I love Paris in the spring time
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles
I'm in Paris in July and it is seriously sizzling. After visiting the usual tourist trap's that you feel you have to go to, I've travelled out to the outskirts to visit the dead of the city.
With Paris being so vibrant and alive, this might seem like a strange thing to , but I've heard this place is a must-see, and it is the final resting place of some world famous names.
Buried among the gloriously over the top and ornate tombs are the likes of Balzac, Sarah Bernhardt, Proust, Modliani, Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Edith Paif and Jim Morrison.
I have also been advised to buy the guide map available at the entry gates, because the cemetery covers 105 acres, and is the largest burial ground in this great city and there is a serious danger of getting lost trying to find the graves you have come to pay respects to.
What a great purchase that proved to be... On entering the grounds, you quickly find yourself getting drawn onto maze-like path's and before long you are losing your bearings, without the map, I'd still be in there a month later.I decide to concentrate on finding the three people who mean the most to me, namely Wilde, Piaf and Morrison. In one way or other over the last 30 odd years, their work has touched my life in various ways
I was a late convert to the writings of dear Oscar, but every now and then I heard a classic Wilde quote and investigated further finally becoming a fervent reader of his work. He ended up living in self-imposed exile in Paris after his release from jail in May 1897 where he served two years hard labour for 'Gross Indecency'. He was penniless in Paris and his general health declined rapidly. His sense of humour was there though till the end..."My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has got to go"
He died of cerebral meningitis on 30 November 1900 and he was buried in the Cimetière de Bagneux outside Paris but was later moved to the Père Lachaise. His tomb was designed by sculptor Sir Jacob Epstein and it is an impressive piece of work.
On closer inspection, you find it is covered in thousands of kisses...
'Non, je ne regrette rien'
That voice...That voice...
It's fair to say once you've heard Edith Piaf sing, you'll never forget it.Admittedly, her singing is not everyone's taste, but I was given a Greatest Hits tape by Piaf many years ago, and something about it and the songs hooked me. Piaf was tiny, only 4ft 8' and this gave rise to the nickname she was universally known by, 'The Little Sparrow'.
Born into utter poverty in 1915, she had an amazing life. Aged three she lived among prostitutes who helped raise her and she was later discovered aged 20 as a street singer in the Pigalle area and persauaded to sing at clubs for the wealthy and she went on to become the most in demand attraction for many years. She died aged 48 of Liver cancer in 1963, the toast of France, a cultural icon and regarded as France's greatest popular singer.
Although she was denied a funeral mass by the Roman Catholic archbishop of Paris because of her lifestyle, her funeral procession drew tens of thousands of mourners onto the streets of Paris and the ceremony at the cemetery was attended by more than 100,000 fans.
So it was very surprising to see the understated, almost hidden grave to this darling of France. She is in a shared plot, which is marked by a simple black vase which is engraved with the letter's EP. Just by the egde of the grave, a couple of local's are playing the song's of Piaf on a cassette player...That voice again.
Sleep well sweet Edith...
I didn't really need the map to help find the grave of Jim Douglas Morrison, it was fairly easy. I just followed the lines of young and old Americans who have got there before me.
It is surrounded by crash barriers, trying to keep the crowds off of it. But the barriers have failed. The area is covered with old Jack Daniels bottles, discarded joints, pages of dodgy poetry, band demo's on CD's and scrawled messages all around it.
Over the years, various headstones and bust's of Jim have been erected and then stolen or de-faced by fans or vandals. Finally in the 1990's Jim's Dad, George, placed placed a flat stone on the grave. The stone bears the Greek inscription: ΚΑΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΔΑΙΜΟΝΑ ΕΑΥΤΟΥ, literally meaning "according to his own daimōn" and usually interpreted as "true to his own spirit"
Jim was definitely a free-spirit, living a bohemian existence from an early age and he started The Doors in 1965. The Doors took their name from the title of Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception (a reference to the 'unlocking' of 'doors' of perception through psychedelic drug use)
The group became massive, with song's like 'Light My Fire', 'People Are Strange' and 'Rider's On The Storm'. But all not was well with Morrison, he started turning up late for gigs, and was drinking heavily.It's been suggested he grew a beard and gained weight to try and escape the never ending attention he was getting and he then moved to Paris.
He became depressed and had reportedly developed a serious drug habit. It is reported he was planning to return to the USA, but he never got there.
Morrison died on July 3, 1971. In the official account of his death, he was found in the bathtub of his Paris apartment. Pursuant to French law, no autopsy was performed because the medical examiner claimed to have found no evidence of foul play. The absence of an official autopsy has left many questions regarding Morrison's cause of death.
By the way...I visited the grave on July 3rd, unknown to me at the time the very day of his death. Suddenly my desire to get to the cemetery that day seemed to make sense...
© Words – Mark Baxter/ ZANI Media
