Notre-Dame de Paris, images by Andre Cohen
I was in the kitchen, mincing garlic for a tomato sauce, when I heard my Frenchman exclaim, “non !” Instinctively, I froze. It’s a relatively recent reflex to this particular brand of “non !,” one that I started developing back in 2015.
He’d just turned on the television. It had been a busy Monday for both of us, and we’d planned on dining in front of the TV. Emmanuel Macron, the embattled French president, was to address the country in response to the months-long, often violent protests led by the Gilets Jaunes (Yellow Vests). We joked that we were probably the only people in France that would actually watch the address; Macron is highly skilled in l’art du non-dit (the art of not saying anything), even if it’s clear he loves the sound of his own voice. It was doubtful this little speech would be meaningful, so who cared what he had to say? But after a hectic day, politicians make great punching bags. They provide plenty of comic material, and there’s a certain self-righteous satisfaction one feels when making fun of them. En plus, we’d exhausted the best stuff in the Netflix catalog.
But: “non !” That wasn’t a reaction to Macron. It was the same “non !” I’d heard when we first learned about Charlie.
But: “non !” That wasn’t a reaction to Macron. It was the same “non !” I’d heard when we first learned about Charlie. The same “non !” I’d woken up to the morning of November 14, 2015. Vacationing in Canada in the summer of 2016, it was the “non !” I’d heard on July 14th, when my Frenchman had turned on the 6pm news (one of his ways of practicing English while there) to discover that some maniac had run over a bunch of people during Bastille Day celebrations in Nice. There’s more French “no’s” where those came from, but the list is depressingly long.
And so that evening, while watching, tearful and helpless, as Notre Dame went up in flames, I felt a little guilty in feeling reassured that no one had uttered the word “terrorism.” This was tragic no matter the cause, but still . . . But still. After an anecdotal survey of my Parisian friends, it seems I wasn’t the only one who was feeling this way.
The reality is, Paris may be a huge museum, but it’s a living, breathing one, one where its inhabitants and visitors have access to the same amenities as any modern, tech-infused urban center.
When we think of Paris, we often tend to think of it (or want to think of it) as locked in time, unchanging––and when something changes, we’re shocked, saddened, sometimes outraged. The reality is, Paris may be a huge museum, but it’s a living, breathing one, one where its inhabitants and visitors have access to the same amenities as any modern, tech-infused urban center. And as stuff happens and times change, so, too, does this city. Even if we hadn’t planned it that way. Even if it’s by force. Or by accident.
This tragedy was man-made, and an accident; the fact that it happened during a restoration project is bitter irony.
This tragedy was man-made, and an accident; the fact that it happened during a restoration project is bitter irony. Now, Macron has spoken: he wants the cathedral fully restored in five years, laws are being passed to make it happen. The experts, and lots of them, have already warned him that this is dangerous: if history is to be respected, his deadline is too tight. But there are economics at play, and politics, too: millions of people come to Paris for the explicit reason of visiting Notre Dame! Postcards must be sold! The Olympics are just a few years away! Paris must be perfect! France has been under attack, both by external forces and from the inside! We have to save face! We have to show everybody that we’re … well, we’re la France! All of this influences architecture, in some shape or form, pardon the pun. Notre Dame, it seems, will continue to be an example of architectural evolution.
At any rate, her rebirth promises to be interesting.
