Spirits in Paris

What is it about cemetaries that draw us to them? The sense of history, the beauty of the monuments, an eeriness combined with a strange comfort of continuity among generations... all of these are present and more at La Cimetiere du Pere-Lachaise. (Please excuse the lack of accent marks--I can't seem to find them within this blogging format.) This famous graveyard, profiled in dozens of movies, hosts the bones of literary greats, politicians, French dignitaries and, probably the most highly-profiled for Americans, Jim Morrison of the Doors. You may remember Mr. Morrison died an early death while visiting in Paris.

We didn't get to see Mr. Morrison's grave yesterday because the skies opened up and we got drenched in a downpour, caught without our umbrellas. We headed for cover, any type of cover, and ended up squeezed in a tiny open mausoleum compliments of the Chevreaux family who didn't seem to object. What first seemed kind of creepy was actually delightful, avoiding the rain by enjoying the hospitality of a family long gone. The downpour subsided enough for us to head out of the cemetery and back to "le Metro" (Paris' wonderful subway system) and on our way out of the cemetery we noticed we weren't the only ones who ducked for cover under an open crypt.

Before the rain began we did find our way to one of the graves I'd wanted to see: that of writer Colette. This dream of mine, to live in Paris, was planted long ago as a young student of literature and Colette was one of the many writers and artists I'd admired along with Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and the ex-pat writers of the "Lost Generation" in the 1920s. This schoolgirl fascination with all things Parisian resulted in voracious reading and I loved Colette, a brave woman ahead of her time who made her living as an artist--not an easy thing for anyone to do but especially a woman writer in the early 1900s. To see her grave gave me a complex rush of feelings, nostalgic for a time I never experienced, honored to pay homage to her and sad to see her name, all alone, on the gravestone.

Pere-Lachaise is filled with elaborate sculptures, engraved lines of poetry, old photos cast on stone and miles and miles of family history, all of which I wanted to know about. The rain chased us away but we'll be back. We still need to honor the spirit of Oscar Wilde, the famous playwright whose last words on his deathbed were reported to be "Either this wallpaper goes or I do!"