Tales of Two Cities

Still Life in Red and Shades of Grey

This was taken in the bedroom of "our" apartment in Paris.  I was testing one of my Canon speedlite flashes in preparation for a shoot in Père Lachaise cemetery.  I liked the result.

Below is one of the photos I later took at the cemetery.  My main goal was to simulate early morning light using a single, small, off-camera flash.  The bluish background and the golden lighting on the statue were accomplished by using a tungsten white balance setting in the camera and a warm gel on the flash, plus a touch of PhotoShop to enhance the natural golden color of the statue. Charles acted as my voice activated light stand.

This is said to be the oldest Pleureuse (woman mourner) in the cemetery.  It dates to 1815.  The sculptor is unknown and I recall being told years ago by Thierry Leroy, one of the expert guides to the cemetery, that the original is in the Carnavalet museum and that this is a copy.  I have not been able to corroborate this.

I Love Book Stores

If you love them too and are interested in Paris history, architecture and culture, classy empty books and other fun stuff for people of all ages, check out the book store at the Hotel du Sully next time you are in Paris.  You'll find it off of the Rue St Antoine between the Bastille and St Paul métro stops. It is open 7 days a week. 

We popped in today, just to check it out, and left with two books about Père Lachaise.  Charles has already picked out a map of ancient Paris that he is going to buy next trip.  He would have bought it today except that we already have a map of Paris  acquired on our visit to Paris Historique earlier in our stay. 

Monsieur Peretti est disparu une deuxième fois

 I took this photo of the monument on the grave of the  ballet dancer, Serge Peretti, in Père Lachaise Cemetery in 2006 or 2007.   It was late winter or very early spring and the trees had not begun to put out their leaves.  I loved the juxtaposition of his gracefully raised arm against the curves in the bare trees in the background.

I did not take note of either the location of the statue or the name of the dancer at the time the photograph was taken.

A beautifully framed copy of this photograph graces the guest bathroom of our friends, Andy and Marilyn. At the time they acquired it, I was bothered by the fact that I couldn't tell them anything about the picture except that it was taken in Père Lachaise.  So, last fall, Charles and I set out to find the monument.

Charles remembered that he had been with me when I took the photograph and we both remembered quite clearly that the statue was larger than life. We were sure that we knew about where to find it.

After spending well over an hour wandering up and down the alleys and paths of the cemetery looking for the out-sized statue, we realized that we would need help to find it.

I asked one of the men raking leaves if he knew where the statue could be found.  Turns out he spoke little French and no English.  My raised arm mimicking Monsieur Peretti's gesture did not jog his memory.

Finally we came upon one of the cemetery guides and I asked him if he knew where we could find the statue, again raising my right arm in an effort to evoke the dancer's graceful gesture.  We were thrilled to learn that the guide  knew exactly where it was.

Funny, we thought.  We had walked through the area he described more than once in our search and hadn't seen it.  Still, the guide seemed quite sure so back we went.  Finally, I spotted it.  What a shock!

Turns out that both of our memories associated with the photograph were wrong.  Charles wasn't with me when I took the photograph (I was on a photo shoot with our landlord) and the statue is not larger than life (it is no more than three feet high). That tells you something about the reliability of eyewitness testimony!  

Yesterday, we took a walking tour of the cemetery (more about that later).  In the course of discussing the absence of security and the problem of theft at Père Lachaise (the theft of the bust of Jim Morrison being one of the famous losses), our guide revealed that the statue of Monsieur Peretti had been stolen earlier this year.  Someone had simply walked off with it, probably carrying it in an inconspicuous small bag. 

I'm really sorry that the statue of M. Peretti is not 7 feet tall.  If it were, it would still be at Père Lachaise. 

 This is what remains.  (The granite monument behind the pedestal belongs to someone else.)

"What becomes of the dream when the dream is done"

Postcard du Jour #1 Fall 2008 - Empire of the Dead

We entered a small room through a dark door on the Place Denfert-Rochereau, paid an entry fee (no discount for being seniors), and started our descent into what was originally a Roman quarry.  A sign warned that what we would see might be upsetting to children and people of tender sensibilities.

Undaunted, we proceeded downward on a dimly-lit spiral staircase for what seemed forever.  When we arrived at the bottom, a sign informed us that the descent would continue through tunnels for roughly 500 yards before we would reach the catacombs - more properly called the ossuary.   The tunnel ceilings were low and Charles had to be careful not to bump his head.  Even I felt constantly as though I had to duck.  Finally we entered a small room with a much higher ceiling.  Over an open gate were engraved the words:  "Stop!   This is the Empire of the Dead."

We entered.

There is no way to convey the initial shock of seeing  skulls gleaming softly in the dim light and layer after layer of neatly stacked bones. Quiet but audible gasps were the universal reaction of all who stepped through the door.   

For twenty minutes or so we followed the tunnels past carefully arranged  bones.  In many places markers designated the parish grave yard from which they had come.

The initial shock diminished as we passed more and more skeletal remains, but a quiet reverance remained.  We were passing the respectfully and carefully placed bones of millions of people who had lived and died over more than 10 centuries. 

The ancient quarry was consecrated as an ossuary on April 6, 1786. Centuries of  burials on the grounds of parish churches had resulted in overcrowding and unsanitary conditions that affected nearby inhabitants and businesses.  As the city of Paris grew and expanded, the problems became acute.  In 1786 two million skeletons were transferred from the Cimetiere des Saints-Innocents in central Paris. The photograph at the left shows some of the bones transferred that year.

Over time, remains from other parishes were moved  with solemn ceremony to the ossuary.  By the time Pere LaChaise was established outside the city limits in the early 1800's, burials within the city had been banned.  

Our visit ended with a walk along slowly rising semi-dark tunnels (no remains) followed by a climb up a 100-step spiral staircase back to street level.  (Charles counted the unusally steep steps.)  On exiting onto the street, we found that we had traveled many blocks from where we had entered.  

The visit was a sobering and fascinating experience.  I recommend it.

Goodbye to Winter

For those of us in the northern hemisphere, tomorrow is the Vernal Equinox, the first day of spring, but you wouldn't have known it was coming from the weather we had a few days ago.  This was the scene last Friday afternoon at a small graveyard off of a country road in western Massachusetts.  Beautiful, but cold and very, very un-springlike. 

A Tale of Two Cemeteries

Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts (pictured at right) was founded in 1831 as the first "garden cemetery" in the United States.  It was inspired by Père Lachaise established 27 years earlier.  Like the Paris cemetery, Mount Auburn is known for its wide variety of trees and offers visitors a restful oasis from the surrounding urban bustle.

When Charles and I visited Mount Auburn for the first time recently, we were struck more by the differences than the similarities between the two cemeteries.  Père Lachaise (pictured at the left) is packed with gravestones, monuments and mausoleums.  Abandoned, crumbling, moss-covered graves and sepulchers are scattered among newer monuments. Statues are varied and often tell us something about the person buried below them.  Sometimes they are beautiful, occasionally they are inventive, and often they are intensely moving.  Being in Père Lachaise makes me feel as though I am in the midst of a big, unruly (though silent) family in which the free expression of strong emotions is encouraged.

Mount Auburn has a much more spacious and tidy feel to it.  In some areas, one can look off into the distance and fail to notice any gravestones at all, making it easy to forget, for a moment at least, that you are in a cemetery.  Monuments tend to be simple and emotionally contained. Statues are rare and, for the most part, lack individuality and thus the ability to touch one's emotions.  Although there is no unruly family here, and the beauty comes mainly from the spacious landscape, Mount Auburn, like Père Lachaise, is well worth visiting.

Pere Lachaise Cemetery

California Here We Come ...

... right back where Charles started from!  He was born at the Presidio not too long after the Golden Gate Bridge was completed.  In addition, his great-great grandfather, Oliver D. Greene (1833 -1904), is one of a number of Congressional Medal of Honor recipients buried in the San Francisco National Cemetery in the Presidio.

Friday we are off to San Francisco to visit good friends Myra and John Grisso for a few days.  We are really looking forward to catching up on what they have been doing over the past year and exchanging grandparent stories.  (I know the latter sounds really dull.  But you can trust me on this.  It is endlessly fascinating once you become a grandparent.)  I'm hoping for some good photo ops in San Francisco. Stay tuned.

Our pending departure brings back memories of last year when we left for our annual California trek on November 2, election day.  After voting at the Boston Public Library early in that morning, I remember walking over to Copley Square to view the preparations for John Kerry's victory rally.  We were on the other side of the continent when we learned that 'twas not to be.

After our visit with the Grissos, we will head south to Laguna Hills to spend some time with sister Gery, her husband Bob and his sister Barbara.

My mother died in late December 1999 and, since then, my sister and I have been getting together annually.  Until this year we have spent a portion of our time together sorting through boxes and boxes of pictures, clippings, letters and memorabilia (including a lot from Dad's years working on the space program).  The task was to decide what to throw away and what to save and pass on to one of Mom's four children or one of her eight grandchildren.  (I've lost count of how many great grandchildren there are but it is at least 7.) It was hard, often very sad work, but it brought me closer to my sister which most certainly would have made my mother happy.

This year, with all of the work behind us, we will be free to play, which means visiting museums, going out to eat, meeting up with brother Jim in La Jolla, doing at least one photo shoot (I hope) and, my favorite, going dancing.  Dancing is Gery and Bob's passion.  They take it seriously and work hard at developing their routines. It is a real pleasure to watch them perform on the dance floor.  Each time I visit, the two of them give me dancing lessons -- in past years I have been tutored in Two Step, Night Club Two Step and West Coast Swing -- then off we go to one of the venues they enjoy - usually a funky bar with dance floor.  Gery generously shares Bob as a dance partner so I get a chance to try out what I have learned.  This year the hot thing on the West Coast is East Coast Swing which is, I gather, a descendant of the Lindy and the Jitterbug of my youth.  I am excited about learning something new.  I've packed my dancing shoes.  Can't wait!

A Fertility Tale

One of Susan Wilson's black and white photographs of Père Lachaise currently hanging at the French Library is of the grave of Victor Noir, a young journalist killed in 1870 by a cousin of Napoleon III in a political dispute.  Our Père Lachaise guide pointed out that the life-sized bronze of a dying Monsieur Noir that lies atop his grave was sculpted in the realistic style of the times.  Well sort of.  Truth be told, it is realistic in some ways and not in others.

The sculpture shows a handsome and lithe young man with gorgeous flowing hair while a photograph of Monsieur Noir reveals him to have been a squatter, less attractive specimen without much hair.  The realism manifests itself in the detailed representation of the young man as he lay dying in the street dressed in the elegant clothing of the time (check out the details of his shirt and boots) complete with a noticeable bulge in his pants - said to be a normal occurrence at death. The protuberance is hard to miss because it has been burnished over the years by the caresses of women who believe that Monsieur's member has the magical ability to improve their sex lives and enhance their fertility.  Our guide told us that it is not uncommon to find a baby shoe left in Noir's hat by way of thanks.

In 2004 a woman hid in the cemetery at closing in order to spend the night sleeping atop Monsieur Noir.  Following the incident, the grave was enclosed in a protective fence.  But never fear.  A hue and cry was raised, the fence was removed and Monsieur Noir continues to do his part for the happiness of the women of Paris (and maybe a tourist or two). 

This is the snapshot I took in March 2004 on my first guided tour of Père Lachaise.  The tours all seem to be in French, but if you are reasonably comfortable with the language, an hour or two with a knowledgeable guide is well worth the modest investment of 10 euros or so.  To find a tour, check out the "promenades" section of Pariscope, the 40 cent  guide to current events in Paris and the Ile-de-France that comes out each Wednesday. 

Better yet, click here for an amazing virtual tour of Père Lachaise.  Do a search for Victor Noir's grave then click on the map and see a good set of pictures of his charms. 

Back Home - In Body if Not Fully in Spirit

We returned to Boston 2 1/2 weeks ago to find that the autumn colors were just beginning to glow in the city.  Not only that, but the rainy, wet weather that prevailed during our absence had given way to sunny, mild days.  The picture to the left was taken in the Public Garden on November 1, the day after we got home.

We couldn't wait to see our granddaughter after a six week hiatus.  The Adorable One greeted us with a look of recrimination reminiscent of that which cats sometimes give to owners who have had the temerity to leave them for more than a day.  Before long, however, Emily's cheery personality won out and she took her revenge by running her grandmother ragged up and down the driveway, playing in piles of dead leaves, inviting everyone around her to join in her delighted giggles and generally enjoying the beautiful Indian Summer weather. The little one got so tired that she fell asleep in her highchair at lunch -- a first.  Refueled by food and sleep, she was out again for most of the afternoon, while her caretaker raced after her trying to take pictures while keeping her out of trouble.  It was one exhausted grandmother who finally collapsed into bed when her (early) bedtime finally arrived! This grand parenting business is hard work!

Even back in Boston we did not leave Paris behind.  Last week, the Boston French Library and Cultural Center hosted a multimedia event about one of our favorite spots in Paris. "Sacred Grounds, Sacred Sounds:  A Journey through the History, Mystery and Music of Père Lachaise Cemetery" featured a slide show of historical and modern photographs accompanied by photographer Susan Wilson's commentary on the history of the cemetery (including interesting parallels to Mount Auburn Cemetery) and live music by the River Chamber Players (a string quartet with flute).  The musical selections were associated with music luminaries buried in Père Lachaise (Bizet, Chopin, Piaf, Grappelli, and Morrison among others), which made for an eclectic program. The concept was promising but the execution lacked sophistication and, in some cases, the ensemble was simply not up to the arrangements they attempted.  I did like Ms Wilson's black and white photographs, many of which were on display at the Center. The event inspired me to work up some of the photos I took at Père Lachaise in October, which you can see here .  Be warned.  The collection is definitely a work in progress.  I played with the white balance, among other things, in an effort to capture some of the spiritual feeling of the place as well as the decrepitude of monuments that are inexorably returning to dust and I am not sure I am happy with the results in all cases.

And, of course, since our return I have been processing the hundreds of pictures I took during our visit, most of which will never see the light of day. Even though only a handful have been worth "developing," the work has brought me closer to my second city.  You can see some of my favorites here.  These have all yielded lovely prints which makes all of the work worthwhile.