Ana Blandiana

SUFLETUL MEDIEVAL

DEASUPRA catedralei Notre-Dame, la capatul celor cateva sute de trepte inguste si inalte care m-au dus pe unul din cele doua bizare turnuri patrate, am avut pentru prima oara revelatia sufletului medieval. Nu revelatia maretiei lui, pentru ca nimic mai mult decat catedrala din Chartres mi-a descoperit aceasta marete, ci revelatia alambicarii acestui suflet, complicatiile lui, pe langa care angoasele moderne sunt drame afectate de adolescent. Deasupra catedralei Notre-Dame in colturile acoperisului sau, pe muchiile corniselor si la subtiorile turnurilor, strajuie de opt secole nenumarati monstri de piatra. Sunt oameni cu capete de pasari si de animale, animale şi pasari cu capete de om, trupuri frumoase cu gheare si trupuri urate cu aripi superbe; sunt impreunari de fiinte perfect deosebite, cum numai dupa o orgie scabroasa s-ar putea produce. Sunt modelele lui Jeronimus Bosch, dar în piatra si in marime naturala, deci mai infricosatoare. Si apoi descoperirea lor o faci nu intr-un muzeu sau într-un album, ci intr-un loc oarecum ireal, la o inaltime de cateva zeci de metri deasupra Parisului care viermuieste si pe care nu-l poti intelege niciodata destul. Acolo, si nu intr-un album, monstrii inspaimanta cu adevarat, devin simboluri pline de sensuri dureroase. Si abia dupa ce te patrund de puternica lor prezenta, abia dupa ce aripile lor ti se zbat in umeri si ghearele lor ti se ascut in varful degetelor, abia dupa ce intelegi ce rupte din tine sunt toate aceste vietati care te obliga sa le recunosti ca pe nişte stramosi repudiati, iti vine ideea innebunitoare cu adevarat ca ele au fost facute sa nu fie vazute. Pentru ca ingusta scară, pe care urca vizitatorii secolului 20, spre a vedea catedrala si Parisul, si care iti da posibilitatea sa zaresti aceasta perspectiva a acoperisului sfant stapanit de zeitati monstruoase, nu a fost in intentia arhitectului medieval decat o scară de serviciu, sau de incendiu, fara intrebuintare publica. Parabola creaturilor infernale se rotunjeste in sens filozofic abia cand intelegi ca ele erau asezate deasupra, dar ascunse privirii celor care se rugau in biserica, dedesubt. O, ei puteau sa-si purifice fruntea cu apa sfintita sau sa si-o umileasca in praful pardoselii, puteau sa cumpere indulgente, sa rosteasca in intregime rozarul, sa se chinuiasca intru credinta; deasupra, mult deasupra lor, deasupra altarelor si simbolurilor lor stapaneau, oricum, de piatra, monstrii.
 

Mihai Teodor Raicu

Ana Blandiana

MEDIEVAL SOUL

ABOVE the Notre-Dame Cathedral, at the end of a couple of hundred steps, tall and narrow, which led me to one of the two square bizarre towers, I experienced for the first time the revelation of the medieval spirit. Not the revelation of its grandeur, because nothing more than the cathedral from Chartes revealed this greatness to me, but the revelation of the sophistication of its spirit, its complications, compared to which the modern anxieties are teenage drama. Above the Notre Dame Cathedral, on the corners of its ceiling, on the edges of the cornices and the axils of its towers, for eight centuries have stood guard countless stone monsters. They are men with bird-like and animal-like heads, animals and birds with human heads, splendid figures with claws and horrid figures with splendid wings; they are unification of beings perfectly exquisite, which could be created only after an indecorous orgy. They are the models of Jeronimus Bosch, but in stone and full scaled, therefore much scarier. Then, you discover them not in a museum or an album, but in a somewhat surrealistic place, at a height of several meters above Paris that's worming and that you can never quite fully understand. There, and not in an album, the monsters are truly frightening, becoming symbols full of painful ways. Only after they penetrate with their powerful presence, only after their wings flap around your shoulders and their claws are sharpened in the tips of your fingers, only after you realize how truly apart these creatures are that make you recognize them as repudiate ancestors are, only then does the maddening idea come to you that they were built not to be seen. Because the narrow staircase, on which the tourists of the twentieth century climb, in order to see the cathedral and also Paris, and which also allows you to see this perspective of this holy roof ruled by monstrous gods was in the eyes of the architect only a service staircase or maybe a fire exit not to be used by the public. The parable of infernal creatures circles in a philosophical way only when you realize they were placed above, but hidden from the eyes of the people that prayed inside the church, downstairs. Oh, they could purify their forehead with holy water or to humiliate it in the floor dust; they could buy indulgences, say the entire Rosary, force themselves into their conviction: above, way above them, above their altars and symbols, ruled, nevertheless, the stone monsters.