Saucy Victorian Paris...

Hello again and apologies for the delay in this post, but I've been on holiday.  The Walker family flew over to  actual France and stayed in proper Paris where I seemed to survive on a diet of butter and caffeine for a few days.  It was brilliant.  However, don't for a moment assume you were far from my thoughts.  I spent a goodly part of the holiday in pursuit of the Victorian in Paris, and here is what I discovered...

In 1865, Dante Gabriel Rossetti took Fanny Cornforth off to Paris for a holiday.  It was possibly the first time he had been in the city since his honeymoon a matter of a few years previously, and he returned as a widower, with his mistress.  I've always been fascinated by the thought of Fanny, swanning around fashionable Paris, visiting the studios of the Impressionist painters (whom Rossetti did not think much of) and generally swanking it up a notch.  As I wandered around the splendid Musée d'Orsay (possibly my favourite art gallery in the world, despite the lack of PRB) I wondered how many of the pictures Fanny had seen in varying stages of completion in her tour of studios.  Now, I'm not a big fan of nineteenth century French art on the whole (possibly because I spent so many years being told how much better it is than Pre-Raphaelite art) but there was some cracking stuff on show...

Esclave d'Amour (1900) Etienne Dinet

Count your lucky stars I'm not starting with The Origin of the World by Gustave Courbet, which must be the most famous painting in the D'Orsay, but I get in enough trouble with the images on my website as it is, I think I would be pushing my luck.  However, it does have it's only Wikipedia page which is saying something for a picture of a ladies bits and not a lot else.  The above image was one that reminded me of Holman Hunt and his love of the Holy Land, with images like this...

The Lantern Maker's Courtship (1854-61) William Holman Hunt

There was a number of superb Oriental/North African/Holy Land works, reflecting both our nations interest in other lands in the century of adventure and colonialism.  It was interesting that not only the above works reflected Holman Hunt but also this one - is the Scapegoat too positive for you?  I may have the answer...

Le Desert Gustave Guillaumet

For heavens sake.  That is so bleak.  Quick look at something fluffy!

Birth of Venus (or Excuse for Nudie Lovely) Alexandre Cabanel

Ah, Cabanel, you are my guilty pleasure.  All of your women could be eaten with spoons, they are so delicious and sugary.  I remember taking a very serious art history course and being told how very bad the Birth of Venus was.  I obviously took no notice whatsoever.  It's not all macaroon-pastel nudie fun though, I was surprised and possibly a little disappointed (in a shallow way) to find that this rather good work was also by him...

Death of Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta (1870)

I was back thinking about the Pre-Raphaelites and how Rossetti loved the story of Francesca and Paolo (miserable old romantic that he was) and what a startling rendition this was.   The clarity and light, the accuracy and detail was there as in The Birth of Venus, but used to terrible effect.  My opinion of him was forced to be a bit more profound, unfortunately.  Hang about, it's all got a bit serious...

Woman bitten by Snake (1847) Auguste Clesinger

You know how I feel about sculpture, and the D'Orsay is stuffed with nudie ladies wriggling around for some flimsy excuse.  They are all delightful and extremely naughty, and I love them all.  The reason I was in the D'Orsay to start with was because there is a splendid exhibition on at present on Impressionism and Fashion, which has nineteenth century art coupled with contemporary fashion including, rather puzzlingly, the following, which contains very little in the way of clothes...

Rolla (1878) Henri Gervex

Hehehe, saucy picture ahoy!  This was in the 'boudoir' section of the exhibition and featured some of the naughtiest, most covering underwear I have ever wanted.  The exhibition is unbelievably beautiful and will give you serious footache as it is huge, so should you find yourself in Paris, I urge you to go.

Just out of shot, me pressed against a window...

Anyway, other than the D'Orsay, there is other Victorian jollity on offer.  May I suggest Ladurée, swoony cake emporium, established in 1862?  There is a very good website here and there are branches not only in Paris but world-wide (dangerous stuff, as my affections can definitely be bought with the chocolate macaroons) including a shop not far from the Royal Academy in London.  Oh heavens!

Anyway, in case you think I spent all my time on holiday looking at naked ladies with a macaroon in my hand, we also went to Père Lachaise Cemetery and sought out Victorians in a slightly more dark manner.  The most famous incumbent has to be dear Oscar...

Oscar Wilde's grave, just out of view big metal fence...

Oscar is now surrounded by a metal fence and a perspex screen, alledgedly because of all the kisses that are wearing away at the grave, but I suspect another reason.  The giant Epstein angel used to have, shall we say, a little more than he has now, but someone stole his bits.  Talking of bits...

The Grave of Victor Noir

Victor Noir was a nineteenth century journalist, famous for being shot by the great-nephew of Napoleon in a dispute over a duel.  The tomb has a realistic figure of Noir on top of it, and is a fertility hotspot for Parisian ladies.  Apparently.  Now, when we were looking at our guidebook, we were somewhat puzzled why a poor dead journo would be so fertile, as the illustration we had did not give any hint.  However, as you will see from the picture I took, certain areas of Monsieur Noir are somewhat more shiny than others.  He has an unfortunate crease in his clothes that looks impressive enough to make him a legend.  What you are meant to do is kiss his lips, rub his bits and place a flower in his hat, and you will be blessed with a happy, fertile sex life.  Moving on...

Here, in a rather busy part of the cemetery (it took us a good few passes to find it) is the grave of 'the most famous actress the world has ever known'.  I have to say I was disappointed that, unlike Edith Piaf or Jim Morrison (who are also buried in the cemetery) there were no big crowds, no flowers and no kisses.  She is on the maps and her grave is clean and tidy (unlike, for example, Alexa Wilding's in Brompton) but she is fading from memory perhaps, or at least from popularity.  

Sorry, for a moment there I was getting a bit maudlin, so I better go and eat some more butter and sugar and look at some topless ladies.  Heavens, if I lived in Paris, I would be cheery all the time!

Eve After the Fall (1869) Eugène Delaplanche (displayed in the D'Orsay)

Nice bottom, Eve...