The Undoing of History

We tend to think of history as something that happens somewhere else, to someone else. To be sure, we feel deeply affected by worldly events no matter how far away they may occur, but history is, for the most  part, something we unconsciously reserve to history books.  We read about historical events and try to envision what it must have been like to be there, but notwithstanding our best efforts, we are dealing in abstractions here, not gut wrenching realities.  Even with respect to current day events, we learn what we know through the TV screen or other forms of mass media.  The images on the screen definitely bring these events to life in a way that no printed word can, but even here as you sit in the comfort of your home the reality of this history -- the feel, the smell, the immediacy of it -- are still several steps removed.

That all changed for Alex and me a couple of weeks ago in Paris.  It was early evening and, as had had become our new pattern, Alex, Katie and Owen had settled in for a break at the apartment just as Lily and I had in our hotel room, all awaiting a meeting up for dinner once Owen fell asleep.  But then Alex got in touch with me sending me urgent images of a cathedral on fire.  To be honest, these images which were from a newsfeed, at first did not resonate with me.  But, suddenly I realized these were images of the cathedral of Notre Dame.  And, yet even in those moments I was somehow doubtful of their truthfulness.  But Alex said he would be by in five minutes and said we had to go and witness this.  I agreed.

When I went down to the hotel lobby, the desk clerk was unaware of the event.  When I mentioned it to him, he frowned and tilted his head in disbelief but then did a quick search on his computer.  When the images came up on his screen, he gasped and his hands went to his mouth in a pure statement of shock.  Alex appeared and we took off.

As we raced through the narrow streets of the Left Bank and peered into bars along the way, the TVs were all blaring the news of the fire.  But, here's where the reality set in.  Navigating the narrow streets and heading downhill, the sky was filled with billowing smoke and then, depending on a break in the skyline of the buildings in front of us, the hot orange of flames shooting skyward could be seen.  It looked like the whole city was on fire just blocks away.  The crowds thickened and soon it became a lava flow as everyone headed for the river.  The stress was palpable and contagious among the crowds the closer we got to ground zero.

As we neared the river, we could now see in full view the cathedral in flames.  In my life I had never seen flames so large, so high, so sweeping.  They were at least thirty to forty feet high and massive in width.  They stretched from the back side of the magnificent two front towers to the rear section of the cathedral and its now dearly threatened spire wholly engulfed in flames licking at its very existence.  Helicopters would occasionally swoop by.  Sirens were the constant soundtrack.  Police would be feverishly yelling at people to stand back in efforts to control the lava flow of the many, like Alex and me, wanting or needing to witness history.  The gridlocked cars had windows opened, passengers with jaws agape or cameras flashing.  The crowds were universally dumbstruck by what they were witnessing.  And, many were either openly crying or quietly wiping away tears that just wouldn't stop.

As I stared in bewilderment, I kept wondering where were the fire fighters?  All I saw were two streams of water, one near the front, the other near the back of the cathedral which seemed so utterly inadequate in the face of what might not unfairly be described as an Armageddon-like expression of fire.  I expected helicopters dousing water from  above and boats gorging water from  the river.  In the panic we were all  feeling in those moments, we wanted water coming from every possible source and from every possible direction.  No effort seemed sufficient.

The mammoth flames had now devoured enough of the roof to not only tumble the cathedral's beautiful spire, but to fully expose the skeletal timbers of the building's roof.  All exposed, they were nothing now but mere kindling to some demonic bonfire and we knew it would only be moments before the entire roof collapsed.  But, when it happened it was stunning.   In a moment the roof was gone and it was only a question of where the flames would turn to feed their unending appetite.  The gasps and moans from the crowd were penetrating to anyone with a soul.

It was just ninety minutes earlier that we had been finishing up our day's explorations when we decided to take a run past Notre Dame.  Lily decided to take the stroller and sit in the small but fabulously charming park behind the cathedral while Katie, Alex, Owen and I walked an encircling route around the building taking in the towers, smiling at the gargoyles, dodging the long lines but, as always, taking in an iconic bit of world history.  I mean, here is a building that has been with us for close to nine centuries surviving every monstrous act of man and nature that has dotted human history all these centuries.  It is part of the reason that Notre Dame is such a world renowned landmark.  And yet here it was, in front of our eyes, its existence actually threatened.  In those moments, it felt like the undoing of history.

So, this is what experiencing history in the most real sense feels like.  I cannot say that I physically felt the heat of those flames, but emotionally I most surely did.