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 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.
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.
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.
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