It is now six o’clock. At four-twenty as I sat at my table writing the Malraux part of this week’s Paris Letter [New Yorker column], there was a terrific BOOOOOOOM close at hand…
Photography print available at Found View Gallery.
It is now six o’clock. At four-twenty as I sat at my table writing the Malraux part of this week’s Paris Letter [New Yorker column], there was a terrific BOOOOOOOM close at hand. I thought it was on the Seine somewhere, rushed to the window which was open for air to the balcony, as the pompiers began rushing by and ambulances. I could tell by the direction of their sirens that they were crossing the Chamber’s bridge. Soon my pal on the New York Times Magazine, Josette Lazar, rang me. It was the plastic bombing of the Tunisian diplomat’s car behind the Quai d’Orsay. She had already talked to an American professor who came to her office, shaken, horrified. He had been going into the Quai d’Orsay to go up to its library when the bomb exploded. The smoke and fumes were strangling, he said, blood was on the staircase. He fled. All the three-story windows on the Cour Constantine were in crumbs on the stones below.
Janet Flanner, to a friend
Notes:
• From Darlinghissima: Letters to a Friend
• Janet Flanner was an American writer and journalist.
Photography print available at Found View Gallery.
Photography print available at Found View Gallery.
Ever Paris 