The Bells of Notre-Dame

A glorious cathedral, a horrific fire, and the promise of restoration

Photo taken just days before a fire would consume the cathedral’s roof. This was the vantage from which I wrote the first poem.

In April 2019, my husband and I were able to visit Paris and London. We arrived first in the French capital. As a medieval history enthusiast, I liked the idea of staying where the old University of Paris used to stand, the institution that led to the neighborhood being called “the Latin Quarter.” I also wanted to be near the Île de la Cité, home to the most famous gothic cathedral in the world: Notre-Dame de Paris.

I managed to achieve both feats. We stayed in one of the few portions of the city that maintains its basic medieval road structure, only a block or two from the cathedral. Our first full day there, we visited and took in its majesty. It was my second opportunity to see it, and I was just as enchanted as I had been in 2008.

We remained in the city for a few days, and as I wake earlier than my husband, I breakfasted at a cafe on the riverbank, with a clear view of the cathedral. On one of those mornings, as I listened to the famed bells chime, I quickly wrote this poem of questionable quality.

The bells high in the cathedral ring
Proclaiming their song to the rooftops of Paris
“Remember, Remember, Remember!
Remember you have a Creator.
You were made.
You belong to God.”
They speak hope to the penitent.
Wrath to the proud.
In this empty world bereft of wonder.
“Remember, Remember, Remember!”

How dear to me that holy site had become! I felt the power of a place where, for nearly a thousand years, prayer had been made valid.

Soon, we departed Paris and made for London, settling in to our new hotel just across from the Victoria and Albert Museum. After we had been there a day or two, I convinced my husband to pop into Selfridge’s to see what the famed department store was really like. Once inside, we split up to investigate the various displays, many full of things too expensive for sanity.

After a few minutes of this, I must have grown bored enough to check my phone, and there I saw news that nearly stopped my heart: the cathedral in which we had been standing only days earlier, a true jewel of Christendom, was on fire. That I had been there so recently made the grief even sharper. I watched a video of the famous spire crumbling, and though all human lives were fortunately saved, much that had been beloved was lost. It remained to be seen how much of the structure would survive.

I returned to our hotel room with a heavy heart. I called upon my smartphone for the proper tune: Mozart, “Lacrimosa.” And I quickly wrote another poem, even as the firefighters struggled to save the famed bell towers, for it seemed to me that this disaster was a symbol of so much that had been destroyed.

The bells of the cathedral stand silent
The flames burn and devour
Will I be one of the last?
The last who remember?
The fire consumes all
Everything dies
My life, my youth departs
My dreams wane and fail
And all that was good is broken
“Remember, Remember, Remember!
Remember the greatness that was here!
The rising spire, the gleaming windows!
They honored a Creator!”
A Creator who let them burn
A Creator who lets me burn
Will the tide ever turn?
Will the Lord make me a remnant?
I know not, but I pray
I pray for the salvation of hope
I cling to what once was
Until all that is left is the wisp of a memory
“Remember, Remember, Remember!”

The following morning, I took my breakfast in the hotel restaurant, where I grabbed my copy of The Times and devoured all the details.

The news was miraculous. They had saved the rose windows! They had saved both towers! It would be possible to rebuild the roof and return it to greatness. Already, donations were pouring in, and whereas the cathedral was previously strapped for cash to fund renovations, it would now have enough and then some.

So, I wrote a final poem that reflected my more hopeful mood, for I had seen the goodness of God, even if I did not deserve it.

The bells in the cathedral still ring
Preserved by human heroism
And perhaps something divine
They proclaim to the world
“Remember! Remember! Remember!
Remember what these stones have seen!
This world is full of horror, and yet,
This world still holds hope”
I hope in a Creator
I long for His embrace
I pray it’s not too late
That I too will be saved
“Remember! Remember! Remember!”

This past week, the new spire was unveiled above Notre-Dame de Paris. When President Emmanuel Macron pledged, while the cathedral was still smoldering, to restore it within five years, it seemed like mere posturing. Cathedrals take generations to build! But with an influx of cash and the united will of France’s decision makers, the project is very nearly on schedule. It will be in good shape for this summer’s Olympics, and renovations will supposedly be complete by the end of 2024.

Thank you for joining me for this trip down memory lane. I hope to one day view the renewed cathedral. Until then, I will cherish the goodness that once was and the goodness that is.

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