It is like the face of a beautiful saint scarred with vitriol.
Two days before, when I walked through the cathedral, the scene was the same as when kings were crowned.

You stood where Joan of Arc received the homage of France.

When I returned I walked upon charred ashes, broken stone, and shattered glass.

Where once the light was dim and holy, now through great breaches in the walls rain splashed.

The spirit of the place was gone.
Outside the cathedral, in the direction from which the shells came, for three city blocks every house was destroyed.