Paris: The Novel (154 page)

“This is true,” said Claire.

“It’s made of iron, yet it looks so delicate. It’s masculine, but feminine.” He shrugged.

“That is very observant, monsieur. I agree with you.”

“Oui,”
said Gascon, feeling quite pleased with himself. “It’s indestructible, that tower,” he continued with satisfaction. “Like a ship, weathers every storm.” He paused. “My grandfather built that tower,” he couldn’t resist adding.

“Really? That’s a fine thing. You must be very proud, monsieur.”

“
Oui, madame
. Have a good evening.”

Claire watched him go, then gazed at the view.

Now she knew. She’d better telephone Phil. She’d enjoy teaching him French.

Paris
is first and foremost a novel. Other than the historical figures—from monarchs and ministers to Claude Monet and Ernest Hemingway—all the characters who make their appearances in its pages are entirely fictional. The names of these fictional families include some of the most common names in France, with two exceptions.

The name of Ney is chosen for reasons that the story will make clear; though Monsieur Ney and his daughter, Hortense, are, of course, entirely fictitious.

And the invented name de Cygne needs a word of technical explanation. The use of the particle “de,” which simply means “of,” is often a sign of a noble family. A man with this sort of name is addressed as “Monsieur de Cygne,” or spoken of as “Jean de Cygne.” But when using the family name or title by itself, we do not need the particle. Just as in English we may refer to the Duke of Wellington as “Wellington,” we should properly say “Cygne,” rather than “de Cygne.” In the case of French names, however—except when speaking of the most famous historical figures—it has become common nowadays to add the particle even where it’s not needed. And so in this novel I have referred to “de Cygne” and to the “de Cygne family,” rather than the more technically correct “Cygne” and “Cygne family.” I hope that purists will forgive me for this.

A few times in the tale, I have made some tiny adjustments to historical detail where absolute precision would have been confusing to the reader. For instance, the great minister of King Henry IV is called Sully, the name by which he is best known to history, although this was actually a title he gained two years after his appearance in the narrative. Insofar as possible, I have sought to avoid the use of more than one historical
name for each given place or street. All named places are real with the sole exception of the little Chapel of Saint-Gilles. The saint is real, but his chapel is invented.

One error, however, I have allowed myself. In this novel, Ernest Hemingway attends the Paris Olympics on July 21, 1924. In fact, ignoring the games, he left for Pamplona on June 25 and did not return to Paris until July 27. But I feel he should have been at the games, even if he wasn’t! At other times, he certainly liked to visit the Vélodrome d’hiver, as related in the story.

While I have undertaken extensive research in writing this book, I have also been aided by the fact that, though I am of British origin, I have a large number of French cousins whose homes have been my own, in Paris, Fontainebleau and other places, ever since I was a child. And while none of those cousins, or my many French friends, make any personal appearances in this story, my familiarity with them, and my memory of many stories heard, were a great help to me in imagining the tales of French families interacting through the days of the Belle Époque, the two world wars and the French resistance.

To thank all these many people would take too much space. But I should like to record my particular debt, both for their hospitality and their historical and cultural advice in the preparation of this book, to Isabelle, Janine and Caroline Brizard, and to the late Jacques Sarton du Jonchay, whose memories of the interwar years were invaluable.

Similarly, rather than record my thanks to all the curators of the many museums and cultural institutions in Paris I have come to know down the years, I should like to recommend just two that readers might possibly overlook. The Musée Carnavalet in the Marais quarter takes one through the history of Paris magnificently. And the charming Musée de Montmartre is full of fascinating surprises.

Despite the fact that, even nowadays, I always finish each project with an enviable collection of printed books to add to my library, I have never thought it appropriate as a simple storyteller to supply a detailed bibliography for each novel. However, having enjoyed his books ever since I first read
The Fall of Paris
, his masterly account of the Siege and Commune of 1870–71, I could not fail as a reader to record forty years of gratitude to Sir Alistair Horne, whose books on France and on Paris continue to be such a delight.

Once again, my many thanks to Mike Morgenfeld for preparing maps with such exemplary care and patience.

And finally, as always, I thank my agent, Gill Coleridge, for her constant guidance and wisdom, and my two exemplary editors, Oliver Johnson at Hodder and William Thomas at Doubleday, for their vision, unstinting support and creative responses to the many challenges of a complex project of this kind. I also owe great thanks to Coralie Hunter at Doubleday, to Cara Jones at RCW and to Anne Perry at Hodder for their help in guiding the manuscript through its various stages.

Edward Rutherfurd is the bestselling author of seven novels, including
London, Sarum, The Princes of Ireland, The Rebels of Ireland
, and
New York
.

Visit:
www.edwardrutherfurd.com

Also available as an ebook by Edward Rutherfurd:
Sarum • 978-0-307-80604-8
Russka • 978-0-307-80603-1
London • 978-0-307-80602-4
The Princes of Ireland • 978-0-385-51257-2
The Rebels of Ireland •978-0-307-42408-2
New York • 978-0-385-53023-1

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