Stained Glass and Catacombs

Last night when Brett unexpectedly arrived while we were eating he gave us the rest of his passes for the bus/metro/RER.  Since we had passes in hand we decided to take the bus to Sainte Chapelle this morning for our 9 a.m. timed entrance. We waited outside the George Pompidou Center for the bus.  It was a lovely, if not chilly morning.  

We missed our stop but got off at the next one and walked past the Fountain of St. Michael.  

As we crossed the river we saw several divers working in the Seine.  We wondered if they were doing something in preparation for the Paris Olympics and ParaOlympics.  Three races will take place in the Seine and Paris has spent 1.4 billion euros cleaning up the river.

We thought security was tight last night when we went to the concert at Sainte Chapelle when the Supreme Court was not in session.  Today we were met at the end of the block by police with their hands ready on their guns.  We showed them our tickets and they let us through.  

We waited in line behind a father from Texas with three teenage girls in tow.  We had a lovely conversation with them while we waited to go inside.  They are going to spend three whirlwind days in Paris before heading to Istanbul and finally Moscow.  I hate waiting in line but it does afford you the chance to meet people.

We had just been at Sainte Chapelle last night but it was good to go back and be able to study the windows.  King Louis IX, the only king to be made a saint by the Catholic Church, personally commissioned the building of this church.  He had purchased what many believe is Jesus’ crown of thorns and he wanted a church to house them.  The crown of thorns now reside in Notre Dame and survived the fire.  This panel of stained glass depicts the crown of thorns being placed on Jesus’ head.

The church was built in only six years from 1242 to 1248.  We started our tour in the basement where the peasants worshipped.  A statue of Louis IX has a prominent place.

We climbed the spiral staircase to the upper sanctuary where the king and queen worshiped.  1113 scenes are represented in stained glass.  The story begins on the north side of the sanctuary with Genesis and ends on the west side in a rose window with scenes of the Apocalypse.  

You find the stories you expect:  Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, and the Passion of Jesus.  The two half circles in this stained glass depict original sin and the banishment from the Garden of Eden.  

I was surprised to see that the story of Tobias from the Apocrypha received space in the stained glass.  The king himself is depicted as part of the Biblical genealogy as a worthy intercessor between God and his people.   I wore out long before I found the king.  After a while looking at the 1113 scenes represented in the stained glass it began to feel a bit like a Where’s Waldo book.

Every space of this church has art.  Even the floor has an intricate pattern.

On the columns between the stained glass are statues of the 12 apostles.  The parts of the statues that would allow us to identify which one is which disciple are no longer present.  John, the Beloved Disciple, is the only one identified because he was, supposedly, the youngest and therefore did not have a beard.

Below the stained glass are panels telling the stories of Catholic martyrs.

Jesus stands between the two doors leading in to the upstairs sanctuary.  Just like at the Chartres cathedral he is standing on two heads that represent evil.

We wore ourselves out studying the stained glass in this sanctuary, which was crawling with other tourists doing the same thing.  We exited back through the Palais de Justice. 

Police with guns kept us from crossing the street.  We had to go back to the end of the block and out the barricade.  We ate a late breakfast at the very same restaurant we had dinner in last night.  We were tired and hungry and needed to be restored.  Then we walked over to the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  

Restoration was happening on the cathedral after the devastating fire. A crane was actively working as hundreds of tourists on bleachers and in the square were eating lunch and getting their Instagram photos.

By then Gayle was done in.  We couldn’t find a taxi stand for a quick exodus so we walked back to the bus stop we arrived at, just as it started to ran.  It was a long, wet wait for a bus.

We assumed the bus would drop us off on the opposite side of the street where we had caught it this morning.  We didn’t take one way streets into consideration.  It was a long walk home through the rain.  We came back via the other side of the Pompidou Center with its long escalator ride to the top.  It feels like everything here is in its last minutes throes to be ready for the Paris Olympics.  We are eating at the George Restaurant at the top of the Pompidou tomorrow night.  We got an email reminding us that “elegant” attire is required.  I hope they take us in the clothes we brought.  I did not pack “elegant”.

While Gayle rested I headed out on an excursion to the Catacombs.  The other two times I have been to Paris I wished I had purchased tickets in advance. So this time, knowing that Gayle rests in the afternoon, I got myself a ticket.  I hadn’t yet taken the Metro in Paris on the trip so that was on my list.  Before I headed to the Catacombs I took a quick walk around the block. Every where you turn there is another park and another statue.

I walked past a museum and recognized a face on their poster.  We saw images of this man all over Chartres, on walls and depicted in the lumieres.  He is Jean Moulin, considered one of the main heroes of the French Resistance during WWII.  He was tortured and murdered by the Gestapo in 1943.  This picture was painted on the side of a building in Chartres.

Friends had told me that the Catacombs was one of the most memorable things they did while in Paris.  I was ready to climb down a myriad of steps to enter the catacombs below street level.  I was ready for the mile walk underground.  What I hadn’t even considered was how claustrophobic I would feel walking through this long, narrow tunnel after reading about collapses Paris once experienced because of this stone quarry that was later turned into the Catacombs.  Water ran down the walls.  I thought to myself, “When was the last time these tunnels were inspected to make sure they are structural safe?”  Shortly after that thought I passed a sign that said the site is particularly fragile due to the humidity levels and the large number of visitors every year.  I could have done without that sign.

I finally made it to the entrance to the catacombs.  On an sign over the door is a verse by the Latin poet Virgil.  Translated into English it reads:  “Stop!  This is the empire of the Dead.”

Every where you turn there are skulls and bones. The Paris Catacombs contain the remains of several million people who died in Paris between the 10th and 18th centuries.  Bones were moved to this catacomb due to public outcry.  People were already concerned about disease in relationship to the huge cemeteries within the city.  Then a mass grave collapsed into the cellars of neighboring houses.  The Parliament of Paris ordered the closure of the Cemetery of the Holy Innocent and the bones from this cemetery moved to the former quarries, which were at that time, on the outskirts of the city.  The transfer of the bones happened at night over a fifteen month period.

In 1809, the General Inspector of the Quarries had the layout of the catacombs cleaned up and the bones tidied.  He transformed the ossuary into a museum promenade.  The bones are stacked lovingly and respectfully, and dare I say artfully.

You can tell the places where people have cracked them through carelessness or deliberately removed some of the skulls.  

This hole to street level is where the bones were dropped down into the catacombs.

Just before you climb back up the myriad of stairs to return to the hustle and bustle of Paris a sign reminds us that we are all equal in the face of death.  It quotes a 1809 visitor who wrote these words after touring the Catacombs:  “I visited the true temple of equality.”  

I returned to the streets of Paris a mile from where I had gone down the first set of stairs.  I had told Gayle I would bring dinner back and I wanted to go to L’As du Fallafel.  I had read an article about it and Brett had gone there for dinner last night.  I got back on the metro and tried to get as close as I could.  As I was walking to the restaurant I passed this wall:  Le Mur des Justes.  On the wall are carved the names of people who worked to saves the lives of Jews during WWII.  I reiterate, it feels like there is something significant to see at every corner of this city.

On the way to get falafels I came upon Au Bourguignon du Marais. Friends had told me that it was their favorite place to eat in Paris.  I had told Gayle I didn’t want to leave France without having some Beef Bourguignon.  I ducked in and got some to go for me.  Then I headed up to buy falafels for Gayle.  I had read that there is always a long line at L’As du Fallafel.  There was no line.  Was I just lucky or has the Israeli-Palestinian War impacted this restaurant?

With my Beef Bourguignon and Gayle’s falafel platter, I headed back to our apartment.  I stopped for a baguette and drinks arriving with my arms full.  I had walked 14,000 steps and climbed 15 flights of stairs.  We feasted in our little “RV” apartment.  My dinner of Beef Bourguignon goes down as was one of my top meals on this trip. Gayle and I had tickets to take a boat ride on the Seine tonight at sunset but we were too tired and sore to use them.  We need to save our energy for tomorrow’s adventures.