Tag Archive | St. Germaine de Pres

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!  

Free Museum Sunday in Paris

Jun4

Sunday, June 3, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
It bucketed down throughout the night and, upon my awakening, I discovered that it had turned miraculously cooler. My bathroom window that overlooks Boulevard Jourdan revealed that no one was about when I awoke at 6. 45 after a fitful slumber. Jetlag, still persisting from our Australia trip, is driving me nuts as I am only sleeping for an hour at a time. After a quick breakfast of Poilane’s melt-in-the-mouth croissants, I made my way out to the Metro station. This time I was wise enough to buy a carnet of 10 billets to use as I wish (cost 12. 70 euros). They might prove cheaper than the day pass.

When I emerged at Tuilieries metro station, I was greeted by a giant sculpted lion that guards the entrance as well as overlooks the fantastic monuments that are sprinkled over the enormous Place de la Concorde. My heart leapt at my first sight of the Eiffel Tower, albeit under terribly overcast skies. It remained dolefully grey all day and a fierce wind whipped uncomfortably around.

Free Museum Sunday:
A word about why I set out at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday: Every first Sunday of the month, Paris’ major museums are opened to the public sans charge. I was determined to make the most of this benefit and planned to see museums I had never seen before. Most visitors make an early beeline for the Louvre or the Musee D’Orsay. I chose instead to make a date with Monet.

The Musee de L’Orangerie and Monet’s Water-lilies:
At exactly 9.00 am, when the museum opened, I found that about 200 people in the line had beaten me to it. Situated at the southwestern edge of the Palais de Louvre, the Musee de L’Orangerie is visited for one reason alone: a chance to appreciate the amazing genius of Claude Monet in the series of massive paintings he made of the water-lilies in his garden at Giverny, about an hour and a half from Paris. Titled Les Nympheas in French, they are monumental works of art that changed the course of 19th century Art History. Monet’s obsession with light led him to paint the same subjects over and over again at different times of the day/night and under varied weather conditions. Much of his work, therefore, appears in series, eg. the Cathedral at Rouen, the Houses of Parliament from the Thames, Haystacks, etc. However, it is his water-lilies for which he is most renowned, partially because the Musee de L’Orangerie was especially constructed to display them to their best advantage. Hence, they have found a permanent home in this building and attract countless visitors.

Two large stark white oval rooms contain a total of 8 canvasses: Room 1 is devoted to the Waterlilies and they are simply stunning. I never dreamed they would have so moving an impact on me. I kept gazing at them and thinking only a genius could put two thick pink strokes on a blue background and be able to convince the viewer that they were flowers on a pond! The Second Room contains paintings of the pond with trailing willows in them. Both rooms exhibit their subjects with no perspective or peripheral points of context. Thus, your attention is forced on to the subject with no visual interference to distract. Monet intended it to be so: when supervising the installation of the paintings in the two rooms, he had stated that he wished the museum would provide a space of serenity in the mad bustle of life. And they certainly did–at least judging by the reverential silence with which viewers gazed at them.

The museum also contains the personal collection of art dealer Paul Guillaume whose varied Paris apartments in the beginning of the 20th century were decorated with his vast acquisition of Impressionist and Modernist masters. A whole room houses work by Chaim Soutine (with whom I was largely unfamiliar). Other prominent artists whose work is on display here are Andre Derain (his spectacular portait of Mme. Guillaume is riveting), Modigliani, Utrillo and, of course, Picasso, who was a close friend. Cezanne is very well represented with major works including the Two Young Girls at the Piano.

There was also an interesting special exhibition on composer Claude Debussy and his association with art and artists. In a few rooms filled with masterful works that had traveled to France from Berlin and Liverpool, the synergy between the diverse branches of artistic endeavor became clearly evident.

Strolling on the Champs-Elysses:
I left the L’Orangeie, and completely enthralled and exhilarated by the success of my visit, decided to walk along the Champs-Elysses, Paris’ best-loved avenue to the Arc de Triomphe de L’Etoile as it is a monument I have never climbed. Being that it was free, it made sense to garner views of the city’s brilliant design from an unusual vantage point. My stroll was just marvelous. Although it was chilly enough to require me to zip up my windcheater, I was not disheartened. I soon came upon the delightful statuary that punctuated the broad chestnut-tree lined avenue. Striding purposefully, as if straight into battle, is General Charles de Gaulle. Just behind him the monumental proportions of the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais loom and then sandwiched between them, albeit in the distance, is the commanding presence of Les Invalides with its embellished gold dome. I just adore the architecture of this divine city and my camera was clicking non-stop as I tried to capture some of the imposing spirit of these buildings and the feeling they must strike in every French breast of pride in the motherland.

Shopping on the CE:
For old times’ sake and because Llew and I have such happy memories of a stay there, I paused at the entrance of the building on Rue de la Boetie on which we had stayed, three summers ago. Sadly, the Monoprix on the corner was closed. In fact, the CE is an altogether different beast on Sundays when all of Paris’ commercial life grinds to a halt–obviously, les francais are not as devoted to Mamon as Americans are. Another landmark, Laduree, the oh-so-elegant tearoom on the CE and my personal favorite, was closed for renovation although it is still possible to purchase their sublime house blend tea (Melange) and pastries from a pop-up store. Guerlain was launching a new fragrance (Ma Petite Robe Noire–My Little Black Dress!), so I stepped in for a sniff! Lovely! It is fruity and warm: the way I like my parfums! Think I might have found a replacement for dear Jo Malone! And then, I sighted it!!! Marks and Sparks! And it was open! On the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the shop was doing brisk business in the sale of Jubilee souvenirs. I was sorely tempted to buy a souvenir box of biscuits but settled instead for my old favorites: Coffee Walnut Cake and Salted Caramel and Hazelnut Yoghurt! Armed with my purchases, I strode on towards the Arc de Triomphe which was crawling with tourists.

For the next ten minutes, I tried every trick in the book to cross the broad circular road to get to the monument. No luck. Finally, I took my life in my own hands and zigzagged through the maddening traffic and made it! Rushed to the little window only to find that in my haste, I had incorrectly read my guide book: the free entrance is only available between November and March! Merde! Well, I wasn’t willing to cough up money on a day when I could go into other places for free, was I?

Sunday Mass at the Church of the Miraculous Medal:
So I zigzagged across the street again to the metro station and disappeared underground to catch Sunday Mass in the Church of the Miraculous Medal on Rue de Bac of which my brother Roger had informed me–a place in which he has frequently attended Mass while in the city. Mass was in French, the congregation was composed entirely of immigrants (loads of Haitians and Senegalese) with a rare white face sprinkled in although the ushers were all old white men. Nuns from every part of the world were around and while I was told no photographs were allowed, it seemed allowances were made for the clergy! The nuns were posing and clicking away and no one said a word to them!!!Privileges of the habit, I suppose! The church is small but gorgeous and the altar so beautiful that I felt sorry not to be able to preserve it in my memory with a picture. The church is also noteworthy because, although it is much less known than Lourdes or Fatima, the Blessed Virgin appeared before a local parishoner at a site not far from where the church was built.

Food Shopping on Boulevard Raspail:
With my feet protesting and my tummy demanding attention, I walked briskly to the organic market (“marche biologique“) on the Boulevard Raspail about which every guide book (and the Barefoot Contessa) raves. Enfin! After my wild goose chase of yesterday, I expected nothing short of perfection. And I was not disappointed. At the entrance on the Rue du Cherche Midi, there was a line for the marvelous potato pancakes (les galettes) of Les Gustalins. The handsome chef oiled the griddle, took orders, poured on the batter, collected money, packaged the goods–all with a calm tranquility and a lovely smile. The pancakes smelled heavenly and I could not wait to try them. But I would wait until I could give my poor feet a rest. A few stalls ahead, I picked up a chevre–goat cheese in fine ground red herbs–and a good wedge of Tomme De Savoir which the fromagier allowed me to taste. Yum! Another few feet ahead, I got the last of a thickly seeded baguette–studded with sesame, poppy, sunflower and pumpkin seeds. Alas, I could not purchase one of the roasted chickens as the lady informed me that they were all “reserve”.   Only in Paris are roasted chickens reserved for those with a toe-in.

Lunch at the Jardin de Luxembourg:
Armed with my goodies, I walked three blocks down to enter the stately Jardin de Luxembourg, a multi-acreage of chestnut trees, roses and sculpture. I found myself one of the famous jade green chairs, placed deliberately within full veiw of  stunning scultpure of a drunken Silene–to tuck into my yogurt. Then I cursed myself for not having bought many more–it was so deelish! Meanwhile, I enjoyed the spectacle of every passer-by stopping to pause in wonder and take pictures of Daumon’s amazing sculptural Silene. I also consulted my map to find out how far away I was from my next freebie and saw that the Maison Delacroix was only a few blocks away–which is to say that I would be passing two landmark churches along the route: the Church of Saint-Suplice (which Dan Brown made famous in The Da Vinci Code as the one that has the Thin Brass Line passing right through it) and the Church of Saint Germaine de Pres.

Suddenly, An Antiques Market Appears:   
That’s the beauty of this city: soudain, from out of nowhere, when you turn a corner, you come up slapbang with a market selling brochante! And because I cannot resist a good rummage, there was I looking enviously upon all manner of things old and interesting–books, carpets, paintings, china, silver, crystal, porcelain, jewelry, even Hermes scarves! And what’s more…there was no junk….everything was in impeccable condition–what they call ‘mint’ in the business. All beautifully arranged around a flamboyant marble fountain in the front yard of the church. Of course, I had a happy trawl through the stalls but then I hurried off, past two churches and the happy Sunday afternoon crowds of St. Germain.

A Date with Delacroix:
It was so difficult to find Delacroix’s home, partly because while I have a lovely laminated weather-proof map, it is not really that good. (Mental Note: Must visit the Tourist Information Center for a really good one.) After making inquiries (can you believe that the sales staff in several art galleries shrugged their shoulders as if they had never heard of Eugene Delacroix!), I finally found the entrance in a truly delightful little square on the Rue de Furstenberg (which, I learned later, is used a lot for filming and I could see why).

Upstairs, a sweet young thing greeted me at the entrance, informed me that it was “gratuit” today, took my bags away and left me to take a self-guided tour. For a small home, the place was packed–so many people took advantage of the free Sunday! Only three rooms make up the house in which the artist who painted France’s most iconic painting, “Liberty Leading the People” (which hangs in the Louvre) lived and died. We saw his modest 19th century drawing-room which contains a number of his sketches and studies, the bedroom in which he breathed his last in the company of his faithful servant, Jenny Gillou (whose portrait he painted and which also hangs in the room) who provided a heartfelt account of his passing and then, the piece de resistance, his studio (reached down a wrought-iron stairway fragrant with gigantic roses). The studio is vast and light-filled and looks upon a lovely little garden that Delacroix had loved. More contemporary paintings by artists he had known filled the studio in which his most famous work was accomplished. Then, I climbed down some more stairs to sit awhile in the lovely private garden and breathe in the fragrance of yet more David Austin roses in soft baby pink.

Back Home (with a few Detours):
Then, fairly fainting with fatigue and with serious discomfort in my feet, I returned to St. Germain-de-Pres but lacking the energy to visit the church, I quickly strode to take pictures of two of France’s most famous bistros: Les Deux Maggots  (made famous by the frequency with which the American writers of the Lost Generation, Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald–as seen in Woody Allen’s recent  film Midnight in Paris, had sipped and munched there) and Cafe des Flores (in which France’s Existentialists, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, Albert Camus and Ionesco, had paused to contemplate the nature of life and the world). How I would have loved a cuppa myself in one of these tearooms! I miss Llew so much on such occasions because while I might scour a city to its last crevice, I do draw the line at taking tea alone in a restaurant.

Then, I disappeared down the metro and was almost home, absolutely knackered, when Llew called to remind me that the Queen’s Flotilla Parade on the Thames was on the telly. Not having a set in my room, I borrowed the key to the basement TV lounge, had it to myself as I watched the pageantry. Ten minutes later, I dozed off and when I awoke, I seriously wondered where I was. The coverage, of course, was all in French. I searched for a channel in English but with little success. Still, my French is improving by the minute by immersion and I am very pleased.  An hour later, I left the lounge, got home and slept for a straight hour.  I awoke to have dinner: a toasted baguette pate sandwich followed by coffee and walnut cake. By then, I was so sleepy that I jumped into the shower and thought I would download and caption my pictures when I ran into a huge computer glitch that made me lose my pictures of the previous day. SOS messages first to Llew and then to Meredith, my clever computer consultant in the US who skyped with me, and my day was saved.

When I eventually fell asleep it was 4 am…and that is a record even for me!

A demain!