The Fire Within

“The greatest products of architecture are less the works of individuals than of society; rather the offspring of a nation's effort, than the inspired flash of a man of genius...”

Victor Hugo, Hunchback of Notre Dame (273).

Paris is Burning.

Notre Dame is going up in Flames.

So why do I feel like I am the one On Fire?

The air is hard to breathe in the basement of the Cutler Majestic Theatre. My waist is wrapped in a cropped black apron stuffed with a flashlight, sewing needle, hair ties, and a run sheet with chicken scratches scrawled across it. I run from the costume closet, shoved in a corner behind all of the dressing rooms, up the stairs to the bulging clothes rack that clutters the upstage hallway. Flustered actors, muttering stagehands, and carts of hefty set pieces push past me as I try to hang my armful of clothes on the rack before the musical number on stage ends. When it does, a hoard of performers will stampede the narrow hallway and pull their quick change pieces off of the rack before tramping back to belt their hearts out. I desperately want to get out of there before that, I’ve seen The Lion King, I know what happens to Mufasa.

I am back down the stairs as the stage door bursts open and frantic voices slam together about missed cues and jumped lines. I breathe a sigh of relief. Glancing at my run sheet, I see that I finally have a second to sit down before my next delve into the battle that is backstage. Sinking into a laminated armchair in the green room, my feet cry thankful tears. I only get a taste of relaxation though, for my phone lights up and tells me that I have received a snapchat. When I swipe my fingerprint across the screen and see the picture that my friend sent in our group chat, I burst into flames.

“Great events have incalculable results” (Hugo, 134).

I remember hearing my mom say once that she remembers exactly where she was when the Twin Towers fell. I usually can’t remember what I ate for breakfast, so I always found this hard to believe. It wasn’t until I squinted at a grainy picture of Notre Dame engulfed in an orange blaze that I realized how true that really is. I don’t think I will ever leave that room. It only happened a few months ago, so maybe this is premature. Maybe I will forget the smell of expo markers and reheated Chinese food that overwhelmed the green room. Maybe I will forget the crackle of the intercom that sputtered from the broken speaker in the corner. But what I won’t forget is the asphyxiation that overcame me as I read the headline “La Notre Dame is Burning.”

I think I broke. I think I physically broke. I remember silently showing the picture to my friend Angela who sat next to me, not being able to utter a word. She was the one who said it out loud, she was the one who broke the news to the rest of the room, I was the one who sat in stunned silence. As the other people around us muttered their concerns, condolences, and cries of disbelief, I finally managed to speak.

“I’m really upset.” I stammered.

I wasn’t heard above the clamor of everyone else’s reaction to this tragedy.

“I’m really upset.” I repeated, turning to Angela. It was the only thing I could say. I felt as though if I said it over and over again, something would change.

I muttered it once more, the panic inside me tinging my words. She heard me, patted me on the arm and nodded in agreement. I was trapped. A burning pillar had collapsed within me, blocking my thoughts from the exit. Smoke welled up inside my chest, singeing my lungs and leaving a poisonous taste on my tongue. The heat within me sent tears to my eyes. I focused on moving one thought at a time, moving past the fact that I was upset, anything to keep myself from crying.

“I need to call my mom.” That was my thought. The six words that my brain latched on to and wouldn’t let go. And as I said the words, I realized how true they were.

She answered after the first ring. “Bonjour ma belle!”

“Maman,” my voice broke. “J’ai le coeur brisé.”

“Ça va? Qu’est-ce qui c’est passé?”

“Notre Dame est en feu.”

She hadn’t heard yet, and I heard her sharp inhalation. The cracking of her heart rang through the phone, over the hundreds of miles that separated us. I imagined the shattering sound joining the cacophony of heartbreak that stretched from every corner of the world toward Paris.

I don’t really remember what she said to me, all I remember was crying. I am not a cryer. It’s not how I handle things. But I sobbed three times that day, my tears trying to extinguish the flames within me but failing as they welled on my eyelashes. All I remember is that when I hung up the phone with my mother, she had somehow gotten me to laugh. She has that wonderful ability; even when my heart is surrounded by burning embers, she somehow makes them look like fireflies.

“For love is like a tree; it grows of itself; it sends its roots deep into our being, and often continues to grow green over a heart in ruins” (Hugo, 76).

As I went about the rest of my day, I took some time to reflect on why this building meant so much to me. I had only visited it once, and even though I loved the musical version of Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, that shouldn’t have been enough to drive me to tears. I think it is because I have always been a fan of stories, and Notre Dame was built by thousands and thousands of stories. Notre Dame, “Our Lady” in French, is a symbol to the Virgin Mary commissioned by Maurice de Sully in the 12th century. Construction on the iconic cathedral began in 1163 during the reign of King Louis VII and was completed in 1345, over 200 years later. And over the 700 years that the cathedral has towered over the Seine, it has not always been the majestic symbol that it is today. Over its history, it has fallen in and out of several states of disrepair. During the 16th century, “the condition of the cathedral deteriorated significantly, with tombs and stained-glass windows destroyed in the name of modernisation and external features removed or vandalised due to claims of idolatry” (McQueen, 2).

Robert de Cotte led renovations under the orders of King Louis XIII, which was when it received its famous organ, and it was saved from ruin. Notre Dame took another downturn during the 19th century French Revolution when it was converted to a food and wine store and many of the statues were damaged by hammer blows. After the revolution ended, Napoleon made it his mission to save Notre Dame from destruction, even being crowned emperor in the cathedral in 1804. The popularity of Victor Hugo’s novel, perhaps the most important tale in the cathedral’s history of stories, raised Notre Dame’s status as an iconic monument in Paris. The cathedral thankfully survived both World Wars, undergoing more renovations to modernize the bell tower and continue upkeep on the stained glass windows.

Notre Dame has been lost and saved countless times. It is not only the story of the building that makes it such an important monument though, Notre Dame also inspires so many other stories to be told. “Many artists, painters, directors, singers and composers were inspired by its architecture, its history, the symbol it has become since 1345, to create works that will forever mark history” (Gay 3). This is seen clearly in the pieces of art that bear the same name as the cathedral; Victor Hugo’s novel, the disney movie, the broadway musical. But it’s influence also touched those who depicted the epic cathedral then went on to be pioneers in their field like artists Henri Matisse, Jacques-Louis David, and even Pablo Picasso, as his early paintings of Notre Dame “played an integral role in [his] development as an artist” (Richman-Abdou, 3).

I reflected upon all that history, all those stories, and yet my heart was still broken. This story just seemed too tragic, too far beyond repair, to have a happy ending. And then I looked on social media, and it got worse. As I was mourning the loss of something that was truly important to me, other people were making fun of the outpouring of grief. All over twitter people were scoffing at the tears shed over a stone building, and demanding attention towards other tragedies that were getting less media attention. I wasn’t ready to divide my attention, but I understood why people were upset. There were people being killed and many other monuments being destroyed in far more violent ways, but the world seemed to turn it’s head away from them and flock towards the fires of Notre Dame like moths to a lantern. I only began to understand why that may be the case when I read an article by Julien DeRosa uncovering why people are so upset by this tragedy. He explains that, because of its longevity and coverage in art and media over the last 400 years, “Notre Dame was already part of the heritage of humankind” (DeRosa, 2). He compares this with the tragic terrorist attack of two Buddhist statues in Afghanistan, stating, “The lack of media circulation regarding this destruction, compared to what we witnessed [at Notre Dame], suggests we know the statues of the Buddhas more through their destruction rather than a shared history and values we have attached to them – in the Western world at least (DeRosa, 3).”

While this may help explain why people seemed to care more about Notre Dame than these other very important tragedies, it does not create an excuse to turn our backs on something that we are not familiar with when they need our help. So while some people may be mad at the media coverage Notre Dame received, I think it can be used for good in the future. When something happens that we may not have a connection to, we can remember the sadness that overcame us as we watched a fire engulf this beautiful cathedral, and use that empathy to help others with their tragedy.

That night, after an exhausting day of heartbreak and reflection, I drew a tarot card from my worn deck, a practice that always calms me and helps me put things into perspective. Taking a deep breath and reflecting on the day that I had just had, I slid my hands over the cards, waiting for one to jump out at me. My fingers hovered over one when an electric spark vibrated through my skin so I flipped it over. Death. I drew the card Death. It all seemed like a cruel joke, and I went to bed convinced that I would wake up a charcoal husk like my beloved cathedral.

Nevertheless, the next day came and I breathed air into lungs that were not on fire. As I stretched my scorched muscles, I received a text from my mom. The fire had been contained, the iconic organ and stained glass was safe, and millionaires were already donating hundreds of millions of euros for the reconstruction. The blaze within me was dying down, a few cinders dancing among the coals, and it all felt like a bad dream. She also sent me a picture of the candles within the cathedral, still lit after the fire was put out. These candles, lit by tourists and local worshipers alike, were symbols of hope and faith. Even in the chaos and destruction caused by the flames, they shone on, maybe even getting relit by the inferno.

The flames that overtook Notre Dame took something away from the people of Paris, and impacted people all over the world. But those candles burned on. Just like the spirit of the crowds that gathered outside the church, singing hymns into the fading morning light, they refused to be extinguished. Notre Dame’s story is one of repair and renewal, each brick adding a new layer of history to the iconic symbol of Paris. It is a representation of Paris’ tumultuous history of falling into states of tragedy and resiliently rising out of the ashes. I realized then that it was not the orders of Kings and Emperors that kept Notre Dame alive, it was the love and hope of the people that there is a brighter future tomorrow than the smoky view of today. Notre Dame is not only a symbol of Christianity, but of the pride and love of the people of Paris for their city.

Fire does not always mean destruction, and if I had taken a moment to think about the Death card that I had pulled the night before, I would have seen that. Death is a commonly misunderstood card, it stands for endings and change, but also symbolizes transformation and rebirth. Fire can cleanse. Fire can illuminate. Fire can mean death, but death is an inherent part of being alive.

Notre Dame will be rebuilt. Paris will heal. And our spirits will burn on, fueled by the fire that flickers around us. For even though it seem destructive, it is the only thing keeping us going.

“Spira, Spera.”

(Breath, Hope)

(Hugo, 221).

Work Cited

Chattyfeet, & Shovova. (2019, May 02). Notre-Dame in Art: How the Medieval Cathedral Has Enchanted Artists for Centuries. Retrieved from https://mymodernmet.com/notre-dame-art/

Gay, Elisa, and Elisa Gay. “Notre-Dame De Paris, Son Influence Sur Le Patrimoine Culturel.” Gentside, Gentside, 16 Apr. 2019, www.gentside.com/news/notre-dame-de-paris-son-influence-sur-le-patrimoine-culturel_art90633.html.

HUGO, VICTOR. HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME. CLYDESDALE PR LLC, 2019.

McQueen, Paul. “A Brief History of Paris's Notre-Dame.” Culture Trip, 26 Apr. 2017, theculturetrip.com/europe/france/paris/articles/a-brief-history-of-paris-notre-dame/.

Zarandona, Jose Antonio Gonzalez, and Cristina Garduño Freeman. “Why Are We so Moved by the Plight of the Notre Dame?” The Conversation, 29 Apr. 2019, theconversation.com/why-are-we-so-moved-by-the-plight-of-the-notre-dame-115555.