colorful light than the other. It seemed necessary to take advantage of this arrangement to establish overall harmony. Rather than counteracting this orientation, it was deemed necessary to reinforce it. Thus, firstly, all the windows of the chapels facing south are decorated with grisaille in warm tones, while those facing north have grisaille in pearly and cool tones. From this, it follows that upon entering the monument, one sees one side in light, one side in shadow, one side warm and bright, and one side cold. This instinctively produces a generally tranquil effect on the eye. Nothing is more tiring for the eyes than an interior lit by contrasting light of similar qualities in terms of light intensity, tonal value, and color. The painting of the chapels had to naturally correspond to the system of light distribution. Following a general rule, the tonality of the paintings on the north side is cooler than that on the south side. However, as unity must be maintained, from distance to distance, on the south side, gray tones, green tones, and cool tones recall the general harmony of the north side, and, on the northern side, warm tones recall the general harmony of the southern side.”

Some look at the windows of the north and south nave that are predominantly grey or grisaille and might think they aren’t as beautiful as the type of colored stained glass you see in the chevet or Sainte Chapelle.  

Here is VLD explaining the theory. “Indeed, the colored light from the stained-glass windows, even if they are, as we say, only grisaille, breaks down the pure colors, such as vermilion, yellow, and intense blue, weighing them down; it is necessary to counteract this influence by seeking tones that, on the contrary, acquire value from the translucent coloring of the stained-glass windows. Thus, for example, if the stained-glass windows spread a light lilac glaze with a slightly azure tint, and one wishes to obtain a blue tone, one must green the blue; a purple tone, one must warm this lacquered tone with a yellow; a green tone, one must keep this tone very light and transparent. If, on the contrary, these stained-glass windows color the light in a very slightly purplish yellow, the green tones must be almost blue; the blues, azure; the yellows, greenish; the reds, lacquered When these muted tones have the proper value due to the light illuminating them, the touches of pure color take on their true value and are not, or rather do not appear to be, decomposed by the quality of the day. It is, therefore, useful, we believe, to consider the examples we give in this collection of paintings in light of the location of the chapels and consequently the light they receive. Thus, one will have the explanation of certain harmonies of muted tones.

It is, of course, hard to envision this today in 2026 because the painted walls of the nave chapels were destroyed in the mid-20th century, less than 100 years after they were created. 

The bishop of Paris, Marie-Dominique-Auguste Sibour, wanted to restore the chapels and launched a fundraising campaign within the parish. Viollet, a lifelong atheist, was surprisingly close with the bishop, and the two developed a deep trust. The two developed a plan for the names of the chapels and the themes of each. Picking saints, figures, and those who had been attached to the church. 

The chapels of the nave were never a part of the original plan of the 12th-century church. During construction, wealthy guilds and families approached the church and said they would pay to have a chapel built. Next thing they know, the wall of the nave and transept was destroyed and bumped out, creating fourteen chapels. It was up to the owner to decorate and maintain the interior, and most had carved wooden walls to close off from onlookers. To get an idea of this, visit Saint Eustache. High above each chapel are the family crests of the original owner, and one chapel still has its lovely carved entrance. 

Once the church took over the chapels, there weren’t enough funds to pay for the decoration or to bring it into the style of the rest of the church. That wouldn’t be done until over 600 years after they were created. 

Each and every chapel of Notre Dame was treated as its own little stage with every element working together, just as Viollet had described. From the altar to the gate to every painted element, and of course, the windows. Visit the chevet chapels at the eastern end of the church to get an idea of his vision. 

For over 80 years, Notre Dame basked in its colorful glory. Weaving the stories of the saints and figures of the church with a beautiful motif that would inspire Art Nouveau and an American named Walt Disney. 

Then came the 1950s. A familiar story of neglect or poor cleaning led to a few loud voices claiming that the decor wasn’t up to the standard of the great cathedral and needed to be removed. Moisture, humidity, candle soot, and dirt, a problem churches still fight today, can have lasting effects that are hard to recover from. 

The fight was led by Pierre Maire Auzas, the inspector general of historic monuments, who claimed the work was “unworthy”. The first victim was the wall of the north nave just before the first chapel. A beautiful statue of the Virgin and Child that now greets you at the entrance was once against this wall painted with a light yellow, blue and brown motif with stylized fleur de lis, lilies, and reliquaries. 

Auzas felt it took away from the statue, when in fact VLD painted it to enhance it. In 1951, it was the first work to be erased. Prior to the fire, this was where a large gift shop was set up for visitors leaving the cathedral. When the walls were stripped, there must have been some heavy furniture in the way that they couldn’t or didn’t want to remove. Lucky for us it has left a few reminders of what once was. 

The lower part, painted with brown and black squares, remains and was found and restored after the fire. 

Bolstered by the success of their destruction, the chapels of the nave were next. One thing that VLD did during his restoration was to remove all of the Les Mays paintings that had remained in the church. Created in the mid-17th century, the Goldsmith Guild of Paris donated a large painting each year on May 1 for over 70 years. At one time, all 76 hung in the church. In the 1950s, Auzes wanted to reunite many with the cathedral for which they were created, and would clash with the 19th-century painted walls. 

The chapels of the nave were covered from the roof to the floor with decorative paint, something that wouldn’t work with the reimagined chapels of Auzes. A unanimous verdict by the historical group was that the “artistic work, especially religious, during the Second Empire was considered uninteresting and without creative genius”. There is always a political and self-serving angle that weaves its way in. 

So between 1959 and 1963, the fourteen chapels of the nave were whitewashed of any color or decor. Entire chapels stripped down to the stone, including the altars. 

Today, in the 2nd chapel of the north nave and the 4th, there is a little reminder of what once was. Today’s chapel of Abrahm, once Saint Charles, holds a bit of the green-and-burgundy harlequin pattern behind the statue of Saint Francois-Xavier baptizing. In the 4th chapel of Isiah, below a statue of Saint Landry, bishop of Paris, who founded the Hotel Dieu, forest green “stones” outlined in cream, in what once was the chapel of Saint Vincent de Paul. 

I have photos on my website, along with the original designs from a fantastic book by Viollet le Duc and Maurice Ouradou, featuring each of the chapels' designs and ornaments. I have a link to the original online version from 1870.

Although this systematic destruction and vandalism occurred in the 1950s and 60s there is very little photographic evidence that remains. Much like Chanel and their founders ties to Nazism, Notre Dame seems to want to also hide this period. I have many books about the history of Notre Dame, and only a few even mention this episode. Neither the original painting nor the destruction.  

All of this brings us to the new controversy, but the past is a very important factor. 

Notre Dame was designated a historic monument on December 31, 1862, during Viollet-le-Duc's work. A classification that protects all of the elements of the structure, including the art and decoration, whether it is original 12th or 13th century or created prior to the distinction. This also oversees how a restoration is handled and how it must be overseen by a national architect, and the respect taken to its heritage. Above all others. 

This, along with another incredibly important distinction, should protect the cathedral. On May 31, 1964, the Venice Charter was adopted by conservators and outlined the rules governing historic monuments and buildings. The thirteen resolutions outline the protection, but also “ applies not only to great works of art but also to more modest works of the past which have acquired cultural significance with the passing of time,” as article 1 states. 

The Venice Charter is one of the most important documents in the art world. It has been adopted as the rule not only for historic buildings but also for the restoration of paintings and sculptures. (listen to episode 13 Venus de Milo & 20 Delactoix’s Constantinople) 

Two of the standout hits of the charter that apply heavily in the conversation today. 

Article 8. Items of sculpture, painting, or decoration which form an integral part of a monument may only be removed from it if this is the sole means of ensuring their preservation.

Article 11. The valid contributions of all periods to the building of a monument must be respected, since unity of style is not the aim of a restoration. When a building includes the superimposed work of different periods, the revealing of the underlying state can only be justified in exceptional circumstances and when what is removed is of little interest, and the material which is brought to light is of great historical, archaeological, or aesthetic value, and its state of preservation is good enough to justify the action. Evaluation of the importance of the elements involved and the decision on what may be destroyed cannot rest solely with the individual in charge of the work.

You can read the full Venice Charter here

Since Notre Dame reopened in December 2024, the attacks on the chapels have continued. Before the fire, chapels were filled with numerous paintings,  statues, candlesticks, reliquares and crucifixes. Today, they are devoid of any character, and nothing ties them to the names given for the reopening. 

The idea of replacing the windows in the southern nave of Notre Dame was first discussed in 2021, after the fire. Michel Aupetit, archbishop at the time of the fire, placed Pere Giles Drouin in charge of the redesign of the cathedral interior. In a YouTube video I found recorded March  22, 2022, Drouin talks about the chapels that have very little use, “dead space,” and giving them more life. (They are far from that now.) It was also at this time that the idea of new contemporary windows for the south nave was first brought by Drouin.  

When this idea reached the then-Minister of Culture, Roselyne Bachelot, she said NO and based her decision on the Venice Charter. 

On April 23, 2023. General Gerorgelin and President Macron visited the Notre Dame worksite along with Bishop Ulrich. Macron brought up his wish for new stained-glass windows and said that “it must come from you,” or it will never happen. 

On December 4, 2023, four days before Macron visited the site again, Ulrich sent a letter regarding the window. Four days later, Macron announced his interest in replacing the windows. 

Exactly one year before the re-opening on December 8, 2023, Macron first spoke of the desire to “mark the 21st century.”  It was first said that the windows would also mark the five years since the fire.  (hoping it would be something like ND de Reims)

At the same time, Macron announced their intent to replace the windows. He also expressed his wish to have a museum dedicated to Notre Dame opened at the Hotel Dieu, just outside the cathedral's doors. The removed Viollet-le-Duc windows would be placed there. (more on that in a minute)

Shortly thereafter, on March 11, 2024, the Ministry of Culture, now under Rachida Dati, named Bernard Blistène, former director of the Centre Pompidou, in charge of the international competition for the artist to create the new windows. 

It was swiftly brought to the floor of the national assembly on December 19, 2023, by Caroline Colombier after Macron’s announcement. On May 21, 2024, they concluded that the replacement under the governing bodies was accepted.

On July 11, 2024, the National Heritage and Architectural Commission unanimously issued a negative opinion, a very rare occurrence. 

On December 18, 2024, President Macron announced the selection of French artist Claire Tabouret to create a set of six new windows. Born in 1981 in the south of France, she attended the École des Beaux Arts in Paris for a year, then the Union School of Arts in New York. She now lives in Los Angeles. 

On that date, we saw our first glimpse of what the windows would look like. 

Windows for the Chapel St Vincent de Paul & Chapel Saint Genevieve

The chapels of the south nave were renamed before the 2024 reopening. Representing Pentecost, the visitor is to walk out of the cathedral “in the light”. Although the chapels take the names of saints or figures tied to Paris, well, kind of. Saint Joseph, Saint Thomas d’Aquin, Sainte Clotilde, Saint Vincent de Paul, my girl Sainte Genevieve, and fellow patron saint of Paris, Saint Denis, and ending with the real head scratcher, Saint Paul Chen. A wonderful story of an amazing man, but one that never came to Paris until his remains were transferred after he was beatified in 1908. 

This past winter, the artist's final designs were on display at the Grand Palais. The full-size painted version on paper of each window, along with a behind-the-scenes look at how they were created.  Hung on a white wall, the window was reimagined, including the top of the window, to pay homage to Viollet-le-Duc and the glass designer Alfred Gérente. 

I visited the exhibit the day it opened on December 10, and of course, I went in with the idea of hating everything about their existence. On their own, they are lovely, they are bright and colorful, and the talent of the artist shines through. That said, I still disagree with the idea of replacing the windows, if you haven’t figured that out yet. 

The Archbishop of Paris chose the theme of Pentecost and specific texts from the Book of Acts were given to the artist.  

Window for the Chapel Saint Deni

Chapel Saint Joseph  "All gathered together in one place." The apostles stand in a circle in front of the historic windows that are being removed. 

Chapel Saint Clothilde "Suddenly a sound came from heaven." The windows are a rush of turbulent water, while calm in the lower section

Saint Vincent de Paul, "Like a violent gust of wind" represented by a tree bending in the wind against a bright orange background. 

Chapel Saint Genevieve "Then tongues of fire appeared to them and rested on each of them." At first, I was excited because I thought she depicted Sainte Genevieve, as that would make sense, but it is the Virgin Mary dressed in her signature blue is depicted with long, loose hair, often more associated with Mary Magdeline. 

Chapel Saint Deni:s "Those who heard had their hearts pierced." The Holy Spirit now appears as a dove above the design of the former windows. Mary in blue stands and looks above as the apostles are on their knees below. 

Chapel Saint Paul-Chen  "They spoke according to the gift of the Spirit." A long procession made up of many people winds its way through th windows and into the future.

I’ve added a link to the exhibit information on my website; it is in French. 

The fight against the windows sped up at the start of the year.  Didier Rykner of La Tribune de l’Art, leading the fight, created a petition on December 12, 2023, and, as of today, it has more than 352,000 signatures. You too can sign it here

Notre Dame gave their overall approval on Feb 24, 2026 (an email sent that day from the recteur), they have no standing on anything outside of what is involved and affects worship

On April 17, 2026, the regional prefecture authorized the public establishment to remove the Viollet-le-Duc windows. 

On May 5, 2026, two heritage-defense associations brought a case before the Paris administrative court to halt the project as a matter of urgency. They had to show the urgency of the situation, the legality, and raise doubt on the legality of the project 

At 3 p.m. on May 12, 2026, Didier Rykner  & Paul Lacaze of Sites et Monuments and SOS Paris had their day in the Paris Administrative Court, pleading that the replacement of the windows be stopped. 

On May 19, the Administrative Court rejected the suspension of work by the Sites & Monuments and SOS Paris 

The judge didn’t see the urgency since the structure itself will not be altered, and the windows can be removed. The lawyers for the project argued that  “121 m2 out of 2050m2”, 6% of the 19th-century windows, 5% of the overall windows are what is at stake here. When a high percentage of those windows are high above and out of view of visitors, it’s a weak argument.

Not all hope is lost, and they, siding with the historical interest, remain optimistic that they can prevail, even if it is long after the windows are replaced. 

On May 22, it was announced that the windows will now be displayed at the Château de Pierrefonds and the Cité de l’Architecture at Trocadéro. 

The Château de Pierrefonds was renovated by Viollet-le-Duc under Napoleon III from 1857 to 1879. Four of the windows are said to be installed with an explanation of their creation.  The other two at the Trocadero, where the remains and copies of historic cathedrals and chateaux make sense. 

In May 2026, the chapels of the south nave began to show signs of work. Paintings were covered and then protected in a metal cage, statues were covered, and the wood-carved walls of the chapel of Saint Vincent de Paul were hidden behind plywood. 

Removal work will begin on June 22, and installation of new glass will not begin until October and will be completed by the 2nd anniversary

The new windows designed and painted by Tabouret will be created by the Atelier Saint-Marq. The oldest atelier de vitraux, which opened in 1640, will take on the project this summer.

The new stained glass windows will be placed into the existing framework, and the exact dimensions of the Viollet-le-Duc windows will be used, so the judges deem there is no emergency to stop the project, which also leaves this open. 

Once the windows are in place within the state-owned cathedral, they become a public work, which will also make them very difficult to change or remove. 

And the cost of all of this, at least 4 million euros, is paid by the state 

This is not the first time the stained-glass windows of Notre Dame have sparked controversy. In many ways, the two cases are very similar, but the earlier one is never mentioned in the press or in Notre Dame's history. 

In 2020, a remarkable discovery was made in the gallery above the Notre Dame nave: long-lost stained-glass panels dating to 1935. These fragments were sent to the Manufacture Vincent Petit for analysis, reigniting interest in a lesser-known chapter of the cathedral's history.

In the 1930s, stained-glass artist Louis Baillet was tasked with selecting artists for Notre Dame's new stained-glass windows. However, the project faced resistance. The 19th-century Viollet-le-Duc windows were criticized for being too pale and not aligning with the cathedral's Gothic aesthetic. Despite these challenges, twelve artists took on the project, funding much of it themselves in hopes of leaving a lasting mark on one of the world’s most iconic landmarks.

The artists exhibited their designs at the Pontifical Pavilion in 1937 to garner support, yet the Commission for Historical Monuments rejected them, citing inconsistencies in design, proportion, and color. World War II further derailed the project, leaving much of the work incomplete.

While plans were initially made to replace Viollet-le-Duc’s windows in Notre Dame, including updates to its 13th-century Rose Windows, fragments of these windows remain today. Of the original twelve windows, only a few pieces, a complete rose window, and an almost-complete bay survive. Notably, Jacques Le Chevallier’s designs were among the few that were retained and reinstalled in 1965.

Not everyone agreed to replace the VLD windows. Gabriel Rupinich-Robert, Grand Inspector of Historical Monuments, believed they were in fine condition and did not require replacement. Similarly, Aléette de Maille, Vice President of La Sauvegarde de l’Art Français, opposed the removal of these unique art pieces.

Following the devastating 2019 fire, all stained-glass windows were found intact, aside from minor heat damage to the small rose windows. Restoration efforts began, focusing on cleaning, analyzing, and re-firing the glass using modern techniques. Of the twelve original artists, only works by Le Chevallier and Hébert-Stevens are known to exist today.

Le Chevallier’s family returned one of his windows to Notre Dame in 2013 to commemorate the cathedral’s 850th anniversary, later donating it to the Cité du Vitrail in Troyes. Additionally, crates of never-fired glass panels were discovered post-fire, offering a glimpse into these artists' incomplete vision.

I have photos and a video I made of the exhibition of these windows at the Stained Glass Museum in Troyes in the summer of 2025. 

As for the museum dedicated to Notre Dame, I mentioned earlier.  On the same day in December 2023 when Macron announced his wish for new windows, he also mentioned the creation of a museum dedicated to Notre Dame. A fantastic idea in my opinion. There are thousands of items not on display within the cathedral and scattered across museums in France, not to mention all the items they removed and never returned after the restoration. 

Just across the parvis is the Hotel Dieu, the oldest hospital in Europe, which covers a massive city block all the way to the Seine. Only a fraction is used for emergencies. 

However, the project did not make it very far. The Paris city council didn’t even tee up the project, as it would have to go through a lengthy process of changing the Local Urban Planning Scheme.  There has been little to no word since March 2025

The work was to begin this year, with completion and opening in 2028. They haven’t even opened the competition for an architect. This project will most likely never happen. Maybe they should use the 4 million euros that the windows are costing for the start of the project. 

Notre Dame has a difficult line to follow. It is once again the most visited monument in France. Following the fire, the crowds have returned in record numbers. However, Notre Dame is also still a cathedral and a religious structure. It is also a State-owned structure, but the interior is run by the church. These days, they are leaning further toward tourism, with a heavy dash of self-interest. I love Notre Dame and have been obsessed with the history and architecture of this beautiful cathedral long before I ever set foot inside. I just hope that history can survive a few more generations before it is completely erased. 

In France, the country's history and heritage are among its greatest gifts. Every year, hundreds of French people line up for a glimpse inside the many buildings opened for one weekend only. That is why this systematic destruction is so surprising. All wrapped up in a few people's egos and self-interest, that will destroy something meant to be seen by future generations.

Listen to the full episode HERE

Episode 20 - The Restoration of Delacroix's Constantinople

Over the last seven years, the Louvre has undertaken the massive restoration of five of Eugène Delacroix’s large paintings, many of which hang side by side in the Salle Mollien.

On May 20th, the last of the restored large-format paintings was unveiled, revealing a masterpiece hidden beneath layers of varnish.  The Capture of Constantinople by the Crusaders might be unknown to most people, and quite frankly, it is usually ignored in the Mollien as people gather in front of the Liberty Leading the People instead. Hopefully, with its refreshing facelift,  it will garner a bit more attention. 

Before, taken May 4, 2024

In the spring of 2018, the Louvre held a retrospective exhibit dedicated to the Romantic master, and at that point, they realized many of his paintings were in desperate need of restoration. Most paintings need a bit of love every 80 to 100 years, but as you can imagine, for the Louvre that isn’t a very easy schedule to keep or to fund, for that matter. 

The vast majority of the 20th century was consumed by world wars in its first half. The 80s and 90s were dominated by the Grand Louvre project, which gave us the Pyramid and the Richelieu wing, taking all the focus away from restorations, though that might have been a good thing. 

Restoration is an art form in itself. Over time, the focus of restoration has changed many times. We can look back at the “restoration” of the Mona Lisa in the early 1600s.  Artists Jean de Hoey and his son Claude were in charge of the Royal Collection of Louis XIV and decided to cover the painting with a thick layer of varnish. This was done without cleaning the Renaissance masterpiece painted on wood that had spent two decades of her life in a bathroom. This has left the world's most famous painting in a precarious position. She desperately needs cleaning, and the varnish continues to darken to this day.

After Restoration, May 20, 2026

Restorations today involve multiple X-rays, testing of the substances they will use, and even an inspection of the multiple sheets of canvas below the pictorial layer we see. Their role is to return the painting to the artist's intent, removing the varnish that dulls the colors and repairing any spots damaged by time. By abiding by the ultimate rule for whatever they do, they must be able to reverse it in the future if needed. 

In the process, restorers have found paintings that have been altered, with elements added that were never the artist's intent, and at times added hundreds of years later.  They can be removed without a trace. There are some incredible examples that I will share in an upcoming episode. I would love to spend a day with these talented individuals, although they may be tired of my questions after 20 minutes. 

Eugéne Delacroix was the king of the Romantic movement. His use of color was inspired by Rubens, and he would later inspire the Impressionists and Picasso. He was the perfect subject of the large project that began in 2019. These projects come at a very high cost, with restoration of just one painting costing up to a million euros. 

The Salle Mollien, just a few steps from the Mona Lisa, was created under Napoleon III. Between 1852 and 1870, he doubled the size of the Palais du Louvre for his government, while the Grande Galerie served as the museum. The room originally held the French masters of the 17th and 18th centuries, as attested by the names inscribed on the walls above. Today, the same room painted in Pompei red houses the paintings of Delacroix and the Romantic period, which were placed here in 1995.

One by one, five of Delacroix's paintings have been restored. Starting with the Scenes from the  Massacre at Scio, painted in 1824, depicting the destruction by the Ottoman Empire of the people on the Greek island of Scio in 1822, 

In 2021, a painting that also inspired Picasso to copy many times, The Women from Algiers in their Apartment, was painted in 1834. The colors in the women's clothes came to life after the restoration.  

Delacroix liked to push the envelope with his paintings and the themes he chose. The Death of Sardanapalus, painted in 1827 for the 1828 Salon, drew a crowd, but most were shocked by the theme of the mythical Assyrian king surrounded by all his favorite things just before his death.

You can’t restore the tableaux of Delacroix without touching his most famous, Liberty Leading the People, in 2023. It was completed in time for the 2024 Olympics. More on that in July.

Last week, on May 20th, the fifth and final from the master of color was revealed. The Capture of Constantinople by the Crusaders, April 12, 1204. Before the restoration, the painting was very dark. The architectural background of the city and the Bosphorus Straight had almost disappeared under multiple layers of varnish.  

The restoration was sponsored and paid for by Madame Isabelle Ealet Corbani. She also supported the cleaning of the  Death of Sardanapalus and is helping with the Rubens Medici project. 

Constantinople was last restored in 1948 by Paul Maridat & Edgar Aillet. The newest restoration included strengthening the canvas and its edges, and the full cleaning of the pictorial layer. Led by the amazing restorers Bénédicte Trémolières, Laurence Mugniot,  Alice Aurand, and Alice Panhard, who cleaned, reintegrated, and added a new clear layer of varnish to once again bring out its colorful glory. The support, backing canvas, and frame were restored by Jean-Pascal Viala and Luc Harter. The project lasted 11 months from May 2025 to April 2026. I have been fortunate enough to attend a few lectures given by Bénédicte and Laurence, two fascinating and talented women.

A special space was created steps away under the Salon Denon after the gift shop was removed in 2025. Complete with a window that was added so we could watch the restoration process. That never happened, and the window was never opened. Would have been amazing to watch. 

Louis Philippe rose to power after the Three Glorious Days Revolution of July 1830, another event that Delacroix captured. Louis Philippe set himself apart from his predecessors by calling himself the King of the French, a real man of the people. After a few Napoleons and Bourbons who did their best to alter the pages of history, it would be Louis Philippe who would do all he could to restore them. We already talked about his goal of reuniting the banks of the Seine with Napoleon Bonaparte in 1840 in episode 17. 

The King OF the French didn’t stop there. At the Chateau de Versailles, Louis Philippe created a museum dedicated to the glories of France, filling its walls with works by the greatest French artists, as well as many battles and scenes from French history. 

On April 30, 1838, Eugene Delacroix was commissioned for 10,000 francs by Alphonse de Cailleux, Director of the Beaux Arts and later director of the Musée du Louvre. It would be his third and last creation for Versailles. 

From the mid 1830s to his death in 1863, Delacroix focused more on public- and government-commissioned pieces. At the time, Paris had the Musée du Louvre and the Musée du Luxembourg. When it came to large art centers, there were very few. He believed that to be remembered, he should dedicate his time and energy to these large-scale installations that could be seen for generations to come, and tried to encourage his fellow artists to do the same. Little did he know what the museum and gallery landscape would be today. 

At the time of his commission in 1838, he was also working in the Chamber of Deputies in the Palais Bourbon of the National Assembly. Before Constantinople was finished, he also took on the major project for the library of the Chamber of Peers in the Senate of the Palais du Luxembourg, multiple salon paintings, and the Eglise Saint Denys du Saint-Sacrement. 

In February of 1840, Delacroix sent a letter to his friend and head of the Beaux Arts, Cailleux, asking for a meeting. It is thought that this was when he presented the sketch held at the Château de Chantilly and in the collection of the Duc d’Aumale, which, sadly, was not on display when I was last there. There are more characters in this version that didn’t make it into the final piece, and a slightly more chaotic-looking scene.

With this commission, Cailleux told him that Louis-Philippe wanted the painting to be less in the style of Delacroix.  After hearing that, he made the figures more prominent, dwarfing the surrounding architectural elements. 

The view reimagined by Delacroix, over six hundred thirty years after the crusade, is likely near the Blachernai palace, with the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus Strait below

The fourth siege of Constantinople was first spearheaded by Pope Innocent III, who was elected in 1198. Although the Byzantine capital was not in the plans. The Pope wanted to return Jerusalem to Christianity and out of the hands of the Muslims. Led by Baldwin I of Flanders and Boniface of Montferrat, who decided to fight for the cross and the return of Christianity.

Without a massive army of their own, the Pope asked the Venetian Doge Enrico Dandolo to assist. Launching the crusade in 1202 with the help of the Venetian ships and the army of Baldwin and Boniface, they were supposed to go to Egypt, but things didn’t go as planned.  

The Byzantine throne had been anything less than solid for quite some time. Family fights between brothers and sons led Alexios IV, son of Emperor Isaac II to offer the crusaders 200,000 silver marks, supplies, and even the island of Crete if they helped to rescue his father from prison and return him to the throne.  

The ships made a hard turn and headed for the Byzantine capital, which was also one of the most powerful and richest, and held many of the most priceless relics and treasures. 

When word reached the Pope, he was enraged and later excommunicated all of the soldiers involved. On July 19, 1203, Isaac II regained his throne once more, although not in his finest form. He had been imprisoned by his brother, Alexios III, and had his eyes gouged out.  However, Isaac’s son, Alexios IV, hadn’t followed through on his promises to the Venetians, and they took matters into their own hands. 

From April 8 to 13, 1204, the Byzantine capital of Constantinople and the head of the Eastern Roman Empire would be attacked and changed forever. 

Soldiers used the masts of their ships to reach the top of the wall, while those below, armed with pick axes, bored through and crawled in to terrorize the citizens. The first days were a mess of looting, attacking, raping, and killing. On the 12th, the same day captured by Delacroix, they began a far more organized looting. 

In the aftermath of the siege, the country would be split into four parts, and Constantinople would fall under the new Latin Empire, naming Baldwin of Flanders the first Latin Emperor on May 9, 1204. 

Delacroix was no stranger to controversy or shocking subjects. He was commissioned to paint this subject specifically for the Hall of Crusades in Louis Philippe’s museum. 

At some point in the 1830s, Delacroix was walking down the Champs Élysées and was struck by a scene he saw on the scaffolding on the north side of the street. The sun covered one of the workers while the others were in the shadows. It was something he would beautifully incorporate into this painting, putting the attention on the victims and not the attackers. 

The center of the tableaux is dominated by the soldiers on horseback dressed in armor and helmets. Baldwin, the Count of Flanders, led the French soldiers in an attack through the city's streets. Sits high on his horse and looks down at the man begging for his clemency.

Behind Baldwin on the left, the head of Venetian doge Enrico Dandolo, who controlled the siege through the port, can be barely spotted between the staffs of the banners. Boniface I, the Marquis of Montferrat as well as Louis I of Blois, are also represented on horseback. Louis I wasn’t actually there that day as he had been ill, but was involved in the lead-up and aftermath. 

The older man reaches up to Baldwin, imploring him to stop the attacks. His hand shows his age, while the young lady, her face turned toward his chest, has hands that are young and smooth. Painting hands and feet is quite difficult. Gericault had such a hard time with the foot of one of the men on the Raft of the Medusa that he finally gave up and covered it with a sock. Da Vinci, Ingres, and Delacroix excelled at capturing hands and featuring them prominently in many of their pieces.

After Restoration

Quite possibly the greatest part of the painting is the group of two women at the lower right edge. Possibly a mother and daughter, the younger woman in a pink-and-grey dress that has fallen, revealing her entire back, leans forward, her blonde hair hanging over the other woman, who lies in her arms. Grieving the loss of the woman, she appears clearly upset, even without being able to see her face. The woman in her arms, wearing a blue and grey dress and a blue veil covering her head, with her skin tinged the slightest shade of blue, tells us she has died. 

Before

Above, the horse of Baldwin appears to come to a running stop as it pulls his head away from the women, giving us a bit of compassion that wasn’t there in the actual moments of the siege of 1204.  Delacroix sketched many elements of the painting, but by far the most stunning and complete is that of the two women.

The horse of Baldwin steps over a banner, helmet, quiver, and other weapons of war. During the restoration process, X-rays revealed that Delacroix had painted the body of a soldier. At some point, he changed his mind and covered the soldier with the banners. It would have changed the idea of the horse halting to avoid the soldier instead of the woman. 

In the far left of the painting, a priest under the porch of his church is grabbed by the throat by a soldier who attempts to stop the man's quick actions to charge towards Baldwin and his men. Below, his daughter was left to die after soldiers had taken advantage of her.

The mix of all walks of life was something Delacroix excelled at. With his use of shadows, he placed the important elements, the people in the glow of light, and the attackers and soldiers in the dark. 

The architectural elements are now thought to be designed by friend Louis Boulangé. Below, smoke begins to form as the soldiers destroy the city in their wake 

The painting was finished and first displayed in the 1841 Salon in the Salon Carré of the Musée du Louvre. Opening on March 15, 1841, it received a mixed reaction. Listed as no 509, the official description was  "Baldwin, Count of Flanders, commanded the French who had launched the assault from the landward side, and the old Doge Dandolo, at the head of the Venetians, and on the ships, had attacked the port. The principal leaders travel through the various districts of the city, and the grieving families come along their route to plead for their mercy."

Louis Peisse reviewed the piece in the Revue des Deux Mondes in 1841. 

“Delacroix conceives everything, sees everything, and renders everything with the eyes of a painter and for the eyes of a painter. Everything in the conception and execution of his works is subordinated to the effect of painting itself, abstracting from the objects represented. He is less concerned with representing a fact or expressing an idea than with painting a canvas. The subject is less an end in itself than a pretext for him. And this is what so greatly confounds the public, who, understanding and judging a painting only from a literary point of view, want above all to find in it what they seek in a novel or a poem: a dramatic or historical meaning.

In 1855, it was exhibited again at the Universal Exposition to a more favorable response. Charles Baudelaire was a big fan of Delacroix and had to speak out after seeing the masterpiece. 

"But the painting of the Crusaders is so profoundly penetrating, quite apart from the subject matter, by its stormy and somber harmony! What a sky and what a sea! Everything is tumultuous and tranquil, like the aftermath of a great event. The city, spread out behind the Crusaders who have just crossed it, stretches out with a prestigious realism. And always those shimmering, undulating flags, their luminous folds unfurling and snapping in the transparent atmosphere!"

Transferred to the Louvre at the start of May 1885 for its exquisite quality and hung in the Salle des États. It remained until September of 1939, when it was rolled up and evacuated to the Château de Louvigny, then to the Château de Sourches, and was safely returned to the Louvre on May 31, 1946, almost exactly 80 years ago. 

The painting was copied by Henri Charles de Serres in 1883 and is still in place at Versailles to this day. 

In 1852, Delacroix returned to the same theme. This time, pulling away from the scene a bit and increasing the architectural perspective. The characters are smaller, dwarfed in the majestic scenery. Given the constraints placed on him in 1840, he later wrote that this smaller version was more to his liking. 

In the 2nd floor of the Sully wing in salle 950, the collection of Etienne Moreau-Nelaton. One of my favorite collectors was the third generation in his family to amass many of the greatest paintings of Corot, Delacroix, and the Impressionists. This version was purchased by his grandfather, Adolph Moreau, for 3,350 francs on February 19, 1853. It would be passed down to Etienne and donated to the Louvre in 1906. A donation that would change the acceptance of Impressionism. More on that another day. 

The painting was also copied by Fantin-Latour in September 1854 and Degas in 1860. 

E Albertine painted a scene of the Delacroix exhibit organized after his death in 1864, held at the Galerie Martinet at 26 Boulevard des Italiens. Painting held in the Carnavalet (reserves)

Listen to the full episode, out now

Episode 19 - The 1887 Sale of the Crown Jewels of France

The fall of Napoleon III in 1871 also marked the end of the throne. No more kings, no more emperors, and the new government wanted to be sure it would never happen again. And what might inspire a young man with dreams of royal power? JEWELS, lots and lots of jewels. 

The political climate of the years after the fall of the last emperor was shaky at best. The Third Republic began on September 4, 1870, but the descendant of Charles X and monarchists still had their eyes on the prize: returning to the throne of France. There are still three descendants who believe that even today, that is for another day, I promise Susan. :) 

During the Siege of Paris by the Prussians and the Commune of 1871, the vast number of jewels belonging to the crown and former rulers were moved from Paris for safekeeping. On August 10, 1870, the jewels were placed in a box labeled “assembly crates, special projectiles” and hidden on a boat off the coast of Brest. Returning in 1872, they fell under the protection of the Ministry of Finance, which just so happened to be located in the Palais du Louvre in what is the Richelieu wing today. 
The events of 1870 & 1871 took a massive toll on Paris and the rest of France. In Paris alone, government buildings include the Hotel de Ville, the Palais des Tuileries, the Palais d’Orsay, and many on the Rue de Rivoli were destroyed during the Bloody Week of May 1872.  The country was running out of money and needed to rebuild the government. 

In 1875, with the jewels locked away, it was decided they needed a full inventory. The last one was done in 1832 during the reign of Louis Philippe, and if you listened to the first episode of the podcast, you know that Napoleon III added quite a few gems to the royal jewel box.  

What the Ministry of Finance had in its possession far exceeded the property of the crown in 1875. Many of the pieces were retained after the hasty escape of Napoleon III and Eugenie and would be returned to the Empress in cash. 

In 1875, the inventory totaled 77,486 gems, which included diamonds, pearls, emeralds, amethysts, opals, turquoise, rubies, and topazes. Worth a vast fortune, one that the country could really use. 

As early as the 18th century, the Revolutionists sought to sell the crown jewels in their effort to rid France of anything associated with the monarchy, but the massive theft from the Garde Meuble in 1792 helped save many of the jewels, which were recovered. 

In 1848, François-Vincent Raspail ran for the presidency of France. He was overwhelmingly defeated by Louis Napoleon, later known as Napoleon III. The same year, he encouraged anyone who would listen that the jewels needed to be sold. Incredibly outspoken, he served time in prison, and upon his release, he and his family were exiled to Belgium. 

In 1876, his son Benjamin was elected as a French deputy for the Seine. In 1882, he once again took up the family cause of destroying the jewels of the crown, just as the last ruling emperor destroyed his family. Benjamin Raspail took it a step further and wanted everything melted down, sold, or destroyed, and the money used for social causes 

In 1878, the jewels returned to the Universal Exposition one last time. Many of the jewels that once belonged to Napoleon III and Eugenie were created for the 1855 Exposition.  A specially designed octagonal case with eight compartments, covered in red velvet, was created. 

The case was equipped with a winch, and the jewels sat on an iron plate that would be lowered into a reinforced stone “basement”. Equipped with an alarm system that would warn of a break-in or any sudden strikes. The case was topped with a red-and-gold canopy designed to resemble the custom leather boxes that held each jewel. A few of the boxes were on display in the Galerie d’Apollon prior to the theft. 

Not to be outdone, the British brought a few of their own crown jewels, including the infamous 105-carat oval Koh-I-Noor diamond that was set in the tiara of Queen Victoria. 

The last time they would be viewed by the public was on May 31, 1884, in the Salle des États, as a benefit for the School of Industrial Arts. Hundreds of people lined up three hours before the event opened to see the Crown Jewels. The clamor to see the treasures also led to their demise. The far-right politicians took it as a warning sign. If the people wanted to see the jewels, what would stop those in hopes of returning to power?  

The President of France, Jules Grévy, and his advisors became increasingly aware that they needed to rid themselves of these gems, which meant much more than an exquisite necklace or brooch. There were, of course, other political agendas pushing the sale and deciding where the money should go, and everyone involved had their own agenda.  Each year, it was proposed before the National Assembly and the Senate, but didn’t reach a majority and was shelved until the next year, until 1886. 

On December 7, 1886, the law was passed that the jewels would be put up for auction.  When the announcement was made, it brought a mix of reactions from royalists, historians, and, of course, wealthy collectors. 

An 1882 inspection of the jewels resulted in a plan on what, if any, jewels would be kept and where. The rest would be sold or melted down to avoid becoming a focal point for those seeking the return of the monarchy.  

The saved Reliquary brooch. Safe from the 1887 sale, but not from the thieves on October 19, 2025

Group A items to be kept and displayed in the Louvre

Group B Items transferred to the Natural History Museum and School of Mines

Group C items intended for casting

The official proclamation for the “alienation of a portion of the crown jewels”, dated January 11, 1887, stated that the “diamonds, precious stones and jewels forming part of the collection known as the crown Diamonds and not listed in schedules A, B or C shall be sold at public auction. 

To prepare for the sale, many of the historic settings were torn apart, melted down, and destroyed, destroying any significance they once held. The community of jewelers and historians was outraged with the idea of the sale and the loss and destruction of such an important heritage. A letter sent to the minister of finance asked that this be reconsidered, and, if that wasn’t an option, that high-quality photos be taken of all the pieces before they are destroyed or sold. Luckily, they took some photos, but not of every single item.  

The sale would be held in the Salle des États in the western end of the Denon wing  above the Seine, where the Spanish painting collection is today. The location held its own political weight. The room of state under Napoleon III served as his throne room. What better place to send a message than to sell the items that set the monarchy apart from the French population in the very room the last Emperor ruled from? 

Side note, that same room later would house the 24 paintings of the Medici cycle in beautiful gold frames hanging on red leather-covered walls. 

Before the sale, it was decided to open the collection to the public.  Opened from April 21 to May 8 for previews by the major jewelry houses that had sent representatives to buy on their behalf, government officials, and the general public.  Six thousand people came each day to view the jewels on display before the auction. The auction itself was the most coveted invitation in Paris. 

Beginning May 11, the Salle des États was transformed for the auction itself. Platforms for the auctioneer, chairs for the audience, and a table for the inspector of the jewels, who would weigh and verify each purchase. 

The same display case that was created for the Universal Exhibition was reupholstered in thick blue velvet by M. Giraudon. The cement “basement” used to safely store the jewels was built into the floor. The security was incredible and involved the prefecture, the gendarmes, and the staff of the Louvre.  (The security of 1887 was better than that of 2025). The walls were covered with Gobelins tapestries, once created under the Bourbon kings, although they didn’t seem to be upset about that. 

At 2 pm on May 12, before a packed house, the auction began with auctioneer Eugene Escribe calling the items. Jewelers from all over Europe and America came to bid on items for themselves and their wealthy clients. Jewelers representing the royalty of Europe, including England, Germany, and the Habsburgs of Hungary. Sitting alongside was every Parisian jeweler, and a few like the Bapst brothers, who wanted to purchase the pieces their earlier generations created for the crown. 

All sales had to be paid in cash within 48 hours of the sale, or the lot went to the runner-up. 

Sold over 9 sessions, a few exceeded, but many fell far below. Had these items been sold today, they would each go for millions and millions of dollar,s especially if kept intact. 

The first, Thursday, May 12, 1887, produced   505,700 fr.

The second, Friday, May 13, 44,500 fr.

The third, Saturday, May 14, 652,000 fr.

The fourth, Monday, May 16, 636,700 fr.

The fifth, Tuesday, May 17, 360,000 fr.

The sixth, Wednesday, May 18, 839,100 fr.

The seventh, Friday, May 20, 1,564,900 fr.

The eighth, Saturday, May 21: 991,100 fr.

The ninth, Monday, May 23, 668,050 fr

The sale yielded a total.   6,864,050 fr

Plus 5 euros imposed on the purchasers, 343,203.50 francs

Gross proceeds   7,107,350 francs

Expenses of 293,851 francs 

Louis Comfort Tiffany purchased a third of the lots, spending more than 1.4 million francs, including four Mazarin diamonds. Many items were intended for the new money Americans of the Gilded age, like Katherine Pulitzer and Cornelia Bradly Martin, Countess of Craven, and Marjorie Merriweather Post. 

Garrard, the jeweler to the British crown, was there on behalf of Albert, the Prince of Wales, known as Dirty Birtie here in Paris for his debauchery. Garrard won lot 32, Diadème Russe of Maison Bapst for Eugenie, for 180,000 francs for the prince.

Bonynge Jeweler purchased the lot of seven anguilettes and culots in the style of Marie Antoinette, created for Empress Eugenie of 222 brilliant-cut diamonds by Bapst for Queen Victoria, for the bargain price of 25,100 francs. 

The government officials in charge of the sale labeled it a triumphant success, but it was anything but. After covering expenses, they raised 6,927,509 francs, which is around 15,982,117 euros today. Just one of the pieces attached to Marie Antoinette would sell for more than that at auction. 

In 1895, funds were allocated to the old-age pension, and the Reunion des Musées Nationaux was founded that year.

Of the Emperor’s crown, the cross from the top, and the remaining diamonds were sold in 1887. The frame was broken, sent to the Monnaie to be melted down, and used for the 20 franc coin of the Republic.  (more on that in episode 1) 

Since the theft of the jewels from the Louvre on October 19, 2025, the term “Crown Jewels” has been repeated millions of times. Technically, only one of the eight stolen pieces could be called a Crown Jewel. The reliquary brooch created for Eugenie included two of the Mazarin diamonds that were given to Louis XIV after the Cardinal's death in 1661. 

The 1887 sale was the destruction of France's history. The true pieces labeled crown jewels would have been worn by multiple kings, queens, emperors, and empresses. Luckily, the Regent, the most historic of them all, was saved although Raspail wanted it sold. 

Since the sale, the Louvre has done what it can to find and return many of the pieces to France. The one rule they must follow is that they have to be set in their original setting prior to the sale. Since 1973, seven items sold in the auction have returned to the Louvre with five of those in just the last twenty-five years. Sadly, two were stolen on that horrible morning seven months ago.

In 1973, Paul-Nicolas Menière redesigned a set of ruby bracelets for the Duchess d’Angoulême, the daughter of Marie Antoinette. The rubies originally belonged to Empress Marie Louise, Napoleon's second wife. Jeweler Jacques-Evrard Bapst used 24 rubies, 451 brilliant diamonds, and 60 rose-cut diamonds. The set also included a diadem, necklace, comb, crown, earrings, bracelets, and belt. Sold on May 20 in lot number 45 for 42,000 F to Tiffany, who bought it on behalf of Bradley Martin for his daughter Cornelia, Countess of Craven. Later sold at Sotheby’s on November 30, 1961, and donated to the Louvre in 1973.

Two of the belt pieces are also now in the Louvre. The forty-four pieces were sold in lots of 2, 4, or 6 plaques. The first was purchased by the Louvre in 2019. The second donation in 2025 by Sabine Fèral-Dubrac.

Lot number 37 was the complete set that once belonged to Marie-Louise and had been a gift from Napoleon to his new bride in 1810.  Francois-Régnault Nitot designed the very delicate and exceptional gold leaves and clusters of grapes separated by ten small glass mosaics of ancient Roman ruins. Pierre-Antoine Chadat worked with Nitot on the fine details of the set, which includes a comb, necklace, earrings, and two bracelets.  

The mosaics, created in Rome from engravings by Domenico Pronti, depict many Roman ruins, including the Forum.  The original lot also included two amethyst and diamond dress clasps and belt pieces. 

After Marie Louise fled France following Napoleon's expulsion, the jewels were returned to the government and sold in lot 37 to jeweler Henri Bain for 6200 F, who kept them in their original state. Sold again in 1964 and in 2001, when purchased by the Amis du Louvre and entered the Louvre collection on June 7, 2001. 

Placed on the southern end of the central case that was breached in the theft, they were within reach, but the thieves must not have thought they were worth as much as the emeralds and sapphires. Thank goodness

Another item once owned by the daughter of Marie Antoinette, the Madame Royale was the beautiful emerald and diamond tiara created by Christophe-Frédéric Bapst and Jacques-Evrard Bapst, from a family of jewelers dating back to Louis XV. The tiara was also worn by Empress Eugenie. 

Sold on May 14 to Hungarian jeweler Bachruch for Count Andrássy. It stayed in the family until sold at Sotheby’s in 1954. It arrived at the Louvre in 2002 when it was purchased by the state. 

A beautiful diamond-and-pearl brooch, created in 1853 for the Empress Eugenie, narrowly escaped theft.  Designed by her personal jeweler, François Kramer, it was inspired by the designs of Gilles Légardé in 1663. After the death of Madame Royale in 1851, her diamond-and-pearl set was dismantled and repurposed. A tiara containing 212 pearls and 1,998 diamonds was born from the original jewels, the same tiara that was stolen on that horrible morning. 

The remaining diamonds and pearls were used to create five brooches. Two large button pearls, surrounded by 8 diamonds, form two rosettes. Two pear-shaped pearls hang from the delicate scrolls covered in diamonds of the top rosette and three from the lower. 

The five brooches were sold on May 17 in lot 39to the Bapst et Fils jeweler, who had also made other pieces for the Empress. It belonged to Marie Louise de Bourbon-Parme, the daughter-in-law of Clémentine d’Orleans. In 2015, it was purchased and returned to the Louvre. 

The brooch was located next to the pearl and diamond tiara, but was not stolen. From video footage, it looks like it might have been out of reach, but also odd that it wasn’t grabbed in their hasty attack. 

The last two items that have returned after the 1887 auction that destroyed the heritage of the crown jewels met the same fate on October 19, 2025

The stunning pearl-and-diamond tiara created for Eugénie by Alexandre-Gabriel Lemonnier, who also made the Imperial Crown, which was luckily recovered. Commissioned in 1853, shortly after the wedding to Napoleon III.  Designed using many of the Crown pearls from a set that once belonged to the Duchess d’Angouleme, Madame Royale

Lemonnier’s contemporary design of the time featured natural elements, including diamond-covered “leaves” and 17 large pear-shaped pearls, totaling 212 pearls and 1998 diamonds. Eugénie wore it often, including at the opening of the 1855 Universal Exhibition, where her other jewels, including the Imperial Crown, were on display. 

The tiara was sold in lot 41 on May 12, 1887, to jeweler Julius Jacoby for 78,100 francs, who sold it to Prince Albert of Thurn et Taxis for his wedding to Archduchess Marguerite. For over 100 years, it remained in the family until sold by Sotheby’s in 1992 and purchased by the Amis du Louvre. 

The last piece was the first violently grabbed from the case on that Sunday morning. 

I always loved getting as close to the glass as possible to take in the details of this gorgeous brooch, literally covered in diamonds. The jaw-dropping item was the Grand Corsage Bow Brooch of Eugénie. Napoleon III ordered four pieces from jeweler François Kramer to be completed for the 1855 Universal Exhibition and for his wife. Although the piece was originally designed as a belt with the bow and tassels, and a staggering 4,790 diamonds totaling 386 carats. 

Eugénie loved the history of Marie Antoinette, and the bow was designed to emulate the fashion of the former queen and her love of bows and ribbons. 

The bow was sold in lot 5 on the first day of the sale, May 12, 1887, and purchased by jeweler Emile Schlessinger for Caroline Astor. In  1902, it was sold to the Duke of Westminster for his daughter, Lady Lettice Grosvenor. It passed through many hands until purchased on April 16, 2008, by the Amis du Louvre with a large bequest from Mr. and Mrs. Rauffet. 

Sadly, we may never see the tiara or bow brooch again.

And hot off the press, the Ministry of Culture announced at 10 am on May 18 the winning architects for the Louvre Nouvelle Renaissance project that was first soft-launched in January 2023 by Laurence des Cars on French radio. Two years later, it was presented in the Salle des États in front of the Mona Lisa on January 25, 2025, by President Macron, and the press ran with it as a brand new idea.

The project would create a new space for the Mona Lisa as well as a new entrance below the eastern end at the Collonade to help alleviate the pressure on the pyramid, which, as we know from episode 16, The Pyramid was created to handle 4 million people a year, and the Louvre now gets close to 10 million. A second exhibition space is also planned, along with a restaurant and a gift shop. 

The project was originally said to cost 400 million euros for the Mona Lisa space, and 400 million euros for the entrance. The court of auditors released its report in November, stating that the project would cost more than 1.1 billion euros and that it should be shelved. 

Well, we got a little surprise yesterday with the announcement of the architects as well as a new amount of 600 million euros. 

The panel of 21 judges, including Louvre president Christophe Leribault, Paris mayor Emmanuel Grégoire, and minister of culture Catherine Pégard. My favorite is that they also included Li Chung “Sandy” Pei, son of IM Pei. 

"The project submitted by New York’s  STUDIOS Architecture Paris and NY based German Selldorf Architects was selected for the quality of its architectural proposal and its heritage, urban and landscape integration, fully integrating the issues of public reception quality, clarity of the paths, sobriety and vegetation, all with a relevant consideration of security issues," said the ministry in a statement.

President of the Louvre Christophe Leribault said just two weeks ago "We are not going to make a good entrance to arrive in a museum subject to all kinds of damage and embolism. But we cannot repair the Louvre without opening new access points to address the flow issue. The Louvre is a whole. His construction site is a whole."

If it is "imperative to review the infrastructures, redo the roofs and technical installations in the perimeter of the Cour Carrée", the Louvre-Nouvelle Renaissance is a "capital and necessary project for the Louvre".

The winning architectural firm STUDIOS includes two entrances on either side with a sloping ramp along the edges and the center filled with green space and “contemplation”. Sure, guys… that’s going to happen.

The new access will allow visitors to go directly to the Mona Lisa, which will require a separate timed ticket at no additional cost. When 90% of visitors each day come to see just the Mona Lisa, you are just changing one clogged entry for another. The Pyramid will then become the ideal entry for everyone else. 

The start of construction might be as early as 2028, with a portion of the money coming from the January 2026 increase in price for foreign visitors as well as the 150 million euros from the state for the project, but a lot more is needed. It will take at least five years to finish.

Mayor of the central district, Ariel Weil, was a “little disappointed,” saying that it looks like endless concrete walls. Check out the photos on my website 

It is needed, but the project will destroy a large part of the Egyptian collection rooms, especially with the addition of a new double entrance. 

I will be following this very closely and will keep you all updated.

Episode 18 - The End of the Beloved King Henri IV

On May 13, 1610, after finally giving in, Henri IV watched his wife, Marie de Medici, be crowned as the queen of France in the Basilique Saint Denis. 

The next day, his life would end

A matter of coincidence, or did Marie follow in her cousin Catherine's footsteps, who loved to dabble in poison? OR could it have been a religious zealot who had one goal in mind?

In the late afternoon of Monday, May 14, King Henri IV jumped into his open carriage inside the Cour Carrée of the Palais du Louvre and headed out to see his friend and minister, Maximilien de Béthune, Duc de Sully, at the hotel de l’Arsenal.  The two men met before the Saint Bartholomew's Day massacre in 1572, and Sully became one of the king's closest advisors.

For the coronation, the streets of Paris had been decorated, lining the route to the Basilique Saint Denis. Temporary arches covered with plaster statues and flags filled Paris, and on this Monday afternoon, Henri wanted to take a look on his way to the Arsenal. In a tragic decision, they removed the shutters from the carriage's windows, leaving the king and his entourage sitting ducks. 

The Paris traffic of over 400 years ago was just as big a mess as it is today. Just after 3:30 p.m., the carriage left the palace. Turning first at the Croix du Trahoir ust outside the Louvre, to the Rue Saint Honoré, then onto the very narrow Rue de la Ferronnerie alongside the massive cemetery of Les Innocents and the large Les Halles market, the royal carriage ran into a traffic jam that severely narrowed the 13-foot-wide street.  A large wagon of hay blocked traffic at the same time a cart of wine barrels filled much of the street. To help clear the way, the king's guards jumped from the carriage, and seconds later, the unthinkable happened. 

In a split second, François Ravaillac stepped onto the right rear wheel of the carriage, leaned in, and stabbed the king twice with a knife he had taken from a tavern table and sharpened on the days leading up to the attack. Striking the king between his second and third rib and directly severing his aorta, and then in his stomach. Ravaillac had waited outside the Palais du Louvre and followed the carriage and mixed in with the crowd until he found his perfect moment to attack. Quickly, the carriage made its way back to the Louvre where they screamed out for the king's doctor, Antoine Petit, as they carried the king to the queen's bedroom on the ground floor. Henri blinked three times as the doctor arrived. Before he could be examined, he was gone. Henri IV was just 56 years old. 

Assassination of Henry IV and arrest of Ravaillac on May 14, 1610 by Charles-Gustave Housez

Henri IV was born on December 13, 1553, and was baptized in the Catholic church but raised under the Protestant Reformation. In 1572, as the marriage to Marguerite de Valois was negotiated, his mother, Jean d’Albret, had to promise Catherine de Medici that they would never convert Marguerite. The wedding itself was used to bring hundreds of Protestants to Paris to be killed in the Saint Bartholomew's Day massacre just days later. That’s a long story coming in August.

Henri III, King of France, died on August 2, 1589. On his deathbed, he named his brother-in-law, Henri III, King of Navarre, as his successor, and was advised that he return to Catholicism. Henri III of Navarre was now Henri IV, king of France. As the Wars of Religion raged, Henri IV announced on April 4, 1592, that he would convert to Catholicism. Baptized on July 25, 1593, in the Basilique Saint Denis, it took a bit longer to win people over, especially one man who would never be convinced.

The assassin, François Ravaillac, was born in 1577 in Angouleme, France, on December 13, the same birthday as Henri IV and the duc de Sully. How about that for a strange twist. Ravaillac was raised under strict Catholic teaching with a chaser of strong distrust and dislike for Protestants. 

At 29, Ravaillac followed his calling and joined the Cistercian order of the Feuillants, but lasted barely a month before he was asked to leave after his odd rantings were discovered. The next day, the Jesuit church wouldn’t even entertain the idea of admitting him. For a brief period, he taught catechism to children, and at the same time, his visions became more frequent and darker. 

As a dedicated Catholic, Ravaillac felt that Henri IV hadn’t done enough for the church. Voices told him that the king was the Antichrist, opposed the Pope, and must be dealt with. In 1609, on two separate occasions, Ravailliac tried to reach out to the king directly to plead his case and advise him, but was, of course, turned away, all leading him to his final action on May 14th. 

Immediately following the incident, Ravaillac didn’t run; he stood almost in shock while Henri’s guards apprehended him and took him to the Hotel de Retz. Upon his arrest, they found his pockets filled with scraps of paper inscribed with biblical passages and rantings. The next day, he was locked in the Conciergerie and questioned.  For days, the assailant was tortured and interrogated on who else could be involved in this plot to kill the king, followed by a ten day trial.

The timing of the death brought the queen herself into question, after all, she was a Medici, and her distant cousin and former mother-in-law to the king loved to dabble in the dark arts and poisoning people. Marie was off the hook with this one, but this did work to her advantage.

On May 27, Ravaillace was found guilty of Regicide, which is the killing of the sovereign, and was sentenced to immediate death. He was taken to the cathedral Notre Dame, where he could make amends in front of the door of the Last Judgment and pray once more before his date with death. The same day,  at the Place de Grave, today's Place de Hotel de Ville, public enemy number one would meet a rather grisly end in front of thousands of angry onlookers.

The official decree of the Parliament of Paris describes the method of his death. "[be] gripped to the udders, arms, thighs, and fat of the legs, his right hand, which held the knife with which he committed the said regicide, will be burned with sulfur fire, dipped in molten lead, boiling oil, urine, burning resin, the wax and sulfur melted together. Then his body will be pulled and quartered by four horses. The members of his body will be consumed by fire, reduced to ashes, and thrown to the wind"

On May 15, the autopsy of the king was performed, and his heart and entrails were removed to be sent to the Basilique Saint Denis and College de La Fleche. The king was embalmed, herbs stuffed into his mouth to mask any odors, wrapped in gold cloth, and placed in a hastily decorated chapel. For eighteen days, the family attended more than six masses a day with the body of the king. 

On June 10th, the coffin was moved into the Salle des Caryatides, and a life-size straw figure of the king, topped with a wax effigy bust created from the death mask made within hours of his death by Matthew Jacquet. Two of these wax effigies survive today. In the Carnavalet museum, attributed to Michel Bourdin, the wax head sits on a terracotta sculpted body and dates to 1623, years after his death. 

At the Chateau de Chantilly, I was so excited to find a handsome Henri looking back at me against a wall painted with fleur de lis and crowns. The effigy of Chantilly dates to the time of his death and was created by Guillaume Dupré. It’s unknown what happened to the one used in the Salle des Caryatides. 

It is one of my favorite historical facts because it is so odd. For eleven days, dressed in his coronation robes, he was propped up, hands clasped in prayer, while ministers and those close to him ate their lunch and dinner with the king. 

On June 29 and 30, the king was held in Notre Dame de Paris, where he was blessed by the bishop, and hundreds attended the multiple daily masses.  On July 1, 1610, the king was entombed in the Basilique Saint Denis, where he would remain for the next 183 years.

On June 5, as promised, the king had his heart sent to the College de La Fleche, which he founded in 1603. A lavish procession of over 400 men from Paris to La Fleche in the Sarthe department, southwest of Paris. The Duc de Montbazon, who was sitting next to the King on the fateful day, accompanied his heart to a place that was dear to him. Later in 1643, the queen’s heart would be added, but both were destroyed in the Revolution.

The loss of the beloved king was a blow to the people of France and, even more so, to his beloved children. Henri wasn’t the typical royal father who kept the kids away and treated the heir to the throne like an adult before they took their first step. Henri was a hands-on father who spent time with them, played with them, and even had his children call him 'father' rather than 'king'. Marie de Medici was not the loving and caring maternal figure in the least, which was also normal, but something that would come as a rather tough blow to the royal children after the loss of their father.

Henry IV Receiving the Spanish Ambassador by Ingres 1817

Louis XIII was just 8 years and 7 months old the day of his father's death and had been at the Order of the Knights of the Holy Spirit at the edge of the left bank on the Rue des Grands Augustins at the moment of his father's death. Advisors rushed to his side as he was now the king of France, even if he was still a child.  Today, Le Relais Louis XIII restaurant is near the location that has the date inscribed on its wall, just opposite the former home of Pablo Picasso.

Crowned on October 17, 1610, at the Cathedral Notre Dame de Reims, he would need to wait until he turned 13 to actually rule. His mother, Marie de Medici, served as Regent, acting in his place and holding that power in her iron fist as long as she could. Deciding he was too weak to actually take the throne in 1614, she held on a little longer until the Coup de Force on April 24, 1617, and mommy dearest’s closest advisor, Concino Concini, was killed, and she was locked away in the Chateau de Bois for two years. 

For almost two hundred years, Henri peacefully rested amongst his fellow former kings and queens in the Basilique Saint Denis until 1793. On August 1, the National Convention voted that all royal effigies and tombs needed to be destroyed. Partially to erase any memory of the former kings of France, and to also obtain all lead and metal to make bullets and cannons.

On October 12, 1793, the first grave opened was that of  Good King Henri IV, as it was the crowd's favorite, and he was perfectly preserved. While he may have been gone since 1610, he looked fresh as a daisy. His wife, Marie de Medicis, was yelled at by workers, and her hair was torn out as they thought she was behind the death of Henri.  Henri, so beloved, they propped him up for two days, much like the lithograph drawing printed on glass of the image of the king in the lower crypt of Saint Denis today.

A few things surprised the onlookers as the tombs were opened.  Louis XIII was easily recognizable by his still-perfect black mustache. Louis XIV, the Sun King, was now “black as ink”. Many of them kept little keepsakes. Fingernails, hair, the leg of Catherine de Medicis, and maybe even the head of Henri IV. 

The history and validity of Henri IV's skull raise many questions, but it remains interesting nonetheless. The head of the king was removed at some point between 1793 and 1817. When the large pits were opened in 1817 by Louis XVIII, the head was gone.  

Fittingly, on October 31, 1919, at the Hotel Drouot, photographer Joseph Emile Bourdais purchased three mummified skulls from the estate of artist Emma Nallet-Poussin, no relation to Nicolas Poussin, but she did take lessons from Susan Valadon. Joseph had no idea who the skulls might belong to, but for 3 francs (about 450 euros today), it was a pretty good deal.  In 1924, Joseph came across an article in La Gazette des Arts that led him to believe he might have the head of the beloved king.  For twenty years, he spent a fortune on X-rays and research and even tried to donate it to the Musée du Louvre, which declined the offer.  

After his death in 1946, Madame Gaillard, Bourdais's sister, inherited his estate, including the skulls. In 1955, Gaillard sold the skull believed to be Henri IV to Jacques Bellanger, a retired tax collector, for 5,000 francs (13,000 € today). For 55 years, Bellanger and his wife kept the skull of the “monarch,” as they called him, a secret. Even their own children had no idea the head of the king was kept in their parents' closet. 

Bellanger thought he would investigate the skull's provenance on his own but decided to share the story with two journalists, Pierre Belet and Stéphane Gabet, on January 22, 2010. Henri’s head was taken to Dr. Philippe Charlier and historian Jean-Pierre Babelon. The skull still had a few red and white hairs of his beard intact, which could be tested against other hairs of the king held at the Pau museum. On close inspection, his nose was broken, and his right ear had been pierced. One of the most telling marks was the damage to his jaw when stabbed by Jean Chatel on December 27, 1594. Henri was no stranger to assassination attempts.

On December 15, 2010, four hundred years after his death, scientists matched the skull to the Bourbon line. One scientist says it was a 99.9% match, yet others think that .01% is a big deal. Tested as well against the blood of Louis XVI on a napkin from the day of his execution. Bellanger gave it to the descendant of the former king, Louis-Alphonse de Bourbon, duc d’Anjou. After the head was confirmed as belonging to one of France's most beloved kings, it was to be returned to the Basilique Saint Denis in 2012 in a special ceremony, but that still hasn’t happened. As far as we know, poor Henri is locked away in a bank vault awaiting his return to the rest of his remains. 

Years ago, I met the handsome descendant at a mass for Louis XVI, and I sure wish I knew this story then so I could ask him where the head is. 

The streets and monuments of Paris include many famous figures, but one is easier to find than any others. Henri IV had a very distinct, pointed chin and beard, and he usually has a somewhat goofy yet adorable expression.  

In the center of the city, one of the best depictions of the king is on the Pont Neuf

Henri III laid the first stone in 1578, but due to wars and other factors, construction stalled until Henri IV resumed building in 1599. Finally finished in 1606, it was the widest bridge in Paris, allowing traffic and pedestrians to walk on the city's first sidewalks. It was also the first bridge to be built without houses, so that whoever crossed it would also have a view of the Louvre and the Grand Galerie, which he had built. The equestrian statue of Henri IV was built under the orders of his wife, Marie de Médicis, but his untimely murder would come before the statue was finished. Completed in Italy and set out from the port of Genoa to Paris, the ship was attacked by pirates and sank off the coast of Sardinia. 

Many months later, in 1614, the wreckage was discovered, and the statue finally rode to Paris on a barge from Le Havre, down the Seine, and was placed on the Pont Neuf. Sitting on a pedestal, it was surrounded by the Four Captives statues that can now be seen in the Musée du Louvre in the Richelieu wing. Like many monuments in Paris, it would not survive the Revolution. Broken and melted, it was all but destroyed, but a few pieces of the statue survived and are now in the Carnavalet.

Many years later, during the Restoration, Louis XVIII ordered a replacement and returned it to the Pont Neuf. Henri would rise again in 1818 and be cast from the original mold using bronze from other statues in Paris. Inside the statue, a closely kept secret is hidden. A workman named Mesnel, a loyal Bonapartist, stuffed Henri with anti-royalist papers as he was being built. It was a myth until 2004, when it was restored, and metal cylinders were found hidden in his elbow and leg filled with the very papers. Before the restoration was finished, they returned the hidden treasures to the king.

Medici cycle in the Musée du Louvre

In 1621, Marie de Medicis commissioned Peter Paul Rubens to create four paintings telling the story of her life to fill the walls of her palace in the Jardin du Luxembourg. She loved the first four so much that she asked him to create twenty more based on major moments of her life. Rubens wanted to please his royal patron, so he redesigned her life a bit, and some of the less-than-lovely events were given a new rosy outlook. Filling the paintings with allegories, royal icons, and adding the color red to direct your attention, it is an amazing walk through her life.  

Inaugurated on May 11, 1625, in the Palais du Luxembourg, Marie wanted Rubens to also paint 24 paintings dedicated to the life of Henri IV. They would never come to fruition, sadly. I would have died to see that, but a few of Marie’s, of course, include Henri. 

Henri first appears in the seventh painting, “The Presentation of the Portrait”. Henri IV, dressed in armor, is presented with the actual portrait that was sent to the king in 1599 of his future wife by Cupid and Hymen. Behind the king, an allegory of France whispers her approval.

Henri reappears in painting number 10, depicting their final meeting in Lyon on November 9, 1600. Married by proxy on October 5, 1600, in Florence, with her uncle standing in for Henri. Marrie arrived in Lyon, but had to wait a week to meet her new husband as he was busy with one of his many mistresses. In the painting, Rubens added the Roman gods, Jupiter and Juno, who represent marriage, this time with the faces of Henri and Marie. 

Number 12 showcases his legs in The Preparation for the War, also known as the Regency of the Queen. The episode took place on March 12, 1610, a very important date, as it would be the reason she was named regent two months later after his death. 

Number 13 takes place on May 13, 1610, in the Basilique Saint Denis, the coronation of the queen. Marie sits center stage, while the king looks down from above. 

The last painting that includes our man Henri is no 14, titled the Apotheosis of Henri IV. On the left, Henri, dressed in armor and wearing a laurel wreath representing immortality, is lifted to the heavens by Jupiter, his eagle, and Time. Above the gods, including Hercules, Mercury, and Venus with Cupid in her arms, looking towards the next painting, and at the top, Juno looking down at Marie. 

We will go deeper into the full cycle of the paintings over the next few months, before they disappear for five years of restoration in the fall.

Oh, how I wish they had 24 paintings of Henri IV's life. It would be interesting to see how his love life would be depicted. 

Now, I would be very remiss if I didn’t mention one of my very, very favorite paintings of Hot Legs Henri, as I affectionately call him. 

Le Bon Roi Henri as Hercules with some rather lovely legs. Henry IV is Hercules crushing the Hydra of Lerne (lairen) by the Entourage de Toussaint Dubreuil in 1600, depicting the king as the mythological hero known for his strength and often associated with the Bourbon kings. He is seen with the pelt of a lion over his shoulders, a slight smile on his face, and holding a club in his hand.

The King stands triumphantly over the slain l’hydre de lerne, which symbolizes the Catholic League, which had major problems with the one-time Huguenot king. However, what stands out about this painting is his legs. I mean, really, oh la la Henri la Grande, the little flick of the hip on his kicky little silvery blue satin shorts really adds to his pose, and it is easy to see why he may have had so many mistresses. After all, he wasn’t nicknamed the Vert Galant for nothing. 

Today, a marble plaque marks the spot on the Rue de la Ferronnerie where the king was killed. Complete with the coat of arms of Navarre, featuring chains, and the Fleur de Lis of France. A few doors down, a white plaque above the passage also remembers the tragic event and even names his killer. 

Listen to this episode here

Episode 17 - The Final Days and Return of Napoleon

On May 5, 1821, 205 years ago, at 5:49 pm on the remote island of Saint Helene, Napoleon Bonaparte took his last breath at the young age of 51. 

Napoleon’s grand return to power in 1815 didn’t turn out as he had hoped. On June 18 at Waterloo in Belgium, the once great general was defeated, crushing all of his dreams. He thought he could hand over his title to his four-year-old son, the King of Rome, but that was quickly denied as he had fled France with his mother, Marie-Louise, in 1814. Although France was also finished with the Bonapartes, at least for a few years. 

Napoleon’s first exile resulted from the Treaty of Fontainebleau on April 11, 1814. The next day, his wife, Marie-Louise, and his son left his side. Napoleon hoped they would later be reunited, but Marie-Louise headed straight home to Austria and didn’t look back. Overnight in his bedroom, the fallen emperor tried to kill himself by drinking a mixture of opium and water, but was found the next morning alive after vomiting all night. 

At noon on the 20th, after a heartfelt speech on the horseshoe steps of Fontainbleau to his guard, he said goodbye and thanked them for their never-ending support. On May 4, 1814, Napoleon arrived on the small island of Elba, just 10 km off the coast of Italy and 50 km from his Corsican birthplace. Madame Mère and his sister, Pauline, stayed with him on the small island he ruled like a king. Still in tune with many of his loyal soldiers, he heard rumblings that the people were unhappy with Louis XVIII, and his time was ripe for a return. 

On February 26, 1815, the French Inconstant ship picked him up in the dark of night and headed to France. Arriving on March 1 in the Côte d’Azur town of Golfe-Juan, he and his men headed to Grenoble, arriving March 7. In Paris on March 20, he garnered enough troops to travel to Belgium and take on the British, Dutch, and German troops at Waterloo. 

On June 18 at 9:15 pm, Napoleon was defeated and rode back to Paris to find everyone had turned on him. His great love, Josephine, had died on May 29, 1814, while he was on Elba, and the news left him devastated. On June 2,5 he visited the place she loved most, the Chateau Malmaison, one last time and stayed for a few days until he heard the Prussians had an order to find him, dead or alive. Fleeing to Rochefort, Napoleon thought he would flee to America, but the British had blocked the port. There was nowhere to go. The man who once had the dream to conquer Europe was now surrendering to the British Rear Admiral Frederick Maitland.  

For his next exile, this time by the British, they weren’t messing around; they found one of the most remote locations in the world, and he wasn’t going to escape under their watch. The island of Saint Helena sits in the middle of the Atlantic, over one thousand miles off the coast of Angola and three times as far as Buenos Aires. The journey took nine weeks and arrived on October 15, 1815. 

Upon arrival, he moved into a small building of the Briars estate owned by William Balcombe, where he would stay for seven weeks. On December 10, the much larger Longwood house was ready, or at least somewhat. Complete with forty rooms but in a state of decline, with drafty rooms, damp, and infested with all kinds of island critters. All that would have adverse effects on the emperor, but maybe that was the plan? 

Napoleon's Exile on Saint Helena by Franz Josef Sandman

On the island, Napoleon wanted to still carry out his day-to-day life as he did at Fontainebleau or even on Elba, but British Governor Lowe was not going to play along. Napoleon became depressed and despondent, spending most of his time indoors, only leaving for walks to the valley of geraniums. 

Napoleon's health began to fail in the summer of 1817, and it was diagnosed that he suffered from chronic hepatitis. Refusing to see the British-appointed doctor, he stayed in his room away from anyone but a trusted few. 

On March 18, 1818, Napoleon wrote to his uncle, Cardinal Fesch, and his mother, hoping they could send him a chaplain and a doctor to the island. It would take a year and a half, but on September 21, 1819, the Abbé Antonio Buonavita and Angelo Vignali arrived. Just days before on September 18 Dr Francesco Antommarchi arrived and would be with Napoleon until the end.  Napoleon’s health and mood slightly improved, but the decline and end of his life were coming. 

Spending more time in his room reading each day, when walking became more difficult. Watching everywhere he went, even for a short walk to the edge of the yard, annoyed him, and he preferred to stay inside with his books. 

Over his five years in captivity, Napoleon’s movements and days were documented by many of the men on the island who had access to him. One of his most loyal friends, Grand Marshal Henri-Gabien Bertrand, and his wife Elisabeth and their children were close with the emperor, and the children would spend time reading with him every day. 

Napoleon Sur Son Lit de Mort, Carl von Steuben 1828

Napoleon was not an ideal patient. He refused to take medication or follow the doctor's pleas to exercise or get fresh air. On April 4, 1821, suffering a high fever, he finally agreed to take pills and a chaser of quinine. Weeks would go by with the same concoction, as well as quite a few enemas. When up to it he dictated his will and his last words in between lashing out at the Bertrands and anyone else near him. 

On April 17, Napoleon asked doctor Archibald Arnott to give him stronger medication, which was refused as his health wouldn’t be able to handle it. Napoleon said, “I am so weak that it’s not a cannonball that would be needed to kill me; just a single grain of sand would be enough.” Napoleon’s greatest fear is that he would die of the same thing that took his father in 1785 at just 38 years old, stomach cancer. 

On April 22, the last Easter of the Emperor, he dictated his wishes on where he would be buried on the island, although he wished to return to France.  "Have me buried in the shade of the willows where I used to rest on the way to see you at Hutt’s Gate, near the fountain where they go to fetch my water every day". 

The same bed Napoleon took his last breath on, in the Musée de l’Armée

By the end of April, he could no longer hold down food, his memory suffered, and his dreams, the few times he slept, were filled with visions of his former marshals and Josephine. On May 3, his breath became shallow, and a round-the-clock vigil began with Abbé Vignali, Marshall Charles Tristan de Montholon, Bertrand, and valet Louis Marchand at his side. Abbé Vignali gave him the last rites, but he wasn’t strong enough to take communion. 

On May 5 at 6 am, they knew the end was near. Becoming more still, Napoleon sighed and groaned and closed his eyes. Sixteen people surrounded him in the last hours of his life, just before 5:30 pm, he spoke his last words, “France, l’Armée, tete d’Armée, and lastly, Josephine. At 5:49 p.m., Napoleon was gone. 

On May 6, Dr. Francesco Antommarchi performed the autopsy at 2 pm in the Billiards room of the Longwood house. The room was filled with British and French doctors and witnesses, many of whom later wrote down their observations. The cause of death was, in fact, stomach cancer, just like his father. Years later, any surviving accounts and autopsy records were examined by a team of doctors, who found that he died of an advanced stage of sporadic gastric carcinoma. With a large tumor that had essentially destroyed his stomach but had not spread throughout his body, it was likely caused by an infection, gallstones, and ulcers, and not from genetics. 

The news of Napoleon's death took months to reach France and the world. On May 6, 1821, Captain William Hendry departed Saint Helene for England with the news. Arriving in England on July 4, the London Star evening edition was the first to mention, with only a bi-line. It would be weeks before the news really spread with the details of his death, funeral, and even an engraving of Bonaparte on his deathbed. 

On May 7, two days after his passing,  a death mask was finally created. Due to the isolation of the island, the items needed to create a death mask were hard to obtain and were not on hand at the time of his death. Dr. Antommarchi quickly traveled to the nearby town of Jameson and purchased more than one-hundred small plaster figurines. Smashing and grinding to powder and water to create a paste to apply to the sunken face of the former Emperor. The crushed powder wouldn’t set, and his face continued to show the damage of the heat and humidity. The second option was to find raw gypsum used in plaster. British officers were sent to the beach to find sedimentary rocks, the natural source of gypsum. Returning victoriously, they were able to successfully create a death mask, but the drama wasn’t over yet.  

The mask was created in three separate pieces and needed days to dry once placed on the decomposing face of Napoleon. In the last decade of his life, Marshal Henri Gatien Bertrand was at his side. From Elba to Waterloo and the final exile on Saint Helene, Bertrand and his family were always there. Bertrand’s wife, the Countess Elisabeth “Fanny”, was a cousin of Josephine and very loyal to the fallen emperor.  

Fanny sat next to Bonaparte’s body as the plaster dried, but in the dark of night decided to remove the front piece covering his nose, eyes, and mouth, and flee with or without the help of Doctor Antommarchi. Later, the doctor made hundreds of copies from the mold and sold them across Europe and North America. Today, many can be found in museums across Europe, including the Château de Malmaison and the Musée de l’Armée in Paris. 

Masque Bertrand, Chateau de Malmaison

After the autopsy, Napoleon was dressed in the uniform of the Chasseurs de la Garde. Gericault captures the same uniform in a 1812 painting hanging in the Louvre next to an iconic painting of Napoleon by Gros. After the bloody linens were cut up and given to those close to him. 

Napoleon’s final wish was to lie on the banks of the Seine in Paris, but that would have to wait for a closer location. When more active, he would take walks to the nearby Sane Valley, which he affectionately called the Valley of the Geraniums. 

A grave was dug, then lined with bricks and a stone slab at the bottom in the center of the small meadow, with the shade of a willow tree. On May 9,  Bonaparte and two silver vases holding his heart and stomach was first placed in a tin coffin constructed by Abraham Millington of the East India Company, upholstered by Andrew Darling, and sealed. Then placed inside a mahogany coffin and screw shut, then into a lead coffin soldered shut, and finally into another mahogany coffin. 

A tall tale of the island claims that Captain James Bennett offered his mahogany dining room table, which was cut to make one of the two mahogany caskets needed. It is just that, a tall tale, but it's a pretty fun one. 

At 9 am, a full mass was led by Abbé Vignali with British officials and those close to Bonaparte in attendance. Given full military honors of a  “non-commissioned” general, the funeral procession began at 11 am from the Longwood house to the burial space less than 2 miles away. The procession brought out the entire island as they said goodbye to their famous or infamous neighbor. 

The final moments were documented by Bertrand. “The body was lowered into the tomb with pulleys, the burial chamber was covered over with a large stone… The stone that covered the body was bricked in, and afterward, everything was covered with a layer of cement. The top opening, which was about seven by four feet, was closed off and protected with a wooden base over which we secured the black drapery.”

After the ceremony, attendees drank from a nearby spring in silver cups, something Napoleon loved. 

His coffin was covered with a stone slab, three feet of dirt, another stone slab, cement, and, the next day, a grave marker. Although the French and British officials couldn’t agree on what it would say, it was left blank. 

Le Tombeau de Napoleon, Horace Vernet 1821

For the next nineteen years, the tomb sat undisturbed. There are also a few conspiracy theories that it was opened after his burial, and the body was replaced with that of his loyal valet. 

Quickly after news of his death spread through France, there were calls to bring his body back to Paris or even Corsica. While many of the French looked at his memory a bit more fondly than others, there is one thing the French love: their heritage. The British turned down every request; they kept him in exile the rest of his life. 

“It is my wish that my ashes (body) may repose on the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people, whom I have loved so well.” 

When Louis-Philippe came to power in 1830, he vowed to return "all the glories of France". While the Bourbon kings Louis XVIII and Charles X erased Napoleon from the Paris bridges, the facade of the Louvre and the street signs. Louis Philippe set his eyes on the ultimate prize, Napoleon himself. 

Napoleon Sortont de Son Tombeau, De Rossi, apres Horace Vernet; Micro-mosaique

Ten years later, the French requested the return of the Emperor from the British government. On July 7, 1840, the frigate ship Belle Poule left for the south of France with former officials, including many who had spent time on Saint Helene with Napoleon during his exile. The ship had been transformed to include a chapel covered in black velvet, embroidered with silver bees. 

Once it was finally approved in the dark of night on October 14, 1840, the work began to unearth Napoleon from his slumber. At 9:30 am on October 15, his coffin was opened. In front of British and French officials, the Emperor dressed in his colonel's uniform, and his sash of the Legion d'honneur across him and his hat lying on his legs was once again a part of this world.  if only for a brief moment. He was in fairly good shape after nineteen years. Former servants and those who once knew him stood near, weeping at the sight of the man they knew.

After the quick viewing, the four layers of the coffin were closed and resealed, and then lowered into an ebony sarcophagus. 

Detour des Cendres de Napoleon, Jacques Guiaud 1841

Before he was to leave the island, he was placed in a large oak coffin for protection and transport back to France. Covered in a velvet fabric embroidered with gold bees and eagles, Napoleon was taken in a funeral procession to the Belle Poule and, once again, followed by the Saint Helene residents, now wishing him a fond farewell.  

The long return finally arrived in France in the harbor of Cherbourg on December 9, 1840. Transferred to a smaller boat, La Dorade, for its travel down the Seine to Paris. All of Paris was waiting to catch a glimpse. Two months to the day of the reopening on December 14, the ship docked at the Quai de Courbevoie. 

In 1806, Napoleon Bonaparte was fresh off his victory at Austerlitz and wanted to erect a monument, as he said, "men are only as great as the monuments they leave behind." He had promised his soldiers on December 2, 1805, "you will return home under triumphal arches".  Upon his return to Paris, he instructed a grand arc to be built. Originally planned for the site where the Bastille prison was torn down, but later decided to build it on the muddy hill of Chaillot, just outside Paris, looking down the Champs-Élysées toward the Palais des Tuileries. Napoleon would die before the arch was ever finished.  

On December 15, with much fanfare, "les retour des cendres" was underway. A funeral carriage draped in fabric pulled by sixteen black horses carrying a mausoleum designed by Henri Labrouste. Complete with 14 caryatids, one for each of his victories, held up the coffin that was topped with an imperial mantle complete with crown, sword, and scepter, and weighed 14 tons and stood more than 32 feet high. It would travel under the finished and glorious Arc de Triomphe that had been his greatest wish to see finished. 

Napoleon’s wishes of being laid to rest on the banks of the Seine came with some challenges. The Basilique Saint Denis, north of Paris, is the final resting place of many former kings and queens of Paris, but it was too far.  How about under the Vendome column, topped with a statue of the Emperor, the only one in Paris at the time, or even the Madeleine church. Finding a place for him was caught up in political mindfields 

The Hotel Les Invalides was built in 1671 by Louis XIV for injured soldiers and took over 30 years to finish. His architect, Louvois, placed special emphasis on the royal chapel, where the King and the royal family could attend mass.  In June 1840 it was the winning location and transformed for the creation of Napoleon's tomb. While the journey from Saint Helene took two months, the final resting place would take much longer and wasn’t ready when Napoleon arrived. Placed in the Chapel of Saint Jerome, where he would remain until the crypt was complete. 

 It took many years to complete his crypt, including opening up the center of the floor so light could flood the sarcophagus and visitors could gaze down at the vast tomb. 

Architect Louis Visconti, who would go on to design the Louvre of Napoleon III and the fountain of Saint Sulpice, among many other things. The dome of the Église Saint Louis was once the part of the church that the King and his family used. It was Napoleon himself who turned the dome into a tomb in 1808. 

Visconti would cut a hole in the floor under the dome, adding to the dome's impressive size. You will never forget the first time you see it. As you enter the crypt below, a huge gate greets you at the entrance, with two bronze statues by Joseph Duret representing Justice on the left, holding a crown and sword, and on the right, Imperial Power, with a sword and sphere topped with a crowd, an emblem of the world. Above it is inscribed in French his final wishes, "On the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people whom I loved so much." 

On April 2, 1861, Napoleon was finally placed in the large sarcophagus imagined by Visconti before his death in 1853. Using the burials of great Roman emperors, Visconti chose red stone, which proved harder to find. It was in northwest Russia, near Lake Onega, that he found one of the oldest stones on Earth. Standing over 16 feet high, the impressive tomb holds the emperor's body, resting on green Vosges marble.

Napoleon’s final resting place is guarded by the twelve allegorical figures representing his many victories, sculpted by James Pradier and standing tall. Along the outer walls are ten bas-reliefs by François Jouffroy and Auguste Dumont that depict his many achievements, including civil peace, the Civil Code, and the Legion of Honor. Complete with scrolls listing all the things he implemented in France. Dumont and Jouffroy were very kind when they designed the body of Napoleon; not sure he ever looked quite that muscular, but who wouldn’t want a little alteration to their physique? 

As you make your way back up the stairs, you can stand in the center and look back down at his tomb; it really is an amazing place.

May 6, 2026

Les Invalides is still a hospital and retirement home for veterans, but includes the Musée de l'Armée and the Musée des Plans-Relief. It is an incredible museum that spans from the 13th century, with armor worn by Francois I, to the tent used by Napoleon and even his horse, which is now stuffed and on display.  Everything is done chronologically, including a wing dedicated to WW I & II. This isn’t your typical museum dedicated to fighting forces; it features amazing art, multimedia displays, memorabilia, and even vehicles.  Every trip my grandfather made to Paris included a few days at this vast museum. I always suggest a visit to clients who want to dig a little deeper into French history. 

The Legion of Honor museum, opposite the Musée d’Orsay, holds paintings and the emblem he created. 

And I encourage everyone to visit the beautiful Chateau de Malmaison. The attic has many items that belonged to Napoleon at the end of his life, including tools used for his autopsy. 

And of course, the Louvre where you can find many of the large paintings dedicated to the retelling of his story. 

Saint Helene Gravestone under two willow trees at Musée de l’Armée

Napoleon.org resource for anything Napoleon 

https://www.buzzsprout.com/2557975/episodes/19127746

Episode 16 - The Louvre Pyramid and I M Pei

Today, the Pyramid of the Musée du Louvre is the museum's icon. From every exit sign, map, and photo used in the photo, the glass pyramid by IM Pei is the de facto image of the world's largest museum. Even one of the Crown Jewel thieves thought the pyramid was all the Louvre was. 

There are still a handful of people who have strong feelings against the icon, but what doesn’t these days? However, compared to how many despised the idea when it was announced before a single pane of glass was created, it is quite beloved these days. 

The 1980s saw an upheaval in the world of Parisian museums. The collection of the Louvre was expanding quickly from its small space, and the Impressionists of the Jeu de Paume were overflowing, resulting in the creation of a new museum of art beginning in 1848. The Musée d’Orsay opened in 1986, solving just a fraction of the problem. 

The Louvre before the pyramid was spread across the 1st floor of the Denon wing, a small portion of its ground floor, and two floors of the Sully wing. A far cry from the Louvre we know today. Yet the collection of what was hidden from display was incredible. The Louvre had seven departments at the time. Paintings, Sculpture, Objets d’art, Prints & Drawings, Egyptian, Greek & Roman Antiquities.

What would be seven separate, incredible, large museums anywhere else were all housed in one historic palace.  Admission to the Louvre had skyrocketed in the late 70s, and the former entrance under the Pavillon Denon became inadequate to handle the crowds, forcing people to take one route to reach everything. 

During World War II, as art was scattered and hidden throughout France, curators and officials had time to consider the layout of the Louvre. Once the art returned, the paintings and sculptures area was rethought and designed within each room. Each director after would have lofty ideas of adding more space to the museum, but it took a French president to bring it to fruition. 

François Mitterand was elected on May 21, 1981, and came into office with the idea of redesigning and expanding Paris's architectural history. A scope that hadn’t been seen since Napoleon III and Baron Haussmann.  Two months later, on July 27, 1981, the “Grand Project” of Paris was born, which would include the Arc of La Defense, Opera Bastille, Buren Columns of the Palais Royal, Library of Bercy, and of course, the Louvre Pyramid. “TonTonKhamon,” as Mitterand was nicknamed, did have a love of Egyptian history and antiquities, but he wasn’t behind the choice of a pyramid, which would be designed by the Chinese-American architect Ieoh Ming Pei. 

Born on April 26, 1917, in China, IM Pei enrolled at the University of Pennsylvania to study architecture but later decided to go to MIT to study engineering. Noticing his talents for design, he is later convinced to return to his first vocation, but the two combined to create the amazing architect we know today. Through engineering, he learned how things worked and the intricate ways materials like glass and concrete can interact. 

Projects undertaken by the French State must go through an open competition, with a committee picking the architect or designers. Each and every company used for Notre Dame had to go through the process, but Mitterand decided to skip this step when it came to his grand design of the Louvre. 

Mitterand placed Emile Biasini in charge of overseeing the project, who spent his career within and around the Ministry of Culture. Biasini was familiar with Pei’s work on the JFK presidential library in Boston and the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art in DC, and liked Pei’s adaptation of a contemporary building in the heart of historic structures. 

The Grand Louvre project was more than just the Pyramid and entry; it was a massive reorganization of the museum itself. For the monumental undertaking, Biasini brought in each of the head curators of the Louvre to draw up their wish list of everything they could want. A smart move to get them on the side of Biasini and Mitterand.

Pei made his first of numerous secret trips to Paris in November 1982. Shrouded in mystery, even the Louvre officials weren’t told of the clandestine visits. For days, Pei walked the Tuileries garden designed by Andre Le Notre and inside the Louvre following visitors as they made their way to the big hits of the museum. 

The courtyard before the mid-19th century still includes houses along the Rue de Rivoli. Under Napoleon III, with architects Louis Visconti and Hector Lefuel, the Richelieu wing was built, the houses were all removed, and the courtyard became a parking lot for ministry officials and a garden. A statue to Leon Gambetta was erected in 1888, and in 1900, a statue to Lafayette, a gift from American schoolchildren, was erected in the Cours la Reine. 

IM Pei had been involved in the competition to create  La Défense in the early 1970s and lost out to Emile Aillaud. After that, he said he wouldn’t take on all that work and devote that much time again. Pei was in his 60s, and if he was wanted, he needed to be the first choice. Mitterand and Biasini knew who they wanted and would deal with the fallout later.  The fact that the design would be so controversial outweighed the rogue choice, with just about every Parisian uniting behind one thing: hatred of the project. 

Under strict secrecy, Pei worked out a few ideas that wouldn’t alter the historic structure. The building encompassing the Cour Napoleon dates to the mid-19th century, under Napoleon III, including his covering of the oldest remaining part of the Louvre, the Sully wing. I can’t even imagine the outrage people would have had if he had touched the building itself. 

IM Pei saw himself as more of a landscape designer than an architect on this project. The structure needed to blend into the historic building, enhancing it while also bringing a modern use to address the issues of the time. It had been decided that the Louvre would take over more of the building, including the Richelieu wing, allowing the display area to double in size and potentially more than doubling daily admissions. To bring them all through the Denon entry would have been a disaster. 

How would he do it? The courtyard was the best option, but it still met with major challenges. Being so close to the Seine was the largest factor and excluded Pei from going too deep into the earth before reaching the water table.  Keeping any of these ideas to himself, he came up with a few options. The first was a glass cube, then a bubble-like dome, both of which looked odd. Then three pyramids in varying sizes. One with a 30° slope that reached the top of the first floor; a second, a bit higher, with a 45° slope, reaching the top of the second level; however, both appeared a bit too flat, and the museum itself loomed over them. The third and final was the pyramid we see today.  Reaching to the tip of the timpanum of each of the three pavilions. 

One of the biggest questions that many visitors have is why a pyramid? There are many reasons that I will share, but did you know that this wasn’t the first or even second pyramid built here at the Louvre? 

In 1792, after the storming of the Tuileries, a celebration was held on August 25, the feast day of Saint Louis, and included a large wooden pyramid by architect Bernard Poyet. It was built just outside the Louvre, covered in black cloth, and set on fire. 

150 years before Mitterrand launched his “Grands Travaux,” Napoléon III also had a wooden pyramid built.  The nephew of Napoléon Bonaparte wanted a monument built for his uncle commemorating his Egyptian campaign. On August 15, 1839, it was once the feast day of “Saint Napoleon” (not a real thing) and was set afire in the shadows of the Louvre. 

I’m sure many would have liked to set fire to Pei’s creation after it was announced, but luckily, that hasn’t happened. 

Pei first had the idea of a pyramid when he designed the John F. Kennedy Library in Boston, but decided against it. Incorporating glass and concrete into his many creations became his signature in the second part of his career, and his best work was still ahead. 

The Louvre project wasn’t just about creating a new entrance. It would involve a massive underground city dedicated to exhibition space, offices, storage, workshops, and not to mention shops, restaurants, massive parking, an expo center, and auditoriums for the Ecole de Louver and an atelier for the greatest restoration group in the world. The pyramid, you can say, is just the tip of the iceberg. 

When it came time for Pei to put pen to paper, he said he became more of a landscape architect than a building architect, and that is exactly where he got his inspiration. The Palais du Louvre sits in the center of Paris, at the time the first fortress was built at the end of the 12th century, it was just outside the wall of Philippe Auguste. Over the centuries, the building changed, was destroyed, and rebuilt in the 16th century. The Palais des Tuileries, built by Catherine de Medici in the 16th century, would eventually be joined by the Louvre and would include the large garden around it. 

In the 18th century, Louis XIV had garden designer Andre Le Nôtre create a lovely park and, more importantly, lay out the Grand Axis point. A straight line that would cut through the center of the garden and later stretch to the outside of Paris and La Defense, and begin at the Arc du Triomphe de Carrousel. 

One of the most important aspects of a French garden is its geometric lines, and every detail is carefully thought out. Le Notre would create the gardens of Vaux-le-Vicomte, Versailles, the Tuileries, and many more, all with his clean lines and design. It would be the biggest inspiration for Pei, who even extended the grand axis to link with his own project. 

Pei’s creation would not only give the museum a new entrance but also bring the outdoors and light in, uniting the two once inside. How can one create a massive entrance that, at the time, would be used by a little over 4 million people a year and also highlight the building's history and beauty? Pei approached the project as a palace rather than a museum. Perhaps the greatest thing about the pyramid itself is how it can almost disappear, whether you are under it or just outside looking through it. From every angle, the building can be seen, and from behind the Jardin des Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe de Carrousel. He also pulled in the “faceted plan of the roof” and the Luxor Obelisk that sits along the axis line.

Pei’s background in not only architecture but also engineering, along with some pretty big dreams, brought the structure to life. 

Future president Jacques Chirac was the mayor of Paris at the time and hadn’t weighed in on the idea either way. Pei believed 90% of Parisians hated the idea, and as soon as the plan was presented on January 24, 1984, the headlines of every French paper were filled with their objections. Even the NY Times called it “an architectural joke.”

Chirac had the idea that if they showed what the pyramid would look like in the courtyard, maybe they could garner a bit of support. Just in time for the May 1st holiday in the Cour Napoleon, one of the largest cranes in France held teflon cables stretched out to each corner, forming the shape the actual pyramid would take. Without glass and using only cables, they showed that the structure itself would not block the beautiful buildings around it. Thousands of visitors arrived each of the four days it was in place, and in the end, many changed their minds, resulting in a 56% approval rating. 

The next step was to bring Pei’s vision to life, all while adhering to his very exacting standards.   

The most important part, the glass, took the most time to create. Pei wanted the glass to be perfectly clear and white. That is without any bubbles or color, and will not oxidize over time, turning yellow, then brown. Many companies were considered, but only one could pull off this daring job, which also has links to a rather famous mirrored hall. 

In 1665, Jean Baptiste Colbert founded the Royal Manufacture of Mirror Glass to compete with Venice, which cornered the market in the craft. After all, a king couldn’t order glass from another country to cover the walls of his gallery. Between 1678 and 1684, the beautiful Gallery des Glaces was created at Versailles. Look closely and see how the mirrors are made of several pieces rather than one large piece. France still hadn’t created the ability to make large sheets of glass. 

That same Royal Manufacture would become the Saint-Gobain company that still exists today, and one that was up to the technical challenges of Pei’s glass. Glass normally contains ferric oxide and other substances that can solarize and change its color. Pei also wanted the glass to be thicker at 21 mm (⅞ of an inch), which can help absorb heat. Tell that to the agents working at the door on a 90° sunny day; they may disagree. 

675 diamond shapes make up the four outdoor pyramids with 118 triangles along the lower edges. Each piece of glass was stretched vertically, as they did long ago, rather than flattened in a machine, which would damage the fragile panes. After, the entire order was shipped to just outside of London to be polished. 
The glass of the Pyramid, as well as the three small ones surrounding it, was placed inside aluminum frames that fit together tightly like a puzzle. Much like the creation of a Gothic Cathedral in the Middle Ages, Pei wanted to capture as much light as he possibly could with the least obstruction. 

The glass defines the pyramid, but it's the intricate rigging system that holds it all together, creating a web-like structure.  How to hold this all together was the big question. Pei found his answer on a sailboat of all places. 2,150 joints were created, much like you find in the rigging system of a sailboat. Wax molds were made that hot steel was poured into, then shot blasted to polish, and then dipped in a diluted miric acid chemical bath. The 6000 shiny tensile steel bars between could be adjusted to keep the entire structure in place. It’s quite a sight to see up close from outside the pyramid. 

How to fit this massive structure of glass, aluminum, and steel, and have it almost float above the entrance was another story. Originally,  Pei considered a long, sloping entry from the sidewalk straight into the lower entrance, but it would cast part of the space into darkness. 

Because the Louvre is located so close to the Seine, they could only go down so far. It would be all about the ceiling itself that would hold up the pyramid. Pei loved working with concrete because he could shape it and control where it went. The pyramid itself covers 10,764 square feet and weighs over 220 tons. The edges of the pyramid are seated in a complex envelope that includes a supply vent and a shutter that can be opened to release the air,  with suspension cables bracing the structure even deeper, all encased in concrete, but from below it looks like fine Burgundy marble. 

The smooth concrete was mastered between Pei and the Dumez firm and was the same kind he used in other projects, including the National Gallery in DC and JFK Library. To create the design of deep-set boxes with angled walls, Jean-Pierre Aury, the concrete whisperer, used Oregon pine to create a mold. Oregon pine is loved for its hardwood that resists bending and can be sanded to a very smooth finish. 

Carefully selected, the pine was free of knots or blemishes, cut into slender strips, and glued together.  Once together, they were covered in resin, then white cement lacquer, before being sanded and stripped, becoming as smooth as glass. Each of the massive sections was filled with tinted concrete while workers hung from scaffolding to keep anything from shifting.  Look up today after you enter the Louvre at this masterpiece, and a little wink to Oregon. 

To hold the entire thing in place, Pei placed four large pillars under each corner of the pyramid that almost disappear. The entry through the pyramid is supported in the center with a truncated column that was intended to hold a sculpture, but the powers that be couldn’t decide on what it would be. Winged Victory was an option, thank goodness that never happened. Other ideas included the bronze Mercury Abducting Psyché, the lead Mercury by Pigalle, and even Rodin’s Thinker. 

On the south side, a set of double escalators takes visitors to the center of the pyramid, but it's the spiral staircase that surrounds the elevator that is really a show stopper. Pei created an elevator whose shaft disappears into the floor as it comes down, and the beauty of the staircase is on full display. Once it rises to the top, the entire shaft is revealed, and a small platform pops out to connect to the upper floor, allowing visitors to enter. 

For the inner walls, Pei used his favorite stone, a yellow Magny limestone that is now known as Magny Le Louvre stone. From the Côte d’Or - Burgundy region, 23 kilometers SE of Chatillon-sur-Seine. For the floors, Chassagne-Beauharnais stone is similar in color to that from the same region. All three blend perfectly together. 

Surrounding the pyramid are three smaller three-sided pyramids that let light in and guide visitors to the entrance of each of the three wings. I love to stop under them and catch a view of the top of the Richelieu and Denon pavilions. Constructed with the same method minus the rigging, as they were easier to stabilize with only 10 panes of glass on each side. 

Since the entire Grand Louvre project also included the vast underground area, Pei included another pyramid as you exit. An inverted pyramid made from the same glass but without the rigging system is balanced below by a small stone pyramid, almost as if it is peeking out, and the entire pyramid lies beneath.

You might know this pyramid from the end of the Da Vinci Code, as Tom Hanks runs through the streets of Paris to stand above and look down through the magic of Hollywood to find the final resting place of Mary Magdeline. Sorry to report that the only thing below is the parking lot. That scene filled me with the dream to do the same thing on my first trip to Paris, only to find there is no way to walk above unless I wanted to scale over the rat-infested bushes. 

Last summer, one of those creatures found its way into the inverted pyramid and was captured on video trying to escape. 

Did you know that there was, in fact, a sixth pyramid planned for the center of the Cour Carrée? To balance out and create Pei’s own axis line, the project was going to stretch deep under the far courtyard. However, when the archaeological dig revealed the medieval foundations of the original fortress and the 18th-century wall by Louis Le Vau, plans were altered. 

Today, the pyramid is more loved than hated, but I still hear a few grumblings from time to time. I, for one, love it, and the pyramid is strongly imprinted on one of my most memorable moments. It was ten years ago, in September 2016, on my very first visit, when I went to the Louvre on a late Wednesday afternoon. Walking through the rooms alone with the beautiful art in front of me, I could have danced on air. When it was time to leave to meet a friend, I exited the Denon wing and entered the center of the pyramid. Looking up towards the Richelieu Pavillon, I saw it colored the most beautiful pinkish orange and knew I had to get out quickly. I left and rushed through the center of the Tuileries and found my way to the end with all of Paris laid out in front of me.  The sky was stunning, and before me were the Eiffel Tower, Obelisk, Arc de Triomphe, and the Pegasus statues over the entrance. It was in that moment that I knew that everything that had turned in my life led me to that very moment, and this is where I belonged. 

This past Sunday morning, on our birthday, I visited the Louvre and looked more closely at every detail of Pei’s creation. Loads of people were filing in through the pyramid door, making their way down the escalator and following the path to the Mona Lisa. 

IM Pei died on May 16, 2019, at 102, just weeks after the 30th anniversary of the pyramid on March 29. Watching people take their photos in front of it or pretending to touch the tip brought a little tear to my eye. If only Pei could see the pyramid now. 

When created, it was intended to manage 5 million people a year; in over 35 years, that number has doubled. 

One of my favorite things is arriving in the Cour Napoleon on the bi-monthly cleaning days of the pyramid. A special rhumba-like contraption connected to a hose slowly climbs up and down the pyramid, slowly washing and scrubbing the glass, while a few men stand below, watching and “driving” the little washer. It normally takes two days, and the front entrance is only done on the Tuesday closing day. I longed for years to see this, and now I know the slight humming of the cleaner before I enter the Cour Napoleon. 

As for The Da Vinci Code, the opening and final scenes have incredible views of the pyramid and interior. 

Listen to the full episode here

Episode 15 - The Louvre Heist Six Months Later

It was 6 months ago, on October 19, 2025, on a Sunday morning in Paris, that a brazen heist of the French Crown jewels struck the  Musée du Louvre.  

In this week’s episode of the Paris in Bleu Blonde Rouge podcast, we go deep into the details of the theft, the history of the stolen jewels, where they are in the investigation, and what has changed at the Louvre. 

It’s 7:37 am in the north of Paris, while most people were still asleep, when four thieves began orchestrating the crime of the century. Two suspects left Aubervilliers in the Seine-Saint-Denis region, both wearing helmets: one driving a Burgman scooter, the other at the wheel of a white Citroën Berlingo utility vehicle. The two drove to Ivry-sur-Seine and parked the van on the quai along the Seine and returned on the

motorcycle together to Aubervillier. 

At 8:30 am, back in Aubervillier, the Burgman scooter leaves, followed by the Nacelle lift truck, and heads to Bercy in the 12th 

The third member on a BMW scooter travels from Aubervillier to Pantin, abandons the BMW, and jumps on a Yamaha scooter driven by a 4th man. All four take different routes, obeying the speed limits and all traffic signals. 

At 9:10 am, they all meet at the Avenue des Terroirs de France in Bercy and then head to the Louvre. The Nacelle and two scooters traveled along the quai of the left bank, past Notre Dame, the Fontaine Saint Michel, the Pont des Arts, and finally turning right on the Pont Royale. 

Captured on CCTV cameras, the grainy images were released by TF1 news, showing the four thieves calmly walking the streets of Paris. With one scooter in front and one behind the truck, they drove alongside the Louvre as they headed to the scene of the crime.

At 9:30 am, they arrive below the Petit Galerie, built in the 16th century as a connection from the King’s Pavilion of the Palais du Louvre. The two on the motorcycle block the light traffic on the Quai François Mitterand and place orange cones around the truck to add to the illusion of construction workers. Over the next 3 minutes, the driver of the truck turns around and parks on the sidewalk facing the oncoming traffic. 

At 9:34 am, two thieves, we will come to known as Abdoulaye N, wearing a yellow vest, and Ayed G, dressed in black and wearing a grey motorcycle helmet, hop onto the flat lift of the truck, intended for furniture, not people. On the ground, Rachid operates the lift, taking them to the balcony of the Galerie d’Apollon. 

At 9:34 and 11 seconds, the thieves attack the lower right window with the large angle saw and trigger alarm no. 13 that rings at the command post, and not aloud in the room or outside the building.

At 9:35 am, the two quickly enter through the window. Ayed G, in the grey helmet thief, pretends to rush toward the guards at the door to Salon Carré. The guards quickly get the few visitors out of the jewel box of a room, and one of them places the first radio call to the office as the thieves run to the first two cases.

9:35 am, call to police from Louvre security 

At 9:35 and 11 seconds, the alarm of the first case of the jewels of Empress Eugenie rings within the room at Abdoulaye N., in the yellow vest, who attempts to cut a large rectangular hole in the case. The case fights back, and it takes several passes with the saw and a few hard blows to the shoulder to get inside.  He violently grabs the beautiful bow brooch, then the true crown jewel, the Reliquary brooch, crushes the Imperial crown, and jumps a bit to reach the tiara. The only saving grace was the pearl and diamond brooch left behind, which he wasn’t able to reach. 

At 9:35 and 20 seconds, Ayed G, with the second saw attacks the south end of the central case. The alarm rings out, but he has trouble breaking into the case. 

9:36 Police telesecurity, aka Ramses button, which is connected to the Ministry of the Interior. Agents at the Salon Carré door, one tries to advance towards the thieves with a stanchion pole 

9:37 Internal theft procedure 33.33 initiated, and all doors closed. Many doors automatically release and shut. 

9:37 As soon as Abdoulaye finishes the destruction of the first case, he helps smash through the glass and quickly grabs the set of emeralds and sapphires; thankfully, the pearl drops of Josephine are out of reach.  

At 9:38, they begin fleeing in panic. Abdoulaye in the yellow vest, dropped a few of the jewels and a glove and stopped to pick up the gems, but left the glove behind.

9:38 they flee out the same window they entered and ride down the lift to the awaiting scooters. The thieves said they handed the jewels to the awaiting drivers as soon as they reached the ground. 

On foot, Louvre security agents run down the quai, causing the thieves to flee and preventing them from setting fire to the lift and evidence, much to the advantage of investigators.

While the two thieves were inside, one of them punctured the gas tank below. Security agents arrived at the overwhelming smell of gas, discarded blow torch, circular saws, helmet, vest, and gloves, all covered with DNA. 

All four are now on two scooters and speeding away from the crime scene. If you have been in Paris, you know how the motorcycles bob and weave through traffic even as cars are at a standstill, including a police car that was not far behind. They head back to the Quai in Ivry-sur-Seine, where a white van is waiting. They separate into two groups. Two on scooters and two in a van with two rotating beacons. All go in separate directions. 

At 10:27 am, the two scooters with Abdalaye N, who violently ripped the jewels from the cases in the Gallerie d’Apollon, and getaway driver Slimane K were seen entering an underground parking lot of an apartment building on the Rue Léopold Rechossière

in the Fort d’Aubervilliers district. Not realizing there was a camera they two thieves could be seen pulling out part of the stolen jewels and passing them to each other. Officials who view the video note that not all eight pieces appear to be there. “Holding a large jewel, a piece seems to be missing.” 

The van was lost in Vexin, between the Yvelins and the Eure, and at 11:20 am, the white van arrived with Ayed G, the other Apollo intruder and getaway driver, Rachid H. Ayed attempted to hide the scooters, and they removed the orange lights from the van. 

By 10:45 a.m., the news began spreading on social media and across every French news site. I had been visiting the Basilique Saint Denis with a friend, and we returned to walk around the Ile de la Cité when I happened to look at my phone and a message from a friend asking if I had seen the news.  I opened Instagram, and the first thing that came up was the theft. At first, I thought the jewels in the gift shop had been stolen. How could they possibly steal the crown jewels?

Heading straight to the Louvre, the ladder of the truck could be seen from blocks away. Even watching the police working the crime scene and the numerous news cameras already in place, it was still unbelievable.  

Hours later, the worst news arrived: the Ministry of Culture released the full list of items stolen. It’s unknown whether the specific items stolen were specifically targeted or if they were just the two closest cases to the window. Eight pieces that once belonged to a queen and two empresses of France. 

The first case contained the pieces that belonged to the last Empress of France, Eugene, the wife of Napoleon III. 

The Reliquary Brooch of Empress Eugénie is the only piece of the stolen loot that can also link itself back to Louis XIV. Rocaille in style to that of the time of Louis XV and inspired by an 18th-century brooch created by Paul-Alfred Bapst. 

Called the Reliquary brooch in name only, and may have once been intended to hold a relic of a saint for the very pious Empress.  The back side of the brooch is engraved with a floral motif. Just under the pin, the word “reliquaire” adds to the confusion. 

Napoleon III ordered this, along with three other designs by Bapst, for the 1855 Universal Exposition. Created using 94 diamonds, some of which were purchased for the design, and many from the crown collection. 

The two rose-cut diamonds in the center, pointed end to end, are the most historic. After Mazarin’s death on March 9, 1661, his entire collection of diamonds was given to Louis XIV with the caveat that they must be called the Mazarin diamonds. Many were recut and used in the settings of the royal gems. 

Originally one large diamond it was split into two even 21 carats and known as the Mazarin 17 & 18. Many of the jewels were stolen in 1792, and most were recovered only to be sold off in 1887. Making the two held in the Reliquary brooch that much more special. 

These diamonds were worn by Louis XIV in the buttonholes of his jacket, on the handle of the sword of Louis XVI, on a belt for Empress Josephine, in the baldric buckle of Napoleon, and in many others' settings. 

The almond-shaped diamond below had a perfect twin at one point, each over 15 carats, and had been worn by Marie Antoinette as earrings and by Louis XIV in buttonholes—the lower diamond in a casket shaped with a slightly brown color. 

Of the eight pieces stolen, this might be the hardest to come to terms with. Stunning in its design, from the historic diamonds to the engraved gold setting. Wherever they are today, I hope they are at least being appreciated for the beauty they hold.

The gorgeous pearl-and-diamond tiara of Empress Eugénie, until six months ago, sat perfectly perched in a glass case under the gilded ceiling of the Galerie d’Apollon. 

Created for Eugénie by Alexandre-Gabriel Lemonnier, who also made the Imperial Crown, which was luckily recovered. Commissioned in 1853, shortly after the wedding to Napoleon III.  Designed using many of the Crown pearls from a tiara that once belonged to the Duchess d’Angouleme. 

Lemonnier’s contemporary design of the time featured natural elements, including diamond-covered “leaves” and 17 large pear-shaped pearls, totaling 212 pearls and 1998 diamonds. Eugénie wore it often, including at the opening of the 1855 Universal Exhibition, where her other jewels, including the Imperial Crown, were on display. 

While the tiara is gone and we await its return, you can still see Eugénie wearing it in the large portrait of the Empress by Pierre-Desire Guillemet, painted in 1857 and copied from the original by Franz Winterhalter, which hangs in the Appartements Napoleon III of the Louvre. 

In 1855, the Imperial couple visited Queen Victoria at Windsor Castle, a moment captured by Edward Matthew Ward with Eugénie in her tiara. A beautiful 1860 bust of the Empress by Georges Diébolt, located in a small garden in Monaco, surrounded by flowers, looking out to sea. 

The tiara was part of the sale of the Crown jewels of France on May 12, 1887, to jeweler Julius Jacoby, who sold it to Prince Albert of Thurn et Taxis. For over 100 years, it remained in the family until sold by Sotheby’s in 1992 and purchased by the Amis du Louvre. 

One of the jaw-dropping items was the Grand Corsage Bow Brooch of Eugénie. Napoleon III ordered four pieces from jeweler François Kramer to be completed for the 1855 Universal Exhibition and for his wife. However, the piece was originally designed as a belt, with a bow and tassels, and a staggering 4,790 diamonds totaling 386 carats. 

Eugénie loved the history of Marie Antoinette, and the bow was designed to emulate the former queen's love of bows and ribbons. 

Worn by the Empress for Queen Victoria's visit on August 25, 1855, she would later have it altered into the corsage bow we see today in 1864.  The bow would attach to the bodice of a dress, and the tassels hanging down to her waist would be reduced to 2,438 diamonds and 196 rose-cut diamonds. 

The bow was part of the sale of more than 77,000 crown jewels in May 1877 and was purchased for Caroline Astor and passed through many hands until purchased on April 16, 2008, by the Amis du Louvre with a large bequest from Mr. and Mrs. Rauffet. 

Marie-Amélie de Bourbon-Siciles was born on April 26, 1782, in the Kingdom of Naples. She was one of the 18 children of King Ferdinand of Naples and Queen Marie-Caroline of Austria, sister of Marie Antoinette. On November 28, 1809, she married Louis-Philippe, duc d’Orleans and the last King of the French from 1830-1848. 

Marie-Amélie never met her aunt Marie Antoinette or her husband Louis XVI, but after their deaths in 1793, she had a fear of dying a violent death. She rarely wore jewelry or did anything that would appear as outlandish or showy. As her husband decided to be the King OF the French and more a man of the people, she also wanted to be the anti-Marie, Antoinette. 

Napoleon was very fond of and close to his adopted daughter, and he married her off to his brother, Louis Napoleon; she wasn’t so thrilled about the idea. 

In 1814, when Napoleon went into his first exile and the empire fell, Hortense fled France and took her jewelry with her. Hortense acquired many jewels from her mother and her husband's family. When times were tight, she would sell off pieces to support herself and her two remaining sons. 

In 1821, Louis-Philippe was flush with cash and purchased a large set of sapphire jewelry from Hortense for 160,000 francs. A gift to his wife, Queen Marie-Amélie, who had the settings changed, including reducing the size of the tiara. 

The set remained in the Orleans family until July 3, 1985, when purchased by the Amis du Louvre. 

Forty-four sapphires surrounded by more than 2,500 diamonds in six pieces that glisten in the light. The Ceylon sapphires were not heated, so the blue is a tad lighter than the deep sapphires you see in current jewelry. 

On Sunday, October 19, 2025, the thieves took the tiara, necklace, and one earring, but left the three brooches behind and another set of earrings. 

At the south end of the middle case, next to the sapphires, was a stunning collar of diamonds and emeralds, one of my very favorites. 

Napoleon’s first wife, Joséphine, was unable to produce the all-important heir to the throne; they were divorced in 1809. 

Napoleon was on the hunt for a new wife. He wanted to marry the Grand Duchess Anna Pavlovna of Russia, sister of the Tsar Alexander I, but she was promised to someone else. In the next episode of the Emperor Bachelor, the Vienna Archduchess Marie-Louise, daughter of Archduke Francis of Vienna, was presented with a rose. 

The grand niece of Marie Antoinette had spent many years despising the French for her death during the French Revolution. But the deal was set, and on March 11, 1810, Napoleon and Marie Louise were married by proxy, with her uncle standing in as the Emperor. A few weeks late, she arrived in France and met Napoleon at Compiegne, on April 2, the two traveled to Paris for their wedding at the Louvre in the Salon Carré, steps away from where her necklace once was.

Napoleon Bonaparte wanted to shower his new bride with gifts and jewels and commissioned two sets from his personal jeweler, François-Regnault Nitot. Ten large Colombian pear-shaped drop emeralds were purchased by Nitot, specifically for the piece, and chosen by the Emperor for their exquisite quality. They were suspended in a diamond frame and surrounded by 1138 diamonds. 874 brilliant cut and 264 rose cut, which is one of the oldest cuts, going back to the 16th century. Beloved but rarely seen, cut with a flat base and a rounded top, with facets that give the illusion of a rose.

Matching earrings rounded out the initial set that later also included a tiara, comb, and belt plaque. They remained in the Empress's collection until they were passed to her cousin after her death in 1847, and eventually found their way to the American heiress Margie Merriweather Post in 1953, after being purchased from Van Clef & Arpels. In 2004, they were acquired by the Louvre, where they remained before the theft. 

The tiara, also in Margie Merriweather Post's collection, replaced the emeralds with turquoises and later gave the piece to the Smithsonian in DC, where it can still be seen today. 

As the thieves fled the Galerie d’Apollon, Abdoulaye N dropped the Imperial Crown of Empress Eugenie in the ditch below the street. The crown had been crushed as it was pulled from its base, leaving it heavily damaged. 

The Imperial Crowns were created in 1855 for the Universal Exhibition. What makes this crown so special is that the Emperor's crown was dismantled in 1887. Both crowns were created by Alexandre-Gabriel Lemonnier, working with sculptors Auguste & Joseph Fannière on the eight eagle ribbons of the Imperial coat of arms. Comprised of 1354 diamonds, 1136 rose-cut diamonds, and 56 emeralds in exquisite detail. 

One of the eight diamond-encrusted palmettes fell off in the Galerie d’Apollon and was recovered, but one of the Imperial eagles is missing. 

Of the 1354 diamonds, a “dozen” of the small stones along the band are missing. After the theft, many of France's historic jewelry houses reached out to the Louvre for assistance.

After a thorough investigation, the Imperial Crown can be restored. An advisory committee of Louvre officials, including Anne Dion, deputy director of the Objets d’Art department. They will decide between the houses of Chaumet, Cartier, Boucheron, Van Cleef & Arpels, and Maellerie. 

Listen to the full episode here