Paris - Père Lachaise - 19e

Plate CIXX – Pere Lachaise – Edith Piaf …

It is said that over forty thousand people accompanied Edith Gassion on her final journey to Père Lachaise. It is not hard to understand why. Better known as Edith Piaf, La Môme, or (France’s) Little Sparrow, the four feet ten inches tall singer in her customary costume of a simple black dress will, to me and many others, forever remain the defining voice of Paris.

I had to find her. To the south-east of the graveyard in a simple polished black granite grave, surmounted by a crucifix such as had become her trademark, and engraved with the name Famille Gassion-Piaf, Edith now rests alongside family members unable to give her the strength and support she craved in her life.

From the accordionists busking in the underground metro stations, or the Wurlitzer sounds of the carousels of the city, to the cd vendors with their portable players on the pavements outside Galeries Lafayette it is unlikely during a city visit that you will not somewhere hear the music of Piaf. Through a life that was always tinged with tragedy, starting in the back streets and brothels of Montmatre, Edith Piaf became the best known French entertainer in the world. Her love affair with America (excepting for its food) ensured her international renown. With a voice that used none of today’s musical contrivances Piaf could express the gaiety and laughter of a city at play one minute to the sadness of a bereft lover the next. She is unique.

I would be leaving Paris shortly. I knew I would come back again. In my head Piaf was singing… 

Je pense à toi sans cesse.

Paris, je m'ennuie de toi, mon vieux.

On se retrouvera tous les deux,

Mon grand Paris………

Paris - Père Lachaise - 19e

Plate CXVIII – Pere Lachaise II – Jim Morrison  …

Just follow the arrows if you’re here to pay homage to Jim, for fans and vandals (in this case synonymous) have carved, cut, scratched and painted directional markers to his grave throughout the cemetery.

Perhaps the most unexpected ‘resident’ of Père Lachaise, and today still certainly one of the most celebrated for his presence here is the US rock singer and poet (as billed in my Chambers Biographical Dictionary) James Douglas (Jim) Morrison. Best known as the lead singer/writer of the late 60’s rock band The Doors, Morrison died in Paris in mysterious circumstances in 1971. As a child of the sixties myself I rocked and grooved to such hits as Light My Fire, When the Music’s Over, People Are Strange, and Whisky Bar (an unlikely Doors’ choice from the songbook of Kurt Weill and Bertold Brecht, but a hit none the less). One of the original non-conformist rock rebels of the age, Morrison’s chemically-enhanced lifestyle and outspoken political sentiments (expressed in such lyrics as Five To One or the brilliant The Unknown Soldier) often brought him into conflict with authority. To me he was pure genius, and with the possible exception of the Rolling Stones no rocker band comes close to evoking a blast from that past, with only a few familiar chords of almost any of their tracks, as do the Doors.

The daily crowds gathered around Morrison’s shrine (many of them modern day Goths) will let you know you’ve found him, and the grave itself was strewn with mementoes (from tear-stained handkerchiefs to items of jewellery) left by worshippers of the Lizard King. I wondered who finally collects them.

Paris - Pere Lachaise - 19e

Plate CXVII – Pere Lachaise …

It was to be my final day in Paris. Yet, there remained too many scenes I had, for various reasons, not photographed. Breakfasting in the hotel restaurant planning a whirlwind itinerary of missed locations, my colleague Robert from Aachen in Germany (a city, with a strong connection to France that I was later to visit) came in and joined me. He had a suggestion.

“Let’s go see some dead people.”

Robert it turned out was related to the surrealist artist Max Ernst, whose ashes are ensconced in the columbarium in Père Lachaise cemetery, and so had a personal reason for this suggestion. For me, it seemed somehow fitting that I should spend my last few hours in this city, my home for three wonderful weeks, visiting a noble cast of characters who in many ways made Paris all that it is. I had already discovered in an earlier visit to Athens how in touch and in tune one can feel with a place by visiting its cemeteries. It’s a link to the past - if you have never done this, try it and you’ll understand.

Père Lachaise is the largest of the city’s cemeteries, and arguably one of the most famous in the world. I would suggest it is also one of the most beautiful. The aging tombs, graves, crypts and mausoleums with their sculptures and memorial artefacts all set amongst the tree lined paths and gardens are inspiring. Entering at the Porte Gambetta allows the visitor to wander slowly down the slopes of the cemetery’s extensive grounds. Established by Napoleon in 1804 the graveyard is named after a Jesuit priest who had lived in the area, Père François de la Chaise confessor to Louis XIV. Initially unpopular and considered too far out of the city, the early ‘marketing’ of the site included the transference of the remains of Molière, of Jean de La Fontaine and notably in 1817 of those ill-fated lovers of French legend - Abélard and Héloïse. Within a few short years the burial ground was to contain the remains of thousands of Parisians.

Pere LachaiseMap -
Courtesy of Rough Guides

Amongst the many memorials and graves I visited were those of Colette, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Rossini, Isadora Duncan, Sarah Bernhardt (so, I did ‘see’ her after all), Pissaro, Jacques-Louis David, Seurat, Lalique, Delacroix, Ingres, Gericault, Haussman, Proust, Guillotin (how could I not), and Modigliani. I stood at the gate of the crypt of the Macdonald* Family (Marechal Jacques) … and yes, we went to pay respects to Max Ernst. Each of these already was or had become a part of my Paris story. There were two more names I had to honour…

*I have mentioned before that Macdonald (not particularly well known as a French name) is also my family name.

Paris - Comédie-Française - 1er

Plate XX– Palais Royal Gardens, Comedie Francaise…

My love of Paris (and most things French) is all Miss Cook’s fault. Miss Cook was my first French language teacher and to learn the French language she contended, one needed an appreciation also of French arts and culture. One of the characters who fired my imagination as a young student was Sarah Bernhardt - the Divine Sarah. Who could fail to be captivated by a woman who played Hamlet, was legendary for her performances as Marguérite Gautier in La Dame Aux Camélias, who continued to perform after the amputation of a leg and reputedly counted both Victor Hugo and England’s Edward VII (then Prince of Wales) among her many famous lovers. Sarah Bernhardt started her career at the Comédie-Française in 1862, although she was soon fired for slapping the face of a senior member of the company - then, due to her sheer talent, was later recalled. My kind of girl!

Of course, I couldn’t see Sarah (unless you count my visit to Père Lachaise cemetery), but I could get to the theatrical home (properly called the Salle Richelieu) of the Comédie, which is adjacent to the Palais Royal buildings. At the time of my visit the theatre (like the Opéra Garnier, the Grand Palais and even Notre Dame Cathedral) was undergoing restoration work, something the visitor to Europe soon learns to live with and appreciate*. A kindly workman did however allow me access into the lavishly decorated auditorium (who says the Parisians are unfriendly?!). Often associated with Molière, who died before the advent of the Comédie the theatre is one of three homes used by the acting troupe today constituting the Comédie-Française. It is also home to the brain of Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet).

* … I have given some thought to a book of my many photographs of European buildings under maintenance, reconstruction, renovation, cleaning or repair, to be called ‘It’ll be Nice When It’s Finshed’. The only problem is … I don’t think it ever will be!!