On April 15 Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris experienced a
catastrophic fire. The images of flames shooting through the roof and the
collapse of the cathedral central spire were horrifying to see.
People reacted to the fire in many ways. Those who
worshipped at the cathedral or shared the faith of those worshippers could only
pray as they watched their beloved church consumed in fire and smoke.
Historians grieved over the massive damage occurring at a world heritage site. Those
of us in special collections libraries saw the fire through our own lens.
Medieval cathedrals such as Notre Dame were both grand
architectural statements and carefully crafted instructional books. The beautiful
stained glass windows were not only a form of worship, prayer expressed in
color and glass, but also illustrated important religious scenes for a largely
illiterate worshiping community. A sixteenth century worshipper inside Notre
Dame might not be able to read the Bible, might not understand the Latin spoken
by the priest celebrating the mass, but by glancing up to the light, much of
the faith’s most important teachings were there to be seen.
As Notre Dame burned, a century’s old tutorial work in the
Catholic faith made of glass and stone was suddenly at risk. The fire was a
tragic reminder for keepers of history, archivists and rare book librarians in
particular, that the collections whose safety they are responsible for are a
fragile heritage subject not only to subtle decay but sudden calamity.
Unlike a medieval cathedral, a modern storage facility for
rare books and archives such as the Clarke Historical Library has fire walls,
smoke alarms, fire suppression systems installed and ready to operate, and many
other tools to protect the material. If the worst still happens a disaster plan
outlines salvage procedures and priorities. The library has installed
precautionary technology and written solid emergency plans, but like any human
effort, they are not foolproof. As the fire at Notre Dame starkly illustrated,
tragedy can suddenly overcome the physical media that carries our history,
whether it exists on paper or is enshrined in glass and stone. The physical “stuff” of history is fragile. Paper
and vellum, light sensitive material used to create visual images, the bits and
bytes through which computers store data, are all prone to long-term failure
and sudden catastrophe. Preserving these media from destruction is one of the
core objectives of the archival profession.
That archival imperative to preserve and protect the
material on which history is recorded makes the fire at Notre Dame not only
tragic to archivists, but deeply moving. It is what we spend years trying to
avoid, and why watching the dramatic failure of those efforts was so profoundly
chilling. I am sure I was not the only archivist who watched the video of the
cathedral’s central spire falling in flame who, despite all their thought and
planning to preserve the collection entrusted to their care, recalled the
saying often attributed to the sixteenth century English evangelical preacher
John Bradford, “there, but for the grace of God, go I.”
We offer our deepest sympathy to the community of
worshippers who called Notre Dame their spiritual home, to the people of Paris
for whom the building was a central feature, and to the global community who
have seen a world heritage site suffer grievously. We hope that all these
people and others will unite to preserve those parts of the building that remain
and rebuild those parts which have been lost. It is how I like to believe
people like archivists, and historians, and those who cherish the past respond,
whenever a cultural disaster strikes.
