July 14: . . . Ste Chapelle . . .

As promised, here is the other photo of the live marionette of probably Victorian vintage, that saw me off from the courtyard of Notre Dame and on to my wander across the Seine, where I got lost in a few blocks, then wandered back, having decided to visit Sainte Chapelle, highly recommended by my friend Lynn.

I'm now going to indulge in a little history that I learned from a guided tour I took mostly because it was available for free about 20 minutes after I got through the entrance to Sainte Chapelle (about 3:30).

I found out that it was located within the building I'd been photographing from the Seine, called the Palace of Justice -- an odd name to give a jail. But, it got that title during the French revolution when royalty housing arrangements changed from the palatial to the cellular.

However, way before that, "at the heart of the Cite, on the probable site of the residence of the Roman prefects, Philippe Auguste built a palace that his grandson Louis IX altered and enlarged." Louis IX was only 12 years old when he succeeded his father Louis XIII in 1226. The Regency was held by his mother, Blanche de Castille until Louis IX came of age and married in 1234. Evidently she helped this along (according to the tour guide at Sainte-Chapelle) by killing off any competition or contentious parties.

To the right is a view of his palace from the Seine and below are a view from the front and a close-up of the gates.

Louis IX lived in a time when France was very rich and powerful and had a "privileged relationship" particularly with Constantinople "after its capture by the Crusaders in 1209." In 1239, Louis IX, being religiously minded, used the opportunity to buy the most precious of religious relics of Jesus from the Emperor of the East, Baudoin II de Courtenay, heavily burdened by debt because of the Crusades, for the at-the-time princely sum of somewhat more than $300,000 (three times more than it cost to build Sainte Chapelle to house them (hah, you didn't think I had a point with all this history).

These relics included the Crown of Thorns and a piece of the cross that Jesus was crucified on. It also, according to our guide, included blood and breast milk from Mary, Jesus' mother, which disappeared when the French revolutionaries took over Sainte Chapelle. (The Da Vinci code anybody? though how these delicate items lasted 1300 years is surely a miracle.)

[Sainte Chapelle has the tall -- 108 feet so happens -- steeple on the left in the photo above.]

Moving right along. To house the relics he'd acquired, Louis had to build a proper reliquary -- Ste Chapelle. It has two floors. The first was a place for royal servants and workers to come to worship.

The photo below is Sainte Chapelle seen from the outside -- the first floor is relatively short compared to the height of the second (with the long tall panels of stained glass), where royalty came to worship. There is a second floor, covered walkway that connects the palace to the church, so royalty didn't have to go down to ground level and climb the stairs.

Walking into the lower chapel is like walking into a jewel box (as you can see to the right). The 21-foot vault (ceiling) is a beautiful blue with gold fleur-de-lis on it -- Louis IX's colours, which are also the colours on the outer set of columns. The red columns have gold castles on them, symbolizing Louis IX's mother, Blanche de Castille (another name for castle). These two sets of columns are what hold the church up in the Gothic style. The lower chapel is dedicated to the Virgin. It's windows tell her story, though the original windows were taken down after the flood of 1690 and no one knows what was on them.

The paintings to the left are of the Annunciation (had to look it up -- means announcement of the incarnation of Jesus in Mary) and are the oldest extant paintings in Paris (according to our guide) though they had to be restored in 1849.

The next part of our tour was up a very narrow set of corkscrew stairs to the upper chapel, which opened out onto a space 34 feet wide and 108 feet long and 67 feet to the vault. There's lots of statistics, but the amazement are the "lancets," which would be one panel of stained glass in sets of four that surround the chapel, replacing the walls. Each "medallion" or pane in a lancet tells a story from the bible. No, I'm not getting into that. I'll give you the wikipedia site to look at, which has some interesting external links you can connect to: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sainte-Chapelle#Gallery

One thing I found interesting though was that the whole building is a huge reliquary and on the second floor (see photo below) is a replication of the chapel, on which is built another replication of the chapel (see the blue fleur-de-lis on the little ceiling) that housed the actual relics. So, a chapel within a chapel within a chapel.

Because these the king knew he was only a caretaker and that these relics weren't just for his own enjoyment, so to speak, he had to figure out a way to share them with the people. For security and preservation reasons, he didn't want to lug them down the stairs and into the street, so he had built a platform on which that top reliquary could sit and revolve to face the outside, the window would open and the reliquary could be lowered down so ordinary people could pass by and give veneration once a year on Good Friday. Because of his piety, Louis IX became a saint, St. Louis (of the Ile of st. Louis to the east of the Ile de la Cite).

In 1789 during the French Revolution, the crown of thorns and piece of the cross were taken over to Notre Dame and the blood and milk lost. The revolutionaries then turned Sainte Chapelle into a grainery, which didn't harm the structure as much as the flood of 1690.

Even though this place was amazingly beautiful, I didn't feel the atmosphere of blessing in it that I felt in Notre Dame. It was like an empty jewel box. Maybe it was the tours happening, people milling about, a curator/guard who every now and then would say in a wonderful carrying deep bass: silence.

As Lynn said when she described this to me back in Halifax, it would be quite wonderful to be able to be there by oneself or with other silent people on a bright sunny day and absorb the colour and space.

The photo to the right is taken just outside the entrance to the upper chapel. I just missed this beautifully attired French military man posing with his sword held at salute in front of him. Instead he retained his stern expression, but acquired perhaps his girlfriend snuggling in (I think they left together after this photo) and a puzzled tourist.

I'm going to end with the rose window in the upper chapel, which depicts scenes from the apocalypse, a fitting segue into the next stop on my journey, the conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned.

Later on July 10: Flourish and Blotts

I'm sitting in my room on Sunday evening writing this blog and listening to what are obviously fireworks, maybe getting ready for tomorrow night, the Catorze Julliet (Bastille Day). I'm going to try and figure out how to get downtown to see them, though they are at the Eiffel Tower and begin at 10:45 p.m., which means an interesting time getting back here through the darkey forest.

Anyway, last Thursday, when I left the Eiffel Tower, I got back on the Batobus and headed towards Saint Germain, or the Left Bank district. I passed by the Notre Dame Cathedrale, looking suitably louring in the overcast light.

I got off the Batobus at the Institute of France and headed towards Saint Germain through little streets (they weren't really alleyways, though they looked like it). I spotted this amazing little book store that looked just like it was out Diagon Alley in Harry Potter's world -- a muggle's version of Flourish and Blotts.

In the window was a magical book, very old looking, with a three-dimensional tree growing out of the spine and a figure on the inside. The proprietoress, who wasn't strong on English and I was pretty tired in terms of being articulate in French, told me it was called "Le Roi des Arboles" -- The King of the Trees -- about a little boy who was transformed into a tree. I have to go back and see it again I think. It was very compelling.

After that, I went up the rue a piece and found a shop where I could buy a hat, because the sun can be really strong here. I got a straw fedora kind of chapeau (which I've now discovered flies off in a breeze) and a real French black beret (didn't have a tag with ROC -- Republic of China -- in it, like the others), larger than a military beret, and that I think looks pretty good on me, if I could say so. I also got a new notebook to write in and a glittery, 20's-styled scarf to go with my black velvet skirt.

The proprietor recommended an Italian bistro around the corner, the Ristorante Pepone, for a bon marche (cheap but good) dinner. I had a salade gourmande with Magre fume (smoked ham), un bloc de foie gras and noix (walnuts) over lettuce; for the main course I had a faux filet au gorgonsola (perfectly rare stip loin and vermicelli spaghetti with a gorgonzola cheese sauce, and a mousse au chocolat for dessert -- all for 12.50 Euro, which I thought was a good deal. I also had a of tulipe of champagne, which I don't usually drink, but it cost the same as vin ordinaire, so what the heck.

Across the street was a more Parisien looking crepery, but even though it looked open, no one went in or out.

Afterwards, I caught the Batobus and got off at the Hotel de Ville to catch the Metro and caught a pic of this snooty lion.

10 July: Le Tour Eiffel

Today, Thursday, I used the first day of my Batobus (Bat=Bateau=boat) pass to travel along the Seine and see the Eiffel Tower. It seemed the easiest way to get to it, as it's way off the Route 1 Metro line. It was a little bit of a disappointment because it was all enclosed with a plastic shield, so harder to feel the breeze and take pics, plus it got quite hot in there when the sun shone.

This was also the day I got a good hit of what it means to be a tourist in Paris. There were all kinds of families on the boat, Parisian ones, both French and Arab, and lots of Americans with some very unhappy teenagers in tow, who really looked like they'd much rather be somewhere else. I was tempted to take their pics, but didn't, especially after watching one daughter, about 16, hide her face with her hand for about 15 minutes while her parents tried to sneak a pic in, even using the younger daughter as a photographer stand-in. The younger daughter seemed to be having a good time with her slightly older brother humouring her. So much sadness in such a spectacular place.

Behind the Batobus to the right is the Ile St. Louis.

I wasn't really sure I wanted to go to the Eiffel Tower, but as I got close it became harder to resist.

When I got off and started for the stairs, I saw what at first I thought was a small golden statue of the moon, just sitting there being ignored. Then I realized it was a living statue, like I'd heard about in New York. I had to take a pic. Then I decided that I should also make an offering and fussed in my purse to get a bunch of change, including a 2 E coin. I put in in her tin. As I got close, I could see there were dark, knowing eyes within the mask, so I bowed and to my delight, she bowed back. Then I walked a little way away toward the stairs and she turned very subtly to face me and I took another pic and bowed, and she bowed. That little interlude cheered me up for the whole day and even now I smile when I think of her.

Well, having gotten this far I decided I should go up in the tower. I first waited in a line that didn't seem to have too many people in it, but the sign said Escalier and I decided that my motivation didn't include climbing up a huge number of stairs, so I moved to another line.

I waited in the line for about 20 minutes before I finally decided to talk to the woman behind me, who was part of a tour. She had brown, bouncy hair in a flip and was wearing a dress with a white background and small, closely woven red vertical and horizontal stripes, like a plaid. She turned out to be from Kansas as were the teenagers accompanying her (one of which was her daughter). She said she'd decided to quit her old job and go came back to being a principal at an alternative high school in a small town nearby where she lived. We ended up talking about meditation (because I told her I was a Buddhist, which is how I got the good deal on where I was staying). She said she'd tried meditation, but that it scared her and she just didn't get it. I said that for me it took a long time not to see it as something too mysterious, but mostly an opportunity to see how my mind worked. She said she found it scary and wondered why. I said that I thought it was because we see impermanence and that we will die. She said she had seen that everything seemed to pass away, good, bad, everything, so that's why she wanted to grab onto her life as it came up. I said something no doubt deep about relaxing the hold, when her tour guide came around bringing them all their tickets and I had to leave for another lineup to get mine.

So, for my friend Sue, some factoids on the Eiffel Tower. From my Go To book, "Gustave Eiffel, who also engineered the Statue of Liberty, wrote of his tower: 'France is the only country in the world with a 300 meter flagpole." Critics called it a "metal asparagus, but it was the tallest man-made structure in 1889 when it was built. It was almost destroyed when it's 20-year lease ran out, but survived due to its importance as a communications tower (which Eiffel had foreseen and planned for), and during WWII captured many enemy messages, including "the one that led to the arrest of Mata Hari, the Danish dancer accused of being a German spy."

And here's the official website: http://www.tour-eiffel.fr/teiffel/uk/

One can buy tickets for walking up the stairs, or riding the elevator to the first etage (or stage), second, or third -- the top. I wanted to get one for the top, but the cashier said they had stopped selling them for the day. It wasn't until I was in the elevator going up the leg (it goes at a slant) that I remembered that I'm somewhat afraid of heights. After I walked around on the second stage for a while, I almost went for it, as from there they seemed to be selling tickets for the top, but I took a look and changed my mind. The above photo is of the top part of the tower from ground level and the one to the left is from the second floor. It starts to look quite different. Somehow I find looking up more vertiginous than looking down, but then again, I could quite imagine being able to look out the windows of the elevator as the metal structure started to diminish around me.

I thought I'd end this post with a few pics I took from the second stage that give an overview of Paris and how big it is. The photo to the right, and east of the Tower, is of the Hotel des Invalides, originally founded by Louis XVI in 1671 as a home for disabled soldiers and is now the headquarters of the military governor of Paris and still serves on a smaller scale as a military hospital. The photo on the left puts it in context as you can see how packed the city is with buildings and residences.

Still with a military theme, the green sward to the west of the tower is the Champs de Mars (Field of Mars) and was built as a drill ground for the Military College that can still be seen at the far end. In 2000, a glass Mur pour la Paix (Wall for Peace) was built at the base -- two large panes of glass with the word "peace" in 32 languages. The sward is now used as a place to picnic and hang out.
And to the North is the Church of the Sacred Heart (Sacre Coeur) on the top of Montmarte, which is said to be about the same height as the Eiffel Tower and the highest point in Paris. I plan to go there next week.

And finally, last, but not least, is the true conductor of the elevator that travels the Eiffel Tower as seen through the mesh fence protecting him from us wayward travelers:

Why Paris? Grandmere A Betty and Art

I've always wanted to go to Paris--to see the museums, the bistros, the jardins, and experience the ambience. As many of you may know, I'm a painter and graphic artist. I've drawn and painted (though somewhat sporadically) since I was six years old when I won an award for A Bride and Her Horse.

In my teen years I had aspirations of fame and decided I wanted to be like Van Gogh (without the ear problems) and in high school, painted a painting called My Bed, which you can see on my website www.cjohnstone.ca, along with a few other paintings. The only resemblance to Van Gogh is the perspective. It has a more "pop art" hard-edge look.

As I thought about painters and whether or not I could succeed, I couldn't find any that were women. In fact, there were no famous women composers, sculptors, or painters, except perhaps for Marie Cassat (and at the time I thought with the arrogance of youth, agg, "and she just paints babies and cats").

Then I heard from my mother that my grandmother, A Betty, lived with Edna St. Vincent Millay in Paris sometime during the 20's or 30's. Later I found out that Ms. St. Vincent Millay, who won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, for The Harp-Weaver, and Other Poems as I found in the Wikipedia entry on her http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edna_St._Vincent_Millay

She was also known for being bisexual, so if they lived together? My mother did not want to hear about that.

Ms. Millay’s best-known poem might be "First Fig" from A Few Figs from Thistles (first published in 1920):

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

This would be a good description I think of my grandmother from the tales I’ve heard, though I never met her (unless I was a baby), nor do I believe I have a photo of her. She was the sort of person who would say "how pedestrian," if she read my blog. She was a journalist of some kind, wrote poetry, and played the piano.

However, all this traveling to Paris, meant leaving my father at home with different relatives. Another story is that once when he was 11 or 12, he traded himself out of the family rotation and was found by a truant officer living in a cheap hotel working two jobs, his room filled with empty boxes of chocolate-covered cherries, which might explain some of his character.

My father, later in his life, must also have spent time in Paris, as one of his nine wives was a Parisian. I once saw a photo of her in his "secret room" in Vienna, Maryland, naked and in a hustler kind of pose, next to a painting of a Keane-like waif I had given him. Rather weirded me out to say the least. This room also had a cot (where I slept the one night I visited with my husband Richard), a beautiful green-glass opium pipe with gold-leaf dragons entwined around it, a well-used charcoal bowl, and a six-inch gold mouthpiece at the end of a long tube. There was also a kind of cat-of-nine tails mounted over the cot that I didn't want to think too hard about.

So when I saw an ad on sangha-announce for a room in Paris for only 400 Euro for the month of July, I decided my time had come.