Horny Nymphs, Topless Women and French Corpses

Being that my apartment is so cozy (and I am so lazy), I've been finding it difficult to convince myself to get out and about during the day.  I inevitably make grand plans to see this museum or that landmark, but somehow manage to talk myself out of going ("But the wedding has been stopped!  I have to get through the part where Jane finds out about Rochester's crazy wife in the attic!").  But yesterday the weather was so beautiful and spring-like (don't hate me, snow-bound snow bunnies) that I decided to forgo my plans to see the Jewish museum and instead made a date with one Allison Paige to wander around the Latin quarter.  And being that Allison Paige is a pretty foxy lady, I knew I couldn't stand her up.

As I exited the metro station, the Jardin de Luxembourg was immediately to my left.  Being that it was such a gorgeous day, I could think of no better way to begin my wandering.  Well-populated but not crowded and sprinkled with occasional priceless works of art, the park offered the perfect opportunity to people watch as well as get my art on.  I sat down near the Fonte de' Medicis, which (so I gather from the French explanation plaque) depicted nymphs frolicking and may or may not have been moved by Baron Haussman in the 19th century.  Or peed on by Baron Haussmnan in the 19th century, I don't know, it was in French.  Regardless of Baron Haussman's involvement, it was lovely, if a little creepy (I was a little unsettled by the giant male nymph hovering over smaller nymphs locked in carnal embrace).

Having not taken French in school, I never had much occasion to learn much about Paris prior to coming.  So landmarks that others know the rich history of and are dying to see become, "Ooh, I wonder what that giant, old-looking building with the big dome over there is?" to me.  It was thusly that I found myself looking up at the imposing and overwhelming Pantheon.  Unsure I wanted to waste such glorious weather, I sat on it steps for quite some time indulging myself in a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower, watching the people in the courtyard.

My curiosity eventually got the better of me, and I decided to shell out the 8 euros for entry to the looming basilica behind me.  Upon entry, I was struck by the contrast to the warm air and sunshine I had just left.  The Pantheon is gloomy and cold; I now know where to come in the summer to cool off.  From the little bit I had read in one of my guide books, I knew that it was a secular resting place for some of France's most illustrious figures (thus the chill: no one wants to pay 8 euros to smell French dead guys).  What I learned from the plaques (again, friend, don't trust my French) was that it was commissioned by a gravely ill Louis XV to be a church dedicated to St. Genevieve, patron saint of Paris.  Genevieve, according to the large murals on the walls, was a nun (or lady who liked to wear white and crosses) who saved Paris from Atilla the Hun and really liked topless ladies and blonde children.  Or maybe that was the artist.  Who knows?

The church had the misfortune of being completed in 1789; not a good year for churches.  But rather than sack it and tear it down (because really, that would've been waaaay to much work), the Revolutionaries commandeered it as a resting place for martyrs to their cause.  This explains the odd combination of paintings of St. Genevieve, bloody depictions of the Revolution and topless ladies.  Ok, so it doesn't explain the topless ladies.  Those are supposed to be modeled on Greek and Roman sculpture and art.  Because the Greeks and Romans loved topless ladies.  I guess.  And nothing says Virture, Music and Nature like scantily clad women.  Or maybe boobies are just fun to carve.  Moving on.

The Crypts: French dead guy, French dead guy, French dead guy, Alexandre Dumas!, French dead guy, E Mile Zola!, French dead guy, French dead guy, Voltaire!, French dead guy, Victor Hugo!, Military French dead guys....bookshop!

And that, my friends, was the Pantheon.

I rounded out my date with Allison Paige by wandering down St. Michel, giving a euro to a homeless guy (he had a bunny!  The bunny needs carrots!  My priorities are misplaced!), resisting the siren call of the last days of the soldes, eating falafel along the Seine, and watching street performers outside Notre Dame.  All in all, a well-spent day.  And Jane Eyre was still waiting for me when I got home.