"And You've Seen The . . . "

There’s time for one-last-thing.  I will depart before the wife and kids as I need to be back in Shanghai.  They will have twenty hours or so without me to craft their own agenda for the city.  Today I depart around 3:30PM, so I should be OK with a cab at 1:00PM and I’ve already a good idea of what to do for the last morning. 

“Hurry up, eat your baguette.  One pastry each!  Yes, it’s cold out.  Put something else on.”  I promise a cab over if we can find one, but after that I need an ATM or we’ll never get one back.  We are en route to Sainte-Chapelle, which is walk-able but time is tight.  I probably should just keep quiet but I can’t help but get all Monty Hall about selling this.  “You guys have seen Chartres, and you’ve seen the rose window in Notre Dame, but if there is one hall of stained glass that might be able to top them, it’s at what lies behind door-number-three, at the place we’re heading this morning.”

For the third time in two days we are caught in the rain, in line.  Clearly I’m not adapting to the Parisian summer.  But it’s a short line and soon were inside the Palais de Justice and over at the front door of the great edifice.  As appropriate, I will make a confession.  For a brief second I thought the first floor was all we were going to see.  “Hey, where’s the tall room?”  Soon, I spotted the steps up and calmed down.  Having mastered my own fears I could now exploit those of others.  “Wow, this is really nice dad,” somewhat flat, admiring the gift shop.  “Yeah.  I guess its time to go.  Oh wait, one other thing.  Come with me.” 

And this is what I live for.  Up the steps and into the main hall, you could see their breath taken from them.  “Oh My God,” most assuredly not rendered as “OMG.”  They pointed out and I agreed that the effect might be more dramatic than any other church we’ve seen because it’s so concentrated and inescapable.  The blue wallpaper of the ceiling like a starry night and the glass that is dark and imperceptible outside is alight, demanding attention for each of the parables rendered.   Sit down for a while, and stare.  The winter before last I had seen the Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal.  It struck me as utterly distinct and of-its-soil, with its cold blue light everywhere behind the altar.  Standing inside Saint Chapelle I am reminded that this vision is clearly a seminal inspiration. 

Later we take a carefree stroll across the Pont au Changes, looking for bank.  My kids are mesmerized by all the book sellers there along the Quai de Megiserrie.  "You mean all these have stuff for sale?"  There could be no better day to ask me to buy them something than on this last morning and they walk off with Parisian pencil cases.  The stall keeper points us back over the Pont au Changes, and soon enough I have cash and a cab and we're on our way back to our apartment, up stream.