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There is plenty to make her a tragic feminist heroine, a French Mrs. Rochester or the Zelda Fitzgerald of sculpture. Miss Adjani, who bears an uncanny resemblance to the young Camille Claudel, spent two years researching the movie along with the director Bruno Nuytten, reading Claudel family correspondence and documents, analyzing Camille's medical and psychiatric records, consulting Rodin biographies and letters and Paul Claudel's writing.
They got to know the era's political and cultural history, and scrutinized lithographs of Haussmann's plans for Paris. Miss Adjani took art courses and studied 19th-century sculpture. The French press followed the country's most acclaimed actress and favorite enigma every step of the way. In its turbulent psychological portrait and epic scale, itrecalls ''The Story of Adele H.
Born into a well-to-do bourgeois family in the stark reaches of the Champagne country, the precocious Camille developed an enthusiasm for modeling figures in clay at a very young age.
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Her mother, Louise, a prim, harsh woman, never approved of her eldest daughter's unladylike desire to become an artist -Paul Claudel remembered their home life as ''a closed circle within which we fought day and night. Two years later, in , she met Rodin. Still only on the verge of celebrity, Rodin accepted her as a pupil and an assistant on ''The Gates of Hell. But witnesses commented on her feverish work habits, and, since masters traditionally signed much of their assistants' work, it is probable that Miss Claudel produced a number of the figures themselves.
Rodin made sure she absorbed his revolutionary beliefs concerning anatomical realism, spontaneity of handling and emotional expressiveness. The year-old provincial beauty and the year-old sculptor became lovers. It was a grand and complicated passion. With Rodin, Miss Claudel frequented the literary salons of fin-de-siecle Paris. He introduced her to Monet and took her to visit Renoir. But mostly they worked together. Rodin rented a crumbling mansion surrounded by a disheveled garden as a studio. Their work from that period seems chiseled and molded by passion.
Rodin sculpted her repeatedly, as ''The Danaid'' or, in busts, as the embodiment of feminine mystery and melancholy, with a thickly wrapped head. She did only one likeness of him, and it is the most Rodinesque of her sculptures, the brow a great map of furrows, the beard a burst of energy.
Their 15 years together were the most fertile of Rodin's career. The catalyst for her break with him in was her final realization that Rodin would never leave his common-law wife, Rose Beuret, to marry her. It has been suggested that her several depictions of children are etched by her sorrow at having had to abort or give up a number of children by Rodin. View all New York Times newsletters.
Angry, resentful, strapped for money, increasingly reclusive and paranoid and frequently drunk, she withdrew to a shabby studio on the Quai Bourbon, working among mounting piles of rubbish and dozens of cats. Six days after her father's funeral, of which she wasn't notified, her family had her forcibly removed from her studio and hastily committed her to a series of asylums, where she spent the remaining 30 years of her life. An envelope bearing her name in the Musee Rodin archives in Paris is empty. Conventional wisdom has it that Camille Claudel's distraught behavior was that of a woman scorned.
It seems more apt to see her as an aggrieved artist. Fitzgerald admired the rich only at their best—exemplified for him by the Murphys—when leisure was combined with charm and culture. What it was I do not know. Perhaps they promised him that there would always be women in the world who would spend their brightest, freshest, rarest hours to nurse and protect that superiority he cherished in his heart.
He knew what money could buy—even more than luxury, a fuller life with time to write. Yet it is not entirely paradoxical that he threw his money away. His carelessness with money expressed his superiority to it. The inevitable result was that he was in bondage to it after all because he had to earn the money he was squandering.
A writer does not really choose his themes. With luck and talent he treats his material more profoundly as he develops, but the themes do not change. This explanation is not entirely convincing. If he had been writing under more orderly conditions, the 17,word novelette might haveevolved into a Gatsby-length novel of 50, words and reinforced the critical respect The Great Gatsby had elicited. Instead, nine years elapsed before Fitzgerald had another novel in the bookstores. None of these books sold well, although the two novels did better than the story collections.
Eliot, an editor at Faber, had hoped his firm could publish the novel in England. The novel was not a success, although it elicited some of the best reviews Fitzgerald received in England. The volume was dedicated to ring and ellis lardner. As was his custom, Fitzgerald polished the magazine texts of these stories. He was convinced that the book publication of stories affected his reputation, whereas the magazine appearances were ignored by critics. A particular concern was to remove from the stories any passages that had been incorporated into The Great Gatsby, for he believed that it was dishonest to use the same phrases in different books.
There was no English edition. Scott Fitzgerald continues to publish books, it becomes apparent that he is head and shoulders better than any writer of his generation. Hemingway was wellconnected in the Paris expatriate literary colony and introduced Fitzgerald to some of the American writers living on the Left Bank. Fitzgerald went with Hemingway to 27 rue de Fleurus to meet Gertrude Stein, whom he charmed. She regarded Fitzgerald as the most promising of the young American novelists and delivered her pronouncement on The Great Gatsby:.
Here we are and have read your book and it is a good book. I like the melody of your dedication it shows that you have a background of beauty and tenderness and that is a comfort. The next good thing is that you write naturally in sentences and that too is a comfort. You write naturally in sentences and one can read all of them and that among other things is a comfort. You make a modern world and a modern orgy strangely enough it was never done until you did it in This Side of Paradise.
My belief in This Side of Paradise was alright. This is as good a book and different and older and that is what one does, one does not get better but different and older and that is always a pleasure. Although Fitzgerald was intrigued by Stein and flattered by her praise, he did not become a disciple of her theories or a member of her coterie. McAlmon was an American writer and proprietor of Contact Editions, a Paris imprint that published expatriate writers—including himself.
He envied the success of Fitzgerald and Hemingway, and later spread gossip about them culminating in the fabrication that they werehomosexuals. Fitzgerald tried to rehabilitate Harold Stearns, the editor of Civilization in the United States, who was permanently drunk in Paris, although Hemingway warned him that nothing could be done about Stearns. Except for virtually mandatory contacts such as with Stein and Beach, Fitzgerald did not participate in the expatriate literary life.
He wrote nothing for the little magazines and remained indifferent to the Paris movements and schools. By the time he arrived in Paris his own techniques and subjects were fully developed; and he was beyond writing experimental pieces for the pleasure of seeing them printed. Scottie, now four, was left largely to the care of nannies, but Fitzgerald was a concerned father. He made sure that her nannies were good to her and he spent time with her. One of his amusements was to work up routines in which she played straight man. What is it? Agincourt was his favorite battle.
Zelda was bored by the chores of motherhood, but when her imagination was captured she devoted a good deal of effort to projects for Scottie—toy castles, playhouses, and elaborate Christmas trees. Both parents were careful to prevent their domestic discord from reaching Scottie, and she was untouched by their marital conflicts. It was not until she was an adolescent that Scottie understood her father was an alcoholic. A toy gendarme from Nain Bleu was employed to serve as the intermediary in discipline.
One of the Paris anecdotes about Fitzgerald was that he had insisted on being served a club sandwich at Voisin, an elegant restaurant. The point of this story—that he remained a tourist—was largely true. Fitzgerald never felt at home in France as the Murphys and Hemingways did in their different ways. He spoke restaurant French, and he was indifferent to the music and art of Paris. He knew French literature only in translation, and Proust became his most admired French writer. He retained a streak of xenophobia, suspecting that the French shopkeepers and servants he dealt with were trying to cheat him.
His favorite resorts were the American bars of the Right Bank. The Fitzgeralds liked to go out at night and apparently ate at home only reluctantly. Legend has it that one night they jumped into the pool at the Lido cabaret. Once Fitzgerald commandeered a three-wheeled delivery cart and rode it around the Place de la Concorde pursued by two gendarmes on bikes. It is impossible to document all the stunts they were credited with; escapades were assigned to them because they were the sort of thing the Fitzgeralds might have done. Fitzgerald drank at the Ritz and Crillon bars, which were patronized by wealthy Americans.
No matter how favorable the rate of exchange was, a good deal of his money simply vanished during riotous nights. He was a generous tipper and the size of his tips increased with his alcoholic intake. Fitzgerald did not reserve part of every day for writing, usually working in concentrated bursts when a story had to be finished. In Paris his routine was to rise at 11 in the morning and try to start writing at 5 p. He claimed that he worked intermittently until a. In the little hours of the night every move from place to place was an enormous human jump, an increase of paying for the privilege of slower and slower motion.
He remembered thousand-franc notes given to an orchestra for playing a single number, hundred-franc notes tossed to a doorman for calling a cab. It had been given, even the most wildly squandered sum, as an offering to destiny that he might not remember the things most worth remembering…. When Fitzgerald went pub-crawling by himself, it was sometimes hard to terminate his revels. William L. Shirer has reported a night when Fitzgerald showed up drunk at the Paris Tribune around midnight, where he sat at the copy desk and ripped up copy. He sang and insisted that the reporters join in.
Shirer, James Thurber, and Eugene Jolas tried to take him home, but Fitzgerald insisted on touring the bars. When he passed out, they delivered him to the rue de Tilsitt, where he refused to go in and fought with the three of them until they carried him into his apartment. The wonder of this account and similar ones is that the people who had to handle a drunken Fitzgerald usually forgave his misconduct.
His talent and charm often rescued him from the social morasses he created. Even if Fitzgerald did not take to the French, he enjoyed the stimulation of Paris and the beauty of the Riviera. Moreover, France seemed populated by interesting Americans. The chief contribution to his writing from his residence abroad was a new perspective on American character. Unlike fashionable expatriates who sneered at American vulgarity, Fitzgerald found that France intensified his identification with his native land.
When Scottie said she wanted to marry him, Gerald Murphy staged a grand mock wedding. And for a moment the faces turned up toward them were like the faces of poor children at a Christmas tree. Then abruptly the table broke up—the moment when the guests had been daringly lifted above conviviality into the rarer atmosphere of sentiment, was over before it could be irreverently breathed, before they had half realized it was there. There really was a great sound of tearing heard in the land as your train pulled out that day.
Sara and I rode back together saying things about you both to each other which only partly expressed what we felt separately. Most people are dull, without distinction and without value, even humanly, —I believe even in the depths of my expansive Irish heart. For Sara most people are guilty of the above until they are proved innocent. As yet in this world we have found four.
One only really loves what is rare and valuable to one, in spite of the fact that one loves first. We four communicate by our presence rather than any means: so that where we meet and when will never count. Currents race between us regardless: Scott will uncover for me values in Sara, just as Sara has known them in Zelda through her affection for Scott. At this time Zelda became interested in resuming her ballet training— after at least a seven-year interruption.
He may have acquired this interest through Mencken, who admired behaviorism. Fitzgerald sent Judge Sayre an inscribed copy of John B. In fact the only American idea treated there with any respect or attention is Behaviorism, of which this book is the statement and the bible. With all its rawness and arrogance it is quite able to speak for itself—and has I believe been hurt by being confused with the various bastard sciences that have sprung from Freud.
The novel Fitzgeraldplanned in the summer of was about a young American traveling in France with his mother, whom he would murder. After a brilliant Princeton career and a degree from Harvard Law School, Ellis had abandoned the law for acting, at which he did not succeed. Fitzgerald saw Ellis as a case history in deterioration. Having grown dissatisfied with the irregularity of his life in France, Chanler decided to break with his friends.
When Fitzgerald heard about it, he spoke of Chanler as the basis for a novel about a talented young American who is taken up by a charming expatriate group and undergoes a breakdown. Actual writing on the novel probably did not commence until The earliest surviving drafts are the manuscripts and typescripts for parts of three chapters The twelve drafts of the novel are traced in Bruccoli, The Composition of Tender Is the Night: A Study of the Manuscripts Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, The protagonist is Francis Melarky, a twenty-one-year-old Southerner traveling in Europe with his domineering mother.
The novel opens with their arrival on the Riviera, by which time Francis has been beaten by the police because of a drunken brawl in Rome. Before that he had been dismissed from West Point and had worked as a technician in Hollywood, where he had gotten into some kind of unspecified trouble.
Francis has a quick temper, which his mother triggers by efforts to control his life. In Paris, Francis falls in love with Dinah, who does not encourage his passion. The drafts offer no indication of insanity in Dinah; this element would not be introduced into the novel until after Although Fitzgerald had told Perkins and Mencken that his novel would be structurally innovative, the early drafts are written in straightforward third-person narrative.
The name Francis Melarky, chosen for the principal character, is puzzling. While the shared given name identifies the character with the author, the surname indicates that Fitzgerald had reservations about the character. At the time he was working with the Melarky plot, he wrote a fifty-four-line comic ballad which he recited for friends:. The Fitzgeralds were back in Paris in September He had not made an appointment and none of the partners was there.
Novelist Frank Swinnerton , an editor at the firm, received him without introducing himself. When Swinnerton told him, Fitzgerald was dismayed. He collected war books and recommended some of them to Perkins for publication. He also acquired a set of glass slides of battle scenes. A fall trip to the Western Front battlefields inspired one of the most admired passages in Tender Is the Night, in which Fitzgerald expressed his sense that trench warfare had marked the termination of the old faiths:.
They could fight the first Marne again but not this. This took religion and years of plenty and tremendous sureties and the exact relation that existed between the classes. You had to have a whole-souled sentimental equipment going back further than you could remember. Why, this was a love battle—there was a century of middle-class love spent here. This was the last love battle. Since his head for alcohol was strong, Hemingway could work after an evening of drinking; but Fitzgerald often wanted to prolong the party until morning.
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Hemingway began to suspect that Fitzgerald resented his self-discipline and was deliberately trying to impede his writing. In the summer of Hemingway had written the first draft of The Sun Also Rises, his first novel, in two months and then put it aside for a few weeks before rewriting it. Fitzgerald was eager to read the novel, but Hemingway stalled him by explaining that it was bad for him to talk about his work before it was finished.
It was at this point in the story, reader, that Mr. Scott Fitzgerald came to our home one afternoon, and after remaining for quite a while suddenly sat down in the fireplace and would not or was it could not, reader? Fitzgerald could not have been pleased by this depiction of him as helplessly drunk, but does not seem to have made an attempt to have it deleted from the published book.
If you take the other two things get a signed contract for the Sun Also Rises novel. That Christmas a photo was taken of the three Fitzgeralds doing a kick step in front of their tree. It has been frequently published because it seems to preserve the insouciant image of the Fitzgeralds at the peak of his fame as the author of The Great Gatsby —young, handsome, and confident.
Zelda continued to have abdominal pains through the end of the year, and in January the Fitzgeralds tried a cure at Salies de Beam, a spa in the French Pyrenees. It was a dull place, and they left after two months. The year should have provided ideal working conditions for the new novel because of the subsidiary income from The Great Gatsby.enter site
A Serious Game to Improve Cognitive Functions in Schizophrenia: A Pilot Study
Fitzgerald did not work on the play or the movie. In March the Fitzgeralds went to the Riviera for what was intended to be a repetition of their productive stay; but there were too many people and too many distractions. Louis, where they remained until the end of The Murphys and their friends went there every day and established territorial rights over the part of the beach that Gerald had raked. It will be about 75, words long, divided into 12 chapters, concerning tho this is absolutely confidential such a case as that girl who shot her mother on the Pacific coast last year.
This view is hyperbolic. Dear Ernest: Nowdays when almost everyone is a genius, at least for awhile, the temptation for the bogus to profit is no greater than the temptation for the good man to relax in one mysterious way or another —not realizing the transitory quality of his glory because he forgets that it rests on the frail shoulders of professional entheusiasts. This should frighten all of us into a lust for anything honest that people have to say about our work. See P. For example. Snobbish not in itself but because the history of English Aristocrats in the war, set down so verbosely so uncritically, so exteriorly and yet so obviously inspired from within, is shopworn.
You had the same problem that I had with my Rich Boy, previously debauched by Chambers ect. That biography from you, who allways believed in the superiority the preferability of the imagined to the seen not to say to the merely recounted. They must be minimized. Somehow its not good. You were the first American I wanted to meet in Europe—and the last. This latter clause is simply to balance the sentence. Its like the age of the French women.
This is a novel. Stearns earlier. Why not cut the inessentials in Cohens biography? His first marriage is of no importance. From here Or rather from p. Please do what you can about it in proof. Its words—you could reduce it to And my advice is not to do it by mere pareing but to take out the worst of the scenes.
I was much too excited. Besides this is probably a heavy dose. The central theme is marred somewhere but hell! And what critic can trace whether the fault lies in a possible insufficient thinking out, in the biteing off of more than you eventually cared to chew in the impotent theme or in the elusiveness of the lady character herself. It stands out. I suppose all the 75, Europeans who died between will always be among the 10,, who were killed in the war.
The bottom of p. The heart of my critisim beats somewhere apon p. Oh, well. As his opening paragraph shows, Fitzgerald knew he was playing with fire in criticizing the novel. On 5 June, Hemingway wrote Perkins that Fitzgerald was reading the novel and agreed that the first two chapters should be cut.
Zelda also read The Sun Also Rises. The Zelda-Hemingway relationship did not improve. Fitzgerald never attended a bullfight with Hemingway. He was aware that much of the effectiveness of The Great Gatsby resulted from the use of Nick Carraway as narrator. It was therefore natural that he would attempt to adapt this technique to his next novel; however, he did not do so until after he had tried a third-person narrative. The narrator Fitzgerald supplied in is a nameless American who is not integrated into the plot. He interjects comments but does not certify the story or control the narrative.
A fuller typescript for the narrator version probably represents a later stage of revision. Fitzgerald could not bear to be ignored, and his attempts to get attention were too often atrocious. At one Villa America dinner party he threw a fig at the Princesse de Caraman-Chimay, punched Murphy, and smashed the Venetian stemware. Moreover, having chosen the Murphys as the models for Seth and Dinah Piper in his novel, Fitzgerald subjected them to steady interrogation and analysis. Sara protested in writing :. One evening the Murphys were dining with them in the hills above the Mediterranean at St.
Paul-de-Vence, where they encountered Isadora Duncan. Their frequent quarrels were known to their friends because Zelda would pack a trunk and leave it outside their villa. Zelda dared Fitzgerald to match her risky antics, and their competition sometimes seemed to reveal a mutual destructive compulsion. One night he accepted her challenge to do a series of dangerous high dives from the cliffs into the sea.
Their alcoholic car trips were a peril to themselves and anyone else on the road. They were all out, always searching for some kind of adventure outside of the party. I loved her. Some of it showed through her eyes,—but only to those who loved her. Bill had lost controll of his splincter muscles. There were wet Matins in the rack beside the door. There were wet Eclairers de Nice in the rack over his head.
When the King of Bulgaria came in Bill was just firing a burst that struck the old limeshit twenty feet down with a splat-tap. All the rest came just like that. The King of Bulgaria began to whirl round and round. Scott FitzGerald. They threatened to saw a waiter in half with a musical saw; they lured a band to the Villa St.
Louis and locked them in a room to provide music for them; they took the waiters from a cafe to the edge of a cliff and threatened to murder them. Finney, an American bon vivant, was a popular figure at Antibes. Fitzgerald respected his judgment and discussed the novel-in-progress with him. Another Riviera acquaintance was Mario Braggiotti Braggiotti is not sure which summer he knew the Fitzgeralds, but his recollections tie in with the events of Braggiotti had a crush on Zelda, which did not seem to bother Fitzgerald. Although twelve years younger than Fitzgerald, Braggiotti regarded him as unsophisticated; Fitzgerald seemed almost boyishly eager for knowledge and was trying to read his way through the Britannica.
Self disgust. Health gone. With the exception of his work on The Great Gatsby in , the European sojourn had been a failure. They had not saved money; their lives had become increasingly disorganized; he had become an alcoholic; their marriage had developed permanent strains; and he had not done any steady work for more than a year.
where we lunch in Paris ….
Having gone to France to escape the distractions of New York, they now returned to America to escape the dissipations of France. Fitzgerald professed tobe dismayed by the American scene. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country.
where we lunch in Paris - MY FRENCH COUNTRY HOME
France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners. The Fitzgeralds spent Christmas in Montgomery and considered where to settle in America. In January producer John W. Considine of United Artists asked Fitzgerald to come to Hollywood and write an original flapper comedy for Constance Talmadge. Fitzgerald was confident of his ability to meet the Hollywood standards within a month.
Leaving Scottie with his parents, who had moved to Washington, he and Zelda went to California for what proved to be a two-month stint. Although Fitzgerald intended to finish the job as quickly as possible, they inevitably became involved in Hollywood social life, being invited to many parties and crashing others. Not yet eighteen, she had made her first movie success in Stella Dallas in Fitzgerald, who was thirty, was attracted to her because she was young, beautiful, and intelligent—and because he could show off for her. She was impressed by him and flattered by his attention, but she did not fall in love with him.
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In fact, Fitzgerald was never alonewith Lois Moran, who lived with her widowed mother. She had been carefully raised by her mother, whom Fitzgerald admired. But even with the Morans his behavior was unpredictable. When they invited the Fitzgeralds to a large tea, he collected the watches, purses, and wallets of the guests and tried to make soup out of them.
Zelda expressed her resentment by burning her clothes in a bathtub at the Ambassador. It was a thin screenplay, for Fitzgerald had again written down to the movies. On the way east the Fitzgeralds again quarreled about Lois Moran, and Zelda threw her platinum wristwatch—the first expensive thing he had given her, in —from the train window.
Although Fitzgerald would see Lois Moran only three or four times again, she became a presence in his work and provided the model for Rosemary Hoyt in Tender Is the Night. Some twelve years later Fitzgerald made a memo for The Last Tycoon of his first impressions of Thalberg:. Those things keep occurring. At that point, some other people came into the commissary and sat down and first thing I knew there was a group of four and the intimacy of the conversation was broken, but I was very much impressed by the shrewdness of what he said—something more than shrewdness—by the largeness of what he thought and how he reached it at the age of 26 which he was then.
The Fitzgeralds began house-hunting in the Wilmington, Delaware, area—possibly at the suggestion of Maxwell Perkins, who thought it would be sufficiently remote from the temptations of New York. One of the first was for Lois Moran and her mother on the weekend of 21 May , when Lindbergh flew the Atlantic.
Zelda kept her resentment of Lois under control, and there was no unpleasantness. In his Ledger Fitzgerald punctiliously identified her five articles and five stories that were published as collaborations. Shelavished time on several series of detailed paper dolls for historical figures and fairy tales with changes of costume painted in thick water-color: the Knights of the Round Table, the Court of Louis XIV, Joan of Arc, Goldilocks, and Red Riding Hood.
Fitzgerald had promised to complete his novel in , but little progress was made. The sporadic effort he put into it seems to have been revision of the narrator version of the Melarky plot. He received an advance from Scribners in , which was to be repaid from the serial sale. The money for subsidiary rights from The Great Gatsby had been spent, and Fitzgerald resumed writing magazine stories in June after a fifteen-month break. A cultured man of thirty-three helps a sixteen-year-old shopgirl to become a movie star. Pygmalion-like, he falls in love with his creation but loses her to her success.
Looking back over a decade one sees the ideal of a university become a myth, a vision, a meadow lark among the smoke stacks. Yet perhaps it is there at Princeton, only more elusive than under the skies of the Prussian Rhineland or Oxfordshire; or perhaps some men come upon it suddenly and possess it, while others wander forever outside.
Even these seek in vain through middle age for any corner of the republic that preserves so much of what is fair, gracious, charming and honorable in American life. Once more, Fitzgerald connected sexual corruption with death. He began offering football coach Fritz Crisler advice—sometimes in the form of late-night phone calls. On one of his Princeton trips he rearranged the furniture in a room at the Cottage Club so that it would be the same as when he was an undergraduate.
Fitzgerald stuck close to Tunney all evening and did not want to leave. Going back to the Plaza in a cab, he saw a forlorn newsboy in the rain and bought all his papers. Fitzgerald remained a heavy cigarette smoker all his life, but he stuck with Sanos. Like most alcoholics, Fitzgerald had his own interpretations of what being on the wagon meant at various times; sometimes it meant restricting himself to beer and wine. Perkins also tried to have him take up deck tennis as a form of regular exercise. A lot of fun. Work begins again. Stimulated by his revived love of Princeton, Fitzgerald accepted an invitation to speak at a Cottage Club dinner in late January In the afternoon he talked movingly about Princeton to an informal group of undergraduates at Cottage.
Anxious to make a good impression, he was intimidated and probably drunk when he began his formal speech in the evening; after a few nervous sentences he sat down. During this visit Fitzgerald was distressed to discover that the honor system was being diluted. We finally paused our gab fest to look at the time, and were shocked.
Totally classy of Costes not to rush us. And was it just as delicious as the omelette with truffles? This looks so charming! Dying to know what you ordered! We once ate at Les Bookinistes spelling? We had dinner and I do not know if it is still there. The name reminded me of your restaurant you discuss in this blog today. We had a memorable lunch in the more casual section of Voltaire. But every lunch is special in Paris. Thank you for the lovely photo.
We ate at a little cafe, outside patio dining and at sunset the lights came on and lit up the Eiffel Tower. It was magic! I will never forget it. Sharon- This is charming! Interesting to see the chairs facing the street. I hope to visit there one day…in the meantime, I think it would make a lovely painting if you do not mind my using your photo for reference? Sharon, I loved your post today!
This year we are celebrating 50th birthdays — a long relaxed lunch is on the agenda!!! Your plan sounds so nice! My daughter and I ate there back in I wonder if she and her friends will get back together in Singapore as you are doing with your friends…. I remember an early date with my husband the night I fell in love with him he told me I could choose the place.
I chose a small ,quaint,bistro in a historic seaside village. Dinner was fine but I have no idea what we ate and the waiter refilled our coffee cups so many times after the meal he actually stopped asking. We were holding hands across the table, ingering over our coffee and became so enraptured in one anotherthat we actually lost all concept of time. All of a sudden I looked up and gasped. The bistro was empty, the waiters were sweeping up and putting the chairs up on the table and we were so ensconced in each other we did not even notice!! On the way out the door it was late and we looked towards the ocean and I told him there was a lighthouse on the island but I had never been able to find it.
We took a drive and found it, blinking and solitary in the light of a full moon with the waves crashing in the distance. A most romantic dinner, 27 years ago and still going strong. It just goes to show, it is not the food but the company that makes tres difference! Looks a lovely and cosy place. I have it on the list. Thank you for all your posts, Sharon. They are all inspiring. Thank you for all your post, Sharon. Sharon, my girlfriend and on our visit to Paris in October stopped for a quiet glass of wine in the pavilion de la reine hotel. It had no tourists, you poured your own and it was a cosy intimate relief.
How civilized!! I am SO excited that you wrote about this restaurant!!! I have been there! My last visit to Paris my friend Lawanna was very much wanting to go to Le Comptoir which is just across the street. Of course they were booked.