The Commune

This year marks the 150th anniversary of the Commune, a government that held power in Paris from March to May 1871.  It's a period of history that no one much likes to talk about, perhaps because it was marked by so much internecine violence.  Or perhaps because no one, left or right, is willing to talk about the failures on both sides.  Whatever the reason, mementos about the period pop up around town, from the grafitti scratched into a wall in the 19th to a mural in the 7th, or streets in the 18th dedicated to the Commune's standard bearers.

Here's the Cliff Notes version as I understand it: 

In early 1871, France was at a low point, having just lost the Franco-Prussian War.  Paris had particularly suffered in this conflict; during the months long siege by the Prussians, there were severe food shortages and people were reduced to slaughtering pets and vermin to stay alive.  When the Germans finally left, the city was in tatters, social and economic conditions at a low point.  Discontent among the working class, that had been simmering for a decades, came to a head.

The future of Paris, however, lay not in their hands but with the national government which, like the kings before them, feared what Parisians might do if given the right to control their own city.  And so the workers took matters into their own hands, forming a new government called the Commune and immediately issued various decrees issued to improve quality of life:  educational reforms, separation of church and state, relief of debt for working men, and the abolition of night work.  The national government and its army retreated to Versailles.

And then from what I can gather, chaos ensued.  The revolutionaries were not fully prepared for the task of governing and the military powers were hell bent on breaking the revolutionaries at any cost.  No one was willing to negotiate.  Blood ran in the streets and fires burned, destroying many parts of the city including the Tuileries. At the end, the national government was triumphant, the revolutionaries shot or exiled.  And nothing much changed.

And yet the fight continues.  A conversation with friends who live in the 7th and 8th criticized a recent exhibit on the Commune at the Hotel de Ville as being predictably skewed towards the revolutionaries, the mayor of Paris being after all a Socialist.  In the 20th, the mairie sanctioned creation of a mural celebrating the anniversary. (To fully appreciate this mural, click on the picture below and it will enlarge.)

And opposite this wall, a billboard calls upon local residents to join the spirit of the Commune in carrying out unfulfilled promises for social and economic improvement.

Vive la Commune?  It's not for me to say.  But as for keeping history alive and using it as a tool for social progress, I'm all for it.

Dishing Up History, One Metro Station at a Time

Métronome was on the French best seller list for months before it came to my attention.  Actually I don't pay any attention to what's hot in the French press because most of it is way beyond my capabilities.  (And just as an aside, do you know the French term for "best seller"?  Yes, that's correct:  "best seller.")  The only reason I picked it up is that my French teacher thought it would be a good book to read together.  And she was right.  Written by French actor Lorànt Deutsch, the book tells the history of France through a clever conceit:  20 chapters, each named for a station of the metro and each representing one century.  The tone is light, the stories well told, and the reading level was well within my grasp.  (Not that I didn't have to have a dictionary on hand, you understand.)  And even though I've read quite a bit about French history since the Renaissance, this book provided an easy introduction to the preceding centuries, beginning with the Roman founding of the city of Lutece.

Deutsch followed up on the success with a companion book, Métronome  Illustrée , that follows the same formula but replaces prose with photos, maps, and captions.  Francophone or not, it's the perfect addition to your coffee table or nightstand.  And stay tuned.  Deutsch is hard at work on a follow up volume to be published in 2012; a television mini series, produced by France 5, is also in the works.

War is Hell

The same day I visited the American Cemetery in Suresnes, I also stopped literally just around the corner at Mont Valérien, once a destination for religious pilgrims but more infamously during World War II, the site of numerous executions of French resisters by German forces.  There are several components of this site, not all of which were open the day of my visit.  The pictures below are from the principal monument, inaugurated in 1960, which honors those who died for France between 1939 and 1945.  Fifteen bodies were  placed in the crypt which was subsequently reopened to receive the ashes of some who died in Indochina and other victims of war.

The contrast with the lush green peace of the American site just down the hill is stark.  All stone and metal and no greenery to soften up the edges.  The best word to describe it is brutal.

What the above photo doesn't show very well are the 16 bronze reliefs by different sculptors depicting either specific battles or different aspects of the war.  Saumur (below) describes the fall of soldiers in that town in June 1940 under horrific conditions.  No romanticization of war here.

Sadly, despite this inscription, the eternal flame was not burning.

The site is always open but you should probably check the Web site before you go if you want to see all aspects of the memorial, some of which are only open limited hours.  Like the American Cemetery, the site is accessible by the Transilien commuter train from La Defense and the T2 tramway.

A Tale of Two Passages

At the tail end of the 18th century and into the mid 19th, builders in Paris were keen on creating a new kind of retail shopping experience -- the covered passage lined with shops and lit by skylights.  At one point, there were 150 of these galleries, primarily situated on the Right Bank in the area known as the Grand Boulevards.  Only a handful remain today, the most elegant of these being the Galerie Vivienne in the 1st arrondissement.  I don't imagine I could afford any of the gowns on offer here and cups of tea go for a pretty penny too.  It's the kind of place that cements the reputation of Paris as the center of elegance and style.

But, as is so often the case when it comes to Paris, the image doesn't exactly jib with the reality. While the Galerie Vivienne is all sophistication, the Passage du Caire (which actually predates Galerie Vivienne by some thirty years) is all business without the frills. Located in the Sentier, the city's garment district in the 2nd arrondissement, its central hallway is busy with workers carting boxes and pushing racks. 

Don't plan on making any purchases here, that is unless you own your own shop.  It's purely wholesale.  But even so, it's worth the trip.  What the interior lacks in charm, the exterior, built at the time of Napoleon's campaign in Egypt, more than compensates.  

Victor Hugo

As an American, I knew Victor Hugo as the author of Les Miserables, hard to escape if you ever turned on public television during the 1990s.  And though this epic, set during the revolution of 1832, along with The Hunchback of Notre Dame, is probably his best known work even in France, to the French, he is much much more.  Poet, politician, human rights activist, visual artist, and force behind the restoration of Notre Dame, he was honored in his lifetime and also in death with a parade of 2 million accompanying his body to its resting place in the Pantheon.

You can visit his home in the Place des Vosges, now a free museum operated by the city of Paris.  Or get off the Metro at the stop bearing his name and walk down the avenue which also bears his name and you will find this sculpture above the doorway of no. 124, the site of a now gone building where he once lived.

Yet More Americans in Paris

If you've been thinking about heading out to Normandy to visit the American cemetery near the landing beaches, by all means do so.  It's an incredibly moving experience that you really shouldn't miss.  On the other hand, if time is in short supply, you can always get off the Transilien commuter train or the line 2 tramway in Suresnes just south of La Defense and head up the hill a short distance to the Suresnes American Cemetery and Memorial.  In stark contrast to French cemeteries which, in my experience are pretty much solid stone, this resting ground is resolutely American:  lush green lawns with crisp white markers.  In fact, if anything, the white Greek temple like chapel on the top of the hill reminded me of the Custis-Lee Mansion that overlooks Arlington National Cemetery just across the river from Washington, DC.  And when you look down from the hill in Suresnes, you don't see the Lincoln Memorial but there is an impressive view of the Seine and the city of Paris before you.

Why an American cemetery in the suburbs of Paris?  Most of the 1,500 some headstones mark the graves of personnel who served in World War I, many of them victims of the Spanish flu who died in a nearby military hospital.  Others served in various capacities in World War II and for various reasons were never repatriated.  Thanks to the generosity of the French state, the land was given to the U.S. for its perpetual use, free of charge or taxation.

The day I happened in for a visit, my friends and I were greeted by the cemetery's superintendent who shared both his devotion to maintaining the memory of these fallen soldiers and his gratitude to France and her people for their longstanding support of the U.S. from its very origins.   He also mentioned that he would like nothing better than for visitors and residents alike to come out to the site. 

The Suresnes site is maintained by the American Battle Monuments Commission which operates 24 American cemeteries and 25 memorials, monuments, and markers in 15 countries.  It is open daily from 9 am to 5 pm with the exception of New Year's Day and Christmas.

Traces of the Temple

This plaque, bolted to the exterior wall of the mairie of the 3rd arrondissement, is all that's left of the building where Louis XVI and his family were held prisoner during the French Revolution.  The prison was part of a larger fortress built by the Knights Templar in the Middle Ages.  By the end of the 18th century, their power had long been broken and much of the old fortress destroyed.  It was from here that the king was sent to the guilllotine in January 1793; Marie Antoinette was subsequently sent to the Conciergerie before she met the same fate.  The prison was finally torn down for good in 1808 to prevent it from becoming a pilgrimage site for Royalists.   

If you have a bit of imagination, go to the corner of rue Gabriel Vicaire and rue Dupetit-Thouars where this map will give you a sense of how the Temple's grounds relate to today's street map.

Special thanks to Jacques LeRoux who has taught me so much about Parisian history, art, architecture, and culture.

Changed for Good

People being people, I'm sure someone got their panties in a twist over the change in the name of this tiny street in the Marais.  Abutting the Memorial de la Shoah, the renaming goes hand in hand with the creation of a set of plaques commemorating the bravery of Parisians who risked all to protect their Jewish neighbors during the occupation of World War II.  The courtyard of the Memorial is lined with the names of those who perished in the camps; thanks to the justes (the righteous as we would call them in English), the list is thankfully not any longer.  We'd all like to imagine that we would be similarly brave but it's impossible to know how any of us might act under the circumstances.

Miscellany of History

You can barely walk down the street in these parts without encountering a piece of history.  Little memorials, plaques stuck to the side of buildings, brass markers seem to be everywhere, almost as ubiquitous as that other stuff on the sidewalk (although I think I've already said quite enough about that) and absolutely more welcome.  Here are a just a few of the little bits of history I've encountered lately.

In Parc Monceau, the spot where in October 1797, Andre-Jacques Garnerin made the world's first parachute jump.

On my monthly hike outside of Paris, a small plaque noting the residence of the jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt in the charming little town of Samois sur Seine.

Carved inscription on a building of no particular importance today indicating the spot where the young Louis XIII was made king after the assassination of Henri IV.  He was only eight at the time; his mother Marie de Medici served as regent until he reached majority at the age of 13.



A marker designating a building on rue des Colonnes, one of the few buildings constructed in Paris during the Revolution. This arcade preceded, but surely inspired, the one now present on the rue de Rivoli.  The decorative work on the capitals is unlike anything else you'll find in Paris.

The Louvre's Back Story

When you're visiting the Louvre and ogling all those amazing masterpieces from your art history books, it's easy to forget that the Louvre was first and foremost, not a museum, but a royal residence.  That is, it was until Louis XIV decided to decamp Paris for the grander setting of Versailles.  And despite the many renovations over the centuries, the galleries still bear the marks of the kings who used to live there.  Here are just a few I captured on a recent visit:

There's the H for Henri II, intertwined above with D for his mistress, Diane de Poitiers.  Some say there's also a C for his wife, Catherine de Medici, but I'm guessing that's just rationalizing.

You've got K for Charles IX, the second son of Henri II.

L intertwined with A representing Louis XIII and his wife Anne of Austria who by the way was Spanish, not Austrian.

A generic L sometimes with a B for Bourbon, perhaps representing Louis XIV, XV, and XVI.

NL for Louis-Napoleon, not the short guy from Corsica, but his nephew who became Napoleon III, leader of the Second Empire.

Not all of these initials are authentic to the time period of the kings they represent.  Many were destroyed during the Revolution and in the subsequent upheavals during the 19th century.  If you want to learn more, read this interesting article on the Louvre's Web site.   And next time round, go on your own treasure hunt for remnants of French history.

Memories of War

Algeria's a place that's never been very high on my radar screen, that is, until recently when all the turmoil began in the Arab world.  After the dramatic events in Tunisia and, more recently, Egypt, all the pundits are trying to figure out which country will go next and how on earth it will all play out. 

France has a complicated relationship with its former colonies, and some of the wounds are recent enough to still be somewhat raw.  This austere modern monument, the work of Gérard Collin-Thiébaut, is dedicated to the memory of some 25,000 French and pro-French Algerian soldiers who died during the Algerian War of Independence between 1954 and 1962.  Their names scroll electronically in alphabetical order down the first column.  The second column is essentially the supporting text, the type you would normally find inscribed at the base of a more traditional monument.  And the third column is interactive (via a kiosk just off to the side) allowing  you to look for a particular name from the list of thousands that scroll through the first column.  This monument lies on the left bank of the Seine, close to the Musée du Quai Branly.  It was erected in 2002 and regrettably has been defaced multiple times perhaps by vandals or perhaps by those with a political agenda.  

While the clean lines of this monument are aesthetically pleasing, let's all hope for a future in which there is less need for such memorials.  Let freedom ring in peace.

High Water No More

Loyal readers may remember my post about the high level of the Seine at the end of December.  Well, the other day, I was back in the vicinity of the Pont de l'Alma where the statue of the Zouave stands, the one that is used as a gauge of the river's level, and discovered that his feet are nice and dry,

Just for comparison, here was the situation in December:

And here's the state of affairs this week:

It's still hard to imagine those terrible days in 1910 when he was up to his neck.  If you care to know more, look for Paris Under Water by Jeffrey Jackson at your local bookstore or library.  Jackson, an American historian, tells an interesting tale about the causes and consequences of the flood, and mixes in many interesting anecdotes, both heart renching and heart warming.



Catherine de Medici

What would you get if you combined equal parts Joan Crawford, Nancy Reagan, Imelda Marcos, and any woman who ever commanded a European empire (think Elizabeth I of England, Maria Theresa of Austria, or Russia's Catherine the Great)?  Well, you might have someone very like Catherine de Medici, who despite being the daughter of Italian merchants, was the driving force behind the politics of France in the 16th century.  Virtually ignored by her husband Henri II while he devoted his energies to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, Catherine nonetheless managed to bear him 10 children.  Each was more hapless than the last --- she saw three of her sons become kings of France although none go down in the history books for being anything other than sickly and inept.  She was ruthless with her enemies and careless in her plotting.  Her plans to execute a handful of top French Protestants spiralled out of control to become the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre which after six days resulted in somewhere between 5,000 and 30,000 deaths.  She was devoted to her husband, cruel to her children, obsessed with finery, and dabbled in the occult.  Really, how much more fascinating can you get?

Leonie Frieda's biography helped me better understand Catherine de Medici's place in French history and the disastrous fissures caused by the French wars of religion.  It's quite long and fairly detailed although she includes maps and family trees to help you keep all the Henris, Valois, Bourbons, and Guises sorted out.   And if you're looking for traces of the queen in current day Paris, you'll have to search.  The Tuileries palace is long gone as is the Hotel de la Reine which sat near the present day Bourse de la Commerce.  The only thing that remains of that palace is a single column which she and her astrologer used to track the planets and plot the future.

Happy Birthday Ben!

Today's Ben Franklin's birthday.  Or rather it would be if he were still alive at 305.  So let's just say it's the anniversary of his birth, a date momentous both for Americans and for the French.  Franklin did the leg work to get the French behind the ragtag Continental Army in its fight against the mighty British.  It didn't turn out so well in the end for the French (being tremendously expensive and distracting Louis XVI from other things that he might better have spent his time attending to) but by all accounts, French support of American independence was an absolutely essential ingredient to the American victory in our Revolutionary War. 

Franklin arrived in France in 1776 at the age of 70 and by all accounts, he charmed the pants off the French.  Some say his French was atrocious, some say he was an outrageous flirt, some say he played the part of the country bumpkin (coonskin cap and all) to the hilt.   Let the historians sort it all out. What's indisputable is that he stayed almost 10 years, leaving finally in 1785, having been party to the Treaty of Paris, and leaving the ambassadorship to Thomas Jefferson.

The house where Franklin stayed in Passy (on the corner of rue Raynouard and rue Singer) is no longer standing but in addition to the usual historical marker, the current building sports a rather large stone monument in his honor.  There's a statue of him just inside the grounds of the U.S. embassy, off the Place de la Concorde, although they don't let you take a picture of that.  For the rest of us, there's a thoroughly satisfying homage just to the south of Trocadero, on the street that bears his name.

Chateau d'Ecouen

After sharing my disappointment with the Medicis exhibit at the Musée Maillol, it's only fair that I bring to your attention something positive on the museum front.  As luck would have it, I not only have something upbeat to say but it's also about works from the same period.

Now the Chateau d'Ecouen is not exactly convenient -- it's located a good 20 kilometers north of Paris.  By road, it's not a particularly pretty drive.  And while you can get there by train from Gare du Nord, the station is a bit of a hike from the center of town.  But if you're up for adventure, go for it.  The building was the home of Anne de Montmorency, a man close to both France's great Renaissance king, Francois I and his son Henri II.  But this is not just a chateau; it's also the site of the Musée National de la Renaissance.  For an entry fee of just 5 euros, you get to see a castle almost entirely from the Renaissance era and a collection of tapestries, paintings, ceramics, furniture, and curiousities par excellence.  For every one precious object found at the Maillol exhibit, there are at least a dozen of the same type at Ecouen plus there's practically nobody there.  Seriously.  The galleries are large and well-lit and a plus for visitors at this time of year -- well heated too.  If you are up to pay a bit more, there are guided visits every Saturday and Sunday on specific themes.  If the guide is anything like the one I had, it is well worth the few extra euros and so much more engaging than an audioguide.

It was far too gray, gloomy, and chilly this week for a tour of the park but it looked pretty grand.  And if you have a car and the time, the Abbey of Royaumont is just a stone's throw away and well worth a visit itself. 

But don't take my word for it.  Go to the museum's Web site and take a look around.  Everything you need to know about the musee can be found right here.

From the Source

The first time I walked by the little park on Avenue Victor Hugo just shy of Avenue Henri Martin in the 16th arrondissement, I was baffled by the sight of an older lady toting a suitcase caddy laden with a plastic crate full of water bottles.  She appeared to be filling up her two liter bottles at the park's pump.  "That's odd,"  I thought.  "Does city water really cost so much that folks on fixed incomes are reduced to getting their water this way?" 

Only much later did I find out that the pump at Square Lamartine is connected not to city pipes but to a spring of naturally pure water.  There are two other such sources in Paris:  one at place Verlaine in the 13th and another at place Hebert in the 18th.  The one in the 16th has a particularly interesting history.  While the current well dates back to the works of Baron Hausmann in 1855, the area was well known for its healing waters much earlier.  Benjamin Franklin, who lived in Passy during his years as envoy from the nascent American nation to the French court, was said to have returned to the U.S. with a stash of barrels containing the spring water.

Personally, I'm not too picky about my water so I can't tell you how Lamartine water rates against Evian, Volvic, Cristaline or any of the other 200 some brands of water marketed in France.  Or for that matter, I have no idea how it stacks up against what comes out of the tap.   If you really want to know, hop on the 63 bus or metro line 9 (rue de la Pompe) and check it out for yourself.  Just be sure to bring your own bottle!

Passage de la Reine de Hongrie

This photo isn't my best work but that's not the point.  This door marks one of the many covered passages that can be found in the city of Paris, some all tricked out with fancy shops, others literally just passages from one street to another, in this case between the rue Montmartre and rue Montorgeuil in the 2nd arrondissement.  (This entrance is at 17 rue Montorgeuil.)  It's a cautionary tale about Julie Bécheur, a shopkeeper at the nearby Les Halles market, who lived in the passageway.  One day, she took a petition to the queen of France on behalf of the other women of the district.  The nature of her grievance or request is lost to time but not the remark made by Queen Marie Antoinette that Mme. Bécheur reminded her of the queen of Hungary who just happened to be the queen's mother, the all powerful Maria Theresa.  Apparently, this flattered Mme Becheur enough to repeat it to all the neighborhood.  In time, there was hardly a soul who hadn't heard about the queen's remark and somewhat as a joke, someone changed the name of the passage to reflect the importance of one of its residents.

But then a little thing called the French Revolution happened and we all know how that turned out for Marie Antoinette.  And you don't have to know much about the Revolution to know that it didn't turn out well for pretty much anyone connected to the royals, in this case, an insignificant shopkeeper with aspirations above her station who too lost her head.

The moral of the story?  Believing a flatterer may secure you a place in history but it's probably not very good for your physical well being.

Special thanks to Jacques for sharing this historical tidbit.

St. Eustache

St. Eustache is a huge church in the center of Paris.  But it's not in any of the guide books and in fact, if you're in the neighborhood, you might not even see it until you're right on top of it.  Or maybe you've noticed it from the top floor of the Pompidou Center and scratched your head as to what it might be.  The dismantling of Paris's central market, Les Halles, in the 1970s opened up the vista you see above; otherwise it's cheek by jowl with the other buildings that surround it.  And it's "just" a parish church, not a cathedral (which by the way, only means that it is the seat of the bishop and has nothing to do with its decoration or size).  Still some interesting events happened here.  It's where Molière, Richelieu, and Madame Pompadour were baptized and it also served as the setting for the funeral of Mozart's mother and Louis XIV's first communion. 

Like many churches in Europe, St. Eustache reflects the changing artistic tastes over the many years of its construction.  Although construction on the building stopped before it was fully completed (witness the never completed towers), changes to the interior continue.  Particularly striking is an altarpiece by Keith Haring in one of the side chapels which is dedicated to the memory of people who died from AIDS.

St. Eustache's other claim to fame is its massive organ.  With 8,000 pipes, it's bigger than the ones in Notre Dame and St. Sulpice.  You can catch a sample every Sunday afternoon at 5:30 when there's always a free concert and my guess is, a lot of empty chairs.

In the Round

Little did I know but you're not supposed to take pictures inside La Bourse de Commerce.  Fortunately for me, no one insisted that I delete this shot.  Although the building  is open to the public, it's not really a tourist site.  That being said, if you're in the neighborhood (due north from the rue de Rivoli on the rue du Louvre in the 1st arrondissement), go inside and take a peek.  The ceiling is covered with a spectacular 19th century fresco depicting global commerce; the images are just so classically European centric that it's kind of a hoot even though it was clearly meant to be monumental and serious.

Lord and Lady of the Manor

ABC.  No it's not the first three letters of the alphabet.  It's the shorthand for a complaint I often hear from my kids: "another bloody church. "  There are also times when it can mean "another bloody castle!"

To be frank, I sometimes share my children's sense of fatigue.  That doesn't mean it's time to stop visiting castles and cathedrals.  Instead, you just have to start looking at them in a different way.  Otherwise, the dates, the locations, the interiors, and the exteriors will start to jumble in your mind like a crazy quilt of people and places. 

Earlier this week I had the occasion to go down to the Loire Valley for the day and visit two different castles known primarily for their gardens:  Villandry, which I had visited before many years ago, and La Chatonniere, which was completely new to me.  Now don't get me wrong.  Both of these places are worth a stop; actually they're even worthy destinations in their own right.  Villandry's gardens have been restored over many years of patient work to recreate the type of garden that was typical in France during the Renaissance.  They are rigid and formalized, all squares and gravel paths, with colors and designs that will simply wow you.  La Chatonniere is an old place with entirely new gardens, riots of color and imagination created from scratch since 1986 from what used to be primarily apple orchards. 

But it wasn't the gardens or the buildings that really captured my imagination.  Instead it was the owners with whom I was fortunate to spend a little bit of time.

Who owns a chateau?  Well it turns out two very different kinds of people who admittedly share similar passions for beauty and history as well as maintaining a family legacy. 

Henri Carvallo, owner of Villandry, is a soft spoken man in his late 40s, the great grandson of a Spanish doctor who purchased the property in 1906.  Slim and tanned in chinos and loafers, he doesn't get a second glance from the hordes of visitors roaming the house and gardens.  But oh the decisions he must make each day.   Each season, 250,000 flowers and vegetables are planted, half of which are prepared in the property's own greenhouses.  Recently, the beams in the chateau's attics were almost entirely replaced; had they not been, the facade might have crumbled into the court of honor.  And that's just the start.  There's the marketing and the planning, and keeping up with the finances, something at which Carvallo clearly excels.  He's been able to keep it all afloat just on gate receipts without a centime of government subsidies.

Béatrice de Andia, owner of La Chatonniere, couldn't be more different.  I'm guessing that she's in her 80s but still bubbles with energy and has a mind that's clearly firing on every cylinder.  She's nothing if not a character, having served for 30 years as general director of artistic action of the city of Paris, a lady who speaks French, English, and Spanish with ease,and once drove a Citroen 2CV from Paris to Saigon, stopping along the way for treks up Kilimanjaro and in the Himalayas. Since inheriting the property from her father, the 8th duke of Talleyrand, she's constructed 12 thematic gardens and has more in the works.   Theater and concerts en plein air are just part of the plan to keep the site interesting to visitors.

Carvallo and de Andia are clearly well grounded in the past.  But don't let their fidelity to history fool you.  You want to get to know them better?  They're both on Facebook.