The Last Time I Saw Paris

It is the summer of 2009. I can’t remember how many times I walked through this area of Paris. For me this is such a special part of this wonderful city.

I started in the Luxembourg gardens, just behind the Senat. I had been thumbing through my address book. Over the years I had accumulated over six hundred addresses. Collecting addresses of the artistic geniuses who lived near here, especially in Montparnasse, was not only part of my academic research but a hobby of mine which my wife refers to as my “passion.”

I walked to the western side of the park. I had already stood outside of #6 rue Ferou where Ernest Hemingway once lived with Pauline. It was a sunny Saturday and families were picnicking in the park as children sailed their boats and more athletic minded people played tennis or jogged. It was a perfect day for what I had in mind.

As I exited the park and crossed onto rue de Fleurus, I stopped at Bread and Roses (#7 rue de Fleurus) for a croissant and coffee. Or was it two croissants? I glanced to my right at rue Madame and thought of Michael and Sara Stein (known as Sally) and their connection with Matisse. They were the first Americans to bring America the gift of Matisse’s work.

Further on Fleurus, I paused at #27 and reread the plaque that said Gertrude Stein and Alice had once lived there. As luck would have it, someone came out of the 19th century apartment so I was able to get into the open lobby. There, facing me was Gertrude Stein’s atelier where Cézannes, Juan Gris’ and early Picassos once hung. My mind drifted to her meetings there with Sherwood Anderson, Hemingway and “Everybody who was anybody.” I could almost hear her call out to Alice Toklas and I wondered if I rang the right bell would a voice like Alice’s say, “De la part de qui venez-vous?” (Who sent you?) I thought I heard the noise of the crowd who met there on Saturday nights.

At Gertrude Stein’s

As I left, my mind turned back to Hemingway whose wife Hadley and son John, known as Bumby, moved almost next door when the couple was separated.

I continued past Boul Raspail to Notre Dame Des Champs. It was here that Hemingway once lived with Hadley and Ezra Pound lived at the next corner at #70 as did publisher Ford Madox Ford (#84).

At the bottom of the street at #171 Boul du Montparnasse, I stood facing the garden of the Closerie des Lilas where Hem spent hours writing his first Paris novel. Working over a lumber yard at #113 Notre Dame des Champs (no longer there) would have been much too noisy, especially with his new son crying to be fed.

Farther along Montparnasse I stood facing the Dome, crossed Rue de Rennes and stopped for a drink at Le Select. With La Coupole facing me, I knew I was at the heart of 1920’s France where ghosts of Picasso, Jean Cocteau, Max Jacob and even F. Scott Fitzgerald had met.

I continued south on Raspail and entered the Cemetiere Montparnasse on Edgar Quinet. So many of the people I had studied or lectured about were buried here. I walked up and down the rows looking for Jean Paul Sartre, Simone De Beauvoir, Cesar Franck, Guy de Maupassant, Man Ray, Samuel Beckett, Andre Citroen and, the subject of my early “Great Trial” lectures, Alfred Dreyfus. (I made a note to return along Rue de Rennes and look for that impressive statue of Dreyfus, standing at attention with his saber broken off.)

Here too I saw the final resting place of Nikki de St- Phalle. I had always admired her spunk and futuristic attitude. One great example of her work is in the pond next to the Pompidou Center. Like most of her work it is whimsical, colorful and fun to watch as the pieces seemed to dance on the waters.

Baudelaire at Montparnasse

It was late afternoon when I finally left and walked back along rue Campagne Premier and the Hotel Istria (or the building next door where Man Ray had his studio). I remembered that Louis Aragon and Marcel Duchamp lived here too. I had even stayed there myself, many years before.

I headed north on Raspail and met my wife at Les Deux Magots. The place was crowded as usual and street performers frequently stopped to play an instrument, sing a typically Paris song and pass the hat around. A glass of Merlot was welcome. Then we walked across to Braserie Lipp. A favorite of Picasso and a room filled with memories.

It was still light when we went out onto Boul St Germain and back to our Hotel Des Grand Ecoles on Cardinal Lemoine. Here I needed no reminders that I was staying in a wonderful old estate-like home next door to where James Joyce lived for a while at #71 and across from another of Hem’s houses at #74. There was a plaque outside stating that Hem lived there but the store on the main floor was proof. It was called Under Hemingway’s.

While the hotel was comfortable, it was still a thrill to walk down rue Mouffetard where people gathered for drinks, souvenirs and boisterous singing. Here, even the clochards (winos) were happy and friendly. One even bowed to us and said, “Bienvenue a Paris.” I guess it wasn’t difficult to tell we were tourists.

That was the last time I saw Paris but my passion was not sated. Would I go back? Of course I would. How can I stay away?

It’s my second home.

A BIENTOT…