THE word emblem, in its national application, represents to most of us a flag, and little else. But it has other meanings too; less important and less self-evident, it is true, but which well merit to be remembered. Images of animals, badges, war-cries, cockades, liveries, coats of arms, tokens, and tattooing, have all been accepted symbols of distinction between races; and though, in our time, those symbols have lost the greater part of their importance, and are almost everywhere replaced, practically, by the ensign, they still retain their historic interest, and form essential elements of the question. And, in addition to the variety of details which it thus presents, the subject possesses one rare and special merit: of all the forms in which the pride of nations has exhibited its pertinacity and its strength, this one notion of the symbol is perhaps the only one which provokes our unhesitating approbation. There is something strangely noble in the principle that the dignity, the power, and the glory of a great people may be represented by an emblem; something impressive in the thought that every member of that people can protect himself, no matter where, by the simple exhibition of that emblem. It is indisputably a form of vanity, otherwise it could not be included here; but it is a vanity which stands alone, high up above all others. We may smile at the exaggerations which it has occasionally assumed, at the pretensions which have sometimes been based upon it; but the smile will be respectful, and not one amongst us will be able to really laugh at the little weaknesses of so grand and so illustrious a pride. Just as we feel an instinctive reverence when our own flag goes by, so do we regard with deferential sympathy the entire theory of state signs; so do we cordially extend to the symbols of other lands the courtesy and the homage which we require for our own. And the theory is a very old one; it is no invention of to-day; it goes back into our earliest beginnings, so far, indeed, that we can fix no commencement for it. From all time men have used emblems to indicate their nationality. Homer, it is true, makes no allusion to their presence at the siege of Troy; but if his Greeks. must therefore be presumed to have had no knowledge of them, there is good reason to suppose that other nations of the period were perfectly accustomed to them, and employed them regularly. The archæologists assert-and it looks as if they were quite right-that the earlier Egyptians carried images of bulls and crocodiles into battle; that each of the twelve tribes of Israel had a special ensign of its own; and that the faithful subjects of Semiramis adopted doves and pigeons as their token, in deference to their queen, whose name-surprising as it may seem meant "dove." They go on to tell us that, at later dates, Athens chose an owl for its public sign, as a compliment to Minerva; Corinth a winged horse, in memory of Pegasus and his fountain; Carthage a horse's head, out of flattery to Neptune; Persia the sun, because its people worshipped fire; Rome an eagle, in order to show courtesy to Jupiter. All these objects appear to have been carved in wood or metal; there is no proof of the existence of anything resembling modern flags-except, perhaps, in parts of Asia-until the Romans began to use fanions, somewhere about the time of Cæsar. These small signals had, however, no moral value, and possessed no national or public character; all the pride of Rome continued to be concentrated in the eagles; and it was not till Constantine gave a religious meaning to the Labarum that any floating banner really acquired a reputation. It should, however, be observed, that another sort of mark of nationality appears to have been a good deal applied amongst the less civilised populations of the epoch; they used to paint themselves, and so became, in fact, their own flag. The Ethiopians in Xerxes' army adorned their skins with vermilion and white plaster; the tribes of Germany inscribed various animals on their breasts; the North British carried their love of this class of patriotic symbols to such a point that they earned by it the name of Picts; and there are curious inquirers who pretend that even so recently as the eighth century there were men in England who continued to be so proud of their illustrated bodies, that they steadfastly declined to wear any clothes at all, in order to exhibit themselves completely. These facts lead us, not unnaturally, to the thought that tattooing may possibly be the most ancient of all existing national devices, although the word itself, and the idea which it expresses, have only become known to Europeans since the discovery of the South Sea Islands. We need not carry further these indications of the origins of the subject; we can abandon the first fortyfive centuries of the world's existence, and can begin our tale with Clovis, who, according to some of the special authors, was the first Western sovereign to adopt a flag. It is not, however, very easy to say what Clovis did; for the excellent reason that there is a bitter fight between learned critics as to whether he did anything at all. The wonder-loving section of the Continental writers about emblems, including Favyn, Père Anselme, Benéton, and even the modern M. Rey, tell us, as a matter of course, about which no discussion is possible, that Clovis, after his conversion, adopted the "chape de St Martin" as his standard. They do not all agree as to what the "chape" was, some asserting positively that it was the cloak of the famous saint of Tours; others, that it was the remaining half of the identical garment which he cut in two at Amiens in order to share it with a beggar; others, again, that it was no part of the vestments of the saint, but a regular proper flag belonging to his abbey. The latter group of authors go so far as to describe the banner, and to proclaim that it was blue and had three points. But another set of equally-convinced enthusiasts (whose opinion has been adopted by M. Sepet in his curious monograph of the Flag of France) urge that the "chape de St Martin" never was a real flag at all, and that it was not even a garment used as a flag; they argue that it was simply a relic of the saint which was carried in procession with the army in a box, as an encouragement to the troops. Legendary or real as the history may be, there is a widespread belief in France not only that the ensign of St Martin was the first banner of the Gallic nation, but that it was also the first flag ostensibly adopted in Western Europe; and, furthermore, that the word chapel is descended from "capella," which originally meant a little cloak, but was also used to designate the oratory in which the "chape" was kept; and that chaplain also grew current from the same source, because the priests attached to the oratory of St Martin were known by that appellation. This is a question which may be left to etymological antiquaries to settle, if they can; it need not delay us here. After Clovis, Dagobert took an eagle as his emblem; but, from his day, wild animals temporarily went out of fashion in Christianity, and were replaced by flowers, figures, crosses, flames, and saints, which began to disappear again when shields of arms were invented. It is pretended that, at this same time, the Germans used a serpent and a lion for their symbols; the Goths a lion, cock, and bear; the Danes three lions and a crow; the Burgundians a cat; and the Saxons a white horse. It will, however, be as well to continue the story of the French flag, and to tell it completely, before any reference is made to the emblems of other countries. There are several reasons for adopting this order in the tale: the flag of France has had a career of curious variations; it has passed through grave adventures; its story has been written a good many times, and we consequently possess details with respect to it which, more or less, are wanting in the case of most other colours; its successive modifications serve as mark-points in the history of the French; finally, the special interest of actuality which attaches to it just now would justify us, even if no other motives existed, in as signing to it, for the moment, the foremost place in the list of European banners. Five months ago, the Comte de Chambord refused to become king of France, unless he could bring the white flag back with him it seemed strange that the destinies of a nation should be made dependent on the colour of a standard,-but so it was; France missed a possible opportunity of acquiring a definite form of government because its intended king would not let his subjects use the tricolour. This fact alone makes it well worth while to tell the legend of the two rival flags, and to tell it before we speak of the less exciting emblems of other nations. We therefore go on to Charlemagne, and with him the modern history of bunting begins in earnest, for the first oriflamme appears. About this, at all events, no doubt is possible, for at Rome, in the Church of St John Lateran, there was a mosaic representing St Peter in the act of offering the pallium with his right hand to Leon III., and a banner with the left to Charlemagne. The latter wore a closed imperial crown, a moustache, and no beard; the banner is blue, with six red roses on it. A drawing of this mosaic (which exists no longer) is given by Montfaucon in his 'Monuments de la Monarchie Française.' And this is not the only evidence we possess with reference to this ensign; here are four lines about it from the "Chanson de Roland :" "Montjoie, ils crient! Entre eux est Charlemagne ; Geoffroy d'Anjou y porte l'Oriflamme, This seems to tell us that this flag, which was first called "Romaine," apparently because it was given to Charlemagne in Rome, changed its name to Montjoie, a corruption of Mons Gaudii, which was a hill near Rome. So far the story is tolerably comprehensible; but it winds up with a grievous difficulty, for no one pretends to know the end of the first oriflamme, or why it was suppressed and its place absorbed by the second oriflamme the famous flag of St Denis. To account for this other wise inexplicable difference, M. Sepet suggests-though he gives us no reason why-that the "Romaine" was identical with the standard of St Maurice, which Charlemagne carried in his wars against the Saracens of Spain, and which Hugues Capet sent afterwards as a present to King Athelstane. Whether this be true or not, St Peter's gift is no more heard of. St Denis was an abbey of the county of Vexin, a district outside Paris, stretching from the Epte to the Oise, and including Mantes, Magny, Chaumont, and Pontoise. The county was transferred to the crown in the reign of Philip I., and the king, having apparently no other flag which he liked better, adopted the banner of St Denis on becoming Comte du Vexin. It was solemnly raised for the first time in the year 1124, when Louis le Gros was going to fight the Emperor Henry V. From that moment the oriflamme of St Denis became the official standard of France, and was in all the battles of the kingdom down to Agincourt, after which it seems to be have been used no more. There is considerable doubt as to what became of it. Some of the learned critics pretend that it was lost in Flanders; others have the courage to assert that it was still in existence in 1792, and was then borne by the regiment of M. de Vergnette. It is, however, probable that when it ceased to be employed, it was deposited at St Denis; for, in an inventory of the treasure of the abbey, made in 1504, it is spoken of as being there in a worn-out state; and Dom Felibian says that he saw it there in 1594, half-eaten by mites. It was a red silk flag; probably it bore no pattern or in scription; it seems also likely that it was cut into several points, and that its name of oriflamme was a consequence of its flame-shaped ends. And that is almost all which can be guessed about it. But now we come to something much more interesting. While the oriflamme was still in all its glory, another flag appeared: the ori flamme was a banner of devotion, the new-comer was personal and political; the oriflamme was red, the other one was blue; the oriflamme was an accident, its rival was destined to become an institution; one was the flag of St Denis, the other grew into the flag of France. Under Louis VII. this blue ensign was carried respectfully behind the oriflamme; it was at Bouvines, it was at Acre; on the windows of the cathedral of Chartres, St Louis appears on horseback, his shield in one hand, this banner in the other. Throughout the 13th and 14th centuries it floated on every battlefield; it was at Crécy and at Poitiers. It was at first the "bannière royale;" then it was called the "Bannière de France;" it was the blue flag with the golden fleurs-de-lys. The adventures and the transformations of this famous standard are difficult to trace with certainty ; but its birthplace is still more difficult to define. Who can pretend to tell us the true origin of the fleurs-delys? Who can determine with precision why the kings of France adopted blue as the colour of their banner and their shield? We have the choice between so many genealogies for the fleur-de-lys, that it is really prudent not to attempt to decide between them. A certain Goropius tells us that France already used this famous emblem in the time of Noah, Japheth having received it direct from heaven for the express purpose of ornamenting the flag of Gaul. Less eager writers, while still maintaining the celestial derivation of the symbol, assign a somewhat less distant date to its appearance upon earth, and content themselves with proclaiming that an angel brought it down to Clovis. A third group shakes its awful head and mutters, "It descended not to Clovis, but to St Denis." Then comes the unbelieving school, which argues that the fleur-de-lys was not a flower at all, but was simply an imitation of a lance-head. The partisans of this interpretation urge that the first sceptre of the Frank monarchs was a javelin, and that the point of this weapon passed as an ornament into their crown, their clothes, and finally, into their coat of arms. Next we find the theory that the fleurs-de-lys may be imitations of a bee, the reason being that about 300 little images having a faint resemblance to that useful insect were found in the tomb of Childeric, and were supposed, when first discovered, to have been sewn all over his mantle, and to have therefore been his emblem. Other explanations are, that the first arms of the Frank kings were toads, in memory of the marshy countries from which they came, and that by some curious process the toads grew into lilies; or that the soldiers of Clovis made for themselves crowns of lilies after the battle of Tolbiac, and that their leader consequently adopted the lily as his mark instead of the toads which he had so far borne. That the sovereigns of France did bear toads at one time is proved by many testimonies; but it is not easy to imagine how they could have become converted into a sign so widely different. One more legend is that the twelve first Louis signed their names as Löys, and that fleur-de-lys was simply a corruption of fleur-de-Löys. Finally, when we get to the flower itself-if really it was a flower-we find that it may have been a lily, or a gladiolus, or an iris. About the blue the theories are simpler; the authors generally content themselves with statements that it was the colour of the Merovingians and of St Martin, and was therefore naturally chosen for the royal hue; some few of them, however, pretend that it was adopted in memory of the water in which the lilies grew. In addition to all this uncertainty as to origin, there is also considerable difficulty as to the date at which this banner first appeared. There is no evidence of its existence prior to 1148, but it is then distinctly spoken of as having been carried by Louis VII. to the Crusade. Yet, whatever be its real antiquity, it may fairly be regarded as the primary royal flag of France, and as exhibiting the original arms and colour of the nation. The first alteration which occurred in its composition was the diminution of the number of fleurs-de-lys. Down to Charles VI. there was no limit to them-there were as many as the field could hold; from his time they were reduced to three. The next change was infinitely more important, for it seems to have been the starting-point of a series of progresses which gradually converted the blue flag into a white one. appears so far, at least, as the uncertain evidence enables us to arrive at an opinion-to have resulted from the transfer of the white cross which French soldiers habitually wore upon their breasts to the centre of the royal standard. The "droite croix blanche" had been for centuries a mark of France, just as the red cross of St George was the badge of England; but it does not appear to have been inscribed upon the blue ensign until the time of Charles VII.-that is to say, at the very date when the Maid of Orleans made her own white flag It |