Post Cards from Paris: a Thought and a Kiss

Vintage post cards of Paris (or anywhere, for that matter) are delightful, and are easy and unique souvenirs to bring home.

This is a sweet one -- Une pensée de Paris, a play on words since pensée means both pansy and thought.  Say it with flowers:   Thinking of you from Paris.  With the requisite monuments, of course.

The correspondence on the reverse side of this post card was tame, a perfunctory "Tous mes remerciements, Joanne."  The card was addressed to Monsieur et Madame Giraud, 40 rue de la Station, Ermont, which is just north of Paris.  I did a little research:  here is rue de la Station at about that time.  Probably late 1800s.

It's innocent enough, tiptoeing into someone else's thank-you note.

It is another matter entirely to stumble upon an ancient post card containing a woman's bold and feverish declaration of love, which, I fear, may be unrequited. Reading a love letter meant for private eyes feels intrusive ... and yet it causes insatiable curiosity.

Un Baiser -- A Kiss.  The photo may be the woman herself. (To me it looks like a studio portrait turned into a carte postale.) What do you think?

The reverse:  no address.  I'm not sure how the post card was delivered, because it was stamped and metered on the photo side.  It was written probably about 1903.

The message?  I got so sad reading this.  (Translation at the bottom.)   The age old story.

Bien cher et tendre,
L’accueil que vous ferez à ma lettre me cause une inquiétude pénible. J’ai longtemps combattu avant de vous faire l’aveu de ma tendresse. J’ai vingt fois déchiré des lettres commencées enfin mon chéri mon cœur la emporte sur toutes mes craintes. C’est sans doute avoir de l’audace de vous faire un semblable aveu mais il est sincère et je n’exagère pas ma situation, si je vous dis que lorsque je vous ai vue[sic] la première fois j’ai senti un transport qui m’était inconnu. Je ne vous propose pas mon chéri de partager une affection passagère qui n’a rien de sincère ni de durable. Je désire m’unir a vous par les liens du mariage et tous mes vœux sont que.. liens nous unissent a jamais. J’espère que vous daignez répondre à mes sentiments. J’attends votre décision, je l’attends avec impatience et […] quelle ne soit pas désespérant. Je vous en supplie soyez sincère et franc n’ayez aucun détour, car voilà déjà de longs jours que je vous connais, vous avez du remarquer tout le bonheur que j’éprouve lorsque je suis près de vous. Je vous aime de toutes les forces de mon âme. O vous si charmant et si doux, auriez- vous la cruauté de repousser l’amour le plus vrai et le plus sincère. Si vous ne pouvez pas me donner des sentiments aussi affectueux que ceux que je me sens pour vous, laissez-moi au moins l’espérance un mot de grâce sinon, chéri dites-moi que je puis vous chérir et vous aimer. Veuillez agréer cher bien aime avec mon profond respect l’assurance de mon amitié et de mon dévouement. Votre amie qui vous aime. 28.16

Quickly translated:

"My tender darling,
Thinking about your potential reaction to this letter causes me painful worry.  I have been so anguished about expressing my feelings to you.  I have begun and then torn up letters to you twenty times, because, dear heart, therein lie my fears.  It is certainly bold to make such a pronouncement to you, but it is sincere and I am not exaggerating my current situation if I tell you that when I saw you the first time I felt transported in a way I'd never felt before.  I am not asking you to share with me a fleeting affection, which is neither sincere nor long-lasting.  I want to be united with you by the bonds of marriage and my only wishes are that we be united forever.  I hope that you will return the feelings.  I await your decision, I wait for it with impatience and [hope] that it will not be disappointing.  I beg of you, be sincere and honest, don't beat around the bush, because I have already known you for so many long days, and surely you must have noticed the joy that I experience when I am near you.  I love you with all the force of my soul.  O you so charming and so kind, would you be so cruel as to reject a love so sincere and so real?  If you cannot love me in the same way that I love you, please give me at least a kind word, dear one please tell me that at least I can love you and cherish you.

Please accept dear one with my profound respect the assurance of my friendship and my devotion.  Your friend who loves you."


Parting thoughts:

1.  What do you think the response was, if any?

2.  I am amazed that even love letters are closed with "Veuillez agreer....l'assurance de etc etc."  That formula is really, really ingrained in the culture!

3.  Was 28.16 a code name?

Old French post cards

A favorite Paris pastime is browsing through the Marché aux timbres on avenue Gabriel.  In my mind, it is one of the best shopping places for authentic bits of France that are almost impossible to find outside of the Hexagon -- at least in terms of selection.  And which you can take home without weighing down the luggage.

For about an hour I took shelter (kind of) from the dripping rain under a number of tents of stamp and postcard merchants.  If my nice leather flat shoes hadn't been soaked, I would have stayed longer.  Yes, some of us must suffer: caught in the Paris downpour!

This postcard, from around 1910, caught my eye:  a manif!  "Place de la Concorde (Manifestation)."  With the Eiffel Tower in the background.

There are so many comments and complaints from expats and tourists about "oh those @#%*& demonstrations in Paris."  And I share the frustrations.  Kind of.  Because, as this points out, really, they are just a part of Paris tradition.  Well before 1910.

As regular as rain.

But I have no idea what the manifestation was about.  Any ideas to help solve the mystery?

Paris and the demonstrations

Only a few days in Paris, and life is never dull.  Today was filled with many incredible moments, but what stopped Paris in its tracks was the massive protest for "Le Mariage pour Tous."

It brought much of the city to a standstill.  No taxis, no buses.

Here, at the place de l'Alma, where one group in the parade began.  They were singing La Marseillaise:

The groups of protesters continued pouring from three different directions into the Esplanade des Invalides (where I am staying) until the early evening.  As far as I know, no major problems arose.  I arrived home a few minutes ago and the police were still out in full force, blocking the street:

A Happy Easter Spring Chick.. from Paris

Happy Easter!  Joyeuses Pâques!

This illustration would indeed be a Spring chick, if the advertisement weren't 66 years old.  Circa 1947.

Since it's for an elastic company, however,  let's just say it's a springy chick.

The caption underneath reads:  "Les produits élastiques de haute qualité portent cette étiquette."  (High quality elastic products bear this label.)

The company:  Société européenne de fils élastiques - 14.16 Bld. Poissonnière - Paris.

Alas, the European Company of Elastic Threads is no longer at that address in the 9th arrondissement.  But you can see the building anyway on this real estate video on YouTube.

Wishing all a joyous season.

Paris Reborn: the making of Haussmann's Paris

Those who know and love Paris, and think they know all about haussmannien architecture in Paris, will be delighted and informed at an unimagined higher level when they read the absolutely splendid new book by Stephane Kirkland, Paris Reborn:  Napoleon III, Baron Haussmann, and the Quest to Build a Modern City.

I am only three-quarters of the way through the book, which to me is a gripping narrative, a page-turner. If you love Paris as she exists today, you will simply devour each page.  Stephane Kirkland takes his readers through beginnings of Paris modernization and through the city's massive transformation during the Second Empire.

A few highlights:

"Napoleon... had a large new slaughterhouse built on the edge of the city, with one important consequence:  As of September 15, 1828, it became prohibited to drive cattle through the center of town."

Ponder that for a few moments.

Or Queen Victoria's comments on her visit to Paris in 1855:  "What could I say about this most wonderful city in the world?" in an era when Paris was first learning what it meant to be a tourist destination.

Or Baron Haussmann's disagreements with Hittorff.

There are far too many excellent chapters in the life of  19th-century built Paris to enumerate here, so I simply recommend the book. Over and over.

Kirkland captures the drama, both social and political, and opulence of Paris in the mid-nineteenth century, and begs the reader to ask what Paris would have become if Baron Haussmann had not persisted in his determination to carry out the expansive and visionary urban-planning ideals of Napoleon III.  

For those who love Paris today-- all the many millions of you -- this book is a must-read.  You will always walk down the streets and grand boulevards of Paris henceforth with a knowing and appreciative understanding of how they got to be where they are today.

For those who yearn to know and discover Paris, this is a superb architectural primer on the creation of the most beautiful city in the world. (Yes, of course I'm biased.)

Official publication date is April 2, but you might not want to wait that long to order it.  Ask me!

Patron Saint of Paris Taxi Drivers to be Honored

Taxi drivers in Paris are the stuff of legend.  And urban myth, too, perhaps.  In all my Paris taxi rides, I have had only one driver who was less than wonderful.  (That is, when I could actually get a taxi.  But that's another story, and a long one.)  I know that other people will differ with me;  maybe I've just been lucky?

Or maybe St. Fiacre was looking out for me.

Who in tarnation is St. Fiacre, you ask?  Why, he is none other than the patron saint of French taxi drivers.  And this week he will have a new statue in his honor unveiled.  The term fiacre was used originally for the early horse-drawn carriages for hire in Paris.  So the next time you need to hail a cab in Paris, maybe if you make a special pryaer to St. Fiacre, it might help.  Can't hurt.

God bless that St. Fiacre!

I've had lively discussions about literature, politics, current events --- and, of course, the weather -- from the backseat of a G7 or Taxi Bleu.  A few accounts of my interactions with Paris taxi drivers:

1. I telephoned one to fetch me at my apartment on the place de la Madeleine, and the driver said "Non, Madame, I cannot -- there is a manif  [street protest] in your neighborhood and the traffic is blocked." (His taxi stand was around the corner, so he knew what the real situation was, but he was apparently acting on official traffic reports from the Prefecture de Police). I said, "Monsieur, I must tell you, I have the best view of the Madeleine of anyone, and I promise you that the traffic has completely cleared up. In fact, feel free to call me any time if you want a really good traffic report!" He perked up and said, "Okay, I'll be there in 2 minutes."

2. Another day I was bringing home two antique wooden chairs I bought at the Marche aux Puces in Vanves, and although I called the number for extra-large taxis, a regular size taxi showed up. The driver snarled, "You are moving furniture. Do I look like a moving man?" "No," I replied sweetly, "you look like a very kind chauffeur de taxi." He melted like butter. Even helped me move the chairs into the vestibule when we arrived.

3. It is after midnight. I am riding home in a taxi from a farewell dinner. "Brrr. Il fait froid," says the driver. "Moins 2." We make pleasant chit-chat and I note with irony that just as I'm leaving Paris I'm beginning to recognize the Celsius temperature readings without a mad mental scramble to do the math.

The car slides silently along the quai, past the Statue of Liberty on Ile de la Cygne, past the high-rise apartments across the Seine in the 15th. "How can I ever replace this?" I wonder. Even the mundane modern buildings take on importance. Suddenly the Eiffel Tower surges into sight; its brilliant blue lighting is breathtaking. For a brief moment I consider asking the driver to stop so I can take a photo, but it's too cold, I'm too tired, and I would have no way to upload it when I get home, because there is nothing left in the apartment.

4. And this, my all-time favorite.

This anecdote is the only less-than-wonderful experience:

After one Saturday dinner party in Paris, it being late I decided to take a taxi home. The reluctant driver picked me up -- I was his last fare of the evening -- and we drove from the Champs Elysees to my place in the 7e arrondissement. We arrived at my doorstep and I explained that all I had was a 50-euro bill. You would have thought I had committed highway robbery. I got the most severe tongue-lashing, with expletives, him furiously spouting, "If I had known you wanted to pay me with a 50-euro bill, I wouldn't have picked you up," and so forth. I apologized profusely, to no avail. Finally, he gave me the change for the 11-euro fare -- change which he had in abundance, it turns out.


Do you have any Paris taxi stories?  Any prayers for St. Fiacre?

Remembering Veterans' Day

@Musee de la legion d'honneur

Veterans' Day.  Armistice Day.  In French, le onze novembre.  A day to remember all soldiers who have fought to protect their countries.  But the significance of the historic date November 11, 1918,  is one that should be retained.

Please pause and take a look at the images of  these soldiers who fought in World War I, known in France as the War of 1914-18 (La Guerre de quatorze-dix-huit, or  La Grande guerre).

There are virtually no veterans now remaining from the Grande guerre.  But I remember hearing a story or two when I was on my junior year abroad.

@Musee de la Legion d'honneur

In France, on November 11, 1918, across the country church bells were rung at 11 a.m. -- the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month -- in honor of the 18 million who died  and the millions who were wounded during that four-year war   France as a country would never be the same.

These images come from the Musee de la Legion d'honneur (Museum of the Legion of Honor) which, if you are in Paris, is an important place to visit.  Right next door to the Musee d'Orsay.  Entrance is free.

@Musee de la Legion d'honneur

Lafayette: the Lost Hero... et moi: the Lost Heroine

I'm often asked "What did you do when you lived in Paris?"

Ouf.  The answer is, to opt for an oft-used phrase, "It's complicated."

I did some free-lance consulting, editing and copy-editing, and of course I created and fed this blog, my third child.

But one of the most fun, intriguing, and personally fulfilling volunteer gigs I had in Paris was to be a part of the Lafayette 250th anniversary celebration a few years ago.  Bright lights!  Big city!  Cameras rolling!

It turned out that a big part of the Lafayette anniversary woop-de-doo was of serious interest to acclaimed American filmmaker Oren Jacoby.  How he and I initially connected is too long a story to be of interest (it has to do with librarians, historians, and archivists, so don't fall asleep).  But ultimately, I ended up as an enthusiastic, starry-eyed participant in Oren's great documentary about the Marquis de Lafayette and his involvement in the American Revolution:  Lafayette, the Lost Hero.

But.

There is always the but, right?  And biz being biz, after all those hours, I ended up on the cutting-room floor, so to speak. (Actually, I'm in the outtakes on the DVD, which you can purchase, or if you simply need to believe me.)

Such is life. But, seriously, I wouldn't have traded the learning-curve experience for anything. For example, for one memorable day, camera crews were rolling all day in my apartment in the 7e arrondissement (which I dubbed Studio 54, for the address.)

Bright lights at 54 rue Vaneau

Of course, there's zero stress in having your apartment filmed for posterity...

In Paris, I was filmed tootling around the Marché de Saxe on my bike, climbing the stairs at the French Senate (the Palais du Luxembourg) and at a gala at the Palais de Vincennes, interviewing the director of the Musée Carnavalet in  private tour of the museum's galleries, just to name a few segments.  My then-college-aged kids agreed to be filmed as I lectured them about the "Declaration des Droits de l'Homme" in the Concorde metro station. I counted among my Lafayette co-stars such journalistic luminaries as Michael Oreskes and Jim Gaines, plus the mayors of Lafayette cities in the US.

On the other side of the pond, too, I was there.  Back on home turf to see my son Harry, I plodded around the Bunker Hill monument in Boston in the rain, cameras running  as I chatted about Lafayette history.  In Charleston (while on a visit to Miss Bee in college), I learned a lot about South Carolina history as we focused on Lafayette's arrival there in  1777.   All for my hero, Lafayette.

And a plus:  I learned a lot of film lingo. Such as "sticks," and "wrap." You know, how cool am I?  Heady stuff.

Here I am with the great guys of the crew, South of Broad in Charleston.

Sometimes I felt like Snow White! 

But how do I put any of this on my resume?

I guess I don't.

Garage sale find: Moulin des loups plate

Driving down a back road in Rhode Island last weekend, I spotted a neon-green poster, hand printed, which announced:  HUGE barn sale! 

What could I do but swerve and follow?

After finding the place, I wound my way to the back of the house to the ersatz barn/shed.  Blessedly, the sale had no contemporary knick-knacks: no legos or Candyland games, no outgrown plastic tricycles.   Just an authentic assortment of dusty treasures hauled out of the barn and spread out on planks and sagging wooden tables.  A vintage bicycle, with flat tires and rusted gears; several Flexible Flyer sleds, perfectly aged; old tools with a respectable patina of rust;  a collection of odometers from 1950's vehicles.  That sort of barn sale.  Heaven.

On the middle table, under a pile of tin items, I found this plate, caked in dirt.

"How much?" I asked the owner.

"What is that, Italian?" he asked.

"Nah, actually, I think it's French," I replied, with a forced (but hopefully convincing) note of disappointment in my bargaining voice.

"Okay, well how about a buck?"

I shrugged.  "Okay."

I poked around among the sundry ancient items some more before shelling over my dollah for this lovely bit of French faience.

I knew it wasn't a priceless gem, but somehow the design, as an old-fashioned French bit of tableware, appealed to me.  And the colors were so autumnal.

As with all random purchases like this, I get to wondering how it found its way from the Hamage Moulins des Loups Nord factory in France, where is was created, to this little hamlet near Newport, Rhode Island.  And where was the rest of the set?

Couldn't you write a novel just about the journey? 

I could.

Some day.

Announcing David McCullough's Next Book: Americans in Paris, 20th Century

Breaking news!  This weekend, historian and author David McCullough announced  -- for the first time to the public -- the subject of of his next book:  Americans in Paris from the early 1900's to 1930.  The theme, though, will be fascinatingly different from all other tomes on those all-too-famous Yanks in the City of Light.  His will be a study how the nascent technology of aviation influenced their lives and vice versa.

Speaking at the annual meeting of the Federation of Alliances Francaises in Providence, where he was receiving the coveted Prix Charbonnier for his most recent work on Americans in Paris, The Greater Journey, Mr. McCullough unveiled his latest project.  Realizing, in Paris during a 4-day taping for 60 Minutes, that writing about Paris was in his heart, he knew his next book also had to be about  Americans in Paris in the 20th century.  "But," he said, "I was faced with the problem of 'How can I make it different from so much that has been written?  I cannot go down the same old path about Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein, etc. etc.'   I knew it could be done and I knew that there were so many more people than those clichés that they had become, alas.  But what would make it work?  And inform?  What was the perspective or lens through which I could look at this period that would be different?  And then, one day, came one of those moments where suddenly it hit me.  And, honestly, it just lifted me out of my chair.  And that is: aviation.  The advent of flight.  The advent of the airplane.  The most emblematic development of the 20th century."

Here is a brief glimpse of him reading the first page of his new book, describing Edith Wharton in Paris as she witnessed the first airplane to ever fly over Paris,on Monday, October 18,1909.

The video is truncated, alas.  I had to focus on the talk.  Page one had me completely spellbound.  Afterwards, Mr. McCullough said to me, "Well, Polly, if your face was an indication, I guess it will be a hit."

Paris Match, May 1950

I recently came upon an issue of Paris Match from May 27, 1950, a yellowing 61-year-old chronicle of la vie Parisienne. Think about it: just 6 years after Paris was liberated.

When my scanner is back in order (long story), I'll include some of the great vintage ads and visuals. Meanwhile, I feel compelled to report on a Paris briefing found in the end of the magazine.

Entitled "Elles et Eux," written by Cecil Brunet, it is a compilation of tidbits: social, literary, political. Here are a few random selections (translations by me). A glimpse beyond the cliche-ridden images of Paris in the 1950s.

Bing Crosby, who had settled in to the Ritz upon arrival in Paris recently, found that hotel too noisy and left it to stay in the Lancaster. He then left the Lancaster, and found an apartment in Auteuil.

Paul Claudel, replying to an actor who was praising him for the dialogue in his work L'Otage, said, "Well, what do you expect? It's Claudel!"

Monsieur Pestche is very interested in the images of la Marianne proposed for the soon to be minted 10-franc coins. He says: I want a well-proportioned Marianne!" (bien fichue)

Charles Trenet will sing in Central Park in New York on May 20. When he enters the stage, 40 New York policemen will give him a grand salute. This idea amuses Trenet no end, as this will be the anniversary of his detention on Ellis Island.

Gaston Gallimard, looking at the crush of people gathered at his cocktail party, said "It's amazing how many friends I have!"

Sartre had written a letter to a judge in support of Boris Vian, to address the legal action between Vian and the Cartel d'action morale. The letter didn't arrive in time, and Vian was found guilty.

(image: Boris Vian, via Wikipedia)

French Easter Bonnets, 1947

From the magazine Plaisir de France, 1947.
A selection of French designers' (modistes) Easter hats.

From...
Legroux: a capeline (broad-brimmed hat) covered with irises.

Jane: a felt hat pierced by a stem of camelias.

Gilbert Orcel: a straw hat veiled in mousseline.

Rose Valois: a toque with multicolor flowers.

Schiaparelli: a bird's nest, a bouquet of sweet peas, and a straw hat decorated with poppies.


Joyeuses Pâques!

Suite francaise

I awake in the pre-dawn hours, befuddled and anxious.

Will our family have enough to eat? I wonder.

Will we reach Tours? Will it be safe when we get there?

Then, slowly I awake. I rub my eyes and realize it is 2011. I am safe in my comfortable American bed. Breakfast awaits.

As I gaze sleepily around the room, I remember that I am reading, and totally absorbed by, Suite française, by Irène Némirovsky.

Published in 2006, it's one of those books I'd been "meaning to read" and couldn't decide whether to read it in French or English. If it's one of those books that you have been "meaning to read," please do so. I'm reading the English edition, exquisitely translated by Sandra Smith.

Universal Studios apparently bought the movie rights in 2006. I don't usually clamor for a great novel's film version, but this is one that I can't wait to see.

It is also one of those books that I want to know the ending of but that I don't ever want to end.

Have you read it?

Pauline's Breast at Odiot

For ultimate luxury shopping in Paris, nothing beats Odiot. Luxury in its finest sense, because there is nothing in Odiot that one needs. But perhaps -- oh yes indeed -- there are many, many items that one wants. Covets. All that glitters is gold, vermeil, and silver. [Image via Odiot.com]

Odiot. [oh-dee-oh]

Odiot.

For the uninitiated, let me just say that it is the highest of high-end orfèvrerie (goldsmith/silversmith) with an unparalleled Parisian pedigree.

For the cognoscenti, it is, of course, the home of “le sein de Pauline,” a.k.a. Pauline’s breast. Yes, chez Odiot you can purchase for your little coffee table a charming bibelot – a gold cup molded from the breast of Napoleon’s sister Pauline Borghese.

Her racy life story is more than I have space to indulge in here, so best to read a few links or buy the biography. (Now there’s a biopic waiting to be made!)

Sometimes the “sein de Pauline” is featured in Odiot’s glam-but-chicly-restrained store window. Other times you’ll simply have to stop in and ask to see it.

Spoiled moi, my first apartment in Paris was six storeys up on place de la Madeleine, whence I could gaze down on the Odiot shop window. And press my nose against the Odiot vitrine in a trance as I gawked at the shiny splendor inside. I had no choice but to pass by Odiot every time I left the apartment; and, trust me, I was never disappointed. Somehow there is something comforting in viewing sheer lavishness, just knowing that it exists because it is a fine art. And, curiously, the coveting diminishes as the appreciation increases. It was like walking past a museum display.

Ah, the days of my daily Odiot fix!

Do yourself a favor and stop by the storefront of Odiot for a great view of gilded Parisian splendor. Enter and look at the incredible offerings. But consider yourself forewarned! Odiot is powerfully appealing. You start nosing around for the least expensive item, just to be able to take something home. Like a breast of Pauline with a cute little butterfly.

Odiot

7, place de la Madeleine

75008 Paris

Anniversary of the Death of Louis XVI

January 21 marks the anniversary of the execution of Louis XVI at the place de la Concorde in Paris.

His final words were, "Peuple, je meurs innocent! Je pardonne aux auteurs de ma mort! Je prie Dieu que mon sang ne retombe pas sur la France!"

A notable occasion in history. A notable occasion in my personal history for the major social boo-boo(s) I made when I first learned of the importance of this occasion from someone who takes it very, very seriously.

Read it and weep here.

p.s. No, he never called back.



image via wikipedia

Régifilm: Authentic Paris Movie Props

We were wandering through the 11e arrondissement, doing what I like to do best: discovering side streets I've never traveled before.

Oh, I was not disappointed.

.

We happened upon Regifilm on rue Amelot.

My idea of Paris heaven. It was better than a salvage shop or a marché aux puces.

What is it? Apparently, it's an agency that rents props and costumes for period films. We wandered in the jumbled, crowded entrance way -- it wasn't really clear if there was an accueil anywhere, and no one seemed to mind our prowling around, so we just kept wandering further and further into the depths. A murky maze of antique splendor.

So much cool stuff.

Vintage lampposts, mailboxes, street signs, fountains, barrels, lighting, kitchen appliances, mannequins. You name it.

Think of any period Paris movie you've seen, and you can imagine the stock at Régifilm.

Inky, Dinky Polly Vous

In honor of Armistice Day -- Veterans' Day in the U.S. -- I've been thinking about Dough Boys, anciens combattants and old soldiers' drinking songs.  Mademoiselle from Armentieres specifically.  I'm sure I heard it while watching any number of old black and white movies about World War I, but never really retained much of the lyrics except the refrain, "Hinky-dinky parlez-vous."  Which of course I used to think was... by George you've got it! 

Now that I have found out what some of the lyrics really are, I think it best if the bulk of the bawdy lyrics remain mumbled, kind of beer-sloshed as in this clip.






Related posts:

Chez les Rougier

In Flanders Fields

The Liberation of Paris

Today marks the 65th anniversary of the Liberation of Paris.

All around Paris there are daily reminders of the Liberation, such as this plaque. Read more here.

Starting at 4:45 pm today there will be an official ceremony at the Hotel de Ville in Paris, including une Evocation Historique en 5 Actes.

Additionally, a smaller ceremony at the Mairie of the 7e arrondissement will take place at noon. Rachida Dati, other elected officials, and Anciens combattants will commemorate the anniversary. 116 rue de Grenelle.

If you are not in Paris, but have a half hour to spare, do yourself a favor and watch this documentary, filmed in secret during those weeks in August -- from the first insurrections in mid-August to the victory parade with the 2nd French Armored and 4th US Division. It includes General De Gaulle's famous "Paris brisé! Paris martyrisé! Mais Paris libéré!" speech. It's all in French, but you'll understand.

Click here to watch the film.

D-Day Commemoration in Colleville

Here is the invitation, which arrived in my inbox last week. Fulfilling a lifelong dream! I was geared up, all systems go.

Long story made short: it is almost 3 p.m. in Colleville-sur-Mer. I am watching the ceremony on TV from home.

Whine whine whine

"The French will never forget"

Memorial Day poppies blooming in my field this morning.

Question: what do you get when you cross a francophile, an American patriot, and a sappy sentimentalist?

Answer: Polly-Vous Français, for one. And there were many others.

Last week, on the occasion of Lafayette Day, four WWII Veterans were awarded the French Legion d'Honneur for their service and bravery in France, mostly in 1944. The ceremony at the State House in Boston included school children singing "La Marseillaise" and "The Star-Spangled Banner." The Presentation of the Colors by the Ancient and Honorable Artillery. Young students eagerly waving their hands to ask the Marquis de Lafayette [actor] questions about his life.

Presenting the medals to the honorees, French Consul General François Gauthier remarked, "The French will never forget" the courage and help of the Americans. If there were dry eyes in the house as the citations were announced, they were few. Almost every speaker ended his talk with a solemn, heartfelt "Vive la France and God Bless America!"

Legion d'honneur recipients flank Consul General François Gauthier. Lafayette, portrayed by Loic Barnieu, on the right.

Trust me, I'm not a knee-jerk, rah-rah, flag-waving-in-your-face kind of patriot. (And I was a terrible history student.) But for one thing, the honorees were all about the same age that my late father and step-father would have been. Both served in WWII.

And all my life I have been unable to sing the words O beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife without my voice wobbling, cracking, and disappearing to a hush. (And FWIW I still think it should be our national anthem.)

At lunch after the Legion d'Honneur ceremony, I sought out each of the honorees to express my appreciation. I shook their hands and said, "Thank you for...." Unable to finish, I had to swallow hard and just utter a second, faltering "Thank you."