3 Catholic priests found themselves strangely attracted to the pies of a Latin Quarter pastry maker. Day after day they returned for the delicacies. They wanted to ask about the ingredients, but were too shy. They should have persisted. Turns out the pastry maker was in cahoots with a nearby barber. The barber lured young boys into his shop, murdered them, chopped them into tiny pieces, then offered them to the pastry maker. Pate anyone? After the plot was discovered, the priests were excommunicated for partaking of human flesh. The pastry maker and barber were appropriately torn to bits in a gruesome execution.
Welcome to Paris Walks%26#39; “Hemingway%26#39;s Paris,” a 2-hour tour of the Latin Quarter.
The wail of an ambulance siren near Metro Cardinal Lemoine seemed to announce that my stepdaughter and I and 15 others were in for a treat.
In the 1920s, Hemingway frequented numerous cafes, sometimes writing, sometimes carousing, always drinking. He liked to pretend he was a streetwise native. He became such a fixture in France that, during the liberation of Paris in August 1944, he personally “liberated” Paris by marching to the bar of the Ritz Hotel and ordering 50 martinis for his entourage. He committed suicide in 1961, a result of alcohol, depression and physical problems. Not surprising since he mistreated his body. During 2 separate air crashes, he had used his head as a battering ram. Nobody could say he wasn%26#39;t tough.
The tour is riddled with interesting sidelights. We run across a fragment of the Philip Augustus Wall, started in 1180. Parisians erected several walls to protect various areas of the city. No walls were erected where students and intellectuals gathered. They were not considered important enough to merit protection.
Our guide points out a dormitory built in the 14th century. Students lounge outside in the warm sun, reading, debating, courting. Universities in this area are easy to get into, extremely difficult to get out of. Successful grads lead the 14 July Bastille Day parade every year.
A well-dressed elderly couple clings to each other affectionately as they navigate a narrow cobblestone street. An ancient church bell sounds as we listen to the story of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr who was stoned to death. Inside a Gothic church, I stare mesmerized at the finger of St. Genevieve, encased in glass, all that remains after divers recovered her remains.
We pass an area where Hemingway used to stare up at chimneys to see if a fire was burning. If so, he had a warm place to stay. If not, he would retire to the nearest cafe. In a cafe, he could order a single drink and nurse it for hours. Anything to keep from writing. Seeing a beautiful woman, he might be inspired to write about Michigan where he spent part of his youth.
We run across a pigeon dying on a cobblestone street. Its body still twitching from whatever caused its demise. Speaking of demise, ladies, if you treasure your ankles, don%26#39;t even THINK about wearing heels on this tour.
Hemingway interacted with famous people. Ezra Pound acted as a critic. Submitted Hemingway%26#39;s writings, he deleted all the adjectives, helping to develop Hemingway%26#39;s sparse style. Bar companions included the likes of James Joyce, George Orwell and numerous French writers.
Sylvia Beech published Joyce%26#39;s work. Beech%26#39;s husband considered Joyce%26#39;s writings so offensive, he tossed 60 pages of the Ulysses manuscript into the fire. Attempting to ship 3-400 copies to America, Beech had to disguise Joyce%26#39;s work by using “Shakespeare%26#39;s Complete Works” as a false title on the covers.
Our guide points out a flat where Hemingway lived. No hot water. No toilet. Hemingway had to retreat to a bath house when he wanted a shower.
He liked to exaggerate his early poverty. There was a time, though, when he concealed a shotgun in a baby carriage, then shot pigeons in the Luxembourg Gardens in order to eat. Friend George Orwell had similar experiences. Orwell often pawned his clothes in exchange for food.
Balzac favored the Latin Quarter because it was “most horrible, like descending to the catacombs.” Poorer students were often forced to eat rotten food disguised with lots of salt, pepper and vinegar.
We pass an open market. Ripe peaches gleam in the sunlight. Fresh asparagus spears beckon. Lush green peppers and fresh lettuce spill out of sidewalk bins.
Someone estimated that the number of glasses of wine and beer served in the Quarter is close to 37 million. Easy to understand with all the sidewalk cafes, places to eat, and the history, which makes one linger.
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Oh, Patrick, I simply feel it in my bones - this is going to be the most wonderful summer of my whole life! Now where in hell is the waiter with my drink and what%26#39;s keeping Vera?
There was a tap at the door and both Vera and the waiter entered, although Vera had managed to sweep Auntie Mame%26#39;s sidecar off the tray and had half finished it.
Darling! Auntie Mame said.
Dulling! Vera said
Vera Charles needs no introduction to anyone who ever went to the theater between the Civil and Korean wars. She was a fabulous clothes horse, an absolute star, and is said to have killed off more producers than alcohol, heart disease, and suicide put together. She was also my Auntie Mame%26#39;s best friend most of the time. Today she was looking very Parisian in a Molyneux suit, pearls, fox furs, a hennaed upsweep, and a face that was at least ten years younger than the one I%26#39;d seen her wearing two years earlier.
Mame, dulling, Vera said dramatically, what a pity you missed my conquest of London, but now yoah heah in Pediss to see me wow these frogs. Vera was born and brought up in Pittsburgh, but she spoke with such a detirmined Mayfair elegance that not even the English could understand much of what she was saying.
Yais, dulling. Vera said. it%26#39;s one thing to have ull of Ameddica at one%26#39;s feet; one thing to be the toast of London; but what ecktress of may statuah ecktually needs is a trayumph on the Continent. And heah you ah, may uldest and diddest chum, on hand to share this victory with me! Vera simpered elegantly and reached for another sidecar....
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If things go according to plan I intend to partake of this sublime excursion a week from today. I had to stop reading after the first paragraph and it will require massive quanities of wine to blot it from my memory. Good job.
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This is La Maison de Verlaine where, supposedly, Hemingway rented a room on the top floor in order to get away to a quiet place and write. There is a plaque to that effect underneath the light fixture on the left. It%26#39;s a nice place to have a drink and a snack and is located at 37 rue Descartes:
…smugmug.com/photos/22422883_E525P-M-1.jpg
Hemingway never said he shot pidgeons in Paris. His son, Bumby, (John Nicanor Hemingway) was hidden in the stroller.
Pjk
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Dear Mauana Kau Lady,
Was Auntie Mame really your aunt??? I loved the movie with Rosalind Russel starring as Mame. She%26#39;s been my role model for life, and for being an Auntie!
Hi Billiep,
I%26#39;ve really been enjoying your posts. Sounds like you are getting the most out of your visit. One of my favorite books is Paris Walks, which is filled with great tidbits of Parisian history. On your Hemmingway tour, did you get to Shakespeare %26amp; Co.?
Cheers,
BT
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Hello BT,
No, we did not get to Shakespeare %26amp; co.
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Hi BT,
nope, no relation!
mkl
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