mercoledì 15 agosto 2018

SIMENON SIMENON. SIMENON, ORWELL, HEMINGWAY

Three writers, three quartiers: living in 1920s Paris 

SIMENON SIMENON. SIMENON, ORWELL, HEMINGWAY 
Tre scrittori, tre quartieri: vivere a Parigi nel 1920 
SIMENON SIMENON. SIMENON, ORWELL, HEMINGWAY 
Trois écrivains, trois quartiers: vivre à Paris en 1920



In this article, I will look at three Parisian quartiers “shared” to a greater or lesser degree by Simenon, Orwell and Hemingway during their time in 1920s Paris and which figure prominently in their writings. First, the quartier des grands hôtels, in central Paris: in addition to providing the setting of Maigret’s investigation in Les Caves du Majestic (1942) and the backdrop to several important episodes in Pietr lLetton (1931), this was the location of the “Hôtel X” where Orwell worked as a dishwasher in 1929, an experience recounted in Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), and the Hôtel Ritz, whose bar was patronised by Hemingway and where, before leaving Paris in 1928, he stored the notebooks that would form the basis for A Moveable Feast (1964). Secondly, the area around rue Mouffetard, where Louis Cuchas, Simenon’s Le Petit Saint (1965), spent his childhood and adolescence and where Hemingway and Orwell lived during their Parisian years. Finally, the brasseries and restaurants of the boulevard Montparnasse, frequented by fictional wealthy Americans and international bohemians in La Tête d’un homme (1932) as well as by the real-life characters of Hemingway’s memoir.  
Simenon’s Hôtel Majestic resembles in all particulars Orwell’s “Hôtel X”, which was either the Hôtel Crillon or Hôtel Lotti. The clients are predominantly wealthy Americans and Maigret with his plebeian origins looks and feels out of place: ‘Maigret’s presence at the Majestic inevitably carried a suggestion of hostility. He was a kind of foreign body its organism would not assimilate’ (Pietr le Letton). Behind the scenes, in the service quarters where meals are prepared for the guests, the contrast with the opulence of the restaurant is striking, with cooks, waiters, kitchen staff and dishwashers scurrying around madly in the service of the wealthy: ‘Between one and three o’clock the agitation was at its height, the rhythm so rapid that it resembled a speeded-up film’ (Les Caves du Majestic). Orwell’s description of the working environment in the caféterie of a Parisian luxury hotel is even more graphic: ‘It was amusing to look around the filthy little scullery and think that only a double door was between us and the dining room. There sat the customers in all their splendour […], and here, just a few feet away, we in our disgusting filth.’ The restaurant staff at the Majestic and the Hôtel X are organised in a strict hierarchy, symbolised for Simenon by their different dress code – chef’s white hats for the cooks, dinner jackets for the waiters, aprons for the cellar staff – and Orwell comments that ‘our staff had their prestige graded as accurately as that of soldiers, and a cook or waiter was as much above a plongeur as a captain above a private. Highest of all came the manager, who could sack anybody, even the cooks.’ 
When he was not working, Orwell lived in a furnished room in the rue du Pot-de-Fer in the same quartier as the apartment of Hemingway and his wife Hadley in the rue du Cardinal-Lemoine. The autobiographical memories of the Englishman and American concerning the area correspond strongly to Simenon’s description of the rue Mouffetard in the period preceding and following the Great War in Le Petit Saint. All three authors insist on the generalised poverty of the quartier: for Orwell, ‘it was quite a representative Paris slum’; the Cuchas family’s apartment, as described by Simenon, is cramped and lacking furniture with a cold-water tap on the landing and a toilet in the yard; and Hemingway recounts that ‘home in the rue du Cardinal-Lemoine was a two-room flat that had no hot water and no inside toilet facilities’. Yet Orwell also remarks that ‘amid the noise and dirt, lived the usual respectable French shopkeepers, bakers and laundresses […], keeping themselves to themselves and quietly piling up small fortunes’; this could equally be a description of Cuchas’s ‘Uncle Hector [who] ran a butcher’s shop at the corner of the rue du Pot-de-Fer.’ Orwell and Simenon are also in agreement concerning the multinational composition of the quartier’s inhabitants, from the Poles, Arabs and Italians of the former’s lodging house to the absent Russian father of Cuchas’s half-brother, his mother’s Czech lover, the Italian family on the floor above with seven or eight children and his recollection that ‘not everyone spoke French. There was a little girl and her brother who had almond eyes [and] a tall, thick-lipped negro.’ 
Along with many of his compatriots, Hemingway had been attracted to Paris by three factors: the extremely favourable exchange rate, the prohibition in 1920 of the sale of alcohol in the United States and the city’s burgeoning population of writers and artists from throughout the world, many of whom were concentrated in Montparnasse. Simenon was himself part of the Montparnasse scene becoming a regular at venues such as La Coupole, La Rotonde and Le Dôme, establishments also patronised by Hemingway and numerous other expatriates. This did not prevent Simenon from presenting a less than flattering portrait of the milieu in La Tête d’un homme as ‘the somewhat tawdry crowd from Montparnasse’. Neither does Louis Cuchas identify with ‘the Montparnasse painters, who had invaded the fourteenth arrondissement after the war and who could be seen and heard, talking all languages, first at the Rotonde and on the terrace of the Dôme and later at the Coupole’. Hemingway, although he frequently satirises authors with whom he quarrelled in Paris, is generally positive about the café environment devoting whole chapters of his book to ‘Pascin at the Dôme’ and ‘Evan Shipman at the Lilas’. 
Three writers, then, with three quartiers in common but each with his own specific relation to the social geography of Paris. 

William Alder 

martedì 14 agosto 2018

SIMENON SIMENON. LES ETAPES D'UNE CREATION /2

Les relations entre le romancier et son personnage; deuxième partie: du romancier américain au mémorialiste 

SIMENON SIMENONI PASSI DI UNA CREAZIONE /2 
Le relazioni tra il romanziere e il suo personaggio; seconda parte. dal romanziere americano al memorialista 
SIMENON SIMENONSTEPS IN A CREATION /2 
The relationship between the novelist and his character; second part: from the American novelist to the memorialist 


Nous avons évoqué, dans la première partie de ce billet, les débuts derelations entre Simenon et Maigret, et comment celles-ci ont commencé à évoluer. Aujourd'hui, nous allons voir comment cette évolution s'est poursuivie, et même au-delà des années rédactionnelles de la saga. 
1950. La guerre n'aurait-elle été qu'une parenthèse, et le départ en Amérique, en même temps que s'ouvrait une nouvelle vie pour le romancier, aurait-il signifié l'abandon définitif de Maigret ? Après tout, le commissaire n'était-il pas le symbole de cet Ancien Monde, d'une époque que le romancier considérait comme close, et ne valait-il pas mieux abandonner ce héros, pour pouvoir repartir sur un nouveau mode d'écriture, devenir un écrivain consacré en gagnant la bataille américaine ? … C'était sans compter sur l'effet de la nostalgie… Simenon, 47 ans, approche du bilan de milieu de vie. Père pour la deuxième fois, remarié, installé à Lakeville, il entame ce que Michel Carly appelle "une période de bonheur et d'équilibre". Ce qui ne l'empêche pas d'avoir retrouvé, dans sa lointaine Amérique, des souvenirs du Paris des années 1930, et Maigret en est comme le symbole. Presque à son corps défendant, il a emmené avec lui son héros de l'autre côté de l'Atlantique, lui a fait partager ses étonnements à la découverte du mode de vie étasunien, et, très vite, l'a remis en activité pour le faire mener de nouvelles enquêtes. Le romancier a maintenant le même âge que sa créature, et cela modifie leurs rapports. Simenon peut encore mieux se mettre dans la peau de son personnage, partageant dorénavant avec lui une certaine expérience de vie. En septembre 1950, les Mémoires qu'il fait rédiger par son héros attestent de ce rapprochement… 
1960. Les événements se sont bousculés dans la vie du romancier. Il a quitté l'Amérique pour retrouver le Vieux Continent. Il a eu deux nouveaux enfants, tandis que son couple a connu ses premières sérieuses lézardes. A 57 ans, c'est un romancier reconnu, à la production régulière, alternant romans durs et romans Maigret. Parce que le commissaire est toujours là. C'est devenu un équilibre nécessaire dans son œuvre. Ecrire des Maigret est une sorte de détente entre deux romans à la tension plus forte; mais c'est aussi parfois un banc d'essai, où le romancier tente un nouveau thème avant de l'utiliser dans un roman dur. En juin 1960, Simenon écrit Maigret et les vieillards, un roman qui remplace une tentative avortée de roman dur, et il confie, dans son journal Quand j'étais vieux, que Maigret et les vieillards est peut-être "le meilleur" de ceux qu'il a écrits pour la saga. Le romancier a rejoint et commence à dépasser en âge son personnage, et en même temps que lui-même s'interroge sur le temps qui passe et la vieillesse approchante, il confie à son personnage ses premières questions sur une retraite plus si lointaine. 
1970. Simenon, 67 ans, va bientôt terminer une étape dans son parcours de romancier. En mars de cette année, il rédige La folle de Maigret, joli roman parsemé de notations allusives à l'univers maigretien. Cela ne sonne pas encore vraiment comme un adieu, mais cela s'en rapproche… A la fin de la même année, il assiste aux derniers instants de sa mère, et moins de deux ans plus tard, il met un terme à son activité de romancier. Dans le dernier roman mettant en scène le commissaire, celui-ci, bien que proche de la retraite, refuse une promotion, parce qu'il entend rester, et pour toujours, un homme de terrain… 
1980. Simenon, 77 ans, vient de vivre le drame le plus atroce de toute sa vie: la perte de sa fille bien-aimée. Pour conjurer ses démons, il reprend la plume et rédige ses Mémoires intimes, en même temps bilan et tentative de justification… Maigret ? C'est à peu près le seul personnage qui a eu le droit d'apparaître dans ses écrits autobiographiques. Avec le temps, et bien après l'avoir abandonné à ses enquêtes dans des romans rédigés presque dix ans plus tôt, Simenon garde de son personnage un souvenir attendri et ému. La preuve, ce qu'il en dit dans ses Mémoires intimes. Que c'est un "personnage qui a fini par devenir [son] ami"…. 

Murielle Wenger 

lunedì 13 agosto 2018

SIMENON SIMENON. THE MOTHER GEORGES HAD NEVER HAD / 1

Madame Baron in The Lodger is not like Madame Simenon 

SIMENON SIMENON. LA MERE QUE GEORGES N’AVAIT JAMAIS EUE / 1 
Madame Baron dans “Le Locataire” n’est pas comme Madame Simenon 
SIMENON SIMENON. LA MADRE CHE GEORGES NON HA MAI AVUTO / 1
Madame Baron ne "Il Pensionante" non è certo come Madame Simenon

Notably, adolescent Georges’ home became a boarding house for several years and its landlady was Madame Simenon. The way she ran the business, especially how it humiliated Georges’ beloved father, served to ramp up Georges’ hostility toward and conflict with his mother. While reading The Lodger, it was impossible not to interpret the Elie and Madame Baron interaction as a Georges and Madame Simenon contrast. This landlady Madame Baron is the opposite of the egocentric uncaring Madame Simenon. What follows is a listing of her non-Henriette like favorable actions on Elie towards before she actually has knowledge of his awful crimes: 
Madame Baron welcomes and treats Elie royally right from the start. That’s Monsieur Elie’s place! She protested as she assigns him the all-important kitchen’s place of honor for his very first meal, forcing the others, with that “good place” gone, to find seats at the table “as best they could. And this comes despite willingly accepting his unusually large down payment and deliberately neglecting to fill out the required registration form for this unknown foreigner without references, the soon to be discovered fugitive. 
Madame Baron sets out “serving plates with pink flowers she had never used.” She prepares and presents “some dishes of true appetizers.” She makes a special dessert. The better food, broader menu, and unique staging she offers and repeats create a “spectacle” well beyond what one might expect by merely paying full board. 
Madame Baron carefully nurses the sniffling sick man because he has a cold” or perhaps “the grippe. She lends him one of her husband’s own clean handkerchiefs. She makes and brings hot grog, along with two aspirin, to his bedside. No wonder “he has no desire to get well. 
Madame Baron seeks to protect Elie in many other ways and her attention is wide spread: first, “You should get out and about; sitting around is what makes you sick” and, later on, “Only watch out to not get frozen. In particular, her positive response to the fugitive’s important request that she not report him to Immigration Services creates “a voluptuous sensation.” She picks up his bedroom room and practically tucks him into bed. She lets him wear—indeed, probably volunteers—her husband’s slippers. She lets him sit in her husband’s personal, privileged armchair. She “laps up his remarks” and “listens to his phrases like refrains from a romance.” For example, his mention of the “champagne” he is used to drinking “brings sumptuous orgies” to her mind. In fact, “all his words were of a different value” to her. She admires his nice clothes, his rich belongings, and his stories of family living surrounded by seven servants. The summation is her question: “Do you need anything else?” 
Most of these actions evoke simultaneous contrast with the way Henriette maltreated Georges. All in all, Madame Baron is plainly the mother Georges never had. As she herself recognizes and explains: “I’m speaking up for Monsieur Elie’s benefit, as if I were his mom.” In sum, there is little about him she does not like, approve, or at least accept (as Part Two to come further confirms). 

David P Simmons