builders have played on us. Have they not, through the use of axes and chisels, manipulated our minds into thinking that what can surely be no more than rubble, amounts to something much greater, even holy?
“Regard the stained glass window.” Napoleon gestured to his left, to the south rose window. “I do believe that, perhaps, our entire Bible can be told through the thousands of figures carefully etched into this rainbow of glass. But my favorite is on the bottom left—the Flight into Egypt. Perhaps that is because it reminds me, even ever so loosely, of my Campaign in the Levant. But what looks to be Saint Mary and Saint Joseph fleeing with their infant boy into the desert is, of course, nothing more than colored glass. It is, of course, not actually Joseph and Mary up on the wall, but triangles and circles of burgundy, blue, and bronze. Have we again been mislead?”
The sunlight was pouring through the multicolored window as Napoleon spoke. He stood in the center of the altar, his entire figure covered in the sunbeams flowing into the cathedral. The pillars in the nave and the transept created long shadows, which stretched down the right and left of the altar, before converging in the choir and the apse. But while the other men sat in a mixture of light and shade, Napoleon somehow remained untouched by the shadows, and stood gloriously in center stage, his body struck purely by daylight.
“And lest you think this stained glass always appears as celestially beautiful as on this morning, return in a week’s time. You will find the translucent images of such kaleidoscopic color covered in soot and dust. It does not take long. View this luminous glass, shining so brilliantly today before the morning sun, after natural accumulations of dirt and dust, and you will find it lackluster, common, even unsightly. Indeed, then, how strong is an object’s proof of the divine, if it requires a prescheduled refurbishment to retain its exquisiteness and ward off decay?”
Napoleon paused and appeared to stare straight ahead, toward the entrance to the church. His body remained entirely fixed as he stood alone in the center of the altar. Somehow, he did not sway or shift in the slightest.
“But allow your minds to dream up again the Flight into Egypt, captured so superbly in the stained glass. The glass, with its radiant and reflective colors, perhaps represents the culmination of the achievements of the twelfth-century guild known as the Men of the Lock and Key. Yes, the Men of the Lock and Key—what masterpieces these guildsmen were capable of. They first formed in the early eleventh century under the leadership of the French monk Theophilus, in the region of Languedoc. Even then, they were known throughout all France as the finest makers of stained glass on the Continent. The magnificent cathedrals in Chartres, Bayeux, Amiens, and Nîmes were all crafted to accommodate works carefully fashioned by the Men of the Lock and Key. Princes from all over the South of France began to call on them. Most famously was the call of the Count of Provence, Alfonso II, for his royal wedding to Gersenda II of Sabran. It is said that Alfonso II walked all the way from Montpellier to Sommières to personally invite each and every member of the Men of the Lock and Key to the royal wedding, for the marvelous work they had done on Béziers Cathedral. This gesture began a custom in Provence wherein kings and queens began to personally approach guildsmen to request their attendance at royal occasion. This tradition lasted for several centuries, and there are remnants of it even today, which some of the old families continue to follow.
“Slowly, throughout the eleventh century, the Men of the Lock and Key expanded, and their influence moved northward. They made their way to Paris. By the twelfth century, when Notre-Dame was gradually coming to its completion, the Men of the Lock and Key were known throughout the city. When, in the early twelfth century, both transepts had been completed, and the nave’s final stone had been laid, the Bishop of Paris, Eudes de Sully, called on the Men of the Lock and Key. Of course, they accepted. And so, out of hand-blown crown glass, made on a potter’s wheel, the Men of the Lock and Key used their bronze diamond shears and brass parchoffis to create the Flight into Egypt, along with the remaining multitude of colored glass of the south rose window. We must remember this atmosphere of the Men of the Lock and Key when we gaze at the Flight into Egypt. Yes, it is true that one would search the world endlessly to find stained glass more exquisite and more captivating. But when we contemplate beauty, we must not stop at the Flight into Egypt itself. We must remember all of the wonders and blessings from which it emerged. Indeed, the question becomes: which is more incredible? The Flight into Egypt, or the sheer existence of those clever guildsmen, who brought forth such brilliance into France?
“Yes, look around yourselves. Now, perhaps at this point, you have begun to mistake my speech as a mere tribute to our Creator’s marvelous power to have fashioned a world of such perfection and miracle. It is, in fact, nothing of the sort. Pay attention to my words, and you will see I have different truths to expound. No, I am not here today to offer an exposition on the unparalleled exquisiteness and magnificence of God’s creation. We already know as much. This magnificence exists everywhere, and at all times. Stroll through Notre-Dame any day of the month and it will overwhelm your senses. Drift down the Pont Neuf at sunset and it will overtake you. But a man need not be in Europe’s greatest cathedral or city to find the world marvelous. Indeed, all the Earth blooms, even in the row of alehouses on rue Étienne, it blooms. We know this.
“But today, my dear citizens, is not the day in which I want you to admire a Mediterranean sunset, or fathom the intricacies of the human eye, or contemplate the natural majesty of the honeybee colony’s innermost workings. Today, instead, I want you to look around Notre-Dame, and notice how much power and glory reside in this room. Feel these halls bursting with the muscle and supremacy of all Europe. Indeed, the sight of a migrating flock of swallows in the November sky, though miraculous, and as well proof of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, offers evidence of a different breed of magic than from that which you today witnessed. Please, immerse yourself in today’s grandeur, gaze at your emperor, take a look at your pope, and you will ascertain an intrinsic magic to life which exists irrespective of anything else. For consider what you have just witnessed. Just moments ago, I lifted the golden Crown of Charlemagne and placed it atop my head, while all of Europe looked on. This golden crown twinkled, even flashed, in the light of the morning sun, as I held it up for all to see, before slowly lowering it onto my head and crowning myself Emperor of the Continent. And who was here to see, but the descendant of St. Peter, indeed, the Bishop of Rome himself, not to mention Talleyrand, Cambacérès, Berthier, Murat, and so many other notables, so many other great men, each of whose presence has contributed to the loftiness and moment of the day. Today is not the magic of Creation, of miracles, or of science. No, it is the culmination of history’s trajectory, in which a European panorama of colorful personages from distinct and checkered nations, dressed glamorously and majestically, heralding modern and revolutionary ideals, have paraded through the streets of Paris in overwhelming harmony, all to the sound of the most glorious music. Nothing in nature, despite its countless miracles and blessings, guarantees that anything so pictorial, so storylike, so human, so dramatic, should ever take place. Indeed, it is fit for a painting. This is not the lovely and natural formation of a rainbow, or a mere brawl outside a rue Étienne alehouse. This is the coronation of your emperor!”
By now, the entire nave had risen to its feet in deafening applause. Tricolor flags were waving throughout the hall and above all of the din could be heard the sounds of children’s voices crying mightily, Vive l’Empereur ! Vive l’Empereur !
“Nonetheless,” Napoleon said, once again quieting the crowd with his hands. “Nonetheless, even today in 1804, the reverberations emanating from the glory of my coronation ceremony will not be strong enough to reach all four corners of the globe. Somehow, inexplicably, thousands of men and women on the island of Madagascar will go to sleep tonight never hearing the sounds of Paris fireworks falling from the sky. And if everyone cannot hear them, then why should it matter if any
one can hear them? If there is even just one person who, for whatever reason, cannot hear our thunderous fireworks sparkling and blasting triumphantly in the sky, then is it not perhaps the case that these wondrous firecrackers never made a sound or spark at all?
“To these questions, I respond thus: they will hear them. They will hear every spark, every explosion, every burst in the night sky. For this is the coronation of your emperor, Napoleon I. I dare say that, so momentous is this day, that even the Bedouins of Madagascar know every detail of it, though they be ignorant of it!”
The crowd rose again and began to cry Napoleon’s name in ecstasy.
“Today, history is written. But I will not live forever. Indeed, this mighty cathedral, too, will also crumble one day. But good people of France, I assure you that, as the years turn into centuries, and the centuries into millennia, this day will live forever, and for all time will echo to the four corners of the Earth.”
Napoleon shouted this final line just loud enough that it could still be heard over the roaring crowd. The emperor