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Discovering Historical Paris
Reflections on the Study Travel
led by
Wendy and Rich Allen
June 2009
by Carolyn Nitz '69
coordinator for study travel and alumni programs
How did I discover historical Paris? It began at Le Procope, the oldest restaurant in the city. Rich and Wendy Allen led our group of twenty-six down a crooked, cobble-stoned street to what I expected would be a rickety, brick-walled cranny of a place. Instead we found an old, slightly-worn grande dame of a restaurant rich in gilded mirrors, chandeliers, and 17th-century paintings. A curved staircase led to a private room large enough to accommodate our group at one long table. We were served an elegant meal of oysters, chicken in wine sauce, and the creamiest crème brulée I have ever tasted.
But the meal was only part of the experience. Here we were, a group of American travelers, eating and chatting in the very place where Voltaire, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, Victor Hugo, and Oscar Wilde had done the same. People of historic note as well as ordinary Parisians and anonymous tourists have sipped wine, savored meals, and discussed current topics in these same rooms for hundreds of years. We became part of a continuous thread reaching back to the first time Le Procope opened its doors in 1686.
The idea of historical Paris exists because the French are serious about their history. It is taught to French children all through their school years. Wendy and Rich emphasized in our late-afternoon discussions (which were also potluck wine and cheese gatherings), that the French know their history so well that they use it to define themselves and create a context for understanding and interpreting current events.
Historical Paris also exists because the French preserve it. In Central Paris, where our group stayed, we were surrounded by more than one thousand years of history. I walked to the Cluny Museum and saw remains of gigantic, high-ceilinged Roman baths. Late one afternoon, I noticed an old Gothic church near our hotel. I entered to discover that it was the shrine of St. Geneviève, patron saint of Paris, who died in AD 512. In addition to St. Geneviève’s relics were the 17th-century tombs of the dramatist Jean Racine and scientist-philosopher Blaise Pascal. A cryptic note fastened to one of the columns explained that the remains of Clovis, first king of the Franks, were buried nearby. In the sixth century, Clovis had an abbey built on this site for Geneviève to do her charitable work. The church came later, built between 1492 and 1626. Stumbling into this unheralded gem, I was struck by the realization that countless stories of people and events inhabit Central Paris like ghosts. The air almost shimmers with them.
A more heralded and equally historic place is Notre Dame de Paris. Walking through the cathedral I saw stained glass windows, statues, and chancel screens depicting Bible stories which, over hundreds of years, have taught French Catholics the significant events of their religion. During Sunday Mass, I was intrigued by the modern altar and two wood sculptures mounted behind a sleek steel-and-wood lectern. These modern pieces stood in jolting contrast to their Gothic surroundings. While the solidity and majesty of the medieval cathedral conveyed permanence, the modern elements appeared rebellious but overpowered by the weight of tradition.
Rich Allen told us that these modern pieces were the likely result of Vatican II in the 1960s. Since the Roman Catholic Church now follows a more conservative course, these modern additions might be removed and become no more than short threads in the tapestry of Notre Dame’s long history.
Throughout our days in Paris, I noticed various other threads, some as mundane as the presence of pets. They seemed to be everywhere. I saw a woman drinking coffee at a sidewalk café as her dog dozed comfortably at her feet. At many shops, dogs snoozed peacefully in open doorways. One night at dinner, our group was greeted by the feline maitre d’ Maurice, a dignified black cat who observed us from an eye-level shelf as we entered. Once we were seated, he circulated among the tables, allowing himself to be petted. Then he chose an empty table for two where he jumped gracefully onto a chair and sat like a quiet guest waiting to be served.
Living pets were only part of this thread. At the Cluny Museum, I saw the Woman and the Unicorn tapestries, woven in the 15th century. Not only did each tapestry feature the ethereal woman and unicorn, but each included dogs or cats; not feral, menacing animals, but family pets. On one tapestry alone, I counted ten dogs. At the Louvre, in a large, historic 18th-century painting, there, in the corner, was a pet dog. “Why is the dog in this painting?” I asked our guide. “I don’t know,” he replied. “It could be a symbol of loyalty, or perhaps, because it is his painting, the artist can put in what he likes.”
So how do these threads form part of the Parisian tapestry? How do old continuously-operating restaurants, Gothic cathedrals with modern altars, and pets inhabiting art and contemporary restaurants help a person discover historical Paris?
It came to me when I read a paragraph written by travel writer Catherine Watson in her book Roads Less Traveled: “Only heroes realize that they’re making history, and then only when they’re involved in great events. But all of us are making history, all the time, for somebody, somewhere. We just don’t think our ordinary kind will matter.”
And that was the discovery. Historical Paris is not a closed book; it is an organic, evolving city that absorbs everyone who has the good sense to go there. It is the amalgamation of great events and small, of history for the history books and the “ordinary kind” that is lived out in a place that knows and loves its own story.
Historical Paris claimed us because we ate at Le Procope and worshipped at Notre Dame. Not only did we see, we participated. Our presence wasn’t significant from an historical perspective, but it was part of the continuous flow of life occurring in that city whose history is rich and deep, preserved and appreciated. We became part of that tapestry, that thread of events.
Humphrey Bogart said to Ingrid Bergman in the final scene of Casablanca, “We’ll always have Paris.” To me, it is just as accurate to say, “Paris will always have us.”
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