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Pascal-Jean Rebillat - Photographies de Paris

Posted by Pascal-Jean Rebillat photographies on Wednesday, January 14, 2015

(Paris - a Gift for Jean)

Labels: My Paris

La Seine (1948)

Riza Propst-Kreid, Pont sur la Seine

La Seine est aventureuse

De Châtillon à Méry,

Et son humeur voyageuse

Flâne à travers le pays ...

Elle se fait langoureuse

De Juvisy à Choisy

Pour aborder, l'âme heureuse,

L'amoureux qu'elle a choisi !

Elle roucoule, coule, coule

Dès qu'elle entre dans Paris !

Elle s'enroule, roule, roule

Autour de ses quais fleuris !

Elle chante, chante, chante, chante,

Chant' le jour et la nuit,

Car la Seine est une amante

Et son amant c'est Paris !

Elle traîne d'île en île,

Caressant le Vieux Paris,

Elle ouvre ses bras dociles

Au sourire du roi Henri...

Indifférente aux édiles

De la mairie de Paris,

Elle court vers les idylles

Des amants des Tuileries !

Elle roucoule, coule, coule

Du Pont-Neuf jusqu'à Passy !

Elle est soûle, soûle, soûle

Au souvenir de Bercy !

Elle chante, chante, chante, chante,

Chant' le jour et la nuit...

Si sa marche est zigzagante

C'est qu'elle est grise à Paris !

Mais la Seine est paresseuse,

En passant près de Neuilly,

Ah ! comme elles est malheureuse

De quitter son bel ami !

Dans un étreinte amoureuse

Elle enlace encore Paris,

Pour lui laisser, généreuse,

Une boucle ... à Saint-Denis !

Elle roucoule, coule, coule

Sa complainte dans la nuit...

Elle roule, roule, roule

Vers la mer où tout finit...

Elle chante, chante, chante, chante,

Chant' l'amour de Paris !

Car la Seine est une amante

Et Paris dort dans son lit !

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzKDEFNiTUQ)

La Seine (1948) - Jacqueline François
paroles: Flavien Monod et Guy Lafarge / musique: Guy Lafarge
(video by chansonranc)

(Les Troubadours du Temps Jadis)

Labels: My Paris

Mario Vargas Llosa, Nostalgia de París

les bouquinistes, au bord de la Seine
Fernando Vicente en El País
no copyright infringement intended

Chaque fois qu'il vient à Paris, il a une senzation étrange, faite de souvenirs et de nostalgie: souvenirs, qui coulent comme un torrent, remplaçant continuellement la ville réelle et actuelle.

Cada vez que viene a París, él siente una curiosa sensación, hecha de reminiscencias y nostalgia: los recuerdos, que fluyen como una torrentera, van sustituyendo continuamente la ciudad real y actual. Para él, París sigue siendo la ciudad de los cincuenta y comienzos de los sesenta, de Malraux y Camus, Sartre y Mauriac, del teatro del absurdo, de Beckett, Ionesco y Adamov. Descubrió un día a André Breton, de saco y corbata, comprando pescado en el mercadito de la rue de Buci. Las peliculas de la Nouvelle Vague estaban empezando. Malraux era capaz de inventar un país fabuloso en pocas frases (Perú, donde las princesas incas morían en las nieves de los Andes con sus papagayos bajo el brazo). Y su frase profética, ¡qué extraña época, dirán de la nuestra, los historiadores del futuro, en que la derecha no era la derecha, la izquierda no era la izquierda, y el centro no estaba en el medio!

Un magnífico ensayo de Mario Vargas Llosa en El País de hoy, en la cuarta página:

Nostalgia de París

(Mario Vargas Llosa)

Labels: Mario Vargas Llosa, My Paris

Una Vida Entre Libros

(Diario de León)
no copyright infringement intended

Una Vida Entre Libros / Uma Vida Entre Livros / Una Vida Entre Llibres / Life Artean Books

(La Española - or Hispaniola)

(A Life in Books)

(Portrait of a Bookstore as an Old Man)

Labels: My Paris

André Sauvage: Études sur Paris (1928)

André Sauvage (1891–1975)
director of Études sur Paris
(http://www.dvdclassik.com/personnalite/andre-sauvage)
no copyright infringement intended

I found this movie on youTube unexpectedly, as I was looking for another one (Les années folles). Unique atmosphere of a Paris in 1928, with a few cars mixed with carts and street dogs.Where is all this world now?

A visual treat, this silent movie travels from the outskirts of Paris to the Seine in the centre of the city, going along the Canal de l'Ourcq, showing human activity as it was happening in 1928, in particular the industrious 19th district (jalb)

I would agree with jalb's opinion up to a point. I think this film suffers from a lack of unity. It travels on Canal de l'Ourcq toward Paris, preoccupied to catch simple gestures of people around, showing an empathy for those ordinary guys with ordinary lives whose work keep Paris going on. A city bathed by the river, bathed by the life and work of those simple people along the river. As the camera enters downtown Paris the interest moves to all those churches, and quays, and parks, and cafes, which makes another film. On the other hand, we all love these churches, and quays, and parks, and cafes, so much, that it comes to us as a blessing. Add to this (as I said above) the unique atmosphere of a Paris in 1928, with a few cars mixed with carts and street dogs. I don't know whether someone else captured this in a film.

Études sur Paris (1928)
(video by Niax Documentaire)

(Filmele Avangardei)

(Cinéma Français)

Labels: My Paris

Jean Pierre Ferland: Je reviens chez nous

Fais du feu dans la cheminée
(http://www.myspace.com/riquetdeward/photos/407344)
no copyright infringement intended

Il a neigé à Port-au-Prince
Il pleut encore à Chamonix
On traverse à gué la Garonne
Le ciel est plein bleu à Paris

Ma mie l'hiver est à l'envers
Ne t'en retourne pas dehors
Le monde est en chamaille
On gèle au sud, on sue au nord

Fais du feu dans la cheminée
Je reviens chez-nous
S'il fait du soleil à Paris
Il en fait partout

La Seine a repris ses vingt berges
Malgré les lourdes giboulées
Si j'ai du frimas sur les lèvres
C'est que je veille à ses côtés

Ma mie j'ai le cœur à l'envers
Le temps ravive le cerfeuil
Je ne veux pas être tout seul
Quand l'hiver tournera de l'œil

Fais du feu dans la cheminée
Je reviens chez-nous
S'il fait du soleil à Paris
Il en fait partout

Je rapporte avec mes bagages
Un goût qui m'était étranger
Moitié dompté, moitié sauvage
C'est l'amour de mon potager

Fais du feu dans la cheminée
Je reviens chez-nous
S'il fait du soleil à Paris
Il en fait partout

Fais du feu dans la cheminée
Je rentre chez moi
Et si l'hiver est trop buté
On hibernera

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dq3vL4cNoo)

Living in Montreal, dreaming of Paris. It's Jean Pierre Ferland. I love his song. Thank you, Adrian!

Jean Pierre Ferland: Je reviens chez nous
(video by retro60QCFR)

(Blogosphere)

Labels: My Paris

Dreaming at Evanescent Cafés

(click here for the Romanian version)

À la moitié du chemin de la vraie vie, nous étions environnés d'une sombre mélancolie, qu'ont exprimée tant de mots railleurs et tristes, dans le café de la jeunesse perdue.

(Guy Debord)

[At the halfway of real life, we were surrounded by a dark melancholy, that so many mocking and sad words have expressed, in the café of lost youth]

A friend told me the other day about a book I hadn't heard of before. The title sounded great, Dans le café de la jeunesse perdue, In the Café of Lost Youth. This began to look kind of Lost Generation, wow! The author, Patrick Modiano (born in the same year I was born, 1945) has anyway the talent of choosing very seductive titles for the books he writes (take for instance the Rue des Boutiques Obscures, isn't this a beguiler?)

I did a search on the web to find a bookstore having Dans le café de la jeunesse perdue, and the next day I went downtown to buy the book. I started to read it while the bus was taking me back home and I was immediately hooked. However, two short stories by Akutagawa, were waiting at home to be read. Eventually I read them all in parallel.

Actually the narrative technique from Dans le café de la jeunesse perdue was up to a point alike to that from In the Grove of Akutagawa. Also, the Parisian café from the book of Modiano (a fictional one, invented by the author, named Le Condé and placed in the vicinity of the Odéon), called in my mind another café from another book by another author: Café Kundera (also an author invention) from the Istanbul imagined by Elif Shafak. More or less the same kind of people populating both places, the same atmosphere. I found it in some places in Bucharest, also.

Frankly, the first chapter of the book of Modiano made me enthusiast, but the following chapters didn't seem exceptional. Let me try to explain: In the Grove by Akutagawa is a killer story, it means it would be a shame to die before reading it. The book of Elif Shafak, on the other hand, is maybe not a killer book, still it'd be a shame not to read it (by the way, its title is The Bastard of Istanbul).

Well, Dans le café de la jeunesse perdue is far from a killer book, but don't get me wrong, there is authentic value in it. It's the life of a young woman (whom we know mostly by her nick, Louki), narrated by four different persons (one of them being herself). As I said, the story of Akutagawa uses a similar mechanism. Only here, in the book of Modiano, is different: each narrator brings a bit of light about Louki's life, while mostly adding more and more shadows. The resulting portrait is not contradictory (like in Akutagawa's), rather Cubist (it was the friend who recommended me the book that used this term, Cubist, and I found it very to-the-point). The plot is frail, because her life is frail. She is Louki du Néant, while also the café, Le Condé, is du Néant, with its patrons - all of them, young or old, lost children of a Paris that devours anything and anybody. And this book is ultimately a Cubist portrait of Paris, frail city, ghostly, lost city itself. An author who's not describing Paris - he is breathing Paris. The key word here is evanescence: Louki, the surrounding people, the café, the city, all of them evanescent, inventing references on Parisian streets, to get the illusion of reality, looking on the Parisian streets for obscure zones, black holes, to take refuge from themselves.

Encore aujourd'hui, il m'arrive d'entendre, le soir, une voix qui m'appelle par mon prénom, dans la rue. Une voix rauque. Elle traîne un peu sur les syllabes et je la reconnais tout de suite : la voix de Louki. Je me retourne, mais il n'y a personne. Pas seulement le soir, mais au creux de ces après-midi d'été où vous ne savez plus très bien en quelle année vous êtes. Tout va recommencer comme avant. Les mêmes jours, les mêmes nuits, les mêmes lieux, les mêmes rencontres. L'Éternel Retour.

(http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1977834.Dans_le_caf_de_la_jeunesse_perdue)

Eventually Louki will just vanish in nothingness, with all of them. Does it matter? We all are vanishing, while reading the story, dreaming of Louki, dreaming of Paris, inventing illusory references, looking for black holes to hide. Looking on other reviews, in search of some solid meaning on an evanescent, ghostly book. And what we find in the end are a few verses from Baudelaire:

Paris change! mais rien dans ma mélancolie
N'a bougé! palais neufs, échafaudages, blocs,
Vieux faubourgs, tout pour moi devient allégorie
Et mes chers souvenirs sont plus lourds que des rocs.
(http://fleursdumal.org/poem/220)

(Patrick Modiano)

Labels: Modiano, My Paris

Leconte de Lisle: Aux Modernes

Leconte de Lisle, alors bibliothécaire du Sénat et qui devait faire peur aux enfants, 1877
[Leconte de Lisle, then librarian of the Senate, supposed to scare children]
(http://le-bibliomane.blogspot.com/2012/06/un-siecle-de-gloire-francaise-dans.html)
no copyright infringement intended

Vous vivez lâchement, sans rêve, sans dessein,
Plus vieux, plus décrépits que la terre inféconde,
Châtrés dès le berceau par le siècle assassin
De toute passion vigoureuse et profonde.

Votre cervelle est vide autant que votre sein,
Et vous avez souillé ce misérable monde
D’un sang si corrompu, d’un souffle si malsain,
Que la mort germe seule en cette boue immonde.

Hommes, tueurs de Dieux, les temps ne sont pas loin
Où, sur un grand tas d’or vautrés dans quelque coin,
Ayant rongé le sol nourricier jusqu’aux roches

Ne sachant faire rien ni des jours ni des nuits,
Noyés dans le néant des suprêmes ennuis,
Vous mourrez bêtement en emplissant vos poches.

(http://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Aux_Modernes_%28Po%C3%A8mes_barbares%29)

I wish I have lived my life in Paris, and for me the end of the 1940's is a moment I am linked when it comes to the city on the Seine. I was three years old when I left Paris, and it was in 1948. I came back for a week in 1999, and I was looking for the signs of the epoch of my distant childhood. I looked for them everywhere, the kiosks on the streets, the escalators in the subway stations, and many others. There were signs I was suddenly rediscovering, long time hidden in deep zones of my memory. Or maybe I was imagining I was rediscovering anything, maybe there were actually signs inscribed in me in the Bucharest of the beginning of the fifties.

I know that for a sensible person happening to come to Paris in 1948, when I was leaving, the moment to look for would have been the 1920's, the times of the Lost Generation, all those Hemingways, and Fitzgeralds. and Porters, and Picassos, and Bunuels.

And for them, the time to dream of would have been the 1880's, the Parnassians, and the Impressionists, and the Post-Impressionists, and so many others.

And for a Parnassian, as Leconte de Lisle was? I remember a splendid phrase that I read in a book that's so dear to me. It's a History of the National Theatre from Bucharest, and of course references to Paris come there many times. And the phrase is flowing, it was a time when the French universe dreamed to be like the Spanish.

(Leconte de Lisle)

Labels: Leconte de Lisle, My Paris

Joris Ivens: Études de mouvements

(Bonjour Paris)
no copyright infringement intended

The small, yet comfortable projection room shows a four-minute short from 1927 titled Études des mouvements à Paris by Joris Ivens. The silent film takes its name literally as viewers are shown shots of cars transversing past the Opéra Garnier and the Louvre, their tires occasionally sloshing through puddles, while policemen on horseback conduct traffic. The legs of pedestrians walk quickly and with purpose as the city's buses take people to work, all just a few years before The Great Depression hit.

Nicole Smith: Screening of Études des mouvements at an art gallery on Rue de Lille

(in Bonjour Paris)

Joris Ivens: Études de mouvements (1927)
(video by philosophyART)

Some images (for instance the one with the street car lines and all that stuff) call in mind Vertov's Человек с Киноаппаратом. But the movie of Vertov came two years later, in 1929. And then, Ivens is a bit different - he has some unique je ne sais quoi in all his movies. For him everything, rain, landscape, people (even in his politically engaged films), cars, a bridge lifted up and down with a train in waiting, everything is poetic meditation, everything is the image of a ballet. He is the poet of the quotidian. Watch each of his movies at least once cutting the sound, and you will be charmed by his poetry.

(Joris Ivens)

Labels: Ivens, My Paris

A Story Written by my Granddaughter Daria

(https://www.tonicliving.com/productsDetails.asp?categoryid=29&productid=582&currentpage=5&onsale=0)
no copyright infringement intended

Dear Dog Lovers,

Do you know when you go to Paris and you think that there will be so many poodles? Well and then you find out there are only about 5 poodles in all of Paris! That is what happened to me. Everyday I walk on the street in Paris. I see labs and golden retrievers. I also see zero poodles! It turns out a lot of people in Paris have big dogs instead of tiny poodles or other small dogs. I was really surprised! What do you think of when someone says the word Paris? {Tell me in the comment bar.} I think of the Eiffel Tower and a fancy dressed woman with a silky, green scarf and a pink raincoat with a hand bag or a purse with a poodle in it! The poodle has pink clothes on it and the woman has a strong French accent when she speaks English! The woman gets mad when someone doesn't mean to push her just a centimeter. She lives in a giant apartment in Paris with maids. But the truth is there are almost no poodles in Paris at all! Please comment about what you think about this article.

Thanks,
Girl in the polka-doted sweater

PS Girl in the polka-doted sweater is my writing name so when you comment or leave a question write Girl in the polka-doted sweater.

(http://daria-journal.blogspot.com/2012/07/dogs.html)

(http://www.lightinthebox.com/polka-dot-girl-long-sleeve-sweater_p265381.html)
no copyright infringement intended

(Amintiri din Garla Mare)

Labels: Daria, My Paris

La Seine a rencontré Paris

(http://grasse06130.over-blog.com/article-la-seine-a-rencontre-paris-103565216.html)
no copyright infringement intended

Quotidian scenes of Paris along the quays beside the River Seine. Fishing, snoozing, cutting hair, washing clothes. Lovers embrace as nuns gaze. Students sketch, models pose. A diver recovers a boy's lost bicycle. C'est la vie. It's a river like any other. Sprightly accordion music rounds out the atmosphere.

(David Carless)

The first film Joris Ivens made when he returned from Eastern Europe is a film poem about Paris and Parisian life on the borders of the Seine river.

(imdb)

Joris Ivens: La Seine a rencontré Paris (1957)
(video by Abram Tertz)

A poem by Prévert meditated in images by Ivens. The voice of Serge Reggiani in a dialog with the camera. The love of Ivens for the simple things, the quotidian - finding the poetry in the quotidian, anonymous people in their anonymous quotidian preoccupations, anonymous landscapes, and sun, and clouds - Ivens has a special gift to caress the quotidian with his movie camera. La Seine a rencontré Paris - la rencontre de deux poètes - Seine has encountered Paris - the encounter of two poets.

Qui est la
Toujours là dans la ville
Et qui pourtant sans cesse arrive
Et qui pourtant sans cesse s’en va

C’est un fleuve
répond un enfant
un devineur de devinettes
Et puis l’œil brillant il ajoute
Et le fleuve s’appelle la Seine
Quand la ville s’appelle Paris
et la Seine c’est comme une personne
Des fois elle court elle va très vite
elle presse le pas quand tombe le soir
Des fois au printemps elle s’arrête
et vous regarde comme un miroir
et elle pleure si vous pleurez
ou sourit pour vous consoler
et toujours elle éclate de rire
quand arrive le soleil d’été
La Seine dit un chat
c’est une chatte
elle ronronne en me frôlant

Ou peut-être que c’est une souris
qui joue avec mois puis s’enfuit
La Seine c’est une belle fille de dans le temps
une jolie fille du French Cancan
dit un très vieil Old Man River
un gentleman de la misère
et dans l’écume du sillage
d’un lui aussi très vieux chaland
il retrouve les galantes images
du bon vieux temps tout froufroutant

La Seine
dit un manœuvre
un homme de peine de rêves de muscles et de sueur
La Seine c’est une usine
La Seine c’est le labeur
En amont en aval toujours la même manivelle
des fortunes de pinard de charbon et de blé
qui remontent et descendent le fleuve
en suivant le cours de la Bourse
des fortunes de bouteilles et de verre brisé
des trésors de ferraille rouillée
de vieux lits-cages abandonnés
ré-cu-pé-rés
La Seine
c’est une usine
même quand c’est la fraicheur
c’est toujours le labeur
c’est une chanson qui coule de source
Elle a la voix de la jeunesse
dit une amoureuse en souriant
une amoureuse du Vert-Galant
Une amoureuse de l’ile des cygnes
se dit la même chose en rêvant

La Seine
je la connais comme si je l’avais faite
dit un pilote de remorqueur au bleu de chauffe
            tout bariolé
tout bariolé de mazout et de soleil et de fumée
Un jour elle est folle de son corps
elle appelle ca le mascaret
le lendemain elle roupille comme un loir
et c’est tout comme un parquet bien briqué
Scabreuse dangereuse tumultueuse et rêveuse
            par-dessus le marché
Voilà comment qu’elle est
Malice caresse romance tendresse caprice
vacherie paresse
Si ca vous intéresse c’est son vrai pedigree

La Seine
c’est un fleuve comme un autre
dit d’une voix désabusée un monsieur correct et
            blasé
l’un des tout premiers passagers du grand tout
            dernier bateau-mouche touristique et pasteurisé
un fleuve avec des ponts des docks des quais
un fleuve avec des remous des égouts et de temps à
            autre un noyé
quand ce n’est pas un chien crevé
avec des pécheurs à la ligne
et qui n’attrapent rien jamais
un fleuve comme un autre et je suis le premier à le
déplorer

Et la Seine qui l’entend sourit
et puis s’éloigne en chantonnant
Un fleuve comme un autre comme un autre comme
            un autre
un cours d’eau comme un autre cours d’eau
d’eau des glaciers et des torrents
et des lacs souterrains et des neiges fondues
des nuages disparus
Un fleuve comme un autre
comme la Durance ou le Guadalquivir
ou l’Amazone ou la Moselle
le Rhin la Tamise ou le Nil
Un fleuve comme le fleuve Amour
comme le fleuve Amour
chante la Seine épanouie
et la nuit la Voix lactée l’accompagne de sa tendre
rumeur dorée
et aussi la voix ferrée de son doux fracas coutumier

Comme le fleuve Amour
vous l’entendez la belle
vous l’entendez roucouler
dit un grand seigneur des berges
un estivant du quai de la Râpée
le fleuve Amour tu parles si je m’en balance
c’est pas un fleuve la Seine
c’est l’amour en personne
c’est ma petite rivière à moi
mon petit point du jour
mon petit tour du monde
les vacances de ma vie
Et le Louvre avec les Tuileries la Tour Eiffel la Tour
Pointue et Notre-Dame de l’Obélisque
la gare de Lyon ou d’Austerlitz
c’est mes châteaux de la Loire
la Seine
c’est ma Riviera
et moi je suis son vrai touriste

Et quand elle coule froide et nue en hurlante plainte
            contre inconnu
faudrait que j’aie mauvaise mémoire
pour l’appeler détresse misère ou désespoir
Faut tout de même pas confondre les contes de fées et
            les cauchemars
Aussi
quand dessous le Pont-Neuf le vent du dernier jour
soufflera ma bougie
quand je me retirerai des affaires de la vie
quand je serai définitivement à mon aise
au grand palace des allongés
à Bagneux au Père-Lachaise
je sourirai et me dirai

Il était une fois la Seine
il était une fois
il était une fois l’amour
il était une fois le malheur
et une autre fois l’oubli

Il était une fois la Seine
il était une fois la vie

(http://grasse06130.over-blog.com/article-la-seine-a-rencontre-paris-103565216.html)

(Joris Ivens)

(Jacques Prévert)

Labels: Ivens, My Paris, Prévert

The Bessarabian Germans and Their Villages

(click here for the Romanian version)

They say Paris is unique. I would be more nuanced. There is also a Paris in Southern Bessarabia, some others too. Just a couple of days ago I learned about another Paris, some place in the Olt County (so in the South of Romania). It's a tiny village that can be reached only if you pass somehow a small creek, as there is no bridge nearby. Most of the time it's easy, as the creek is really very small, while on periods of heavy rain you have a problem.

As for the Paris from Southern Bessarabia, that's a longer story. First time I heard of it in my childhood. My father had lived for some years in a city not far from that place, and he told me once that he and his friends, all very young then, used to announce each other jokingly about plans to go for a stroll to Paris, un de ces quatre matins.

Years have passed, but I had never the chance to see the Bessarabian Paris.

About two weeks ago a friend posted on Facebook the image of a village: some households lined along a large country road. Well, the village was Paris, Southern Bessarabia, and the image was from 1940.

Paris, Besarabia, 1940
image published on Facebook by Alexandru Ursu-Bukowina
(source: bettcherfamily.blogspot.com)
no copyright infringement intended

It was the first image of that Paris coming to my eyes, and I got very excited to find more about the place. The next step was to find a map of the region. Not that easy! Meanwhile Paris had changed its name to Veselyi Kut (Веселый Кут). Stuff happens, you know. Finally I succeeded, here is the map:

map of the region
(http://www.picturesofcities.info/map-city/Vesely-Kut/2748017/)
no copyright infringement intended

map of the region - close up
(http://www.picturesofcities.info/map-city/Vesely-Kut/2748017/)
no copyright infringement intended

I went on looking for other images. What I found first was an old Lutheran church!

Lutheran Church from Paris - as it was in the old times
(https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1yEH4L07P2nuLhrQysCNpVJYTAPfxYuXoLcFxL43mX5c)
no copyright infringement intended

To find a Lutheran church in a Bessarabian village, even a village with such a name as Paris, that was kind of amazing. Other surprises followed. Beside Paris, the region was full of villages named Leipzig, Wittenberg, Klöstitz, or Katzbach, among other sounding as German as it could be.

Lutheran Church from Paris - as it is now
photo: Reiseluscht
(http://www.panoramio.com/photo/41281637)
no copyright infringement intended

Well, it's an interesting chapter of history there, beginning by 1814 and ending in 1940: the presence of German colonists in Bessarabia.

It all started after the wars with Napoleon were over. German colonists were attracted to move to Bessarabia, occupied by Russia a couple of years earlier, in 1812.

The Bessarabian Paris was founded in 1816. Initially the colonists named it Alecksuesswerth, but soon it was changed to Paris, by decision of the Interior Ministry. It was not to celebrate the capital of France, as we could have guessed. The reason was different: to commemorate the Battle of Leipzig, that had led to the entrance of the Russian Army in Paris.

Other today's image of the Lutheran Church from Paris
photo: Herb Poppke
(https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1yEH4L07P2nuLhrQysCNpVJYTAPfxYuXoLcFxL43mX5c)
no copyright infringement intended

Where had these Parisians come from? Like many other Bessarabian Germans they were known as Warsaw Colonists. This does not mean they were Polish, rather Germans who had migrated by 1800 in a region near Warsaw. So their move to Bessarabia was a second migration in less than twenty years.

And if we go further back in time, there is a hypothesis about the French initial origin of those Parisians from Bessarabia. According to this hypothesis their ancestors had been Huguenots that left France to escape religious persecutions. I must say that's a weak hypothesis, supported by one single observation: the existence in the Bessarabian Paris of many surnames sounding very French (of course Germanized): Allmer, Fano, Fercho, Jans, Kison, Kroisandt, Reppnack, Salo. I found this observation in a book (Suckut, Arthur: Paris in Bessarabien. Herausgegeben zum 170. Jahrestag der Gründung des Dorfes Paris, im Eigenverlag, 1986), quoted in http://www.armin-zimmermann.eu/Bessarabien/Herkunft/Bessarabien_englisch.html#Paris.

Threshing machine with locomotive in Paris, Bessarabia, circa 1915
(http://library.ndsu.edu/grhc/order/general/newbook.html)
no copyright infringement intended

The colonists remained in Bessarabia for about hundred and thirty years, keeping their German identity (even their dialects, different from one village to another), while the province was going on with its history. The South of Bessarabia came to Romania for about twenty five years in the second half of the 19th century, then being occupied again by Russia. In 1918 the whole Bessarabia joined Romania.

German colonists would leave Bessarabia in October 1940, after the Soviet occupation. Colonist departure was following a German-Soviet agreement that was based on the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact. Ukrainian population came to live in the emptied villages. Today the villages there carry Ukrainian names: Halle became Alisivka, Strassburg became Alkalyia, and so on.

October 1940 - German colonists leave Bessarabia
image published on Facebook by Alexandru Ursu-Bukowina
no copyright infringement intended

I found on the web three documentaries, made by today's descendants of those Bessarabian Germans. They visited their ancestors' villages, today inhabited by Ukrainians. I enjoyed mostly the third movie (Der Weg ist das Ziel - zu Fuß in Bessarabie): it renders in a moving way a pilgrimage made by foot, from village to village. Near them a cart full with their baggage, drawn by a horse with an extraordinary name (for those knowing Romanian): Bunik!

Those colonists from long time ago succeeded to keep their German identity so far away from their country. Their descendants, who live in Germany, succeed to keep the identity of the grandparents and great-grandparents from Bessarabia.

Heimat ist kein Ort
Heimat ist ein Gefühl

Wer nicht weiß, woher er kommt, der weiß auch nicht, wohin er geht!

1. Back to the Roots

Back To The Roots, March 2009
Anika Teubner
Impressionen in Fotoform
(video by melocotonchen)

2. Eine Bessarabische Reise

Eine Bessarabische Reise, September 2009
Anika Teubner and Werner Schabert
Part 1/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, September 2009
Anika Teubner and Werner Schabert
Part 2/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, September 2009
Anika Teubner and Werner Schabert
Part 3/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, September 2009
Anika Teubner and Werner Schabert
Part 4/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

3. Der Weg ist das Ziel - zu Fuß in Bessarabie

Der Weg ist das Ziel - zu Fuß in Bessarabie, 2011
Anika Teubner
die Dokumentation einer 5-tägigen Wanderung
durch verschiedene, ehemals deutsche Ortschaften Bessarabiens.
Stationen: Tarutino, Alt-Posttal, Katzbach, Alt-Elft, Paris, Krasna.
Strecke: ca. 80 Km
(video by melocotonchen)

(German and Nordic Cinema)

Labels: My Paris

Fel de Fel de Întâmplări cu Tot Soiul de Parizieni

la Paris in cizme de cauciuc
imagine luata din ziarul Indiscret
(http://www.indiscret.ro/129/reportaj/4527/la-paris-in-cizme-de-cauciuc.html)
no copyright infringement intended

(click here for the English version)

Se inseala cine crede ca Parisul este numai unul. Ca sa va dau doar un exemplu, mai exista un Paris si in sudul Basarabiei. Si mai sunt si altele. Chiar acum cateva zile am aflat de un Paris prin judetul Olt, un cătun facand parte din satul Optași-Magura, destul de aproape de Scornicești. Suna ciudat, nu-i asa? Un cătun numit Paris, la care ajungi numai trecand printr-un vad, pentru ca pod nu exista. Daca apa e mica, treci vadul usor, pe jos sau cu masina. Insa primavara se umfla apele, si atunci doar caruta trece peste puhoi, altfel nu mai ajungi la Paris. Un cătun de cateva zeci de case, cu un magazin mititel si saracacios, botezat butic, in care poti sa dai pe gat o tărie ieftină, un drum cam nepietruit, si parizieni care fac haz de necaz tot timpul. Am fost de multe ori la Slatina si am cunoscut o gramada de oameni de prin satele din jur. Ei, uite ca printre ei se aflau si cativa parizieni.

Dar de unde o veni numele catunului din judetul Olt? Nimeni nu stie precis, exista cateva ipoteze, toate cam deocheate. Iata una dintre ele:

Am auzit ca, inainte de razboi, obisnuia sa vina pe linia asta, care se numea atunci drumul de manevra, un perceptor, sa-si ia dreptul. Cand il vedeau ca vine, oamenii se ascundeau si dezlegau cainii sa-l alunge. Vazand atatia caini pe ulita, perceptorul ar fi zis ca numai in Paris, capitala, mai sunt asa de multi si asfel a ramas si numele catunului.

(Gazeta de Sud - Cotidianul Oltenilor de Pretutindeni)

Cu Parisul din sudul Basarabiei este o istorie mai lunga. Nu l-am vazut niciodata, dar stiu de el din copilarie. Tatal meu traise multi ani la Galati. Era intre cele doua razboaie mondiale, iar Basarabia se unise cu patria ei mama. Pana la Paris nu era deci prea departe, iar tatal meu si prietenii lui, toti foarte tineri pe vremea aceea, glumeau intre ei, ma duc si eu la Paris pentru vreo doua zile.

Vorba asta mi-a ramas in minte, de parca ar fi fost si pentru mine simplu sa dau o fuga pana la Paris. Insa alte informatii nu aveam, decat gluma de care tatal meu imi pomenise de fapt doar o singura data. Iar de ajuns acolo, era mai greu chiar decat sa te duci pana in Parisul frantuzesc. Bugeacul (cum mai este cunoscut sudul Basarabiei), cu Parisul lui cu tot, face parte acum din Ucraina, formand cu tinutul de dincolo de Limanul Nistrului o singura zona administrativa, regiunea Odesa.

Anii au trecut, am reusit odata sa ajung si in Parisul de pe malul Senei, dar la cel din Bugeac tot n-a fost sa fie.

Acum vreo doua saptamani, un prieten a postat pe Facebook o imagine a unui sat: cateva cladiri lunguiete ordonate perpendicular pe un drum larg de tara. Titlul mi-a atras atentia: Romania. Moldova. Cetatea Alba. Tarutino. Paris. 1940.

Romania. Moldova. Cetatea Alba. Tarutino. Paris. 1940
imagine publicata pe Facebook de catre Alexandru Ursu-Bukowina
(sursa: bettcherfamily.blogspot.com)
no copyright infringement intended

Era prima imagine din Parisul basarabean pe care o vedeam, si prima indicatie pentru a localiza asezarea: Paris, Tarutino, Cetatea Alba, inseamna ca localitatea Paris facuse parte pana in 1940 din plasa Tarutino, la randul ei parte din judetul Cetatea Alba.

Am inceput sa caut pe web, pentru a da de o surpriza: intre cele doua razboaie mondiale Parisul a facut parte de fapt din plasa Tatar-Bunar (asezarea fiind insa foarte apropiata si de Tarutino).

Oricum, aflasem ca Parisul se afla intre Tarutino si Tatar-Bunar. Pasul urmator era gasirea unei harti a zonei. Aici alta dracie: intre timp numele localitatii s-a schimbat! Se cheama acum Veselyi Kut (Веселый Кут), ceea ce pe romaneste inseamna Unghiul Vesel, sau Coltzul Vesel. Peste asta, Veselyi Kut nu este nici el unul singur, asa ca daca nu esti atent, dai de o harta a unei zone cu un alt Coltz Vesel, mai aproape insa de Kiev.

Pana la urma am dat de harta cu Parisul devenit Veselyi Kut si asezat intre Tarutino si Tatar-Bunar:

harta regiunii
(http://www.picturesofcities.info/map-city/Vesely-Kut/2748017/)
no copyright infringement intended

harta regiunii - close up
(http://www.picturesofcities.info/map-city/Vesely-Kut/2748017/)
no copyright infringement intended

Odata toate lucrurile astea stabilite, am inceput sa caut pe Internet imagini ale Parisului basarabean. Aici o noua surpriza: ce-am gasit mai intai era o imagine de epoca a unei biserici luterane!

Biserica Luterana din Paris - asa cum era odata
(https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1yEH4L07P2nuLhrQysCNpVJYTAPfxYuXoLcFxL43mX5c)
no copyright infringement intended

O biserica luterana aratand fara nici un cusur si aflata intr-un sat asezat intre Tarutino si Tatar-Bunar, fie el chiar purtand un nume atat de sonor cum este Parisul, asta imi parea de mirare, insa curand aveam sa dau de tot mai multe surprize.

Pe langa Paris, in zona existau localitati precum Leipzig, Wittenberg, Klöstitz, Katzbach, printre multe altele cu nume sunand la fel de nemteste. Alaturi de ele si nume romanesti, unele avand un farmec cu totul aparte, ca de pilda Frumușica sau Grădina. Cat despre numele rusesti de localitati, astea erau de fapt nume de batalii din timpul razboiului cu Napoleon (Tarutino, Berezina, sau Borodino).

Azi insa numele de localitati de acolo sunt mai toate ucrainiene, Halle a devenit Alisivka, Strassburg (ca exista acolo si un Strassburg) a devenit Alkalyia, pana si Cetatea Alba se numeste acum Bilhorod Dnyiestrivskyi. Cat despre biserica luterana din Paris (azi numit Veselyi Kut), arata acum la fel cum arata orice cladire abandonata.

Biserica Luterana din Paris - cum a ajuns intre timp
fotografie de Reiseluscht
(http://www.panoramio.com/photo/41281637)
no copyright infringement intended

Iar cand am pus totul cap la cap am reusit sa inteleg un capitol de istorie, care a inceput pe la 1814 si s-a terminat fix in octombrie 1940: prezenta colonistilor germani in Basarabia.

Aducerea de colonisti germani in tinuturile dintre Prut si Nistru (smulse in 1812 de catre Rusia din trupul Moldovei) a inceput dupa incheierea razboaielor cu Napoleon. Colonistii erau improprietariti si primeau unelte agricole, intreaga comunitate bucurandu-se de un regim fiscal avantajos si de un grad ridicat de autonomie, religioasa, culturala si administrativa.

Primii colonisti veniti au ramas cunoscuti sub numele de colonisti varsovieni, ceea ce nu inseamna ca erau polonezi - erau tot germani, care pe la 1800 se mutasera din regiunile lor de origine intr-o zona apartinand in acel moment regatului Prusiei, trecuta apoi sub autoritatea Marelui Ducat al Varsoviei, apoi sub administrare tarista - pentru acesti germani era asadar o a doua migrare in mai putin de douazeci de ani.

In general colonistii germani au venit din regiuni foarte diferite, asa incat in fiecare sat intemeiat de ei in Basarabia se vorbea un alt dialect. Unii erau din provinciile germane din nord, li se zicea aici, poate impropriu, kashubi. Celor sositi din sud li se zicea svabi, originari din Suabia adica (ceea ce ii diferentiaza de svabii din Banat - cu ei e alta poveste, pe care voi incerca sa v-o spun altadata).

Alta imagine de azi a Bisericii Luterane din Paris
fotografie de Herb Poppke
(https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1yEH4L07P2nuLhrQysCNpVJYTAPfxYuXoLcFxL43mX5c)
no copyright infringement intended

Sa ne intoarcem insa la Paris, ca am cam uitat de el. Satul a fost intemeiat in 1816, cu colonisti varsovieni. care l-au botezat la inceput Alecksuesswerth, probabil in amintirea localitatii din Netzedistrikt (una din regiunile acelea cand prusace, cand poloneze) pe care o parasisera pentru a veni aici. A fost insa repede redenumit Paris prin decizie venita dela Petersburg, dela Ministerul de Interne al Rusiei. Motivul nu era celebrarea capitalei franceze, cum am fi putut banui, ci cu totul altul, un motiv care azi pare bizar, dar in momentul acela isi avea rostul lui: in urma marii Batalii a Natiunilor dela Leipzig, armata tarului ajunsese pana la Paris!

Bun, deci parizienii din Bugeac erau varsovieni de pe Valea Netzerului, ca sa zic asa, dar acum ma veti intreba de unde plecasera prima oara, cand se mutasera in Netzedistrikt? Se pare ca din zona Mecklenburgului, adica de undeva de pe langa Rostock, Schwerin sau Neubrandenburg, asadar din nordul Germaniei.

Si daca mergem si mai indarat in timp, pot sa va zic ca am dat de o alta surpriza: parizienii ar fi pana la urma chiar parizieni! Ma rog, nu chiar parizieni, dar oricum francezi: hughenoti care ar fi venit in tinuturile germane din cauza persecutiilor religioase. Deci Franta (nu chiar Paris) - Germania (Meklenburg) - Polonia (Netzedistrikt) - sudul Basarabiei (Paris). Este o ipoteza frumoasa, nimic de zis, insa nu se sprijina decat pe o singura observatie: existenta in Parisul basarabean a multor nume de familie care suna frantuzeste (chiar daca au fost in timp germanizate): Allmer, Fano, Fercho, Jans, Kison, Kroisandt, Reppnack, Salo. Am gasit observatia asta intr-un singur loc: o carte (Suckut, Arthur: Paris in Bessarabien. Herausgegeben zum 170. Jahrestag der Gründung des Dorfes Paris, im Eigenverlag, 1986), citata in http://www.armin-zimmermann.eu/Bessarabien/Herkunft/Bessarabien_englisch.html#Paris.

Masina de treierat cu locomotiva, Paris, 1915
(http://library.ndsu.edu/grhc/order/general/newbook.html)
no copyright infringement intended

Venirea colonistilor si intemeierea de sate germane a continuat pana la 1840. Si au ramas acolo pentru multe decenii, reprezentand vreo 3% din totalul populatiei basarabene, pastrandu-si identitatea lor de germani (ba chiar si dialectele, diferite dela sat la sat), in timp ce tinuturile dintre Prut si Nistru si-au trait istoria lor, sudul Basarabiei fiind in componenta Romaniei pentru vreo douazeci si ceva de ani la in a doua parte a secolului XIX, fiind ocupat apoi iar de Rusia, intreaga Basarabie unindu-se cu Romania la 1918.

Colonistii germani aveau sa paraseasca Basarabia in octombrie 1940, dupa ocuparea provinciei de catre Uniunea Sovietica. Plecarea colonisitilor era urmarea unei intelegeri germano-sovietice, in baza Pactului Ribbentrop-Molotov. In satele ramase goale au fost adusi rusi si ucrainieni.

Octombrie 1940 - Etnicii germani parasesc Basarabia
imagine publicata pe Facebook de catre Alexandru Ursu-Bukowina
no copyright infringement intended

Am gasit pe Facebook mai multe imagini legate de plecarea colonistilor germani in octombrie 1940. Imi permit sa fac o remarca: nu este vorba de refugiati, pentru ca, asa cum am zis, colonistii au plecat din Basarabia pe baza unei intelegeri germano-sovietice in cadrul Pactului Ribbentrop-Molotov: la acea data relatiile dintre Hitler si Stalin erau excelente.

imagine publicata pe Facebook de catre Alexandru Ursu-Bukowina
no copyright infringement intended

Si o ultima surpriza: am gasit pe web trei filme documentare, create de urmasii de astazi ai acelor colonisti germani din Basarabia, urmasi care au reusit sa viziteze satele stramosilor lor, azi locute de ucrainieni: un pelerinaj facut pe jos, din sat in sat, insotiti de o caruta de bagaje, trasa de un cal cu un nume extraordinar: Bunik!

Acei colonisti de demult au reusit sa isi pastreze identitatea lor de germani, aflati atat de departe de patrie. Urmasii lor traiesc azi in Germania, si reusesc sa pastreze identitatea bunicilor si strabunicilor lor de pe pamantul Basarabiei. Sa va dau cateva fraze spuse in filmul al treilea:

Heimat ist kein Ort
Heimat ist ein Gefühl

Wer nicht weiß, woher er kommt, der weiß auch nicht, wohin er geht!

1. Back to the Roots (Inapoi la radacini)

Back To The Roots, martie 2009
Anika Teubner
Impressionen in Fotoform
(video by melocotonchen)

2. Eine Bessarabische Reise (O calatorie basarabeana)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, septembrie 2009
Anika Teubner und Werner Schabert
Part 1/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, septembrie 2009
Anika Teubner und Werner Schabert
Part 2/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, septembrie 2009
Anika Teubner und Werner Schabert
Part 3/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

Eine Bessarabische Reise, septembrie 2009
Anika Teubner und Werner Schabert
Part 4/4
(video by melocotonchen/)

3. Der Weg ist das Ziel - zu Fuß in Bessarabie (Drumul este scopul - pe jos prin Basarabia)

Der Weg ist das Ziel - zu Fuß in Bessarabie, 2011
Anika Teubner
die Dokumentation einer 5-tägigen Wanderung
durch verschiedene, ehemals deutsche Ortschaften Bessarabiens.
Stationen: Tarutino, Alt-Posttal, Katzbach, Alt-Elft, Paris, Krasna.
Strecke: ca. 80 Km
(video by melocotonchen)

(Amintiri din Garla Mare)

Labels: My Paris

Updates, Live

Monday, April 11, 2016

Pascal-Jean Rebillat - Photographies de Paris

Wednesday, May 06, 2015

La Seine (1948)

Monday, October 20, 2014

Mario Vargas Llosa, Nostalgia de París

Wednesday, October 08, 2014

Una Vida Entre Libros

Friday, April 19, 2013

André Sauvage: Études sur Paris (1928)

Monday, December 24, 2012

Jean Pierre Ferland: Je reviens chez nous

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Dreaming at Evanescent Cafés

Friday, July 20, 2012

Leconte de Lisle: Aux Modernes

Monday, July 09, 2012

Joris Ivens: Études de mouvements

Sunday, July 08, 2012

A Story Written by my Granddaughter Daria

La Seine a rencontré Paris

Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Bessarabian Germans and Their Villages

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Fel de Fel de Întâmplări cu Tot Soiul de Parizieni

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