Piccardy and Notre Dame d'Amiens

After a couple of weeks of driving around Paris, I am really getting to feel comfortable here. It was still pretty overcast and rainy the day my friend Cindi was supposed to arrive from MN. It was even worse in Chicago, where the blizzard was so bad that she missed the Air France connection. Not knowing it, I REALLY got to know the Charles de Gaulle Airport and its several terminals (the AF flight was late, and gated at a terminal different from the scheduled one, so I parked and waited at both until it became clear that something was wrong). Anyway, C. couldn't get on another flight for Paris until it would have been just about time to come home, so after two days at the Holiday Inn in Chicago, she went home. Too bad.

The next day was beautiful here - the first of a series of what really feels like early Spring (crocuses up, and all - even one , lone cherry tree in full bloom down in the Bois de Boulogne). I had been feeling guilty about not taking enough advantage of the city, while I'm here, so I drove to the Musee Guimet (which I have to brag about finding without consulting the map - and on the way found a spectacuklar view of the Eiffel Tower, framed by a beautiful street, Avenue Victor Hugo). This is the Archaeological museum, where Claude's sister, Marielle works (except she's in Laos now). There is a unique exhibition of treasures from Afghanistan, but the line was out the door and down the steps and around the corner, so I decided not to do that. Instead, I just drove around: up the right bank of the Seine (not the underground tunnel expressway, but the quaiside streets past Concorde, the Tuileries park, the Louvre, the Isle de la Cite and Isle St. Louis all the way to Bercy (the Frank Gehry building commissioned as an American center, which then went belly up [the center, not the building] and now houses the Cinematheque Francaise, the museum of hte history of cinema where you can watch lots of classic movies every day - the French invented movies: a couple of brothers aptly named Lumieres, in the 1880s), then back to the eastern arondissments to the famous cemetery, Pere Lachaise. I found out that this part of Paris is delightfully hilly, and it was fun to see a new part of town. Except for the cemetery, tourists don't come here much. Also, it is not particularly trendy. I was strongly reminded of my first visit to Paris 44 years ago.

It occured to me that I don't have to feel guilty about not going to the Louvre or something every day. I'm not a tourist. I am just living here for a while. But then this past weekend, I started some serious sightseeing. On Saturday, I drove to Amiens, the principal city of Piccardy. For those of you to whom Piccardy means a major rather than a minor third at the end of a tune, it's one of the old royal provinces of France, and it is home to several important medieval cathedrals. But none more important than Amiens. It is pretty much my favorite. It doesn't have Chartres' glass, the glass is all clear - grisailles, which is just as well I think because it is so fabulously light inside, and the architectural features are perfect. It is the highest cathedral in France. The highest complete one, that is. Neighboring Beauvais, to the south, is higher, but it just has a choir, because when they started to build the nave, it fell down and they gave up!

Notre Dame d'Amiens was built in an unusually short period of time (16 years), and the unity of the Master Builder's conception is apparent. There is no trace of Romanesque influence or moorish flavors. It is possibly the best example of the pure gothic style. (Be sure to click on the pictures to enlarge them - some of them came out quite well, and you can see lots of detail.)










Its facade also has breathtaking statuary - nothing ever lost. Every niche of every archivolt is ocuupied. (See pictures at Wikipedia) The north portal has one row of saints that depicts two martyrs, one in chasuble and the other in toga, both holding their own severed heads! (Enlarge and check out this one especially, the decapitee in the toga is flanked by a very pleasant, thurificious angel.)

Near the crossing is a large labyrinth, very clearly marked in black and white tiles. It was explained that those who couldn't make the










pilgrimage all the way to Jerusalem or even to Santiago de Compostela, were encouraged to gain spiritual benefit by walking the labyrinth, the center of which represents (I think) Jerusalem. I noticed that the cross in the center's tiling is not oriented with the cathedral itself (which is on an east/west axis, as usual). Maybe the cross is pointed toward Jerusalem or something?

But most glorious is the nave, soaring more than 136 feet. The great nave windows are in the clerestory, atop the blind arcade of the treforium. Seven bays in the nave. The choir

and apse are actually wider than the nave, because the ambulatory leads around a series of apsidal chapels radiating out, each more gorgeous than the last. All of it is a kind of golden white color. Indescribable. UNESCO has registered it as a patrimonial treasure of the human race. I actually wept.

The choir is adorned by a later treasure: carved wooden stalls of the 15th Century. intricate and delicate in detail.

The edifice sits on the high bank above the Somme. [Not far away was the dreadful battle: Somme. The whole history of the world cannot contain a more ghastly word. (Friedrich Steinbrecher). More than a million casualties. A MILLION in one battle, in 1916. It is also noted as the debut of the tank - a British invention] The river flows more or less east-to-west at this point, and only about ten miles to the east is Corbie, the site of the great Abbey that was home to my Parish's patron, St. Anskar. He was born in Amiens, raised at the Abbey in Corbie, and volunteered to be a missionary to the pagans up north. First Archbishop of Bremen and Hamburg, and first missionary to Scandinavia. He is known to history as the Apostle of the North. Not much is left of his old Abbey on the Somme. Just a much later church, a very large late gothic structure - can't be much older than 15th C. - with plenty of baroque features. It is closed except for occasional services, so I didn't get in. I did ask St. Anskar if he had ever dreamed a guy from Minnesota would come looking for him 1200 years later!

Corbie is a pleasant, laid back town. I saw several like it as I deliberately avoided the freeway for a while. It reminded me of home. Not the architecture, naturally (Piccardy is kind of like Belgium - mostly brick row-houses that aren't all that charming), but the feeling. This is very rich farming country - like southern MN or IA - it was already pretty green (winter wheat.

Mostly flat, with low, forested ridges in the distance, and the occasional ravine or river valley, which made me think of Trempealeau County or the land around Menominee. Think driving from St. Paul to Eau Claire, that's Piccardy. Quite pleasant, but nothing very spectacular - except for those ravines.

The Somme Valley itself is extremely marshy. It's not just a river channel, but a whole lot of backwaters and little ponds and lakes. I drove through this countryside and noticed that there were quite a few houses that looked like humble little vacation homes. This is not a part of France that is mobbed with tourists, ever. And these summer houses were barely more than cabins and trailers. Kind of nice, actually, compared to the swanky and expensive villas in tonier places like Brittany and the South. And the fact is, the Somme Valley is quite wild. No one lives in these marshes except waterfowl, and they are really quite pretty. It made me glad, despite the horrors associated with its name.

And today (Sunday) I managed to get to St. Sulpice in time for the organ audition (recital). Later, I had another driving adventure, to attend a free afternoon concert of 17th C. music on the backside (north) of Montmartre (18th Arr.) This is the seedier part of Paris, and quite fun to drive in. I say that because I got lucky. I consulted the map all the way, but was headed for the wrong section of the street, an error that I caught just in time. I overshot the mark and was about to bail, when I noticed a brasserie named for my street, and so I looked, and sure enough, there it was. I went around the block, checked the numbers, and - by God - I found a PARKING PLACE RIGHT BESIDE THE VENUE, which turned out to be a Protestant church center.

The concert, however (which started one minute after I arrived), was all RC tenebrae music from the 17th and 18th Centuries: Stabat Mater by an Italian named Sances, and Lamentations lessons by Lalande and Couperin, alternating with instrumentals by Frescobaldi, Couperin, and Barriere. A very good soprano, accompanied by a baroque cello and clavecin (is that what we call a clavichord?). And it was FREE. (Donations accepted.)

Good way to get ready for Lent.

Brittany

The medieval lavoir and mill-race at Vannes

Cancale looks SE across the bay towards Mont St. Michel. Just west along the coast is the 17th Century fortified port of St.Malo . :
Very beautiful, although it had to be completely rebuilt after WWII, inside and out. This was an important base for the French Navy in its interminable struggle with the English. St. Malo was the home of the Corsairs (privateers, licensed by the King to do whatever they wanted to the English on the high seas). For some reason, they let you drive in this completely walled city, wqhich has only one gate open to the land. As you can see, it's kind of a nightmare. (The picture is more visible if you click on it.)

We continued west on the coast [you can manipulate this map to see all the detail you wish] past St. Brieuc to Perros-Guirec, which is about the northernmost point in Brittany. Here everything is made out of that striking rosy granite. Seawalls, churches, houses. Then on to Brest, which is the headquarters of the French Atlantic fleet. Poor Brest was really completely destroyed during the war, for obvious strategic reasons. So now, except for the old fort, all the buildings are ugly and hastily-built, in the functional post-war modern style devoid of charm, which reminded me of the Soviet Union. Too bad, because the setting is spectacular: in a deep estuarial bay, with lots of islands, points, and inlets. A perfect harbor.

We spent the night across this big bay, on the southern shore of another peninsula, named for the charming little town of Crozon. [See map.] Here I think I had a feeling for Bretagne profonde. The people were wildly friendly - like the Irish. Everybody smiles and goes out of their way for you. One hotel (42 euros), one restaurant - 39 euros for local lobster. (That’s over $50, so I skipped it. I also skipped the $12 breakfast at the hotel.) We ate dinner and breakfast at the pub next door. And it really was more like an Irish pub than a French café: big exposed timbers for rafters, a crowd of guys watching soccer, and very friendly. The bartender gave us a big smile and offered his hand in greeting. I ate a croque madame andouillette. Now, a croque monsieur is a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, but this was made of andouille sausage instead, which is not like Cajun andouille, but made of tripe (or "bowels", as J-l explained). When served as a croque madame, it comes with a raw egg, which I put inside, where it seemed to cook a little. Anyway, with mustard it was just fine. Crozon has a market on its square every day of the week. Loads of fresh fish from the night before.

Speaking of authentic Brittany, all the road signs out here are in two languages (as they are in Provence and around Perpignan - the Catalan part of France right next to northeastern Spain). It turns out that there is more than one Breton language. As in Wales, it is taught again in schools. It looks really odd in French orthography. Most of these signs are Kerthis and Kerthat, which I guess refers to clans. Ker = Mac in Scotland.

J-l says there is a fairly strong nationalist movement here. They want their language and they are very conservative ("fascist" is J-l’s term) about religion and politics. This is the only part of secularist France in which religion is taught in the public schools. Because, according to J-l, who is a teacher and sometime union official, otherwise the public schools would be empty.

After coffee and croissants at the café, we drove around the next bay to another charming fishing town called Douanenez. They also can the catch, so their economy is thriving.

We headed south for Quimper, a small city in a deep valley, with another to-die-for cathedral (St. Coretin). This one is distinguished by its lightness.

The stone is bright, the ribs are painted a delicate yellow, and there is just a general sense of airiness and space. They have also done very well in incorporating modern elements into the gothic. The altar in the transept is a beautiful big marble table, which I think harmonizes with the gothic feel better than all of those baroque reredoses you usually find. Likewise, the new organ. It is housed in a cylindrical tower of gleaming metal. Per the town’s official website:

Thanks to recent restoration works of the interior polychromes and
ribbed ceilings in yellow and ochre and the white washing of the facings, the
cathedral is a true revelation of 15th century architecture. This colourful restoration was totally in the spirit of the first builders, in opposition to the austere look of religious monuments during the 19th century.

Another feature of this part of Brittany is the pastel and brightly-painted houses. You don't see this in Normandy, or on the north coast of Brittany either. The paint-jobs are almost like Mexico. Lots of images of Quimper here, just stay with it a while, because the images change rapidly.

Those of you familiar with Asterix and his companions will remember Obelix, the menhir (megalith) delivery-man. Well, we found where he delivered them: outside Carnac there are fields and fields of these standing stones, three to four feet high, arranged in rows, as in a modern cemetery. [More on these and some exceptionally good pictures.]

After a quick visit to Vannes, once the capital of the Kingdom of Brittany, (see lavoir at top) which lasted for about three generations just after Charlemagne and then became a Duchy, we headed home, a three-hour drive on the autoroute.

Cotentin

[click on images to enlarge]

Jean-loup drove me out to Normandy and Brittany for last week. It was cloudy and foggy all but the second day, so we came home a day early, but there was still plenty to see. I had never been to Brittany before, and it is well worth the trip. It reminds one of Maine and Quebec and the north coast of California. Full of rocky cliffs and estuaries and inlets, some of which are deep enough to qualify as fjords, I would say.

We started in Normany, where Jean-loup and Claude lived for eight years, near a market town called Briquebec, in the middle of the Cotentin peninsula, which sticks up into the English Channel just northeast of Brittany, [see map] and whose eastern beaches are still called Omaha and Utah. Off the western coast are the Channel Islands, belonging to the UK (Jersey, Guernsey, Sark). The Azéma’s hamlet is not too far from St. Mere Église, the little village where the Amerian paratrooper got caught hanging by his parachute from the steeple and survived, because none of the villagers told the Germans, who miraculously never looked up!

On the way, we stopped at Evreaux, which has a really splendid flamboyant cathedral.
Jean-loup says that this town is the beginning of Normandy. [please consult map] You will find Evreaux in the 27th Department just between "Mantes" and "Nanterre". J-l says that the Duchy of Normandy was basically the territory between the Seine and the Loire, north to the sea, but not including Brittany. The eastern borer was always under negotiation wiuth the King of France. (On this map, the names of the Revolutionary Departments are given, but the old Normandy was bigger.)

Then we dropped in at the unfortunate Basilique de St. Thérèse at Lisieux. Really hideous ‘30s monstrosity. Awful. Ghastly. Think Emmanuel Louis Masqueray satanically possessed by the shade of Albert Speer. Imagine starting with the St. Paul’s Cathedral’s rather uplifting Beaux-arts grandeur and filling it with horrible fascist-modern sculpture and trashy, late nouveau mosaics. The only art that isn’t entirely objectionable are the mosaic angels in the pendentives, but even they are pretty bad.

Norman village architecture, by contrast is delightful and everything you could hope for, distinguished by lots of half-timber, because there are big forests all over, except for Cotentin, which is more windswept, like Cornwall, and the houses are made of stone, as in Brittany. We stayed the night in a fishing/resort town called St.Vaast-la-Hougue, on the northwest coast (see map, just south of Pte. Barfleur). Mostly closed up for the winter, but there was a nice little hotel with an expensive but underwhelming restaurant. I finally found out what dorade is, however: a bronzish fish called sea-bream in England, what we call ocean perch, I think. It came en papillotte (steamed in foil), complete with head. Very tasty, sweet white flesh. There was also a somewhat arduous assiette de fruits de mer, which was mostly decorative. A couple of good oysters, but otherwise lots of tiny shells: sea-snails, langoustine (crayfish), and extremely small shrimp).

The next day we drove up to Cherbourg, where the Azémas used to teach. Then a brief visit to a couple of retired teacher friends and on to Cap de la Hague. This is right at the northwest corner of Cotentin, on a headland with a spectacular view, from which we could see the Cannel Islands. Here is Sark as seen from Cotentin: the private property of the Dame of Sark, who lets people live there under her rules, and she is an absolute dictator (no cars, but also no taxes). Cap de la Hague is the site of one of the world’s two spent-fuel reprocessing centers. They get U-238 from all over the world and turn it into plutonium.

This facility has never had an accident. In their characteristic modesty, the French say this is because of superior technology, just like their high-speed trains. It is true that the TGV has never had an accident, which is something the German bullet trains cannot claim, but Jean-loup says that every so often, the government would come around and buy all the milk and eggs, at outrageously high prices. This was never explained or announced, but the locals, of course, all knew about it. The condition was that nobody talk to the press. You figure it out.

Anyway, the government assures everyone that the radiation danger from the plant is no where near as bad as ordinary earth's, as for example across the water Brittany, where the pink granite makes your geiger counter twitch alot more. So they ship spent fuel here all the way from Japan. About as far from Japan as you can get. The Japanese are not so dumb.

One interesting geographical detail: at the south end of the peninsula, the land is low and marshy. The peninsula at one time actually was “almost an island”, like Mont Saint Michel. Among the many public-works projects of Louis XIV was draining these marshes and building levees to keep it drier. Apparently, one of the reasons for situating the nuclear reprocessing plant at Cap de la Hague, was that, in case of a China Syndrome event, the marshes could be flooded again, and whole peninsula made inaccessible. (Meanwhile, the local residents - who would, presumably, be abandoned to their fate - were advised, in case of undefined emergency, to close their shutters and stuff towels under their doors!)

We visited the Abbey of Our Lady of Grace, OCSO (Trappist). This is a short walk from Jean-loup’s former hamlet. Severely simple, of course, as are all Cistercian monasteries. Whitewashed barrel vault that is great for plainchant. J-l used to stop in for Matins at about 3:00 am, after a night of partying. One time, he fell asleep,and a monk gently awakened him, to say that he was most welvcome, but only if he stayed awake.

"If you would sing in Latin, I wouldn't sleep!" said J-l. And, by God, they did. This is the kind of thing that only happens in France.

Then we went to see Madame Denis. She is the neighbor at the other end of the hamlet. A real peasant woman, now 84, now living alone in her old stone farmhouse, connected to the stone barn that houses a five-hundred-year-old cider-press, which J-l says is a twin of one in the museum in Valogne. I remember making hay with M. Denis almost thirty years ago. We began the day at the kitchen table with coffee accompanied by a couple of good shots of eau-de-vie de pommes (home-made calvados - M. Denis used to make over 100 liters/year; he was allowed by law to make 30). Then we went out to the field. Everything in France is on smaller scale than in the US: the field, the bales, the hay-rack, the hay-loft. So that meant several trips back to the barn. Each of them was marked by a nice big glass (NOT small-scale) of hard cider (home-made, of course). M. Denis had several barrels (BIG barrels) of this in the barn.

M. Denis died of alcoholism a few years ago. Mme. Denis is really a beautiful old lady. All smiles and bright as can be. One daughter lives next door and another in Briquebec, so she is safe and happy. She has redone her kitchen. She used to cook exclusively on a wood-stove, which is still her sole source of heat:


It’s chimney connects to the enormous hearth, which is now (wisely) plugged up and never used. Great to see her.

From Briquebec (and its medieval castle in the middle of the town square), we drove down the West side of the peninsula to Coutances, where there is another fabulous cathedral. A little bigger, earlier and simpler than Evreaux, with a big lantern over the crossing and 13th C. glass in the apse. See pictures .

Then we passed through Granville, which was the first big luxury-liner port. There was a fast train non-stop from Paris, and ships like the Normandie would receive passengers here for the voyage to New York. It was bombed to pieces during the war, however, and then served as the Allied headquarters. I remember Fr. George Metcalf, Patton’s Chaplain, remarking about his time there in 1944.

And so to Mont Saint Michel. Truly one of the world’s wonders. Too late for a visit (and too many stairs for me, anyway), so we just drove up as far as we could and admired from afar. The current plan is to eliminate the causeway and make it a permanent island, because the bay is silting up too fast. Anyway, with the ice-caps melting, it may be just making a virtue of necessity. But This holy place is one thing that won’t be affected - too high. We spent the night up the Breton Coast, in the fashionable resort town of Cancale [see map], which has the best (and, alas, the most expensive) oysters in the world. In situ they weren’t nearly as expensive as in Paris, so I had a dozen for dinner for about $8.00.

For pictures better than mine click: Cancale and St.Malo (Bourbon-fortified town from which the Quebec colonists came, subject of next entry).