Mystery History Revealed

Paris' moveable feast is perhaps most lavishly set with dishes rich in history and tourism. How delectable, then, to have discovered an additional tasty treat—a tiny but fascinating moment from Paris' history, undiscovered despite its setting not far from ground zero of Parisian tourism.
One day, while strolling along the Seine from Notre Dame west towards the Musee d'Orsay, I noticed a historical plaque that, like the lyrical four-leaf clover, I had overlooked before. Mounted at knee height, on the wall separating the sidewalk from the drop down to the quais alongside the Seine, the plaque read as follows:

Here
On Feburary 15, 1950
Robert S. White
of Cambridge, Mass, U.S.A.
A Student at the National School
of Living Eastern Languages
31 Years Old
(1918-1950)
Generously sacrificed his life
while attempting to save a woman
in danger in the river.
IN MEMORIAM.

Above the inscription, the plaque bore the crests of the “Harvard College Class of 1940” and the “Lt. Commander , U.S. Naval Reserve.”

The plaque could not be in a more prominent, well-trafficked, and touristy location: on the quai des Grands Augustins, just feet from the Pont Saint Michel, directly in front of both Notre Dame Cathedral and the dragon-stomping Saint Michel fountain. Perhaps the plaque's odd height, a necessity of its placement on a short, riverside wall, contributed to the fact that I had never seen it before. A quick, subsequent search of the internet, and a variety of tourist texts, revealed no references to the plaque, or to the incident it commemorates.

Plus, the text of the plaque raised several questions in and of itself. What was White doing in Paris? What was the woman doing in the river? And, based on the plaque's text, given that it says “attempting to save,” are we to assume the woman in question drowned as well?

My curiosity piqued, I headed off to the Bibliotheque Historique de la Ville de Paris, the Paris library dedicated to the history of Paris, which was conveniently located a block up from my office.

I knew I was on to something special when first one, then two, then three reference librarians were caught flatfooted, then fascinated, by the photo I had brought with me of the White plaque. They fanned out, checked a variety of sources, but all they could find was a listing for the plaque in a book that comprehensively compiled the texts of the city's various historic signs.

Eventually, one of the librarians said I should check original source materials, and pointed me towards the library's newspaper archives. She suggested that I start with “France Soir,” which she said would be more likely to feature “faits divers” (“offbeat stories”) like the one we were researching (the equivalent of the New York Post , for example).

Sure enough, there they were: two articles on White drowning, a long feature two days after the incident on February 17, 1950, and a shorter update on February 18.

The article on the 17th gave the story full tabloid-like treatment. Under an all-caps header reading “THE DRAMA OF THE SAINT MICHEL BRIDGE,” the largest headline stated “'Robert Shaw White, a great guy.'” (it sounds much better in French: “un chic type”). The third-level headline finally got into the crux of the matter: “[This is] The unanimous opinion in the Latin Quarter, after the tragic death of the young American who drowned trying to save the little flower girl.”

The rest of the article, and the subsequent day's follow-up, sketched out for readers a set of characters that seemed to come straight from Central Casting.

THE HARVARD GRAD
First was Robert Shaw White himself. He was 31 years old at the time of his death, the son of a recently deceased professor at the “Universite d'Harward” [sic], and a student of Polish and Russian. Upon arrival in Paris, he moved into Room 22 at the Hotel Universe, a residence from which France Soir states “he never went out.” However, elsewhere in the same article, France Soir quotes “Louis, the barman at the establishment he [White] frequents” as stating “When I heard the news yesterday afternoon, I closed the door, turned out the lights, then I took refuge in the back room and I wept.”

“W. Schiller,” the France Soir reporter, describes the combined testimonies of White's French and American friends as a virtual “panegyric” (definition: “a formal eulogistic composition intended as a public compliment; elaborate praise or laudation; an encomium”), but Schiller's article also fills this purpose quite well.

The night of the events in question, White told his friends he could not sleep, and that he was “going to have a last drink somewhere by the banks of the Seine, which I love so much.”

“His fate was set,” stated Schiller, in a bit of purple prose.

“Walking peacefully, around 11:45PM,” by the Saint Michel Bridge, White heard a woman's cries. He thought he saw a “black fist” emerge briefly from the water, so he took off his shoes and his jacket (where his ID papers would later be found) and dove into the Seine. He resurfaced twice, and sailors who had also heard the woman's cries held out a pole for him to grab. “He could have grabbed it and saved himself,” writes the reporter, “But he refused it both times.”

[Caption: The scene of the crime.]

“Two fates, totally distinct at their origin, came together in death,” concluded Schiller.

THE FLOWER GIRL
Perhaps this is the time to introduce the second player in our cast of characters: Raymonde Stibirtine, age 35. “The little flower vendor of Saint-Germain-des-Pres” was the mother of six children, all of whom were “entrusted to Public Assistance.” According to Schiller, “Every day, at lunch, and again in the evening, she would leave her single room on the rue Saint-Sauveur to go sell small bouquets of pansies and violets in the restaurants at Les Halles and along the quais.”

[Caption: the location of the former "Rotisserie Perigourdine" restaurant.]

At about 11:50PM, Stibirtine left either the “Rotisserie Perigourdine” restaurant at 2 place Saint Michel, or the “L'Ecluse” bar at 15 quai des Grands Augustins (accounts differed), in the midst of an argument. What happened next? Schiller states “Only the 'bums' who live under the bridge, in summer as in winter, could say—they were the only witnesses.”

[Caption: Adjacent to the scene of the crime, where the "bums" would have lived.]

Schiller's downbeat assessment of the odds of finding out what happened begs the question: what about the person with whom Stibirtine was arguing? This brings our third character into play. In Schiller's otherwise sadly glowing portrayal of Stibirtine, he states that her life was dominated by two vices: “alcohol and her lover, George Cochard, known as 'Jojo the Handsome Brute.'” (Ironically, in the song “Jojo the Handsome Brute,” a popular bar tune of the time, it is “Jojo” who is murdered, in his case by a jealous suitor.)

According to Schiller, Cochard, age 42, had been together with Stibirtine for three years. He did not work, instead “following her, step by step” and “every bouquet she sold automatically transformed itself into bad red wine for him.”

Following the fateful night, Inspectors Toussaint and Muller of the Twelfth Police Brigade interrogated Cochard for 48 hours straight, “without interruption.” During that interrogation, Cochard stated “We argued violently, then we went down on the banks of the Seine. All of a sudden, for the most pointless of reasons, crazy with anger, I slapped [Stibirtine] with tremendous force. She lost her balance and fell into the river.”

[Caption: The scene of the crime, with modern lovebirds, seen from afar.]

All Cochard had to say in his own defense was that “She has hit me in the past.”
Perhaps it is the romantic in me, or the inherent romance of Paris, but I wonder—what would have happened if White and Stibirtine had met in life, instead of in death?

Josh

REFERENCES
“Le drame du Pont Saint-Michel: “Robert Shaw White, un chic type!”, W. Schiller, France Soir, February 17, 1950.

“La fleuriste du pont Saint-Michel avait ete jetee a l'eau par son amant,” no author listed, France Soir, February 18, 1950.