By Jennifer Feltman, specialist of French Gothic architecture and sculpture
Most modern buildings will last between 50 and 200 years, but when Notre Dame caught fire on April 15, 2019, the Gothic portions of the building were just over 850 years old -- and they had been constructed atop even older structures. Notre Dame has indeed lived a long life, and it has done so precisely because it has been valued by institutions and individuals over centuries. The building matters now because it has mattered to so many in the past. Each historic event has added a layer of significance. The reopening Saturday after 2019's destructive fire is perhaps the greatest moment of worldwide significance for the cathedral that was recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1991.
Why has Notre Dame mattered so much? Much has to do with its location. It is situated at the heart of the ancient Roman town of Lutetia, which became Paris. Here, in 1163, the first stone of the Gothic cathedral was laid and, before the end of the 12th century, some of the earliest flying buttresses were constructed. Between 1200 and the 1240s, the sculptors of Notre Dame fashioned some of the most beautiful Gothic figures ever made, and teams of painters gave them life with rich mineral-based pigments of cinnabar mixed with lead white to color their cheeks. The robes of these figures were painted with azurite blue, malachite green and red ochre. As these colors faded and eroded over the centuries, so too did attitudes toward the cathedral.
In 1793, following the French Revolution, Notre Dame was made a "Temple of Reason," an act designed to segment church and state. Contractors demolished most of the statues of the west façade, because the statues of biblical kings were reminiscent of the royalty the French had just overthrown. Even with these losses, the cathedral maintained an aura of significance.
If we were to time travel to the cathedral on Dec. 2, 1804, we could witness the pomp and circumstance orchestrated in the French capital by Napoleon Bonaparte when he crowned himself emperor. However, this pageantry would soon fade. After a few decades of neglect, the cathedral's darkened and decayed state inspired Victor Hugo to write "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame" in 1831. This likewise inspired a new idea of the cathedral as a symbol of French cultural heritage. From 1843 to 1860, the cathedral was renewed in a restoration led by Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Lassus and Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc. Consider this: As America was on the brink of its Civil War, the spire of Notre Dame, the one we all watched burn in 2019, had just been built.
On April 15, 2019, as the world watched Notre Dame going up in flames, emotions overflowed into tears. The impossible seemed to be happening. A monument that had "always been there" and that we expected would remain forever was being destroyed before our eyes. Like a child who dies before her mother, time seemed to be out of order. But what followed has been one of the most inspiring periods in the life of the cathedral.
As a historian of Gothic architecture, I knew from medieval stories that fire was the occasion for renewal. In fact, this is the history of the Gothic style: A cathedral catches fire and is nearly destroyed, but the saints intervene, or even the Virgin Mary herself. After a miraculous survival, the people organize a collective rebuilding effort.
Even if the five-year deadline he suggested to complete the restoration seems short, French President Emmanuel Macron's immediate and confident response to the fire, "We will rebuild the cathedral even more beautifully," did not come as a surprise. The main difference in the medieval restorations and what we have seen at Notre Dame is that rebuilding in the past was often done in whatever counted then as the new, more contemporary style. Although there was an initial suggestion to rebuild Notre-Dame with a contemporary design, the decision was made to resurrect the building just as it was before the fire. Even so, visitors will find the interior of the renewed Notre Dame brighter and more pristine than ever.
Saturday's reopening is an incredibly exciting moment for everybody, but especially for those who have been on the ground conducting the stabilization and restoration. I've been able to witness the continually changing worksite as I have conducted on-site research as a member of the Chantier scientifique de Notre Dame, a team of researchers organized by the French Ministry of Culture and the National Scientific Research Center.
I first visited the cathedral worksite in September 2021, just as the Covid-19 travel ban for Americans going to France was lifted. On my flight over, I sat by a man who was traveling to Paris as the final stop among all the places he and his recently deceased wife had lived together. Upon arriving in Paris, I saw "L'Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped," the posthumous fulfillment of artist Christo's almost 60-year dream to see the Arc de Triomphe wrapped in fabric. To me, it looked like a shroud. Which was only appropriate given how I felt seeing Notre Dame without its roof and spire. Though I'd seen the destruction on television, I felt the sense of loss much more deeply in person.
But then I entered the worksite for the first time with colleagues who had already been at work. And I felt a great sense of purpose and pride.
Finally, the moment is here. Saturday, at 2 p.m. Eastern Time, bells will ring at Notre Dame to announce the reopening. Churches throughout America have been invited to ring theirs at the same time to share in the celebration and affirm long-standing connections between France and America.
Last Friday, on the streets of Paris, I ran into archeologist Dorothée Chaoui-Derieux as she was making her way to the cathedral for Macron's visit with the approximately 2,000 workers who helped restore the cathedral. I told her how proud I am of the work she has done. None of us expected to be here five and a half years ago, but the fire propelled us to this historic moment.
For me, this is a moment to celebrate what can be done with a common vision. The reopening feels like an early Christmas gift for Paris, and indeed the entire world.