VICTORIAN FOR A DAY

...PICNICKING ALFRESCO...

JUNE 4

It is a delight, to picnic alfresco, especially when one is with friends. On this day, I met with Nicole and Penny, to gather cakes and other such small treats for our luncheon in the park.

The Parc de la Tête d'Or offered us a perfect day of Victorian whimsies, what with the extensive flower gardens, glasshouses and herbariums, and the beautiful zoo filled with exotic creatures.

Penny and Nicole were such good sports, allowing me to do their hair in new styles while we talked about all manner of things. 

After luncheon, we three resolved to walk through the glasshouses and observe the plants that were growing there. I made several rapid sketches of certain plants that seemed to me quite pretty, and kept these in my notebook. 
 

I do adore plants, and to study them in sketch is great fun, but I am also reminded of a lovely article I once read about the collecting of different plant types. I will attach a copy below:

GOLDEN HOURS

May 1878 pp. 232-233.

Even those who think that 'botany' is a repulsive science, bristling with unmeaning and unpronounceable names, will probably confess themselves fond of gathering plants. Some love to cull flowers, others to hunt for ferns, and others, again, to collect grasses. The mere mention of these things will awaken in the minds of many who read our pages a longing for green fields, shady lanes, and bosky dells; mingled, perchance, with a little impatience for the full bloom of Spring or Summer. We wish to appeal to such feelings, and to turn them to some account in the present paper; for what is 'out-door botanizing,' but picking plants, with something more of knowledge and definite purpose than the gatherer usually possesses? Do not take fright at a few technical terms. Every language and every trade must needs have them; and what if every lad who is apprenticed to a watchmaker, or every lass who begins to learn French, were to give up in despair because a number of unfamiliar words had to be committed to memory and understood. Botany will prove intelligible, if we will only throw our fears aside, and be content to learn by degrees.

Our young friends, we will assume, are desirous of taking a first step in plant-lore by becoming collectors. This is truly a step; for no book knowledge, can compare, for interest and benefit, with actual inspection of living plants.

For gathering and preparing, you will require but cheap and simple implements - a digger, a tin box (called a vasculum), and a press. A hand-trowel, such as you can buy at a hardware-store, or even an old case-knife, will form a capital tool for digging. A vasculum is a long tin box, which is strapped to the side of the collector like a telescope case; but a press has some advantages. It is made thus: two pieces of mahogany, or some other wood which will not bend, are strapped together, and a quire or two of blotting paper placed between them. Fifteen inches by eleven is a convenient size for boards; and, by means of a third strap, the press may be easily carried. As soon as a plant is selected, it is carefully take up - root and all, if not too large - with the digger, shaken free from earth, and laid between two half-sheets of paper, in as natural a position as possible. The straps are then tightened, and the collector moves on.

The plants thus gathered will need to be preserved by drying and further pressure. The drying process is accomplished by keeping the specimens between sheets of blotting, or porous paper for some days, changing the paper several times, so as to remove all moisture. They are then fixed to sheets of cartridge with gum or thin glue, and kept in a drawer supplied with camphor to keep out insects. But, as the drying must be under pressure, the aforesaid boards, or two stouter ones of slightly larger dimensions, may be used, the requisite pressure being given by screws and nuts, or by weights, such as bricks neatly packed in brown paper. 

Some plants preserve their colours in drying much better than others; but in the eyes of a collector, the specimens he has gathered in his own hands are always replete with beauty and interest.

---

I am truly of the opinion that the study, and admiration, of plants will lead a person to feel more connected to nature - perhaps to grow fonder as they begin to understand more about this world.

---

THE ÎLE BARBE

PLAYING THE EXPLORER

I first saw the Île Barbe for only a few milliseconds, when it whizzed by my window while we were driving around Lyon. That vision could have been part of my daydreams - from a small craggy rock in the middle of the Saône river, there appeared to be a growth of Romanesque stone structures and hidden gardens.

I resolved to find that mysterious island.

After two failed attempts and twelve hours of walking, I had not given up hope. I set out again, backpack and notebook in hand, down the river Saône, against the flow of the current. A few hours later I crossed the oldest bridge in Lyon, and arrived onto the Île Barbe - for so my mystery island is named. This is what I saw...

---

FIELD NOTES:

My observations of the Île Barbe were made during two visits, in the months of May and June, 2014.

The island is separated into two halves: downstream, to the southwest, is the public section, whereas that section that lies upstream - northeast of Lyon - has been partitioned into a private area, accessible only by inhabitants.

To begin with the public side, I observed a number of charming details, such as the small copse of trees on the very western edge of the island, and the dusty pétanque courts.

It must be noted that the island remains unharassed by tourists, the only day-trippers appearing to be the locals from around-abouts the island, who come to picnic in the woods, play pétanque, or fish in the stream. And every so often, they will hold a market which sells antiques and food delicacies, as I observed one Saturday upon my second visit.

Proceeding eastwards, we arrive at the large wall that divides the island in half. In this wall, there is one gate, closed, and guarded by a concierge at most times of the day. The gate opens for shiny black cars driven by the inhabitants en île.

I was most fortunate, upon my first visit, to arrive at said gate just as it was closing, and I slipped through unnoticed, to conduct further investigations. 

For, it is on this private section that the beauty and former glories of the island can be found: large Romanesque stone buildings, which I am convinced are of various origins. The several parts which were met with lead me to conclude that the island has been inhabited for well over a millennium.

The first building to the right is chiefly remarkable, as it appears to be the hollowed remains of a twelfth century church, complete with a bell tower in the Romanesque style. When indicating the age of the building, I may mention as proof: the several rounded archivolts still imprinted in the stone walls, where the building has been ruined somewhat, the scarcity of windows in the edifice (the opposite of which would indicate a later Gothic style), and the square construction of the bell tower.

Nearby the old church, one may spy: a small Auberge of some renown, where they serve traditional meals; red roses climbing stone walls - reminiscent of the tale of Beauty and the Beast; many mullioned windows on the beautiful old buildings now used as housing; and tall stone fences covered in trailing ivy.

Somewhere, somebody was whistling.

These scenes were so beautiful, my heart just about melted clear down to my toes.

Now, if one was to curiously approach a wooden gate in one of the stone fences, and peer into the keyhole, they may see a family, sitting in their garden, eating croissants and reading the newspaper. 

Beyond the bell tower, there is a path between high walls and stone stairs, leading to an old tower fortress - a remnant of what may have been a fortified wall. And through an arch in the tower we may find an ancient port, where boats would be pulled to shore.

Further to the north lies a real treasure: a standing wall, a ruin of what may have been a church building, the details of which appear to me very interesting and worthy of attention:

In this wall there are several stone arcades, with pointed arches and ribbed vaulting, but in the middle of the wall is a Romanesque door, above which is a tympanum - a carved stone scene in a semi-circle design, as one might see above the door of a Gothic church.

The tympanum is carved with a scene of Christ and two angels, by their sides are two figures - possibly monks - and all are crushing allegorical animals underfoot; Christ himself is crushing a serpent or dragon. The inscription reads: EGO SUM LUX MUNDI - 'I am the light of the world.'

---

Altogether, the Île Barbe struck me as an incredible masterpiece, one which has remained largely unheard of, and one which retains its mysterious charm and a truly mystical feeling.

My observations and feelings were thus magnified when I learned the true history of the island - retold below in my own research notes.

---

A MYSTICAL HISTORY

---

 The Île Barbe’s forgotten history…

700 BC – At this time, the IÎle Barbe was simply a large boulder covered in vegetation in the middle of the river, occasionally visited by Celtic Druids who used the space for ceremonial processions.

Then, during one of the many Roman persecutions of the Christians, a chap by the name of Peregrinus took shelter on the island.

5th century – A monastic abbey is founded under St Andrew, making this the first abbey in Lyon, and one of the very first in all of Gaul.

9th century – The abbey gains a Carolingian lustre when Charlemagne donates an extensive library, which quickly becomes one of the greatest libraries of the age – the medieval equivalent of the Library of Alexandria.

9th century – The Abbey adopts the rule of St Benedict, and the affiliation of the Abbey’s church changes to St Loup and St Martin.

Thus, the Île Barbe gradually became a spiritual centre, characterised by piety, art and intellectual pursuits.

1075 – Fra Ogier, the new Abbot, becomes worried about the increasing number of pilgrims who come to observe the piety of the monks. He commissions a small chapel to be built–outside the walls of the cloister–to make it accessible to the public without disturbing the tranquility of the monks inside. The chapel is dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and is called Our Lady.

12th century – The chapel of Our Lady is finished, and pilgrims are welcomed onto the island by boat.

1306 - Pope Clement V grants 100 days indulgence to pilgrims who will worship at the chapel during one of the four celebrations of the Virgin. The chapel quickly becomes so popular that the monks begin to conduct their activities there, moving their worship from the more private church of St Loup.

15th century – The “shady meadow” downstream is noted in the records as a place “a little less pious” during the pilgrim’s festivities. Later, the meadow is planted with trees (still standing) to retain the land during floods.

By the 1400’s, the Île Barbe had become a centre of Marian devotion, as pilgrims came from all over to worship the Virgin and gain her generosity. The chapel of Our Lady was only overshadowed seven centuries after its creation, by the currently famous Notre Dame de Fourvière.

“For six hundred years or more, the Virgin Mary has been revered in this place, and she has always shown generosity to those who have prayed.”

— Claude Plowman, 1665

September 1630 – Louis XIII visits Lyon and becomes deathly ill, even receiving extreme unction. A few days later his internal abscess bursts and he is healed. To give thanks for the king’s healing, the two Queens of France–Anne of Austria and Marie de Medici–walk from the centre of Lyon to the chapel on the Île Barbe.

However, things have been going downhill since 1551...

1562 – The Reformation motivates local Protestants to slash and burn many churches, including parts of the Île’s abbey.

Around the same time, the coming of the plague pushes officials to ban visits to the Île Barbe, and the partially ruined abbey is temporarily abandoned.

1600’s – The centre of Marian devotion in the Lyon region shifts, as Notre Dame de Fourvière steals the limelight with lavish processions, supposed miracles, and greater accessibility.

1789 – The French Revolution devastates the abbey and the island, after the seizure of church property.

During these tough times the library of Charlemagne is mostly destroyed, and the many artefacts, stone decorations and silver chalices owned by the abbey are sold and dispersed. The buildings themselves are sold to private buyers who take up residence on the island.

“The monastery and college have been reduced to total ruin by these disorders.”

— Guillame Paradin

Around this time, the Île Barbe becomes a haven for wealthy landowners like the Lyonnaise painter Revel, who placed his country estate on the island.

1801 - Catholic worship in France is restored and the new owner of the chapel of Our Lady applies for a decree to celebrate mass in the old building. 

1827 - the suspension bridge is built - what is now the oldest surviving bridge in Lyon.

1860 – The nave of the chapel of Our Lady is destroyed, to make way for a garden.

---

THE PRESENT DAY…

Today the island is still revered, so much so that boatmen still sometimes remain silent in veneration when passing the Notre Dame.

The island also retains a separation of public and private spheres, put in place by the medieval abbey when they welcomed pilgrims onto the shores. Now, though, the canonical houses are inhabited by private residents, and the former glories of the island are forgotten, locked behind those closed gates.

The chapel of Our Lady is undergoing restorations to ensure that the beautiful stonework and frescos therein do not sustain any more water damage from open the bell tower. Some gorgeous Romanesque features still remain–a 13th century keystone in the roof decorated with a four-fold symmetrical golden oak leaf design, and several of the grotesque beasts carved into the roman capitals–typical of cloister decorations. About one meter of soil now sits above the original foundations, as evidenced by the column bases found in archaeological investigations. The covered gallery is being used as the nave, and, on certain heritage days, the chapel is open to visitors!

One of the only remaining clues as to the incredible origins of the island is that beautiful Romanesque tympanum I mentioned, above the wooden door in the ruined wall. Once upon a time it formed part of the monastery’s Refectory–where the monks would have gathered to eat in silent reverence.  

“If there is a heaven, and I am allowed entrance, I will ask for no more than an endless living world to walk through and explore.”

— Edward O. Wilson

---

REFERENCES AND FURTHER READING:

Faure Jarrosson, Benoît. La Chapelle Notre-Dame de l'Île Barbe. 2006. Online.

Favreau, Robert. Un Tympan Roman à l'Île-Barbe près de Lyon. l'Academie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, no. 3. 2005.

Association des amis de l'Île Barbe. www.ilebarbe.fr. Online.

ZOE & RITA TAKE PARIS

This is somewhat of a sequel to my previous story: Zoe Rita Barcelona.

In fact, just replace the word 'Barcelona' with 'Paris', add a few pastries and a whole lot more homelessness, and it is basically the same story.

But I shall tell it regardless because I am sure you want to know more about those pastries.

---

We sat beneath an old oak tree, in the shadow of Sacré Coeur, eating pre-packaged crepes and cheese. 

I think Rita was a little disturbed by the crippled pigeons. 

Lunch was followed by a visit to the Dali museum, where, under Rita's tutorship, I learnt to appreciate the historical context of the splotchy paintings.

We were both able to appreciate the hilarity of the objects inside the raunchy sex shop in Pigalle area, under the famous red windmill of the Moulin Rouge. 

Rita and I geeked-out, big time, when we happened upon the extant green-grocer's shop which was featured in the film: Amelie.

That night, the sunset was highlighter pink and orange. It caught in the waters of the Seine, by the bank where we drank bad French wine.

And that was to be the only night of the weekend on which we slept in a bed. 

The next morning, Rita washed her socks in the bathroom sink and ironed them dry.

Having nearly empty pockets and slightly twisted priorities, we were beginning to cut corners. For instance, why buy a lunch when one can just take the bread from the breakfast spread at the hostel.

But of course (of course!) one can spend all one's money on pastries. What else in life matters as much as an oval of sweet shortcrust, filled with cream, and topped with wild French strawberries?

That next day was a blur of singing, getting lost, sandstorms under the Eiffel Tower, and other weird moments.

But that night, when we found ourselves with no hostel booked and not wanting to spend another cent, we walked to the only 24/7 Macdonalds in the whole of Paris and spent the night taking turns napping or drawing in a small sketchbook. 

Waking from a groggy and disrupted sleep at a Macdonalds booth table, I felt... Awesome! Free in a way I had never felt before.

And as the other booths began to fill up with 5am customers, Rita pulled me off the continue our naps on the grass in the Champ de Mars.