I had one plan this morning—yet now I can’t remember what it was—but there were less clouds and more sun in the sky so I changed the plan. I had noted in my little brain that on the next sunny day, I was going to finally climb the towers at Notre-Dame. The reason I was waiting until the end of my trip was because there are 422 marches (steps) and I figured I was in much better shape now having climbed up and down 48 marches to the apartment several times a day in about 60. And I am.I rushed over there (a brisk 15-20 minute walk from the apartment) to be in line when it opened (10:00 AM) and I was in the first group of 20 to enter. I love when a plan comes together—and I’m first! The tower tour is very well controlled
by the staff; and as we started to climb, I was impressed with the wide staircase and the comfortable depth of the steps. Who said this was going to be claustrophobic? After we’d climbed not very many steps (maybe 50?), they directed us into an exhibit room and gift shop. Huh? I was all warmed up and ready to keep climbing!
This room is called the upper room of the North tower, which is on the same level as the organ loft. It has an eight-section rib-vaulted ceiling whose center keystone is about 46 feet above the floor (if I’m converting meters correctly). In one corner of the room is a beautiful spiral staircase that is an entirely separate openwork turret…it supposedly leads to the room where Quasimodo hid Esmeralda in Victor Hugo’s “The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.”
The exhibit in this upper room was about Victor Hugo, who wrote his famous book in 1831—and interesting, of course—but I wanted to keep going. The sun was shining! I’m sure a great view awaited me! They ignored us for about 10 minutes—would someone please buy something so we can get on with this?? (Usually the gift shop is at the Sortie (exit) so I’m sure they are losing out on lots of sales by its placement at the beginning of the tour.)
Finally, we were allowed to proceed and as we climbed higher and higher—oh, this is what they mean by claustrophobic! Actually, it wasn’t too bad but I imagine that it wouldn’t be as comfortable in the summer heat, for example. The tower got smaller, the climb tighter, and the steps more narrow. There was an interim level (I think our first view was right above the rose window) and then the top level (looking at the bell towers), which is about 151 feet above the 
ground. They call this the Chimeras Gallery after the statues adorning the corners of the balustrade. These creatures were designed by our friend, Viollet-Le-Duc, in the 19th century when he did the major renovation of the cathedral (see 1/22/07 blog). We usually refer to all of them as gargoyles but most are really representations of fantastic birds, hybrid animals, and mythical monsters—ornamental sculptures not to be confused with a gargoyle, which is a feature designed to drain rainwater. The most famous chimera is the Stryge, who “seems from its pensive attitude to never tire of contemplating the metamorphoses of the capital.” (this as written in the brochure handed to us at the tour entrance). The one above is called the Guardian.
I think I got some terrific pictures of all the gargoyles—whoops—chimeras. The views were spectacular—especially in the sun—of the rooftops, the Seine, the bell towers, Paris’ historic monuments
and buildings, and Viollet-Le-Duc admiring his new spire of the transept crossing. The wind was really blowing up there and I was having trouble standing still (and keeping my hair out of the shots) so I'm happy to see that these pictures turned out so well. Who needs their postcards??
Speaking of the towers--there are 11 bells in Notre-Dame. The four in the north tower were cast in 1856 to replace older ones that were melted down during the French Revolution to make cannons and coins. The 14-ton bass bell in the south tower was cast in 1680 and is supported by a vast wooden cage that dates to the Middle Ages. Six small bells were installed in the 19th century in and below the spire above the church's transept. The bells, as sacred instruments, are all christened: the bass bell is Emmanuel; the largest of the smaller bells is Angelique Francoise; the smallest, Denise David.
When ringing high in the north tower, the four immense bells shake the massive oak frame which weighs more than 187 tons. Currently, a 40+-year-old chemist by training is the chief sacristan of the cathedral (there are four) and thus, he is also the chief bell ringer. The caretakers of the bells visit six times a year to check on the condition of the bronze bells; examine the electric motors with the intricate chains that wring the bells; and insect the wooden frame from which they are suspended. They want less music or bell-ringing to diminish wear on the centuries-old bells; obviously, Monsieur Urbain wants more. The four smaller bells in the north tower and the bass bell (or bourdon) in the south still display the remains of wooden platforms and metal bars that the bell ringers used to swing the huge bells by pumping with their feet. These were electrified in 1930 and are now controlled electronically by computer. Monsieur Urbain is a master of the sofware programming as well.
Finally, all good things must end and the employees stationed along the way kept us moving. When I 
clamored down the 422 marches on the South side of the cathedral (BYW, I'm intrigued with old stairways—the way they are worn from the millions of feet that have trudged up and down them over the centuries), I found many of my climbing buddies standing in a locked-up pen waiting to be freed. Were they counting to make sure all of the first two groups were back on the ground before they let us escape or did someone just forget to get everything opened up this morning? So after about 10 minutes and that many stragglers mad their way down, we were able to continue with our respective plans for the day. PS--I loved this little excursion and highly recommend it. It was one of my favorite days!
