Chartres
The building of the medieval cathedrals is an astonishing European phenomenon. The builders had no power tools, they did not understand the mathematics of structural engineering, and they were poor: the richest of princes did not live as well as, say, a prisoner in a modern jail. Yet they put up the most beautiful buildings that have ever existed, and they built them so well that they are still here, hundreds of years later, for us to study and marvel at.
Ken Follett, The Pillars of the Earth
Writing is 'an astonishing phenomenon'. We do not 'understand the mechanics' of the imagination. The vast majority of writers do not 'live as well as, say, a' very average middle manager.
And yet, the works of writers turn out to be so well put together 'that they are still here, hundreds of years later' …
Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth is an idealistic portrayal of the medieval cathedral builders. At the time he wrote it, Follett was already a successful thriller writer. Pragmatic good sense told him to carry on doing what he been doing. Instead he had a moment of inspiration at the door of Peterborough cathedral. The book that it inspired, he has said, 'surprised' him as much as his publishers.
When I was young, I visited Chartres several times. The city was twinned with my home town in the south of England. The West Sussex Youth Orchestra – of which I was a member – played more than once in Chartres. It was a place that people talked about having seen. Friendships – across barriers of language and culture – were made and nurtured. Adults as well as children had pen friends.
In 911 AD, Chartres was besieged by a Viking chieftain named Rollon. Bishop Gantelmne displayed the cathedral's holiest relic – the sancta camisia – on the city wall. Seeing this piece of Mary's birthing gown, Rollon lifted the siege and converted to Christianity.
The Chartres Cathedral reliquary was opened during the French Revolution and a robe, 6.4 metres in length, was discovered. It was torn up into 6 or 7 pieces and scattered. Two pieces of the long robe were returned to the cathedral at the beginning of the 19th century. Expert examination has shown the cloth to be about 2000 years old and or Near of Middle Eastern origin.
The pavement Labyrinth at Chartres cathedral is a place of modern pilgrimage. Tourists from all over the world visit the cathedral, more or less well informed. Many of them leave the great gothic building without ever having knowingly set eyes on the pavement Labyrinth.
The Labyrinth is laid in the floor, in the nave of the cathedral, not far from the west door. Every time I have been to the cathedral I have found it covered by the chairs set out for cathedral services.
This is, of course, contrary to the spirit and purpose of the Labyrinth.
The Labyrinth is not a maze. It is a single path that winds inwards and outwards through 11 concentric circuits of its circular form. It is not possible to take a wrong turning as there are no junctions. There is only one way in to the centre and retracing your steps is the only available path back out.
The Labyrinth is sometimes known as the chemin de Jérusalem, the path to Jerusalem. Its purpose is to provide the willing but unable pilgrim with an alternative to an actual journey to the Holy Land. Walking the Labyrinth is a means of duplicating – in miniature – the meditative, spiritually-enlightening aspects of pilgrimage.
Like the cathedral, it is made of stone. It will soon be 1000 years old.
When I began my research for my novel – Labyrinth – while I intended to write a fiction about southwest France, I was prepared for certain digressions. Perhaps the tale might follow Pedro II of Aragon into what is now Spain. I was tempted by the vague and sparsely documented stories of Cathar refugees who fled to northern Italy or, at the beginning of my historical period, by the early Cathars in Cologne and Champagne.
Soon, though, I found that several of my themes led me to Chartres.
Labyrinth is not about the Templars, but there is a connection. My book is not about classical mythology, but it is present. My novel doesn't tell the story of the Ark of the Covenant or the mystery of the Black Madonnas, but they are relevant.
As my planning progressed, the conflict between the north and the southwest became polarised between Carcassonne and Chartres. Characters from each great city were thrust into deadly opposition with one another …
So, two lessons.
Firstly – nothing is wasted. Experience – sensitively or enthusiastically lived – is the raw material of your imaginative writing.
Secondly – use what you know.
And, as I started this piece with a quotation, I will finish with one too. It's by Castillejo, from his Obras morales and it says:
Ella que las sabe las tañe.
You see, only she who knows the tunes can play the tunes.
