Miscellaneous: Fire at Notre Dame de Paris

Tragedy in Paris, at the cathedral, but it sounds like the bulk of the structure is unharmed and the damaged portions can be rebuilt. Here's to the hope that that is true.

Shown is "Notre Dame, Paris—Grim Guardian" circa 1930, by Warren R. Laity, my grandfather. Silver-gelatin print. Image size: 9 x 13 inches. My grandfather was a photographer beginning to get an international reputation just as he tragically died of complications during minor surgery at the age of 46, in 1936. We have about 60 of his exhibition prints, mostly of European architectural subjects, as that was his specialty. Many of them are plastered on the back with exhibition stickers from all over Europe and the US. This image has exhibition stickers on the reverse from New York and Budapest.

He taught art history at a women's college in NJ that later became part of Rutgers. On his summers off, he did classes on transatlantic cruise liners to pay his way to Europe for research. He also spent a couple of summers (1922 and 1923) traveling around Europe by motorcycle and photographing while writing articles for the Harley-Davidson magazine.

On the Road: Prague, Day 2

St. Vitus's Basilica, Prague 

On my second day in Prague, I took the tram up to Prague Castle, finding myself without the energy to make the trek up the hill on foot following 10 hours or so walking around the Old Town the day before. I was surprised by the tight security. It was much like airport security, but I realized later that some of the buildings in the castle complex are today used as government offices. The nested courtyards of the castle complex were confusing, but I soon found myself in front of the west façade of the Basilica of St. Vitus, which is a bit drab compared with the magnificent south façade with its massive central tower (pictured).

According to Blue Guide: Prague (A&C Black, 2004), the cathedral's origins go back to a "rotunda" founded by St. Wenceslas in 925, while a church was first built there about 50 years later, in 973. That church was replaced by a three-aisled basilica in 1060 that stood until 1344 when construction of the existing gothic building began under the direction of Matthew of Arras, court architect to the papal court at Avignon, called in by Charles IV. "Matthew of Arras laid the foundations of the cathedral and had completed the east end of the structure up to the triforium level before his death in 1352" the book says. (The triforium is a gallery or arcade above the arches of the nave, choir, and transepts of a church.) Construction was passed on to Petr Parléř in 1353 and he remained in charge until his death in 1399 when his sons assumed the work. Construction was halted when the Hussites took over the building in 1421. The partially completed building was then walled up until the end of the 15th century, when fitful construction resumed on parts of the interior, but it wasn't until 1861 that construction began again in earnest. The cathedral was finally completed only in 1929.

The Renaissance Grill

The south façade (photo above) is dominated by the main tower which is interesting for the intricate renaissance grill that protects the main window, among other things. The base of the tower was built by Petr Parléř's sons in the 15th century. Above is a 16th century arcaded gallery and above that a steeple begun in the late 18th century. The façade has a porch with three arches, decorated above with a mosaic that Blue Guide: Prague describes as "heavily restored" made by Venetian artists. It includes depictions of the work's sponsors, Charles IV and his wife on either side of the central arch. The fanned ribbed vaulting of the porch is rather interesting, and above the porch is an openwork staircase (not easy to see in my photograph of the south façade) that is considered architecturally daring.

Arched porch in the south façade of the cathedral

Stained glass window designed by

Alphonse Mucha

The interior has beautiful stained glass windows, mostly relatively modern, including one designed by Alphonse Mucha. The various chapels around the building are each interesting in their own way, but the Wenceslas Chapel and the tomb of St. John of Nepomuk are probably the highlights, the former jutting into the transept and roped off now so that you can see the interior only by peering in from a small distance. The tomb of St. Wenceslas (14th century, although the saint died around 929) is in the chapel—another bit of the cathedral Blue Guide: Prague describes as "much restored." Otherwise notable are the large wooden door from 1370 that incorporates a lion-headed knocker to which Wenceslas is supposed to have "clung as he was murdered by his brother." The lower level of the interior is set with huge semi-precious stones in gold-painted stucco such as amethysts—some the size of a football. There is a series of paintings here that seemed interesting as well, but they were too far away to get much of a look at. The tomb of St. John of Nepomuk is set rather awkwardly, I thought, into the ambulatory so that it half blocks the way. It is an elaborate silver affair with a canopy and draperies and flying angels.

The tomb of St. John of Nepomuk

After visiting the cathedral, I moved on to the Old Royal Palace, which I thought most interesting for Vadislav Hall and the famed windows of the Second Defenestration of Prague (1618), which involved the attempted murder of two Catholic regents during a row with protestants led by one Count Thurn over questions related to the rights of protestant believers in Bohemia. It's quite a drop from the windows. Surprisingly, the two survived. Blue Guide: Prague repeats the story about a heap of excrement breaking their fall, but a sign in the castle refutes that claim, suggesting it was simply the slope below the windows that was responsible for the relatively minor injuries suffered by the regents. This incident helped to precipitate the Thirty Years' War, while the First Defenestration of Prague (1419) helped precipitate the Hussite Wars.

Vladislav Hall, Old Royal Palace, Prague

Vladislav Hall (built 1493-1502), with its simple Renaissance windows, looks like nothing much from the outside and it is approached by a fairly simple passageway, but the interior is rather splendid. First, the room is huge. I overheard a guide say that it was the largest secular interior in Europe at the time of its construction. It's big enough that jousting tournaments were held here—indoors. At one end is a slope with broad, shallow stone steps leading into the space that allowed riders to enter mounted on their horses. This is known as The Riders' Staircase, built around 1500. The vaulting above the Riders' Staircase is a complex mesh of intersecting ribs almost as elaborate as the ribbing in Vladislav Hall itself, which looks like an elegantly espaliered tree has been used to hold up the ceiling.  

There was much more to see in the castle complex, but I had time only to look briefly at the Convent of St. George and then to take a walk down "Golden Lane," so-called because it was once the haunt of goldsmiths. Golden Lane, a row of tiny houses built at the end of the 16th century, also housed castle guards, although in the 18th and 19th centuries, the lane mostly housed the very poor. It wasn't until the 1960s that the little dwellings were painted the bright colors we see today and transformed into souvenir shops, although some are mini-museums of a sort. One shows a goldsmith's shop, for instance, another an alchemist's. One is a mini Kafka museum, as Franz Kafka lived at No. 22 Golden Lane for almost a year in 1916. He is said to have been inspired to write his novel The Castle while living there. Poet Jaroslav Seifert (Nobel Prize in Literature, 1984) is also associated with the street. He wrote two collections of poetry while living in Golden Lane in the late 1920s to early 1930s.

Man on Paris Street, Prague

Most of my last day in Europe was spent on the train from Prague back to Munich, my starting point. It was supposed to have been a straight run, but some foul up caused the train to stop short of its destination and we were forced to make two connections using local trains to get into the city, arriving more than an hour behind schedule with a phone running out of power (meaning maps to my lodgings for the night were about to disappear). I finally made it and, happily, there was a very good Italian restaurant still open nearby where I enjoyed a simple but delicious rucola and parmesan cheese pizza and a selection of Italian wines by the glass. The flight home the next day was long but uneventful—which is how I like flights to be.

From Wenceslas Square looking toward Old Town Square

On the Road (Europe 2010): Pisa

From Florence, heading back to France, Pisa is a natural stop. Given the fame of the place and the throng of tourists around it, parking was surprisingly easy and inexpensive. There is a good parking lot walking distance from the tower, the cathedral, and baptistery that costs only €0.60 an hour. Food is another matter. Avoid the obvious places near the tower.

Yes, the tower really leans--a lot. But I was expecting that. What impressed me more was the dazzlingly white marble of the tower, the cathedral, and the baptistery. Both the tower and church have inscriptions and carvings at random positions. Some of the inscriptions set into the church walls are incomplete and upside down. Clearly stones were recycled from other buildings--evidently by illiterate craftsman. A good example is a pair of stones near the bottom of the tower with a bear, dragon, and ram (pictured). The effect is rather charming. The bright marble contrasts sharply with the broad green lawns that surround the buildings.

The tower is not unique either for leaning or for being round (although round bell towers appear to be rare), but it certainly is unique for the degree of its lean. The spiral staircase leading up the tower is surprisingly wide, and the steps are of generous size. It would be an easy climb if not for the effects of the inclination. As there are no windows, there is no horizon to use as a reference. The result is a sort of pulsation of gravity. Walking into the lean, there is an impression of lightness. You get the feeling of crossing a flat surface or even descending as you the walk up the stairs all the while feeling not quite upright--which is disorienting. Gradually the height and inclination of the stairs seems to grow as you begin to walk against the lean--as if someone has "turned up" gravity. The effect repeats as you go around and around the building. From the top is a panoramic view of the cathedral, baptistery, adjoining cemetery, and the countryside beyond. Pisa today is about 8 miles from the sea. In its heyday it was nearer the coast. The river Arno has deposited much silt at its mouth over the centuries.

The cathedral deserves more attention than it gets. It gives an impression of both richness and restraint. I didn't realize how old the building is. It was begun in 1063, before the Battle of Hastings, and fully a century before the start of construction on the campanile--the famous leaning tower (begun in 1173), making the church nearly 1,000 years old. Something about the place immediately put me in mind of buildings I've seen in southern Spain and in Istanbul. There is something vaguely Islamic about the numerous columns, the use of alternating bands of white and colored marble in the interior, and in the heavy use of abstract inlays. I suppose that shouldn't be surprising, given Pisa's history as a maritime republic.

The architectural highlight of the interior is usually said to be the elaborately carved stone pulpit (1302-1310), the work of Giovanni Pisano, son of Nicola Pisano, creator of the earlier pulpit in the baptistery (1260, also considered a masterpiece of medieval carving). Both are remarkably animated considering how early they are. Columns are supported by lions that have just downed prey. Some of the panels showing scenes from the bible, crowded with many figures, have a riotous look not typical of Romanesque statuary, which is usually very plain, solid, and stable-looking. My photo here shows a figure on one of the supporting columns from the pulpit in the cathedral that anticipates renaissance sculpture. There is also a 13th century mosaic in the apse that recalls some of those at St. Mark's, in Venice, and reminded me also of Haghia Sophia in Istanbul.

The ceiling is covered with richly carved and guilded (in some areas polychromed) panels of wood. All in all, a beautiful building. Gallileo is said to have been inspired to think about the physics of the pendulum by observing the motion of the large hanging lantern here, but that story requires an anachronism. Gallileo does appear to have used the neighboring tower to do experiments on gravity and acceleration. There is a stone tablet to that effect set into the wall near the exit of the tower.

The Baptistery is a round building and the largest baptistery in Italy. It's impressively spacious, but notably bland inside--with very little decoration and a completely plain dome (although a guard told me that at least part of the interior of the dome was once painted sky blue). The building dates to 1152, when construction began to replace an older baptistery on the site. A plaque somewhere noted that the remains of an even older one were found in 1936 under one of the big lawns.

The outside, however, is comparatively ornate. Gothic features were added to the original Romanesque design in the 13th and 14th century. One half of the dome is covered with what look like terra cotta tiles. The other half is plain, giving the dome a somewhat unfinished look. I could find no information about this, but one guard speculated that it was done to protect the building from salty sea air, which is plausible; the baptistery is the building closest to the sea, the tiles are on the seaward side, and the sea at the time was many miles closer. The acoustics of the very big space are notable. Once every 30 minutes a guard walks into the center of the building and sings a few notes to demonstrate the echo and sustain. The design of the building is attributed to Diotisalvi. His name and the date 1153 (corresponding to 1152 by today's reckoning) are inscribed on a pillar, but I learned that after leaving the place. The large round interior columns are made of stone from Sardinia and Elba.

In 1257 a hospital and in 1277 the cemetery (the Camposanto) that complete the complex as we know it today were added. Today the hospital houses the Museo delle Sinopie, which preserves detached and restored sinopie (preparatory drawings) from the frescoes of the Camposanto. Gravestones from all around the cathedral complex were moved to the cemetery. The cemetery was built as a cloister with a central lawn. The gothic accents in the archways around the cloister were added in the 14th century. Long ago roman and other classical sculpture and sarcophagi were brought here for display. Many of these are still in place along the walls. Hundreds of carved tombstones are set into the pavement, including stones honoring people buried as recently as a few years ago, but most are very old. I particularly liked one with an image of scissors and clippers--perhaps the grave of a metalworker? The date in Roman numerals looks like 1377.

Also eye-catching was a more modern tomb topped by an incongruously comely lass. A little searching on the Internet turned up a few facts. This is the tomb of Ottaviano-Fabrizio Mossotti, who died in 1863. He was an astronomer, mathematician, and physicist. He chose exile in the early 1820s following the political disturbances at around that time. He moved to Argentina (after periods in Switzerland and London), where he taught astronomy and physics. He was the Chair of Experimental Physics in Buenos Aires between 1827 and 1835. He eventually returned to Italy. In 1841, he took the Chair of Mathematical Physics at Pisa University and later took on responsibility for teaching celestial mechanics and geodesy there. He eventually became a senator, in1861, two years before his death, in Pisa. As for the comely lass, notice that she is leaning on a stack of thick books. Call her a personification of science, and her presence here makes more sense.