I love cemeteries. Whenever I visit a new place -- Alamos, Mexico; New Orleans; Havana; Lucca, Italy, or here in Paris -- I usually wind up in one. (Wait, that didn’t sound right.) And I’ve noticed that American burial grounds are the tamest, just like the British ones. Perhaps the British tendency toward understatement or our Puritan roots prevent us from the emotional outpouring seen in more Romantic or Latin resting places. In Havana, tons of weeping marble. And this mournful soul in the Cimitière du Montparnasse suggests sorrow and condolences so much more than the simple headstones I see all over New England.