President of the Netherlands, First Consul of the French, General of the Egyptian Army, and now, Emperor of all of France, Napoleon I of Corsica!”
Napoleon emerged from the left transept, attired in his ceremonial regalia. Unlike Pius and Josephine, who began their walk to the altar immediately upon their entrance to the service, Napoleon stood for several moments in the left transept, facing his people and staring directly at his people. The chorus began to sing from Schobert’s Benedictus, one of the composer’s most solemn works. The music soon became grand and sweeping, but Napoleon remained fixed in his stance. He continued to stand there in the left transept, alone, with high head, his gaze set on the crowd, like a sentinel. But when the double organ began to play from the balcony, and its sparkling, melded, coppery tones filled the cathedral, Napoleon began his procession. He slowly walked toward the altar, with a majesty and dignity that could only be described as unsurpassed.
He soon reached the center aisle, and all in attendance could see his ceremonial regalia in full detail. The Emperor, of course, was wearing the grand coronation mantle, a vestment which nearly all Frenchmen would count themselves lucky to glimpse just once in their lives. The grand coronation mantle, last worn in 1774 at the Coronation of Louis XVI, was made of the most handsome crimson velvet, studded with golden bees, richly embroidered with white satin and golden trim, and fastened together with silver cord and gold tassel. The mantle, which would have been large enough to cloak a stallion, flowed off the Emperor’s body and far onto the floor, trailing behind him as he strode.
When he had reached the foot of the altar steps, the choir had reached the final notes of the Benedictus. But as Napoleon touched his left foot to the first step, the triumphal opening chords to the Vivat by Abbé Roze sounded throughout the church, and soon the full choir was singing this jubilant, excited hymn. With this joyous music all around him, the Emperor ascended the steps to the main altar. Though the French people knew that at this most sacred of times, it was imperative to remain quiet, still some could not maintain themselves, and cried out the Emperor’s name in the ecstasy of the moment.
He was now in the center of the altar, and there he stood motionless once more. He had turned to face his audience, and stared down the nave with an identical expression to that which he bore at the very beginning of his procession. Just as before, despite the divine music surrounding him, he stood fixed in his place, staring down at his people, his face half-illuminated and half in a shadow. As the Vivat continued to play, it was clear that the main ceremony was about to begin, for the Pope was readying himself. With some effort, he lifted himself up from his throne, and then reached down beside his chair. On a velvet pillow of purple and red stripes, sat the silver chrismatory. The Pope picked up the chrismatory and held it in both hands as he traversed the altar, meeting Napoleon center stage. The Emperor still had yet to move or even so much as flinch his body. The Pope, with his towering three-crowned cap, appeared in some ways to loom over the Emperor. But, despite the disparity in height, the ferocity and valor of Napoleon was plain in his stance and in his countenance, such that all present viewed Napoleon as the supreme and the dominant of the two men, even from just his physical presence alone.
Napoleon knelt, and Pius lifted the chrismatory high above his head. Pius then anointed Napoleon with the triple unction, touching the holy oil to the Emperor’s head and both hands. But as Napoleon received the triple unction, his countenance bore a look of perturbation, as though the oil were bothersome to his face. Despite his inclinations toward religiosity, the Emperor was and would always remain a secularist at heart. But the moment the Pope began to speak, Napoleon’s face became at once calm and pious.
Diffuse, oh Lord, by my hands, the treasures of your grace and benediction of your servant, Napoleon, whom, in spite of our personal unworthiness, we this day anoint Emperor in your name.
The Pope, having said these words, then took a step back, and began to head toward the center of the high altar. There, raised on a Corinthian pillar of black English marble, on a sumptuous silk pillow, rested the golden Crown of Charlemagne. But Napoleon, whose eyes had been closed during the consecration, suddenly opened his eyes and fixed them on the Pope. The Emperor then rose to his feet and made quickly for the pillar. He passed by the Pope and seized the Crown of Charlemagne off the pillow. A few gasps could be heard throughout the hall. The Pope then watched with an expression of surprise as Napoleon walked once again toward foot of the altar. He raised the crown high above his head as the Pope looked on. It was then that the chorus began to sing Lully’s Gloria in excelsis Deo in the Medieval style. Napoleon used his left hand to remove the wreath of laurel which he had worn upon entering the Church. He simply dropped it to the ground. And then, with both hands, he lowered the Crown of Charlemagne to his head at the very moment the choir sang the line, Quóniam tu solus Sanctus, tu solus Dóminus, tu solus Altíssimus. For the first time that morning, a small smile could be caught on Napoleon’s face, as he surveyed the audience back and forth. It was perhaps the most handsome he had ever looked, with the crown at last atop his head.
The Pope, still holding the silver chrismatory, then marched back to his throne. As he sat down, Josephine arose. The sunlight coming through the south rose window landed on her body, and the rubies and diamonds on her dress sparkled so brightly in the light, that even the attendees in the very last rows felt their eyes dazzled. As she arose, the choir began another piece by Lully, which was perhaps more befit for the occasion than any other hymn played that morning. It was the Salve Regina.
Followed by two ladies-in-waiting, the Duchess de La Rochefoucauld and Madame Lavalette, she walked to the foot of the altar. The Duchess de La Rochefoucauld tenderly placed a pile-en-pile velvet pillow, the color of sapphire, on the floor beside the Emperor. Josephine then knelt down on the pillow, and Napoleon turned to face her. The Pope stood up again from his chair and walked to the center of the altar to retrieve the crown of the empress. Josephine was kneeling with bowed head as the Pope approached her, with the crown in hand. Without taking his eyes from Josephine’s, Napoleon opened his hand and stretched his arm toward the Pope. The Pope set the crown in Napoleon’s hand. Napoleon clasped his hand tightly around the crown, and the Pope then turned to make for his seat. Not once did Napoleon’s eyes appear to stray from Josephine during this time. The choir continued to sing…Eia, ergo, advocate, nostra, ilos tuos.
Tears began to fall from Josephine’s cheeks as Napoleon gazed down on her, lifting her silver crown in the air for all to see. But the music was so thunderous at that moment, that few if anyone could hear the crying of the Empress. The tears were of joy and happiness, though, that was clear to all in attendance. For the Empress raised her head for a moment to look at Napoleon, and lent him a smile of such gratitude and warmth, that one could no longer mistake her tears for anything but sheer euphoria at the moment of the day. This happy weeping, though, only made the Empress more beautiful on that occasion. Somehow, it rendered her neck still more delicate, and her figure still more graceful. Indeed, were a man to describe her as the paragon of exquisiteness in that pose and posture, he would not have been mistaken in the slightest.
Napoleon then engaged in a little game with his wife’s coronation. Perhaps he wanted to bring some levity to her countenance, or perhaps he wished to begin a new custom, as he was know well-known to take the past and turn it novel. The Emperor took this little silver crown, bedecked with diamonds, and wiggled it just above his own head for a moment, before lowering it onto Josephine’s! What laughter this inspired, not just in Josephine, but all throughout the nave. But then, Napoleon quickly brought the crown off her head after promising it to her. Even Napoleon himself could not help but laugh at this gesture, and of course everyone else around him and throughout the church was laughing, too, at this playful display. How much levity and lightheartedness were in the great hall now, merely as a result of the Emperor’s clever frolics. At last, Napoleon gently set the silver crow
n on Josephine, just above her diamond tiara, which was perhaps sumptuous enough purely on its own to be the crown of a queen.
The wondrous Salve Regina at last came to a close, as the Chœur de Chambre de la Cité sang out those final, immortal lines…Consonante perpetim: Salve, Salve, Salve Regina! The strings held the concluding chord for a few moments, and then the piece was, now without question, entirely over. All that remained of the joyous song was the phantom sounds which an attentive listener could conjure up in his mind for some time after. Josephine rose to her feet and gazed at the Emperor. They stood there together for several moments, simply beholding each other. Finally, Josephine began the walk back to her throne, but Napoleon remained standing at the front of the altar. By now he was completely alone once more. He stood proudly. With the golden crown atop his head, he was the centerpiece of the magnificent display. The marble statues of the Virgin and the Beloved Disciple, the lifelike hanging tapestry of Jean II le Bon, the bronze statues of Louis XII and Louis XIV and the Saint Michael, and the vast