On the Heads of the Kings of Judah

I went to Paris for a week in September, and, of course, one of the first places I headed to was the Cluny where the Kings of Judah are gorgeously displayed in Salon 8, up the stairs, down the hall, down more steps at the end to the perfectly lit, skylighted room where they hold court. Heads on one side, bodies on the other. Go figure... In their own day, before the vandalism of the original Terrorists, they stood atop their various bodies, painted and glowing in the sun, lining the cathedral in genuine splendor, according to all accounts. But here they are muted, highlighted au natural, and available for their close-ups, Mr. DeMille. It was, clearly, dizzying. One of my best pilgrimages ever in the City of Light.

Later, I tried to visit the museum of Notre Dame, and pounded the pavement for hours searching for its new home. It had moved to the Left Bank from its original home across the street from the Cathedral, but when I arrived, it was the day of the Pope's first coming, and the joint was shuttered and drawn. The cops roamed the streets in packs. Barricades sprouted like toadstools all over the parade route. I left the next day with a pack of unanswered question in my luggage...

Oddly, Sculptural Assassination slipped to the back burner again until recently when I picked up the tatters of my curiosity and resumed the hunt, though the trail had cooled. And here, dear friends, is where I hit pay dirt. I found the name of the guy who found the heads. I found the dates. And, mon dieu! I found a book of three essays about those very heads, their history and recovery. I begged the local reference gal for a copy (the nearest being at Brown University, just up the road apiece from here). I offered her my first born (dramatic, but empty, as I myself am without child) for the opportunity to peruse it. And then I found a copy on the web for a mere $1.95! It has to be a mistake, as the other copies began in the low double digits. But I ordered it. In the meantime, the reference goddess came through.

Of course it's in French- but there are only 40 pages of text. The pictures are in English. So I settled in with my tea (OK- wine), the book, and my translation programs all cranked up to wrestle that info into my own mother tongue. Thank god for the internet. Merci, mon dieu, por la internet.... I'm currently immersed in page 7....

When it came in, the librarian at the checkout desk asked me about the noses as we scanned the photos... "I know they always destroy the noses- and not just because they stick out, but I can't remember why. Do you know?"

Shit. I do remember reading about that somewhere, but it's in that swamp inside my head, waving its arms frantically to be rescued from the quicksand and shared with the public-at-large, but I'll be damned if I can... Where's my lasso???