Miscellaneous: Fire at Notre Dame de Paris

Tragedy in Paris, at the cathedral, but it sounds like the bulk of the structure is unharmed and the damaged portions can be rebuilt. Here's to the hope that that is true.

Shown is "Notre Dame, Paris—Grim Guardian" circa 1930, by Warren R. Laity, my grandfather. Silver-gelatin print. Image size: 9 x 13 inches. My grandfather was a photographer beginning to get an international reputation just as he tragically died of complications during minor surgery at the age of 46, in 1936. We have about 60 of his exhibition prints, mostly of European architectural subjects, as that was his specialty. Many of them are plastered on the back with exhibition stickers from all over Europe and the US. This image has exhibition stickers on the reverse from New York and Budapest.

He taught art history at a women's college in NJ that later became part of Rutgers. On his summers off, he did classes on transatlantic cruise liners to pay his way to Europe for research. He also spent a couple of summers (1922 and 1923) traveling around Europe by motorcycle and photographing while writing articles for the Harley-Davidson magazine.

Miscellaneous: San Francisco City Hall Lit with the Colors of France (November 18)

I attended a San Francisco Symphony concert on November 18, at Davies Symphony Hall. Diagonally across the street from the concert hall, City Hall was lit with the colors of France in recognition of the attacks in Paris earlier in the week. The concert was a recital by Leif Ove Andsnes. He played music by Sibelius, Beethoven, Debussy, and Chopin.

Books I'm Reading: Parisians: An Adventure History of Paris, by Graham Robb (February 29, 2012)

Having recently finished a book about the Eiffel Tower and the 1889 exposition it was built for, it seemed natural to move on to another book about Paris--Graham Robb's Parisians: An Adventure History of Paris (Norton, 2010). Here it's important to pay more attention to the subtitle than the title, as Robb's book isn't an exposition on the general characteristics of the people of Paris but rather a series of short, fictionalized pieces--in widely varying styles--based on real people and incidents, each illuminating a single facet of Paris. Some read like short stories. One reads like true crime fiction. One is presented as a screenplay. Taken together, these vignettes create a scintillating image of Paris through about 400 years of its history. The book is a delightfully non-linear stroll that allows layered, highly subjective glimpses of disparate corners of the city--glimpses that left me craving more.

I strongly recommend reading this with a good map of Paris within reach, or, even better, a copy of the Blue Guide to Paris and Versailles or another good guide book that is heavy on history. You'll want to follow Marie Antoinette's bungled flight during the Revolution. You'll want to follow Hitler along the streets of the city on his one and only visit to Paris. You'll want to see in your mind's eye the pattern of streets in St. Germain des Prés as you read through cinematic scenes that take place in the vicinity of the old church that gives the area its name. You'll want to find every one of the many avenues and monuments Robb's writing takes you to.

This is deceptively easy to read, yet so dense with information that I found myself wanting to re-read the entire book as soon as I'd finished it (and I had already read a couple of the episodes twice along the way). Virtually every page is a revelation. Highly Recommended.

On the Road (Europe 2010): Paris Again

 

Back in Paris again on the evening of the 12th, a couple days ahead of departure for home on the 15th. The drive into Paris from Normandy was an easy three hours. Had planned to arrive earlier in the day, but ended up leaving Caen later than anticipated. The Peace Memorial Museum in Caen takes several hours to see. Found a place to park the car in Paris right in front of the apartment (miraculously). Interestingly, all parking in Paris appears to be free during the month of August. Perhaps the luck in parking was not so hard to explain, the entire city was strangely quiet. More tourists than French people--or so it seemed. Many shops were closed for the annual vacation everyone seems to take simultaneously.

Did some last-minute gift shopping--and some last-minute sightseeing. Took a look at La Madeleine, which I'd never been inside of before; looked in on the ultra-fancy stores nearby (Fauchon, Hediard, and Nicolas--the young couple in the photo above looking longingly at the tomatoes is peering in at one of the windows at Fauchon); walked around the Place de la Concorde and the Etoile; and spent most of the end of the day visiting the Musée de l'Orangerie, which I'd never seen before--despite a number of attempts in the past. On my walk back to the apartment from Trocadero station, I stopped in at the Cimètiere de Passy again for a final look at some of the famous graves there. Dinner in the evening with the same friends we saw on the first days of the trip was a nice way to end a nine-week stay in Europe.

La Madeleine is a church masquerading as a Greek temple. I thought it rather dark and depressing inside, although there's some interesting sculpture and the bronze doors are impressive. It is said to have been modeled on the Maison Carrée, which I remember seeing at Nîmes years ago. The Maison Carrée is one of the best preserved Roman-era temples in the world. The very Greek exterior of La Madeleine seems an odd way to enclose a Christian space. Its construction appears to have been very mixed up in conception from the outset, with a number of false starts and sudden changes of design in the middle of the work. While the building is a fairly coherent Greek-style temple from the outside, taken as a whole, the confusion shows.

I enjoyed seeing the Musée de l'Orangerie, and it was a good way to get out of the drizzle that had started while walking around the Place de la Concorde. I saw the bronze marker in the Place that refers to the executions during the Revolution. I see that it doesn't actually indicate the spot of any particular execution. It says merely that Place de la Concorde was the principal scene of most of the public executions that took place during the Terror. I missed the marker that indicates the starting point for the measurement of France's highways, which is supposed to be set in the pavement of the Place (at Notre Dame it was noted that distances between Paris and all other French cities are measured from the spot between the two towers of the cathedral), but the obelisk and the two large fountains were worth a look. I have ridden through the Place in taxis on a number of occasions, but had never actually walked around it.

The museum houses Monet's Nymphéas, his last major group of water lilies, painted between 1920 and his death in 1926, and (since 1965) the Jean Walter and Paul Guillaume collection of impressionist and post-impressionist works. The water lilies are displayed in two linked oval rooms preceded by an empty vestibule Monet intended as a buffer zone between the life of the city and the mood of contemplation he wanted for the paintings. The rooms are lit from above by a very pretty diffused light (again, Monet's own preference). No photograph of them from any distance can convey the feel of the paint on the canvas. In person the temptation is to walk up close to the paintings and examine every stroke of color, getting lost in the abstract patterns that emerge as the overall picture dissolves into incoherence. Just as strong is the temptation to walk backwards away from the paintings to watch the seemingly random paint marks coalesce into images of flowers on water, reflected sky, shadows of trees, and overhanging branches.

The remainder of the collection was worth seeing as well. There are quite a few paintings by Cézanne and Gauguin I'd never seen before. There are many (too many, in my view) by Renoir, works by Matisse and Picasso, and an interesting group of paintings by Chaim Soutine that I really enjoyed seeing. I've always liked his distorted, sloppy but sympathetic portraits. The collection also includes works by Derain, Rousseau, Utrillo, Laurencin, Sisley, and others. Modigliani's wonderful portrait of Paul Guillaume is here and one of the larger reclining nudes is also in the collection.

On the way home, I stopped at the Cimètiere de Passy, hoping to see a few of the famous graves there. Having enquired at the guard station and with map in hand I set off to find Claude Debussy, Gabriel Fauré, Edouard Manet, and Berthe Morisot. An older Frenchman was on his way to showing a couple from South Carolina Fauré's stone and I tagged along. I'm not sure how these three met up. The Americans just seemed to have been passing by. I asked the man if he was connected with the cemetery, because he knew it so well. He described himself as simply a man interested in history. I ended up interpreting for the couple--which was a bit of a surprise; my French, while still rudimentary, has made a lot of progress. He showed us many other famous graves, including several early French aviators, Vietnam's last emperor, and a daughter of the Shah of Iran. One of the co-founders of Renault is buried here. Members of the Lapostolle family (creators of Grand Marnier) are buried here as well (Lapostolle is a name I know in connection with wines from Chile--this is the same family). A busy but satisfying day.

On the road (Europe 2010): Paris (continued)

On the 21st we visited La Sainte Chapelle, which is part of the complex of buildings remaining from the earliest development of Paris, on the Ile de la Cité. Sainte Chapelle, as the name suggests is a chapel, but it is perhaps unique in that it's two chapels built one on top of the other. The lower level was for parish services. The upper level was reserved for kings, queens, and other nobles and their guests. The construction dates to the 13th century, but there has been restoration, particularly in the 19th century. The upper level is considerably more sumptious than the lower, but even the lower level is ornate.

Both rooms are built to a simple plan—just a nave and apse. Although even the most delicate parts of the room on the lower level (the ribbed vaults and the pillars that support them) are made of stone, the entire interior is painted in blue, gold, green, and red, which creates a very different effect from a typical stone church interior. I have never seen anything quite like it. Are there other churches like this? I know that many old buildings we think of as being plain stone (such as the Acropolis at Athens) were once polychromed, but I don’t think I’ve ever read about a European Christian church decorated in this way. Come to think of it, some of the Greek churches of the Meteora are painted inside, but I don’t remember any of those being quite so sumptuous. Hmmmmm… A little research is in order.

I nearly missed it. There was a very long line. The delay to get in turned out to be almost entirely due to security—which was tighter than at any airport I’ve ever been to, with multiple bag checks as well as x-ray machines and armed guards. It was worth the wait, however. The upper chapel is entirely of stained glass from just above eye level to the top of the high walls that have very little apparent support. Exterior flying buttresses appear to hold it all up, but I’m no engineer.

There are at least 15 double stained glass panels around the chapel. Fourteen of these tell stories from the old and new testaments. The last one tells the story of the relics  that were originally enshrined here (now kept at Notre Dame)—supposedly a piece of the cross from the crucifixion and Christ's crown of thorns. Between each of the double panels is a statue of one of the 12 apostles. The altar and the back of the nave were obscured by scaffolding (more of those seemingly inescapable restoration works) but the room is magnificent nevertheless. Like the lower chapel, virtually every surface not glass is painted in blue and red and green or gilded. The floor is inlaid with greenery and animals in quadrefoil frames, although according to a friendly guard, the original chapel had a plain white marble floor. The floor now in place dates from restoration work done in the 19th century to repair destruction during the revolutionary period. The guard said that most of the decoration below the glass dates from this period, as does the bottom third of the glass panels. The remainder of the glass and several of the statues of the apostles date from the 13th century, making these the oldest stained glass windows in Paris.

Much as I enjoyed seeing La Sainte Chapelle, the long wait to get in cut into time allotted to seeing the Louvre again, which was a shame. Still, I got to see some of my favourite pieces in the place, particularly some of the collection of northern renaissance painting—the work of Holbein, Roger Van der Weyden, Memling and others—although some of these are a bit too early to be called Renaissance. Among the older French paintings (which on the whole bore me) I do like the Clouet portrait of Francois 1er and his queen, Élisabeth of Austria. I used to keep a postcard of her on my desk at work during my days as a securities analyst to remind me of things that seemed more substantial than facilitating the buying and selling of stocks. Among the Italian paintings, I concentrated on the Botticellis. There are a couple of wonderful Madonna and Child panels in the Louvre, among many other things. It’s funny that you can tell a Botticelli anywhere—always the same big eyes and pointed chin. Unlike the Orsay, the Louvre does allow photography (without flash), which makes it easy to remember interesting things by unfamiliar painters, such as this portrait of a woman by Jacob Claesz (known as Jacob of Utrecht).

The early evening was occupied with a walk through the streets around the church of St. Germain des Pres—the area I have always stayed in in Paris in the past. It hasn’t changed much. Streets like Rue de Buci, Rue Bonaparte, Rue de Seine, Rue Jacob, and others are still lined with art galleries, specialty shops, and a variety of fancy food shops. Like any big city, Paris has many faces, but this is Paris to me. I remembered the place in detail, down to the location of a plaque on Rue Jacob marking the spot where Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and John Jay signed the treaty with England that ended the Revolutionary War. I happened again across the little square where there is a museum in what was once a studio used by Delacroix. There was a music festival going on. Almost every corner had a group performing in the street. In the Church was an odd group made up of saxophone, flute, violin and several singers with ethereal voices.

Finally, had a very disappointing meal at Le Petit Zinc. This restaurant, with its beautiful art nouveau interior, used to be wonderful. It offered good food and excellent service, and it wasn’t especially expensive. We ate here often. This was meant to be our one night out in Paris at a good restaurant, having made our meals at home (lunch breakfast and dinner) at the apartment throughout the visit until this point, but, sadly, the food we made ourselves was better than the restaurant food.

The highlight was the wine, which, of course, would have been good at any restaurant—a Grand Cru Riesling from Alsace. The waiter originally brought a lesser wine by the same maker (the wine on the list was clearly marked Grand Cru). I suspect he thought I wouldn’t know the difference. When I pointed out that he had brought the wrong wine, he said “Oh, you want a Grand Cru?” as if he was surprised that I’d prefer the Grand Cru to the wine he had brought, as if I were somehow perverse for wanting the wine promised on the wine list. As for the food, it was served almost cold and it was indifferently prepared. The waitress was clumsy, and one of my oysters was spoiled. I spat it out (quietly, of course) but it left a bad taste in my mouth, as did the entire meal.

A real shame. I can no longer recommend Le Petit Zinc. Before leaving, I at least had the satisfaction of telling them what I thought. I hope it has some effect, for the sake of future diners—not that one comment is likely to make much of a difference. Well, another day, another dinner.

On the road (Europe 2010): Paris (Catacombs, Clignancourt, St. Denis, Eiffel Tower)

On Sunday the 20th , we started the day with a visit to the catacombs, the underground cemetery of Paris. In the late 1700s, one of Paris’s biggest cemeteries, the Cimetiere des Innocents was closed down at the request of the people that lived around it because it was contaminating water and causing disease. The authorities eventually decided the best thing to do was to dig up the entire thing and move the bodies. Paris has miles and miles of underground tunnels resulting from the quarrying of limestone for buildings and gypsum for plaster. Disused quarries under the city were chosen as the place to start moving the disinterred bones from the cemetery (and, later, from cemeteries all over the city as Haussmann’s plans to widen the boulevards and make other changes necessitated the clearing of many areas). The first bones were deposited in the early 1780s, although the earliest markers I found in the catacombs were from 1786. At first the bones were unceremoniously dumped, but soon afterwards the workers began to deposit the bones in a more orderly fashion, using the long bones from the legs and skulls (which both stack well) to form walls behind which the other bones were piled up. Some 6 million people are said to be buried (if that’s the right word) in the catacombs, including a few famous people, such as Rameau, although no one knows where the luminaries are at this point. It wasn’t very creepy, despite the many skulls. The neatly stacked bones leave a fairly abstract impression. 

We next went to Clignancourt, to one of Paris’s major Sunday flea markets. There are many vendors set up in the streets selling mostly jeans, T-shirts, and sunglasses, and other tourist items, but there is also an indoor area with many, many stalls offering better items, mostly antiques and memorabilia. There were stores selling everything from theater fixtures to furniture to African art to Hollywood movie posters. Spent a pleasant few hours there.

Later we went to St. Denis, a northern suburb of Paris, not far from Clignancourt. We visited the Basilica of St. Denis and the royal tombs there. Nearly all of France’s kings and queens (not to mention many princes, princesses, and other nobles) were buried here, going back to people like Clovis, who reigned in the 600s. Apparently the bodies are mostly gone--having been dug up and dumped in mass graves during the Revolution--but the stone sarcophagi (nearly all with a recumbent figure of the occupant--Henry II in the photo here) are there in their original positions. The church itself is pretty--much more delicate and open than I was expecting, with fully developed flying buttresses. This is usually said to be the first Gothic-style cathedral. Nearly all of the original stained glass has been removed for restoration. It’s been replaced for the time being with photographic reproductions of the glass, which sounds horrible, but it’s actually very difficult to tell--which is remarkable in itself. Nowhere can you get close enough to examine the surfaces, but I doubt you’d  know if you didn’t already know.

After dinner, went to the highest level of the Eiffel Tower for the first time. When I’ve been there in the past, the upper deck has always been closed. The view from the lower deck is fairly impressive, but the top allows you to see virtually all of Paris. There were crowds even at midnight. The area around the tower is swarming with vendors, mostly Africans, all selling identical souvenirs. I wonder why no one tries anything original? In the photo here, the beam of the tower spotlights is passing by.

On the road (Europe 2010): Paris (Musée d'Orsay)

Spent most of the day at the Musée d’Orsay on the 18th. It was fun to see some old friends for the first time in many years (familiar paintings, that is) and to see some things I didn’t remember at all. There were a few new acquisitions as well, notably four large paintings by Bouguereau--of subjects rather more serious than the pretty young women he’s best known for.

Impressionism has become a cliché--if an entire art movement can become a cliché. But I suppose we can’t blame it for its own success, just as we can’t blame Vivaldi’s Four Seasons concertos for their popularity. What is best of Impressionism retains its interest. Having said that, I most enjoyed seeing work by Cezanne, Gauguin, and Degas (more post-impressionist), especially the good collection of Degas pastels.

There was an interesting special exhibit of work by Meijer de Haan, a dutch painter I’d never heard of. He started out in Amsterdam painting Jewish life in that city in a rather dark, traditional style. Like Van Gogh, his first trip to Paris, where he met many of the avant garde painters of the day through Theo Van Gogh, was a revelation. His style appears to have changed almost overnight. His later works suggest Gauguin, but have their own look, of course. He appears to have been a good friend of Gauguin and even considered accompanying him to Tahiti, but didn’t. The Orsay allows no photography, so I can’t show you any of his work, but I’ve reproduced the poster here.

Later in the day, we visited the Conciergerie, which is one of those buildings that has led so many lives that it’s hard to keep track of, but during The Terror, this was the place that held prisoners awaiting the guillotine. Marie Antionette spent her last days here, as did Robespierre himself--among a couple thousand others. The place was otherwise interesting for its ribbed vaults and large fireplaces. 

 Stopped by Notre Dame, but there was a very long line (which I’ve never seen before), so gave up on that idea, but did walk around the outside a bit. There were many catalpa trees blooming in the streets around the cathedral and in the area around the famous flower market, which were pretty. ­I captured a funny scene outside the cathedral, a father trying to take a picture of his little daughter. 

On the road (Europe 2010): Paris (Sennelier)

A short walk along the Seine down the Quai Voltaire from the Musée d'Orsay is Sennelier, one of Paris's oldest and best art supply stores. They make some of the best printmaking inks in the world. I have always used them. It was a great pleasure to set foot in this shop again for the first time in many years. I bought a sketch pad, a beautiful handmade watercolor brush and some ink. The racks of pastels were art in themselves. More found art.

On the road (Europe 2010): Paris (Versailles)

Versailles was a disappointment--nearly everything that was once in the place was carted away during the Revolution, so it seems sparsely furnished relative to the sumptuous shell that’s left. It was, of course, interesting to see, although once again rather poorly labeled given that it’s a World Heritage Site. There are extensive galleries of paintings, mostly portraits, for example, but it’s very difficult to tell who is who, because the labels are small, hard to read, and obscured by the crowds.  I noticed that most of the visitors walked through these galleries fairly quickly and with a bewildered look. The very large paintings by David in the room devoted to Napoleon, however, are easy to see and quite impressive.

I don’t suppose anyone needs me to point out that Versailles is gilded and grandiose. It’s easy to see why even kings and queens tired of it and spent much of their time in the simpler (although still grand) complexes a short walk from the main palace—the Grand Trianon and the Petit Trianon. Given a choice, I’d prefer living in the Hameau, Marie Antoinette’s purpose-built farming hamlet just beyond the Petit Trianon. She had this village constructed on a whim to get a taste of the country life, which was a fashionable thing to do among the super-wealthy of the day. I suppose history might have been different if her little concoction had allowed her to understand what the life of the common people was like, although surely these houses were bigger, better equipped, and cleaner than real country houses. I found the hamlet interesting, though. It had twelve large country-style houses. There was a pigeon house, an apiary, a full dairy, and much else around the buildings, including hay fields, extensive vegetable gardens and flower gardens—all with a stream running through it. There must have been “farmers” that lived there to make the whole thing run. The royal families and their guests could come and milk a cow or do other chores for the novelty of it, but they didn’t really have to get themselves dirty if they didn’t want to. I think a good argument could be made for calling this the first theme park (are there earlier developments of this type? It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the Chinese or the Romans had something akin to theme parks).

The gardens in the hamlet were prettier than the austerely formal plantings around the main palace. I can’t say I cared much for the carefully clipped hedges, vast lawns (on which you're forbidden to walk), and rows of pollarded trees that make up most of the main gardens. They are impressive mostly for their scale; the gardens seem to go on forever. The area called “The King’s Garden” was perhaps the most appealing. Nearly all the walkways are simply made of crushed stone. Considering the wealth of the royal families that built Versailles and lived in it over the years, it seems odd that they never thought to pave any of it with stone. Stonework might have added some to the visual interest of the place. Taken as a whole, Versailles was worth the visit, though. I even got to see a few birds, although none well enough to identify except for those I’ve already figured out. There were mostly a few very vocal Chaffinches, blackbirds, and some crows, but there were also swallow-like birds (the one new bird I did figure out--the Common House Martin), a tit of some sort, a warbler I couldn’t identify, Moorhens on the water at the hamlet, and a rosy bird that looked like it may have been a Linnet. I hope to do the first real birding of the trip soon in the south of France or Spain.

On the road (Europe 2010): Paris

Arrived in Paris on the 16th in the early afternoon. We are now settled into the apartment we are borrowing here, which is in the 16^th Arrondissement, near Trocadero, just across the river from the Eiffel Tower (the top of which is visible from the windows). From just a brief walk around the neighborhood I can see this is a rather well heeled section of the city with many upscale shops. Had a leisurely breakfast yesterday morning from walnut bread, peaches, apricots, strawberries, and yogurt picked up at some of the little specialty food shops nearby.

Yesterday afternoon it rained, so it seemed sensible to do something indoors, such as see the military museum at Les Invalides, which has a fabulous collection of arms and armor from all over the world, from medieval times through the modern period. Some of the armor made for the kings is spectacular. There is a complete collection of the uniforms of the French army, mostly on life-sized mannequins, some mounted on horses, also fully decked out as they would have been. Napoleon’s white horse Vizir is here, stuffed. Every sort of dagger, sword, spear and bludgeon you can imagine is on display, along with bows, arrows, quivers, and shields—not to mention pistols, muskets, rifles, and cannons of every kind. It’s well worth a visit even if you have no interest in military history per se. The time and resources that went into making such beautiful objects of death and destruction is remarkable. Seems strange to devote so much energy—love, almost—to the production of such exquisite objects meant only to kill and destroy.

Napoleon’s tomb is also here—a giant red stone sarcophagus on a high pedestal with a circular gallery around it on two levels. On the upper level are the tombs of various other military notables, among them Marechal Foch, who I remember chiefly because there is a grape variety named after him. It was fun to see the famous Ingres portrait of the Emperor Napoleon again. The displays have been updated since I was last here, but there is still little explanation in anything but French. Interesting nevertheless. This is another place you could devote several days to if you wanted to. There is a whole floor of models of forts that I didn’t even look at this time, and a section on the two world wars that there was no time for either.

Later picked up food for dinner at Lafayette and looked briefly at Printemps--two of the fancy department stores in Paris--French versions of Harrod’s. Lafayette had a pretty amazing wine collection, including such things as Mouton Rothschild back to 1918 and similar offerings of all the first growth Bordeaux wines, along with d’Yquem. There were bottles costing as much as $6,000. I remember a time when many of these wines were affordable, or within my reach anyway. I’m grateful to have had the chance to taste so many of them when I did. Today the plan is to go to Versailles.