Today's story, by guest author Arnold Hogarth, takes place in Paris, on the charming Ile Saint-Louis…. Speaking of Paris, mille mercis for the fun and inspiring Paris suggestions that you sent my friend, Greg– who sends you his remerciements.
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Today's word from French Word-A-Day. (…sign up if you haven't already!):
colis (ko-lee) noun, masculine
: parcel, package
Audio File & Expressions:
Download MP3 sound file and listen to my eleven-year-old daughter pronounce the following:
par colis postal
envoyer/recevoir un colis
Trois jeunes de 17 à 20 ans ont été placés en garde à vue après le vol de 46 colis postaux. Three youths, aged from 17 to 20, were placed in police custody after stealing 46 postal parcels. —Le Parisien
Book: Tune Up Your French: Top 10 Ways to Improve Your Spoken French
P E R C E P T I O N S
by Arnold Hogarth
What is America’s fascination with France? Beyond the museums, walking tours, monuments, cafes—-just what is it? Well, for this American, it’s the difference in values, attitudes, and perceptions submerged in the deep waters of each culture.
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When, on occasion, one surfaces – there can be confusion, sometimes angst, but many times great humor, and even moments of sweet poignancy. This story is true . . . (more or less).
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A Paris Lady
Post Office on Ile. St. Louis:
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As I reached for the aluminum glass door to the tiny Post Office located on Ile. St. Louis in central Paris, an old lady carrying a cardboard box, of dimensions approximately 18” x 18”, rushed in front of me and at the last minute crowded between my extended arm and the aluminum handle I was reaching for—and inserted herself and her box between me and the door. The box could not have been heavy, as she managed it easily with ungloved hands that showed the ash and wrinkles of a very old trooper.
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The temperature was approximately 40 degrees. With neither gloves nor a scarf, she warded off the moist chill with only a worn wool coat, a crown of wiry snow white hair, a black and white checked cotton dress, black leggings and brown boots of the working type, not the fashion type.
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She peered at me through glasses more resembling goggles, and said something in French. I speak no French, so spoke back in English — and she just looked at me. Just then a teenage girl approached and said, “excuse me please,” nodded politely to the old lady, and said something to her in French. The old lady smiled thinly and the teenager then turned a sweet gaze on me and asked if I would permit the old lady to precede me.
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I smiled at the old lady and she went to the postal counter on the right. The counter to the left had a young man heavily engaged with the clerk. I estimated his transaction would take a long time; so, I lined up behind the teenager, who insisted I go in front of her because I arrived before she had.
“Do you know who that lady is?” the teenager whispered to me in a lovely French accent.
“Why no,” I replied.
“Oh,” she said, “that’s Madam de Gerverseux,” as if I would immediately know who she was.
“Madam de Gerverseux?”
“I think she’s almost 90 now,” the teenager said, “she lives just around the corner in a small ground floor studio apartment.” Madam glanced around at us while the clerk went to the back room to fetch something. From her curious expression, I think she sensed that we were talking about her, and I think she understood some English. Taking a good look at her, I realized that she was quite attractive and her eyes were not old, but crystal blue and very penetrating. She smiled sweetly at me with a long and sturdy gaze.
She didn’t look close to 90–closer to 70–but because of her worn clothes and somewhat bent posture and movements of an older person, I didn’t think twice about her at the door; but, as I say, upon closer inspection, she was very pretty. The clerk returned and there was immediate reengagement regarding madam’s cardboard box.
“So, who is she?” I asked the teenager.
“Before the second war, around 1938,” the teenager said, “when Madam de Gerverseux was around twenty, she was the toast of Paris, a dancer, singer, and one of the great beauties of the era. She was an understudy to Josephine Baker, the famous, American Black entertainer, and worked with her many years at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysèes. All the children in Paris learn about Madam de Gerverseux life. She was also a hero in the French underground movement during the war and responsible for saving hundreds of French lives. Everyone knows who she is and what she has accomplished.”
“But,” I said, “she seems so bedraggled, almost like a street beggar.”
“Oh, no,” said the teenager, “she made a fortune during her time, and as far as anyone knows, she has a lot of money. It is said, though, that she lives like she does, because money is of little value to her. She tells people there’s nothing it can provide that isn’t available without it. We learned all about her in school, and every school child in France knows how wealthy she is.”
The clerk took Madam’s cardboard box from the counter top, cradled it easily on his hip and gently patted the top of Madam’s hand, and said something in French. She smiled radiantly, turned, nodded kindly to me and the teenager, and walked proudly with quick steps and pushed through the aluminum glass door. We watched through the window as she stepped briskly down the sidewalk. The sun was out and shown on her face as she turned and smiled at us through the window.
“I wonder what was in the box,” I said, “such a big box and so light.”
“Oh,” said the teenager, “there’s never anything in the box. She comes almost everyday at about this time, with a similar box and mails it to herself. Sometimes, you will see that the box is torn and scrapped where she has repeatedly removed the old label – and she brings the same boxes in time after time until there are in tatters, and then she replaces them with new boxes.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to disparage the great women. Just then the clerk said something to me in French, and I shrugged.
“Yes, Monsieur, what can I do for you?” he said in broken English.
“Do you have a box like the one the madam just carried out?”
“Oui, Monsieur,” and he went to the back room. I could hear him rattle around and he soon reappeared with an identical box. “And what,” he asked, “do we put in the box?”
“Just this,” I said, handing him a note I had quickly scribbled.
“And where do we send the box, Monsieur” the clerk asked.
“Do you have Madam’s address?”
“But of course,” Monsieur.
“Please address the box to her,” I said.
As I went to leave, the teenager asked, “Do you mind if I ask what you wrote?”
I reached out my hand and held hers, and told her that I had written – "I love you".
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Arnold Hogarth, 77, was raised in So. Cal. and currently lives in Fallbrook, San Diego county. He is retired and spends two months in Paris each year.
Please help me to thank Mr. Hogarth for his story by leaving your feedback and comments in the comments box! A simple "merci" might really make this writer's day, qui sait?
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Valerian flowers (a.k.a. les lilas d'Espagne" growing from dusty ledges along a rock wall in Rasteau).
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What a wonderful story. Thank you
What an engaging and poignant story Mr. Hogarth…evidence that often what happens in our lives is better than anything we could make up! Merci Beaucoup!
Thank you for the wonderful story, Mr. Hogarth. You can imagine my surprise when I read where you live. I live in Temecula, just up the road from Fallbrook.
Thank you so much for the wonderful Hogarth story. Moved my heart.
Does anyone know which two months he spends in Paris or which two months you think are the best two months to spend in Paris
Antonette
Une belle histoire! Merci!
Elyse
thank you Arnold Hogarth, I loved your lovely, sweet story. It made me happy. Gayle
Quelle belle histoire .Merci mille fois pour l’avoir partagee avec nous. Nicole
What a wonderful story! Only in France are older women appreciated!
What a precious story! I do wonder why she sent a box to herself everyday. Who was she hoping would send her a box? What was she hoping to be in the box? I loved that the teenager was so respectful of the Madame and shared the story with you. I so admire the women of the French Resistance.
Mr. Hogarth,
What a sweet story and such a loving thing to do for a stranger! You MUST read the children’s book: Somebody Loves You, Mr. Hatch, by Eileen Spinelli. It is my favorite all time childrens’ book and I promise you that you will love it too. It is well worth the trouble of locating.
Jane
Quelle belle histoire! Et quel suprise pour Madam!
Merci & Gracias
Who says chivalry is dead? I’m sure your “colis” gladdened madame’s heart, as it surely would mine. You, Mr. Hogarth, are a gentleman of the rarest kind.
I salute you!
Dear Fellow Readers,
I am anxious to thank those who emailed to say they liked the story.
I was thrilled with the comments. Next Wednesday night, I am going to find you in my dreams – and give each, and everyone of you, a BIG hug. (you’ll feel the warmth).
I love you, too . . Arnold . . . and I thank Kristin for posting it – what a great site.
“Les grands discours c’est bien,
Mais les petits gestes c’est mieux.” Lyrics by Stress
What a simple act of kindness! Beautiful soul.
From one of the largest cities in the world, you bring to us a small spot in a small room filled with life and love!
It is easy to see all that you have painted in our hearts and minds of what you saw. Memories from Paris lives in me daily.
Merci Monsieur Hogarth!
Thank you for the beautiful, up-lifting story. What a wonderful gentleman you are.
Carol
Merci, M.Hogarth…quelle belle histoire!
Warm & wonderful story….thanks for sharing….and sharing….and sharing…..
Renee C.
Merci, M. Hogarth!What a thoughtful thing to do! What a heartwarming random act of kindness!
The story brought a lump to my throat and a smile to my face. Thank you, Mr. Hogarth. I wish you well.
My thanks also to you, Ms. Espinasse, for a consistently interesting and illuminating blog.
Arnold! How very YOU! I wish I had been that aged madame in line in front of you!! I see that Paris is making you write about more than running! Keep it up
Jeanne and Phil
Paris friends!
Merci for a great story. Paris is a wonderful place.
J’ attenderais pour la nuit mercredi, M. Hogarth – je vous remercie en avance pour mes sweet dreams – Trois bravos! cher homme.
(Thank you Mr. Hogarth, in advance, for the sweet dreams I will have on Wednesday night!)
Mr. Hogarth
Bravo! you never know how powerful a good story could be! Hail from this side of the world.
soibin from China
Le sentiment de votre histoire c’est a peu comme “The Gift of the Magi”. Je m’en souviendrai toujours.
Lovely story, thank you so much, transported me to Paris.
Bonjour Arnold!!! What a great story! Your bavarduese and friend from Paris…. Bisous! Denele Sakata
How lovely! and how sweet!! Merci beaucoup!!!
Oh, my gosh, my heart exploded like the fourth of July! Such a sweet story. Don’t you just love the eccentricities of our elder ladies? it is clear that her beauty glows from within. It reminds me of a phrase a french friend once shared with me. Forgive me if the spelling is incorrect(Il ya 32 annees que j’etudie la langue francais.) The phrase: On peu faire le pein por etre belle. Translate that and have a laugh on me. Je taime aussie Madame de Gerverseux! An afterthought, bet m. de Gerverseux has a good laugh every time she mails a package to herself. And because laughter is great medicine, it isn’t any wonder she still sparkles.
Merci Beaucoup Monsier Hogarth, j’aime bien votre histoire!
Merci beaucoup, M. Hogarth. What an imagination!
What a beautiful story.
Thank you!
Belle histoire, Mr. Hogarth ! You are a true romantic!
Cette histoire est magnifique! Merci Monsieur pour la nous partages.
You’re so sweet. It is so nice to hear such a good story in the beginning of a day. Wish you & the old lady have a happy day.
What a wonderful and touching story. Thank you so much for sharing it.
Sigh….
Dear M.Hogarth,
As I read through this delightful story I was reminded of the old B&W movies of the era of Madame G. and Madame Baker lived.
Stories of Love and War. Romantic with an air of mystery.
I will not forget this one, and will continue to remember what one thoughtful act can do to raise the bar for the rest of us.
Thanks so much for sharing this.
Je t’aime, Arnold Hogarth.
L’Artiste Marti Schmidt
Loved your beautiful story. My friends asked if I knew Arnold Hogarth at Poly and I replied yes, I went to the Kiss the Boys’ goodby dance wirh Arnold and he might remember me as the one girl who didn’t kiss him on the 1st date.
My name is Marlene and I make meat pies for the Scottish Highland Games around the U.S.
Heritage Meat Pies , hope to see you there.
Best Wishes,
Marlene
Still a wonderful story now in 2012….merci.
Merci, Mr. Hogarth.