Sometimes there is a discrepancy between art and life. The grand romantic musical Les Miz and what Victor Hugo wrote. The noble youths struggling to make their voices heard and this reality. In a place full of monuments, there is a wall both monument and really practical grave marker. It is where the remainder of those noble youth from the chorus of the miserables in reality were rounded up for their curtain call in front of an impromptu firing squad. And were buried where they fell. Much as I loved the show, this is where the curtain really came down.
It’s a wall at the end of Pere LaChaise cemetery in Paris. Yes, another cemetery tour but this one, well, you won’t believe who you’ll meet walking through the rows here.
I know he’s around here somewhere…
Most folk of our ggggeneration (stutter deliberate…’cause I’m a Who fan, that’s why) come to the third most exclusive piece of final resting real estate in Paris – the first being, of course, Napoleon’s Tomb and the second The Pantheon (where Victor Hugo currently resides) – to find the grave of Jim Morrison, first bad boy of rock and roll.
Unfortunately he was also one of the first to die like a bad boy/girl of rock. Eric Burdon may look like 25 miles of bad road and play the casino circuit but he strikes me as looking better than Jim does right now.
It isn’t unusual to find bottles of whiskey or marijuana cigarettes (no, I’m not that old but writing “joints” without some qualifier is asking for trouble considering some of Jim’s performances at the height of the Doors fame…go ahead, I’ll wait while you ask your parents about what I’m talking about or you can read through this – Rolling Stone accounts of “The Miami Incident”)
yes they really did squeeze him in somewhere
The story about Jim getting into Pere Lachaise illustrates a lot about the cemetery itself and why he is in such a hard to find spot. When friends came to the administrators of the cemetery, saying famous American rock star Jim Morrison wanted to be buried here, they were told only artists, writers and poets are accepted. This is a bit of an exaggeration as, if you also happen to be incredibly rich, politically influential and/or royalty, they will find a place for you. So his friends said, “Oh, didn’t we say, um, er, ah, he was a poet too?” and, with gallic reluctance, room was found for him.
But there is a reason for this reluctance to have any Jimmy come lately crash the gates. We can’t have just anyone sharing the same sacred ground as Moliere, after all. Or the divine Sarah Bernhardt (the original one, French actress and national treasure). Or the little sparrow, Edith Piaf, who kept the soul of the country alive during the darkest hours of WWII. 
The Sparrow’s site wasn’t hard to spot: it was surrounded by people openly weeping. Yes, she had and still has that effect on the French.
Resistance? Ce n’est pas futile
Near one of the main boulevard entrances is a monument to the civilian soldiers of the French Resistance who died in service of their country and lie in unmarked graves courtesy of the occupiers. Next time someone makes a joke about the cowardice of them Frenchies and how they just lay down their arms and run, show them this jaunty fellow on his way to mess up the occupation in some way and get severely messed up by the Gestapo in return. Gauloises anyone?
Further along is one of the most popular monuments, covered with kisses–seriously, it is the custom to apply lipstick and then apply un bisou upon the monument to Mr. Oscar Wilde. I await correction here by my friends much more knowledgeable in the other official language of Canada.
And along with Mr. Wilde, one must also pay respects to the great writer and American ex-patriate, Miss Gertrude Stein and her partner of brownie fame, Alice B. Toklas. They’re in this space together but Gert gets top billing with Alice’s name around the back…
If you are interested in one of the best, witty, quirky, wonderful books ever written about Pere LeChaise (or any cemetery, for that matter) and the permanent residents here, I would be remiss at this point not to mention Bill Richardson’s delightful book, Waiting for Gertrude. Really, try to find it, you won’t be sorry…
yes it’s a cliche but I couldn’t resist
It is impossible to cover this place in one post. It took a lot of persuading to get my beloved to come along for this walk about and he did everything humanly possible to insure he’d spend the minimum amount of time necessary to humour his wife’s weird desire to tour a graveyard. A graveyard in Paris, admittedly, but still just a collection of dead people underneath dusty granite and dirt. The only lure I could offer was Jim Morrison’s grave. Little did either of us know it was at probably the furthest point from any entrance. But by the time he realized this he was pretty much captivated by the, ahem, spirit of the place.
very old section – Moliere is here somewhere…seriously…but we never found him
Here are a few more pictures to give you but a small idea of who/what you can see there.
We did find Chopin…with an angel to keep him company
one of the more ironic mausoleums…kept thinking, ‘hmmm, not my idea of a happy ending’
look up, look way up and I’ll call Rusty…
it’s little details like this that really sell you on a place…
understated…the only time she’d ever be accused of restraint
The most famous of the weeping women in Pere Lachaise
There’s a fascinating story here but wait for Dan Brown to get it all wrong in his next blockbuster
some are less spectacular
some are almost whimsical
and some are modern, classical and stunning all at the same time