Paris: Day Three

I have much better shots of the painting itself, but what makes this one noteworthy is the absence of people in front of it.

Three of us set out from our Paris flat last Wednesday morning to see The Louvre. Because we (1) visited during the low season, (2) pre-purchased tickets, (3) chose to go on a rainy day, and (4) arrived at the museum right before it opened, we had the Mona Lisa nearly to ourselves. Yes, once inside, we trotted straight to her room to beat the crowds. Score! It's small but beautiful. Amanda wondered why Mona was smiling. I said she must be pregnant. Amanda noticed a puffiness in her hands, which fits the diagnosis. Mystery solved.

Click on the pictures for enlargement.

Next, I wanted to see "The Coronation of Napoleon," an enormous painting. At the Louvre I had it nearly to myself—only four people in a huge room. Upon arriving home, I did a little review of the facts. Apparently during his coronation, Napoleon did take the crown and put it on his own head rather than letting anyone else do so. He also crowned Josephine in the same ceremony. The painting once showed him crowning himself, but the art was “redone” to show him crowning her. In Versailles on the wall where the painting once appeared, a copy now hangs—apparently created nearly from memory by the original artist. The inscription there says that the work depicts the crowning of Josephine. All stories about the paintings subjects turn out to be true—just having different emphases.

The obelisk's original cap was probably stolen in the sixth century BC, so France added its own sixteen years ago.

We also toured Napoleons’ quarters in The Louvre, and here’s my one-word summary: opulent. (I chose the same word for Versailles—more on that tomorrow.)

One pleasant surprise was the number of busts of first-century Roman women. I could get within inches of them to click photos, providing me with more documented evidence for my library of women's hair styles in the time of the earliest Christians. This adds to my research on 1 Corinthians 11 and what it meant to "cover" one's head. I also stumbled on a statue of Artemis which I'd had to purchase photo rights (someone else's shot) to use in my dissertation. In future scholarly works on the subject, I can now use my own (free) photos. Yay!

Looking down from atop the Arc's snail-like staircase can cause dizziness.

From the Louvre, we headed for the Arc de Triumph by means of The Avenue des Champs-Élysées—one of the world’s most famous streets. We passed through a long, gorgeous, fountain-filled park before walking the paved avenue flanked with cafés, luxury shops, and clipped horse-chestnut trees. Champs-Élysées is apparently French for “Elysian Fields,” the place of the blessed dead in Greek mythology.

At approximately the halfway mark, we saw The Obelisk of Luxor, an ancient artifact originally located at the entrance to Egypt’s Luxor Temple. Today it stands seventy-five feet high at the center of the roundabout known as the “Place de la Concorde.” And that is where the guillotine once stood. That’s right—the main execution place of the counter revolutionaries. France didn’t steal the obelisk or anything—it was a gift from the Viceroy of Egypt (it’s also referred to as Cleopatra's needle). Yes, it’s that old, decorated with hieroglyphs about King Ramses II.

The Arc de Triumph is one of the many beautiful sights visible from atop the Eiffel Tower.

On to The Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile. Picture an enormous roundabout with a huge arch in the middle. The arch is so big you can climb the stairs (huffing and puffing) to the top, and from below the people on top look like ants. This triumphal arch honors soldiers who fought and died for France in two of their many, many, many wars (French Revolution, Napoleonic). Beneath it lies France’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I. As my friends and I sat on benches beneath the Arc, we read the inscriptions of the names of all French victories and generals.

After descending, we met up with two more of our party and proceeded to the Eiffel Tower. There I gasped for breath on the hundreds of steps up to its second level—I had a daypack on my back. We took a lift from that level to the top and looked out on the city both before and after dark. Then I gasped for a different reason—the view. Worth every step.

The Eiffel Tower cast its beams across the City of Lights.