Reims

The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair!
        Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there

Richard Harris Barham, ‘The Jackdaw of Rheims’

Since it was Good Friday when we arrived, a day of prayer and devotion, I felt that Martin and I were arriving at an awkward time to be hosted by the Benedictine nuns of St Thierry, even though we had been given a half-hour window to arrive in. The Sister Hospitaller (I never found out her name) answered our ring of the ‘Acceuil’ bell and took Martin and me upstairs, showing us to a room with twin beds.  She spoke three words I think, pointing out the doors for the douche and the toilette.  I thanked her very much but (grateful for my ability to express this profound thought in French) explained that we weren’t ‘together’ — she looked surprised, but took Martin off and found him another room!

Martin and I were both quite confused about how things worked. Where were we going to get fed that evening? I wondered whether the sisters might be fasting for Good Friday. There was a Boulangerie over the road which had won the regional prize for Best Croissants au Beurre.  I went over to ascertain what their closing time was, and reassured myself that we had 45 minutes to find out whether we were going to get fed in the convent, and if not, that we could buy something to eat there.

A young woman dressed in a hoodie was opening a door at the bottom of the stairs, and I asked her whether she knew whether there would be a meal provided this evening. She very kindly explained what the convent deal was.

She herself was an ‘apostolic sister’ who lives and works in the community on the outskirts of Paris, but the nuns here were a closed and silent order. She was here with a large group of people on a silent retreat for Easter (so we were more than grateful for her grace in speaking to us. A real kindness). She explained that dinner was served at 7 o’clock, and took us to show us in which building it was (she said since it was our first time we would be served, and just to watch and copy what other people did), and showed us also the place where all the guests would come tomorrow informally in for breakfast (and that we should clean up after ourselves there).

Supper was an interesting experience. There were about fourteen around the table and some went to fetch food from the kitchens.  Grace was said and then the serving began — passing everything around so people could serve themselves. There were many ‘no, no, after you’ gestures and much politeness but it was a laborious process, and no one started until everyone had been served.  It did occur to me to get up and carry the soup tureen and then the lentil stew and felafel around the table, so that people could serve themselves more efficiently, but I did not want to interfere.

Breakfast was a simpler affair this morning because were were indeed making our own, and the breakfast bar was simple enough that everything made sense (unlike in hotels).

Martin and I set off out into the early morning (things get going de bonne heure in a convent), quite drained by our efforts at being on a silent retreat.  It felt quite surprising at how much of a strain it was — both to be silent, and also to seek to first understand and then conform to the rules of a community which was defined by and organised around them.

We talked for the entirety of the day’s walk, starting with our responses in the abbey, and spinning off into the sources in our separate lives of those responses.  And spinning off from that into our various philosophies of life —  it certainly was the most profound of the conversations I have had thus far on the route, and especially freeing that the conversation was between two people who hardly knew each other.  The image that comes to mind was of a stone skimming across water.

We had forward views of Reims from the very beginning, over flat fields, although we couldn’t see from that distance which one of the taller structures (if indeed any of them) was the Cathedral.

It was paved all the way, a swift walk on quiet roads that enabled us to talk without paying a great deal of attention to the route.

The Francigena took us into the ancient cathedral city by way of green spaces, scrub ground with the kind of cover that nightingales prefer for their nesting habitat. Martin had never heard a nightingale before and was delighted and excited to hear them — an Easter gift and un plaisir partager.

We joined the path along the Aisne-Marne Canal, which started way back in Berry-au-Bac where I had met Peter pausing on his way to Morocco, and will end at Condé-sur-Marne, where I will arrive on Wednesday night (travelling half in the canal and half through budding champagne vineyards). Reims is half way along its length, a busy port city.

Being a beautiful Saturday all the burghers of modern-day Reims were, like us, out on the canal or its towpath, rowing in unison on the sparkling water,

cycling past the allotments,

or pounding the asphalt on urban runs.

The contrast with the tranquility and stillness of the Abbey at St Thierry was quite impactful.

Neither Martin nor I had ‘enjoyed’ the cities of Arras or Laon, partly due to the jarring contrast with the unpopulated countryside and partly because we hadn’t spent any time looking round. In Laon I had just been passing through (pace my visit to the wonderful Cathedral) and in Arras on my rest day I had been washing clothes, saying goodbye to Stephen, and planning the accommodation for the next week but one.

Reims however felt qualitatively different. There were wide, tree-lined boulevards.

pedestrian areas full of bars and pavement tables, bustling shops,

and cranes everywhere. So much energy!

Martin and I made for the Cathedral. The soaring height of it struck us first as we came to it from the side,

and then we had the full impact of the iconic facade, High Gothic piled high, decorative programme upon decorative programme.

The architectural gallery of the kings, 56 15-foot high statues of the Kings of France announces that this is the nation’s coronation cathedral.  They were almost too high to photograph them.

Underneath, the three vast portal archways, with their many layered bands of mouldings containing biblical stories, rose window pointing upwards to rose window.

My favourite detail was without doubt the four metal gargoyles jutting out where the three arches met.

The cathedral took 400 direct hits from German bombs in World War I, and in September 1914 a devastating fire broke out, foreshadowing that of this cathedral’s Parisian namesake almost exactly six years ago. In Paris, the wooden roof caught fire; here in Reims the leaden sheeting on the rod melted and poured out through the mouths of the gargoyles, like rainwater. One of the stone gargoyles, its mouth choked with solidified lead, can be seen in the Tau Museum (closed for Easter).

Following the 1905 law which separated church and state, though the Republic of France owns and maintains the building, and the Catholic Church has rights of exclusive use. Unlike many cathedrals in England, the cathedral is free to visit, and Martin and I went inside.

The church felt very different to Canterbury. Partly this was due to the darkness of the concept and high altar lighting: on Easter Saturday this was intentional, to mirror the gloom of the tomb.

But light nonetheless poured through the clerestory windows,

and in that cavernous space, uplifted to heaven by a forest of columns, it was the light which made the greatest impression, from the rich blue of the rose windows

to the 1960s abstract griseille painted glass windows by Brigitte Simon, which spoke to both Martin and me of the historical memory of the war-torn landscapes we have walked across for the last three weeks.

Best of all, a gift of light, were the Chagall windows in an axial chapel at the east end.  His drifting figures emerging and taking form from clouds of swirling colours will remain one of my most vivid memories of the day.

Martin and I bid farewell outside the Cathedral.   We may not see each other again since he is walking tomorrow and I have a rest today, but in the leapfrogging nature of this path, it would be wonderful if we came across each other again. Martin, I have so enjoyed our conversations, especially today. I liked the way that we Made our own time and our own pace, whilst still sharing this route.

I had quite a bit of time to wait until I could access my Airbnb studio flat at 5 o’clock.  So I sat next to the statue of Joan of Arc, dressed as the warrior besieging the city at the head of her army of 12,000 men, to liberate it and the cathedral from the English and Burgundian armies.

As I was bent over my phone checking I know not what, the one person I knew in Reims rushed up to me — Regine, with a bag of clean laundry was coincidentally passing by.  Such a reunion!

We went and had lunch and caught up on our different journeys along the same paths, then a spectacular coffee at a café we had chosen for its brilliant name.

Regine had rounded up the other pilgrims of our acquaintance by text, and we arranged to meet back at Joan of Arc at 6pm and go for a celebratory drink.  There were Kate and Bryce from Thérouanne, as well as Paddy and Bridget whom Regine had met en route, although I had not.

Regine and I went on separate ways after lunch, she back to her apartment to hang up her washing, and I to kill time before 5 o’clock.

I found a quiet public garden to wait in. Flowering bushes and trees, sunshine and shade.

Marion et Alicia were sitting on a bench dressed as cowgirls, staffing one of the stops on a citywide treasure hunt.  They released a riddle to all the excited groups that turned up and there was much shrieking and rushing off to the next challenge.

The girls had stocked up on beer (which they offered me although they apologised that it was warm) and had drunk their way through a bottle of Lanson.

We chatted and chatted!  All in French. Alicia is looking to switch careers from her banking job, and Alicia works in environmental consultancy.  An exciting time in both their lives, and doing something fun for the city too on this sunny Easter weekend. It was the perfect way to pass the time — girls, thank you for your company!

I found my studio — a lovely little flat with a view of the cathedral.  I had just enough time to shop for food to last me from Saturday lunchtime until Monday supper, give myself a cursory wash, and then it was back out into the city for the reunion.

There was only one thing to celebrate with in the city of champagne: a bottle of Veuve Cliquot!