Isis & the French Connection

Section of a map of Roman Paris (after Crypte Archéologique 2005, Paris; MacKendrick 1972). This map shows the supposed location of a Temple of Isis.

If you’ve read Isiac lore broadly, you’ve probably come across the idea that the city of Paris is named for Isis, presumably from Per- (the Egyptian word for “house” or “temple”) or Par- (French for “with”) Isis. Most recently we find that notion in places like Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code and before him in David Wood’s 1986 book GenIsis: First Book of Revelations.

Unfortunately, it’s not so. The name of France’s capital city actually comes from the Gaulish Parisii clan who had a settlement on what would become the Isle de la Cité, and along the banks of the Seine. They may have called it something like Lucotocia, possibly from the Celtic word for “marsh.” When Rome conquered them, the Romans built a military base there called Lutetia Parisiorum (Lutetia of the Parisii), which eventually got shortened to Paris. So where does that idea that Paris was named for Isis come from?

Turns out the idea has a rather long history in France.

As early as the 1400s, we have records connecting the Goddess Isis with the city of Paris. (Of course, Isis Herself was there much earlier, brought in by the Romans, but I’m talking about written records.)

A French manuscript of the 1400s showing Isis arriving in Paris

A manuscript of that period, now in the French Bibliotheque Nationale shows Her, dressed as a Medieval woman, alighting in Paris from a ship with the caption, “The very ancient Isis, Goddess and queen of the Egyptians.” Apparently, as in this manuscript, Isis’ association with ships and sailing—think Isis Pelagia and Isis Pharia—was one of the reasons the French connected Her with Paris; one of the city’s symbols is a boat, due to the boatlike shape of the Isle de la Cité, in the middle of the Seine, in the heart of Paris.

In about the same time period, a monk called Jacques le Grant, or more probably, Jacques le Grand—in Latin, Jacobus Magnus—recorded this Isis-Paris connection:

In the days of Charlemagne [8th century CE] . . . there was a city named Iseos, so named because of the goddess Isis who was venerated there. Now it is called Melun. Paris owes its name to the same circumstances, Parisius is said to be similar to Iseos, because it is located on the River Seine in the same manner as Melun.

Whether or not this is true is not the point. The point is that the city’s closeness with Isis is part of its lore.

A number of French historians in the 1500s repeated the tradition that the remains of a Roman Temple of Isis are below the church of St. Germain des Pres. It wouldn’t be at all unusual for a church to have been constructed on top of a Pagan temple, but I haven’t yet been able to find out whether this idea is based on archeology or simply on historical references to the tradition. If you have a source, please let me know.

There is, however, an “Issy” associated with the site of the St. Germain complex. Sometime in the 500s, Childebert I, the Frankish king of Paris, gave his estate, Issy, to found a monastery on the site that would eventually become St. Germain des Pres. Scholars think the name Issy comes from Medieval Latin Isiacum or Isciacum, probably meaning “estate of Isicius,” a Gallo-Roman landowner. Isicius was most certainly named for the Goddess. Is this perhaps the Isis Who stands behind the tradition of a Temple of Isis beneath St. Germain? Writing in the early 1600s, Jacques de Breul, a monk actually from St. Germain des Pres, repeated the tradition that the name Issy came from Isis—which it ultimately did if the Isiacum conjecture is correct, but doesn’t necessarily confirm the existence of a temple on the spot.

An engraving showing the Isiac Fountain of Regeneration, built over the ruins of the Bastille; click on this image to see it larger. The details are interesting.

Isis had Her place in the French Revolution as well. As part of the celebrations commemorating the anniversary of the Revolution, in 1893, the French built a huge image of Isis, symbolizing Nature and Regeneration, in the form of a fountain with water pouring from Her breasts. Both politicians and populace came to drink of the water of the Goddess and be renewed. The fountain was—quel dommage!—only temporary. As it was made of paper mache, it no longer exists.

The demise of the Revolution did not mean the end of Isis’ French connection. It remained so prevalent that Napoleon—who had developed a severe case of Egyptomania following his Egyptian expedition in 1799—had it checked out by his own scholar. Apparently he was sufficiently convinced that he had a Parisian Coat of Arms designed that included an enthroned Isis on the prow of the “Ship of Paris,” which was shown following the Goddess’ sacred star.

The Parisian ship with enthroned Isis on the prow from Napoleon’s 1811 Paris Coat of Arms

Much of this has been collected by Robert Bauval and Graham Hancock in their book, Talisman. Here’s a link to Bauval’s article on the Isis-Paris traditions. The site was made prior to publication of the book. I haven’t read Talisman and suspect I may reach different conclusions than the authors did, but I do appreciate the work they did in collecting the pieces of the tradition.

Isis is also to be found deeply embedded in the occult traditions of the period, but that’s a topic too big to get into in one post, so let’s save that, and instead turn our attention toward the arts for She is very much found there as well.

There we meet Gérard de Nerval, French Romantic poet, Symbolist hero, and proto-Surrealist, and who is thinking much on the Divine Feminine. As was so often true —especially for the artists, writers, and occultists who were definitely sharing ideas during this period—for Nerval, one of the most important forms the Divine Feminine takes is Isis. Nerval is a mad poet; literally. He seemed to have suffered from depression and probably schizophrenia. He believed that dreams were the true reality, which is why he so inspired the Surrealists, but sometimes he had trouble sorting out dream from waking state. He also had some charming and well-known quirks. He kept a pet lobster, which he took for walks in the park leading it by a blue, satin ribbon, and declaring it a better pet than a dog for it never barked and knew the secrets of the deeps.

Dali with his work, called both “Aphrodisiac Telephone” and “Lobster Telephone”…no doubt Nerval’s lobster inspired the Surrealist artist

Nerval wrote poems and prose, including a piece called “Isis” (1845). It appears in a collection of short prose entitled Les Filles du Feu, the “Girls of Fire.” Isis is the only Goddess among the fiery girls, though Nerval wrote poems about other Pagan Goddesses and Gods as well. “Isis” is more journalistic than poetic. Nerval writes about a grade fete held by an ambassador in Naples. It was a costumed ball in which the life of ancient Pompeii was evoked, including the sundown rites of the Temple of Isis, which Nerval found to be the most inspiring events of the evening.

Nerval describes the temple and the “secret” rites held therein, all the while comparing them and Isis with Christian rites and Mary. This discussion then serves as a launching pad for Nerval to write about Apuleius’ tale of initiation into the Mysteries of Isis. You can feel his yearning as he describes the yearning of Lucius for Isis.

Indeed Nerval spent most of his life longing for feminine love, both human and Divine. Eventually, he could no longer function in the world, his mental illness incapacitating him. He committed suicide just ten years after he wrote “Isis”.

Sometimes we might wonder how it is that Isis, unlike so many of our ancient Goddesses, was never forgotten. From the time She was first recognized in ancient Egypt to now, Isis has never been completely out of societal consciousness. Anytime we start pulling on an Isis thread—lore about ancient Isis temples in Paris or Fiery Girls Who take up residence in a mad poet’s dreams—we keep on discovering Her. For me, these discoveries, while always delightful, are no longer surprising. She is always there because She has always been there. She could not be forgotten because She is.