In the footsteps of Gabrielle: arriving in Paris
The year is 1787. Gabrielle, the little provincial, arrives in Paris at the age of seventeen, under the protection of her friend the Chevalier des Huttes. Let us discover the city with her.
Parisians are fond of calling provincials culs-terreux, which literally translates as “dirty asses”, but what struck me in Paris was the filth of the southern districts we first crossed. We followed narrow streets, strewn with garbage and lined with soot-coloured houses, five or six stories high. I saw bands of half-naked children. Raggedy women yelled and shook their fists at each other. A man was relieving himself against a wall. The mere thought of male genitals still was enough to turn my stomach, though I had now been widowed for a few months. I looked away and glanced at the Chevalier, but, either of out delicacy or because he was used to that sight, he seemed to ignore the man.
Soon the streets
became wider and took a more prosperous look. I thought I would go deaf from
the rattling of the carriages, the swearing of the cart drivers and the cries of
the street vendors peddling their wares. We had to stop more than once to give
way to other carriages, for wooden stalls, piled high with produce, encroached
on the street. The Chevalier pointed to the monumental gilded gates that marked the entrance to the main courthouse. He said that we would cross the river by way of the Pont-au-Change, the Bridge of the Money Changers. I looked out, eager for my first glimpse of the Seine. My face fell when I saw only houses on either side of the street.
“Houses have been built on almost all of the bridges of Paris,” said the Chevalier, smiling at my disappointment, “but they are soon to be demolished. They will no longer block the view of river, and the city will be more airy and healthy.”
The Chevalier pointed to the
medieval towers of the criminal court building, called the Grand Châtelet.
“It
houses some of the most squalid dungeons in the city,” he said. “It is also
home to the Morgue. The bodies found daily in the river or on the
streets are kept there until identified or claimed.”I put my hand to my face, dizzy with nausea. It was a relief to leave the Châtelet to reach at last the Marais district, where the Duchess d'Arpajon lived. Marais means “swamp” in French.
“What an odd name for such a beautiful district!” I said, marveling at the elegant mansions on each side of the street.
“True,” said the Chevalier. “It used to flood every spring, when the river overflowed after the melting of the snows. It was the aristocratic quarter of choice a century ago, but it has now lost that distinction to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, on the Left Bank.”
We passed the jail of La Force. Two
hundred years earlier, explained the Chevalier, it had been one of the most
magnificent dwellings in Paris, and now it was degraded to the rank of debtors’
prison. Little did I guess then the part it would play in my life only a few
years later. The Duchess’s mansion was on the next street. After the carriage stopped in the courtyard, I observed that the front of the house was elegantly decorated with columns and sculpted allegories of the four seasons. We alighted and were led up a wide stone staircase to a parlour on the second floor, a vast cheerful room, handsomely furnished.
_________________________________________
Prior posts in the series:
Return to Fontfreyde
Cottage life
Dressing for Court
The presentation to Marie-Antoinette in the Salon of the Nobles
The Royal Chapel
The Queen's Bedchamber
Top picture: Paris, le port au ble © Philippe Royet http://www.royet.org/nea1789-1794)
Posted by Catherine Delors at 6/12/2008 12:02 AM and is filed under Mistress of the Revolution,Paris,Gabrielle de Montserrat,18th century 
What a gorgeous interior! Is the third photo down the Grand Chatelet? It looks too pretty to have dungeons or a morgue!
Reply to this
True, way too pretty! The Grand Chatelet was destroyed on the orders of Napoleon, who thought the whole area was unsanitary (he was right on that one.)
This gorgeous building is the Sully mansion, in the Marais district. The Duchess's house would have looked like this.
The interior is one of the salons of the Musee Nissim de Camondo, which is dedicated to the 18th century. Beautiful indeed.
Reply to this
Now that I'm back from hibernation I can finally catch up on the posts I missed !
I love this description, dirt played for a while a major role in Paris. I've always lived here myself but some friends who came from Province told me what struck them in Paris the first time they saw it was the noise and the number of people in the street - so reminiscent of little vignettes de vie, of moments of life. You depicted this quite well ! And Le Marais is still one of the prettiest neighbourhoods of Paris.
Reply to this
Welcome back, Sibylle, and thank you.
Agreed, the Marais remains one of the loveliest districts in Paris. Amazing that it escaped Haussmann's demolitions.
Reply to this