If you haven’t been to Paris, you haven’t been to Notre-Dame de Paris, which means you haven’t seen the north Rose Window. That’s it, further down this page.
It was placed in the cathedral in around 1250 A.D. Amazingly and ever-so fortunately, the window survived the fire of April 15, 2019.
As you may know, the great cathedral church of Paris is set to reopen in November – a remarkable turnaround and a testament to modern technology and the generosity of donors from around the world.
Formerly known as the “first daughter of the Church,” France has lately become known for its “zombie Catholics”: nominally of the faith but not truly faithful. And President Emmanuel Macron is Zombie-in-Chief.
His baptism notwithstanding, Monsieur le Président has a right to go his own way, just as Joe Biden has. Kultural Katholicism is a kancer, but that’s a subject for another kolumn.
The European Union was founded in 1993; it’s anti-religious bias has grown year after year and shown no sign of withering away. Then again, neither does the traditional Catholic faith of so many Europeans. Secularism, of course, is the official policy of France, and more-or-less has been ever since Jacobins began lopping off heads in 1789. Many French pride themselves on the nation’s laïcité, which became official in 1905, and constitutional in the Constitution of 1946.
Leo XIII saw this coming, but he took a hopeful view (Au milieu des sollicitudes, 1892):
We feel greatly consoled when We see this same French people increasing its zeal and affection for the Holy See in proportion as that See is abandoned.
There are signs that, as in the United States, France is awakening more fully to its traditions, although caution may be necessary. Some politicians and even some priests are as secularist as ever.
Leo saw that too: “the ideal of these men would be a return to paganism: the State would recognize the Church only when it would be pleased to persecute her.”
These days, the State simply ignores the Church, placing the secular government’s policies and interests above all other considerations.
And why not? The State, not the Church, owns Notre-Dame and every other cathedral in France.
I’m not going to rail about that. Still, it does seem odd that some of France’s most prominent Catholic churchmen would buckle under to laïcité.
It was the Archbishop of Paris, Laurent Ulrich, who first suggested to Emmanual Macron that some of Notre-Dame’s 19th-century stained-glass windows be replaced by 21st-century versions. Mind you, these windows survived the fire.
I’m trying to recall who it is that Macron and Ulrich remind me of. Can’t put my finger on it – a real tip-of-the-tongue thing. Let’s see: authoritarian. . .bent on destroying something beautiful. . . opposed to a tradition others admire. . .also lives in Europe . . . Shoot, it just won’t come to me. Maybe later.
To be fair, neither Archbishop Ulrich nor President Macron is proposing the wholesale removal of the ancient stained glass in the cathedral. If they were, it wouldn’t be a controversy; it would be a second French revolution.
A plan by the president and the archbishop was announced to allow contemporary artists to present designs to replace the windows designed by the architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc. Who was he anyway?
Well, he was arguably among the most influential architects and designers of the modern era – very influential in what became known as Art Nouveau. Despite that, Viollet-le-Duc’s windows will be removed and placed in crates to await later display in a Notre-Dame museum.
What is especially vexing to those who’d like to see the Viollet-le-Duc’s windows retained is that, though affected somewhat by the 2019 blaze, they’ve already been restored thanks to the generosity of donors.
France was a participant in the Venice Charter for the Conservation and Restoration of Monuments and Sites (1964), the first sentence of which reads: “Imbued with a message from the past, the historic monuments of generations of people remain to the present day as living witnesses of their age-old traditions.” A lofty sentiment, in my opinion, but I suppose the charter only has moral force. And the denizens of Elysée Palace can and will do what they want, ignoring the principle of Com’era Dov’era (How was it / Where was it).
Ulrich’s idea was basically that, since the Cathedral has faced other catastrophes over the centuries, requiring updates and additions, something from the 21st century should be part of this latest renovation.
Okay, but one must ask: With the deadline coming for removal/installation of stained glass in the cathedral, will one or another be designed by Marko Rupnik? I’m kidding. Better to ask: Will the new be better than the old?
This plan was submitted to the French National Commission for Architecture and Heritage which rejected it, but President Macron dismissed the commission’s opinion. It’s as if he only wants the new France not the old; not the traditional, glorious, Catholic France.
Of course, as my colleague Robert Royal wrote here in 2021 about the ongoing restoration of Notre-Dame: “The restorers have spoken of making the new configurations a dialogue of old and new – which I myself favor if done well, because while we live out of an unimaginably rich past in the Church, we also live in a present that badly needs to find ways to appropriate that inheritance.”
I don’t disagree. I haven’t seen images of the proposed replacement windows, so have no clue if they’ll be done well. However, I have seen the new altar. Compared with what it will replace – and allowing for the possibility that more will be added – I’m concerned.
I suspect neither President Macron nor Archbishop Ulrich, modernists though they may be, really want a whollyminimalist cathedral, and I suspect that were they to hide in the shadows, lurking behind pillars and watching the reactions of Parisians and tourists alike to the cathedral’s interior when Notre-Dame reopens, they’d note that visitors will wince and the quickly pass by the new minimalist altar. Whereas before the fire, there were smiles and long moments spent admiring the old. Don’t you agree?
And wait! I’ve conjured the name of the person Macron reminds me of. He lives in Rome.
