Autumn in Paris has been immortalised in one of Rainer Maria Rilke’s most poignant poems. Having left his wife in Berlin, Rilke moved to Paris in 1902 where he wrote ‘Herbsttag’ (Autumn Day). ‘Whoever is alone now, will remain so for long. He will stay up late, write long letters and wander restlessly in the avenues as the leaves drift.’ If you have ever taken a solitary walk in the gardens of Versailles as the sun glints coldly on the bright autumn colours, you will know that feeling.
For four months of the year, from December to March, living in Paris is like being trapped inside Tupperware. The grey skies are more immovable even than in London. So if you are planning a trip, go in October or November when an Indian summer can produce wonderful effects. It is true that French gardens are never as good as English (a justified payback for the English inability to cook) but some of the Paris parks are very fine. On your next visit to the city, take the time to spend an afternoon in the Bagatelle garden within the Bois de Boulogne. Laid out in 1775 in only 64 days as the result of a bet between Marie-Antoinette and her brother-in-law, the Comte d’Artois (the future Charles X), the garden recalls Hyde Park with its vast lawns and rose garden (where there are over 1,000 varieties). At the same time it is also very French, with its ornamental château and orangerie, while the peacocks that strut around are magnificent.
If the weather turns against you, however, you will want to visit a museum. My favourite museum in the world has always been the Cluny, housed in the former palace of the abbot of that famous and now defunct monastery, adjacent to the Roman baths on the Boulevard Saint-Michel.
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