Paris Journal 2014 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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Just as I was
reaching the edge of the Place Saint Sulpice, a man
stopped in front of me. He was pleasant-looking,
with a nice smile, silver hair, and an unlined face. He was a couple inches shorter than I am,
and he wore dark-framed glasses.
Because he was carrying the kind of snap-shut portfolio used to hold
legal documents, a pad of paper, and a pen, I thought perhaps he was going to
interview me for a survey. Here’s a
translation of our conversation, which was entirely in French: He: Bonjour.
It is a nice day [then a couple sentences in clear French that was too
rapid for me to understand immediately]. Me: Bonjour,
I’m sorry but my French is slow. He: Oh, what country are you from? Me: The United States. He: What state? Me: Florida. He: Ah, Florida! But you like Paris? Me: Yes, I love Paris. He: You don’t find it too expensive? Me: Oh, maybe a little, but it is like all the
other big cities. He: Yes, New York is even more expensive,
especially for an apartment. Me: Yes, that is very true. Especially now. He: Are you married? Me: Yes!
(I’m beginning to laugh a little now.) He: He is lucky. (big smile) Good day! Me: Good day! We were both
laughing a little as he walked on down the rue Palatine, and I went on toward
my goal: the entrance of the great
church of Saint Sulpice. Not a bad way
to start my walk, I thought. In my
defense, I must say I was very conservatively dressed, all in black, from my Chicos Zenergy jacket, shirt,
and loose-fitting slacks down to my practical boots. I did nothing to provoke this
come-on. But maybe the guy is
looking for a woman who dresses conservatively. I wish him well. Mass was still
being said when I entered the church, so I quietly took a seat near the back
and participated. Then communion was
offered, and I did not go up to take it.
The first 8 or 9 rows had been reserved for members of the
church. Almost all the rest of the
people filling the sanctuary were visitors, I suppose. Giving communion to all would take a long
time, and non-Catholics are generally shy about this and so they remain
seated. One of the
regular Saint Sulpice organists, Sophie-Veronique Cauchefer-Choplin, was playing the great Cavaillé-Coll organ – both for the mass and for the
audition afterwards. Her style is
different from that of Daniel Roth, the other regular organist; he tends to
be more heavy-handed. At www.stsulpice.com, I found this excellent
description of the organ: The main organ
of St. Sulpice, with its 102 stops distributed over
five manuals and pedal, is the largest instrument of the French organ builder
Aristide Cavaillé-Coll (1811-1899). This immense
and complex machine is constructed upon seven levels, measuring a total of 20
meters in height. Of solid construction, the instrument has never undergone
any fundamental rebuild. Its tonal design reflects extensive studies and
planning by Cavaillé-Coll for the creation of a
comprehensive organ uniting the old and new arts in organ building to allow
not only the interpretation of romantic music, but earlier music as well. Cavaillé-Coll also preserved much
of the pipework from the former instrument of François-Henri Clicquot (1781) -- over 40% of the ensemble -- which were
also conserved during the earlier restoration by Daublaine-Callinet
(1846). Thanks to the titular organists who well appreciated the perfection
in the art of Cavaillé-Coll, modern action and
modifications to the tonal scheme where adamantly avoided. Hence, the organ
of St. Sulpice functions after 143 years much as it
did on its first day, with the original playing action. This instrument
remains as an authentic testimony to the art of its builder. How very
different is the awesome music I heard in this church from the more subtle
and melodic jazz we heard last night at Café Laurent. The jazz, as wonderful as it was, was
curiously more humble than the church music. We were sitting
comfortably by the café’s window, directly across from but a row back from
the band, where we could also see the people entering the café from the hotel
lobby. Just when we were hearing the
end of the third number in the first set, I saw a familiar face in that
entrance archway. I waved, and my
friend waved back. Then I saw the
other friend, his wife. Tom and I adroitly maneuvered the only two remaining
seats so they could sit near us. These friends
are Danny and Amy, from Sanibel. Danny
is both a musician and a painter. He
and Amy have friends who live in Paris; so every year, they come to visit,
staying in a hotel not far from their friends’ place. Danny says he comes to “study.” What he’s studying is painting techniques
and styles. They spend plenty of time
in galleries and museums when they’re here. They’d just
arrived in Paris, and were still adjusting to the time change. They only stayed for one set, plus the
break, so we had some time to chat and catch up. I admired Amy for forging ahead with this
trip, even though she’d recently broken her foot. She’s in a walking cast, and using a
cane. Metro steps will be a challenge. They both
seemed very happy to be here, and very much in their comfort zone in this
city. They’re going to the south of
France for a day or two, then returning to Paris later this week. The second set
was even better than the first; I wish Danny and Amy could have stayed for
it. But it was late, and they had not
yet had dinner. A flute player joined the quartet for half of the second set. He played beautifully. I wish I’d caught his name, but I didn’t. I thought he looked a little like Groucho Marx; Tom said he looked like Kurt Vonnegut, or an actor playing Kurt Vonnegut. The quartet was Arnaud LeChantre (drums), Laurent Fradelizi (bass), Christian Brenner (piano), and Fabien Mary (trumpet). Danny, Tom and I were amazed at how softly the trumpet player could play, thereby not blasting the front row people out of their seats, as many a trumpet player can do. It was a privilege to hear Mr. Mary play that trumpet. About Fabien Mary, Christian Brenner wrote, “Born the 6th of May, 1978, Fabien Mary is one of the most brilliant and talented of his generation.” The prize-winning Fabien has accompanied musicians such as Diana Krall, Wynton Marsalis, Spanki Wilson, Michel Legrand, Johnny Griffin, Preston Love, Archie Shepp, and more. We are grateful that young musicians are still interested in playing jazz like this; Fabien’s rendition of “Body and Soul” last night was thoroughly heartwarming, and simply gorgeous. In 2009, he recorded an album with the well-known saxophonist Frank Basile, on the Elabeth label. I’ll have to try to find that; the album came out in 2010. On Amazon, I did succeed in buying a slightly used CD of Sophie Choplin playing the Saint Sulpice organ. It should be waiting for me at home. So maybe I will be able to find the Fabien Mary/Frank Basile CD as well. Bless Café Laurent and Christian Brenner for giving us some of our most memorable evenings. Dinner, a little earlier in the evening, was not memorable. It was at Rotisserie d’En Face, on the rue Christine. We went there because our friend Deborah said she’d had a really fine dinner there last week. Tom’s main course, a pluma de negra (a tender cut of pork) was dreadfully overcooked and flavorless. Even the puréed potatoes accompanying it were lackluster and diluted, somehow. The kitchen staff made no effort to even make the dish look appealing. I had sole meunière, and it was very good, but far from the best I’ve ever had. My dessert, the Paris Brest, had tired old pasty, but halfway decent almond cream filling. Tom’s dessert, a raspberry clafouti, was the only highly successful dish of the evening. Even with our Lafourchette.com discount, the tab was far higher than it should have been, given the mediocrity of the food. Jacques Cagna, who has long retired, should remove his name from this restaurant’s signage, menus, and advertising. This wasn’t just one off night for the Rotisserie d’En Face; it mirrors our experiences the previous two times we dined there. The only reasons I had given the place another chance was because of Deborah’s experience, and because of Jacques Cagna’s reputation. Also, I should mention that a young couple we met just before we went into the Rotisserie had the same experience: her dinner was not good, his was just okay. I felt badly for them because this is their first trip to Paris, and they’re only here for a week. As we were leaving, I gave them three positive recommendations of other places to dine in the 6th, and even wrote down what they might order. And of course, when we left, there were many empty tables in the place, at a time when the restaurant should have been nearly full. It was Saturday night, after all. Across the street, Le Christine was doing considerably more business. Live and learn. Today I think we’ll check out the Azerbaijan festival. I did a quick tour through it after the organ audition at Saint Sulpice. It is surpisingly well put-together, and I think it will be a special treat for Tom when he is finished with working today. Maybe I should do a little reading about Azerbaijan before we go. More later . . . .
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Sunday, September 21, 2014
Altar at Saint Sulpice.
Flute player joins the quartet for a couple tunes at Café
Laurent.
Raspberry clafouti was the only culinary star of the
evening at the Rotisserie d’En Face.
The Paris Brest is a classic French dessert named for a
bicycle race between those two cities.
The round pastry is supposed to resemble a bicycle wheel, and the
filling is a rich almond cream.
One of the nice things I can say about the Rotisserie d’En Face
is that the resto provides butter for the bread, without your having to
request it, and fresh radishes are given as a mis en bouche. And I liked
the cute animal motifs on the placemats and napkin rings. Does it seem like I’m searching for
something nice to say??? Actually, the
service was very nice and professional, too.
The back of the Medici fountain (above) and one of the many
gorgeous flowerbeds (below) in the Luxembourg Gardens.
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