Paris, day 3: Besotted with Beauty-- Notre Dame and the Louvre
The day started early. We got up at 6ish with the sun still set, washed up, had a light breakfast, and headed over to Notre Dame to finally see the interior. Folks, this is the way to site-see: Get up early and beat the crowds. I got to experience what this church is like when it's populated mainly by the clergy and the sparse and scattered faithful. So as Elizabeth and I quietly wandered the edges of the sanctuary, we listened to mass in French, a lovely accompaniment to viewing the paintings, sculpture, and stained glass.
Notre Dame
The Notre Dame main sanctuary is ten stories tall inside, with its Gothic vaults arching overhead. It is carefully lit, not overly so, presumably to show off the stained glass to its best effect when the sun comes out. Because we entered when it was dark, we got to watch the light slowly rise in those windows and they were absolutely stunning: mainly rich reds, blues, whites, greens, and yellows in fantastic patterns that are different in every pane. It occurred to me as I beheld slightly-larger-than-life sculptures of past bishops and portrayals of Bible stories that this art would have come to eerie, awe-inspiring life in candlelight. Even with the spare artificial light in the sanctuary and the occasional, strategically-aimed spotlight, it's still beautiful and impressive. The patterns that border every fresco are varied, some geometrical, some floral. The plethora of pagan imagery throughout the church--including one window patterned with the multi-colored faces of green men--delighted me. And as we walked, I asked Elizabeth questions about things I saw that I didn't understand; as she put it, she "knows the fables of [her] people" and shared them. I was glad that I have enough of an ecumenical background to not have to ask about everything; being both a religion and history geek, I had some grounding, but it was nice to be able to ask and to learn.
I had my Rick Steves Paris book with me for a little more background, which was both helpful and frustrating. Steves' narratives are funny, sometimes insightful, but invariably far shallower than I would prefer. For practical travel information, his books are top-notch, providing tips and tricks from which we have benefits over and over again so far. (Each time we needed to do practical planning today, we referred to -- activate Peter Lorre voice -- "Misseur Reeek" for guidance.) But for depth of coverage and history, I have learned to prefer Lonely Planet. With regard to Notre Dame, he provided just enough background for me to get frustrated at the lack of depth, but having some background is better than having none at all. (I shall probably download a Lonely Planet guide to Paris before the day is over.)
Strolling to the Louvre: Serendipity
The Louvre is located on the Rive Droit, across the Seine from where we're staying, but only about a mile or so away, so we decided to walk, under overcast skies, to the museum.As we strolled, we passed an elaborately filligreed double door in beautifully painted in Kool-Aid colors, of which we both took pictures. We also passed--and stopped at--a clothing store for women in larger sizes. The clothes in the window were interestingly funky so we decided to poke in. Some Euros later, I popped out with a gorgeous crop leather jacket in a deep rust red. It's beautifully tailored and looks just fabulous. The last thing I expected to do here was buy clothes, but I am thoroughly pleased with this purchase and am looking forward to wearing this jacket for a long time to come.
The Louvre
It's the theme of the trip: you have no idea how freaking huge the Louvre is until you get there. It's massive, sprawling, a palace that outsizes its description by several magnitudes. It's so large that as you look at it, it fills your field of vision, leaving no other building visible: rows of columns and arches and facades, and everywhere you look you see something you didn't notice earlier. Upon entering, we were quite literally overwhelmed by the power of the place, and so we grabbed a museum map and went to the museum cafe (disappointingly similar to American museum cafes, which is to say sterile, characterless, and with acceptable but pretty mediocre food) for lunch. Once properly nourished, we strategized our attack and dove into the warren that is the Louvre.
We spent time in the following exhibits: the Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities, Paintings, and then French Paintings, and then the German, Finnish, Dutch, Belgian, Russian, and Scandinavian Paintings. We ran into setsyoustraight and her husband while we were there later in the day, and she put it well: it's one beautiful thing after another. It takes your breath away. Here are the particular things I made jotted down in my notebook to mention here:
The Temple of Zeus frieze: Many of the figures included in the Parthenon frieze weren't whole. The ghosts of their missing torsos, hands, heads, all seemed almost visible. Haunting is the only word I can use for it.
The Venus de Milo is striking, with a face so alive you expect it to burst into movement at any moment. The multitude of beautiful things about her that is not apparent in photographs can't be summarized adequately: the way her torso curves, the delicacy of her mouth, the mystery of what her arms may have been doing.
The sculptures of Praxitiles: I learned about Praxitiles in a junior high school class on art history. Mentioned in classical writing of his era, he was a master sculptor, and you can see it in every one of his works that we have. Figures in motion, subtlety of gesture: it was remarkable to see. And I had one of those moments. The thing that brings me together with this artist is his art. This is why we do art: so that years later, others can share the thoughts we've recorded in whatever medium we choose.
The Pallas de Velletri is a larger-than-life, complete sculpture of Athena, helmet pushed up onto her forehead, dress elaborately draped about her with thousands of folds. The areas around her eyes and mouth are darker than the rest of her, remnants of paint long since worn away. Elizabeth said to me, "Now imagine her highlighted in gold..." and --already magnificent -- she was truly a goddess.
We saw many a bust of Alexander the Great with his ubiquitous forehead curl. I was, I admit, put in mind of Captain James T. Kirk with that forehead lock. One could not help but smile.
We also saw, scattered in amongst other works, a wide variety of ancient coins. I was impressed not only by how beautifully conserved they were (which I expected) but in their stellar condition. I expect nothing less in a museum like the Louvre, but you often see some rubbing, some fading. With rare exception, all the specimens we saw were in near-mint condition, every detail in the rendering crisp and clear, every groove deep and sharp. What a treat it was to see Alexander in his horned helmet, ranks of elephants marching to battle, a lulav-and-etrog portrayed on a coin from ancient Judea, Cleopatra, Arsinoe, the Ptolemies. I was in numismatic heaven.
The Winged Victory of Samothrace was a surprise for me. You see pictures and you think, OK, winged chick. But to see her in person is to see a body in forward motion, her dress whipped by the wind, her wings outstretched behind her as she stands in the prow of a ship (present in the museum, but never shown in photographs). She is situated in the center of a large room at the top of a flight of stairs, which emphasizes the effect of her striking presence. In person you can do what you can't in a picture: circumnavigate her, to look at her from every angle. We could see parts of her dress fluttering back, an armature attached to the back side of one wing to stabilize it, and the fact that, whether broken or covered by her dress, she has no feet which, somehow, touched a nerve in me. I was moved. There may be a poem in this.
We proceeded to look at paintings, heading first for the Mona Lisa. Predictably, the room in which she resides contained a milling crowd. She is accompanied in this room by a number of other remarkable works though she herself is at the center of one wall, framed behind a panel of bullet-proof glass. She does not make the impression one would expect based on her reputation. I would say that she's been overhyped, but that could be interpreted to mean she's overrated, which is not the case. Mainly, the everything about the painting is so subtle that its effect creeps up on you, a hard thing to experience in the center of a jostling, camera-welding crowd. I admit that I wasn't as impressed as I feel like I was primed to be. But I can say that I've seen her, and I'm glad to have done so.
Other paintings that impressed me included "Portrait of a Veronese," a portrait of a young woman with big dark eyes, her left hand protectively settled on the shoulder of a squirmy young boy beside her, his dog's face poking into the picture. She is striking, formidable-looking with her direct gaze and the firm press of her lips. I was filled with admiration. The two-sided "David and Goliath"--a back-to-back pair of paintings showing their struggle first from David's perspective and then Goliath's--struck me not only with its inventiveness but with the dynamism of its figures. I've developed a new appreciation for the works of David. And I was impressed and delighted by the two Vermeers we made a point to visit: "The Astronomer" (reportedly a self portrait, which makes the artist look young, intellectual, but somehow tough and virile even draped in all that clothing), and "The Lacemaker." Both of them were smaller than I expected, not even as big as a typical sheet of printer paper. They each brought their own pleasures.
We saw too many other things to mention, honestly. I remarked to Elizabeth that one of the great pleasures of a museum like the Louvre is discovering works you have never seen or heard of. It's like making new friends. For me, that was "Portrait of a Veronese," a lady I would like to have met. But there were so many others I haven't mentioned here that left marks. Simply too much to detail. But such a remarkable day!
Dinner
Our day concluded at a restaurant called La Cooperative Rivoli, where I had breast of duck with honey and blueberry sauce and potato medallions. The potato was nothing special but the duck in sauce was very good, very unusual: the combination of sweet and meaty was a nice culinary experience. My meal came with a tiny side salad, as did Elizabeth's. I scarfed it down, and she allowed me to have hers as well. I never thought I'd say that having salad was comforting, but there it is!
Steps for the day: 14,917
Notre Dame
The Notre Dame main sanctuary is ten stories tall inside, with its Gothic vaults arching overhead. It is carefully lit, not overly so, presumably to show off the stained glass to its best effect when the sun comes out. Because we entered when it was dark, we got to watch the light slowly rise in those windows and they were absolutely stunning: mainly rich reds, blues, whites, greens, and yellows in fantastic patterns that are different in every pane. It occurred to me as I beheld slightly-larger-than-life sculptures of past bishops and portrayals of Bible stories that this art would have come to eerie, awe-inspiring life in candlelight. Even with the spare artificial light in the sanctuary and the occasional, strategically-aimed spotlight, it's still beautiful and impressive. The patterns that border every fresco are varied, some geometrical, some floral. The plethora of pagan imagery throughout the church--including one window patterned with the multi-colored faces of green men--delighted me. And as we walked, I asked Elizabeth questions about things I saw that I didn't understand; as she put it, she "knows the fables of [her] people" and shared them. I was glad that I have enough of an ecumenical background to not have to ask about everything; being both a religion and history geek, I had some grounding, but it was nice to be able to ask and to learn.
I had my Rick Steves Paris book with me for a little more background, which was both helpful and frustrating. Steves' narratives are funny, sometimes insightful, but invariably far shallower than I would prefer. For practical travel information, his books are top-notch, providing tips and tricks from which we have benefits over and over again so far. (Each time we needed to do practical planning today, we referred to -- activate Peter Lorre voice -- "Misseur Reeek" for guidance.) But for depth of coverage and history, I have learned to prefer Lonely Planet. With regard to Notre Dame, he provided just enough background for me to get frustrated at the lack of depth, but having some background is better than having none at all. (I shall probably download a Lonely Planet guide to Paris before the day is over.)
Strolling to the Louvre: Serendipity
The Louvre is located on the Rive Droit, across the Seine from where we're staying, but only about a mile or so away, so we decided to walk, under overcast skies, to the museum.As we strolled, we passed an elaborately filligreed double door in beautifully painted in Kool-Aid colors, of which we both took pictures. We also passed--and stopped at--a clothing store for women in larger sizes. The clothes in the window were interestingly funky so we decided to poke in. Some Euros later, I popped out with a gorgeous crop leather jacket in a deep rust red. It's beautifully tailored and looks just fabulous. The last thing I expected to do here was buy clothes, but I am thoroughly pleased with this purchase and am looking forward to wearing this jacket for a long time to come.
The Louvre
It's the theme of the trip: you have no idea how freaking huge the Louvre is until you get there. It's massive, sprawling, a palace that outsizes its description by several magnitudes. It's so large that as you look at it, it fills your field of vision, leaving no other building visible: rows of columns and arches and facades, and everywhere you look you see something you didn't notice earlier. Upon entering, we were quite literally overwhelmed by the power of the place, and so we grabbed a museum map and went to the museum cafe (disappointingly similar to American museum cafes, which is to say sterile, characterless, and with acceptable but pretty mediocre food) for lunch. Once properly nourished, we strategized our attack and dove into the warren that is the Louvre.
We spent time in the following exhibits: the Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities, Paintings, and then French Paintings, and then the German, Finnish, Dutch, Belgian, Russian, and Scandinavian Paintings. We ran into setsyoustraight and her husband while we were there later in the day, and she put it well: it's one beautiful thing after another. It takes your breath away. Here are the particular things I made jotted down in my notebook to mention here:
The Temple of Zeus frieze: Many of the figures included in the Parthenon frieze weren't whole. The ghosts of their missing torsos, hands, heads, all seemed almost visible. Haunting is the only word I can use for it.
The Venus de Milo is striking, with a face so alive you expect it to burst into movement at any moment. The multitude of beautiful things about her that is not apparent in photographs can't be summarized adequately: the way her torso curves, the delicacy of her mouth, the mystery of what her arms may have been doing.
The sculptures of Praxitiles: I learned about Praxitiles in a junior high school class on art history. Mentioned in classical writing of his era, he was a master sculptor, and you can see it in every one of his works that we have. Figures in motion, subtlety of gesture: it was remarkable to see. And I had one of those moments. The thing that brings me together with this artist is his art. This is why we do art: so that years later, others can share the thoughts we've recorded in whatever medium we choose.
The Pallas de Velletri is a larger-than-life, complete sculpture of Athena, helmet pushed up onto her forehead, dress elaborately draped about her with thousands of folds. The areas around her eyes and mouth are darker than the rest of her, remnants of paint long since worn away. Elizabeth said to me, "Now imagine her highlighted in gold..." and --already magnificent -- she was truly a goddess.
We saw many a bust of Alexander the Great with his ubiquitous forehead curl. I was, I admit, put in mind of Captain James T. Kirk with that forehead lock. One could not help but smile.
We also saw, scattered in amongst other works, a wide variety of ancient coins. I was impressed not only by how beautifully conserved they were (which I expected) but in their stellar condition. I expect nothing less in a museum like the Louvre, but you often see some rubbing, some fading. With rare exception, all the specimens we saw were in near-mint condition, every detail in the rendering crisp and clear, every groove deep and sharp. What a treat it was to see Alexander in his horned helmet, ranks of elephants marching to battle, a lulav-and-etrog portrayed on a coin from ancient Judea, Cleopatra, Arsinoe, the Ptolemies. I was in numismatic heaven.
The Winged Victory of Samothrace was a surprise for me. You see pictures and you think, OK, winged chick. But to see her in person is to see a body in forward motion, her dress whipped by the wind, her wings outstretched behind her as she stands in the prow of a ship (present in the museum, but never shown in photographs). She is situated in the center of a large room at the top of a flight of stairs, which emphasizes the effect of her striking presence. In person you can do what you can't in a picture: circumnavigate her, to look at her from every angle. We could see parts of her dress fluttering back, an armature attached to the back side of one wing to stabilize it, and the fact that, whether broken or covered by her dress, she has no feet which, somehow, touched a nerve in me. I was moved. There may be a poem in this.
We proceeded to look at paintings, heading first for the Mona Lisa. Predictably, the room in which she resides contained a milling crowd. She is accompanied in this room by a number of other remarkable works though she herself is at the center of one wall, framed behind a panel of bullet-proof glass. She does not make the impression one would expect based on her reputation. I would say that she's been overhyped, but that could be interpreted to mean she's overrated, which is not the case. Mainly, the everything about the painting is so subtle that its effect creeps up on you, a hard thing to experience in the center of a jostling, camera-welding crowd. I admit that I wasn't as impressed as I feel like I was primed to be. But I can say that I've seen her, and I'm glad to have done so.
Other paintings that impressed me included "Portrait of a Veronese," a portrait of a young woman with big dark eyes, her left hand protectively settled on the shoulder of a squirmy young boy beside her, his dog's face poking into the picture. She is striking, formidable-looking with her direct gaze and the firm press of her lips. I was filled with admiration. The two-sided "David and Goliath"--a back-to-back pair of paintings showing their struggle first from David's perspective and then Goliath's--struck me not only with its inventiveness but with the dynamism of its figures. I've developed a new appreciation for the works of David. And I was impressed and delighted by the two Vermeers we made a point to visit: "The Astronomer" (reportedly a self portrait, which makes the artist look young, intellectual, but somehow tough and virile even draped in all that clothing), and "The Lacemaker." Both of them were smaller than I expected, not even as big as a typical sheet of printer paper. They each brought their own pleasures.
We saw too many other things to mention, honestly. I remarked to Elizabeth that one of the great pleasures of a museum like the Louvre is discovering works you have never seen or heard of. It's like making new friends. For me, that was "Portrait of a Veronese," a lady I would like to have met. But there were so many others I haven't mentioned here that left marks. Simply too much to detail. But such a remarkable day!
Dinner
Our day concluded at a restaurant called La Cooperative Rivoli, where I had breast of duck with honey and blueberry sauce and potato medallions. The potato was nothing special but the duck in sauce was very good, very unusual: the combination of sweet and meaty was a nice culinary experience. My meal came with a tiny side salad, as did Elizabeth's. I scarfed it down, and she allowed me to have hers as well. I never thought I'd say that having salad was comforting, but there it is!
Steps for the day: 14,917