Right now in the Paris metro, Notre-Dame is reason enough to be approached. “Were you able to go there?” Say, is there a lot of queue? “, a neighbor on the folding seat asks us unexpectedly, seeing on our knees a leaflet adorned with the yellow stars of the cathedral. A resident of Île-de-France, she can't imagine missing the visit. Because, for her as for many, the reopening of Notre-Dame is a “a historic moment”.
Curious and impatient people rushed to try to access the restored cathedral. She who had always dominated Paris with her reassuring shadow, so familiar that we almost forgot her, has become, since its reopening on Saturday December 7, the object of all attention.
“I’m sure she burned on purpose, that she sacrificed herself so that we would come back to her,” slips Agnès, Parisian, into a queue. This fervent Catholic is sure that the Blessed Virgin, or the cathedral – they are confused in her voice – has returned to better touch hearts and – who knows? – generate conversions. This engineer measures the enthusiasm for the cathedral by the enthusiasm of her young work colleagues, who, she knows, will ask her what her visit was like. She smiles: “Our Lady, we forgot to tell her how much we loved her. »
Two days after its reopening with the greats of this world – Emmanuel Macron, Donald Trump, Volodymyr Zelensky – this Monday, December 9 in the morning, a small crowd gathered in the freezing cold against the metal barriers which surround the square to hope – we don’t know by what means – access the building. “Do you know if it opens soon? “, says a lady, blonde hair and a pink down jacket. “The ways of God are inscrutable,” a gentleman replies.
Glued to the railing, Valérie (1) and her mother came from Ariège on purpose to see Notre-Dame. All weekend, they updated the website to try to get places, to no avail. So they unexpectedly took a chance. “The day before yesterday, there were only crowned heads, and we little people can't go there”sighs the mother, Martine (1). “The Pope preferred to go to Corsica, he’s right! It’s warmer there,” she says, half laughing, half bitter..
Beyond the jokes, Martine is recovering from cancer and would have liked to thank the Virgin at Notre-Dame for her remission. After having left the faith for years, she received the sacrament of the sick a few months ago, and found comfort in illness in prayer to Mary. She wanted to thank her at home, there, in the cathedral.
“It was sad enough to cry, this cathedral! »
While the unlucky ones wait, a white cloud suddenly escapes from the cathedral, invades the square, again and again: in their dawn, the priests and deacons of Paris come out in a stream from the mass dedicated to them, this Monday Morning. They who are said to be representatives of a Church in decline suddenly appear very numerous, and in majesty.
On the other side of the barrier, not having been able to enter, we delight in this spectacle of ecclesiastics. We comment on the decorated white blades, we share details with our neighbors. A tall young man with earrings reminds everyone that it was Jean-Charles de Castelbajac who designed the clothes. Perhaps unaccustomed to being the object of such interest, the priests, blowing into their hands to warm themselves, offer shy smiles and greetings.
Among them, faces we hadn't seen for a long time. Guy Gilbert, almost 90 years old, dressed in his eternal thug's perfecto studded with pins of all kinds and always with long hair, remembers all the times he laid hands on this ancient building to participate in the ordination of seminarians. And greet: “Macron is a prophet! He said he would rebuild the cathedral in five years! »
The next day, it is the turn of the consecrated persons of the diocese to have their dedicated mass. Inside, the assembly is filled with veils and religious habits. Bernard (1) and Monique (1), simple visitors, were able to slip in. Entering the cathedral, Monique marveled at the clarity of the stone, clean, white, bathed in a play of warm lights between the columns. “It must be said that this cathedral was sad enough to cry! The stone was black, there was dust on the statues, we could only see the stained glass windows”would like to remind Bernard.
Former shoe sellers in the Lot, they used to come regularly to Paris and take the opportunity to visit it. There, the couple followed everything from the reopening to TV, the work, the construction site. And during the entrance procession, while the organ thundered majestically, they made signs to show each other the bishop's miter.
“I forgot to make my sign of the cross!” »
It is because in this historical moment, every liturgical or architectural detail suddenly seems worthy of wonder. Next to them, a Dominican in habit savors the little novelties that we are rediscovering, such as the restored oculus of the transept crossing. An elderly nun sees new symbols: the curved altar, she says, looks like a cup, and the flames on the priests' alb make them radiate.
And in Notre-Dame qui revive, each gesture is accomplished with fervor, as if it were the last, or the first. “I forgot to make my sign of the cross!” “, exclaims a passer-by who quickly turns back after pushing the exit door, seeming happy to have a good reason to stay there for a moment longer.
Notre-Dame in the first days is also the reunion with Mary. Seated in front of the statue of the Virgin and Child, near the altar, Pauline, 79, sits contemplatively. She seems elsewhere. A cross and a miraculous medal hang from his neck, and crosses from his ears. A consecrated widow, she got up very early to attend mass and contemplate the Virgin.
“Since I arrived from Cameroon, forty years ago, she and her son have done everything for me”she assures. “When I arrived, I was neither rich nor beautiful. Intelligent? I barely spoke French. She did everything for me,” insists this old lady who was an au pair for years, before becoming a caregiver and then taking care of her disabled husband.
When Notre-Dame burned five years ago, Pauline remembers seeing the smoke through her window and calling her friends in Cameroon: “Our Lady is burning, pray!” » So at the cathedral, this Tuesday, she has been there for an hour saying her rosary, and seems like she could stay there for a long time. “I told her I had nothing to offer her, that I could just look at her. »
“His aura is like an embrace, a consolation”
«Long live the Virgin of Guadalupe! », says an old lady, two days later, in the crowded ambulatory. « Viva ! », responds a crowd of Mexicans, some of whom have dressed in traditional costume. After the solemnity of the first days, Notre-Dame experienced its first great moment of popular piety this Thursday, December 12 in the evening. For the feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe, patroness of Latin America and national emblem of Mexico, Latin Americans from Paris flocked to attend mass and place a candle near the dedicated chapel. Upon entering, Mexican painter Karole Reyes burst into tears upon seeing the cathedral “yes beautiful, yes proper.”
In front of the Ax Chapel, a priest extends his hands to a few faithful, who are lining up to receive a blessing. Paulina, pink hair, tattoos on her hands, waits her turn. She doesn't really know what's happening to her. She, who is not Catholic, began to cry as she passed through the portal of the cathedral, as if taken aback. “His aura is like an embrace, a consolation. Notre-Dame has a very beautiful energy,” she said softly. A little rebellious, this 37-year-old Mexican had moved away from her family's very practicing religion. But tonight, in this church, she feels close to them.
The building is now filled with an evening, hushed, almost amazed atmosphere. Two sisters place a candle and look at the statue of Jesus. They think of their grandfather. “He wanted to see Notre-Dame again before he died, once it was rebuilt,” confides the oldest. The sisters came for the anniversary of his death, he who was called Louis, who loved Paris, and came to the cathedral every time he “came up” from Besançon.
Around 9 p.m., to the left of the nave, choristers sang Sweet night and their polyphony fills the vault. Some are sitting, a young girl is on her knees, a man is sitting alone, we don't know if he is waiting or praying.
“Now we have to return it”
Sunday morning, the bells ring loudly, we can hear them from the town hall. It is the mass of artisans, journeymen, and all those who put their energy into repairing Notre-Dame. The procession passed with great pomp to the strains of the organ, but Mickaël only has eyes for the chandeliers. “I made them all!” “, he whispers proudly.
With his colleagues who came from Marseille for the occasion, they see them again, black with lead, twisted, burned, the day after the fire. A pile of scrap metal. Today, they are resplendent and illuminate the columns with a soft light. For two years, they had to be straightened, polished, varnished and electrified. He looks at them again: “I could almost recognize them!” »
Everyone, this morning, rediscovers their work in a new light. This is the first time that Mamadou, a 26-year-old roofer, has entered the cathedral, having spent so many days working on the roofs, in the heat or the rain.
Émilie, Maylis, Zoé and Charlotte all four came home together, arm in arm. For two years, they restored the Saint-Louis chapel and the Saint-Martin chapel. They knew Notre-Dame as an anthill, cluttered with a forest of scaffolding, blowing, creaking to the rhythm of the machines. They remember the long winter days, without heating, scrubbing the walls. “It was like our home,” said one.
This place united them, “cathos” and “not cathos”. “Now we must return it, replies the other. Before, it was our home, and today, it must be inhabited by God. Do you agree? “, said the latter, a believer, turning to her atheist neighbor. The other nods. ” Quite. »
(1) The first name has been changed.
