Peace Be With You

Last night I attended mass at Notre Dame. I approached her at quarter past six, the sun still strong, warming her stone walls, and as the bells rang out, I thought of poor Quasimodo. For a moment I wanted to be Esmeralda, to take him a pitcher of water...and the name of a good chiropractor.  

I walked into the cathedral and it was like I’d stepped into heaven or where ever it is that God lives. The massive organ, set high at the back of the cathedral, bellowed as if the grand dame herself was blowing a thousand mournful trumpets. It was so majestic and intense that I thought she might blow her buttresses out! Each chord vibrated through my head and chest and seemed to collect in my throat until a lump was formed and then dissolved into a few tears. The music continued as the priest and his entourage moved through the masses and towards the altar. And then the organ softened, and an angel, in the form of a middle aged man in a bright blue dress, stood at the pulpit and sang out in mesmerising tones.  Surely he’d swallowed a harp.

The grand dame, a parisienne indeed, demands attention. She is bejewelled with dozens of shimmering chandeliers, set in rows beneath her perfect arches, and she is perfumed with incense and spice and the holy dust of a thousand years. Her stained glass windows are immense kaleidoscopic eyes...and I could feel her watching me.

Of course the whole mass was given in French, so I didn’t take much in. I think there was something about Gerard Depardieu and a baguette, but I’m not entirely sure. I enjoyed the hymns and the part where you get to shake hands with those around you and say Peace be with you. I’m a sucker for that. I reckon there should be a compulsory Peace be with you break, twice a day. Where ever you are, whatever you’re doing, you down tools and you shake hands/hug/kiss those around you, whether you know them or not. It’s such a great connector. (Ok, clearly this whole Notre Dame experience is causing me to lose my grip) 

The priest was impressive when he sang the Eucharist. He was remarkably Serge Gainsbourg-esque! I started craving for a strong espresso and a cigarette, and when it was time for the congregation to respond, I expected Jane Birkin to appear and writhe with the microphone.

Did you hear the one about the two French nuns? No, seriously, there were two nuns directly in front of me, so I relied heavily on them to know when to sit and when to stand. They, too, had the voices of angels and I felt blessed to witness their sweet melodies.

When I departed at about eight o'clock, I sat outside, the sun still warm (it doesn’t get dark here until ten o'clock) and I watched the cathedral as if she might perform some more. But she’s a grand old dame and she needs her sleep. I imagined her removing her chandeliers, rubbing her kaleidoscopic eyes and folding her buttresses. Good night Notre Dame. Peace be with you.