Labyrinth

More than one person to whom we mentioned our trip to Chartres said 'Isn't there a labyrinth there?' or similar. Labyrinths seem to be something people are aware of these days. Google the Chartres labyrinth, and you'll find all manner of sites and references, from academic specialists on mediaeval art and architecture, to marvellous and faithful replicas, like the ones at Grace Cathedral San Fransisco, to the wildest of New Age claims for the power of labyrinths in general and the Chartres one in particular.

Indeed, there has been a lot of dubious nonsense talked about Chartres in general, and not only in recent times: Black Madonnas, sacred geometry, druidic origins etc. I am wary of adding to it, and have been inclined to avoid it, largely because I didn't want my sceptical hackles to rise and spoil things for me. Pseudohistory annoys me even more than pseudoscience, mostly because I think it misses the point; experience of the numinous, the tranformational, the transcendant, even an inkling that a place is special and could possibly be instrumental in bringing about any of the former, don't need daft and spurious hypotheses and conspiracy theories to give them validity.

In truth, no one really knows much about the labyrinth, why it's there, what it represents. It may have been allegorical of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, or something to be undertaken penitentially, perhaps on one's knees, or it may simply have been a kind of trademark flourish, a grace note, on the part of the masons who built the cathedral. Once there was a copper plaque in the centre of it with an image of Theseus and the Minotaur, but that was melted down to make Napoleonic rifles, leaving only the rivet holes.

Here's a plan of what it looks like. It's made from creamy gold limestone and a rich black marble from further afield. It was completed by the early 13th century, and has remained there unchanged ever since.

It is some 12m, 40 ft, across, and the path it contains is about 260m, 860 ft long. Any connection with the Cretan labyrinth is a false one; it isn't a maze, but a single path from entrance to centre, so you can't get lost in it.

In fact, most of the time you can't even see it, because it's covered in chairs, and those odd little low chairlike things, pries-dieux, that serve as kneelers in French churches (with the decline in church going, these odd items of furniture are often readily available at brocantes, Emmaus branches and similar; some friends of ours keep one or two around as occasional surfaces, impromptu magazine racks and the like...). You can see the centre of it if you know it's there.


The chairs aren't strictly necessary from a seating point of view, I'm sure of that. The number of services held which need that many places are relatively few, the part of the floor it occupies is the furthest from the altar, and the seats could be brought into commission when called for. Why obscure what is widely seen as one of the cathedral's most mysterious, appealing and interesting treasures, which so many visitors would like to see and experience? It may be, of course, for its own protection, the feet of too many people walking it might damage or erode it, but that seems doubtful.

However, on high days and holidays, they clear the chairs away, and allow people to see and walk it, though they bring out an imformation panel asserting the Christian authenticity of its meaning, and denying that it has any connection with paganism ancient or modern. The Friday we were there, a public holiday, was one such day. A number of people were quietly following its path, a few with what I thought were rather self-consciously prayerful and serene expressions and attitudes, many more were simply sitting and watching.

I had no doubt when I saw this that I wanted to give it a go. Happily, I'd read very little about its purported meaning and significance, and what walking it was supposed to do for you, so I was able to take it as I found it. I'm not going to come over all rapturous and epiphanic about it, it wasn't like that, but I'm glad I did it. I unslung the camera from round my neck - it somehow felt wrong to have it hanging there, poking out in front between me and the action - and put it away in my backpack, took a breath and started.

I suppose quite simply it induced a very direct sense of mindfulness. Concentration, distraction, sureness, a few wobbles, boredom and joy all came and went. Sometimes I had to make way for other people passing me, sometimes we acknowledged each other, sometimes not, sometimes I felt irritated by them, sometimes quite warmly towards them. After a time, at various points I thought to stop and look up and around me, to take in this window or that vista, to take stock of where I was. You don't really know when and whether you're anywhere near the centre until you get there; though you can seem at times, including right at the start, to be very near it, then the path will lead you off in the opposite direction, through wide arcs and sudden reverses. It sounds horribly glib and banal to say it's rather like life, but it's difficult to escape the thought.

And when you get to the heart of it, and stayed there a while, there's nothing to do but turn to and make your way back to where you started.

So where's the harm in that? Why the reluctance on the part of the church authorities to accept that people want to do this, people who might not be card-carrying Christians,* but who perceive that the labyrinth might have something to show them that a pilgrimage to Lourdes, a singalong of 'Un grand champ à moissoner' , or even paying one's respects to Our Lady of the Pillar, the North Porch or the Jesse Tree window might not be able to offer?


I have to say I have a passing sympathy with their point of view, I suppose. Having lived a short time in Totnes, I have some idea how crass, loud and intrusive so-called neo-pagans and their gnangnan, (thanks Setu for that wonderful word!) can be; rather as I have some sympathy with the 18th century clerics who dug up the labyrinths of Amiens, Reims, Auxerre and elsewhere, not for their soulless rationalist vandalism, but for their exasperation at the labyrinths being made a playground by noisy children and their games of tag (I also have a sympathy for the children, it must have been great fun...). When I want to be quiet and think, noisy kids and extroverts in groups, especially those spouting anodyne and tuneless nonsense, get on my nerves too. But I suspect (and this is, of course, only my subjective speculation, so pace any who may feel otherwise. I also know that many believing and observant religious people do not feel the same way...) the discomfort of the orthodox religionists around the labyrinth runs deeper than that.

The labyrinth throws one back on oneself. It is abstract and abstracting. It threatens to turn one inward, to find direction, grace, balance, truth if you will, on one's own within one's own consciousness. Doctrine, ritual, hierarchy cannot get a purchase there, the intervention of priest, book or word, is not required. The power of the church has not been able to appropriate it. Inasmuch as it evokes the Delphic exhortation 'Know thyself', it is indeed pagan.

So I reached the centre, stood a while, and made way for other people entering by stepping into one of the corolla of petals of the fleuron in the centre.

Because our B&B was quite central, and had secure parking, we left the car there almost all the time, walked everywhere, and kept Molly with us. This meant that when we wanted to go inside somewhere, the Cathedral, museums, galleries etc, where dogs weren't allowed or she'd have been a pain anyway, we had to split up, one of us minding her, either sitting and waiting and watching the world go by, or taking in the gardens or the market, or having an cup of coffee, or whatever, or sometimes one of us would stay back at our lodgings, reading or resting, while the other made a foray into town. Occasionally inconvenient, in general it worked out rather well, enabling each of us to to absorb and appreciate things in our own way, without reference or deference to the other, then to have the benefit of recounting and considering our impressions and feelings about them to one another afterwards, looking at photos etc. It also created an interesting dynamic, certain benches, cafés and other locations acquired an affectionate significance, and there were plenty of opportunities for joyful reunions, and, where cocker spaniels are concerned, you can't have too many joyful reunions. On this occasion, going into the Cathedral but not knowing the labyrinth was uncovered, I left Tom and Molly on the first block stone bench in front of the West Porch. As it was quite chilly and the morning was wearing on, I told Tom to go back to the B&B if he got fed up waiting, and I'd 'phone when I came out.

I started the outward path and undertook it more quickly and light-heartedly, enjoying the sensation of building up more speed round the wider arcs, and slightly careening into the turns with an occasional loss of footing. Then suddenly, I was looking straight down the homeward stretch, the last few unbroken yards of paving towards the exit, and my heart lifted with hope, as I ran down it, out of the west door and into the daylight. And they were still there waiting, and Tom wondered why I was standing at the top of the steps, among the queens and kings of Judah, grinning like an idiot. I hugged him and then Mol, and kept saying 'You're still here, you didn't go home without me!'

~~~

Tom walked it later, and we became rather labyrinth obsessed, and decided we'd rather like to take our own one home. We realised this was possibly somewhat naff and touristy, but that not to follow up something thatdrws you for fear of such judgement is cutting off one's nose to spite one's face. First we found this routed MDF disc of the motif, with a wooden pivot on the underside, which you navigate with ball bearings. Quite tricky!


Then I visited a tiny mosaic gallery in a small converted chapel in the lower town (I'll perhaps post a few pics of this later), and saw and fell in love with this mosaic one. I thought, if it's X euros or less, I'll buy it, and it turned out to be half X. It goes nicely, I think, with our red walls.


We love the labyrinth!

~~~

*Although many are and are still discouraged. Lauren Artress, from Grace Cathedral, an episcopalian minister, asked several times if a group from the Veriditas project could come to Chartres and study and walk the labyrinth, but received no response, and finally they came anyway and moved the chairs out of the way themselves.