The shift to an opaque sky lets us know that the cold weather has finally arrived, and I for one couldn’t be happier about this fact. Or more unprepared, as the case would be.
Much like when I lived in Hawaii, life in Senegal is kind of a sock manufacturer’s worst nightmare. There’s really not much of a call to own these difficult-to-match accoutrements, and I accordingly packed for France with a flawed logic that went like this: “If it’s so hot outside that I’m sweating while I pack my suitcase, there is no way my gray matter is going to allow me to take garments that do something as silly as insulate my body against some hypothetical wind chill.”
Luckily for me, the fall sales are going on right now, and I happened to stumble across three outstanding pairs of the argyle variety that I couldn’t believe were on sale. I mean, how could these not be selling like hotcakes? I bought three pairs…not only because I was in need- but more because I couldn’t settle on one color. That’s kind of why I own 40 bottles of nail polish.
And now that I have spent way more than an acceptable amount of time commenting on my morning purchases, I can now carry on with more high brow subject matter. I’m still on an unwinnable quest to see all of the cultural sites on this planet, and this afternoon I took a trip over to the Basilica of Saint Denis, just a few metro stops from my home base here in Montmartre.
I totally know what you’re thinking, “Oh great, another frickin’ European church.” Complete with gloomy sky.
Don’t worry, I’m still smarting a bit from my (in all seriousness) excellent tour of Ethiopian churches, so I’m not exactly itching to visit every church within this city. But Saint Denis is noteworthy in that all but three French monarchs from the 10th century to 1789 are buried here. (Sorry Dad, Charlemagne is one of those three dudes who is not here.) I did not know this until today, but I also learned that Saint Denis is the patron saint of France. He was decapitated in Montmarte- and walked down the hill with his head in his hands until he arrived at this spot, thus indicating his preferred final resting place. It’s true.
In 1429, a wounded Joan of Arc laid down her arms in this church after trying to take Paris in the name of her king. The beginning of the end for Jeanne, as the case would be…
You know what’s great about Saint-Denis? It’s “so far north” that it doesn’t get a ton of foot touristrial traffic. As I entered, my brain envisioned the choke point that is the entryway to Notre Dame down in Kilomètre Zero. This place felt less like a bustling flea market of relics than its better known sister on the Seine.
I learned a new word today (actually, I learn lots of new words everyday): gisante. This is French for “recumbent statue”. Normally, the anglophones win out for pithiness in terms of language, but in this case I was not surprised in the slightest to see that the French beat us out and came up with a single word to describe something so random as a certain manner of statue.
Dead king statues have lions holding up their feet (because, you know, lions are associated with royalty). The queens and other manner of gisante, on the other hand, have dogs holding up the statue’s feet. Why? Well, dogs absolutely rule, for one, and also because dogs are considered the guides of the world, and they will lead these souls up to heaven. Our guide also told us that gisantes all used to be painted in many colors (and indeed, so was the church), but time has worn away the artistry. I wonder what color socks this lady might have been wearing…
Behold Henri II and Catherine de Medici. Apparently Catherine had her likeness created before she died, and didn’t like the fact that she looked dead in initial mock-ups. She kept having it redone until it looked like she was only sleeping. Either that or this was a bad joke that was lost in translation as I listened to my tour guide regale us with stories over the 90 minute tour.
All of the statues here have been identified with the exception of one. Can you guess which one it is? Looks like my 7€ entry fee is going toward figuring out who this black queen is all about. I’m totally curious.
I actually have loads more photos of dead royal people- and I was amazed at how many people have ruled France over the years (François I, Charles the Crazy, Charles the Well-Loved, Charles in Charge…). I was also impressed at how often the remains of these people have been moved around this city like musical chairs. You’d also be interested to know that the only reason that these statues remain is because they weren’t made of metal. Anything that were fashioned of metal was unceremoniously removed and melted down to support war efforts like the Revolution. The monarchy had it too good for too long.
The bones of Saint Denis are purported to be in the center. You be the judge.
Speaking of people getting sick of the monarchy, here’s a statue devoted to Louis XVI and his fancy wife Marie Antoinette. They look so pious, so lifelike with their heads attached…
Here in the necropolis you can find a lot of neat history (in addition to a large ossuary, or bone closet) that really begs a tour guide if you want to get your fill of almost two millennia. The middle tomb on the left hand side, by the way, is that of Marie Antoinette. My guide told us that they “identified” her body after it was dug out of a mass grave because of a garter strap on her body. The head wasn’t found. I’m not kidding, folks!
Stained glass like this was made to allow the sun to transfer le parole de Dieu (the word of God) into the church.
Um, this is also a rather neat stained glass photograph…except it was taken earlier in the day. I guess I could be a little snarky and say that I found this overhead just as inspirational as the glass at the church. Only in this case, the glass allows the sun to shine down and illuminate a rather attractive hosiery display. Behold le parole de Visa.
I spent two hours wandering around this basilica, and given the Wikipedia that resides inside our tour guide’s head with respect to this place, I haven’t really taught you anything in-depth about Saint-Denis. That said, If you’re looking for some sights that are off the beaten Paris track, I would highly recommend hopping the 13 line and coming here for a visit. As a bonus incentive, I guarantee that you will hear Wolof spoken on this metro line, because there are loads of West Africans in my neck of the woods- and they also dress accordingly to withstand the French autumn. No word on their socks though.