The Disappointments of Rouen Cathedral

"I suppose few people stand before the west front of Rouen Cathedral without some feeling of disappointment . . . The stone here looks dirty and dusty--so dusty that the over-fine tracery of the gable of the central porch is suggestive of some great cobweb." -Joseph Pennel, 1887

 We pulled into Rouen around noon, 

And ate lunch consisting of gas-station bread, cold salami, and individual yogurts with fruit at the bottom.

(Extra yogurt for me! The kids don't like fruit chunks)  

 Gypsies stood outside the western doors, 

Playing the accordion and soliciting contributions as we entered. 

 The cathedral is a crumbly pile of gothic wonderment, 

Like a great coral reef set down in the center of a medieval town, 

With Apostles, 

 Ancient Prophets, 

Tourists, and Martyrs,

Wandering in and out of its ornate alcoves.

Sadly, the Cathedral was bombed in April 1944, and two rose windows destroyed.

That's kind of disappointing.

Joan of Arc probably felt disappointed, 

 As she burned at the stake in view of the cathedral's west front;  

But I can't say that we felt that way. 

* Joseph Pennel, Highways and Byways of Normandy: Macmillan, 1900. 

The Rooster of St. Eloi de Vierville

 Driving around france we passed thousands of little perish churches,

 Topped with rooster weathervanes. 

 Or last day in France we left Ivy House with an airport hotel as our destination, 

Which left plenty of time for distractions of the roadside variety.

Supposedly the rooster is symbol of Peter's betrayal the morning of Christ's crucifixion,

And a reminder of the hope that came with the sunrise two days later. 

The Castle We Wanted to be the Scarlet Pimpernel Castle: Mont St. Michel

 My family grew up on 1982 version of The Scarlet Pimpernel with Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour.

At the end of the film the bad guy, Ian McKellen, thinks he has the good guy trapped,
 on a castle-island surrounded by high-tide. 

Intrigue and sword fighting ensue,

 and Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour escape on his awaiting private yacht, The Day Dream. 

We had to see it. 

 We woke up early, drove two hours,
 and made it to Mont St Michel before the tourist hoard. 

Breakfasting on waffles and crepes we wound our way, 

Up to the labyrinthine streets to the castle-monastery overlooking the bay. 

 Even thought the British claimed right to the lands of  Normandy for who knows how long, 

 This fortress, never left French control, 

And has become a powerful symbol of French Nationalism and Identity:

Appreciative of History and Beauty, 

Austere, Catholic and Grandiose, 

But also Accommodating and Enterprising,

(This guy is clearing the tidal mud off the parking lot.)  

 Well worth a visit,

Even with a case of the grumpy morning blues. 

Pointe Du Hoc

We left the Normandy American Cemetery and drove down the coast with no particular destination,

So we followed signs with an American flag to a place called,

Pointe du Hoc.

 During the US assalt of the Normandy coast on 6 June 1944,

A group of Army Rangers scaled a 100 ft cliff to secure a Germany artillery position 

Overlooking Omaha Beach. 

 The boys took turns shooting at each other and rolling down bomb craters,

 While the rest of us headed to the German engineered concrete bunkers dotting the cliff top. 

Our time there was peaceful, yet bitter cold,

And from the remnants all around us,

 It was easy to imagine the courage and violence of that day. 

Ayn Rand and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial

 Sunday morning, after going to church in Caen, 

We stopped by the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial. 

 Busloads of cruise-ship passengers combined with airport style security screening at the visitor center,

 Made me determined not to be moved by the place.

 I blamed Ayn Rand and her Fountainhead,

(Incidentally one of my favorite books)

For influencing the brutalist, rocket-agey memorial, 

 Soviet-style statuary,

 And pre-psychedelic mosaics on the chapel ceiling, 

   Until I read the words on the chapel altar, 

"I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish," 

And felt ashamed for my triviality and overwhelmed by the sacrifice of the

9,387 soldiers buried here above the sea. 

We walked through the headstones,

Read a few names aloud,

And posed by the sister statues of peace and victory,

America with her eagle,

And France with her noble Rooster. 

Our Home On Utah Beach

 In Normandy, we stayed at Ivy House. 

 The owners, Andy and Emma, greeted us at 11:00 p.m. with bread and a mini-fridge full of food. 

(We got held up in Paris traffic)

They lent us bikes, 

And gave great walking advice, 

To Utah Beach and the WWII monuments,

A short stroll down the road, 

And even suggested where to buy an apple tart in St. Marie du Mont, 

When we thought everything would be closed. 

The Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery and Memorial

 We arrived at the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery and Memorial around lunchtime, stopped of at the visitor center to use the restroom, and drove across the valley to the memorial chapel. 

Kristi made sandwiches out of the back of the car and we ate them sitting on the curb. 

 14,246  of the 117,000 soldiers killed during Meuse-Argonne are buried here. 

Inside the chapel, writing on the walls commemorates the interred.

I usually don't do grand pronouncements,

But these definitely brought some tears. 

Their Names Will Live For Evermore,

Peaceful Is Their Sleep In God, 

Perpetual Light Upon Them Shines,

In Sacred Sleep They Rest. 

I feel different now, after visiting French battlefields and cemeteries. 

I can't decide if it's humility, gratitude, renewed purpose, or a sense of luck to have been given life, 

When it was taken away so liberally from others. 

Thank you Grandpa Sam.