Anderson: Rage, rejection and reverence – the passion of Notre-Dame

In Cassis, a normally bustling seaside resort in the south of France, the streets were deserted.  During the long and tense evening of April 15, when the fate of Notre-Dame de Paris hung in the balance, the silence was unearthly: the hiss and suck of the waves, normally pushed to the back of consciousness, seemed unnaturally loud. There were no pedestrians to sidle past, and no cars on the narrow streets. Blue light shone through the village’s windows as families clustered around their screens, riveted by the spectacle of Notre-Dame in flames. You could almost feel the village holding its collective breath. But as people were watching, what were they seeing?

In one sense, Cassis witnessed the same drama as everyone else around the world. They watched a masterpiece, the work of centuries, menaced by total destruction. It is easy to forget now, in the aftermath, the church’s lonely ordeal, aflame, before the quenching jets of water finally arrived.  Before the fire’s cause could be established, or any human casualties determined, the danger to the twin towers of Notre-Dame was a disconcerting reminder of other towers, and other flames.