Ste-Chapelle is inside a walled compound it shares with the city’s Hall of Justice, and there is a common, narrow access from the street, through a hall, and some doors, and metal detectors. There are side-by-side lines to get in, and at one point an official walked down the line, announcing, “Ste-Chapelle,” and arm-motioning us to go to the right. Truants to the left, tourists to the right.
Within the compound, it was simply a matter of walking around the end of the chapel building to enter the courtyard of the Hall of Justice, an imposing structure with a columned portico at the top of a long, wide course of stone steps, like a smaller Supreme Court. It was lunchtime, with a considerable coming-and-going of people in the courtyard, working Parisians looking for a bite to eat. There was a café in the building’s basement, down some steps to the side. I walked down and peered through the window. Lots of people, but it looked amazingly like a lunchroom in an American courthouse.
We cast our fate elsewhere and landed in a bright brasserie, Le Soleil d’Or, across the street and down the block toward Notre Dame. The waiters can see us coming, because we always got the menus in French and English. At some point in our stay, I knew I was going to have cassoulet, and escargot. They didn’t have cassoulet, and it wasn’t the right time for escargot. So I had a ham and cheese sandwich called a Croque Monsieur, open-faced, the cheese (“Emmental,” our waiter grinned) broiled and bubbly. Karen had beef on a baguette and we split an order of fries. The French really do know how to make fries, and the diners eat a ton of them.
Some wine, some espresso, a flood of sunlight in the brasserie windows, equidistant from two reigning examples of medieval gothic architecture. I think you have to be a tourist to appreciate this position. I love to quote Sir Kenneth Clark, author of “Civilisation,” and host of that series on PBS in the 1970s (now available on DVD). Sir Clark is talking about a sculpture, “the head of the Apollo of Belvedere. For four hundred years after it was discovered, the Apollo was the most admired piece of sculpture in the world. It was Napoleon’s greatest boast to have looted it from the Vatican. Now it is completely forgotten except by the guides of coach parties, who have become the only surviving transmitters of traditional culture.”
Those words remind me of me, and Karen, lunching at Le Soleil d’Or, between the spiritual transport of Ste-Chapelle, and our intention to visit Notre Dame within the hour. It is the tourists who visit history. Our momentary Parisian friend at the Bus 69 stop on the Rue de Rivoli said she had never been to Notre Dame. In 11 days, Karen and I probably saw more Paris history than the average Parisian has in the past 20 years. That gains us no respect, in the streets and cafes of Paris, any more than San Diegans are thrilled to hear Ohioans at the next table saying they can’t wait to see the zoo.
The biggest thing about Notre Dame: It was huge. Ste-Chapelle lifts the human spirit; Notre Dame was built to impress God. At least that’s the feeling I got. Interesting, that they were being built at the same time. Ste-Chapelle enlarges space viscerally, Notre Dame is an enlargement of space visually. Here they were, two totally opposed, yet complementary, buildings being built 300 yards apart at the same time. Why? Maybe in the medieval mind, if God could touch humans with light, maybe humans could touch God with stone.
They sure as heck gave it a try. I looked down the length of the nave, then up at the ceiling, way up there, held up by massive columns, and wondered why people living in the 1200s decided they needed a building that big, unless it was to signal someone. I have a suspicion about ancient humans needing to make themselves appear bigger than they were, trying to signal the vast natural powers all around them, that they really weren’t so pitifully small, and vulnerable, and deserved some consideration when nature was thinking about blowing them away.
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