Archive | June 2012

Hotel Des Invalides, Dome Church & Musee de L’Armee

Jun20

Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

NEH Session on The Black Book of Communism:
Just as I expected, our session with Anglo-French historian Nicholas Werth was deeply engaging and I came away learning a great deal about the genesis of the book and the multiple controversies that plagued its publication–including expensive law suits. The book, however–an 800 page tome filled with global stats on the crimes, terror and loss of human life under communist and totalitarian regimes–became an international bestseller. Apparently in France, where usually at Christmastime, members of le Vieux France, exchanged gifts of superior cognac and cigars, they were gifting elderly uncles and grand-peres copies of this book. Question time was equally interesting with many global comparisons drawn between Soviet-style Communism and the kind perused in the name of Nationalism, such as Nehru’s Socialism in India. Overall, it was a satisfying and profoundly enlightening lecture-discussion.

My new friend and colleague, Noit (Noo-eet) offered to buy me lunch as she has amassed a bunch of extra meal coupons a the CISP where she has elected to stay–many of my colleagues who are staying there are in the same boat and I saw offers of free lunches being waved around and a bunch of non-residents tucking into the endless salad bar. My own plat–roasted pork in a mustard sauce–was okay at best, but then in which student cafeteria in America would you be able to pick up a bottle of red, white or rose wine with your meal tray?

Off to Hotel des Invalides:
In keeping with my desire to cover the area heading north of the Pont Alexander III, I told Noit of my plans–they included a visit to the Dome Church to see Napoleon’s Tomb and to the Musee de L’Armee which is France’s Military Museum–and deeply relevant to our study of France between the Wars. Noit was very pleased to accompany me, so off we went on the metro to Tour la Maubourg from where the vast environs of the Hotel des Invalides are only a few steps away.

The Hotel and Church of Les Invalides:
I have to say this about Le Roil Soleil–Louis XIV. While he was busy building himself ostentatious palaces, he did spare a thought for his thousands of soldiers who had returned wounded, disabled or ill from the innumerable wars of his reign. Since there did not exist a place to treat them, he commanded the construction of a vast hospital for the purpose under the supervision of architect Liberal Brunard. The result is a vast complex of courtyards, endless corridors with hospital wards branching off them and a chapel for the inmates–hence, Hotel des Invalides.

The chapel was eventually called the Church of St. Louis. Patients attended services in this church. However, it was important for the monarch to attend services too and a grand church was build right behind it for Louis’ private use. It is a gorgeous confection of soaring space, painted dome, towering pillars, mosaic floors–deeply reminiscent of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London and probably inspired by it. In like manner, the ornate altar–known as a badalchino in Italy–made with twisted barley stick marble columns was reminiscent, at least to me, of the central altar in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Much architectural ‘borrowing’ from illustrrious predecessors has created a breathtaking space that was connected to the patients’ littler, more modest chapel, by a glass door and gallery.   

Napoleon’s Tomb in Dome Church:
The space made a perfect last resting place for France’s great military hero Napoleon Bonaparte whose wish was to be buried close to the Seine near the people of France whom he had always loved. Hence, a gigantic marble sarcophagus was built for the purpose (again, reminiscent to me of the marble sarcophagi in the Vatican built to house the remains of the status-conscious Renaissance popes–only theirs’ were made of purple porphyry which is the rarest marble on earth).

To view Napoleon’s Tomb, I descended down a curving stairwell and arrived at another small altar space which took me past a grand entrance flanked on two sides by larger-than-lifesized marble sculptures of bearded men holding a crown and an orb respectively in their hands. Inside, the humongous tomb is surrounded by more sculpture–this time of Greek maidens leaning against pillars, each representing one of Napoleon’s many successful military campaigns. I circumnavigated the space to take in its solemnity and its privileged position before I climbed up again. It was at this point that I remembered having seen this monument 27 years ago on my very first visit to Paris. The memory came suddenly at me like a ton of bricks and a felt a sharp jolt of nostalgia for the wide-eyed ingenue I once was!

A walk around the Dome Church–whose beautiful gold-embellished Dome can be seen all over Paris like a landmark compass which points the way and gives you  your bearings–revealed other tombs of prominent Frenchmen: Joseph Bonaparte, Napoleon’s brother; Marshal (I love the French word, Marechal) Foch (Chief commandant of the Allied Operation during World War I); Louis XIV’s Chief military architect, Vauban; and in a nondescript corner, that of Jerome, Napoleon’s younger brother, King of Westphalia.

The church was full of French school kids on field trips or American high school students on a Travel Abroad Study Tour. It is my understanding that there are no longer services held in this church which is now, strictly a museum (I paid 8 euros to see both: the church and the Museum and my Met ID card did not work this time round!) Fortunately for me, although we had reached the venue at about 3. 45 pm, the place had late-night closing and we were free to enjoy it all until 9.00 pm. This allowed me to take spurts of rest in-between my exploration.

Exploring The Musee De L’Armee:
The Musee de L’Armee which was my next port of call, is part of the Hotel Des Invalides. Apparently, it is still a hospital today, but only a small part of it is used for this purpose. The bulk of the complex is devoted to a preservation of military history and it is all beautifully organized–each epoch of French war history devoted to a different section of the quadrangular building. I started with World War I and II as that is most immediately related to the topic of my current inquiry. It is simply the most detailed museum devoted to this subject. Loads and loads of objects, documents, flags, banners, uniforms, apparatus and military equipment (including rifles and canons) weigh this space down. It is simply impossible to see and read everything and I soon realized I had to be choosy–although I did pause to watch the many rivetting film clips.I particularly devoured the segment on the tench warfare of World War I–having visited the trenches recently on the Somme.  My emphasis then lay on the Allied colonial effort, i.e. the use of Tamilians (in Pondicherry, known as Sepoys), Senegalese, Northern African (known as Spahis) and Madagascan troops by the French and the use of Sikh and Gurkha infantry and cavalrymen by the British. All these troops were based in France during the year 1914-18. Sadly, pictures are the only things that remain of their valiant war effort. The section which is spread out over three storeys was simply exhaustive and exhausting and by the time we arrived at World War II, Vichy France and the role of General Petain, I was knackered and badly in need of a cup of tea in the cafeteria which (get this!) cost 4 euros! That is about $6.00 for a cup of hot water!!! Astounding. Noit, who had spent most of her time in the Algerian War exhibit, joined me for tea (and was equally flabbergasted by the price).

After giving my feet a break of about 45 minutes, I set out again–this time to see the special section devoted to General Charles de Gaulle which is entirely audio-visual. Noit left to keep a late-evening appointment while I continued on my voyage of discovery.

Historial Charles de Gaulle:
This section of the Musee de L’Armee is unique because there are absolutely no objects on display. What you are handed is an audioguide which is automatic. As you move from one part of the exhibition to the next, it senses your position and automatically provides spurts of commentary in the language of your choice. My audioguide was a mess. Most of the time it was unable to translate the text into English and all I kept hearing were apologies. When I drew the attention of the museum staff to this, she apologized and said that all their guides are equally bad–they are “Chinese guides”, she said, by way of explantion. Her sub-text said, So, what can you expect?

At 7. 15 pm, I walked into the large auditorium to watch a film on the biography of Charles de Gaulle which gave a capsule idea of his rich and eventful life. It was really interesting. On a tryptych screen, we got to see a number of visuals that threw light in his life and his passionate desire to do something significant for his country. Indeed, he had his wish granted. I found the film segment on France’s reaction to the Armistice in 1945 deeply moving and felt a tear roll down my cheek. Fortunately, in this space, my audioguide did work and I was able to follow every word–which made a huge difference to my enjoyment of the exhibit.

Following the movie, I skimmed around the rest of the section and could easily have spent an hour or two longer perusing all the material on display which is a very rich archive indeed. But by then I felt knackered and simply needed to get home. I asked for directions to the nearest bus stop, but on discovering that the metro would take me to the last stop (Balard) from where I could take a tram right to my doorstep, that’s what I decided to do. The tram ride was a revelation as I skimmed through the outer periphery of the city taking in the mutli-cultural life that is now so distinctly a part of the Parisian scene. Through Porte de Versailles and Porte de Vanves I went and arrived finally at Porte d’Orleans and then my stop at Cite-Universitaire. It is amazing how I am taken on sight seeing tours even when I least expect them.

It was all I could do to heat up my dinner: a frozen Chevre Quiche (goat’s cheese, which turned out to be simply delicious!) with a salad and then off I went straight to bed, completely cream-crackered by my eventful day.

A demain!       
    

Discovering A Treasure Trove: The Musee Jacquemart-Andre

Jun19

Monday, June 18, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

Don’t you just love it when you make a cultural discovery? I mean, I think I now know how Columbus felt when he first sighted land after that endless Atlantic crossing. His joy was so great, he got his geography all screwed up and thought he was in India. I think I can almost forgive him. My joy knew no bounds this afternoon after I’d discovered the Musee Jacquemart-Andre. I had never heard of this place. Never once had I found it mentioned in accounts of Paris. No one had ever dropped its name–not even in passing. So, when I read in the DK Eye Witness Guide that it was full of Tiepolos and Mategnas and contained Paolo Uccelo’s masterpiece St. George Slaying the Dragon, well…it was a no-brainer. That was where I would spend my afternoon.

A Slow Start:
Brekkie was a delicious affair with brioche from Eric Kayser—who has soared in my estimation after a poor start. His brioche contained a hidden secret: when I cut into it, I found a crystallized strawberry heart. I bet it is a gooey jammy center when fresh–mine has been in the fridge for the last couple of days. Still, a zap in the microwave and it was as soft as cotton and supremely tastier. With a slick of marmalade and generous dollop of orange flower honey, I had a finger-lickin’ feast.

I deliberately took it easy for the rest of the morning, faffing around at home, doing weekly chores (laundry, vacuuming–I actually found a vaccum in the closet and knew I had no excuse to shirk a little basic housekeeping), bringing my blog and my photo library up-to-date. I also did a bit of reading in readiness for tomorrow’s NEH session on The Black Book of Communism. It promises to be fascinating and I cannot wait to hear what Nicholas Werth, France’s leading historian on Communism, has to say about it.

When I finished, I scanned my guidebook as I wondered where I could spend a pleasurable but not overly strenuous afternoon. That’s when I came upon a very incidental mention of the Musee Jacquemart-Andre. It wasn’t very far from the Grand Palais to which I had intended to return to complete my walking tour of the Champs-Elysses area anyway.

But since it was 1.00pm, it made sense to have lunch; so I made myself a rather eclectic plate: green salad (love the crunch of French lettuce–what we call Cobb or Bibb in the US–dressed just lightly with extra-virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar). My apartment has been provided with the most unbelievable whisk: it is a  silicone affair. Just three smart whips of my wrist and the dressing emulsifies like magic! I think I will buy myself one before I leave from here. Well, my second course was the sweetest, ripest figs wrapped in smoked ham. My third course was two crepes stuffed with ham and cheese (bought frozen from the supermarket). Verdict? Two words: Never again! Eric Kayser’s baguette, lightly toasted with Bordier Butter. No room for dessert–so it was skipped as I skipped out of the house and into the tram to get to Porte d’Orleans. I decided to take the bus because, as often happens by mid-day, the sun was making a shy come-back and it looked like a fine afternoon for a bus ride.

At Porte d’Orleans, I discovered where to catch the 38 bus at its starting point, thanks to a helpful female conductor who pointed the way out to me. The directions were complicated and delivered entirely in French, so I congratulated myself at having got them just right. The bus ride was a joy too–I am beginning to love Parisian buses. For one thing, they are really fast and for another, you almost always get a seat.

At 1.45 pm, almost at the end of the route, I was deposited near the Miromesnil metro station. I walked briskly up Boulevarde Hausmann and within a few minutes, there it was: a giant JA on a waving banner announced the entrance to the musee.

The Musee Jacquemart-Andre:
Because I knew nothing about this treasure trove of fine art, I knew nothing about the space in which it is housed. So imagine my shock and my delight when I discovered that the collection is displayed in a grand mansion that had once been a private residence of Jacquemart and Andre–hotel particulier, of sorts! I realize that I also adore these sneak peeks into the homes and lifestyles of the lavishly endowed–and this was one such opportunity.

It had all begun when a 19th century multi-millionaire named Edouard Andre fell in love and married a female artist named Nelli Jacquemart. She was commissioned to paint his portrait and he met her for the first time when he posed for the initial sketches. Nine years later, they were married–an extraordinarily successful meeting of hearts and minds. Andre’s passion for 18th century art (at a time when most collectors thought of it as too cutesy) was matched only by Nellie’s. Together they amassed a fabulous collection of French works by Chardin, Boucher and Fragonard, English portraits by Thomas Lawrence, Reynolds and Gainsborough and Flemish work by Ruysdael, Rembrandt and Franz Hals. As time when by, Nellie’s appreciation of Italian Renaissance art grew and she persuaded Andre to buy some. Together they made several trips to Italy and began a collection of Florentine and Venetian masters like Andrea Mategna, Giovanni Bellini and my personal favorite, Carlo Crivelli, whose work I find so very rarely. I also adored a pair of laughing angels–a sculptural couple in bronze by Donatello. The highlight of the collection is Paolo Uccelo’s St. George Slaying the Dragon but the Tiepolo ceiling paintings and the really grand wall-length one on the upper storey landing is so spectacular that it is worth going to the museum only to see them. In a word, Fantabulous.

The tariff to enter the museum is 10 euros (but I was allowed in free with my Metropolitan Museum ID card). It includes an audioguide with superb commentary that leads you through the rooms in an extremely orderly and systematic fashion. As for the rooms? Well, they are simply astounding. I mean, this mansion is so expertly decorated that there is not a vase out of place. Clearly money was no object and even after Andre’s death, Nellie, who inherited his fortune, continued lavishing time and attention on the home and acquired only the finest pieces to fill it. The end result is an absolute treasure chest that can be easily negotiated in one afternoon–even if you linger (as I usually do) over every label to read curatorial notes.

The piece de resistance of the mansion is its “winter garden” (an enclosed space that was filled with huge potted plants), seemingly at the back of the house, that unites the two floors together with a stunning staircase in heavy carved marble and gilded wrought iron. It is on this landing that the Tiepolo is best viewed. Just past the upstairs landing, one is led to the gallery that overlooks the music room below and is in turn overlooked by a marvelous ceiling painting. The layered decoration of the interior recalls the Baroque era but at no point does anything look overdone or stuffy. There is always the lightest of touches and the sure knowledge of when to cease. I left the museum just thrilled at my discovery. I shall tell eveyone to make sure they visit this place when they travel to Paris.

Back on the Bus to the Champs-Elysses:
I got back on a bus only to discover that I was going the wrong way! Since it was almost at the end of its route anyway, I stayed on it and had the most marvelous, breathtaking introduction to two huge Parisian landmarks: the Church known as La Madeleine and the Opera House. I mean these buildings are a study in contrast: the Classical severity of the Church with its repetitive Coronthianlk columns and the Baroque exuberance of the Opera with its gilded sculpture, carved curlicues, massive dome. Needless to say, I made a mental Note to Self: Must discover this area on foot. I also passed by Galeries Lafayette, Paris’ legendary department store (must check out the food section–les alimentaires–downstairs in the basement) and Fauchon (another Temple to Gastronomny). I was tempted to get off and nip into both, but I stayed the course and made it to the end of the bus route, after which I simply slipped into the same bus going on its reverse route.

The Side Gardens and Building off the Champs-Elysses:
When I arrived at the Theater du Rond Point, I began my exploration a pied. The sun was out (yesss!)–just as I had expected. It filled Paris with a happy golden light and put a skip in my step. The theater is nothing to shout about, but just next door is the Palais de la Decouverte which simply translates as the Discovery Museum. It is devoted to exhibits about all branches of science. I did not have the intention of going inside (science not being my exact cup of tea), but boy, was the building something to write home about.

The Palais de la Decouverte:
Constructed as part of the ornate Grand Palais, the Palais de la Decouverte is grand–and I don’t just mean big as in the French sense–I mean, it possesses grandeur. Again, there is a fine dome, what looks (from the outside) like a glass conservatory (probably a greenhouse of sorts), wonderfully sculpted Greek goddesses gracing the pillars and sides and striking panels of ceramic tiling on both sides of the main entrance at the front facade that seem to portray the history of human discovery. Three-dimensional and executed in soft pastels, it was a simply glorious celebration of human possibility in faience. There is also a lovely stone sculpted figure in a semi-circular arch above the main entrance that portrays a beautiful woman (Venus?) on a half-shell (her birth?) Well, the building was astonishingly beautiful and I took loads of pictures before I could drag myself away to complete my walk.

Spotting the Eiffel Tower on the Banks of the Seine:
Just past the Palais lies the Seine and bathed in sunshine, it loses its normal grey-green hue and looks almost tempting. The Eiffel Tower came into view (I am still new enough in Paris that the sight of it stirs me) and another spire close to it (which I need to identify), More pictures taken from the height of the Pont des Invalides (which area includes a lot of nice occasional commemorative sculpture and a narrow avenue of poplars) and I was striding along the quai and begging someone to take my picture against the glory that is the Pont Alexander III.

On Gorgeous Pont Alexander III:
This bridge, like the Grand and Petit Palais, was built to celebrate the Universal Exhibition of 1900. It links the Champs-Elysses with Les Invalides (the huge complex of official buildings which includes the visually stunning gold-embellished Dome Church–which I intend to examine tomorrow on a long walking tour of the area). Alexander Bridge is named for the then Tsar of Russia, a great friend of France, and his profile and that of his Tsarina grace two pillars crowned by sculptures of gilded horses and Greek maidens to create an impressive panorama. To that, add a series of beautifully designed bronze lanterns that line the bridge on both sides and a central motif featuring a golden laurel-wreathed Greek god and goddess and your camera is simply off and running. I savored every second on this bridge, had passers-by take my picture repeatedly and simply delighted in all the eye-candy so generously gifted me.

This was the official end of the walking tour I had started with Livia, two days ago, so I was very pleased to have completed it. It was time to get on a bus and that was what I did. It took me to Cluny (St. Michel) where the stairs going down to the RER station very handily presented themselves. Naturally I hopped on to the train and was home.Although it was long past tea time, I enjoyed a Laduree cuppa with–another discovery this–Marks and Spencer’s Battenburg Cake which Llew would love: two-colored sponge cake sandwiched with jam and covered by a blanket of marzipan. It was simply melt-in-the-mouth delicious!

Mondays are for Grooming:
In keeping with tradition, I applied my face mask, showered and shampooed my hair and attended to the personal grooming chores that Paris insists you stay on top of. Nails and eye-brows were neatened before I skyped with Llew, downloaded the 87 pictures I took today, edited and captioned them and began to write my blog post.

Dinner was another eclectic plate: I whipped up a balsamic vinaigrette, created a salade composee, finished the last of the crepes (did I already say Never Again?), added hunks of a lovely Brie and a sheep’s milk cheese with more buttered baguette and for dessert enjoyed Marks and Spencer’s Honey and Fig Yogurt (good, but I still prefer Salted Caramel and Hazelnut).

Some reading continued until I switched of the light and called it a night after what had been an amazing and deeply productive day!

A demain! 

                  

Vaux le Vicomte Versus Versailles

Jun18

Sunday, June 17, 2012
Vaux le Vicomte

Bonjour!

Awoke to find a strange gold thing in the sky and realized it was the Sun! What a day to make an appearance–the one we’d earmarked for a trip into the country–well almost! Merlun is 45 minutes away from Paris–presque campagna! We rejoiced in the unfamiliar sighting!

Hasty awakening, hasty brekkie (Jordans Cereal with Yogurt and honey), hasty everything, so I could get out the door by 7.45 in time to meet my friend Jen at the Denfert-Rochereau metro platform at 8.00am. I arrived there with several minutes to spare to find Jen (Professor at University of Iowa) just about to get comfortable on a platform seat. Off we went on the metro to Gare de Lyon where I picked up a ticket to Merlun (14.40 euros, aller-retour which is French for round-trip) and on the platform of the SNCF train, we were joined by a third colleague, Leah (Professor at Amherset College in Massachusetts). We made a happy threesome as we boarded the train and sailed away into the sunlight.

Just as I was getting comfortable (my eyes closing gently for a nap!), we arrived at Merlun in time to board the ‘Chateaubus’ that is timed to meet two trains from Paris at the weekend. 3.50 euros later, we were on the bus and off to the chateau past the small village of Merlun, across the Seine, and along a lovely narrow poplar tree-lined road that led straight to the Chateau.

The Chateau of Vaux le Vicomte:
For a first time visitor to Paris, Versailles, the Palace of the Bourbon Dynasty, is the highlight of a trip. For seasoned visitors to Paris (such as the three of us), Vaux beckons because it is the exact precursor to Versailles.

So here’s the story: The Sun King (Louis XIV) had a Minister of Finance called Nicholas Fouquet who made a bundle of money and decided to build himself a grand chateau. He hired the finest Threesome in the land to accomplish his objectives: The Architect Le Vau, the Artist and Interior Decorator Le Brun and the Landscape Garden Designer Le Notre. Together, they created a masterpiece, much to Fouquet’s delight. At the Opening Ceremony, which Le Roi Soleil attended, he was bitten by the Green Monster. Historical accounts are divided about whether he was just jealous that his Premiere Ministre had a house better than his or that he felt sidelined at the Ceremony. Whatever. He became jealous, period. (Shades of another murderous monarch that I can recall across the Channel who visited Hampton Court Palace, was seized with jealousy, threw his upstart Cardinal–Wolsey–in prison, seized his properties and made the Palace his own). Unlike Henry VIII in England, however, Louis XIV did not seize Fouquet’s Chateau (which is a good thing because had he done so, we’d never have had Versailles). Instead, he threw poor Fouquet in prison on trumped-up charges (no doubt) where he was confined until his death in 1680. And Louis? Well, he summoned the Threesome (Le Vau, Le Brun and Le Notre) and commanded them to build him a place that would outshine Vaux a million times over. The result? Well…Versailles. Ta Da!

So back to Vaux: We could not have summoned the sun to shine more gloriously today if we could! It was simply splendid. We paid our16 euros entrance fee and found ourselves in the side buildings that housed the equestrian accoutrements of the times–equipage (carriages), horses and the living quarters of the grooms and syces. Making our way past extensive courtyards, we arrived at the Visitors Entrance (which is the Back Facade of the chateau). Our entire visit was marred by the extensive renovation in progress–from the Dome (its most impressive architectural feature which is completely hidden by scaffolding) to a vast section of the rooms which were out of bounds to the public as they are in an obviously decrepit state.My advice to anyone planning a visit? Wait, if you can, for three years, and go when the entire renovation is complete. Or, if you are on a first-time visit to Paris, just go to Versailles!

What we did see at Vaux were a series of initial rooms meant for Nicholas Fouquet, filled with engraved portraits of himself and his family tree. Some interesting items of furniture such as a solid armoire and a cabinet catch the eye. As the tour wound its way through the more public rooms, they grew increasingly more magnificent. These rooms have obviously been recently restored for the decoration on the ceiling (outstanding paintings by Charles Le Brun) look as fresh as the day the paint dried. In one of the rooms, the ceiling is as breathtaking as that of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel–although its scale is much smaller. Splendid furniture (Boule cabinets and writing desks thickly embellished with ormulu accents), rock crystal chandeliers and an absolute eyeful of painted walls are jaw dropping. On to the King’s and Queen’s rooms (because it was customary, in every castle built by civilians, to reserve a suite of rooms in case the king happened to be passing by and needed a roof over his royal head), which were so fabulous as to beggar description. The ceiling decoration got so ornate that the cherubs and fairies painted on them and lavishly gilded grew three-dimensional as they popped right off the walls–simply astounding! The piece de resistance was a Dining-cum-Ballroom filled with tapestries, the table laid with a grand Oriental carpet, towers of pastel macarons waiting to be sampled, the room lit only by candlelight (as it would have been in the 17th and 18th centuries) and a lovely touch–a film projected on the wall that showed 18th centuries courtiers and their ladies at a ball, all filmed in the same room. It was an ingenious way to end the tour of the upper storey.

We then wended our way down to the basement where we entered the portion occupied by the servants: the dining room and the vast kitchens which have been brilliantly re-furbished with furniture true to the period, loads of copper vessels and cookware and wax models of kitchen staff. This led to a special exhibition on the landscape gardening works of Andre Le Notre who ended up designing all the well-known public gardens in Paris (including the Jardin de Tuileries and those on the Champs-Elysses). An interesting exhibit was his coat of arms: having come from a humble background, he did not have one, but when permitted the creation of one, he chose a shield with a crumbly brown background (to suggest soil) with three snails ambling across, all topped by a large head of green cabbage! It is a hilarious touch and an indication of his huge sense of humor and perhaps a satire also on courtly grandiosity.

Lunch at L’Ecrueil:
It was almost lunch time and our tummies beckoned. Although we had planned ot have a pique-nique on the lawns, we were thwarted, as any picnicking on the property is strictly interdit (prohibited). The cafe-restaurant called L’Ecrueil (The Squirrel) proved to be a good alternative; so, ironically, with our bags bulging with food, we sat down and ate of the chef’s offering: salads (I chose a plate of charcuterie with greens) with wine, desserts (Ile Flottantes, Strawberry Tart, Choux Pastry Filled with Chantilly Cream) and feasted like the queens of yore. It was simply lovely to just sit under a sun parapluie and watch the happy faces of people basking in the summer warmth.

Strolling in Le Notre’s Gardens:
Lunch provided sustenance and a welcome rest for my weary feet. It was time to tackle Le Notre’s vast gardens and we began at the side gardens, past the moat. Vaux is unique in that it has a moat–Versailles does not (simply because Le Notre found a dry patch of land there with little opportunity to create water features). Past the beautiful flowered parterre we went, past the animal statuary (pairs of lions and tigers at play)–all in a dreadful state and badly needing cleaning and restoration–past the flight of stairs and then suddenly, unexpectedly, we were at the Grand Bassin (which cannot be seen at all until you actually reach it). There we saw Le Notre’s ‘follies’–his cluster of fountains (all dry, all in need of salvation) and, in the distance, the towering sculpture of Hercules leaning on his club. For those visitors unable to conquer the grounds on their own two feet, golf carts drive you around the periphery of the gardens. We walked and took in the expanse of impeccable green laws and reflecting pools until we arrived at the flowery parterre again and were enchanted by the Bonsai orange trees punctuating it–full of tantalizing fruit.

A word about why the Chateau and Garden Statuary are in such a state: Well, it is France’s only privately owned chateau that has remained solely in private possession. After the French Revolution, when all other royal property was requisitioned by the new Republique Francais, Vaux remained in private hands–owned by the descendants of Nicholas Fouquet. Known today as the Sommiers, they still live in part of the chateau (their contemporary family pictures were evident in some of the rooms). They are, therefore, not eligible for state funding in the same way that state-owned properties such as Versailles are. Hence, any restoration has to be done by private fund-raising, a truly uphill task. What little they do manage to raise, goes piece-meal into refurbishing and maintaining the rooms and grounds–there is precious little left to acquire period furniture to fill the rooms. Someday, when it is all done, the building will be spectacular inside and out and certainly worth a visit.

We had little time to linger in the stables (although our ticket covered it) because our Chateaubus to the station left the chateau at 3. 10–we did not want to miss it. We took the 3. 45 train back from Merlun and arrived in Paris at 4. 30 in time to hop into a bus and get back home.

Laduree tea awaited as I caught up on my email at home. I was finally able to Skype with Chriselle today and gave her a long-overdue video tour of my apartment, the gardens outside and the hall with its lovely wrought-iron staircase. She was suitably enchanted!

It was then time to make some Father’s Day calls–and I did. To my own father in Bombay to thank him for being an exceptional Dad and my lovely husband who is ditto. Some more Skypeing continued before I attended to chores and feel asleep exhausted at 11. 30 pm.

It was too beautiful a day to expect a repeat tomorrow, so I am not holding my breath.

A demain!          
        

The Not-So-Petit Petit Palais and Lunch with a New Friend

Jun17

Saturday, June 16, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

I am getting accustomed to Paris’ pearl grey skies and the lack of sunshine to bask in. Overcast heavens contribute to my malaise and it was all I could do to drag myself  out of bed this morning to do some more sightseeing.

After the disastrous sandwich of yesterday, when I wondered what all the fuss was about with regards to Eric Kayser’s culinary skills, he redeemed himself splendidly at brekkie. I feasted in my appartement on his croissant which I slathered thickly with Bonne Maman Orange Marmalade, Buerre de Bordier (absolutely scrumptious butter from Normandy with crystals of salt in it), Nutella and peanut butter (all spread separately, of course). And his pain au chocolat is quite simply the best I’ve ever tasted.  With cafe au lait, it was indeed manna from the heavens. I was set for the day after my breakfast fit for the Roi himself.

Off to the Petit Palais:
The Petit Palais, located right opposite the Grand Palais just off the Champs-Elysses, is the home of the Musee de Beaux Arts de la Ville de Paris (the City of Paris’ Museum of Fine Arts). I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but two things drew me there:
1. It is always gratuit (free).
2. I really wanted to explore the building which, like most French palaces, is spectacular even from the outside. I could not imagine what the interior would be like.

I took the metro to Champs-Elysses-Clemenceau from which the museum was just a hop, skip and a jump. Most folks hadn’t gotten out of their weekend beds yet; for the first half, I pretty much had the place to myself.  Although no guided Highlights Tours are offered on the weekends, the museum map is a detailed document containing floor plans, a fine introduction to its history and many lovely pictures. Using it to help me along, I started in the vestibule (just behind the magnificent gilded metal gates) and raised my head to admire the wonderful paintings on the dome and the carvings all over the walls.I learned from the floor plan that the Museum was built in the first decade of the 20th century to house the treasures of the Universal Exposition of 1900 to Charles Girault’s architectural designs. Inside, a number of artists collaborated to decorate the ceilings and walls with paintings and moldings and to install the mosaic flooring.

Being a great fan of glass art, I was absolutely delighted to find a special exhibition on the art glass of Emile Galle, Daum and Lalique in the very first salon in which I entered. Each item was exquisite (and there was also an example of Favrille glass from New York’s Louis Comfort Tiffany).

Further in the museum, which turned out to be so extensive that the name Petit Palais is quite a misnomer, there was every conceivable medium of art on display–from paintings and sculpture to jewelry, porcelain, pottery, silverware, etc. The collection moves chronologically from the treasures of the Louis-es and their varied reigns to the early 20th century. These rooms were filled with tiny enamel boxes, watch cases, etc. as well as a series of tapestries from Beauvais (a French manufacturer that started up in imitation of the wares produced by Gobelins–a French house that is well known and located near the Jardin des Plantes not far from my apartment). As one walked through the galleries, there were 17th century works by Rembrandt, 18th century accoutrements popular with the fops of the period, 19th century paintings that included big names like those of the Impressionists–there were several Manets, Courbets, Monets, Renoirs and even a Mary Cassat. Excellent work by Carpeau (whose study in black marble for Ugoline and his Sons was in the Museum–the final version in white marble is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York) filled one entire gallery. There was a really outstanding Art Nouveau carved wooden cabinet and a superb painting by Louis Ducie of Van Dyke Working on His First Painting, which was picked up by the Sevres porcelain factory and reproduced on a vase. Both the painting and the vase sit side by side in the museum. They were simply superb. Perhaps, however, the most outstanding feature of the museum is its splendid wrought-iron staircase which curves gracefully around the floors and unites the art works within.

So, of course, a word about the building which was truly stunning: Viewed from the formal gardens concealed inside, one realizes Girault’s floor plan which was octagonal. I took a number of pictures of the lush ornamentation on the building’s facade.The museum deserves much more than the two hours I was able to devote to it. I would say it needs at least three. It had been my plan to get there by 10.00 but by the time I did walk through the doors, it was 11.00 am and I had a lunch appointment at 1.00 pm. If time permits, I shall return to take in the rest of the exhibits at my leisure–for the museum is gratuit, isn’t it?

Making a New French Friend:
At 1.00pm, I made my way back to the main entrance to meet Livia, the step-daughter of my Lyonnaisse friend Genevieve. Livia, who is Chriselle’s age, adores America and Americans and nurses the dream of living one day in New York. She was delighted to meet me simply because I happen to be from America. For my part, I liked her because she was funny, friendly, spoke English without being self-conscious about her grammar or her accent and was willing to switch to French to allow me to practice! What a sweet kid!

Shopping at Marks and Spencer on the Champs-Elysses:
Well, Livia asked me what I had in mind to do with the rest of the day. It was still raining and she hadn’t brought an umbrella–so I shared mine with her. I requested her to take the metro with me to George V stop so that I could buy some goodies from Marks and Sparks. And that was where we went next. Laden with the dark green bags which she helped me carry, we then went on to the Ile de la Cite for lunch.If she was amused that I was in France and purchasing British food, she did not say so–for which I was grateful!  

Lunch on Ile de la Cite:
Another hop on and off the metro brought us to the Hotel de Ville which looks much more presentable without the Roland-Garros tent in front of it. The rain continued and grew heavy but we found our way past the Parvis of Notre Dame to Rue de la Huchette, also known as Little Athens. There, in a tiny restaurant called Le Chat Qui Peche (The Fisher Cat), we ordered the Menu Complet (which was a steal at 12 euros) with a beer each  for 4 euros (which was highway robbery). The food was good: three courses–entree, plat and dessert. Livia went for the Avocado Salad but I could not resist the Moules en creme Normande (Mussels in a Normandy Cream sauce). Our choice for our plats was identical–steak-frites. The steak was done just as we had asked: medium rare and was not too large a slab of meat. The fries were equally sensibly proportioned and were served with a side salad. And our dessert (also identical–creme caramel) was fabulous. It took me straight back to my Mum’s home-cooking for she always made a great “Caramel Custard”–which is what we were raised to call it in India. I raised the last sip of my glass to the memory of my Mum and sighed with satisfaction. It felt so good to have company, to be able to savor each mouthful while sharing introductory conversation with someone young and enthusiastic about life. I have been enjoying my solo meals as well–don’t get me wrong–after all, this is France and the food is fantastic. But it is the companionablility of sharing meals that I miss.

Changing of the Guard at Palais d’Elysses:
After our delicious meal, Livia suggested we “bavarder” (chat) for a bit and “flaner” (stroll around). I told her that I would like to cover the area around the Grand and Petit Palais and continue on one of the strolls in the DK Eye Witness Guide. She was game and so off we went. Our rambles took us to the Rue de Faubourg St. Honore–which I had never visited. And then suddenly, there it was–the Palais D’Elysses, the official residence of France’s President. Of course, since the elections just took place and a new President was sworn in (Francois Hollande), the home is in a state of transition. Nicholas Sarkozy has probably moved out but Hollande hasn’t yet moved in. Still at 5. 00pm, on the dot and as if on cue, just as we arrived there, the main ornamental gates of the palace were flung wide open and the Changing of the Guard occurred right before our astonished eyes. I mean, it was not a patch on London’s Buckingham Palace because it invovled a total of six gendarmes dressed with a bit more swagger than the usual ones with gold epaulettes, but it was a treat. And the dozen or so tourists strewn around the gates clicked away (including moi!). It was all over in less than 10 minutes, but it was still a nice unexpected aside in our rambles.

We continued strolling past the embassies of the United States, the United Kingdom and Japan (indicated by their respective flags) and past the Church of St. Michael (which announced Services in English). We passed the fancy-schmancy designer boutiques on this most chichi of Parisian streets. When we reached Hermes, we made a right turn towards another gorgeous palace–the Hotel de Crillon (now an expensive hotel) and then entered the Jardin de Champs-Elysses to pause by one of the large fountains that decorate French gardens. The strict precision of French formal garden design was evident in this space and I could see the hand of the landscape designer Andre Le Notre in its conception.

Visiting H. Dehilerrin Store and Mass at Church of St. Eustache:
Then, it was about 5. 30 pm and time for me to make my way to the Church of St. Eustache near Chatelet as I wanted to catch the 6. 00 pm Mass. I know that tomorrow I will be on a day trip to the Vaux le Vicomte–which means I will not be able to attend church. Checking through my guide book, I found that the Church of St. Eustache is listed as one of Paris’ “Best Churches”–so it made sense to see it.

Just before we entered the church, quite by chance, we found the kitchen supplies store called H. Dehilerrin and since The Barefoot Contessa says it is a must-do, well, there I was, checking the place out. I discovered a treasure trove of kitchen stuff, much of which I already possess. I did, however, covet a set of tartlet pans and little moulds to make Rum Babas–so perhaps I will get them on a future forage around the store.

At 6. 00pm, I found my way into the church. Livia said goodbye as she prefers to attend Mass on Sundays at a chapel closer to her home in La Defense. In the 100 odd years it took to construct the church, the Renaissance was at its height and its decorative elements were expertly incorporated into the church’s soaring interior. It was marvelous to be able to sit up right in front and listen to the choir practising and to realize that they were singing—in English! Well, it turned out that they were a visiting guest choir composed of high school students from San Francisco! They provided a capella music throughout the Mass which made it a very special experience indeed. After Mass, I walked around the church to take in its splendor and was very glad that I had found my way into this very beautiful place of worship.

Of course, by then, I was tired again, and could think of nothing more comforting than to hop on to the metro and get straight home for a nice cuppa. And that was exactly what I did. I spent the rest of the evening Skypeing and getting ready for my excursion with my friends to the Chateau known as the Vaux le Vicomte about which you shall soon hear…

A demain!

A Literary & Artistic Tour Of Paris

Jun16

Friday, June 15, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

I devoted the day to a discovery of the literary and artistic lights that made their home in Paris at various times in history. Needless to say, it involved a whole lot of pavement-plodding; but I soldiered on till the end taking frequent rests everywhere the occasion presented itself. What was not fun was not finding a toilet anywhere. I realize that I often have to get back home just to use the facilities–which might not be a bad thing…or else, like the Energizer Bunny, I’d probably go on and on and on…

The weather is cloudy and overcast every single morning when I awake. London, I realize has the bad rap, but the Parisian weather so far (and this is summer, mind you) is worse than anything I can remember when I lived in the UK. Fortunately, clouds part by mid-morning and the afternoons tend to be brighter, if not actually sunny. Most of my photographs lack shadows precisely because there is no sun in any of them!

No wonder then I spent a lazy morning in bed catching up with email correspondence, editing, organizing and captioning my pictures and blog posting–my daily chores. After breakfast in bed–excellent coffee and Poilane toast with preserves, I finally dragged myself out to go and explore. But first: an errand.  I trammed it to Porte d’Orleans to top up my Lebara SIM card balance so I could continue to make calls, then took the metro to the Church of St. Suplice and made it the start of my rambles.

Dan Brown’s Church of St. Suplice:
The Church of St. Suplice took 134 years to build and was designed by the Italian architect Giovanni Servandoni. It is very unusual for a church in that it has a double-tiered foundation on which rest two steeples both of which are different. Inside, the age of the church shows in grey walls and gloomy atmosphere.

St. Suplice is celebrated for two huge frescoes in one of the side chapels by Eugene Delacroix–it is the reason why he moved into the nearby Maison Delacroix that I had visited last week. One portrays a golden armored Heliodorus Being Driven from the Temple while the other shows Jacob Wrestling the Angel. Visitors pause here to pay their respects before moving into the interior towards the altar. The Chapel of the Blessed Virgin Mary at the back, behind the altar, is striking for a fluffy cloudy interpretation of the Virgin in Heaven–if marble can be made to feel fluffy.

However, St. Suplice would have remained just another historic, Classical Parisian church were it not for Dan Brown’s controversial novel The Da Vinci Code which was published a few years ago. By bringing together an astounding number of allusions to religion, astrology, mathematics, architecture, etc. Brown takes his protagonists on a search for the Holy Grail through four countries–Italy, France, England and Scotland (you can imagine what a field day travel writers had following the novel’s publication–in fact, my tour comes from Fodor’s Guide to Da Vinci Code).

Knowing that the Church of St. Suplice featured in the novel, three years ago, I had  dragged Llew out to the church to find the Rose Line–only to be sorely disappointed. I realize now that the Rose Line does not run through this church–what does is the thin Brass Line that originates from an Obelisk or Gnomon in a corner of the church. From it, emanates a white marble line indented with a thin brass line that climbs three steps of the main altar to pause at a large brass sphere in the floor. The Line then continues down the altar steps and on to the other side of the church to stop at a marble plaque. I learned from reading Fodor’s Guide that, twice a year, at the winter equinox (December 21) and spring Equinox (June 21–coming soon), the sun enters a small hole on the roof and falls exactly on the marble plaque at noon. (I have to wonder how they determined that as it is always raining in Paris in June!)

Following the brass line in the church as carefully as I did, I found it fascinating–not just that so much was known about astronomy in 1646 when construction of the church was begun but that Brown was able to take isolated bits and pieces of scientific history and make them coalesce with Christian theology and doctrine in order to create a page-turner that held the world spellbound. Is it worth going in search of Dan Brown’s Thin Brass Line? I certainly thought so. But then I am a flaneur in Paris and have all the time in the world.

Outside on the great square in front of St. Suplice around the marble Fountain of the Four Cardinals, there was a print fair in progress–from antique books to contemporary lithographs. It seems that every day a different sort of bazaar springs up on the square.

Exploring yet Another–The Church of St. Germaine de Pres:
With St. Suplice so thoroughly examined, I was ready to hit the pavement again and take in the interior of St. Germaine de Pres, Paris’ oldest church. I tried to get on a bus but took the wrong one, got off it, traveled back in the opposite direction and finally ended up walking to the church–which turned out to be only a short block away! Sometimes the distances on maps can be so deceptive!

As always, St. Germaine was buzzing. Like me, there are always idlers with time on their hands to spend sitting on the cafe-trottoirs nursing a small espresso and watching the world go by. They keep the Cafe de Deux Maggots (not  two maggots but Chinese traveling salesmen–the two in question are propped up on a wall inside) and the Cafe de Flore on the other block and the Brasserie Lipp in roaring business–for as in the days of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Man Ray, the cafes are the places to see and be seen. I circumnavigated them before finding my way into the church.

St. Germaine also shows its age–far more vividly than does St. Suplice. The inside is smoky dark and very dimly lit with paintings that climb faintly up the pillars. Other than its age, there is nothing really to commend it–not Delacroix and certainly not Dan Brown. After pausing for a rest and to pray, I got on with my tour.

Marche de St. Germaine:
This time, I made my way along Blvd. St. Germaine de Pres, passing by the Cafe Mabillon that Dorie Greenspan in her blog post on Top Ten Things to Eat in Paris points readers to this place for the best Croque Monsieur in the city–a croque monsieur is essentially toasted white bread with a slice of ham and Gruyere cheese bathed in a rich cheesy Mornay sauce and popped under a grill. I make them at home all the time because I simply love them, but I have yet to taste the legendary one at Cafe Mabillon (and until I find some company, that is not going to happen).

The Marche is just around the corner. It is a huge colonnaded affair that was started a couple of centuries ago at least. It has been completely refurbished and its 20th century avatar is just like any other modern mall–deeply uninteresting to me. A quick sit down for a rest inside (a toilet would have been nice, mais il n’exist pas) and off I went again. I passed a store that was named Anne Elizabeth, the exact name of my aunt and darling godmother whom I lost many years ago. Memories came back sharply and I realize how much I still miss her (she passed away 8 years ago)  and her sister, my mother (whom I lost only three months ago).

Literary Royalty On The Rue de L’Odeon:
I found my way to Rue de L’Odeon, a most nondescript street but rich, so rich, in literary history. At No. 14, Thomas Paine wrote The Rights of Man soon after the American Revolution and then, just next-door, at No. 12 was the original Shakespeare and Co, the bookshop owned by the American Sylvia Beach in the 1920s and 30s. She became a close friend of the fledgling American writers of the Lost Generation, Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and provided a cozy corner in her shop for the exchange of literary ideas. It was she who helped the struggling James Joyce in exile from his native Dublin, Ireland, and trying to make a living as a writer in Paris. She edited, typed and then published the book that changed literary history–Ulysses–in 1922. Although I was two days too early for the celebration of Bloomsday (June 16 in Dublin and around the world, named after Leopold Bloom, the novel’s protagonist whose life in a single day is closely delineated in the novel), I was, by coincidence, very close to the date, very close indeed. Sylvia Beach’s shop was shut down in 1942, in the middle of World War I by the Nazis because she refused to give her only copy of Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake to a German officer.

Wow! I stood outside the building almost reverentially and contemplated that entire string of events and had goosebumps.

At The Theatre National de L’Odeon:
The street leads directly to the Theatre National de l’Odeon where one of the plays I had studied in my undergraduate French minor days (Beaumarchais’  Le Mariage de Figaro–Mozart, of course, wrote the opera on the same theme) played for the first time in 1784. For centuries, the Comedie Francaise had its home here–it has now moved close to the complex of the Palais Royale. It is a neo-classical building, rather severe in its lack of exterior ornamentation. It is for this reason that the area around is known as the Rue de Comedie Ancienne and that was where I was headed next. 

Goodies on The Rue de Comedie Ancienne:
Just as I was entering the street, I saw a very attractive shop selling bonbons and since I hadn’t yet tasted Paris’ famed caramels, I decided to buy a few. So in I went and what a nice time I had selecting my sweets–each wrapped individually in cellophane paper–caramels with chocolate, coffee, orange, figs, salt. After paying for my little packet of goodies, I walked out again to greet the street as I chewed on a caramel. Deelish!

This street is best-known for Le Procope which is supposedly Paris’ oldest coffee shop, having opened its doors in 1686. Today, it is a very swanky restaurant although it does announce a menu complet for just 19.90 euros–an entree, plat and desert. I popped inside the ornate vestibule and was enchanted by the decor–tres classique, and there was a striking flower arrangement filled with fragrant white lillies.

At the end of that street, I finally found Eric Kayser, Boulanger–perhaps one of Paris’ best-reputed bakeries. His bread is supposedly so good that Parisians want a shop on every corner. Good job I needed to replenish my weekly bread supply. I ended up buying a baguette, pain noisette, brioche, croissant and pain au chocolate. I could not wait to try my haul of carbs! And since it was almost 2. 30 and I hadn’t carried one of my homemade sandwiches and was ready for a nibble, I ordered a jambon-chevre (ham and goat cheese sandwich) and  a sparkling Pellegrino and sat at the counter to eat. It was a Club Sandwich and it was horridly dry and tasteless because, for one thing,  there was not even a lick of butter or mayonnaise on the bread. I have to say I have never been more disappointed. This is probably what happens when something gets hyped up so much–you expect manna from the Heavens!

Covered Arcade:
It had started to drizzle (but then what’s new?), so I was happy to pop under a covered arcade on the Rue de Grand Arras (Big Curtain? Also a reference to the Comedie Francaise peut-etre?) where the back of Le Procope came into view. This tiny covered alley was very reminiscent of Dickens’ London and took me back sharply to my favorite city in the world.

From there, I  made a quick left and found myself on Rue des Grands Augustins which actually runs straight down to the Seine. At the corner was another famous Parisian gourmet store–Mariage Freres–a Temple to Tea. The store also includes a Salon de The on the top floor where “Lunch Tea” was in progress when I nipped inside. I wandered around the shop a bit to take it the elegant ambience of tins of tea laid out in rows with so many testers. Tea, like perfume, deserves to be sniffed with a sensitive nose and I had a good time. No, I did not buy anything as I still need to finish my Laduree Melange de Maison. Perhaps when I finish that, I shall turn to Mariage’s Marco Polo…

Picasso’s Studio On The Rue de Grands Augustins:
Then, just a few steps down, I found it: No. 22–the hotel particulier (private mansion) in which Picasso had rented a studio between 1936 and 1955. In the 19 years he lived here, he completed one of his best-known masterpieces–Guernica, his response to the tragedy of the killing of hundreds of civilians in a small village during the Spanish Civil War (now hanging in the Museo Reina Sophia in Madrid, Spain, where Llew and I had seen it a few years ago). Of course, knowing how prolific Picasso was during his lifetime, I bet he did hundreds of other paintings here that are now all over the world. I paused to take a picture of the plaque on the wall and discovered that exactly a hundred years before Picasso occupied the space, the French writer Balzac had written Le Chef D’Oeuvre Inconnu (The Unknown Masterpiece) in this same building! So much artistic and literary history in such a small footprint of space–it really was too much to take in.

Bus back home:
It was time to find a bus to take me home as I was simply too tired to find a metro station. Just a block away, I saw one sail by and its stop happened to be right at the entrance of the ornate Paris Mint–Le Monnaie de Paris. In a few minutes, I hopped on to one and rode to Porte d’Orleans where I bought my groceries for the week from the local Franprix. Laden with food, I caught the tram and got back home at 6.30, by which time I was ready to collapse.

Tomorrow, I intend to go out and find Dan Brown’s Rose Line at the Palais Royal–but first I want to see the Petit Palais.

A demain!  

NEH Session on Papon Trial, Cluny Museum & More Latin Quarter

Jun15

Thursday, June 14, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

NEH Session on the Papon Trial:
Fascinating would be an understatement. During our NEH session this morning, Prof. Henri Russo of the IHTP (Institute Pour Histoire Du Temps Present) gave a superb overview of the Maurice Papon Trial that was held in 1998 in Bordeaux. He was tried for crimes against humanity and after a sensational 6 month long trial, was convicted. With clips from archival footage of the trial, Russo delineated the complicated issues that stretched the trial on and, like the O.J. Simpson case in the US, made celebrities of the advocates in France. I was held riveted by the various nuances of the case, in particular, the references to the bending of courtroom regulations and the ignoring of protocol that the judge in the case permitted. To help me understand the matter even more deeply, I am currently reading Richard Golsan’s introduction to the book entitled Maurice Papon and Crimes Against Humanity in France.

Its amazing how when you have a compelling speaker, time simply flies. Before we knew it, it was well past 1.00 pm. I am looking forward now to hearing Golsan espouse his views on the manner in which France continues to pursue her citizens who were associated with the Holocaust or the regime known as ‘Vichy France’–those who collaborated with the Nazis to round up and deport French Jews to the concentration camps.
 
Off to Discover the Cluny Museum:
With the afternoon at my disposal and a suggestion from my French colleague Alain to go out and discover the Lady and the Unicorn series of tapestries at the Cluny Museum, I rode the metro to St. Michel and found myself right opposite the ruins of the Gallo-Roman Baths upon which the spectacular mansion (or Hotel Cluny) that houses Paris’ brilliant collection of medieval art is stored. But my tummy was rumbling, so I did sit in the little garden just in front of it to munch on my smoked salmon and arugula salad sandwich before I made my way into the Museum. I should make it clear that although it is still colloquially known as the Cluny Museum, its real name is the Musee du Moyen Age (Museum of the Middle Ages) et Thermes de Cluny (Cluny Baths)

One more word about the building: It is just gorgeous–a Gothic style mansion in the midst of the city of Paris can only stop you in your tracks. This has the works: turrets, gargoyles, leaded glass windows, stone staircases and a lovely cobbled courtyard entrance as well. I was given free entry (with my Metropolitan Museum ID card–regular entrance is 8. 50 euros). I picked up a copy of the extensive museum plan in English which was wonderfully detailed and contains a bunch of pictures. And off I went.

The Museum is divided into rooms (culled out of the original rooms of the mansion). It has a number of highlights but the ones that caught my eye were the Heads of the Kings in The Gallery of Kings. These were originally carved around the main facade of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. After the cathedral was vandalized in the 1700s–the heads were separated from the bodies–they were strewn all over the Parvis and were ultimately buried somewhere. They were found two hundred years later during excavations. Meanwhile, a whole new set of Kings were created and they currently stand on the cathedral’s facade. The kings were meant to be viewed from a great height by people standing way down below in the Parvis, Hence, their heads are deliberately elongated–like the subjects of Modigliani’s paintings. The sculpture of Adam (with a huge fig leaf–and I mean huge–covering strategic parts–in the same gallery is also rather striking.

The museum has been ingeniously created around the former Roman Baths and the Frigidarium or cold water bath forms a very good backdrop for a series of sculpture including the Pillar of the Nantes. There are some wonderful sculptures to be found all over in marble, stone, alabaster, wood–although a great many of them are in very poor shape.

The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries:
However, the Museum is best known for the Lady and the Unicorn set of Tapestries of which my friend Alain had spoken. These were woven in the mid-1400s and were only really discovered in the middle of this century in a castle in Creuse when the female French writer who took the pen-name George Sand publicized them. In a perfectly constructed rounded gallery, to show them off to their best advantage, the six tapestries that make up this series, are displayed under very dim light. They are simply marvelous. When I was undergoing my year-long training in Art History at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, many moons ago, I had learned that a weaver working eight hours through the day would have completed a portion no bigger than a postage stamp. I simply could not begin to imagine how much time and effort it would have taken to create the huge tapestries that the Museum boasts.

They feature a beautiful lady (dressed in spectacular robes) and her maid surrounded by a menagerie of animals in a fantastic fabled landscape. All of them include a Unicorn–a mythological animal that appears in many medieval paintings and tapestries as allegories of the unattainable. The six depictions conform with the five senses–the Lady is shown tasting a sweet from a proffered tray (Taste), listening to her maid play a harp (Hearing), looking at a reflection of the unicorn in a mirror (Sight), sniffing a freshly-plucked rose from a proffered basket (Smell) and patting the unicorn’s horn (Touch). The sixth tapestry is the only one that has a line of text that reads: Mon Seul Desire (My Only Desire). This has come to be interpreted as Love and Understanding although some critics refer to it as Sixth Sense–Conscience–that warns us against committing wrong.  Regardless of how one wishes to interpret the iconography in the series, they are simply amazing. The wealth of detail boggles the mind–the background which includes a plethora of flora and fauna and a stunning range of colors–derived from the use of vegetable dyes–have remained as fresh as the day they were woven. It is little wonder that visitors spend the longest time in this quiet room and have almost turned it into a shrine for silent contemplation.

Other items that appealed to me are:
1. The Books of Hours–both large and miniature of which the museum can boast. The illuminations in all of them are breathtaking.
2. The Flemish miniature wooden altarpiece that was completely reminiscent of one of my favorite paintings of all time: Rogier van der Weyden’s Deposition from the Cross (which is in the Prado in Madrid).
3. The Chapel (which is the original chapel from the Hotel Cluny) whose Gothic carvings are just incredible. Fan vaulting on the ceiling and thickly carved pillar supports.
4. A painting of the Deposition from the Cross taken from a church in Avignon.
5. The Golden Rose of Basel–made by goldsmith Minucchio da Siena for the Avignon Pope John XXII.

I spent almost three hours viewing the museum’s treasures and when I left these were my thoughts:
–I can’t believe I have never seen this museum before.
–Granted my stays in Paris in the past have been shorter…but still
–I wonder why I have always rushed to the Louvre and the Musee D’Orsay when this museum has such exquisite exhibits to offer.
–I wish more people would put this museum on their priority list and try not to miss it.
–I shall instruct everyone visiting Paris to make time for this museum (just as I now insist that everyone going to Paris should see the Church of Saint Chapelle).

Sauntering Around the Sorbonne:
Since it was still bright daylight at 4.30 pm, I climbed the hill leading to the Sorbonne with the intention of taking a guided tour of the university. At the Welcome Reception Desk, I was informed that tours are given only once a month on Saturdays and need to be booked well in advance. The tour for June is full-up and the one is July does not take place until after I have left. Hard luck! I guess I must keep something to be done the next time I am here.

However, I was allowed to wander into the main courtyard and, boy, was that astounding! In an absolute gem of Classical architecture, the courtyard rises around the dome of the dominating church built by Cardinal Richelieu when he was in-charge of the college. His tomb in the church is said to be a stunning piece of work–but the church is opened only on very rare occasions (and, I suppose, during guided tours). The two more contemporary sculptures are those of Victor Hugo and Louis Pasteur who sit brooding against the backdrop of the Church. In the corridor at the far end, are arresting frescoes.

Tours also take folks to the Astronomy Tower of which I could only see a tiny bit from the Sorbonne Square when I walked outside and sat myself down besides the very modern fountains. It was a gorgeous evening and the square was full. One of the most handsome couples I have ever seen (I mean the girl was a knockout and the guy was better than any GQ model) asked me to take their picture against the front facade of the church which is Romanesque. These architectural wonders have me by the throat and everywhere I turn I want to take pictures of every stone that has made this city such a showpiece.

Passing by The Pantheon:
If you climb further up the hill from Sorbonne Square, you pass two very handsome buildings that happen to be two of the most prestigious private high schools in Paris and the breeding ground of the country’s future leaders. One of them is Louis Le Grand. Still further up the hill, you will suddenly come upon the grand square of the Pantheon and the monumental building itself that was inspired by the Pantheon in Rome, of course. The neo-Classical Greek pillars of the Church rise to a triangular pediment with a splendid carved frieze (like the one on the Acropolis). This church was built to house the remains of France’s most illustrious sons and daughters after they have been given a state funeral. Because Llew and I had visited it, three years ago, and had done a thorough examination of its awesome painted interiors (featuring scenes from the life of St. Genevieve, Patron Saint of Paris) and had actually climbed up all the way to the dome for scintillating views of the city, I do not feel the need to re-visit it. However, I did take a ton of pictures of its exterior.

In The Church of St. Etienne du Mond:
Well, we had been inside the Pantheon on our last visit, but not to the Church of St. Etienne du Mond which is just besides it–so, of course, in I went, this time round. There is a lovely sculpture of the French writer Corneille in the traffic island just next to the church which creates a nice visual backdrop for his figure.

Inside, the church– like so many churches here–is just jaw-dropping. Rather unusually, there is a carved marble rood screen right in front and very close to the altar. Minute carvings all over it make it highly decorative. Inside, in a side chapel, is the famous Shrine of St. Genevieve which is visited even today by pilgrims and was especially prayed at by Pope John Paul II on his visit to Paris. There is a beautiful stained glass window above a golden reliquary which contains relics of the saint. Just abutting it is a very ornate sarcophagus which encloses the tombstone upon which her body had been laid. St. Genevieve has a very special significance for Parisians and this church, being so closely associated with her, is of utmost importance to them.

I spent some time in silent prayer, then walked down the hill to a bus stop and found one that brought me straight to St. Michel and on the RER home. I really do enjoy these bus rides as I am learning the geography of the city through them and becoming very familiar with its nooks and crannies. Although I absolutely love walking in the city, I have to admit that I feel very fatigued and my feet and my knees simply hate the idea of pounding the pavements as much as I have been doing. The buses are proving to be a real boon as I can hop on and off them at will and take the weight off my feet whenever I feel as if they have had just a little too much.    

I got home in time for tea and to take a nice hot shower and get organized for more sight seeing tomorrow. I don’t think I shall ever tire of this fascinating city.

A demain!

The Catacombs of Paris and The Latin Quarter

Jun13

Wednesday, July 13, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
I went from the sublime (yesterday, Exhibition on Artimesia Gentileschi) to the ridiculous (visit to the Catacombs of Paris). And yes, it turned out to be third time lucky; for today, after trying for three days in succession to get in, I finally managed to traverse the Catacombs of Paris.

Annoyingly, some inconsiderate oaf (garbage collector?) shouting outside my window woke me up at 6.00 am. Unable to get back to sleep, I tossed for awhile, gave up the fight and began captioning my photos online. A call from my friend, Jacques from Normandy, confirmed that he and his wife Florence will indeed be visiting me here soon. I am very excited to see them again. After a quick yogurt and Jordan’s cereal breakfast, I was out of my apartment at 9. 15 and at Denfert-Rochereau Metro station at 9. 30 am.

Queuing for the Catacombs:
Despite the fact that I arrived at the Catacombs a full half hour before they could open, I was 25th in the queue! Fortunately, it wasn’t raining, but it was freezing and my hoodie did little to keep me snug. I began to wish I had thrown on my rain jacket as well. The line grew like Jack’s beanstalk and within the half hour at least 300 people were in it by the time the doors opened at 10 am. I was given a reduced price ticket of 6 euros (being a professor). Normal entry fee is 8 euros.

The Geological History of Paris:
A trip to the Catacombs starts with a descent down 133 spiral  stone steps that go underground to a depth of 20 meters. Going by the initial exhibits that you see on the wall when you arrive at the landing, you’d think the most interesting thing about the excursion is the formation of  Parisian limestone deposits underneath–and not the gigantic ossuary which is what every visitor actually goes to see. There was loads of information on the manner in which the sea flooded the city of Paris in the hoary past. When it retreated, it created layers of soft porous rock known as limestone. It was from this stone that the entire Cathedral of Notre Dame and Baron Haussman’s Belle Epoque Paris was constructed.

Quarries that Became an Ossuary:
Indeed, for thousands of years, since the very Roman occupation of France (when France was known as Gaul and Paris was known as Lutece), people quarried underground for limestone in Paris. Large slabs were hacked out of the ground and transported to the top where they were used for construction. Hence, the tunnels through which we walked to get to the ossuary (and they went on for almost a mile) were dug hundreds of years ago–until the limestone quarries were no longer in use.

In the late 1700s, when it was felt that the graveyards of all the churches of the city should be dug up and their remains exhumed and moved, for sanitary reasons, to another place, the transportation of bones began. The limestone quarries that no longer served a purpose were thought to be the best place to deposit the bones. The process started in 1780 and went on till 1860.Nothing was haphazard. The placement of every single bone is carefully documented with stone plaques revealing which churchyard they were dug from. I discovered that the body’s two longest bones (the femurs–or thigh bones) and the skull are the ones that last indefinitely. And it is these that dominate the collection.

At the entrance is a sign in French that says: “Arrete, c’est ici l’empire de la Mort” (Halt, This is the realm of Death). Because documentation was such a big deal, the bones are neatly stacked around stone plaques indicating the Parisian church graveyard from which they were removed. The stacks are so high that some were taller than I am. A foot of femurs (pun unintended!) was usually punctuated by a row of skulls. In most cases, the lower half of the skull (the mandible) has disintegrated so that only the cranium remains. Occasionally, the stackers got creative and devised fancy patterns for the arrangements of bones–you see hearts of skulls or arches and sometimes, there are skulls and crossbones–as in Pirates flags. I heard a fellow visitor in an American accent say: “Well, these guys would do well working in supermarkets today. They sure knew how to stack”.

When the quarries were no longer used as an ossuary, i.e. after 1860, it was thought necessary to map out the miles and miles of subterranean pathways, so that modern markings clearly indicate under which Parisian landmark or milestone the tunnel sits. This obsession with organization is almost Roman in its precision.

Towards the end of our tour, there were stone altars set against the walls and a vast number of quotes from French poetry and literature delineating the inevitability of death and the triumph of mortality carved on stone slabs. Although it was dark in the tunnels and we were prohibited from using the flash on our cameras, there were enough electric lights to prevent the space from feeling creepy or spooky. Instead, one felt a deep sense of reverence for the 8 million Parisians of past centuries whose remains lie below.

Although none of the bones can be personally identfied, we can be certain that the remains of some well-known Parisians are in the Catacombs. The writer Francois Rabelais and the painter Simon Vouet (who, coincidentally, actually formed a close friendship with Artimesia Gentileschi whose work I saw in the Musee Maillol yesterday) are among them. And during the French Revolution, several notables were buried directly in the quarries after being guillotined. Among them are: Danton and Robespierre, Madame Elizabeth (sister of King Louis XVI) and the scientist-chemist Antoine Laurent-Lavoisier.

I have to say that this was one of the most interesting experiences I have had in Paris so far. I do not believe that such a receptacle for human remains exists anywhere else in the world and this is what makes it so unique. I understand also that the place has been turned into a venue of tourist interest only very recently. For decades, it remained so isolated that during the Nazi Occupation of Paris, members of the Resistance met in secret in these tunnels.

It took me exactly an hour and a quarter to complete my examination of the catacombs after stopping frequently to take pictures, read the explanation on the walls and the signage. At the exit, an attendant checked my bag. When I expressed surprize, she lifted a small sheet and showed me the skulls that had been ‘shoplifted’ from below by tourists looking for a souvenir! Talk about human perversion! Needless to say, there were no bones in my bag! When I resurfaced, after climbing 88 steps, I was not far from the Mouton Duvernet metro station–which means that I had walked the distance between two whole metro stops while underground–that was a whole lot of walking!

Off to Gare Montparnasse:
It was my intention to use the rest of the day traveling on the train to Chartres, in order to see the Gothic cathedral there. So I hopped into the metro and arrived at Gare Montparnasse where I joined the line at the Information and Ticket counter to book my SNCF ticket. It was only when I found out that the next train was a whole hour later plus that the return would cost me 30 euros, that I decided that the excursion was much too pricey. There were so many places I could continue to explore for the first time in the city without having to travel about100 kms away.

So I decided to get home, pick up my guide book and do a walking tour of the Latin Quarter. Just then I passed by a Starbucks and since I had to run an errand for my friend Ian in New Jersey (he collects Starbucks destination mugs and wanted one from Paris), I decided to go inside, buy the mug, get myself a mocha frappucino and use the free wifi. And that was exactly what I did while giving my feet a rest. An hour later, I was on the metro heading home. And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as I got home, I lay down on my bed and fell fast asleep. When I awoke, it was 4.00 pm and after such a blissful rest, I was ready to go out again and encounter the Latin Quarter.

Loitering Through the Latin Quarter:
Paris’ Latin Quarter is so-called because in centuries past, when the Sorbonne–the Parisian University–was founded in the 12th century (contemporaneous with Oxford and Cambridge in England), the population spoke Latin (the language of the learned). They lived in the area in little garrets and poured over their parchment all day!

Today, the area is a lively mix of narrow streets crammed with ethnic eateries (Little Athens, right in the heart of the maze offers Greek food, for instance), ancient churches (the beautiful little Greek Orthodox Church of St. Julian The Poor and the grand Flamboyant Gothic style Church of St. Severin are neighbors), distinguished University buildings (the main building of The Sorbonne and the College of France are both here decorated with superb sculpture on their facades), museums (The Cluny Museum–now known as the Museum of the Middle Ages– is here in a spectacular old mansion which I shall visit tomorrow), and book stores by the dozen (from the famous Shakespeare and Co, that literary landmark from the time of Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein is here as are modern French bookstores like Gibert Jeune).

In the course of my walk, I entered one of the side doors of the Sorbonne and was informed that guided tours leave from the main entrance. I visited the Church of St. Julian The Poor as well as the Church of St. Severin and they were both awesome although completely different.The latter has an impressive three-tiered Gothic structure and wonderful stained glass windows. I spent a while lingering in Shakespeare and Co, to absorb the atmosphere of a place made famous in literary history by its famed patrons. Upstairs, there was a reading on by the American writer Debra Spark which I peeked into for just a few minutes. The life of the bookstore continues to remain vigorous almost a whole century after its renowned patrons left Paris forever. I longed to partake of a fondue meal in one of the restaurants in Little Athens that offered Cuisine Savoyarde (Fondue and Raclette) but, of course, being alone, this is one thing I cannot do. I consoled myself with the thought that it was too early for dinner anyway!

When I got home, I put the kettle on for a cuppa of Laduree tea and cake from Marks and Spencer before jumping into the shower. My feet were grateful that I spent the rest of the evening in bed with my PC writing a new blog post, editing and captioning my photos.

The Latin Quarter is just charmingly old-fashioned enough to make me want to go back for more. Tomorrow after my NEH session, I shall return to see the Musee Cluny and, in due course, I shall take the brilliant literary walking tour outlined by Lonely Planet.

A demain!     

         

Buon Giorgno Artemisia! Plus Celebration NEH Dinner

Jun13

Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

NEH Session on Vichy:
Our NEH session this was morning on ‘Vichy and its Legacies’ was conducted by Richard Golsan and Henri Russo—both specialists on the subject. The first hour was given to Group Responses to Visit to Battlefields of the Somme on Saturday. Well, 15 American academics CAN talk. Their reflections (which includes yours truly) went on for over an hour—all very poignant, very intellectually and emotionally engaging. A short break followed, after which ‘Vichy as Depicted in Fiction and Film’ became the topic of discussion. Later, much later than 12 noon, we concluded—must have been closer to 1.00.

I sat in the Lounge at the CISP and ate my homemade smoked salmon and arugula salad sandwich—deelish! Fortified, I took the metro from Porte de Vincennes (which I found quite easily) to Gare de Lyon to buy my tickets to get to Lyon on the weekend of Jun 21. I am very much looking forward to seeing dear Genevieve again. We have been friends since we were 13, when I lived in India and we first started writing to each other as pen-friends. I will be spending a couple of days with her family in Lyon (husband Frederic, and sons Louis and Amaury whom I know and love) and then on to Rumilly, the little village in the Haute Savoie where she was born and raised, where I will meet the rest of her siblings whom I also know very well. It will be a fond reunion.

The clerk at the SNCF train station recommended that I buy Une Carte Escapades—valid for one year; it gives me huge discounts on tickets for travel anywhere in France. It costs 75 euros but after buying it, I saved 30 euros on the return ticket to Lyon. If, as I intend to do, I make the pilgrimage to Lourdes and travel to the Cote d’Azur, I will have recovered the money on the Carte within the next month. I must use it wisely and well. The line for the tickets was long and moved slowly but the clerk was very helpful indeed.

Off to see the Catacombs of Paris–Second Try:
Having tried to see the Catacombs yesterday and finding them closed (on Mondays), I made another brave attempt to get directly to Denfert-Rochereau. The line was unbelievable when I reached there at 2. 30 pm. Some American guys in the front told me they had been waiting for 2 hours! By the time I reached the end of the line, a sweet assistant informed me that the wait was 2 and a half hours and last entry in to the Catacombs was at 4. 00 pm. I probably would not get in today, she said, and advised me to return tomorrow. Since I live only 15 minutes away, I intend to arrive by 9. 30 am and be part of the first batch that is allowed in at 10. 00 am (only 200 people are allowed inside at any given time—hence the crazy queue). Hopefully, it will be third time lucky.

On the bus down Boulevard Raspail:
Refusing to be daunted, I took a bus and sailed down Boulevard Raspail with the intention of getting to Musee Maillol to see the special exhibit on ‘Artemisia Gentileschi’ which is currently on. In 10 minutes, the bus arrived and in another ten, I was entering the beautiful building called the Hotel Bouchardon which was the home of Aristide Maillol–hence the Musee Maillol–a 20th century French painter and sculptor. This was another first time visit for me. Stunning sculpture on the building’s façade was a fitting decoration for a building that offered an intense artistic experience.

Buon Giorgno Artemisia:
Readers of Diane Johnson’s novel Le Divorce that is set in Paris (made by the late Ismael Merchant and his partner James Ivory into a film of the same name starring Kate Hudson) will remember that the family dispute had begun over its possession of a painting by Artemisia Gentileschi. How appropriate it seemed that I was at an Artemisia Retrospective in Paris! And how wonderful it was to lose myself in the work of a startlingly unconventional female painter during the Renaissance—a time when men like Michelangelo, Raphael and Donatello dominated the art scene and would scarcely have taken easily to the presence of a female encroaching upon their turf. Fortunately, Artemisia was born to the well-known painter Orazio Gentileschi who taught her everything he knew about the craft before she struck out as an individual and developed her own style—which is quite obviously deeply influenced by Caravaggio.

About 65-70 Artemisia paintings are on display including a self-portrait. Her work is stunning. I mean it grips you by the throat at the very beginning (Susanna and the Elders) and keeps you gasping right through the end. For some strange reason, Artemisia was fascinated by the subject of Judith and her servant Abra with the Head of Holofernes and there are several versions of it done throughout her short artistic life—in Rome, Florence and Naples where she is supposed to have died of the plague. In like manner, there are several versions of Bathsheba in her Bath helped by her Ladies-in-Waiting. Interestingly, in all her paintings, her Biblical characters wear contemporary Italian Renaissance clothing. I even noticed that a bracelet on the hand of Judith in one painting is identical to the one Artemisia is wearing in her self-portrait. Her St. Jerome is so striking I could feel him breathe and could barely move away from it. It was probably my favorite painting in the exhibition. While the subjects of her work are limited, the scale is just spectacular. Her canvases are large and the intensity of her passion for her work clearly obvious. What a marvelous exhibition and how fortunate I was to have caught it!

One work that was equally arresting in the exhibition was by Artemisia’s father, Orazio. His David with the Head of Goliath was the most unusual miniature I have ever seen in my life. It was painted, not on porcelain or ivory as are the norms, but on a tiny slab of lapis lazuli (a cobalt-blue semi-precious stone that is quarried only in Afghanistan and Northern Pakistan and was so expensive during the Renaissance that Master Painters could only afford to use the color—achieved by grinding the stone finely and mixing with oil) sparingly (and, therefore, usually reserved for Mary’s mantle in medieval religious paintings). Well, Orazio ingeniously incorporated the blue background into his landscape creating a base for the physically exhausted David that is unbelievably powerful. The end result is a miniature painting that it was hard to tear myself from—simply brilliant!

Buying Cheese at Barthelemy:
Thrilled with the success of my artistic mission, I stopped at Barthelemy, Paris’ legendary fromagier (cheese shop) which was next door to Musee Maillol to buy my weekly supply of cheese. The middle-aged ladies who run the store were far from helpful and even though I spoke in French and asked for advice, I felt brusquely steered towards a Brie. I picked it up and then also grabbed a harder cow’s milk cheese and hoped I had made the right choices—I like my cheese to have a strong, mature flavor. Nous verrons…

Back on the Bus home:
I am becoming far more confident about using the buses and am enjoying my lovely rides through the city in them. I hopped into a 68 at Boulevard Raspail, got off at Porte d’Orleans and then took a tram for two stops—home within 20 minutes! Paris buses move much faster than the lumbering double-decker London ones and their stops are far more limited.

I barely had time to gulp down a cuppa and enjoy my croissant d’amandes when I had to shower and rush off to the CISP for our celebration dinner. The evening called for a dress (I usually live in trousers), so out came my stockings too! Back on the metro to Bel Air I went and at 7. 10, I was at the lobby waiting for the rest of our group to get to the restaurant for dinner.

NEH Celebration Dinner:
I have to say that I was doubtful about the choice of venue, the CISP Restaurant: I mean, of all the restaurants in Paris, did we really have to eat dinner in the same place where our sessions take place? But I have to admit that I was mistaken. The venue was lovely—the tables set beautifully with saffron table linen and white china plates and silverware and large posters from classic French films lining the wall. Lovely!

Kir was offered as an aperitif at the adjoining bar with a few nibbles—which is exactly how the English do dinner parties (no heavy appetizers for them as is common in America). And then someone said “A Diner” and off we were. By the end of our five-course meal, I could barely stand!

We began with the classic French starter (which, incidentally, are called entrees in France)—slices of musk melon (cantaloupe) with smoked salmon (prosciutto) and tiny balls of mozzarella—all beautifully plated. Bread and butter made the rounds as we dove in. White wine did the rounds too.

The main course (Le Plat) was Beouf En Croute (Fillet of Beef in Pastry—similar to Beef Wellington but minus the pate stuffed inside). This was tender and succulent and served with grilled potatoes and tomatoes and a ‘bundle’ of haricot vert (green beans) tied together with a string of bacon! Tres Bon! Bottles of red wine did the rounds this time.

The third course was a plate of cheese: there was a blue veined cheese and a milder one (I would guess cow’s milk). More bread and butter was made available.

The fourth course—le desert—was presented with a flourish: two large logs of Baked Alaska were brought to the table. Our server poured cognac generously over the top and flambéed them. Blue flames licked the meringue that covered the rum and raisin ice-cream and layer of cake beneath and ignited it. The aroma wafted deliciously around the table. Then he skillfully carved slices off the logs and plated them. It was heavenly!

The fifth course was tiny cups (demi-tasse) of strong espresso which took the roof right off my mouth. Two sips and I was ready to swing from the chandeliers from the combination of wine and caffeine.

It was all I could do to make the 10 minute walk at the end of the evening to the metro station with my colleague Jen. It had been raining all evening and the trek in the downpour hadn’t been pleasant. But our amazing meal more than made up for our soaking.

A superb day. I could not have asked for better! Hopefully, tomorrow will be just as wonderful.

A demain!

Mortuary Moments in Montparnasse Cemetery

Jun11

Monday, June 11, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

Today I went out in search of the macabre side of Paris. Because we focus so much on Paris a la Mode, not much is known about the Catacombs of Paris by the local folks. Possibly only readers of American guide books make a beeline for the venue. And so did I. This afternoon, after a very late and lazy start, indeed after spending the morning catching up on my blog posts and email and photograph organization (editing and captioning), I made myself a baguette sandwich and left the house. My aim was to get to Denfert-Rochereau (which I reached in just 10 minutes) to head straight to the Catacombs.

A Trip Thwarted:
No one seemed to know where the Catacombs are–indeed several French passers-by had never even heard of them. When I heard a group of people talking in American English, I decided they would know. And right enough. The guy who came forward to help me also informed me that they were closed on Mondays! Darn! I should have read the fine print on my brochure. But I had mistakenly assumed that everything here is closed on Sundays. He showed me the little shack outside of which, he said, a line forms, daily. He advised me to come in early. I think I shall leave the excursion for Wednesday morning.

In Search of the Dead at Montparnasse Cemetery: 

Since I couldn’t get into the Catacombs, I thought I would continue the macabre theme by touring Montparnasse Cemetery close by. About 12 minutes later, I was at a side entrance where a surly guard told me he did not have a map to give me. He directed me to a board and expected me to figure out my way through hundreds (maybe thousands) of grave stones in search of the ones I wished to identify. He did not even tell me that I could have gone to the main entrance where maps are, in fact, available!

Refusing to be daunted by his lack of civility, I began to walk amidst beautiful family tombs dating from the mid to late 19th century. The mortuary sculpture was lovely and most of it has stood the test of time well. Come to think of it, there really isn’t much difference between these Victorian graveyards, be they in England or France. Montparnasse is similar to Pere Lachaise Cemetery which is similar to Brompton Cemetery in Fulham on Highgate Cemetery in Hampstead ( I have visited the latter two in London).

Which is not to say that if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Far from it. Each one enchants in the delicacy of sentiment expressed through word, statue, shape and form. There are angels and cherubs, flowers and acanthus wreaths, elaborate Gothic tracery on stone windows and every manner of crucifix. Every single one of them is a fascinating expression of the love we still hold in our hearts and memories for those who are no more.

I traced my steps in the direction of the tombstone of Jean-Paul Sartre (Father of Existentialism) and his lifelong companion and muse Simone de Beauvoir (feminist and author of The Second Sex) and, before I knew it, I was at the entrance where a much nicer guard gave me a map and pointed me in the direction of the graves I sought.

Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir are buried under the same gravestone–if not in the same grave–not very far from the area they had frequented during their long intellectual life together! But their grave is very modest indeed and but for a few wilted flowers, there was nothing to mark it out as special.

A more contemporary writer whose grave I wished to see, Marguerite Duras, was even more hard to find. Her gravestone is covered with long-dead plants and moss has grown in the crevices in which her name is engraved.

From there, I tried to find the tomb of sculptor Constantin Brancussi; but tree-trimming maintenance was going on and the area was out of bounds to visitors this morning. From there, I attempted to walk towards the grave of Samuel Beckett (initiator of the tradition of the Theater of the Absurd). But his grave was impossible to find amidst the hundreds clustered together. I hope he is at peace as he remains Waiting for God(ot)!

I reached the main central sculpture entitled Genie du Sommeil Eternel by H. Daillon set in a sea of flowers. From there, it was easy to find Susan Sontag’s rather plain grave. Ionesco’s grave was also easy to spot as it wasn’t lost amidst a bunch of others. The American actress Jean Seberg still seems to have fans for they had strewn black and white stills from her films all over her grave. The French sculptor, Henri Laurens, a leading figure in the Cubist movement, probably designed his monument himself, during his own lifetime. It makes a startling contrast to the more classical shapes that surround his tombstone.

The cemetery of Montparnasse is extensive (as all such cemeteries are) but it is not as massive as Pere Lachaise. After spending about two hours, playing hide and seek with the glorious dead, my feet needed a rest.l I sat on a bench and ate my sandwich lunch while watching women come into the cemetery, pick up one of the plastic watering cans and head towards the grave of their loved one. How marvelous of them to continue to keep these graves pristine with their seasonal plantings and regular waterings!

At Montparnasse Tower:
I left the cemetery and followed the path leading to Montparnasse Tower, possibly the tallest structure in Paris after the Eiffel Tower. It is an ugly grey glass skyscraper, a true abomination in the midst of the graceful Belle Epoque buildings that surround it. But at its base is a shopping mall and I decided to get to Galeries Lafayette to use the rest room and to browse in the Food Halls. Alas, they do not have any food halls in this branch (the main store is on Boulevard Hausmann).

Exploring Le Bon Marche: 
Outside, I found a bus stop, hopped into a bus to Boulevard Raspail with the idea of going to Poilane for my weekly stock of bread. When I jumped off the bus, I found myself right at the entrance of Le Bon Marche, another famous Parisian store that I had wanted to explore. The store is just beautiful and the ground level is filled with furniture by Le Corbusier. This time I headed straight for L’Epicerie de Paris–the food hall. I had the best time wandering amidst the international food offerings. They carry everything from Walkers shortbread in the Great Britain section to peanut butter in the American. In the boulangerie, as I was checking out the brioche and the baguettes, there they were–Poillane loaves, neatly cut into halves! This would eliminate a walk to Rue du Cherche Midi. I bought the bread and a couple of croissants for breakfast and then I was off on another bus home.

Grooming Time:
Monday is for personal grooming and I spent the day like une vrai Parisienne–shampoo and shower and manicure-pedicure. Paris is the sort of city that makes you feel as if every aspect of your appearance should be impeccable and I have been trying to keep up the image. That, combined with more work on my computer, more organization of my pictures and a few calls, led me to dinner (scrambled eggs and smoked salmon with Laduree tea) and ice-cream with fresh fruit for dessert.

It is time to call it a night, so I will say…

A demain!

     

Mass at Notre Dame Cathedral, a Tour of the Conciergerie

Jun11

Sunday, June 10, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

‘International’ Mass at the Cathedral of Notre Dame:
It was the second time in a week that I took public transport to get to the Ile de la Cite and this time round, I learned that I could get there on the RER (much faster than the metro) in just 15 minutes from my appartement! I arrived for the 11. 30 am “International Mass” in time to join the throngs waiting to enter The Cathedral of Notre Dame on a cloudy Sunday morning. Thankfully, queues were divided into those entering for “Messe” and those going for a mere “Visite”. I was ushered to a seat by une dame des colonies and a very good seat it was too.

International Mass turned out to be half in Latin, half in French, with a main celebrant from a former African colony. Thankfully, printed versions of the mass (with English, Spanish and German translations!) were distributed so that the obviously international congregation could follow easily. As opposed to the mainly non-white, immigrant congregations I have noticed in most Parisian churches, this one was mainly white, mainly tourists.

Beautiful singing and a beautiful homily in French, made the experience memorable. I had to pinch myself, not just to believe I was actually there in Paris at a magnificent Gothic cathedral that has stood since the 6th century but that it was neglected and almost razed to the ground until Victor Hugo stepped in to save it. His novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame is arguably responsible for bringing the cathedral to the public notice and saving it. Somewhat like my other hero–Sir John Betjeman–who single-handedly saved St. Pancras Station in London from the demolition brigade.

Visiting Rue de la Festival:
When Mass ended, I filed outside with the thousands of others who had taken a break from tourist hordes for quiet spiritual meditation. But outside on the Parvis, in celebration of Rue de la Festival, everyone was in festive mode. I entered a large white shamiana, out of curiosity, to discover a rap band belting out a song that had some reference to Sarkozy while cake, coffee, tea or jus d’orange were being offered if the audience cared to stay. I didn’t. My aim was to complete the walk around Ile de la Cite that I had begun a couple of days ago and it was at the Conciergerie that I intended to start.

Comme Flaneur:
Unfortunately, as is my wont, I strayed off the intended track and arrived at the quais of the Seine which took me to the Place du Vert Galant, considered to be one of the most magical in Paris. It is the mid-point of the Pont Neuf, which, despite its misleading name, is actually Paris’ oldest bridge. Its handsome masks enliven it, depicting, as they do, monsters with varied facial expressions–I found them fascinating.

Across the river, the Festival du Sud de France was in full spate. I simply had to check it out. So across the bridge and down the steps I went to the quai and roamed freely from stall to stall enjoying un peu degustation. Before I knew it, I was being offered every tasty morsel the South is capable of producing–smoked meats, cheese, delicious tapenades, wonderful sweet spreads, saffron-flavored honey, organic apricots and cherries, olive oil flavored with lemon rind or chilli flakes. I had eaten a madeleine earlier and I realized that these tidbits would have to suffice as it would be a while before I could get home for lunch. This is another one of the things I love about Paris–for the gourmet, there is always an endless variety of  goodies on which you can nibble. Sadly, my sulphur allergy keeps me from tasting the wines or else, you can be assured I would have been roaming the stalls with a verre in my hand!

The Conciergerie, Enfin:
Finally, I did find my way to the Conciergerie but not before I had taken many pictures of the bords de la Seine stretching along the length of the Louvre. How sad to see the famed department store La Samaritaine looking so hopelessly forlorn as it goes through a renovation. Many moons ago, as a struggling graduate backpacker in Paris, the rooftop of this store had been my poor man’s Eiffel Tower. Arthur Frommer’s ‘Europe on $50 a Day’ which had been my Bible at the time, had advised us to get to the rooftop for stunning views of the city–and I had done just that. How times change!

Well, to enter the Conciergerie, I had to pay a fee of 8. 50 euros–certainly well worth it. The man who inspected my ticket turned out to be a Tamilian from the former South Indian French colony of Pondicherry and how delighted he was to meet me and speak to me in French! He took special care to give me brochures in both French and English and directed me to the tour guide. But since the tour was only in French, I decided to use my guide book to find my own way around.

The value of that 8. 50 euros became increasingly clear to me! The Conciergerie which derives its name from the prison-keeper or Concierge, is rich in French Revolutionary History. We started our tour in the Hall des Gens D’Armes–the men with arms. In fact, it is from this expression that the French police–the gendarmes–get thier name! In centuries gone by, this part of the building–which is part of the complex of the Palais de Justice–was double-storied. The top storey has disappeared with time, but fragments of architecture survive to indicate its former presence.In the medieval hall, said to be the largest surviving one in Europe, large banquets were held on a long marble table–of which only one fragment, now nailed to the wall, survives. There is a kitchen at the side where those banquets were prepared, but it is now shut to the public.

At the end of the hall, past the gift shop, is where the true interest of this monument to history lies. One sees first the stalls or cells (cellules) that were occupied by the three classes of prisoners–for the Conciergerie started its life as a prison. Wax human models of bygone prisoners recreated the feeling of life in that dismal space. The Pailluex, those poorest prisoners who could afford nothing more, bedded down each night on straw, paille  in French–hence their name. Conditions were appalling as several inmates were crowded into one cell and the stench was revolting. Those who could afford to pay for a bed were the second class of prisoner. Although their conditions were equally grim, at least they could segregate themselves from the odor of the common spaces. The more famous of the prisoners–writers, political dissidents, celebrities–were given a tiny cell to themselves, a bed, a desk, a candle by which they could continue to read or write. They were the most exalted class of prisoner.

The exhibition then wound its way up a flight of stairs to a room in which glass vitrines contained a list of names of the thousands were who imprisoned in the Conciergerie before being sent to the guillotine on the Place de la Concorde during the bloody Revolution of 1789-93. The lists go on and on–making it obvious how merciless were the scales of Justice in that awful time.

Celebrity Prisoners in the Conciergerie Including Marie-Antoinette:
In yet another room, the visitor sees paintings, drawing, letters and some personal effects of well-known prisoners such as Madame du Barry, Danton and Robespierre (who initiated the Revolution and then were guillotined by it) and Charlotte Corday who murdered the Marquis de Sade in his bath tub. This room leads to the one in which Robespierre spent his last days.

You then descend down a staircase that leads to a chapel. It is behind the altar of this chapel that Marie-Antoinette was imprisoned and from where she went to her trial that lasted two days in a neighboring room in the Palais de Justice. In this room are three paintings that depict her last days–her conversion to religion by receiving Communion and making her last confession. Bas-reliefs on the wall pay homage to the memory of her husband, King Louis XVI who was killed before her and her sister-in-law Elizabeth.

The chapel leads out to the Women’s Courtyard where female prisoners were allowed to take the air daily. Contemporary accounts state that despite their incarceration, these French women still focused on their fashionable appearance and vied with each other to look their best. The poorer women rushed to a large marble fountain (still standing) to wash their clothing and themselves in an attempt to keep their sanity amid their decrepit conditions.

Marie-Antoinette’s Last Days:
A small door then leads the visitor to the most poignant part of the visit–the cell of Marie-Antoinette which has been replicated quite stunningly with wax models. Uneasy indeed lies the head that wears the crown. There are her guards and the partition screen that she was afforded to allow her to maintain her privacy. Her meagre possessions are also evident. Dressed in her final days as a widow, following news of the guillotining of her husband, she cut a sorrowful figure. It is reported that she remained a model of dignity during her trial–like the true Austrian princess she was. Two days after her trial, she was also guillotined at the Place de la Concorde where, again, she was possessed of tremendous dignity.

There are several films and slide shows that visitors can watch throughout the visit to get an idea of the horrific times that gripped France during the Revolution, when the Monarchy was overthrow and the nation was on the road to becoming a Republic.You can take pictures everywhere to immortalize your visit and at each stop there is a great deal to read, to look at, to take in, to absorb.

I spent over two hours at the Conciergerie and felt completely enlightened by my visit. Continuing with my intention to focus in Paris on those places I have never seen or been to, I am keeping the more celebrated sights for later in my stay. Tomorrow, for instance, in planning to get to the Catacombs and the Cemetery of Montparnasse, I will come to close grips with the morbidity of Paris,

Back at my apartment, I spent most of the evening online and, inspired by The Barefoot Contessa (Ina Garten)  made myself a superb grazing platter with all the odds and ends following what Nigella Lawson calls a Fridge Forage: cheese, pate, prosciutto, roast chicken, olives, tomatoes, apricots, cherries, toasted baguette–washed down with cups of my Laduree tea with lemon and honey. It is delicious and I will probably still have some scraps leftover for tomorrow.

A demain!