Notre-Dame de Paris

Did you know that during the second world war, they took the stained glass windows out of Notre-Dame and put them in storage, for fear they would get blown out? I've seen this in a couple of places and it makes me wonder  how they did that. Seriously. You've got three rose windows- one at the west end, the big one, between the two front towers, and then one at each end of the transept, facing north and south. And beyond that, there must be near on a hundred stained glass windows besides the rose windows. They're everywhere. Notre-Dame's a Gothic Cathedral. It's the example you think of when you think of Gothic architecture. If you're me. So I'm puzzled and astounded by the amount of effort they had to put into it. Grateful, though.

Did you know that Notre Dame was probably the first place to use flying buttresses? They weren't even part of the original design, it's just that the walls were thinner in the Gothic style and they started to buckle under the weight of all the stones being added on top of them, so the architects threw these things in and they got popular as the style spread. It had a while to spread- the cathedral was finished in 1345. Just think! This is a building that's been around for nearly seven centuries. And somehow, with all our changes in fashion and taste and style, we still find it beautiful. Or I do, anyway. Me and all the people lined up across the parvais to see it.

Did you know that in the French Revolution they took out all the religious symbolism in the church and made it a Temple of Reason? They actually thought that the kings of Judah were kings of France and beheaded them. They replaced Mary over some of the altars with Lady Liberty. This place, this church that's so iconic to us, it was turned into a place were you didn't pray to God. I mean, this says all sorts of fascinating things philosophically, but I have such a hard time seeing this space as anything but a church. I love the gargoyles, pagan symbols though they be, and if you hadn't told me those were kings, I wouldn't have known, and the saints lining the doors could be any old people from that time period- well, maybe all of them except for St. Denis.

Noted Cephalophore. 

 But inside, smelling of incense and laid out in a massive cross with those choir stalls and those ceilings leading the eye up and up? They actually used this place to store food at one point in time. Strip the walls bare and it becomes a granary. And that's what some people saw in the cathedral.

Did you know that Victor Hugo wrote The Hunchback of Notre Dame about a time period much before his? We get confused about these things- all history is history to most of us. He was alive in the 1800's, after Napoleon had restored Christianity to the cathedral and been coronated in it. But Victor Hugo wrote it about the end of the 15th century, I think. I love the themes Mr. Hugo talks about in the book- there's all this about whether we actually have free will and the problem with class differences and the objectification of women. He also advocates for the repair of the cathedral, which, in his time, had fallen into disrepair, without being entirely restored from the damages of the revolution, and preservation of historic buildings is something I can certainly get behind. The cathedral is the main character of his book- it weathers all the injustice and stands solitary at the end.

Other people have taken the story and put a different moral spin on it. Disney, not famous for preserving plot lines anyway, makes the moral of the story acceptance of people who are different. Not universally, of course- Quasimodo ends up blessing the union of Esmeralda and Phoebus, because the two pretty people are the ones that should be together, but, you know, Quasimodo's had his one day out there and can happily go back to his bells and his church without the oppression of his former master, having been accepted as a good friend to Esmeralda and Phoebus alike. Notre-Dame is really the actor who paved the way for all of this justice- she protected Quasimodo from death as an infant and she allowed Frollo to fall, giving Quasimodo life as an adult.

If you see Notre-Dame de Paris, the musical based off of the story, there's this overarching theme of justice for the immigrants, for the gypsies that have made Paris their home. They demand sanctuary from Our Lady, and liberation. The cathedtal is a safe place, more than it ever is in the book, where the gargoyles watch over Esmeralda, where in the winter it's not too cold and in the summer it's not too hot. The bells are Quasimodo's loves. Even if, by the end of the musical, all has fallen into tragedy, the words of the songs have made their point- the gypsies and the outcast bellringer are the heroes of the story, not the captain of the archers or the curator of the cathedral. The opening song of the opera says that this, the time of the story, is the time of cathedrals. Man has reached for the stars, to write his story in glass and in stone.




Is it an exclusionary story, the one written above the doors and in the stained glass of Notre-Dame? What does someone with no idea who these people lining the doorways see, what does a pagan see in Mary when she walks into the building dedicated to her?

That's actually one of the things that I notice most in the three versions of the story I'm most familiar with, Esmeralda praying to Mary. In the book, it's rather tongue in cheek- Esmeralda is deathly afraid while the cathedral is being attacked by her liberators, and Victor Hugo says that, in times of need, one always prays to the god to which you're closest. In the Disney movie, a wiser Esmeralda walks along the halls of the cathedral, asking for God's help for the outcasts. We get to hear from the good people of Paris too, asking for love and glory and God and his angels' blessings, but Esmeralda doesn't ask for anything for herself, just for those less lucky than she is. And in Notre Dame de Paris, Esmeralda asks for protection from Mary, but she also asks for the barrier between herself and Mary and between brothers everywhere be taken down. I think all the prayers have beautiful points to them.

I wore my Esmeralda skirt on the Sunday when I went to mass at Notre Dame. I carried it around Europe for two months because it was definitely, definitely below the knee, a flowing green skirt that reached halfway down my shin. It really saved me in Rome, making sure I could get into St. Peter's without suffering in my jeans all day. I was being better safe than sorry in Notre-Dame. Really, given the choice, I would have loved to walk in barefoot and fit the part of a gypsy- my skin was still tan from Rome and Spain and sunny days in the south of France and my hair has grown to a remarkable length, curling unruly along the way. All I need are some gold earrings and I'm set, total gypsy. And that's all I ever want to be. I want to be the other, the outsider, the underprivileged, the one deserving pity and the one commended for rising above the sorry lot life has given me. Then it's not me that has to change the way I look at the world. The world has to adjust to me and my claims to be fair. It's so much easier to be on this end.

I bet you thought I was going to talk about the building, didn't you? The famous gargoyles, not even half as old as the building itself, the flying butresses, the carved altar stalls and the pieta and the statue of King Louis XIII and the crown of thorns in the treasury? Or maybe about the saints outside the doors, St Denis and the statues of Mary and Jesus and Peter and Paul, or the saints inside the doors, the statue of Joan of Arc whose redemption from heresy was carried out inside these very walls? Maybe I would detail the services for you, talking about the intriguing sermon preached in French from the surprising priest who stood behind the lectern with one elbow leaned against the Bible in front of him or about the sound of the organ as it played, sweet and beautiful, throughout the building, just softer than the choir that sang on Sunday morning hidden back in the choir stalls, or about the procession from the sacistry, incense smoke leading the way through the tourists still filling the halls and up the center aisle between the chairs and back out again, standing in silence broken by music as the cross came into and left the sanctuary?

But I've seen so many cathedrals. I've been to so many masses. Without the words to differentiate them, they're all the same. And these churches, they're all laid out the same, they're all used the same, when they're used for mass. The difference between all of these churches lies in their stories, and Notre-Dame de Paris has so many stories attributed to it. They're stories that I hold dear, because I love each and every one of the renditions of Mr. Hugo's novel. I love his idea and his protest against the injustice he saw. I love the ideas and the themes explored by the musical. I even love the Disney version with the unquenchable hope of Quasimodo only momentarily displaced from his bells.

This church, this cathedral, inspired one man to write a story and that story has been adapted so that people can hear it anew and can focus it on the problems they face in their own worlds. And that's what cathedrals are for. Yes, they are places of worship, yes, they are places that display the percieved power and glory of the God that blessed each of these nations with enough money and might to build such a building, but now, after all the history that has passed between the building of these cathedrals and us, all these buildings have left are their stories, their proclamations of times gone by. But this place, this one cathedral more than any other, has allowed her story to be molded to benefit others, to benefit, in point of fact in all cases, the least of these and though the building and furnishing of this cathedral proclaim's religions benefit to those with much, that's not what Christ came to do.

I love a faithful church.

Basilica of the Macarena

Did you know that the Macarena was originally called La Magdalena, but that Madgalena is the Spanish equivalent of calling someone a ho (after Mary Magdalene, purported prostitute) so they changed the name to the Macarena after the area of Seville? Someone who knows these kind of things told me this before I looked it up on the wiki. Oh, you don't know what I'm talking about? Here. Enjoy. And please tell me why someone thought this was appropriate for my generation of elementary school kids. It'd be like Soulja Boy in schools today. Oh wait...

Anyway, the Basilica of the Macarena is in this part of town and it's dedicated to the less controversial of the Marys, Mary the mother of Jesus. The basilica houses a couple of statues of Mary, including one called Nuestra Senora de la Esperanza, Our Lady of Hope. It's brought out on Good Friday for the processions around town, which explains why she's crying.

Crying crystals.

Really, it seems like this entire building was only built to house this one statue. It's certainly an appropriate statue for this city- Our Lady of Hope is the patron saint of matadors and a favorite of Spanish gypsies who call Andalusia home. She's connected to the matadors of Seville by the story that one famous matador in Seville spent a large part of his fortune to buy the four emeralds the statue wears. When Joselito died in the ring, she wore mourning clothes for a month.

Looking around, there are scenes from the life of Mary in this tiny church, almost a chapel. Each alcove holds a new statue of Mary.

And the Baby Jesus of Prague! I knew he'd be back!

The only figure distinct from this is the wax figure of Jesus in his purple robe sitting down behind the altar in the chancel where la Macarena is housed. As you walk in, classical music plays, accompanying those who walk through the side door leading to the chancel to kiss the hands or feet of the statue of their Lord.

I don't often understand this kind of devotion. I mean, even Mary Magdalene wasn't allowed to hold onto Jesus when she met Him in the garden after the resurrection. Why should we hang onto figures of Him like this? But it helps, I think, to have something to venerate. I sat down for a while, looking to recognize scenes and wondering about the different ways of seeing a person. And wondering why Our Lady of Hope had to cry.

Santa Maria in Cosmedin

I had a list of, no lie, ten churches that I wanted to see in Rome. Mostly they were ones that looked interesting on an initial survey of the places to see besides the four main papal churches that either had some historical significance, like Santa Maria sopra Minerva, a church dedicated to Mary built over a temple to Minerva, or had some cool architectural feature, like Santa Maria degli Angeli, which is actually built inside the Baths of Diocletian.

Santa Maria in Cosmedin didn't make this list.

And I'm not sure why. Maybe I hadn't yet seen Roman Holiday when I made the list, because if I had, SM in Cosmedin would have made it up there with St. Peter's and the Sistine Chapel, just on fame merit alone. On the porch of this church is a face from ancient Rome whose mouth might have been a water spout or something interesting like that which was moved to this church in the 17th century. But honestly, we all know it was moved here so Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck could take turns putting their hands in the mouth of the face, proving their innocence. If you're a liar and you put your hand in the Bocca Della Verita, it's supposed to be bitten off.

Mmmm tasty hands...

But the line to prove yourself truthful is extensive and as this was an expedition into Rome I was undertaking on my own, so I didn't get my picture taken with my hand in some strange face's mouth. I'd be a little nervous putting my hand in it anyway, habitual liar that I am. Though I did, in a recent instance, tell the truth rather than lie, so I think we're making great progress with that.

Instead I went inside the church, which is quite small, on the far side of the Circus Maximus as you look from the Colosseum, though it's quite close to all those other wonders of Rome. A tour group was coming by at the same time and it was from their correct entrance, and those of the people who followed them in, that I figured out that I had come in the exit. How do I always do that? But I stumbled my away around them and looked into the side chapels, amusing myself until I got a good look at the interior without a human wall in my way. It was in this excursion that I discovered that St. Valentine's skull is housed here

Creepy relics FTW!

along with other people's dead body parts, though those are kept in the crypt. There are historic columns, including ones from when the church was a Roman office before it was a Christian house for helping the poor before it was turned into a church (seen in the back wall), plus the other ones in the nave,

Either from older Roman buildings, but they all date back to the 8th century.

and lovely mosaics.

11th century!

Up in the clerestory by the windows- that's paint that's older than the Magna Carta!

With all this impressive ancient stuff, I'm always surprised when I see something relatively new in an old church. I dunno, I just always forget that these places that I visit are living, breathing things that serve a purpose in people's lives beyond just the sightseeing that I inevitably fall into. So when I saw this picture of Mary and Jesus,

 I started, confused about its placement near the altar. Then I relaxed and contemplated it.

I've seen a lot of Marys. There are a lot of churches that honor Mary (every Santa Maria, every Notre Dame, every St. Mary's) and there are a lot of statues of the mother of Jesus as places of devotion, high on the wall on the corners of streets. I didn't think it was that big of a thing, but really, Mary's kinda the bomb in Catholicism. And out of all the Marys I've seen, I think I like Italian Marys the best. Though, several countries still to go, so maybe Spain will displace Italy in my entirely random perception of representations of the mother of Jesus.

I also love seeing the scared lions EVERYWHERE. Seriously, I'm going to make a post to just them. This is my equivalent of saying Refrigerator at the end of a haiku. Sometimes, you just gotta roll with it.