Gertrude Stein

On the Trail of Gertrude Stein

By Arnie Greenberg
Contact Arnie at
ultours@aol.com

(Above, Arnie in front of Shakespeare and Company in Paris, where Gertrude Stein borrowed books).

California has been home to many great writers. Henry Miller lived near Big Sur for awhile. John Steinbeck wrote about his native state with great affection. Ray Bradbury and California seem to go together.

I spent most of my adult life looking for Gertrude Stein. She had lived in Oakland, California for some time, but I looked for her in France. "America is my country," she said, "but Paris is my home town."

The writer with an attitude was the lynch pin of my academic research for 35 years. While I never met the lady, she was responsible for my early travels to various parts of the United States and Europe.

I am familiar with many of her haunts, but I have never been to Allegheny Pennsylvania, where she was born, or to the old Radcliff campus where she studied. Gertrude studied medicine before she became obsessed with writing.

Recently, when I was in Oakland, I went to the museum and asked for directions to the home where she grew up. The lady at the desk replied in Gertrude's own words.

"There is no there there," she announced, quoting Gertrude. Further research proved that she was right. The house, as far as I could find, is long gone. But at least I was in Oakland.

Looking for Gertrude Stein in France

In France, I've seen all of her residences. When she left medical school and went to Paris, she moved into a stylish apartment with her brother Leo at 27 rue De Fleurus. There is a plaque near the front door that attests to the fact that she did, indeed, live there with her partner, Alice B. Toklas, also a native Californian.

Rue de Fleurus is at right angles to the western side of the Luxembourg Gardens. It is an unobtrusive little street that runs on for a few blocks. There are a few older hotels, a cute restaurant and a selection of non-descript shops.

I went to see the apartment and the attached gallery, where she and Leo hung one of the best collections of modern art of that period. There were Cézannes, Matisses and Picassos, plus some by the Spaniard Juan Gris. Gertrude had an eye for art, and 27 rue de Fleurus became the mecca of art lovers around WWI. On Saturday nights, people came to look at the paintings and talk. But art wasn't the only subject. Gertrude talked about writing.

Everybody who was anybody was there, including Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Picasso, Sherwood Anderson and countless others. They met there every Saturday evening, drank distilled liquors, and ate little sandwiches which Gertrude's friend, Alice Toklas, had made.

But that's not why everyone went there. They went to discuss, to argue and to learn. I would never go to Paris without taking a side trip to Gertrude's in the 6th Arrondissement.

For holidays, she and her brother would go to Fiesole, in Italy. Leo was a friend of the critic-collector, Bernard Berenson, whose sprawling villa was in the beautiful hills just above Florence.

(The town of Fiesole looks down on Florence, to the left).

The town of Fiesole looks down on Florence and offers one of the most exciting views in central Italy. I have my yearly pilgrimage to the town, but 'I Tati' -- Berenson's villa -- is out of bounds. Still, I get the idea of the surroundings in which Gertrude and Leo discussed art from the man who showed them the way.

I also think Fiesole is worth seeing for the value of the old Roman theatre and museum and the wonderful statue of Garibaldi and Victor Emmanuel shaking hands in the main square. It is a powerful symbol of the 19th-century unification of Italy.

It is well known that Alice B. Toklas moved in with Gertrude and acted as her cook, typist, confidante, friend, gardener and lover. They were together for the rest of their lives. Just before WW I, they traveled to England. Actually, they almost got stranded there when war broke out.

Heading for the Village of Bilignin

Some years later, when it got hot in Paris, Gertrude and Alice would load up the car and head for the tiny village of Bilignin. Gertrude did the driving in her small car she called 'auntie,' named after a most reliable aunt. You won't find Bilinin on a map, but you might find Belley, East of Lyons, where it sits quietly a few miles away. The area is a gourmand's paradise.Famous cooks lived in the area and restaurants abound.

There, she rented a beautiful Louis XV chateau. She received visitors and wrote her books, including the famous Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, gave advice to the villagers while Alice tended the garden. Her friends would arrive from Paris. She was a bit of a gourmand herself, and they found the best restaurants in Belley, Chambery, Aix-Les-Bains and Artemare.

Today, they are hardly memorable, but for nostalgic purposes I return from time to time. It's gentle, peaceful country, the perfect place for a writer.

One year I met the son of the owner of that house. He invited us into the boxwood garden overlooking the valley, and we chatted about their one-time tenant. Marcel Putz was a charming host and told us stories of the beautiful property and his family.

Where Gertrude Chatted with Picasso or Wilder

What a thrill it was to be invited into the garden, where Gertrude chatted with Picasso or Thornton Wilder. What a joy it was to be invited into the house where Gertrude wrote The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. The high ceilings and ornate wall decorations are throwbacks to another age.

Today there is a plaque on the entranceway at Billinin, donated by the University of Southern California. It is a popular visiting place for Stein scholars and informed readers. The building still remains in the hands of that same family. Madame Leligois (the eldest married daughter) cares for the building with love.

Sadly, Gertrude left there during WW II when the family needed the house for themselves. It would have been easy for Gertrude to leave Belley and escape to the safety of Switzerland. She had friends in high places partly because she had won a prestigious medal for the work she had done with the American Friends French Wounded in an earlier war. She chose to remain in the area.

Her friend Mae (who was a baronne) was the head of a famous gentrified family from tiny Beon, near Culoz. She found a place for Gertrude and Alice in a lovely chateau on a park overlooking Culoz. Gertrude often visited Mae and confronted her small daughter Rose.

Rose wanted no part of Gertrude and would often run away and hide. Gertrude thought it amusing. She used those incidents to craft a very ingenious book called The World Is Round. The book tells of little Rose, who goes up on the mountain (Le Grand Colombier) to hide.

Gertrude's Famous Rose...

There, she finds the tallest tree at the summit and carves her name into the bark. Then she continues all around. Rose…is…a...rose…is…a...rose. That line added to the fame that Gertrude was gaining. It is still the one line of Gertrude's that everyone knows.

When the war ended, Gertrude returned to Paris, but by then she was living on the rue Christine #5, closer to the Seine. Royalty had once owned the apartment. Gertrude lived very well even though in the last years she had to sell some of her paintings to subsist.

It all came to an end in 1946, when Gertrude died of cancer at The American Hospital. She was still looking for the answer.

I did learn about an area I would never have found. Travel is best when you get off the beaten track. I had a reason for going to Culoz in the first place. I have since returned to lecture in Culoz and made friends in the village.

When I came to lecture at a conference in Culoz, I discovered that Francois Mitterand had unveiled and dedicated a statue of Gertrude in front of Le Clos Poncet, her Culoz wartime home. It couldn't have been easy for Gertrude and Alice. They had to billet German and Italian officers in their home at different times.

Meeting Jean d'Aiguy

At that conference, I was introduced to a young man who said his name was Jean d'Aiguy. I mentioned that Gertrude wrote about Rose D'Aiguy in one of her books. Jean replied, "She was my mother."

Jean, now the owner of the chateau, asked me if I wanted to see where his mother was buried. We walked to the tiny cemetery in the old village. There in a corner was the little girl Gertrude had written about. I reached down and placed a small stone on the gravestone.

"Why did you do that?" asked Jean.
I explained,"That's a tradition in my faith. It shows other visitors that someone else cared enough to visit. It was like a calling card."

Why would I walk along rue de Fleurus in Paris, if it were not for Gertrude? Why would I go to tiny Bilignin, to Belley, Culoz or the Chateau Beon?

Why would I go to Shakespeare and Company in Paris, where Gertrude borrowed books? How much richer my life became when I met all those people in a far-away village!

Because of the writer I was able to lecture in Stuttgart, where my play about Gertrude was performed in German at the Wilhelma. I even traveled to the tiny village of Dorf in Italy's Northern Tyrol and talked about the Twenties, Paris and Gertrude.

I often end my journey at the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. There, in the middle of Paris, I visit the graves of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Modigliani, Isadora Duncan, Proust, Sarah Bernhardt, Chopin, Jim Morrison, Balzac and…Gertrude Stein.

There is no need for words on the headstone except her name, dates and places of birth. We all know who she was and what she did.

I place a rose on the grass above her because with those words, the writer from Oakland made a rose smell sweeter than anyone before her. Indeed, a rose is a rose is a rose…

(Click below for more travel).


	On the Trail of Gertrude Stein By Arnie Greenberg Contact Arnie at ultours@aol.com (Above, Arnie in front of Shakespeare and Company in Paris, where Gertrude Stein borrowed books). California has been home to many great writers. Henry Miller lived near Big Sur for awhile. John Steinbeck wrote about his native state with great affection. Ray Bradbury and California seem to go together. I spent most of my adult life looking for Gertrude Stein. She had lived in Oakland, California for some time, but I looked for her in France. "America is my country," she said, "but Paris is my home town." The writer with an attitude was the lynch pin of my academic research for 35 years. While I never met the lady, she was responsible for my early travels to various parts of the United States and Europe. I am familiar with many of her haunts, but I have never been to Allegheny Pennsylvania, where she was born, or to the old Radcliff campus where she studied. Gertrude studied medicine before she became obsessed with writing. Recently, when I was in Oakland, I went to the museum and asked for directions to the home where she grew up. The lady at the desk replied in Gertrude's own words. "There is no there there," she announced, quoting Gertrude. Further research proved that she was right. The house, as far as I could find, is long gone. But at least I was in Oakland. Looking for Gertrude Stein in France In France, I've seen all of her residences. When she left medical school and went to Paris, she moved into a stylish apartment with her brother Leo at 27 rue De Fleurus. There is a plaque near the front door that attests to the fact that she did, indeed, live there with her partner, Alice B. Toklas, also a native Californian. Rue de Fleurus is at right angles to the western side of the Luxembourg Gardens. It is an unobtrusive little street that runs on for a few blocks. There are a few older hotels, a cute restaurant and a selection of non-descript shops. I went to see the apartment and the attached gallery, where she and Leo hung one of the best collections of modern art of that period. There were Cézannes, Matisses and Picassos, plus some by the Spaniard Juan Gris. Gertrude had an eye for art, and 27 rue de Fleurus became the mecca of art lovers around WWI. On Saturday nights, people came to look at the paintings and talk. But art wasn't the only subject. Gertrude talked about writing. Everybody who was anybody was there, including Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Picasso, Sherwood Anderson and countless others. They met there every Saturday evening, drank distilled liquors, and ate little sandwiches which Gertrude's friend, Alice Toklas, had made. But that's not why everyone went there. They went to discuss, to argue and to learn. I would never go to Paris without taking a side trip to Gertrude's in the 6th Arrondissement. For holidays, she and her brother would go to Fiesole, in Italy. Leo was a friend of the critic-collector, Bernard Berenson, whose sprawling villa was in the beautiful hills just above Florence. (The town of Fiesole looks down on Florence, to the left). The town of Fiesole looks down on Florence and offers one of the most exciting views in central Italy. I have my yearly pilgrimage to the town, but 'I Tati' -- Berenson's villa -- is out of bounds. Still, I get the idea of the surroundings in which Gertrude and Leo discussed art from the man who showed them the way. I also think Fiesole is worth seeing for the value of the old Roman theatre and museum and the wonderful statue of Garibaldi and Victor Emmanuel shaking hands in the main square. It is a powerful symbol of the 19th-century unification of Italy. It is well known that Alice B. Toklas moved in with Gertrude and acted as her cook, typist, confidante, friend, gardener and lover. They were together for the rest of their lives. Just before WW I, they traveled to England. Actually, they almost got stranded there when war broke out. Heading for the Village of Bilignin Some years later, when it got hot in Paris, Gertrude and Alice would load up the car and head for the tiny village of Bilignin. Gertrude did the driving in her small car she called 'auntie,' named after a most reliable aunt. You won't find Bilinin on a map, but you might find Belley, East of Lyons, where it sits quietly a few miles away. The area is a gourmand's paradise.Famous cooks lived in the area and restaurants abound. There, she rented a beautiful Louis XV chateau. She received visitors and wrote her books, including the famous Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, gave advice to the villagers while Alice tended the garden. Her friends would arrive from Paris. She was a bit of a gourmand herself, and they found the best restaurants in Belley, Chambery, Aix-Les-Bains and Artemare. Today, they are hardly memorable, but for nostalgic purposes I return from time to time. It's gentle, peaceful country, the perfect place for a writer. One year I met the son of the owner of that house. He invited us into the boxwood garden overlooking the valley, and we chatted about their one-time tenant. Marcel Putz was a charming host and told us stories of the beautiful property and his family. Where Gertrude Chatted with Picasso or Wilder What a thrill it was to be invited into the garden, where Gertrude chatted with Picasso or Thornton Wilder. What a joy it was to be invited into the house where Gertrude wrote The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. The high ceilings and ornate wall decorations are throwbacks to another age. Today there is a plaque on the entranceway at Billinin, donated by the University of Southern California. It is a popular visiting place for Stein scholars and informed readers. The building still remains in the hands of that same family. Madame Leligois (the eldest married daughter) cares for the building with love. Sadly, Gertrude left there during WW II when the family needed the house for themselves. It would have been easy for Gertrude to leave Belley and escape to the safety of Switzerland. She had friends in high places partly because she had won a prestigious medal for the work she had done with the American Friends French Wounded in an earlier war. She chose to remain in the area. Her friend Mae (who was a baronne) was the head of a famous gentrified family from tiny Beon, near Culoz. She found a place for Gertrude and Alice in a lovely chateau on a park overlooking Culoz. Gertrude often visited Mae and confronted her small daughter Rose. Rose wanted no part of Gertrude and would often run away and hide. Gertrude thought it amusing. She used those incidents to craft a very ingenious book called The World Is Round. The book tells of little Rose, who goes up on the mountain (Le Grand Colombier) to hide. Gertrude's Famous Rose... There, she finds the tallest tree at the summit and carves her name into the bark. Then she continues all around. Rose…is…a...rose…is…a...rose. That line added to the fame that Gertrude was gaining. It is still the one line of Gertrude's that everyone knows. When the war ended, Gertrude returned to Paris, but by then she was living on the rue Christine #5, closer to the Seine. Royalty had once owned the apartment. Gertrude lived very well even though in the last years she had to sell some of her paintings to subsist. It all came to an end in 1946, when Gertrude died of cancer at The American Hospital. She was still looking for the answer. I did learn about an area I would never have found. Travel is best when you get off the beaten track. I had a reason for going to Culoz in the first place. I have since returned to lecture in Culoz and made friends in the village. When I came to lecture at a conference in Culoz, I discovered that Francois Mitterand had unveiled and dedicated a statue of Gertrude in front of Le Clos Poncet, her Culoz wartime home. It couldn't have been easy for Gertrude and Alice. They had to billet German and Italian officers in their home at different times. Meeting Jean d'Aiguy At that conference, I was introduced to a young man who said his name was Jean d'Aiguy. I mentioned that Gertrude wrote about Rose D'Aiguy in one of her books. Jean replied, "She was my mother." Jean, now the owner of the chateau, asked me if I wanted to see where his mother was buried. We walked to the tiny cemetery in the old village. There in a corner was the little girl Gertrude had written about. I reached down and placed a small stone on the gravestone. "Why did you do that?" asked Jean. I explained,"That's a tradition in my faith. It shows other visitors that someone else cared enough to visit. It was like a calling card." Why would I walk along rue de Fleurus in Paris, if it were not for Gertrude? Why would I go to tiny Bilignin, to Belley, Culoz or the Chateau Beon? Why would I go to Shakespeare and Company in Paris, where Gertrude borrowed books? How much richer my life became when I met all those people in a far-away village! Because of the writer I was able to lecture in Stuttgart, where my play about Gertrude was performed in German at the Wilhelma. I even traveled to the tiny village of Dorf in Italy's Northern Tyrol and talked about the Twenties, Paris and Gertrude. I often end my journey at the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. There, in the middle of Paris, I visit the graves of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Modigliani, Isadora Duncan, Proust, Sarah Bernhardt, Chopin, Jim Morrison, Balzac and…Gertrude Stein. There is no need for words on the headstone except her name, dates and places of birth. We all know who she was and what she did. I place a rose on the grass above her because with those words, the writer from Oakland made a rose smell sweeter than anyone before her. Indeed, a rose is a rose is a rose… (Click below for more travel).