A Visit Into Marseille's Emblematic Basilica
Visit Notre Dame de la Garde For Its Stunning Interior Decorations
Mar 22, 2009
As the little known architect Jacques-Henri Espérandieu sat at his draft table, he began sketching the design for a novel basilica for Marseille's Catholics. The year was 1853, and as a young man of only 24 years, he endeavored to create something different, something fashionable. In much of Europe, Orientalism was adding exoticism and adventure to art and literature. It would also set Espérandieu's creation apart. Breaking from the Gothic style of northern France's great cathedrals, the Basilica of Notre Dame de la Garde would wear the mark of its époque, as a thoroughly modern house of worship.
The Byzano-Roman Style Exterior of Notre Dame de la Garde
Young though he was, Espérandieu was not simply giving into his whims when he traced the black and white stripes that characterize this basilica. In creating such a work, he wanted also to give the Marseillais a symbol of their city, a symbol the their history. He wanted the people to see themselves in the this church that would watch over the city from its hilltop summit. The unique style of the basilica comes from a desire to express the blended Christianity of the city, mixing Roman and Byzantine influences. The polychrome stones remind visitors both of Il Duomo in Florence and of Cordoba's Grand Mosque. In an expression of the identity of Marseille, both Catholic and Muslim can see themselves in the basilica's stones. Espérandieu also considered the military history of the site, laying his foundations on those of king François I's fort, built three centuries earlier. A drawbridge, bastions, and entrance tower also hint at the military vocation of the site, making the church look as much like a prison as a house of God; an opinion surely shared by the Duke of Orleans and his sister, Duchess of Bourbon, cloistered here in April 1793.
The Mosaics and Prayer Plaques of the Interior of Notre Dame de la Garde
Crossing the drawbridge, in the footsteps of the unfortunate nobles, a sort of cave lurks beneath the bell tower. Here is the crypt, austere, somber. Only the illumination of the Roman vaulted ceiling, with its subtle shadow game, allows the Virgin with a Bouquet to glint from her gold and blue pedestal. Enveloped by the velvety shadows, her golden robe seems almost garish. But it's only a glimmer of the holy treasures hidden behind the bronze doors opening into the sanctuary.
An army of Hittites would be needed to shove open the elephantine bronze doors weighing 1,900 kilograms. Thankfully, the caretakers of this church had the good sense to install revolving doors, which even a small unit of tired tourists can push through. And once inside, the golden gleam of the downstairs Virgin feels almost forgotten, overwhelmed by the profusion of gold and polychrome marble mosaics, the Mediterranean sun flaring through the stained glass windows, the red and white marble stripes of the arched chapels, and at the end of the nave, a dark figure. Encircling the silhouette the words "Ave Gratia Plena." Protected by mosaic cupola, a solid silver Virgin and Child.
Silversmith Jean-Baptiste Chanuel hammered the metal plates for five years before finishing the sacred statue. Today, she stands immobile, her gaze fixed on the tourists swarming through the aisles. Occasionally they pause to read the marble plaques tiling the walls of the chapels--"Our Lady, protect Claude forever," "Recognition F.N., 1969," Thank you to O.L. for healing." Here the people of Marseille express their gratitude to the Good Mother, protector of the city. A handful of passers-through light candles before shuffling through the revolving glass doors, others flash their Nikon Coolpixes for a few more souvenirs of the symbol of Marseille and the audacity of a young, fashionable architect.
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